Got rich by embezzling Nazi gold  Founder
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Dragonsaur (as selected by Diane Elsheikh)
Did you ever have one of those moments where the absurdity of a situation caught you off guard? That's happening to me right now. I'm watching a thin man in ornate robes, pointing accusingly at an enormous reptile and browbeating him. And the reptile looks sheepish! D'you believe that? The man's got a ponytail, for gods' sakes - and not even one like that of a proper monk or wizard, it's one of those daintily-gathered-in-the-back. One of those I've-got-a-servant-to-manage-this ponytails. Can't say I know much about this guy, but it seems like everyone who's got one of those rubs me the wrong way, and they all happen to be Elves.
Elves... they're an all right bunch, taken as a whole - the problem is with the individuals themselves. Whatever they like to do, they throw themselves into it completely until it defines who they are. They make the sneakiest spies, the most deft thieves and the most pompous rulers - I'll let you figure out which lot Representative Pineborne is lumped in with. The first clue is that he's talking to a fire-breathing lizard like he's scolding a child, the second is that he doesn't realize how mad that sounds. I'm watching a mouse bereating a cat; a fly chastising a spider. Civilization has gone too far.
"Sanctions, Ambassador! I'm talking of Sanctions!"
And the monster he's yelling at? Well, I'm not supposed to call 'em 'monsters' anymore but when they're still eating people in my streets I'll call 'em as I see 'em - and what I see is a lizard that's twenty feet tall when he's resting comfortably on all fours. The wisps of smoke coming out of his nose smell of steak and campfires, alternately, and the evening's setting sun has placed us all in his shadow. In any other circumstances I'd be taking a parting shot from my flask, but here - in the forum of the Nation's Guild - we're all equals. Promises were made: nobody gets eaten and nobody slays anyone for honor. It's only now that I realize how silly this all is. The reverie is short-lived: struck down by the voice of a Dragonsaur, which - even when hushed for the benefit of us man-size people - commands attention and jostles loose a measure of fear from deep down in your bones.
"The concept of... sanctions... is not understood."
Don't get me wrong, the Nation's Guild made my job a hell of a lot easer - arguments solved at the consulate as opposed to the battlefield - but it lends itself to politicised bouts of bureaucracy. It used to be that a ruler would have to worry about roving Warlords demanding tribute, but a he could make himself feel better by finding someone who'd wronged his predecessor and just go burn his kingdom down a bit. You try that now-a-days and you'll find yourself staring down the business end of some sanctions. That's what the Elven Representative is threatening the Dragonsaur Ambassador with presently; his enchanted ponytail of privelidge bobbing merrily as he gestures dramatically at the beast. The silver locks brazenly dance the smug shuffle of a man mad with power, the gloating of an insecure man who knows he's winning a battle tilted in his favor from the beginning... that familiar feeling I try and hold back everytime I've got someone in my lockup.
"Not understood? The Elven Nation demands satisfaction! We will not stand idly by as you-"
The angry finger of the Elven Representative knifes through the air accusingly towards the Dragonsaur once again, but the shrill voice of the Dwarven representative pierces the air before the Elf can draw another breath. Though hard on the ears, the Dwarven timbre is an evolutionary trait: much of their lives are spent underground and shrill, tinny sounds carry further and cause fewer cave-ins. Higher voices get you heard more easily, which means more opporunity for jobs, which makes a male Dwarf more desirable to Females which means that each new generation of Dwarves is squeakier than their parents. Sure, to the human ear their voices feel like they're stabbing you in the back of your eye via the ear cavity, but scholars estaimate that in a few hundred years they'll be speaking outside our normal hearing range. In the meantime, I've got to contend with the trilling of Representative Deepshaff - not that I've got anything against him, mind you. I just wouldn't take an ale with him on account of him being a jolly drunk with a laugh that you feel in your molars. I might be able to get drunk enough that it wouldn't bother me, but I'm not sure I'd survive it.
"Sanctions are akin to... do you recall 'taxes'?"
"Yes, taxes are understood."
"Wonderful! Now, what Representative Pineborne is suggesting is that you pay a special tax to his people for a what one of your people have done."
"Instead of exacting vengeance by hurting the self, you hurt the Memories?"
"Indeed."
What we usually refer to as a "hoard", "treasure pile" or "cartload of loot", the Dragonsaurs refer to as "Memories". They accrue objects of value from their travels and from delusional young warriors on fool's errands for malicious ladies-in-waiting, but have no concept of their value the way we do. They prize aesthetically pleasing and sparkly objects purely as reminders of events in their long lives - much in the way a soldier can tell you where he was when each dent in his helmet was made. Every coin, every jewel, every punctured piece of armor belongning to a Dragonsaur tells a story. Their minds are are best thought of as a huge tome: the information is vast but inaccessible without a touchstone to act as the index.
"...and this is because the Elf nation was wronged by a self from the Dragonsaur nation."
"That is the core of the matter."
The Dragonsaur's eyes narrow contemplatively as his gaze ascends in thought.
"The Elf is dead and is unable to receive the Memories..."
A sharp, indignant inhalation from the Elf Representative is quickly quashed by the politely raised hand of the King. The Elf furrows his brow as the Dragonsaur continues.
"...and it is unknown which self has killed the Elf."
Another pregnant pause fills the room as the Dragonsaur's gaze shifts pensively. His brow lifts as a new, complicated thought dawns slowly over him. When again he speaks, it is with uncertainty.
"It is... as though all the selves of the Dragonsaur nation have hurt all the selves of the Elf nation."
The various representatives and spectators in the forum exchange impressed glances - even the Elven Representative, still sulking from his abruptly terminated tirate, raises an eyebrow. The magnitude of this realization is not lost on anyone present - the solitary existence of Dragonsaurs begets a incomplete understanding of groups and other social constructs. Dragonsaur speech sounds - to most people - like firm, unquestionable statments of fact, but when you consider that they rarely have to take the thoughts or opinions of others into their speech, you can begin to understand them. Getting them to pluralize "self" was a tremendous breakthrough. The King is the first to break the impressed silence.
"You appear to have grasped some very difficult matters rather quickly, Ambassador."
"You are kind. There is a question, if allowed."
"It is."
"What if the self who has committed the foul deed is discovered? May the tax come from the Memories of the self instead of from the nation?"
"If the criminal is located, brought to trial and found guilty by the Nation's Guild then you may enact whatever punishment you see fit."
The Dragonsaur's head straightens up a bit in surprise.
"There will be awareness of the taxes upon returning. There will also be a great desire to have justice."
"In that case, the High Inquisitor will be delighted to keep you informed of his progress."
As one, a hundred pairs of eyes settle on me. |
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2009-11-03 23:26:19 |
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"Children need to be taught from preschool that they might have to put a bullet between the eyes of their own undead mother." - Evans City, PA Police Chief Gino Fulci
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