Messages

Better than Me

He didn't understand my melancholia. My anger, my hurt pride, the... Pain of seeing him, in that position - not so much for what he was, but because of what it meant about him. What he was becoming.   

"You said you wouldn't admit it in public"
"And that saddens me - because you never lied, before"

He gave me one of those long stares.
In the darkness, his onyx eyes seemed so shiny.
It was the sparks of torches, reflecting and flickering within.

"This one does not lie", he said. "Witholds truth"
"But, why sorrowful?", he asked. "Alejandro loves lie"

And I felt my mood sink as others dug into the past, and bit my tongue.
I bit my tongue because all I wanted to do was cry, softly:

"But you're supposed to be better than me"

Miranda, Cawford, seek me when you wake.

Yours,

Alejandro

I Needed a Smoke

I was spiraling, when he appeared, wincing with concern. I was feeling as though the walls were in closing on me, as I explained the search, the issue. Every muscle in my body wanted to run away, to bolt, to jump into the clouds and never leave and get lost and just escape escape escape -- and he caught my wrist right as I began scratching.

"I need a smoke", I addmited, softly. 
Perhaps not the best thing to say to my stern doctor.
But I really did. And I'm trying honesty.
"What you need is a bath and a hot meal", he grumbled.
So I cleared my throat, I paused, I put the cigarette away.
(It was not easy)
"Take me for some falafel, then", I said.

A hot meal didn't do me ill, but I was still a bit lost, a bit distant. Through my mind were running the practicalities of death. The realization that my Will still named Domhnall, and few else, for example. The thought kept growing within me, cancerous: if I was gone, what would need to be done? How could I ensure my research continued? What could allow me to survive? Could I dodge the lions? How? What would I miss? What

"Want to go on a trip?", I proposed, softly.

I was spiraling and needed mizzar, but the practicalities? The practicalities held some meaning. Giving him a key before we left was one of them, so that someone could get my books. Going on a trip, too, was part of it - if something happened and I hadn't, I would regret it.

His reaction to the Tower was unsurprising, but that didn't make it any less pleasant to witness. There's something that fills the heart, about seeing someone else brimming with joy, immersed in what makes them happiest, what they were almost made for. And this was, perhaps, as good as the Terrace. I watched him watch the flowers and, for a moment, I forgot the dread, and the fear, and the expectation and I forgot even the desire of...

"This is better than mizzar", I murmured, smiling softly.
Atop the stairs, for once more or less my size as he examined some ivy, he turned.
His eyes as verdant as the leaves, and just as lush.
"Being arround all these plants?"

And my smile widened as breathed in, deeply, the scent.
And I answered the Truth, and it tasted sweet in my mouth.
And it felt brave: to seek Truth, here, above.
With as much passion as I sought Him elsewhere
And if something happened there'd still be regrets.
But there'd be one less, to count.

It Came to Pass

I was chatting with a friend when it came to pass. Discussing my fears. "I'm one bribed Legate away from losing my ability to work, or worse", I think I said. He  was offering wisdom (as ever), commenting on my pride. He was not wrong, of course, that I am prideful, that I could just accept some restrictions and navigate them more easily, if I just feigned acquiescence.

And I can't. I guess I just don't have that many things I am proud of. But my research? That's the one aspect of my life where I've never done anything I'm ashamed of. Where I can say I've been wholeheartedly honorable. Where I can look at everything, from beginning to end, with pride.

"I am the best archaeologist in the Well", I declared.
Because it's true. There's nobody in the Tower half as good as I.
"Nobody think Mae Stern a better archaeologist than you", he said.
"This one will of course deny this, in public".

A part of me winced, at that. Not falseehood, perhaps, but insincerity. From him of all people. I understood, of course, his reasons. Still, there was something horrid about this city getting even to him. As the discussion went over the past, as I mentioned how the Tower diverted blame by casting aside the Torchbearers...

"Faction work for faction", he said.
"Alejandro know this", he added.
Resignation. The world as is, not as it should be.

