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Post by Donovan on Dec 24, 2016 2:08:24 GMT -6
“I suppose we do. We are, more or less, forced to.” Don shook his head. “I used to work as a caravan guard. There was no trust there. There was so little risk and you were almost always bringing on a new person every week. You never got to know anyone. But with what we do? You need to look out for each other, work as a unit. Given that’s not true of everyone in our company, we have plenty of new men and women I’ve never fought beside. But these people have proven their worth to me.” He leaned in and said under his breath, “For the most part. I don’t really know the fellow with the bow or his acolyte associate.”
“We’re mercenaries, sure, but we focus on monster slaying. Protecting towns, rooting out lairs and wiping them out. The Lycian government didn’t want to spare the man power, so I started collecting allies to keep the people safe. And when you have some undead son of a b*tch coming at you, who can survive more attacks than should be remotely possible, you pretty quickly learn the value of teamwork.”
No one else knew, of course. Except Perun and Mila. No one knew what all this really was. A training exercise. Something to prepare them for the war to come. A war that many of his friends wouldn’t survive. How would Brandon take it if he found out the mercenary’s plot? Or Doogan. Or Allie. Would they be able to forgive his manipulation? Was the good they were doing enough to counteract the secrets that he kept from them? He shook his head. Such thoughts were unnecessary. Frankly, they were a distraction. There were bigger things at stake than his comrades losing faith in him. The entirety of Elibe would be in danger if Lycia didn’t rise with the other countries. And they needed their small folk to be strong if they were going to survive this.
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Post by Althea on Dec 24, 2016 2:33:06 GMT -6
A part of her did key in on the more dismissive comment on the archer and the acolyte. It seemed Don did not know, or perhaps did not trust, them as much as the others. Which it was could be an important distinction, though not as important as why he chose to share it with her. Was it a test? An irrelevant fact? While she didn't know Don at all on a personal level, he did seem to choose his words carefully, not necessarily as an orator but as befitted a quick mind and a skilled tongue. Hm. Something about that didn't sound quite right, but she had no idea what it could be. Anyways, Don. He certainly wasn't just acting haphazardly, but she didn't quite understand all of the reasoning behind his decisions, whether small slips like these were part of some greater scheme or just meaningless asides or if he simply loved to hear himself talk.
It was an interesting mystery of its own, to understand 'Sir' Donovan, the mercenary hero. A mixture of seemingly clashing truths, some of them perhaps false fronts, some clever lies. Which was which? Which could she be sure of? What she WAS sure of though was that he was at least being honest in his description of their work though. Althea knew enough of the field to fact-check parts of it, and above all it made sense in each of its component parts. Lycia was falling apart, as she had been learning the hard way as research crumbled in the wake of failing funding and lack of interest. It took a special kind of person to shoulder that burden, even in small parts. To raise, and more to lead, a group of men and women potentially to their deaths. It was far beyond her, but not so much that she couldn't at least see the beauty of it.
"Protecting Lycia... it has a nice ring to it," she stated neutrally, though there was a tinge more admiration in her tone than thre had been before. Not idolization by any means. Althea's... varied history and the forcible uprooting of her youth had nearly inured her to being able to truly spread her roots in any one place, to think of a single country as 'hers' on a level that she could actually do the same as Don. But that didn't mean she couldn't at least respect it when she saw it. "It does sound like a much more morally preferable alternative to banditry. I envy your ability to care for Lycia so much that you are willing to put your life, and that of others, on the line for it. It sounds like another world entirely. I've always hidden behind others rather than fight myself. But... it seems as though that is rapidly becoming difficult in modern Elibe."
The blasted wasteland behind her lived on in Althea's memory; not as it was now, but as it had once been. Full of live and vigor. A place she had... almost... considered calling home. And what had that done for the people there? What had her mediocre magical abilities offered them? They had never even seen a monster before, had zero real fighters among them, and they had all died for it. She alone had been saved by chance.
