CORMAC
Adam wrote:CORMAC
His messages dispatched, he goes to find some of the commoners that he spoke with before. He opens with some friendly conversation and more storytelling, but ends with a much more serious discussion.
“People,” he says, his voice becoming solemn, “I have to confess to ye that I am here in this land not just as a visitor, but as a priest of Erik, the lord of druids and keeper of the wilderness. I’ve come because I know the waste, and the wanton destruction that war brings to a land, and particularly to the common folk like yerselves. These siege engines, these battles, they bring not but ruin to our homes. While wars may be won and tyrants may be defeated, when the armies return home to their cities an’ their castles it’s you an’ yer homes tha’ pay the lingering price. It’s yer forests that are cut, yer fields that are spoiled, an’ yer crops that are used to feed these armies. An’ tha’s just speakin’ o’ human armies. If ye’ve never seen the blight tha’ goblins bring to places they inhabit, may ye consider yerselves lucky indeed. There are many in Ghonallison who are no longer so lucky.”
He shakes his head. “This wastefulness is wha’ I came here to put to a stop. I support Tuornen an’ the Duke because they stand against the goblins, but I’ve no more love for their army an’ the harm it does than I do fer the enemy. When the Duke an’ his high an’ noble lords go back to Haes, the common folk are the ones who will have to pick up the pieces, an’ I say it’s time ye started thinkin’ along those lines now. Tha’s why I’ve built an enclave, a small church an’ community o’ like minded folks who just want to live free an’ tend to the land as best they know how. We’re small now, but we grow every day, an’ as we grow the power of Erik’s hand can be seen to spread. I told ye the story o’ the battle I fought with my lads, but sure as I’m standin’ here, none of us would have survived it if Erik’s strength hadn’t guided our hands. An when the tide turned an’ the enemy fell back, it was his might that drove the stones down from the mountain to crush them as they fled.”
“Now I know, many of ye have homes here,” he says, “An’ I know it’s askin’ a lot to uproot and move to a land ye’ve never seen. I only want ye to consider one thing: when this battle is done an’ it’s time to return home, what sort of a home will ye have to return to? If yer fields are ruined or your house has been burned, or maybe yer just tired o’ workin like a dog to feed armies and lords, then maybe it’s time ye considered another way. My church is a place of second chances, as my men will attest when they arrive soon. Maybe it’s time ye started makin’ yer own life, an’ that can start by goin’ with me.”
The common soldiers and camp followers listen with polite interest. Scanning the crowd the druid sees some affirmative nods and hears a little side chatter, but witnesses no great outpouring of support. There are no jeers or hisses, or any angry grimaces, either.
Somebody starts playing a fiddle and the crowd becomes distracted by the music.
After the speech, a stocky, blunt-nosed fellow dressed in homespun clothes approaches Cormac. Two of Count Robin's men-at-arms, clad in plate and mail, follow him, watching him closely. The rustic fellow extends a hand as he draws near Cormac.
"Nice speech.
Name's Warin. I'm a local farmer."
The Tuor guards stand by, watching Warin more than Cormac, and saying nothing.
Warin goes on,
"My neighbors chose me to serve as a spokesman. I've come here to deal with the leaders of the army. I've met some soldiers."
He gestures towards his guards.
"But seems like it's kind of hard for a commoner like me to see anybody important. Some of us were told by Count Robin's riders that the Tuor captains and nobles aren't going to take revenge for what Baron Lynwerd's men did over the border, but, well..."
The spokesman shakes his head. "Local people are worried. Seems like you have a reputation, maybe even got some friends above the likes of us.
Can you help me?"
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
-from Moby Dick (Hermann Melville)
