Accuser and Accused

[Orodahion-moon-guard]

(A story, from an ingame interaction. Thanks for the amazing scene, Sil.)

The meeting of the Grand Alliance at the Westbrook Garrison went as it usually did, and this ocurrence was certainly more tame than some of the previous iterations; no fights broke out in the main meeting room, at least. Afterwards, however, two proud Dwarven hetmen were hashing out some personal grievance, and it was coming to blows near the entrance to the garrison.

Nearby, two members of the proud Kul Tiran Tenth Fleet, the two newest members as it happens, looked over with interest from where they were standing; Orodahion Lossiriel, millenias old lowborn Kaldorei warrior of Eldre’thalas, and Nylrek Thadeus, initiate Tidesage and elder son of a powerful merchant family.

Nylrek had just finished voicing some concern about the two Dwarves getting hurt when Orodahion said “Nothing wrong with a brawl, Nylrek. Things must come to blows sometimes. Come Nyl, let’s get closer.”

The pair took up a spot leaning against a fence nearby.

Orodahion, on a chance, looked left, and spotted a signet ring on the hand of one Siliran Blackmantle, an ancient Highborne Kaldorei of Eldre’thalas, legendary Arcanist; a ring bearing the mark of the Shen’dralar. Orodahion exhaled, loosening his shoulders, before he turned to walk towards the Highborne. He then blatanlty pointed at Siliran, then to his signet ring. “Just to be sure, you know that’s the emblem of the Shen’dralar, yes?”

Siliran shrugged at the words of a nearby Dwarven thane before returning his gaze to the fight, only to see from his right the approaching Kaldorei, raising a brow at his words. “Well, yes.”

Orodahion nods, taking a breath in. “So then, Shen’dralar, how many? What’s your count?”

“Beg your pardon?” Siliran raised his eyebrow inquisitively at Orodahion.

Orodahion tilts his head a little, his voice steeling. “How many did you kill in the Mad Prince’s purge?”

Siliran turned to fully face the Kaldorei, any emotion leaving his scarred face. “How strange to bring up such a tragedy here, to me, when you know nothing about me. I know nothing about you either, but the way you speak…” He studied the elf closely for a moment. “…reminds me of home.”

Orodahion did not return the scrutiny. His single eyed gaze remained steadfast on Siliran’s own. “I know that you are Shen’dralar. I saw what they did. The way I speak reminds you of home because I was born in that city. I bring up the tragedy because no court in the land has the power or the will to hold you and yours accountable for what you did. I speak it out loud, so that others might know the bastard that walks in their midst.” He took.a breath. “The Orc has a low cunning, but at least you can trust that an Orc will always be an Orc. The Shen’dralar will be your friend one day, and kill you in the night for a trinket of power. Still, here you walk, bold as brass, breathing free air while the ghosts of my family still haunt those walls.”

Siliran remained stoic, the only movement being a slight tilt of his head to the left. “If you are from our city then you know that we survivors did what we had to do when that disgrace of a Prince lost his mind. If you were born there then you, like me, had to survive off the energy of that foul demon the Prince locked away. You know how much our society decayed.” He narrowed his eyes further. “If you survived the purge then you are just like me. Lucky.”

Orodahion took a breath in, letting out a little exhalation at the appeal. “The difference is that I would have died before I let the people of my city be murdered for greed and arrogance, were I more than a child when it happened. That’s what my parents did. Yet, here you stand, bemoaning that ‘you did what you had to do.’ Act your age, Ancient One, now, as you should have then. Admit your guilt, and wear that ring as a mark of shame.”

Siliran clenched his jaw. For a brief moment the arcane surged around his left hand before fading. Violence was not the way. Instead he raised his hand, gazing down at his signet ring. “Admitting shame and guilt will not bring back those who were lost. Actions speak louder than words.” He clenched his hand into a fist and beat it across his exposed chest. “And I carry on to honor the memory of those who died for a Mad Prince, not out of shame, but to honor the memory of those whose future was robbed so that we may survive.”

Orodahion chuckled without mirth. “How great it must be that your wisdom is so vast it leaves no room for guilt of atrocities committed or overlooked.” Orodahion shifts a foot backwards. “How easy it must be to honor the memories when you dissect them from the shame that is yours to bear. If we could all be so noble, Ancient One, we might not need prisons.”
“Will you admit your atrocities and your guilt? Yes, or no?”

Siliran stepped forward. “No.”

Orodahion gives a small, disappointed shake of his head. There is less edge to his voice. “You live down to the expectation, Ancient One. Know that.” With that said, Orodahion turns to step away.

“Admitting my guilt will not bring what you lost back,” said Siliran.

“I never said it would,” said Orodahion.

Siliran nodded slowly as he watched the Kaldorei walk off.