And I was going to respond, when it came to pass. Their arrival, in seriousness. To search me. All that had to be hidden was hidden, but I still felt exposed. To investigate me. To request information as though I had done something wrong. And the moment I realized it was happening I felt the world contract, I felt myself tightening with fear. They wanted to see my papers. I was prepared, of course. I have been prepared since Vergal first threatened us and Jamileh began to fall into paranoiaThey wanted to see my authorizations. I have known this was bound to happen, I have known it for so long and I still had to make an effort not to tremble. I took them to my room, took Zol Nur along. A witness. The one thing I'm proud of, the one thing - stories. The one thing and in danger And he said he'd get that report, maybe come back.

"It fine", he said.
"Alejandro had papers"
And he patted my back.

And I hated everything about it.

He was such a sweetheart. I loved him as a Scribe, I loved him as a Janni. Well done and thanks for creating such a fun PC! <3

Elyse

Yes, I was there. No, I did not notice.

Enamoured of history. Enticed by the Ages. Her death flew high above my head.

I find myself now, here, alone. Amist my own collection of ancient things. I remember the stories of giants slowly turning to mountains, slowly becoming one with their loneliness. Is that what's happening to me? Am I beginning to care so much about these ancient things that I lose track of someone dear?

I taught her to dig. I guided her first steps. I showed her the Ramparts. It felt like a small betrayal, her joning the College. (And I hate that it felt like a betrayal). It felt saddening, her slow but steady distancing herself. Her following Aurelio, his little archaeologist. She reminded me so much of Portia (and how I failed Portia) that, when I saw her appear with her Rose cloak, her cheeks flushed with reverie, I sometimes felt my stomach clench.

And now she's dead.

"How do you do it?", she asked.
"Do what?", I wondered.
"Live without it. Without the Drink"

And I smiled, tiredly.
Said that we could discuss it later.
And later never came, and those were our last words to each other.

So it goes, so it goes.

The Difference

The difference between a lie and silence is a thin one. When a friend is telling you something you already know, how do you react? When you're bound, in oath most solemn, to silence, what can you tell?

I longed to share but I couldn't. I longed to at least share that I couldn't share, but it felt unfair and against the spirit of my promise. "I hope to explore it with you", I said instead. Which had the advantage of being true.

Such a tiny difference. Such a painful thing.

Horrid, to hold onto so thin a ledge, lest you fall.

Below, who knows. Maybe betrayal. Maybe dissapointment.

Maybe, worst of all, his sorrow.

Ancient, the Games

I barely got glimpses of the fights with all their staging and boisterous grandeur. I was, I think, dazed. Awed, perhaps. The stories woven, the chants from the thousand throats of a thousand clans. What strange beauty they craft, these murderers. What a culture they have, so refined in all its cruelty.

I cared not for the violence, and much for history. I slipped through the passageways taking note of impressions, of ancient glyphs, of rare structures. Like a shadow, I moved, hearing the distant sounds of battle, the chants. History, held within the very stones. History, in that Throne. A story, too, retold in blood.

Once, there was a city.
And within that city, many wonders were made.
Silverworks for refined jewels, for bangles and beads.
Delicate wonders from worshipful hands.

Then came the breach, the war. Failed, the embassies of Peace.
Then came the burning of the Trees and the palaces.
Then came the Bronze. High the axe, clefting the helm.
Then came the brother to shed his kin's blood.
Then came Aeb, of the a word here, redacted

They were Bellicose.
Their Way, borne by the Disc.

Only much later, after I was left looking at the Celestial Disc, alone in the ruins, did I realize that people had died. And I, too obsessed over exploring, over writing, over listening; too crouched upon an ancient corner of this ancient place, forgot to care.

I dislike what that says about me.

Esteemed señor mio,

As one of the most experienced Ashfolk inhabitants of our fair city, I was hoping you'd have some time to be interviewed for The People's History of Ephia's Well, which many are calling "the defining record of our recent history". Needless to say, appropriate charity shall be provided for your valuable opinions and insights.

Yours,

Alejandro

Esteemed señor Miro,

I am ever open to new stimulation, so it shall be my pleasure. Please, should I be arround, do not hesitate to make a Bellows. I shall endeavour to make time for you - as I do for every scholar.