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Post by Donovan on Dec 24, 2016 3:37:59 GMT -6
Donovan shrugged. He hadn’t realized how far on the moral scale he’d slid. Even if it was in the right direction. It was probably all that blasted sword’s fault. Pushing him to always be a hero, always look out for everyone else. Really, the mercenary needed to stop thinking of others as much as he was. He needed to remind himself why he was even apart of the Counter Offensive - secretly or no. He needed to get back to his root. Self interest.
But such a thing would have to come later. At a time more appropriate when the world wasn’t in vital need of heroes to rise up and take the burden of actually sticking their nose into it. He’d play his role and when the curtain closed on The False Prophet, he’d write a play and go work for a well meaning crime lord to balance the scales.
“Lycia. Etruria. Bern, Ilia, Sacae, even the Western Isles. It is easy to think of these places as the leaders that rule them. It is easy to focus on their governments and their actions. And, don’t get me wrong. I’d be more than happy to personally stick a dagger in Kraft’s stomach and twist the knife for all he’s done.” Donovan’s normally green eyes seemed as a dark, deep emerald. As life the light had gone from them and all that remained was a primal, methodical anger. But in a moment, in a breath it was gone. “But Kraft is Etruria no more than all the Marquess are Lycia.
“Lycia is a culture. A history rich with stories and legends and music. And every day more are made. I don’t fight for Lycia because I am a patriot. I fight for Lycia because it needs to be done. I fight for Lycia because if no one does, the undead will sweep through this country like a hot knife through butter. And If those rattling bastards kill us all, no one will be around to share the stories. The songs. That’s what I fight for, Althea.” That and revenge.
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Post by Althea on Dec 24, 2016 4:14:31 GMT -6
"...I'm not so sure," she responded sourly, usually pretty good about keeping that... issue under wraps but not entirely immune to it, the issue exacerbated when Donovan spoke of Kraft. "Kraft didn't create Etruria, he just awakened what it already was." Her reaction was nowhere near as intense as Don's, and she couldn't see him eyes from in front of him, but Althea's hurt went no less deep. She had seen her family ripped apart and slaughtered for their beliefs, not by some fancy man on a pulpit far away, but by neighbors and guards alike. People she had thought were friends, allies; those who should have known that her parents weren't a threat to anyone. Murdered because they practiced dark magic, by idiots whipped into a fervor based on beliefs they had always held, simply not acted on.
Althea realized the tenseness in her shoulders and used it as an anchor to pull herself out of the dark humor possessing her, mildly surprised that it had gone that far. Usually she was much better in control. Was something wrong with her? The... anger, the need for vengeance, was stronger than anything she had experienced in a long time, and it wasn't the first time she'd discussed Etruria either.
That said, she wasn't about to try to lecture Don about just how bad of a jerkass Kraft was, It, uh, it sounded like he had his own bone to pick with the mad king. No surprise there; Kraft had left a whole lot of people without mothers, without fathers, without friends or siblings or children. Whether it be through the purges that had taken her own parents, or the wars he waged taking away lives indiscriminately, he was primarily responsible for much of the hatred devouring Elibe.
But Etruria had to carry a huge share of the blame, too.
Trying her best to get her mind off of that subject, Althea focused more on Don's later comments, his explanation of why he fought for Lycia. In all honesty. She didn't understand it. Not to say that she didn't comprehend it. But the shaman truly didn't understand why anyone would throw their lives away for some songs and tales. It only vaguely occurred to her that she would do the same for what she viewed as a valuable part of history, but she didn't make the connection between the assigned values - quite comprehend that Don could actually care that much about stories, or even that he might see them as just as much of a part of history as her own beliefs.
"I don't think I could fight for that," the shaman stated instead, not unkindly but with simple honesty. "Not to the death." It was true. She was, in some ways, a coward. But she wasn't ashamed of it either. Althea thought it was just practical. She recognized that she didn't quite understand patriotism, but neither had she ever truly had something worth fighting for. "But given how little the Marquesses seem to do for the country, it seems Lycia is in desperate need of people like you, so I can only be grateful that people of your caliber do exist."
