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Cold
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 04:48 PM |
“I amember when I was like ya, an I wanna make ya a promise. I’m werkin’ on makin it so ya can stay you. Don’ ever change.”
- Johe
~*~
“And what if the Emperor told you to kill me, for no reason?”
“I guess I would have to. I don’t trust my own judgement. That is what authority figures are for.”
“I see... Would you not even question it, just a bit?”
“Question it? What part of it?”
“The reason. Wouldn’t you want to know why he would want me dead? Wouldn’t you try to convince him otherwise?”
“Well, of course. I thought you meant he had already gotten to the stage where the order was given.”
“And what if he gave the order, with reasons you think are completely unjustified?”
“I guess I would follow it. I have done that lots.”
“Why not refuse to follow it?”
“Because that would be unprofessional?”
“So? Why not refuse it for the sake of a friend who cares about you, instead of doing it for the sake of a tortoise who, it seems, couldn’t care less? It would be the friendly thing to do.”
“Um.”
“It doesn’t mean not being a good lackey, it just means being a good friend, as well.”
“I just follow orders, Tristan. I’m not qualified to debate the ethics of them. I leave that to people who are.”
“You have as much qualification to debate the ethics as any other creature.”
“Nuh uh.”
“You do. You have your own mind, that gives you the right...”
“I have my duty.”
“Yes, duty is important isn’t it?”
“Of course.”
- Tristan & Miramil |
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Re: Cold
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 04:57 PM |
| ((*Grins* Very entertaining. Was there any poking involved?)) |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Obedience
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 06:03 PM |
Obey
When you do something you are ordered to do, you obey. Ordered to do - not asked to do, not told to do - Ordered to do.
How far can a mind really go with obedience? Where is the line drawn? It is a question of individuality - emotions, ethics, beliefs, they are the factors which decide where is that line, substract or add as you please.
What is this line? It is the line which defines how docile you are, how far you are willing to bend before you snap like a twig. When an ordered crosses that line, you simply cannot obey. It goes too far against your ethics, your beliefs, your emotions - when your descipline is not strong enough to force you into obedience.
Everyone has such a line... or so I thought.
~*~
As long as the order does not go too far, you are willing to bend. Some are more docile than others, able to bend their will further - because of greater discipline, or because they are simply indifferent to a degree.
I met a mind who is indifferent. It is not the first indifferent mind I knew, it will not be the last. But it is alltogether different.
She has no line, she has no limit to what she is capable of obeying. I could have told her to kill me, and she would. I could have told her to put the very existance of the world to it's end, and if she was capable of doing so - she would.
Her mind does not bend to orders, but surprisingly, it does not break either. Her mind is set on obedience, the sole purpose it clicks for is to obey. Yes, click for.
Such mind clicks. It lives, but it does not live. It is a machine, who's gears click and tick and turn in a single purpose - Obedience.
~*~
Does she have her own beliefs? Yes - Obedience.
Does she have emotions, or ethics? I cannot truly say. I do not yet see in the dark depths of her mind. I do not know if she has something, anything, which defines her mentality as one of a living being.
She had former masters, and many of them. I actually shudder to think what deeds she has commited in her fanatical obedience.
Such a mind, even for me, is horrible to imagine.
~*~
Indifference.
Indifference is the opposite of emotions, of opinions, of ethics, of beliefs.
Indifference is the worse than hatred or anger.
That mind is indifferent.
~*~
Logic
Logic is the key word for what she is. Logic makes her machine tick, logic drives every single action she does - her very obedience is based on logic.
She is so purely logical that it's horrible.
Logic is a butcher of freedom. Logic comes where emotions are lacking. While emotions are a variable, ever-changing and unpredictable. Logic the opposite, logic is a constant, and hence it denies individuality.
She is a slave to logic. Logic denies her from her freedom, from her own individual way of thinking, she does what is logical to do - what is effective to do - and the way her mind works is no different than the work of a construct. There are differences, beneficial or otherwise, but the basics are the same.
~*~
My name is Trent Kelten, you might have known me as a Paladin, a Knight of Midoran.
I am the thirty ninth master of that highly-obedient, biological machine.
My cares are her cares, my beliefs are her beliefs. They will be so until my ownership of her ceases, until I am no longer her master. She will obey until that day comes.
Do I trust her? No.
She is indifferent. She obeys but she is not loyal. If she sees a more logical master to serve and obey to, she will cease her own servitude of me if needs be.
She will know nothing of my mind, my plans, my secrets - I cannot entrust her with those.
~*~
There is certainly much in her I do not know, much I have still to learn.
Am I mistaken about her, about her mind and how it works? It is possible. However I do not doubt I hold a substantial amount of truth about the matter.
I find her no more than a golem, and her life are no life at all, and like a golem who serves his master - she is expendable. I hold no emotion towards her. She is an item, an object. Why? Because she acts like it.
However, she is still a living creature. I would lie if I say that something inside me does not wish to see her act like the living creature she is. I see her existance as a horrible existance, one I would not wish for the worst of my enemies.
~*~
I may theorize and I may conclude - but she still remain an enigma to me.
For now |
WickedArtist: I think he needs a proper elf.
WickedArtist: A christmas elf!
Tasra: Any sort of elf that actually smiles ;o
Gasp! Scandalous!!! |
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Miramil
Posted: 20 Feb 2005 07:16 PM |
I hate this.
I am not talking about the stuff Mister Trent wants me to do. That is easy stuff. I mean, sure, I will be really unpopular if anyone finds out what he’s getting me to do, but that has never worried me. You are going to be unpopular to some degree regardless of what you do, you know? So you may as well not worry about it too much.
He has not explicitly blackmailed me or anything and gone, “Do what I tell you or I will tell everyone what you have done, and bla bla bla, and if you cease to be useful I will reveal all, bla bla bla bla” but the threat is implicitly there. Well, DUH! He would be really silly not to do something like that. I guess he has not said it because he knows I do not care. That, or he has realised I will do what he says anyway, regardless of whether he threatens me or not.
But that is not what I was talking about.
What I mean is that it is really hard to stay focused.
There is a way of doing it and I have done it on occasion. It’s not a terribly hard trick: I just go “Focus!” and then I reply “Okay!” and it is done.
It’s like simultaneously being in absolute control of yourself, and yet not.
The mind is working and the body is working, but the soul is trapped outside looking in. You are watching yourself from the outside. You are invincible and untouchable and there is nothing you cannot do save one thing: control your own thoughts and actions. |
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From the Outside
Posted: 21 Feb 2005 01:56 PM |
If you have never seen yourself from the outside—
If you have never stepped outside yourself and watched yourself function automatically, like some dead thing in a living body, like some simulacrum of life—
If you have never cut your soul off so completely from the rest of you that nothing, nothing, could get through and affect you, make you feel, make you change your mind, make you stop and think about whether what you are doing is right or wrong—
I don’t suggest you begin now.
~*~
I am looking at this me that is not really me. The one that controls things to the finest minutiae: how she stands; how she speaks; how she blinks and breathes; how her heart beats. It is the most spookifying thing I have ever seen.
I have known her for forty years and I cannot get rid of her.
Yet she can get rid of me effortlessly.
~*~
She is talking to Trent and he is listening to the words, but I can see that he is also listening to the emptiness behind the words. Making observations. Asking questions. Passing judgement.
I see two mirrors facing each other: cold, glassy, reflecting nothing.
~*~
This is the most dangerous thing she has ever done. I have ever done, I mean.
I look back over the past forty years and I see places no map has ever even mentioned a hint of, people no scholar would have ever heard of. Unnamed places. Faceless people. Things that don’t matter.
I look back over the past month and then at the days to come. Whatever the others might have thought of the Emperor, he permitted me to be me and go about things my own way. It is the longest time I have spent inside myself. But after this...
