Without any preamble whatsoever, Dan emerges from behind the tree, leans on its ample trunk, and crosses his arms. His gaze falls on the mutilated husk of Rigalis, and then climbs up to Chad.
"But there were a lot of good ideas here! I loved the aimless soldier angle. You should've kept going." Dan sighs and, without waiting for a response, crosses the clearing to the immobile elvish form and crouches down next to it. "Hey, you can get up now."
Suddenly, light explodes back into the elf's eyes. The expression on the reanimated face, however, is quizzical. "No I can't. I'm dead. Chad said so."
"Yes, and perhaps in one reality, you remain dead. But now the story has become collaborative-- as is any story, really, that is read by someone other than its author. I, like Chad, can now alter the fictional reality around us. You live simply because I say so. If someone else says you die, however, you die-- at least in that reality. You are a product of the imaginative mind. Nothing more-- and nothing less. In this case, I'm going to say that not only are you alive, but you don't remember dying. Oh, and Chad and I... are now squirrels."
"What?!" Forris exclaims, chiming in for the first time since his environmental PSA. "That's absurd. I--
"What are you doing here?" Forris ground out, staring daggers at Rigalis. The latter continued to regard him with the same smug expression Forris had seen him wearing during their last encounter. It seemed like an elf's lifetime ago, but Forris nevertheless regarded it as far too soon.
"Why, isn't it obvious, my brother?" Rigalis chuckled, spreading his hands in mock-innocence. "I've come to help you rebuild."
"Save it," Forris countered. "A hero in time of peace and a coward in time of strife; that's what you are. Nobody here wants the help of a traitor."
Rigalis put on his best wounded expression-- which Forris didn't find convincing in the slightest. "I trust you aren't referring to an alleged crime, more than a half-century gone, the charge of which I was acquitted by the Council?"
"You did it," Forris growled. "You let them in. Regardless of the Council's ruling, I know it. Raelin knows it, too, and were he here, you'd be dead by now. You'd be wise to tell me why I shouldn't act in his stead." As he spoke, Forris reached for the hilt of his plain, nondescript sword, but never drew it. What Rigalis said froze him in place like a gorgon's glare.
"Because I know what you want, Forris. What you still want. And you can have it again."
The clearing was still, but for two small squirrels darting across the clearing from one tree to the next.
"So," one tittered to the other, "What do you think? I can't remember if the sword was destroyed completely or simply disposed of somewhere, but I felt like that might be a good plot hook for a Forris story. Oh, and let me know when you're in town again," he added, cracking into an acorn.
"But there were a lot of good ideas here! I loved the aimless soldier angle. You should've kept going." Dan sighs and, without waiting for a response, crosses the clearing to the immobile elvish form and crouches down next to it. "Hey, you can get up now."
Suddenly, light explodes back into the elf's eyes. The expression on the reanimated face, however, is quizzical. "No I can't. I'm dead. Chad said so."
"Yes, and perhaps in one reality, you remain dead. But now the story has become collaborative-- as is any story, really, that is read by someone other than its author. I, like Chad, can now alter the fictional reality around us. You live simply because I say so. If someone else says you die, however, you die-- at least in that reality. You are a product of the imaginative mind. Nothing more-- and nothing less. In this case, I'm going to say that not only are you alive, but you don't remember dying. Oh, and Chad and I... are now squirrels."
"What?!" Forris exclaims, chiming in for the first time since his environmental PSA. "That's absurd. I--
"What are you doing here?" Forris ground out, staring daggers at Rigalis. The latter continued to regard him with the same smug expression Forris had seen him wearing during their last encounter. It seemed like an elf's lifetime ago, but Forris nevertheless regarded it as far too soon.
"Why, isn't it obvious, my brother?" Rigalis chuckled, spreading his hands in mock-innocence. "I've come to help you rebuild."
"Save it," Forris countered. "A hero in time of peace and a coward in time of strife; that's what you are. Nobody here wants the help of a traitor."
Rigalis put on his best wounded expression-- which Forris didn't find convincing in the slightest. "I trust you aren't referring to an alleged crime, more than a half-century gone, the charge of which I was acquitted by the Council?"
"You did it," Forris growled. "You let them in. Regardless of the Council's ruling, I know it. Raelin knows it, too, and were he here, you'd be dead by now. You'd be wise to tell me why I shouldn't act in his stead." As he spoke, Forris reached for the hilt of his plain, nondescript sword, but never drew it. What Rigalis said froze him in place like a gorgon's glare.
"Because I know what you want, Forris. What you still want. And you can have it again."
The clearing was still, but for two small squirrels darting across the clearing from one tree to the next.
"So," one tittered to the other, "What do you think? I can't remember if the sword was destroyed completely or simply disposed of somewhere, but I felt like that might be a good plot hook for a Forris story. Oh, and let me know when you're in town again," he added, cracking into an acorn.
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