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Post by Donovan on Dec 24, 2016 12:43:33 GMT -6
The mercenary’s laugh sounded almost like a bark. “Who ever said I was fighting to the death? Sure it’s a risk anyone takes when they pick up a sword, but we’re not like those fools who guard castles. My highest aspirations don’t involve getting impaled on the business end of a lance. I will fight and I will bleed and I will do everything I can to save as many as I can. Short of dying. That’s a fools gambit.” There were always odds that could not be beaten. Sure, Donovan had a habit of flipping them on their heads and succeeding anyway. But he knew a hopeless fight when he saw one. He knew when to walk away. Otherwise, he’d never survived so long with Fragarach at his hip.
The horses continued to plod onward. Don knew it was not much farther to the town. He longed for a warm meal and a tall drink. Worse than finding a town already destroyed was not finding out how. That only left them more vulnerable. That meant another town was destined to suffer a similar fate by whatever dark creature had wiped that little hamlet off the face of Elibe.
“It shouldn’t be long now. The town’s got a nice inn and we have a few rooms booked. You can stay in Allie’s room tonight, if you like. Or you can find somewhere else to sleep I suppose. But we’re going to be on our way come morning. No point in sticking around when there won’t be any pay.”
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Post by Althea on Dec 24, 2016 15:29:30 GMT -6
She just couldn't quite get a bead on him. Althea wasn't sure if it was something Don was actively doing or just the natural state of his personality, but he seemed to like to play with meanings a lot, willing to allow himself exactly so much heroism and righteousness and not a bit more, nor did he seem as ready to internalize it as he acted upon it. It was a curious dichotomy. A hero who did not want to be one, or a fool playing at being a hero? Did he truly believe what he said, or just pretend to? Of course it wasn't the first time Althea had met someone who was more ambiguous than a hero or a villain, but her primary line of work dealt more with solving puzzles than solving people, and those she met along the way were usually easy enough to figure out to some degree or another.
Still, it wasn't like that was a significant problem. He HAD, after all, kinda sorta saved her life. So she could afford to be gracious. "Yes, of course. The mercenary hero." The shaman chuckled with some bemusement at the thought. It was ironic in a way, but it did feel like it fit him. "I'd prefer not to die by sword or lance myself as well, and axe is right out, so I suppose we do share that belief at least!" She wasn't nearly as used to the devil-may-care cockiness of mercenary speech to be entirely comfortable stating it so plainly, but it was true at least. She DIDN'T want to die horribly. Not that anyone did, but Althea thought she had a better survival instinct than some at least, or she would have given up long ago. And she'd gotten there by mostly avoiding combat. But that hadn't worked out very well for her back in the village, had it?
Something else she couldn't help but ponder, in a day full of things to consider. Althea decided she would need to do a lot of thinking in the near future. For now though, it felt as though her active part in events for the day was probably nearing its end, if Don's words meant anything. Assuming he wasn't actually transporting her to a murder dungeon or anything. "Some sleep would be... nice. This has been a very interesting day but I wouldn't mind it being over sooner rather than later," she half-stated half-joked. "And I do suppose there is no shortage of fair maidens for you to rescue. A perk of the job, mm?"
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Post by Donovan on Dec 24, 2016 16:07:19 GMT -6
Don shrugged. “Mercenary Hero. I suppose that’s not the least accurate thing people have called me. What was it that people called you then? I will certainly need a clever title for you when I regale the bar folk with the epics of this incomplete adventure.” He smirked in the back seat, remembering Jule, also known as the Angle of Death. The nickname that the young thief had and would never escape.
“Well, there certainly are enough negatives to balance out what little perks we have.” He laughed to himself. “Though, obviously I appreciate the benefits of being a merc in shining armor for the fair maidens of Elibe.” She wasn’t wrong, of course. There certainly were some perks of being a “hero”.
“Let me ask you, then. And please, feel free to gush. What is it that draws you to the history of magic? And on that front, what sort of magic do you study?” He was surprised he hadn’t asked the question before. Magic seemed to have been the only thing that piqued the girl’s interest during their conversation. She wasn’t much of a fighter, by her own account. But perhaps she had some skill with light magic.
