3. Meditations on Pain - Keira's perception

Meditations on Pain - Keira's perception


  • An undeviating path of self-examination does not necessarily lead to a mountain of self-knowledge.
    I stumble toward my grave confused and hurt and hungry.

    Keira watched her hands, cutting meat. Feeling the blade slice with the grain of the muscle. Removing tendons, excising the gristle from near the joints. Good to work, good to prepare, good to practice. The knife just a tool, just a focus for will and action. Keira tasted the stew. Meat softer now, taking on the sweetness of the apples, companion to the wine and the onions and the rosemary.

    Good to help people. Good to be warm, good for those coming off the plains to find hot food waiting.

    The ghouls were dead. Put to the sword by Belade's zeal. Tracked to their lair by Star. So many ghouls, and yet still they charged into the cave. Keira watched Jert try to retreat, paralyzed, gagging by the ghoul's stench. Watched the ghoul lord swipe him down with its claws. Bored, Keira kicked again at her Ogre's throat as it tried to rise. It rose again, unbothered, before a flurry of other blows broke enough limbs to make it fall. Only one dead, to rescue another? The group advanced into the cells, looking for Melody.

    Found her, alive. Troubled by her imprisonment, clutching at a piece of meat. Time to leave, before others come. Belade whining about the meat, standing surrounded by ghoul corpses. Not caring who might return, not asking why they lived there, who created them, what was coming. Struggling to get her home to the house, watching her stare vacantly, watching her take bites of the flesh. Belade, seething, itching to find another foe. Anything she could slay in Sune's name, anything to give her a reason for being. How can she give herself so unquestioningly to such horror?

    All a matter of time. Melody sick, getting sicker. Keira fed her friend, watching the glazed yellow eyes track the bloody meat as she offered it. Her skin greyer now, strong hands become ragged claws. Still needs time for a cure, still need to feed her so she's not too weak. They hadn't been there to protect her. So hard to protect people. Much easier to avenge. Easier to heal than prevent infection, unless you know what's coming. She wouldn't eat deer anymore. Melody needed something… different. Nyda still researching a cure for the fever. Belade thankfully dispatched to make silverdust, her repeated demands that she be allowed to put Melody to rest if the cure failed were an irritation. If it looks like Melody, if it can come back and be Melody... it still is, in some way. Put to rest was such a weak way to say kill, end, destroy. Take what remains of herself and send it to her god. Very easy to justify killing, when you believe hard. Very easy when you believe it's right.

    _Keira, shrouded in the evening twilight. Watching the road as a lone man wandered up. Unfortunate that the hobgoblins had learned to stay away from the Sisterhood over the past week. Always consequences for our actions. Animal meat not good enough anymore. She padded out towards him, glad that he was a stranger. Keira relished the surprise in his eyes, watching it turn to relief as he realised it wasn't an orc, wasn't a bandit, just a slightly built elf, probably from the town he was approaching. She smiled encouragingly, letting him draw breath to speak, before stabbing her fingers into his unguarded throat. She stepped closer to hold him as he died, watching his eyes.

    Keira watched his eyes dull, breath rasping finally out of his chest. She let the body fall, checked again for watchers before rolling it into a blanket and taking it away. Easy to kill when you believe it's right. Much harder to realise you kill through will, through action, through choice. See a stranger, know that their death may keep someone you know from dying. Just a choice, an effort of will, an action.

    Keira watched her hands, cutting meat. Need to bone it. Need to dice it, make it unrecognisable. Wolves will do the rest. If body's found in time, likely thieves will have stripped it. The heap of flesh, bloody, wrapped in a skin. Keira dragged the body out to the plains below the hill, hearing the howls, knowing they'd come. Druids would be happy. Not wasting the kill, leaving it for the other animals._

    Keira bought holy water by the case from Vroka, checking off the list Nyda had written. Noting the absence of food for Melody. Keira smiled at the understanding between them. Keira watching Pilth and Lilin thrown around by the crazed strength of the ghoul. Hardly recognizable anymore, her red hair gone. Eyes a baleful yellow, skin grey and mottled. Not going well. Keira watched Pilth flailing in her armor in a tub, wondering if she'd drown. Remembered Pilth chewing lumps out of her arm. Keira smiled at the symmetries and moved towards the bath.

    Splashing, weaker now. Keira watched her hands holding the ghoul under the water. Heard the splashing getting fainter from Pilth's tub. Watched Nyda incanting a blessing with greater fervour as she poured holy water over what had been Melody. How many lives to save one you want to save? As many as it takes. That's the difference between will and weakness. Willingness to act, willingness not to act despite the consequences.

    Silence. The water black and still. They hauled the thing that had been Melody out, attempting another curative blessing. It didn't burn. Damp clanking as Pilth managed to haul herself over the side eventually. All done, just the ends to tidy up. Keira padded quietly back to the kitchens, gathering the knives and bowls used to prepare the food. Noticing some flesh left over, Keira thought for a moment before smiling.

    Keira tasted the stew. Meat softer now, taking on the sweetness of the apples, companion to the wine and the onions and the rosemary.

    Good to help the people of Jiyyd, hungry so often. Good to be warm, good for those coming off the plains to find hot food waiting.

    ((Thanks to Salsadoom? for a fun time playing with ghouls))


  • Now you're some back, too bad you're still the same
    A blackened circle of pain is all you are. When will you realise that it's endless.

    Stupid. Careless. All this time, all these years and nothing much changes. Faster, yes. Stronger, yes. All as nothing, bound and weighted by the sluggish lead of thought. Should have seen. Should have heard. Should have run. But no. Stood there, throwing yourself into the fountains of acid off the mages body. Ilmater would have been proud, you messed up victim. What did it serve?

    Nothing.