Yours,

Alejandro

I Was Dreaming the Path

I was dreaming the path. Downwards and downwards, a spiral.
I was dreaming the path and I was holding His hand.
Truth led me downwards, our fingers entwinned.
So tightly that our flesh was one. Our flesh was one and our flesh was burning.
He turned his head slightly, tightened His grasp. He smiled.
In the darkness, His smile was a promise.
I was dreaming the path. I was burning with desire. I was promised.
I was dreaming the path and I went downwards and downwards.
The Depth was reached. Before us, the Threshold.
Truth pushed me against the Threshold and our flesh was one and our flesh was Truth.
On my mouth, His mouth. On my breath, His breath.
Burning, His fingers on my skin. His touch sizzled on my flesh and I exhaled, ecstasic.
I was promised. I was marked. In my want, I was wanted.
And His lips were on mine and His lips were hers.

I woke up sweating, bleeding from my nose, stained, feverish.
I woke unsated, on my chest there were tiny, reddish burns.
Like the footprints of birds on sand, the mark of His fingertips.

[The hapax legomenon]

Hapax Legomenon

In my room we gathered once more, like in old times. It had grown dustier, fuller. Bookshelves had been added, new books climbing on top of others. The notes of new, stranger translations littered the floor. The notes for the People's History were everywhere at once. It was a mess but, for once, I forgot to apologize for it.

"Of course, every translator comes to face their worst foe"
"The hapax legomenon", she said.
"The word that occurs in no other source"

I hesitated, considering. Had I, really?
I am likely the best translator in the Well. At least the most dedicated.
(Yes, Naelin, if you're reading it after my death: eat dirt!)
(Also, in case you're reading it after my death: I love you, you idiot!)
Was there truly such a perfect cypher? Had I seen it?

"No word is isolated", I responded, at last.
"There are always clues in its morphology. Prefixes, suffixes, roots"
"But also, in its position within the sentence. In its use"
"Every word is bound to the rules of its language. Entwined with every word elsewhere in the sentence."
"Every word, sometimes despite itself, contains information"

I was thinking about "DQWR", of course, though it is perhaps the opposite of what she meant. A word that has been repeated endlessly, over the aeons, worn out by use with all of our hopes, all of our dreams... And yet, its true meaning hides in a jungle of legend and elaboration. So many words written "about" it that almost everyone, when finding the letters, are too awed to realize how they are used. The leters have a meaning, hidden. Yet the position, writing, use, deliverance. Like a teasing lover, they show enough to awaken Desire, to call us ever closer.

That day, Caddick was awed because she thought the legends were True.
I was awed because I was closer to Truth itself.

"True", she said. A smile on her lips.
"Just like we mortals, ourselves"
"Each, a piece of a grand puzzle"

I was, perhaps, too tense. This discussion, and the one before. A nameless hesitation ran through my thoughts, as though part of me was too busy measuring that we kept our distance, and another part of me was too shamed that I was measuring the distance, and another, too shamed of the shame in the first place. A tangle: such are, often, our conversations.

"It us good you took the opportunity to come with us", she had said.

There had been a slight smile on her lips.
Satisfaction, maybe. I couldn't tell.

"I cannot say no to Truth", I had admitted.
"It calls"

She did not seem to truly react. Not a change in her expression.
In the dusty air, not a movement came from her.
Just steadiness. Certainty. Her smile, too, of the Ages.

"And that is why you remain our friend", she had responded, at last.
"And why you always will", she had added.

It wasn't clear from her tone whether she meant
                                                                                hope,
                                                                                            or suggestion,
                                                                                                                     or statement,
                                                                                                                                              or command.
 

"Hapax Legomenon"

Let It Go

"Every Balladeer has sought to speak of the same to me"
"Why I left", I explained, "and why not return"

Apparently, they don't call it "the Dungeon" anymore.
Not sure why that hurt me so much, but it did.
Maybe being there just brought it all back, an onrush.
(The last time I was there. The first, too.)
(Lynneth's smile and encouragement, first. Her lips, when they burnt, last.)
It took me a moment to refocus from the roses, to return to the present.
What a strange echo, she was, before me.

