A Moving Speech

Doc steps forcefully forward, staring the man down. He knows they will not be friendly, but if he is to leave here without bloodshed, he'll have to use everything he's got. He focuses his mind on the group of men. He's never attempted to read the emotions of this many people at a time before, but as a group they should have some shared driving force that binds them together.

He focuses. He doesn't look them all in the eye, just the leader. From there he feels out to the rest of the crowd, funneling through the foremost monk. Their emotions are high, they are angry, frustrated. They feel like their lives on this mountain have been a total waste, and they're looking for some justification. If they can't get that, they're going to take it out on the nearest warm body. Of course, there it is again, good old fashioned fear; the usual clincher when it comes to anger and hatred and people who mean Doc harm. Their binding is fear of a new life, fear of having wasted the old, and fear of getting the shit beat out of them if they decide to attack.

It all snaps into place for Doc. He feels the collective mind of the entire band of monks. He can almost see it, an ethereal octopus in the air above them.

Doc speaks. "You sir, are a monk and have taken vows of poverty and chastity. Do those mean nothing to you? You have promised to follow the ways of the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Do you not remember the most basic of rules to being a Christian? Thou shall not kill. You have made slaves of these women just as Pharaoh held the Israelites in bondage, and now that the Red Sea has parted for us, you would mount your chariots to ride us down and kill us all?

"Unlike Cain, I am my brothers keeper. This," Doc points to Thunderhorse, "is my brother and I intend to keep him. You have held his wife for five long years, and now they are reunited. I am willing to forgive your transgressions, but don't think for a second that he has. If you make one aggressive move, he will slay you all and burn this place to the ground. Do not underestimate our ability to do you harm. If you attack us, it will be you who lines a fresh grave in the morning, not us."

Doc points at the vikings. "Look at these men. They are hardened by a thousand battles, killed men by the hundreds and even now, they lust to spill your blood like so many before. So ask yourself brother, do you want to die on a cold night for a piece of ass? Take my advice and in the morning go to Bridgetown and aid the people there. I'm certain that there are some young widows who would welcome your 'counsel' and your warm advances in the night. Don't throw your God-given life away on some hill girl who would knife you in her sleep if she could.

"So what do you say brother? Are you really ready to meet your maker tonight?"

For a moment, there is nothing. The band of angry monks slowly relax their aggressive posture and slink back to their corner of the dining hall.

The spokesman tries to maintain his front of being in control. "Alright, offya go then. But watchyer backs."

Doc returns to the party. Jazelle is impressed, though she tries not to show it. Doc feels exhausted. It's been a long day, and that speech has left him totally drained. His mouth is dry, his muscles are tired, and he just wants to sleep, but they have to forge on.

"Okay, lets get the hell out of here."