The small party entered the town once again. They were greeted by the sheriff and a small group of men, women, and children. “Was there any word?” The sheriff called out, there was desperation in his voice. “My brother lived in Albanville. Did anyone get out?” Brandon looked back at Donovan, a sad expression on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
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Post by Althea on Dec 24, 2016 16:44:44 GMT -6
"Hey you, over there, with the book, come hold this lever for me while I work the shaft." Althea giggled to herself. "It's not as catchy a title as yours I'm afraid, but the greatest name I've made for myself so far is not being terrible to collaborate with. I'll have to think up something better by the next time we meet." The curse(?) of not enough combat to her name to, well, have a name of her own. A given name that was. She had a perfectly good name, it just wasn't a title, and it didn't strike fear into enemies. 'Althea, Avatar of Destruction, Slayer of Men, Despoiler of Worlds' didn't have quite the same ring to it as say Ishtar, Goddess of Magic, or Donovan, Mercenary Hero. Besides, it wasn't really anything she had thought of much before. What kind of person spent time thinking about titles for themselves, anyways?
...A few moments later, Althea realized with unpleasant clarity that she now knew of one. DAMMIT. It was going to take some time to get that idea out of her head.
"Well, this maiden is certainly grateful!" she said with no effort whatsoever to hide the pleasure in her voice. "The dirt was actually surprisingly comfortable, but I do find that I prefer beds. Much more sanitary, for one." And also less likely to leave her sore when waking up, and usually not located in exploded towns, and not connected to near-death experiences. So... really it wasn't actually all that close of a comparison at all.
As for what drew her to the history of magic, well, the answer to that was simple enough. Twofold in fact. Interest in the unknown. And fear of the fear of the unknown. The unknown itself did not frighten her, but what it did to some, what it had done to her family, that did. She wanted to understand what could drive people to turn on each other like that. And on a more professional level, she simply liked to know how things work, and magic as a whole was an incredibly complex and multifaceted subject that no one woman could ever truly master or even understand. So it made for an exciting challenge to try to do it anyways. "Magic... it's such a mystical, mythical, quantity. Like the stories you spoke of. It can heal or harm depending on intent, protect or pulverize. Villains and heroes alike use it to reach their goals. Hargus and the Branimond of legend both drowned their foes in dark magic, but for different purposes. Elimine weaved the Light to heal men's souls, while Kraft tears them asunder." Was that a hint of bitterness in her tone? Perish the thought, of course she would never allow such weakness in herself.
"And... I suppose, to understand what could... make some... kinds of magic so horrible that people must die for it." What began trailing off of her earlier interest died down into a moment of bitterness and then a sort of sordid, sullen admission of truth that she did not choose to elaborate on, though what she did not say said as much or more than what she did. It was ironic in a way that his final question was as dangerous as it was an excuse to change the subject somewhat - but also that it was as much relevant to what she had said as anything else. She sighed. "I was taught something of Elder magic when I was young, but have never had much reason to pursue it, nor experience with it."
Without much more to say, the entrance to town was quickly made more dour by the people gathered there. Althea had no idea who any of them were, but it didn't take a great deal of mental gymnastics to connect the mention of Albanville and the looks on the group's faces to what had happened before, nor what had impelled Donovan and the others to come riding so quickly if they had indeed been sent there. The shaman had nothing to add to the conversation - what could she say? That she had failed to protect them? That she was too weak to even fight off a few monsters, and that worst of all she hadn't even had the decency to die alongside them? Her very presence there was nothing more than a mockery of the dead - the notion that she somehow deserved to survive when they did not.
Unable to meet their eyes, Althea found herself wishing that perhaps she hadn't made it through, or at least that Donovan hadn't rescued her.
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Post by Donovan on Dec 25, 2016 2:18:13 GMT -6
Rhiannon and Aine would find this girl very interesting. Though he wondered how deep her understanding of magic truly was. If she was a shaman, she likely had learned about some mysteries of the nether. But the only wielders of Elder Magic that stood out to the mercenary were Drei and Rhiannon. Drei was… well… quiet. And strange. And mostly just not someone Don felt particularly comfortable around most of the time. And Rhiannon was nearing 60. She was a grandmother, who’d been touched by the nether from a young age to hear her tell it. She understood it in a way that took time. And she was cautious. But if she tried to explain it and its properties to Donovan it went right over his head. He was very confused by the ideas of the void that wasn’t a void.