After this, I see a future where I will forever be outside myself, if I have a future at all. |
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Re: From the Outside
Posted: 21 Feb 2005 05:43 PM |
((I absolutely love your writing style. There is something so intriguing about your persona's and the way they speak.
Keep it coming.)) |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Games
Posted: 24 Feb 2005 02:21 AM |
Then
“You just lost, Mister Trent.”
“Lost what?”
“The staring competition.”
“...I didn’t know we were competing...”
~*~
Now
... And he still does not know.
You would think that he would be a little less clueless now, what with the plotting and the acting devious and the dressing in black like a shady person.
I am going to tell you something that I know that he doesn’t. Are you ready? Here it comes:
The world is a playing field and life is a game. And all there is to danger is numbers: nothing but numbers.
And I am a lure at the end of an anglerfish, leading into the jaws of chance.
~*~
That probably made you go, “Whooa! You crazy Gnome lady person, you just did a one hundred and eighty degree turn from that last thing you said about not having a future!”
... Come down here so I can bop you over the head with my tambourine. Then maybe you will get some sense knocked into you.
You probably see life as a series of events, all strung together nice and neatly, one after the other, like a pearl necklace or something. But if the string snaps and everything scatters... does it really matter? If you scoop all the pearls up again and hold them in your hands, does it matter if they’re not connected as long as you have them all?
You are probably going, “Well of course it matters, silly! Life has to make sense! Things have to follow on from each other!”
Nuh uh.
They do not.
~*~
He is the same weak personality. Just hidden behind a false wall of self-confidence. Do you really think that Vampiress cares at all about him?
Nope!
Well, he does. The same naïve person. He thinks she would care about him. When she is done playing with him, you can pick up his pieces if anything is left. Weakness made him fail his own life.
Fail how?
Did he try to change his situation?
Um, no.
So he failed at his life. Miserably. He did not deserve any better.
- Shihaya’zad & Miramil
~*~
One thing, Miramil...
Mmm?
Don’t ever change.
That is what Johe said. It is a silly thing to say. Everything changes.
Yes, of course, but... don’t change for... hum... well, like Trent?
Wear black? Ick!
I meant in his mind.
Oh. But Shihaya’zad said his mind was the same?
He... he is naïve... that I must admit... but he was not weak... he... he was unsure...
How come?
When things happen in life... that... shatters all you believe in... it... it makes you feel unsure.
Well, glass shatters and all you do is melt it down and re-forge it.
I hope it could be the same...
Well, no, it is not the same but it is still glass.
But the mind... it’s harder to re-melt it.
Well, the melting is the easy bit. The rebuilding is the hard bit.
- Blanche & Miramil
~*~
I am... seriously... going to be... in sooOoooOoo much trouble when this is all over. |
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Nethar’u
Posted: 27 Feb 2005 04:27 AM |
The stairs spiral down into the darkness, like a one-way path into the hidden depths of the soul. The heat is intense, like the breath of a thousand demons, or the seething fury of a buried god. She knows it is a nightmare and yet she also knows that it is, somehow, real.
The difference is inconsequential. For now... it is real.
She descends the stairs with a calmness that surprises her, knowing and yet not knowing what awaits. Before her, behind her, and to either side of her come the footsteps of others. Unseen others, there and yet not there, dreaming the same dream, treading the same path.
Their presence is undeniable but they may as well be ghosts—yet, invisible as they are, she knows their identities: Thomas; Luther; Vurbag; Faldan; Sola; Elrith; and Garrak. Together they travel alone to the foot of that staircase, to the uppermost levels of hell. A hell by the name of Nethar’u.
Their separate dreams blend into one as they pass the bottommost step. A threshold has been crossed. The others flicker into existence as the dream solidifies, their combined minds strengthening the reality of that hellish place: the stink of it; the heat of it; the gloom, the eyes watching from the darkness, the far-off alien screeches of demons hunting.
She still does not know how it came to this; still does not understand what truly happened on the day that they all came here, to this place, to negotiate the release of a fallen angel with the lord of hell.
That, too, is inconsequential.
What matters... is that it happened.
What matters... is that they swore an oath, here, once upon a time. And have since failed to fulfil it.
And now they are here to pay the price for that failure.
They stand in a loosely defensive arrowhead formation by some unknown instinct. Even as they take their positions, they know the gesture is a futile one. The demons that will come for them tonight... will not come charging from the darkness, eyes burning, teeth snapping, claws flashing.
The demons will come from the inside.
He appears from nowhere, teasing their peripheral vision, but even as they turn to look, the lord of hell is already gone. His voice is everywhere and nowhere. Filling their ears, their minds, their hearts and souls. Speaking in a language so infernal that it burns just to listen to the words. Words that spell their souls out letter for letter. He knows the secret corners, the hidden darkness, that lurks within every last one of them.
Within that darkness, he sets off a flare.
The pain is more than merely physical. It is a psychological agony. It is the feeling of having your mind vivisected, warped, stretched, snapped, shattered. Over and over and over again, through years, through centuries, through millennia, through eternity. The light pushing at the darkness. Revealing things hidden within that you never knew existed, or never wanted to admit knowing. Pushing and pushing at you until you lose all control and lash out at everything close to you—and everyone.
The familiarity of it is what shocks her. The experience of floating outside herself, watching as this thing that looks like her but is not her possesses her mind and body, decimates her life, while she stands by and watches. To the others, it is a punishment from the lord of hell.
But to her, it is a way of life she chose to follow. Long before the nightmares, long before the oath, long before that fateful trip to Nethar’u. It is something so familiar to her that she does not fear it, does not question it. She welcomes it.
The light glares into that corner of her mind, refusing to turn its attention elsewhere. It is something she has always known, but to see it in that light is a terrifying thing. It is a perspective she has never previously considered, and the revelation makes her shudder.
It is with new eyes that she looks around at the others—the same but not the same, transformed at the core of their beings yet still able to masquerade as themselves. She looks at them and she sees demons of Nethar’u. Nu’men’s servants. His soldiers. His cannon fodder.
She looks at them and she realises with a sudden feeling of horror that she, too, is one of them.
~*~
They are getting worse.
At first they were just minor. The nightmares, I mean. Just superficial stuff like, “Oh no I remember that one time I failed to do that very important thing” or “Ouch it hurts to be hackified”. General things, you know. But more and more they seem to be... getting tailored to fit. To be more accurate. To strike where it really hurts.
Sometimes you want to wake up from the nightmares but you cannot. Sometimes you will think you are still awake and then you realise you are not and you cannot escape.
It’s like a parasite. The longer it stays in, the deeper it burrows.
Sooner or later, I am fairly certain that parasite will burrow straight into our cores. And then the nightmares will no longer be nightmares.
They will be our reality. Forever. |
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The Emissary
Posted: 03 Mar 2005 04:51 AM |
“He is coming for you.”
The raspy voice was dead yet not dead, and colder than the frigid air that seemed to have frozen, as time itself seemed to have frozen, within Cold Canyon.
Bereil, Shihaya’zad and Miramil unanimously headed for the relative safety of Icy Vale.
Yet even there the undead were laying in wait...
~*~
I did not do it.
I swear I did not do it. I have nooo idea why there are sooo many people looking for me these days but it is not my fault.
So there.
I mean, I try to keep a low profile. Really I do. I’m just the one who runs errands, you know? The one who follows orders and does stuff behind the scenes and quietly gets things done. If I can get something done or solved without anyone noticing that it was me who did it, then that is a job well done. That is the way things are supposed to be. There is not supposed to be any glory to be had with being a lackey, there is no credit to be taken. You do what you do and you do it so people don’t notice.
So the fact that I am as popular as a Vandle or a Bereil all of a sudden is a very disturbing thing indeed.
