03-04-2016, 01:28 AM
Paul was a man of careful planning, a intense demeanor, but also a noble demeanor. Like a feral cat wearing a porcelain mask, he was a master of himself- exuding rigid discipline and self-assured mastery.
In the green-skinned one he saw an understanding. His cessation of violence was not entirely due to Paul’s use of voice and there was an intelligence there- even if it was a warrior’s cunning. The other one, Paul assumed her human or as close to it as it got here, had a harder edge to her retort.
Nothing would be gained here from quick action and he could feel that, letting the two of them bicker between each other. Every word was information he did not yet have and each meaning he gleaned was a piece of the puzzle. When he could see the whole picture, perhaps he could see why the winds of his mind had blew him here, to this moment.
Paul’s voice was slow, like water seeping though layers of rocks, but carried as much force as that of erosion despite him no longer using voice.
“I am Paul Atreides, Duke of House Atreides.” He did not speak his Fremen name, known only to those of Sietch Tabr, for he felt his former identity might serve him better to those who spoke of commanders and armies.
“If, when I am done speaking, you still seek to spill the water of each other- you may do so and I will not be the one to stay your hands...” He said, his blue in blue eyes of Spice addiction examining both of the combatants with a fixed stared.
“Both I and my man Gurney Hallack are men well accustomed to wars and the casualties they cause... but blood spilt in sand a second time does not erase the first.”
He was beginning to understand. The orc, as it appeared they were called, had slain the woman’s parents. He felt that pain in a very real sense within himself. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had, in his world, killed his own father and the wound was still fresh.
“I am here to offer you a new path. A path that ends the cycle. A shortening of ways, if you will. See... if you, m’lady, were to slay him what would stop his men from slaying you and your allies from seeking their revenge for your death? Or, should he best you, would you ever feel your back was safe from the knives of his assassins and revengers? No... I should think not. What you need are rules and an agreement- bound by those who stand here and imperial observes... like myself and my man Gurney. And, as such a duel would have no binding power should both of you fall, you must do it to injury- the loser living in shame, forsaking all claim against the other and admitting them their master.”
Fate had placed him here to arbitrate. To guide them. To gain wisdom. The question was- would they listen?
In the green-skinned one he saw an understanding. His cessation of violence was not entirely due to Paul’s use of voice and there was an intelligence there- even if it was a warrior’s cunning. The other one, Paul assumed her human or as close to it as it got here, had a harder edge to her retort.
Nothing would be gained here from quick action and he could feel that, letting the two of them bicker between each other. Every word was information he did not yet have and each meaning he gleaned was a piece of the puzzle. When he could see the whole picture, perhaps he could see why the winds of his mind had blew him here, to this moment.
Paul’s voice was slow, like water seeping though layers of rocks, but carried as much force as that of erosion despite him no longer using voice.
“I am Paul Atreides, Duke of House Atreides.” He did not speak his Fremen name, known only to those of Sietch Tabr, for he felt his former identity might serve him better to those who spoke of commanders and armies.
“If, when I am done speaking, you still seek to spill the water of each other- you may do so and I will not be the one to stay your hands...” He said, his blue in blue eyes of Spice addiction examining both of the combatants with a fixed stared.
“Both I and my man Gurney Hallack are men well accustomed to wars and the casualties they cause... but blood spilt in sand a second time does not erase the first.”
He was beginning to understand. The orc, as it appeared they were called, had slain the woman’s parents. He felt that pain in a very real sense within himself. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen had, in his world, killed his own father and the wound was still fresh.
“I am here to offer you a new path. A path that ends the cycle. A shortening of ways, if you will. See... if you, m’lady, were to slay him what would stop his men from slaying you and your allies from seeking their revenge for your death? Or, should he best you, would you ever feel your back was safe from the knives of his assassins and revengers? No... I should think not. What you need are rules and an agreement- bound by those who stand here and imperial observes... like myself and my man Gurney. And, as such a duel would have no binding power should both of you fall, you must do it to injury- the loser living in shame, forsaking all claim against the other and admitting them their master.”
Fate had placed him here to arbitrate. To guide them. To gain wisdom. The question was- would they listen?
![[Image: AXsJ8wI.png]](http://i.imgur.com/AXsJ8wI.png)