Of_Cones_of

Of Cones of Cold and Courts Martial, by the Silver Shield Fireside

ATREIDES: ...and so the half-orc said, "Man, I really miss those guys. I wish the elf and
the dwarf were back here with me."

(riotous laughter; drunken guffaws from Atreides, who seems to be laughing at his own
jokes; a sly smile from Anacard, who looks either plastered or just amused (its hard to tell),
a quiet chuckle from Elros, a big belly laugh from Sage, and at the very end an unintentional
snort from Loven--which sends everyone back into gales of laughter)

SAGE: Its a good thing that Uruk isn't here--he would probably crush your skull with his
bare hands if he heard all of your dumb half-orc jokes.

ATREIDES: From what you tell me of him, I don't doubt it. At least it wouldn't be a cone
of cold, though! Ha-Hah! (imagine Sean Connery voice)

(dead silence. Sage does not look pleased.)

ATREIDES: That was a joke.

SAGE: It wasn't funny.

ANACARD: (You have to imagine the Mitch Hedburg voice or else it isn't funny.) Oh Sage; that was just COLD. (smiles a big dopey grin) Perhaps we should all partake of another round of beverages. Beer and mead and wine are, after all, the highest and most perfect of all of nature's creations.

SAGE: Quiet Anacard.

ANACARD: (grin fades; looks crestfallen) Okay.

ANTHYNIAN: Let's not fight, shall we? Tonight is a night for drinking and dancing, perhaps a game of Strikedragon or this strange "Hold 'Em" that Elros brings from Evermeet. Perhaps we could all have some more fireslake and then all sit on my flying carpet while it spins around. Let us celebrate life, not argue with each other.

LOVEN: (Leaning back near the fire, his face shadowed, smoking a long slender pipe with smoke that smells faintly of mint.) No, Anthynian. They need to resolve this.

ATREIDES: (His eyes swimming a bit drunkenly) Well? Get on with it.

SAGE: (his face red, eyes flashing in suppressed anger.) By Mystra's flaming cunt, Atreides, you threatened me. Was that necessary? I made a snap decision in the heat of combat--

ATREIDES: (lighting his own pipe, which emanates a far fouler smoke than the elvish weed) That's just it, Sage. You made a snap decision. Instinct, or habit, or whatever. If it had been anyone else in that cone of cold we'd be having a funeral instead of a party.

SAGE: (simmering with contained rage) You survived, didn't you? The creatures were destroyed, the mission was accomplished. What more do you want of me?

ATREIDES: (leaning forward) To think! Blood of the Lady, man, to fight to win with all of us still alive.

ELROS: He's got a point there, Sage. I've died enough times alrea--

SAGE: (snappishly) You stay out of this!

ELROS: Ok, big boy, calm down. Someone's got a Chand complex.

ANTHYNIAN: (whispers to Loven) A what complex? Is that a maze or something?

LOVEN: (shrugs and continues puffing on his pipe)

ATREIDES: (mutters absently, as if repeating a memorized lecture) Chand. Halfling general, fought in the Hin Ghostwars, -68 through -65. Tiny even for a Hin; commonly believed that his brilliance was his attempt to compensate for his small stature. Also known to slaughter anyone who called him short. (in a normal voice) Look, I was angry, Sage. I was half dead and freezing cold. A huge piece of skin on my leg ripped off when I removed my armor because it was frozen to the plates.

ANTHYNIAN: (to Anacard) Redblooding beard! That's fucked up. I'm sure glad I don't wear armor (huge grin) My flesh IS armor.

ANACARD: (to Anthynian) I know man, I'm glad I don't wear armor nei--. Wait a minute. I DO wear armor. Bind me! Hey Atreides, can that freezing thing happen with your p--

ATREIDES: (ignoring the chatter, now quite earnest) You have to understand, Sage. Its bad tactics. Bad tactics will lead to defeat and death--for all of us. I've seen War Wizards, ecstatic with power, flinging fireballs right and left, frying hordes of goblins with lightning, crushing whole fortresses with massive walls of iron. I've seen them so intent on using their most impressive spells, on wreaking the most destruction possible--and I've seen them forget that their actions have consequences. I've seen whole platoons of good solid Cormyrean men treated like cannon fodder. Cut off from their units by walls of stone or force, trapped in the same clouds of killing gas as their enemies, or simply incinerated because their position was inconvenient. Its a corrupting power, Sage, a dangerous one, and it leads inevitably to divisions, dissension, and doubt. They were good men--they were my men--and they died. No one in the Hand of Valor is expendable.

If we are going to figure out what in the feldurking hells this Year of the Rogue Dragons has in store for Faerun, we have to rely on each other. We have to trust that everyone else has got our backs, and that their swords--or spells--will stand together, for the same objective. The moment our focus wavers, or if we begin working at cross purposes, hurting the enemy but hurting each other just as much, the moment our fates are sealed.

(dead silence)

ANACARD: I think we could all use some more drinks! (gets up and goes to the bar. One guy, a forester in leathers, stares at the jovial drunken drow in Highmoon, but all the other patrons greet him with a hearty "Anacard! Well met!")

SAGE: (deep in thought) Would you really have brought me up on charges?

ATREIDES: Ha-Hah. Fuck no! What the hells would I do that for? I was just mad, and you needed to understand HOW mad.

ELROS: If you followed the Lady of Strategy, what you did would have been considered a cardinal sin. (smiles)

SAGE: Oh.

LOVEN: (leaning forward again) Good, then this issue is all settled? I don't want to hear any more about it.

SAGE: (looks at Atreides for a moment, then at the rest of the Hand.) I think we understand each other.

ANACARD: (carrying a young half-elven serving wench with blue-black hair and exquisite ears, who herself is carrying a tray full of mugs.) Enough of all this sombreity. ... Sombreity? That's a word, isn't it? Anyway (putting the girl down, who puts the drinks down, and who is then swept immediately into Atreides' lap), a toast!

EVERYONE: Yes, a toast!

SAGE: (standing up, then realizing that he's a halfling and that the table is taller than he is, prompting a round of laughter. He climbs onto his chair and then onto the table itself, raising a half-pint mug in the air) To the many members of the Hand of Valor, heroes all, once and forever.

ATREIDES: (smiles) I'll drink to that.

(Everyone drinks)

ANACARD: (wiping foam off his mustache.) Man, I am tired. I haven't slept in three days.

ANTHYNIAN: Really?

ANACARD: No, because that would be way too long. (Hedburg smile).

ANTHYNIAN: (mischievous smile, like a little boy who just got a new toy) Hey, let's go get my carpet.