Althea’s reaction to Kraft caught Don’s attention, though he made no comment. He certainly felt that pressing the girl’s past was likely not a way to get her to reveal any information in the future. And a practitioner of dark magic was more likely than most to have a storied history with the False Prophet.
The sheriff walked a few feet away, holding his hand over his eyes as more and more of the people gathered started to ask about their friends and family. Donovan tried to tell them all what had happened, but every time he tried, someone would cut him off to ask about someone else. “Who’s that girl you brought back with you?” The crowd fell deadly silent.
A woman stepped forward from the crowd. She looked older. Don thought she had asked about her sister’s fate. “She wasn’t with you when you left. Who is she?”
Don looked back at the girl on his horse. She looked more devastated than he’d ever seen her before. “She is one of ours, Ma'am. A research associate. She met us in what remained of Albanville to try and tell us what happened. But the damage is something even she hasn’t seen before.” The woman continued to eye Althea with uncertainty, but Donovan was not interested in the girl being subjected to ridicule. “Ma’am, I wish there was more I could have done. Perhaps, had we been told sooner, we could have gotten there in time. I am truly sorry.”
There was a look of sincerity in Donovan’s eyes. His voice wavered. Some in the crowd might have even thought he was about to cry. Of course, he wasn’t. He knew that at least one town had to be destroyed for his company to even know there was a threat in the region. And until the Lich King was destroyed, this sort of threat would never stop.
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Post by Althea on Dec 25, 2016 6:05:08 GMT -6
Althea was already quickly sinking inside herself as the crowd drew in, withdrawing within the hallowed halls of Self in an attempt to pretend that everything else wasn't there. She... liked to think that she was... not brave, perhaps, but practical. She dealt with things when she needed to, or made the conscious decision to flee if that was more wise. Yes, she was sometimes quite scared, when she remembered to be at any rate, but to some degree she was always at least partially in control. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that her intellect was at least roughly attuned to her emotion.
But in the wake of... whatever had happened to her, to the people there, to the realization of just how vulnerable she was, it was hard to come up with some simplistic, supreme answer. She felt a great deal more like the sullen teenage girl who had fled Etruria as her family burned behind her than she did some enlightened and powerful sage; the same vulnerability, but this time without even the excuse of youth and indiscretion to stave off her failure. She could have done nothing to save her parents. She was young, and their foes were many. But the so-called independent Althea of today, the tranquil and collected shaman who claimed to be free of the past, she should have been able to do something besides retreat into the same failure that had defined her once so long ago.
But Donovan spoke up. He spoke for her.
A small part of her noted that he lied as though it was natural. His voice held the same emotion as though he shouted the truth from the mountaintops, as though it truly tore at him to admit the truth. And yet it was not so. She had not been one of them, and he would have been quite rightly excused for saying as much. In a way, it made him wonder quite how honest everything else he said was. If he could lie that easily, that naturally... she truly could not tell the difference.
But she also noticed that he didn't lie. She was an... 'associate', if one bent the meaning just barely. They had met in Albanville. She hadn't understood what happened there. And, she wanted to believe, he truly did wish that he could have helped more. It was not exactly falsehood, but... deception of a sort nonetheless. Lying by omission perhaps, manipulating the subject to change the result.
Althea found that she didn't care either way. It was more kindness than she had dreamed of, and far more than she deserved. He even knew that she was a shaman, a practitioner of the magics that ate babies and killed puppies for fun, who probably went around sacrificing children for eternal youth and whose fair looks were simply stolen from a country girl's lifeless corpse. At least if one believed in those particular myths. Althea didn't think she particularly deserved to be treated as a witch, but it was hard to live as a shaman and not feel the distrust nonetheless.
She wouldn't cry. She couldn't cry. Not for the villagers she had failed, despite having come to care for some of them more than she had realized until they were gone. Nor for herself, for those tears had dried up years ago. But the least she could do for them was acknowledge their passing. And so Althea murmured the only thing she could think of to say, the only words that wouldn't be tainted by unintended meanings or worthless explanations.