"Every Recluta has come with the matter of you, at one point or another", she explained.
"Of course, there's an easy solution: your return"

I don't think she knew quite what she was asking.
As she laid her reasons: lack of personel, my own resourcefulness, my expertise.
To save the world, was I not needed? Was sacrifice not deserving?
She didn't knew the half of it, I suppose.
My work there, my leaving. Many things I told her. Some, I kept for myself.
(What transpired before those very roses, I kept for myself)
(Though I do not know why I feel this shame, when I remember.)

"I kept telling every Student that the real College was not the cloaks, the fortress, the roses"
"That all that was attrezo, and the College was in our hearts"
A sigh, a sip of the cup. She had served something sweet, not the Drink.
(Thankfully. I don't know whether I'd have had the strength to reject It)
"Then Aubrey called my ideas 'nonsense' and 'a sure path to irrelevance'"
"And Lyrists and Grandmaster, more politely, agreed"

I will never know what hurt most:
The rejection of my ambitions, after months of toil and effort...
Or seeing my ideals rebuffed, rejected in such a way.
Obviously, by now, it doesn't matter.

"Balladeers either die in battle", I explained.
"Or sink deep into his cups, unable to endure the Real"
I did not have the heart to bring up Aurelio. His sad state.
I would be like him by now, however: I know it.
Just waiting for a chance to die a hero.
"I tried the first", I added, softly, "I survived".
"And I don't want to drown, again"

I would admit there was something echoing within me, at her words, as the conversation went on and we touched on Fate, and Sacrifice, and Hope, and DQWR. But was I not, for all their burdens, at peace with my choices? I think I was. I think I am where I am meant to. Or, at least, where I want to be. Bannerless hedgeknight, trickster-scholar. I do not know that I believe in Fate as I once did, but this feels as it should... Fate and Choice and Chance and Effort. Echoing, within me, their prophecies: 

The Cup will not be found by a knight in shining armor
From the viewpoint of prophecy, you're better: a hedgeknight.
Red is the Rose, white is the Lily
Entwinned, like lovers, the Ages

Wrapped in prophecy and certain, I felt it once once more.
The desire to be, again, a Roseknight.
I felt it and, tenderly, I let it go.




[A little note has been added at the bottom - part of a last conversation.]

"Poor Lynneth", she said as we left the College, "Would that I could've met her"
I smiled, remembering her gallantry towards Hypatia.
"In some ways, you're very similar", I said, softly.
Then, I found myself pausing. Sighing.

"She was much more human than the statues make her seem, though"
"That's what was best about her"

I, personally, do not see evil stealth gameplay as being that threatened by a paladin. Most paladins I've seen rp it in quite a decent way that leaves room for interpretation... And just because someone gives the pali "bad vibes" doesn't mean you inmediately trust the paladin... Or can afford to say no to the evil people! And the paladins need a decent tool to know who to quest with, imo.

Also, as Ramc says, its 100% possible to keep Prot. from Good up. I saw it. She just tended to be ever-so slightly delayed sometimes, because priestesses, you know. They are slow.

I'd Call You a Friend

We were in her office when it happened.
Discussing politics, as one does.
The corruptions, horrors and tribulations of the Assembly.
My fears, how she could help me, her kindly offer.
Then, the latest development. Her choice, her burden.

"Do you think", she concluded, "I made a mistake with Qadira?"

Why we were on this topic escaped me. She was certainly burdened.
And perhaps I was there, willing to listen. So I gave my response, my own thoughts.
Her frown, deep. Meandering hypotheses running through her mind.

"I am sorry, Alejandro", she interjected, concern in her voice.
"You do not deserve such laid upon you".

I did not knew what to answer. She seemed, for a moment, so small.
A tiny old woman, on a huge chair, sighing. On her shoulders, so much weight.
And trying to spare me, what? Concern?

"Señora mia...", I sighed, "at the risk of taking undue liberty..."
"It is no... Issue, to hear your burdens"
"Because I respect you greatly", I said. I paused.

Weary, the both of us. Each with our concerns, and ideas, and beliefs.
Each with causes for disagreement, I'm sure... But, in kindness, reaching out.

"And I would call you a friend", I added."

At that, she smiled. As did I.