There is not much that will rattle me. Ask anyone. I mean, really rattle me, not pretend-rattle me. Pretend-rattle is an exclamation of “eeh” or a proclamation that something is scary. Real rattle is stuff that makes you cold and shivery and hate being alive at that very moment.
This being in the spotlight thing... I freely admit that it rattles me. For real.
So to all those people who are after me: poo to you all! Focus your attention elsewhere. I hate the spotlight. I hate it more than I have ever hated anything in my life.
~*~
The skies darkened over Brandibuck Vale, a sudden and inexplicable veil of clouds rolling in to cover the stars and the one-eyed moon that glared full and round upon the six of them that stood outside the Ye Hole in the Ground Inn: Bereil, Shihaya’zad and Miramil; and Blanche, Arcane and Tagius.
The cawing of crows filled the air, yet there were none to be seen. The restless wind whispered in the darkness. The clouds wept cold tears, knowing what was to come, but too far away and intangible to be of any use.
A voice, breathless, lifeless, whispered in her ear:
“Come to me.”
She blinked, frowned and turned towards it.
“Go away,” she said sulkily.
~*~
There were lots of naughty bad Undead on the Path of Ladriel and Mister Bereil went super-whreeeeong and took them all out. We went into the Tower to stop and think for a bit, and when we came out Mister Gabriel (the one that likes riddles, not Mister Gabe from Buckshire) was there. We had a nice chat and that let Arcane and Blanche and Tagius catch up with us.
Poor Blanche had an allergic reaction to Mister Gabriel. She was very sick and only mentioned the reason why later on. Something about how eeevilll and tainted peoples and things make her physically ill. There are actually ways of stopping it but I didn’t say anything. I just said I would invent something to stop it.
You see, people who are sensitive to that sort of thing are that way because they choose to be that way. If they were not then they would be, well, insensitive. You know? So that is why it is better to leave them be.
Look, lots and lots was said and I will not repeat it all. Not here. Not like this. Maybe you will see one of us one day and we can tell you. But this is not about the specifics. This is about two things:
First, Mister Gabriel says that the master he serves is capable of retrieving Miss Fri’el’s soul. He says he will come back to talk about it and show me what he means. That made Blanche very upset for some reason; I guess he was radiating eeevilll a lot at that moment. At some point I may ask him to turn it down just a tad for Blanche, because she just gets sick really often from this sort of thing and prolonged exposure to eeevilll cannot be a good thing for her.
But anyway. Yes. Finally, a possible solution to this soul thing.
...There were no nightmares that night. Coincidence? I think not.
Second, when it was all over and we all went our separate ways, Mister Bereil said something that just, well, struck a chord...
~*~
I will be keeping an eye over ye, Miramil.
Isn’t that what you said to Mister Trent?
Not quite. I told Trent I would protect him. |
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Counteraction
Posted: 03 Mar 2005 05:23 AM |
Contrary to what you may believe, I am not as random and spontaneous as I appear. I take a long time to come to decisions, if I make them at all. That is why it is handy to have people to make them for you. If you can train yourself to just follow orders without questioning them, then making decisions becomes someone else’s problem. Someone else’s responsibility.
Roll your eyes all you like. Some of us simply aren’t built for decision making. I’d be a terrible leader, but I’m an extraordinary follower. It’s what I’m good at. So it’s what I do.
A lot of evidence, a lot of facts and opinions, have fallen into my hands over the past week alone. A lot of things have happened that have made people voice thoughts they would otherwise keep to themselves... if they thought them at all.
And I have made a decision.
~*~
I can’t tell you what it is.
Do you understand? I can’t. I don’t know what exactly it is myself. I can’t even tell you how I have acted upon it; only that I have. Only that it will work. It must work.
~*~
You trust her, Blanche?
I wasn’t even supposed to hear that. It is something Mister Byron said, very quietly, and I think something just clicked at that moment.
Gnomes are engineers by nature. Not just with machines and chemicals and things. With situations, people, plans.
I think I’ve engineered my own destruction. Do you remember what I said about my future? That hasn’t changed. But something else has.
I’ve considered all the consequences. None of them are nice consequences but I am prepared to be responsible for any and all of them. I knew where this road would lead from the moment I agreed to Mister Trent’s offer. I knew that if I succeeded it would be the end of everything, and if I failed it would still be the end of everything.
It doesn’t matter. It’s better to have something to lose than nothing at all.
~*~
This is the single stupidest thing I have ever done. And for the life of me, I could not tell you why I am doing it. |
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Re: Counteraction
Posted: 03 Mar 2005 06:16 AM |
| ((Classic stuff. I love it. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Sabotage, Part I
Posted: 05 Mar 2005 08:52 AM |
People think that being in control means, “Oh I will do this exactly this way”—and then proceeding to do just that.
But it’s nowhere near as prescriptive as that.
Being in control means being in control of the big picture. It requires forethought and versatility. It doesn’t mean coming up with one plan and sticking with it all the way through; it means being willing to change and being able to change... but in such a way that the original goal is still achieved.
I know how I work. I am my own worst enemy.
I am the only one who can sabotage my own mind; who can throw sand into the gears and bring them to a screeching halt.
~*~
You might be going, oooh a conscience, oooh she has one. Or maybe you are thinking, oooh she is up to something really eeevilll.
Look. I don’t do things because it is the good or evil thing to do. I do things because they need to be done. Having said that... right and wrong, and good and evil, are completely different things. They are two separate spectra... not one and the same, as some would have you believe. What is right is not always good; and what is wrong is not always evil.
And something someone said was wrong.
Completely wrong. When this is over—maybe even a little before—I will come back to that point and explain it to you. But not now. Never mind who it was and what it was; I’ve mentioned it previously. So there’s a hint if you are impatient.
A dead mind has no right to be in a living body. Speaking through it. Acting through it. Maiming and killing it from the inside.
I am not talking about me either.
~*~
I said I would not tell you what I have done to act upon my decision, but know this:
Bereil suspects something; I have made sure of it. The correct amount of evasion was there. The phrases just the slightest bit off; the topic changed to something completely unrelated. I thought maybe he would need a prod but in the end he came up with the question all by himself. I’m so proud.
Does Trent know of my plan?
And the answer, neither confirming nor denying, and not even an answer in of itself—but a question:
Do you want me to ask?
~*~
Johe and Claudia suspect something. Actually, with them, “suspect” is not the correct word. Johe knows something is up; he knows a plan when he sees it. Claudia, I expect, will have it explained to her at some later date. She was quite thoroughly confused.
You think you know why I do this, don’t you? Why I follow orders. Why I’ve done it for, oh, about eighty per cent of my entire life.
Hah. Your transparent conjectures are known to me. And guess what? You’re wrong.
~*~
A one hundred per cent probability is a rare thing, but know this: for everyone who’s never followed my Very Good Advice, there has always, always been a one hundred per cent chance of them failing. Spectacularly.
~*~
I am thinking of a visit to Lynaeum. Of coming in to the Four Winds from the downpour that was sloshing down endlessly outside. I am thinking of things that were said. Of an oblique attack upon something I believed; of the unexpected defence, unasked for but not unwanted.
I am thinking of a question I asked once, not so long ago—a question that’s puzzled scholars for eons and still continues to do so to this day. I am thinking of the answer, so simple, so completely illogical and scientifically infeasible, that was given to me. That answer cannot be proven empirically. It requires faith to believe that it is correct. Nothing but faith. And that answer was given in full faith.
I am thinking of a rescue—one of too many where I have been the subject. I am remembering what an overkill it was, to bring such an experienced and formidable party to so minor a place. An effort that was not required, but was nevertheless undertaken. Even by those who were too exhausted to have been an effective part of that team.
I am preparing to say goodbye to all that because that is all past and lost, and will remain so if I fail.