"I'm sorry."
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Post by Donovan on Dec 26, 2016 13:01:00 GMT -6
Althea did well. She stayed quiet and let Don do most of the talking. Don suspected that it was a parttically due to her nature — she didn’t seem like much of an extrovert in most cases. It could have gone badly if she’d tried to say too much. Lying is best at achieving its goals if the story stays succinct and simple. Or else so needlessly absurd that people wonder the purpose of lying about it in the first place. But in either case, lying requires continuity. And while Donovan was quite good at the deed, not everyone was. The rest of his allies had learned that over time. It’s generally best to take a note out of Perun’s book; stand there and look intimidating.
“We really should get going. We have to deliver the word to the Marquess so they can get men out here to properly defend you in case those things come here. I would not worry too greatly. Had the monsters been looking for more slaughter they wouldn’t have turned back the way they had come. If your Marquess is worth his salt, than they will send along some portion of their guard soon enough.” Don looked through the crowd and saw that several people were still eyeing Althea with suspicion clearly written on their face. They could not stay here the night. It would beggar too many questions. Leave too many chances for mistakes.
“We have to get on to the Marquess. I’m sure these people would feel safest with the army at their back. Let’s move out!” And Don rode out. Without them so much stopping for a drink. He did not know whether the others understood how close they’d come to fighting off a mob. When people are confronted with something they don’t understand, they look for a stranger to make a scape goat. He saw it all the time when he was a kid. People assuming that the traveling thespians from another region were the ones who stole their mammy’s finest wooden bowl, because heavens forbid she misplaced it. They could not stay there. Not if they valued not getting torn apart in the middle of the night.
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Post by Althea on Dec 27, 2016 5:31:37 GMT -6
It was an interesting experience for Althea, to be so utterly dependent on someone again. Oh it was nothing new to be dependent to some degree or another, to a caravan driver or guard for example, she wasn't THAT obsessed with independence, but she had rarely been so utterly and absolutely useless and out of her depth as she had back there. The shock forced her mind back into activity to understand it, or at least try, and much of it came back to her emotional shutdown back there. It had been easy enough to think of the villagers as 'unfortunate victims' at the time, but being faced so directly with the consequences of their loss had been more than she could actually handle right then, and the atmosphere turning poisonous had done the next step.
It didn't take any special magic or unique powers to recognize the swell of emotion that had taken place, even she had felt it despite not being nearly as much of a people person as some might claim to be. But she wasn't sure what to do. Vengeance? All well and good, but the monsters were gone, and it wasn't like she had the power to enact it in the first place if she even DID know where to turn it. Make up for it? It hadn't been her fault, at least as far as she knew. Nowhere to turn her emotions, nothing to do to keep it from happening again... well, that wasn't entirely true though, was it? Much of it came back to her weakness. If she had been more alert, more powerful, maybe she could have lessened the damage. But not stopped it entirely. So... did that mean she had to become strong? Althea wasn't exactly clueless on the subject, more magic = more power, but it wasn't something she had really thought about before that much.
If nothing else though, she was at least alive. More than she could say for the people back in Albanville. And while Althea was not exactly sure why she had survived the catastrophe back at the town itself, she did know why she was alive now. Not by chance or her own efforts, but due to Donovan. Even if he shied away from wanting to be seen as especially chivalrous, or really praised too much at all, he had saved her nonetheless. She wasn't exceptionally outwardly affectionate so giving him a hug was unlikely even if they weren't currently on a horse which made it especially difficult, but once they were safely away she did manage to find her voice again after a time, feeling that some things were more important than a bit of false comfort.
"...Thank you, Donovan. I didn't know what to do." It wasn't the first time she'd been accused of things she didn't do, and Althea had realized LONG ago that fighting back was never an option. If a shaman started throwing Nether magic around haphazardly, they would only perpetuate the stereotype. That left running - and she wasn't especially sprightly - or just standing there and taking it, her default response in that scenario by this point.
