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A child asks, and immediately is pinched in by upper arm by his mother.
“That is NOT the purview-” A grave expression appears on Lumduan as she growls at the boy, before turning to face the giant. She already has her hand out. It’s fine, she says to the goblin through the gesture.
“In making this ask, you are imposing on us - whether considered or not - a notion: that my past has a greater importance than the spirit of our gathering, to such a degree it ought to be made public.” A far less coarse, yet firm voice of the woman lingers in the air.
“Are you… cross at me?” Another squeeze of the arm. For talking back, I presume.
“In all probability, I doubt I am one-tenth as crossed as your mother. A little redder and you may need to cut that arm off soon.” Even through the veiled hat and a slight droop of her head, the laugh is inalienable. The young man brushes a thumb across his neck. Come the fuck on, that’s a little coarse, he all but speaks.
“This ‘Tiger’ I may reasonably assume refers to Vipud?” A nod from the child returns words to the social intercourse.
“Firstly it must be said he is neither a true ‘Tiger’ nor part of a ‘rape-gang’. He does not lead a bandit clan nor are he and his associates filibusters that wantonly slew and murdered and violated the folk. He --was-- an associate of robbers and ‘cutters’ as they are often called. And secondly I cut his head off. The province of Hundredfields does not accept the scalp of an outlaw as reasonable proof of death.” Only now do I recognize the woman as Waroon Tongbai.
“He and his folk made a play for relatives of Vunnapar and mine and we did not wish to tarry long in such circumstances. I am quite sure you still have your questions, child, but safe to say for all intents and purposes: I slew my demons years ago.” With a nod to the barber-surgeon, she concludes the gathering.