But to succeed I have to fail. |
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Re: Sabotage, Part I
Posted: 06 Mar 2005 04:45 AM |
| ((?? I can't wait to see where this is going)) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
--
"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
--
<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Intermission
Posted: 06 Mar 2005 06:31 AM |
((?? I can't wait to see where this is going))
((You heard the man, WickedArtist—get Trent in game, pronto! Argh, I have been dying of suspense myself, but I didn’t want Miramil to get too far ahead in the plot without her master around.))
~*~
Everyone I know is sooo inept at subterfuge.
For instance, da fuzzy Barrel, also known as Mister Bereil, is going to get himself completely destroyed. However, I have done what I can. I have given what advice I can. If he chooses not to heed my Very Good Advice regarding infiltration and impersonation (amongst other things) then, well... on his head be it.
Mister Trent is the other one. Silly Trent. Gee! Let’s single me out of a crowd, call me away to have a chat, talk in full view of said crowd in the open at normal speaking volume, then warn me not to talk about what was said to anyone and not come up with a cover story of what was said! Ohh and then there was when the Emperor got killed. Very subtle there. Wow, let’s not even check to see if there are hidden or invisible people about both times we talked. Let’s not take measures not to get found out and spied upon. Let’s not come up with code words and designated meeting places and—
Sorry. Even I have my limits. I can only abide so much stupidity.
I bring this up because Mister Bereil and I went to Midor, disguised as two people named Leib and Koer. And YUS, you guessed it, he hadn’t really thought things through. We got lucky.
This other thing he is doing, this big grand plan, it cannot be dependant on luck. Yet that is what he is depending upon.
For I have had to tip chance against him.
~*~
Tell me... do my orders, my demands that make you betray your friends, are they difficult for you to commit?
No.
~*~
In my mind’s eye, I see the jigsaw puzzle of the past make and unmake itself. Now whole, now fragmented. The pieces shuffling and falling into place, only to be removed again, only to be reconfigured.
I see Sola and Whisper storming away from the Lagoon. I imagine Trent smirking invisibly at me as he speaks.
I pity those who entrust you with their secrets.
I think of things people have told me and no one else. People who are suspicious by nature, yet whose trust I have earned within mere days of knowing them.
I think of an evening in Brandibuck. And Blanche. And Byron leaning over to her and murmuring quietly in a voice I was not supposed to overhear.
You trust her, Blanche?
I think of Blanche’s ability to sense corruption. And the fact that she has sensed none from me.
I am seeing Tristan telling me that despite what I might believe, I am a good friend. I am seeing Trent telling me the exact opposite, confident that it is what makes me a reliable and valuable resource for him. And only I know which of the two is correct.
I am seeing myself and Bereil striding into Midor in disguise. I am thinking that it is a good thing that Trent does not consider him a threat. If I had been under orders to subvert Bereil’s grand plan... that would have been the perfect time to do it.
I am seeing myself at that time when I was alone at Sable Lake, plotting a future without the Emperor. None of those possibilities I had prepared for have eventuated. The situation as it stands is completely different to anything I could have ever imagined.
The memories come around full circle. To the Lagoon again. To Sola, furious, yet at the same time... sad. Maybe I am wrong, but I thought there was sadness there, hidden beneath the anger and frustration. Sadness towards Trent.
Trent fell from grace, do you not understand that?
I am thinking that I have never, ever had second thoughts about anything in my life and this is a reeeeallly bad time to start. |
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Downfall
Posted: 10 Mar 2005 02:54 PM |
What I have heard, I cannot repeat. Nor can I tell you whose secrets I keep.
I will say this much: all those years away from major cities and away from people you meet on a day-to-day basis were so much easier to handle. Fewer politics. Less drama. A life that was not in any way convoluted.
It’s becoming more and more evident that I am outgrowing the simple existence of belonging to a single person and carrying out task after task in a mindless fashion.
Let me just get to the point here:
I’ve been assigned a task.
Oh, I thought I was going to be in deep trouble before, but this—this is trouble on a grand scale. Both on a world-shattering basis and a personal basis. This will affect lots of people all across Vives I have never met. And will shatter a lot of people who I have met and know very well.
This is something from which there can be no absolution.
If you think I’m being melodramatic here, you’re wrong. It really is that big and that bad. Bigger than any trouble Mister Trent could ever get me into, or even dream of getting me into.
~*~
Despite the fact that I said that it is better to have something to lose than to have nothing at all, I will admit now that I really hate having something to lose. It gets in the way of your judgement and you really have to clamp down on personal considerations and just try to think things through logically. And coldly.
After all, it’s completely selfish to not complete a task you said you would do simply because you don’t feel like it.
I don’t know how to say no. Or else I would have.
And how could I? It’s something that needs to be done. Needs to be done so that other thing can get done—the retrieval of Fri’el’s soul.
And why me? I don’t understand. Why me all of a sudden? I thought I’d done a pretty good job of keeping a low profile. In any major task I’ve ever helped to complete, I’ve made sure that my part was never major or obvious.
Yet it seems I’ve lost the ability to lie low and be overlooked.
~*~
I am thinking of the time the weather all across Vives went crazy. We trekked back and forth and back and forth and kept coming back to the Standing Stones. Shihaya’zad and Tristan were with me at the time. I am remembering putting the Emperor into the centre of the circle of stones at Tristan’s request... and nothing happening. Not that time... though it had earlier that day, when he was not present.
I am remembering how disappointed he was. He is very young and has been very badly hurt for someone of that age. I guess he was expecting some spectacular miracle. I remember back when he first said he was a bard, and told me he was looking for inspiration. Silly Tristan. Inspiration is all around him. But he can’t see it.
I am thinking of how Nush actually came up and approached as at the Stones. I am thinking of how we entered Lynaeum. I am thinking of the rain—oh how it rains there—and the reckless mad dash through the ruins. I am remembering how I yelled at Tristan. Silly Tristan.
We don’t need to fight anything.
We could have gone in, invisible, and retrieved the evidence Nush needed quite easily. But he wanted to charge in. Have I ever mentioned that no one listens to my Very Good Advice?
I don’t mind.
It is raining. No, it is pouring. We are running across a slippery, rain-slicked bridge. The spiny shapes of basilisks are half-visible through the all-pervading mist and I am yelling at the top of my lungs, furious.
You WANT to get turned to stone.
He doesn’t even slow down or look back.
I won’t mind that either.
I am comparing that with my current situation. And the parallels disturb me.
~*~
It doesn’t bother me that I will—now more than ever—probably be universally hated if I succeed in accomplishing a set task.
What does bother me is that there might be an expenditure of effort completely disproportionate to the possible benefit of “saving” me from this path I’m taking. I can’t be saved. This is all I know. This is the entirety of my existence. For forty years of my fifty two it is what I have been doing, and so help me, I cannot see myself doing anything else.
I can handle blame, but not praise. Cruelty, but not kindness. And why should I be able to? I’m an expendable resource. Do you even understand what it means to be such? Do you know what it’s like to try to explain that to people who’ve never been through that? To explain that at the very core of your being, there is nothing but a need to be useful to everyone else but yourself? How do you explain what it’s like to be disposable? How do you explain that you chose to be that way?
How do you explain that you continue to choose to be that way, despite the numerous opportunities that have been presented to you to become something more? I had such an offer, thinly veiled as it was, presented to me today. It held no appeal for me whatsoever; only revulsion and terror.
I can’t be saved. And just so you don’t think I’m trying to avoid responsibility for my own life here—I choose not to be saved. I am not a brave or strong or wilful person. This is the one thing I am good at, so it’s the one thing I’ll continue to do. I am old enough now to make my own decisions. I don’t care if you think it’s a bad decision, though I know I do. But there are no other avenues open to me.
