Denial
Lightning splinters the sky as a roar of thunder reverberates through the courtyard. The betrayed colonel's body crumples like paper in this torrential downpour, folding over itself into irreparable ruin.
"No. This cannot be. This is but a nightmare. Wake yourself and go to your son."
As the High Priest reaches the gallows, he can't help but observe the way the platinum shield still held takes on an unnatural rusted appearance as blood and water wash over the depiction of Bahamut in steady streams.
"No, no. Lautrec is safe and well in the Barracks. You know this. Be at peace."
No response slips from the fallen colonel's gaping jaw. No sign of recognition beams from the vacant eyes. No sense of life pulses from the punctured heart.
"No, no, no. My son, my son. Lautrec, this is not your fate!"
Anger
"No. We must not let them slither away from the justice they have so disparaged. These serpents cannot be allowed to escape the consequence of their crimes. We must hunt these mongrels like the animals they are."
The room falls hush in the wake of the venomous denouncement.
"Councilor, we understand your... personal interest in this matter. There is no one in this room who does not desire seeing those responsible returned and brought to justice. But with no intelligence on their whereabouts or their plans, you must see the folly in expending our resources to seek them out."
Several of those gathered around the long platinum table nod, being cautious to avert their gaze from the white dragonborn in white robes still seething at the northern end of the chamber.
"What message would this send of the Platinum Dragon's Justice? His Mercy? Their escape is an insult to every belief of this city. We mustn't allow them to avoid their unequivocally deserved retribution of suffering and death."
"High Priest, you are not incorrect, but you are blinded by rage and despair, justifiably. But even in light of the recent tragedy, we cannot endanger the city nor region by siphoning off resources for this manhunt you suggest. Rest assured, if those two brothers ever return to Avraathe, the Justice of Bahamut will be the first greeting they receive. Until then, we must focus on other, more pressing concerns."
"Is this how all of you feel? Does Councilor Tedrog speak for each of you? Well, I formally bring forth the proposition as a vote then. For if each of you are decided in the denial of my deserved recompense, I want to know and remember each name and face of those who would see the ruin of my family go unpunished. I demand a plain sight vote regarding this topic, as is my right. All in favor of bringing these despicable monsters to justice, say 'Aye.'"
The room falls quiet once more as the resounding silence falls resolute and definitive. Before the opposed can speak, the grinding of a platinum chair against stone floor and the rustling of white robes breaks the silence as the white dragonborn exits and the stone door slams shut.
"If they will not grant me reprisal beyond these walls, then I will claim it for myself within. So be it. I will have my revenge on those monsters who are responsible and the cowards who have forsaken us. Platinum Dragon guide me."
Depression
Dradke wept.
In the tendays following Lautrec's untimely demise, the ever-deepening well of despair within the mourning father remained stifled by the dams of ritual and responsibility. But in the early morning light on a day with no obligations, the walls could no longer hold back the flood of loss and grief.
This cannot be Justice, a quiet voice within him whispered.
Once this well of sorrow had been drawn, Dradke found himself returning more frequently. Though a bitter drink, he found the agony of an empty living numbed by the comfort provided in quenching his thirst.
This cannot be Mercy, the quiet voice whispered to him.
Before long, Dradke felt himself slip away, floating in a flooded chasm of his anguish. Moving through his days with a listless gloom draped over him like a veil, the agonizing sting of mere living seemed to fade into an ethereal indifference.
This cannot be Truth, the whispers assured him. There is a better way.
Bargaining
They are all blind. Scales of tradition weigh heavy on their eyes.
Truth is nothing but pain and grief.
This cannot be Mercy.
As the whisper's within him grew more persistent, Dradke grew hesitant, listening more cautiously. But soon found the strangling grip of grief's hold on him still too tight and returned once more to the comfort of the whispers' words.
There is a better way. The others cannot see it. They do not understand the Truth one can only know when all else is lost. You are the only one who can see the world for what it is.
For the first time, Dradke responded to the whispers, speaking softly to the ceiling in the stillness of his opulent bedchamber.
"How do I know this is truth? Why has Bahamut kept it from us?"
The Platinum Dragon does not protect you, but keeps true Justice from you, always just out of reach. It has been how many months and you still have no recompense for the unspeakable crimes committed against you? How is that just? How is that merciful?"
"If you speak truth, how can I trust it? I don't even know who you are."
Who I am does not matter, for I can provide something the Platinum Dragon cannot. Not only justice, but reconciliation. Not with those who have brought you this annihilation, but with that which you have lost.
"My son is gone. Not even were such rituals allowed would it be possible to bring him back."
Then you know not the true depth nor reach of Mercy. There is a way. Let me show you. To reunite with your son. To show Avraathe the truth. To finally enact your revenge on those who murdered your Lautrec. This is true Mercy.
Dradke did not respond, choosing instead to watch the early dawnlight trace the outline of the city as it cast shadows through his chamber.
In the still peace, the promise of the whispers burrowed deeper into his heart.
Acceptance
As they dwelled within him, the whispers stoked the still-burning anger which had laid dormant in the drifting haze of his depression, fanning the flames of fury with rekindled purpose.
You see it now. Truth is the only great lie. It is not just. It is not merciful. I can give you true Mercy. I can offer you true Justice. But it will take work and sacrifice on your part. Will you follow the path before you? Will you accept this gift only I can bestow?
"I accept. Show me how to bring my Lautrec back."
Wise choice. Now, there is work to be done.
Those around Dradke were pleased and quite relieved to see sparks of life return to his eyes as he rededicated himself to his tasks and responsibilities with a renewed fervor for justice and mercy. His peers would speak highly of his restored drive and his refreshing insight in the council's meetings. The congregation noted his impassioned messages during the services he led. The city itself blossomed like a spring flower bursting forth from a season of rain and gloom.
In the midst of this resurgence, the whispers returned intermittently, always providing the next cryptic step in a grand plan Dradke could never see the whole of. But this did not concern him, for he rested and trusted in the truth of his purpose. A heathen though he may be, his leadership guided the city towards brighter days. Though now an outsider to their worldview, the insights whispered to him in the dead of night steadied the city against the chaos beyond the walls. And as the chosen conduit of this mysterious guide, he would finally be reunited with his son.
"This is not true mercy. This is not true justice. This is merely stage-play dressed up as truth." Dradke would think to himself as he traced patterns in the altar cloth with his idle hands during prayer services.
Yes, you finally understand. Now, the time has come to put our plan into motion. Call upon the outcasted sorcerer. Offer him the same justice and mercy you have found in me.
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