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Carver's answer satisfied Arastoph. This was good. This meant that he could more easily get what he needs out of this by milking the "sole survivor" trope. However, there came issue with the brawler, who seems to have taken upon himself to present himself as the ass. Ah; setbacks, setbacks. So, how would be the best way to take care of this monkey while still playing the trope? Perhaps, maybe, undermine the brawler's efforts to absolve themselves of blame and pinning it instead on the "sole survivor", and putting the monkey up on spotlight. He'd have to really milk this, but it was doable. As Separ walked away, Arastoph began, not even bothering to look behind him at he spoke.
"So, tell me - Separ, was it? Have you ever seen what it was like to watch closely people being burned alive?" Arastoph asked. He paused for a moment for his words to sink in. "I imagine not, so let me explicitly descriptive: a small child, hunched over a bed of charcoals. Her screams of agony, oh so woeful that they were, have long since evanesced. Her blood is instead boiling, oozing through the pores of her skin. With the sight, the smell of burning skin mingled with burning hair. Her eyes pop like grapes when the water in and behind them boil."
He looked at the little girl that the lisping rogue had made her companion. "That could have just as easily been her."
He took a deep breathe, as though it were meant to regain his bearings. Now it was time to really milk it.
"Now what if I told you, that girl was my daughter?" He stated, clenching his teeth and emboldening his voice. "Would you then be so bold to suggest that I did not do everything in my power to stop that? Whereas the lot of you - all with combat experience, weapon training, and practice - had far more tools to their disposal than I ever had? As a trader, I picked a different path, which just so happened meant I couldn't support a family by ways of fighting."
His head turned back to face Carver, his face a little pink with forced, feigned anger. "If you do take responsibility," he said, "I do expect reparations. Safe passage to other towns. The lives of people are not insurable, but I expect at least the compensation for everything I've lost. I'm a merchant who had a pretty penny to his name. I've lost a lot. This would mean paying off a large monetary debt, however long it takes."
"So, tell me - Separ, was it? Have you ever seen what it was like to watch closely people being burned alive?" Arastoph asked. He paused for a moment for his words to sink in. "I imagine not, so let me explicitly descriptive: a small child, hunched over a bed of charcoals. Her screams of agony, oh so woeful that they were, have long since evanesced. Her blood is instead boiling, oozing through the pores of her skin. With the sight, the smell of burning skin mingled with burning hair. Her eyes pop like grapes when the water in and behind them boil."
He looked at the little girl that the lisping rogue had made her companion. "That could have just as easily been her."
He took a deep breathe, as though it were meant to regain his bearings. Now it was time to really milk it.
"Now what if I told you, that girl was my daughter?" He stated, clenching his teeth and emboldening his voice. "Would you then be so bold to suggest that I did not do everything in my power to stop that? Whereas the lot of you - all with combat experience, weapon training, and practice - had far more tools to their disposal than I ever had? As a trader, I picked a different path, which just so happened meant I couldn't support a family by ways of fighting."
His head turned back to face Carver, his face a little pink with forced, feigned anger. "If you do take responsibility," he said, "I do expect reparations. Safe passage to other towns. The lives of people are not insurable, but I expect at least the compensation for everything I've lost. I'm a merchant who had a pretty penny to his name. I've lost a lot. This would mean paying off a large monetary debt, however long it takes."