Part of it, I guess, is that I’m expecting to have disaster come crashing down on me. Disaster, I can handle. Disaster, I can take the credit for, especially if it provides cover for others and downplays their involvement. It’s miracles that are confounding; miracles I can’t deal with.
Like my second master. She was a miracle.
I wonder what she’s doing now. She’s probably doing that thing that Blanche seems to do so often when Mister Gabriel and I talk in front of her. You know, that thing where you slap the palm of your hand against your face and wear an expression that suggests you’ve swallowed a lemon whole and it was full of maggots. That thing.
My second master was an angel. Her name was Lluelallia and she smote my first master and all his workers with some sort of righteous sword of flaming divine power. When she got to me she was all confused and decided against it. I helped her disarm all the security systems and open everything up and stuff, and that lasted for a few days, and then she let me go. I met my third master the next day.
If she’s around somewhere, she’s probably smacking her face with her palm in a big way.
But see, this is what I mean about a waste of effort. You shouldn’t waste your effort on minor expendable people. It’s simply not economical. I keep company with some really prominent and powerful people, yet recently it’s they who sometimes get overlooked in favour of me. I don’t know why, but I don’t like it.
And so I’ve engineered my own destruction.
May it turn everyone I know against me. Because I don’t think I can stand having them on my side. I just can’t deal with it. |
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Expendable
Posted: 14 Mar 2005 04:47 AM |
How do you tell if something’s right.
I haven’t made an error there. It’s not phrased as a question. Not precisely. Sometimes I actually know the answer. You know? Sometimes.
But not often.
~*~
You are not expendable.
Why not?
Well, are you? Tell me now if you are.
It’s not my decision. I am expendable only in the eyes of others. Are you expendable, Miramil?
Of course.
Then explain to me, why would I try to protect you if a beast was about to kill you?
Because you feel you have to, I suppose. Even if it isn’t necessary.
Because you are not expendable in my eyes. Am I expendable in your eyes?
I told you that you aren’t.
Why aren’t I? Why do you care if I live or not?
Well, by default, no one is unless they tell me they are.
So being expendable is a personal decision?
Only as far as I am concerned, yes. I cannot speak for anyone else.
~*~
Use who you must... and those you use must not know what you are doing. They are tools, nothing more. They are not to be loved, or befriended, or given any true warmth.
~*~
I have snipped that last quote. Never mind why; you aren’t supposed to know that bit. Besides, there’s enough of it there to prove a point of mine: it is wrong.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And also... wrong.
No one is useable. Expendable. Unless yourself, if you choose to be, and you have no idea how often I’ve told myself “Well that is a stupid thing to be, because you have a responsibility to yourself and should look after yourself.”
No one else can know. No one else can help. This has to be my task.
This is something from which there can be no absolution...
I am burning bridges. When they are all gone there will be nothing but me, on my own little island, alone. |
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Sabotage, Part II
Posted: 14 Mar 2005 05:00 AM |
How do you tell if something’s right?
Now it’s a question. Now I ask it, rather than state it, flatly, without requiring an answer.
I am thinking, once more, of coming in from a downpour after visiting Lynaeum for the first time. Of the Four Winds Inn, sheltered from the weather outside. An attack on something I believed was true. And someone who defended that belief.
I am thinking of a question I asked that someone, and the answer I received—an answer given so confidently, so convincingly. Empirically impossible to prove, and yet... the belief in the truth of the answer was there and could not be shaken.
Could not be shaken.
What does it take to shake a faith like that?
And what does it take to rebuild it?
~*~
Trent. Then.
Is Midoran the source of magic?
Of course, Midoran is the source of all things in the world.
So if Midoran is the source of all magic then why do people still try to research what the source of all magic is?
Well, some people do not believe in the true faith.
Oh. But it makes it so much easier to know the answer!
I suppose.
~*~
I am asking the wrong question. I really am. Let us forget about what is right for a moment.
How do you tell if something is real?
If you set out to tell a lie and then can no longer tell if you are lying or not, is it still a lie? What if it stops being one? How do you tell?
How do you tell where the line is between what is true and what is not? When you can convince yourself so thoroughly that every lie and every act is true. When you can say something as part of an act and suddenly realise that you mean it and it is no act.
I have been assigned a task. I have had to come up with an act.
I don’t know if the act is an act any more.
~*~
Harlan. Now.
Is it really just following orders and stuff?
What’s that, Mira?
The thing he said. Because I can follow orders and I do not know what I am supposed to do now I have no one’s orders to follow.
No, Mira. Being faithful is more than just following orders. It is about, you know... doing the right thing.
Really? Oh. Well how do you know what’s the right thing?
Well, I learned it from my grandfather. He raised me. And from the Church.
Oh. Well my grandfather is not your grandfather.
Well... ’tween you and me, Mira, the Church ain’t what it used to be.
Well how do you learn what it used to be like then if it is not what it used to be?
Well, Mira... I know what I know. And that’s enough for me...
~*~
Faith.
You know, I never paid much attention to that word. It is a word that religious zealots like to throw about without knowing what it actually means. And if they don’t know what it means, how can they expect the people they are preaching at to understand?
But used in the right context... the word made sense. Like some missing piece of a puzzle I hadn’t known existed.
And no, I am not about to turn into a religious zealot.
Let me tell you something about faith. Faith doesn’t have to be something you feel towards a church or a religion or a god. It can be towards a person. Or towards a few people, even.
But it’s so hard to have faith in someone if they don’t have faith in themselves. Or faith in anything at all.
~*~
...Midoran is the source of everything, you see.
That is what my friend said before he started wearing black. Hmm. He has not said it recently.
I am sorry, Mira. It sounds like your friend lost faith. That is very sad.
~*~
He worships a vampire! He turned on Midoran and all he believed in! Trent fell from grace, do you not understand that? |
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The Fulcrum
Posted: 16 Mar 2005 02:39 PM |
The world turns on a fulcrum, or more specifically, an infinite number of fulcrums. Some think that power is earned, or stolen, or gained by direct use of force. Other’s, the wise among the world, know that true power is not something that can be directly seized. Power is the amorphous coming together of chance, desire, and design.
Once, a long time ago, I had no desire for power. I suppose I still do not, save that which is necessary to complete my master’s goals. I was, and still am, known as Gabriel Erufailo. I am called the Warden of Desthde by the Kobai tribes, and the Emissary of Undeath to a select few in the mortal realms. I have been named Darksoul by one pure hearted priest, a name I find amusing and disturbing at the same time. Yes, I carry many names, but all mean the same to me.
It has been over twenty years since I fell in the desert. I told her to run, my sweet Ceela, and she did. And now I am here, still alive…but not. I will claim her soon, but for now, my attention is elsewhere….
…The gnome has captured my attention, and I do not know why. One must understand, the ways of Undeath are set in repetition. For most of my kin, there is no yesterday, or today, or tomorrow. All are combined into one, and that is how it should be, for them. So when I first laid eyes on the gnome, I thought little of her. Just another one of the living, wasting away a lifetime in pursuit of trivial things; fame, fortune, glory, honor…even love. None of these interest me, save love, of which I have already sworn to reclaim.
Yet as time went on, I found myself thinking of this gnome. She was a perfect tool, yet I had no task to set this tool upon. And then it came to me in a rush. One advantage I have over most of the servants of my master my intellect and creativity. These were not sacrificed when I entered this twilight between life and death. My intellect served me well that night when I realized how this gnome could be used for the greater glory of my master.
This gnome, this Miramil, is a fulcrum. And I intend use her in that capacity, to shift the weight of the world. Power will ebb and flow, and when it is finished, even the gods themselves will tremble. The fulcrum has been placed in Midor. Soon, the lever will be pulled, and the first step of my master’s ascendancy will be complete. |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Hidden Identity
Posted: 17 Mar 2005 06:27 PM |
Things can never go back to how they were. That is the nature of life. Things always change.