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Post by Donovan on Dec 27, 2016 17:58:02 GMT -6
The group had left the hostile town before the pale figure behind Donovan finally spoke up. “People without power live in fear of those with it. But they live in far greater fear of that which they don’t understand. If you are a lord with great power, you are feared, yet revered. If you are an outsider with no known purpose and no one to vouch for you, you are a threat, undefinable.” He shrugged, “Such is the way of the human race. I learned that lesson at a very young age.
“… It’s good that we left, though. No good would have come from that town with how afraid they must be. And we truly must inform the Marquess to ensure the area’s safety. Or at least get us a contract that will afford our very lofty fee.” They continued to pad along. The silver tongue didn’t know much of what to say to the girl. After all, he’d had that same suspicion when he’d first seen her lying in the mound of dirt surrounded by wisps of the nether and craters where the town should have been. Fear was a logical reaction to the unknown. It kept you alive. But too much fear, left uncontrolled can lead to foolish actions. Like killing an innocent girl because she was found under suspicious circumstances. And while he didn’t distrust Althea, he needed to get more answers. If this was the Lich King, than she survived it’s attack. But if it wasn’t the Lich King it could be something just as bad — and Lycia didn’t have the forces to take on so many supernatural enemies at once.
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Post by Althea on Dec 29, 2016 0:55:52 GMT -6
"I wouldn't know anything about that." Was that... almost a hint of irony in her voice? Donovan was completely right of course, Althea wasn't arguing in the least. But the shaman did have a certain degree of experience with what happened to outsiders, especially those who acted weird and used evil magic that probably killed babies. It wasn't right or wrong, it just... was. It was certainly quite inconvenient though, to say the least, and she had just been exposed again to the darkest side of that fear. If anything, it was miraculous that she had escaped that degree of trouble for such a long time since the last incident, though at the same time Althea was aware that she didn't look like much of a shaman or a mage at all really, just a weird science lady, which helped a bit.
"...I've always thought that it was a problem that could be solved with information. If you understand the unknown, it no longer houses fear. If you teach a man to fish..." You can drown him while he's distracted? Yeah, that probably wasn't the right message to convey, even if she was a little under the weather attitude wise right now. "But I don't think there was anything that could truly solve that situation. Emotion is powerful, and in loss, we look outward for something to blame. God, evil, man... never chance. We search for meaning, unable... or unwilling to recognize that sometimes there is no meaning to things. Sometimes people who didn't deserve to die, do, and no one else seems to care."
She hadn't meant to drone on like that by any means, nor to actually open up, even if it had been... very little and fairly roundabout. But Althea had been speaking from the heart nonetheless. She wasn't much of a people person, or very good with them in general, but that didn't mean she hated or even disliked them. Just didn't understand them as well as she would like.
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Post by Donovan on Dec 29, 2016 2:40:01 GMT -6
“Of course you wouldn’t, what would a shaman know about being an outcast. Especially an Etrurian.” Donovan smiled and laughed a bit to himself. “Your accent gave you away, Althea, sorry about that. I can’t even imagine the persecution you must have gone through in that hell scape of a country.”
Knowledge, the great equalizer. If anyone would ever bother to hear it. Knowledge was meaningless unless it was registered by the people, after all, reality is the consensus of the masses, as Donovan always felt. And maybe, just maybe, people were right to be afraid of the nether. He had seen how it could steal memories when he met Drei. He’d learned about it being the main source of power holding together certain monsters like Wights and bonewalkers. Was it wrong to fear something that clearly had so great a power? No. Not in the mercenary’s mind. Was it wrong to fear it blindly? Yes. To fear those who seek to understand it? Yes. That, from Donovan’s perspective, a fool’s mentality.
But the young Shamn had something interesting to say that the mercenary couldn’t let slip by. Not as a follower of the Great Story Not actually a religion, just Don’s perspective on some things “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, Althea. There is no such thing as something having no meaning. Every choice has an impact. Ever action leads to another. Sometimes bad things happen. And sometimes those bad things were not put into motion by nefarious forces of the whims of the gods. But those acts of untraceable evil are the things that, undoubtedly have meaning to someone. Have changed a life. And thereby are given purpose. For better or worse.”
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