- Ranji, Priest of Midoran
~*~
Xaggoroth. Then.
Alchemists will tell you that a catalyst is a substance which hastens the reactions of other chemicals, without itself being consumed or changed. Only a small amount is used relative to the reactants; but the results are undeniable.
Now, a living catalyst... that is a rare thing. The living change; it is in their nature to change. They adapt to the environment and to their circumstances; they must. It’s quite unusual for major events to occur in the lives of the living and leave them unchanged. And unscathed.
I have come into the possession of a living catalyst.
“Possession” is an apt term. She is a contradiction—full to bursting with life, yet not truly having one of her own. Like a pet, or a toy, or a tool—expecting nothing, demanding nothing, existing only to be commanded or used. No different to, say, the zombies under my command... and yet, somehow, completely different.
I have not encountered a puzzle such as this in centuries, and I will admit that I find myself wanting to solve it. It is a challenge worthy of my intellect, strange as it sounds. And yet, I also find myself feeling cautious. The gaps in her name disconcert me. I know something of the old cipher of Gnomish names; and the names she has given indicate that at least one of the missing names is... something dangerous.
Dangerous enough that I cannot afford to disregard it.
Obviously there’s more to her than meets the eye. I intend to find out what that is.
~*~
She is a weapon.
So help me, I am in the presence of a walking bomb, oblivious of her capabilities. Oblivious by necessity, I might add. Chaos cannot be directed, predicted... controlled. How is it that she is completely under my control and yet not?
The mystery deepens. For every layer I peel back, another ten present themselves. Is there no end to this? I know one of her hidden names; events from mere hours ago have confirmed it.
A maelstrom of chaos surrounds her. The most extraordinary disasters and miracles meet and clash when she is about.
But that is not the danger she presents.
There is something else. I am on the verge of discovering it. The real danger in her name. The real danger in her nature.
~*~
What folly, to continue to investigate this mystery. I have not kept track of the years; I never do. Suffice it to say that it took a few of them to extrapolate yet another of her hidden names.
What have I done?
Knowing it is dangerous. Dangerous to the one who knows.
Can a name be a trap? Apparently so. If I had remained ignorant, I would be safe. As it was, I became ensnared in the mystery. No wonder she does not say that one out loud. To hear it is to light the fuse on the bomb.
And no wonder she gives no details about herself unless asked. Once entangled in the details of her life, it’s impossible to break loose. You can only struggle like an insect on a web. You can only watch as the spider comes bearing down on you.
The ones who do not know her—the ones who only use her, who ask no questions of her, who do not investigate who and what she truly is—are safe.
The ones who try to solve the mystery of her identity—and succeed—are doomed.
It’s her nature. It’s her name. The second one I have discovered is—
~*~
Miramil. Now.
I do not give Very Good Advice because I like hearing the sound of my own voice. I give it because maybe, just maybe, someone will listen.
I could bop some people over the head with a tambourine for trying to figure me out. When I say that I am expendable so stop caring, I mean it. When I say do not trust me, I also mean it. But do people stop being curious about this Gnome? Nooooo.
This task, this thing that I am doing in return for help getting back Lady Fri’el’s soul, is going so well that it is scary.
Use who you must... and those you use must not know what you are doing. They are tools, nothing more. They are not to be loved, or befriended, or given any true warmth.
Am I using these people? I don’t know. They are so nice. Too nice. If I was not talking to them because I had to then I would tell them to stop asking questions. And stop trying to protect me. And stop trying to save me.
But I cannot say any of that. It would jeopardise the chances of success. It would lessen my effectiveness.
I am speaking to a Priest of Midoran. I am saying stuff I have heard other people say. He is saying right back at me the things I say to them when they say these sorts of things.
I say something I would never, ever say... but I have heard other people say. And he tells me what I always tell other people:
Things can never go back to how they were. That is the nature of life. Things always change.
For some reason I find myself thinking of something Sam said. After all, the priest I am talking to is younger than me, but he calls me “child”. Mere minutes ago I had told the priest about how young humans are. And they are, you know. So young. So short-lived.
I look into a fountain in the temple when I am done talking to the priest. Having succeeded in the next step of my plan. And that is all I have accomplished. I suppose what I said should have had some meaning and should have changed my mind about a few things, but... some of us are slow to change.
The water ripples in the dim light. With a little imagination, it’s not difficult to see shapes flitting about in the fountain. Vague, hazy shapes. Memories. Swimming to the surface.
~*~
Sam. Then.
He gets to look after her for... the next thirty or so years. Then I guess it’s my turn again.
Oh? Why?
He’ll be too old. Just one of the things I have to accept.
Like how you will outlive her? And Mister Bereil and Vandle and me and Blanche and everyone?
She’s already a lot more mature than I am in a lot of respects.
That is because her life is squishified.
Maybe that’s why the elder Elves... have that look about them.
What look? A brooding and mysterious one?
No... the just a little sad look.
~*~
Tristan. Shihaya’zad. Then.
He was outnumbered.
She didn’t know why she took Shihaya’zad’s side in that conversation. She could just have easily taken Tristan’s. The topic of debate was logic versus emotion and she chose logic.
“The extent of knowledge and experience a person has,” Miramil said in her most professorial voice, “and the application of that, defines who they are.”
“The key word is application,” Tristan pointed out. “Any creature can possess knowledge. A wizard may store an impressive amount of knowledge in golem servants, but it’s emotions, it’s the individuality of each creature, that defines how they use that knowledge.”
“Well, to an extent it defines personality,” she agreed. “Either you let them rule you or you don’t. Then it becomes a question of your overall effectiveness.”
Effectiveness. How appropriate for that topic to surface now. She felt the Emperor shift uneasily from atop her head. He had witnessed her talking to Trent mere minutes ago; talking... and agreeing to effectively betray everyone she knew. All in the name of proving her effectiveness.
“Effectiveness would be a word for the golems to use,” Tristan said.
Shihaya’zad stirred from the other couch, re-entering the argument: “Logical usage of knowledge leads to effectiveness.”
Miramil nodded towards Shihaya’zad. “What she said.”
“Emotions don’t work well with logic,” the Elven woman continued.
“And they compromise effectiveness,” Miramil added.
“And when you die,” Tristan argued earnestly, “what can you truly say you accomplished at that day? True love? Loyal friendships? Or simple power?”
“None of those, but they are irrelevant,” was Miramil’s answer.
“Effectiveness implies power...” was Shihaya’zad’s.
“Then what is relevant?”
“Your current level of effectiveness,” Miramil said simply. “When you die, you die, and that is that.”
Tristan regarded her quietly for a moment, an expression on his face she could not interpret.
“Now that is speaking without any emotion,” he said.
She shrugged and met his gaze evenly. “It is the point of view of an expendable unit. You probably think differently because you are not expendable.”
“You choose to be expendable.”
“Yes.” |
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Sabotage, Part III
Posted: 29 Mar 2005 04:10 AM |
So you are probably following this and wondering what all these gaps are that I have left. These vital pieces of information—without which, this story is just a bunch of speculation and philosophy disconnected from actual events.
What I have heard, I cannot repeat. Nor can I tell you whose secrets I keep.
Keep wondering. I will not be the one to tell.
~*~
Events pivot around me but I am unmoved. No one, I think, realises how much I know. And how close to the centre of things I am.
It sounds like an egocentric thing to say, but look, I can’t help it, okay? That’s the way things are. Do you think I asked to be involved in lots and lots of major world-shaking events? Noooooo.
I only hope they have taken the hint. Johe and Claudia got a big hint; I may as well have given myself completely away with them. Bereil got a hint: not as big as theirs, but still pretty big. Blanche and Anarion the one-man-wall Metalman got hints too when I talked to Gabriel the Emissary of Undeath.
I want to say: take the hint. Take it because I can’t be the one to give it away.
I mean, I am not as stupid as you might think. If I wanted to talk to the Emissary of Undeath without anyone knowing that I had, I could have—quite easily. Talking to him while there were people around was a deliberate move on my part. Let them become suspicious. Let them cease to trust me.
See, the thing about having people think you are a terrible liar is this: when you lie for real, they do not notice. They are so focused on the diversionary bad lies that they do not see the real ones.
If I wanted to lie—and succeed in doing so—you would never know I’d done it.
...Perhaps I already have.
~*~
The nightmares have stopped altogether.
I do not know what it means. Has Mister Luther already come up with a plan and succeeded in getting Lady Fri’el’s soul back? Is there no point in what I am doing now? I had thought that the only way to stop them was to fulfil Mister Nooooomen’s oath but empirical data from recent events has disproved that theory.
They stopped... on the night after we talked to Gabriel the Emissary of Undeath at Ladriel.
They stopped... after we saw him again, that second time near the Bloodwood entrance in Brandibuck. After I agreed to take on this task of his. They have not returned since.
I do not know what makes them stop. I have my theories but I am not actively seeking to prove them. All that matters is that they have stopped and I can get on with my task without interference. Grisly and unforgivable as it is.
~*~
I think of the nice people I have met briefly in Midor and I have to wonder, once again, whether I am using them. They are really very nice and sincere in trying to convert me over to their faith. And that is the point, really. That is what I need them to think they are doing so I can get this task done.
But what happens afterwards?
I think of the position I am in now. I am somewhere dangerous. It is one thing to calculate how much trouble you will be in if you get caught doing something so dangerous; it is another thing altogether to be actually doing it... and realising how correct your estimate was.
There is potential for this assignment to become a long term one.
I can see it now: I mean, I know a little about the people who are using me and I can see them going, “Wow, that is a handy place for you to be, stay there for me!” Where am I, you ask? I will tell you:
I am at Midor’s cold and rotten heart. Receiving lessons in the True Faith firsthand from the White Bishop himself, Vidus Khain.
And I managed this in under a week of being handed my task.
It scares me. It really does. It scares me that I can do this so easily. In my line of work, considering my history of masters, success is something to be feared. Success is a terrible accomplishment.
Tell me... do my orders, my demands that make you betray your friends, are they difficult for you to commit?
No.
Do you have... regrets, for doing so?
Of what use is regret? The past is past. It can’t affect the present, the future.
Can it?
Things can never go back to how they were. That is the nature of life. Your friend will have to pay for what he has done: IF he had done evil, that evil will be accounted for.
Accounted for...
Some things... some things are never accounted for. Some people get away with everything. And as a result, they never learn. They never change.
~*~
I am seeing Tristan telling me that despite what I might believe, I am a good friend. I am seeing Trent telling me the exact opposite, confident that it is what makes me a reliable and valuable resource for him.
And only I know which of the two is correct.
~*~
You’re a good friend, that’s all I wanted to say.
That has yet to be tested.
No, I’m saying you are. A good friend is there when his friend needs him, and you were there for me.
A good friend also does not compromise friendship when it is put under duress.
Look, compromises always come in friendships. It doesn’t make you less a friend.
And when you’re given a choice between following orders and doing what’s right and you always choose the former?
Well, for you, following orders is doing what’s right, aala?
Mmm.
So there isn’t any choice involved... you didn’t want to change your mind, and I’ll have to accept that.
~*~
You do not care, do you?
Of course not.
You are a very interesting character, Miramil.
I am efficient. That is all that matters.
A fine servant, but a bad friend. Just who I need.
Of course.
I pity those who entrust you with their secrets.
~*~
There isn’t any reason for me to change your opinion of me as a good friend, therefore I will let you keep that opinion. It’s too much effort to disprove it and there’s no point.
I guess...
I meant what I said though. I follow orders. So if I was you I wouldn’t trust me. |
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Mortal undead
Posted: 13 Apr 2005 01:08 PM |
I find myself at a loss; a position I have not been in for quite some time. What to do with the gnome, Miramil, I do not now. One must understand that for a man like me, shrouded in the cold grasp of Undeath, acquiring loyal and unquestioning servants is not an issue. I need only to utter a single command and the shadows will congeal to do my bidding. A few incantations will create for me zombies or skeletons to carry out my every whim without question. This gnome appears to have similar qualities to my pets bound by Undeath.
Truly, she is an enigma, a creature equal parts servant and master. I see it when she looks at me; her complete willingness to do whatever is asked of her. Just as a zombie will shamble off at my command, so will this gnome. Yet there is more to her then mere obedience. Her eyes shine with the spark of intelligence that eludes me. Her word and actions are crystal clear. They never waver or falter.
Patience is something all minded Undead must possess, lest we be consumed by post-mortem insanity. A meticulous nature, a cold demeanor, and a complete lack of caring for self are qualities shared by Undead spawn. Undead spawn do not desire power, they are not filled avarice, nor do they have in them the capacity for betrayal.
The gnome is the only mortal I have ever met has these qualities in such abundance. She is Undead in all by truth; a mortal that has chosen through logic and reason the complete and utter servitude that so embodies the Undead.
She has these, but I must wonder why. Why does she act as she does?
And why do I ache with desire to make her fully my own in service? This encompassing need is not good; not even my master knows about her. She will be the end of me, perhaps.
..........
The chaos that surrounds her in life is a threat. I can think of only one solution. One solution, and she will be mine.
For eternity.
-Gabriel Eurfalio - The Emissary of Undeath |
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
-Henry David Thoreau
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Circles
Posted: 28 Apr 2005 08:04 AM |
Nothing ever truly ends.
~*~
It isn’t always obvious when a task is complete.
The soul search is apparently over. Just like that. Was anyone even involved out of those of us who said we would be? Is it over, truly over? The terms were so vague that it is quite possible that there is still more that needs to be done.
You will swear to do all in your power to aid Lady Fri’el to accomplish her current heart’s desire.
Everything in your power...
What if you have no power, save for suggestion and influence? See, that is the problem with the indirect approach: you never know if you have made any difference in the accomplishment of a task. All you know is that you dropped a hint here, made a suggestion there, nudged this person in that direction, imparted information here and withheld it there. That is the thing about being subtle. Sometimes you can be too subtle. No one knows the extent of your influence—not even you.
But that is what I do and that is how I do it. When it is necessary, that is. Not all my masters have required me to act thusly.
I think... I think that it is time at last to fill in some details I have left out. Okay. I said I would, didn’t I? Sooo... let’s go fill in those gaps.
~*~
In Midor, in less than one week, there is to be an execution. The execution will be done in secret and I am unsure how the body will be disposed of, but you must retrieve it... or, as much of it as you can.
Whose execution?
High Captain Philippe Jongras. Can you do this?
Challenging. On my own or with resources?
Use who you must, but remember, I must have that body—and those you use must not know what you are doing. They are tools, nothing more. They are not to be loved, or befriended, or given any true warmth.
~*~
There are so many of them now—watching me, assessing me, plotting uses... so many uses.
My master says to let them. He seems to be interested in everything now, where he was not before. He wants to know everything about everything. Do not ask me why; I do not know, nor will I ask. He is my boss, after all.
He wants to know about the Emissary, about Vidus, about Maldovia and Aristi; he asks to stay updated about Philippe, and about Bereil’s connection with the vampires. And I have to pay attention to all the interactions I usually miss, the subtle exchanges between people that give away more than they could ever realise. A glance here, a phrase there—the giveaways, the chinks in their psychological armour.
And all that matters is the information. He does not care if I fail or succeed at tasks that others set. All that matters is that the channel of information remains open.
My master does not really react strongly to any of the information, though. At least, not on the surface. He only listens, and asks questions, and approves or disapproves the plans I suggest. And, as most of my other bosses have done in the past, he disregards my Very Good Advice.
But sometimes he asks about me and will not listen to anything else I have to say. And that is dangerous.
A Gnomish name—a proper Gnomish name, the kind that uses the old cipher—is not merely a label you attach to an individual for purposes of identification. It is something far more.
He heard a hint, once. I wonder whether he realised the significance of it.
Am I talking in circles? This is not what I agreed to talk about. But you need to know it. He needs to know it more, but he cannot. If he knew then it would be his undoing.
~*~
Four Winds Inn. Then.
“...Yes, not many of them have properly long names.” Miramil turned from Romulus to throw Trent an apologetic look. “No offense.”
The young paladin smiled at her warmly. “None taken.”
Romulus grumbled, “Name is too short, not enough to fit all the history of their families, or their goals... I, sadly, have forgotten my name, as I have been using my shortened name ever since I studied in the Azure Academy of Magic some four hundred years ago. My full name, that is,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Oh. Well that is a shame.” Miramil turned back towards him, causing the Emperor to grumble quietly in complaint at all the looking around she was doing. The regal tortoise opened one eye to lazily survey his surroundings from his perch atop her head, then went back to sleep. “That is a lot of history to lose.”
~*~
Knowing it is dangerous. Dangerous to the one who knows.
Can a name be a trap? Apparently so. If I had remained ignorant, I would be safe.
~*~
The Emissary man’s quest is over now too, I think. I have tried to chase down what I thought the real objective was but there is nothing left to chase. Only shadows and mirages, presenting false leads, false hope.
My master will probably not care how it ended. He will ask, and he will listen, and then he will dismiss it and move on to other topics. Like Blanche, or that party in Maldovia. Or me.
He does not know that I have more names than the ones I have told him, but he does know with a certainty that there is more to me than most people think. It is the same thing, really. The old names, using the old system, are accurate. Dead accurate.
I cannot warn him. That would hasten catastrophe. But not warning him is just as bad. When it happens—when one of the dangerous, hidden names is invoked—it will happen in a biiiig way. He will survive it, I think. There is some remnant of grace, some last gasp of the divine, that lives on in him—and it is all that will preserve him.
There is a reason why I tell my bosses about my previous masters. A few of them are smart enough to connect the dots and see the pattern that forms. But I can only suggest. I can only hint.
The significance of the name is more than merely circumstantial. It is one of a handful of Gnomish names that is actually predictive. A Zarvaddin is an unwitting agent of chaos. Probability skews and reality shifts in their vicinity. They are powerhouses of pure, raw magic. Magnets for coincidence and supernatural occurrences.
Nothing
ever truly ends.
[Edit - added loads more links ~Fictrix] |
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Sabotage, Conclusion
Posted: 30 Apr 2005 09:23 AM |
If anyone, he will only harm himself.
- Shihaya’zad, regarding Trent
~*~
How long did I spend planning?
Planning, rehearsing, setting things in motion... and all of it in vain because ultimately, when the time came, I could not deceive him. Not even for his own good. He is my boss.
Still, the problem remains. I cannot let harm come to him while he is my boss. Not from anyone. Especially himself.
~*~
He sets simple tasks, which is not a bad thing in of itself. It will work, this plan of his. Or it will if executed correctly. But he has proven that his ability to evaluate facts and figures is flawed—and that is something over which I have no control. Even in his former shy and awkward state, Trent was never one to let people tell him what to do, what to think.
There are people who have known him longer and who know him better who will probably disagree with that. I can only speak from what I myself have observed. And if there is one thing that stands out, it is this: one thing has not changed, and that is that his mind and his will is his own. He has never taken well to having opinions and ideas and commands forced on him, even if it’s something as silly as “trouble is good for you” or “heretical badgers are really really dangerous and evil” or “wearing the Emperor on your head will make you smarter”.
Still...
He makes these plans, all these plans, and I sometimes wonder if he realises that they are short-sighted. The human lifespan is nothing. It is short, it is ephemeral, it is life glimpsed briefly before death closes the window forever. Does he even know what it will be like, to live through decades that become centuries that become millennia and extend to eternity? I don’t think he does.
I don’t think he does...
He is in a state of transit and cannot remain there. Thresholds are dangerous places. In fact, they are the most dangerous places in existence, bar none—whether they exist in space or in time or in the mind. They are places to be crossed, not places to linger.
One way or another that threshold needs to be crossed, and soon. Towards damnation or towards redemption, it doesn’t really matter—so long as the crossing is made. |
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Truth and Consequences
Posted: 30 Apr 2005 07:20 PM |
"Vidus must know about the mistress, and he must know that the only to save me is to kill her. It is up to you to put in to the right words."
- Trent to Miramil, regarding Vidus and the Vampire Mistress
~*~
I am now in greater danger than I have ever truly been. Such is the nature of lies, to put you in danger, and most of the time you are not even aware of its true nature. I am not so filled with hubris to say I know the exact danger I have put myself in, but I do know this is my choice, this is a risk I have, and willing, to take.
My original plan could be put in one word: Apathy. I wanted to wait, make everyone, every single mortal and immortal being in this world, believe that I am her loyal servant, and let the others slay her for me. But my own apathy met more apathy in return. They did not slay her. It is my own fault, truth be told. I should have known better.
So here I am, putting my life in the hands of a gnome, who's loyalty to me hands by the thread, ready to be shifted to another by some event that I lack the forsight to predict.
She knows now of my plan, and she will act for me. I know Vidus, and I know he will seek to recruit as many to his cause as possible, and I also know he is a man of action. If he wishes to kill her, she will die, that I am certain. And yet perhaps I am wrong, and this is yet another risk I have to take.
~*~
One thing amazes me. I know what it is to fall now, to truly fall from good to evil.It is not difficult to define good, not in thought, not for me, though words are different. Evil, however, is impossible to define. There are so many forms of evil, and it is so easy to reach such states, that one can never put a definition to it as a whole.
I know one thing, however. I know what evil in all its forms share. Inevitably, evil brings with it power. When you have no moral, no ethics to follow, you are able to choose whatever path of action you wish - this is power, and it leads to even more power, if one is smart. However, the best weapon against this power is the power itself. With power comes arrogance, and it is this arrogance that brought and will always bring all great evils to fall.
But there is another thing. The evil I have seen, in the form of my mistress, it does not understand itself. It seeks to draw others to it, to make others fall and embrace it, yet it does not understand the risks it poses to itself. An evil warlock may take an obidient servant to do his bidding, only to be slain by this servant when he leasts expects it.
She sought to be my mistress. She wanted me to serve her and love her. Yet she failed me as a mistress. She does not understand the evil she is, and the evil she created in me and what it tought me. So in return, I will betray her, and see her turn into a mere pile of ash.
A strength and a weakness. Such is the nature of evil... |
WickedArtist: I think he needs a proper elf.
WickedArtist: A christmas elf!
Tasra: Any sort of elf that actually smiles ;o
Gasp! Scandalous!!! |
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The Shadows
Posted: 30 Apr 2005 07:36 PM |
And the shadows themselves seemed to curve into a smile, around a pair of white fangs.
She had toyed with another human, and made him fall. Yet, as she sat with the shadows wrapped around her form, Jet knew that she had created something more wonderful than a mere toy.
She had created a destructive entity, with the power of a ball of snow rolling down hill- as time passed, the chaos her creation could wreak would be quite beyond the scale of the man that started it.
It was, definately, time to not be seen for a hundred years- especially by the gnome. The ball was already rolling. |
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