    Worse than that. You didn't think. If you'd thought, it would be better. Not much, since you were killing yourself without any purpose. Should have thought. Should have chosen to die, rather than flinging yourself onto the dwarf attacking Sy'wyn. He wasn't dying. He wasn't even badly hurt. Even if he was, you'd have made no difference. Useless elf. You learn nothing.

    Nothing

    Worse than that. You're learning the wrong things. Lessons of pain aren't random. They aren't impossible. They're there to help you. There to be considered, to be reasoned. In short, to be avoided, but if they can't they're to be understood. You're missing it all. Why are you here? Who are you? How was dying senselessly going to help? No. You're running out of time. One day they won't bring you back because they'll have worked out how useless you are. Once you're worth nothing to them, they won't suffer you around.

    Got to get yourself together. Work out why you're here. Die before you've served your purpose and you won't be welcome. Nobody wants that. Not even you deserve that. Tighten up. Watch what happens. Don't let it happen again, not enough time to learn like that.


  • No happy endings, just endings

    They don't understand. Not something to be cured, not something to be fixed. Not everything changes the way we want it to. Not everything bad can be reversed. Life is pain. Meant to suffer, meant to endure. Meant to struggle and twitch and thrash before it all goes dark. They don't see that, they see it as glorious, beautiful, hope for something better. The hope does nothing except blind them. They are too close to see what is Truth. Step back from every light and it's revealed as a speck of grey in gathering darkness. A spasm, a flare and another is gone. All we are, all this is - fading.


  • Good and evil, reward and punishment, are the only motives to a rational creature: these are the spur and reins whereby all are guided.

    Did a good thing. Know it, felt it. Maybe this what they meant. No-one saw, no-one asked. Just me and the world.

    The woman was alone, creeping through the snows north of the ridge. Good, but not that good. Slight scuff against the snow. Brushed against branches. Uneven stride. Tired, maybe. Followed her, closing, watching. She wore Eastlander uniform. Odd. Thought we got them all. Advance, wait. She pauses. I cough, once. She freezes.

    Good to see expression change. Good to see it in her eyes. Been too long. She's scared. Say nothing. She says… 'I'm n-no-one!'. Rare to hear truth like that from a human that young. Maybe she doesn't mean it like that. Catch in her voice.

    Could have walked away, let her go. Could have accepted it made no difference. Could have let it be someone else's problem, if it came back to them. Knew it would be right to find out who she was, why? What she did here still. What the City needs to know but can't ask out loud.

    Nod. All is fine. Smile, she relaxes. Kick winds her, doubles her over. Close, arteries in the neck, hold and she slumps. Still quiet in the pass. Tie her, hands, feet. Not losing another for fear of carrying them. Not relying on guards, or defenders, or the legion. Pull spare robe over bound form and balance her over shoulders.

    She's coming round. Scared, struggling. Point out the reception she'd get from the Guardsmen at Watchtower. How many have lost friends to her people. She quiets. Respect people who can wait, silently for the right time. Respect people who act and succeed. She wriggles quietly. Feels like working her wrists under the robe. Feel it against my back.

    Stand over the cliff. Watching the stream in the valley below. Soon, she notices we're not walking. Notices where we stand. Long drop. Hard to keep hold of someone who wriggles. No-one knows I have her to miss her. She understands, it's not yet her time.

    Guards at the gate nod. Just another injured friend. People in the commons. No-one cares. No-one notices. Girl on shoulder quiet again, watching the cobbles of the city move past my feet. Put her in a cell. A quiet one. Thick door. Untie her. Watch, quietly. She's thin, sunken cheeked, dark round the eyes. Offer her food which she wolfs.

    She says she came back a couple weeks ago to find them all dead. Listen. Remember coming back, years ago to find my people dead. Think what might have happened if I'd died with them. Interesting. Not worth dwelling on might have beens. She says we killed them all. We did.

    Told her she was alone, in the city she called enemy. Reminded her what Defenders would do if they knew. Told her we could get her out again, in time, if she helped us. She bursts into tears. Didn't even need to touch her. All in her head. She sobs uncontrollably, rocking in the corner of the cell. Watch her for a while before making report.

    Feels good to do good. Maybe Paladins right about that.


  • Things do not change; we change.

    Time away worthwhile. Can watch them now with less attachment. Surely closer to Her for this clarity. Silence of temple restful. Feels safe. A good place to end. Good place to return to. Cracks more visible now. Chaos creeping in lines of red beneath their faces. They smile and don't feel it. Maybe they smile because they can't feel it.

    Watched hope in faces of younger orphans. Too young to understand. Older children show varying aptitude. Time will show them truth of Her teachings. People asking me to do things again. Reflection of me on world. Feels good. More honest now. They understand will and choice. No right. No wrong. Will is everything.


  • It’s not easy to find happiness in ourselves and it’s not possible to find it elsewhere.

    Keira worked her way through a kata down in the training room under the clouded eyes of the disrespectful and failed students. Thinking about paths and choices, turning and snap-kicking at the adjacent punchbag before returning her focus and blows to the first one again. Sensations from the ache in her thighs and back were noted and compared with the expected rigours of the routine. Sy’wyn had been regrettably gentle with her, she reflected, not displaying quite the same fire or focus as he had a while ago under the Ferret when he'd beaten her unconscious.

    She finished the kata, spinning gracefully to the wary panther stance before straightening and bowing slightly to the punchbags. Wiping her face with a cloth, remembering the feel of his hands on her, the feel of his fists on her, and the glint in his eyes. She noticed herself smiling again, for no reason, and composed herself for more sober contemplation. He’d told her more about why he claimed to find her attractive. It was almost believable. Her earlier thoughts of how attractiveness was mostly a reflection seemed to hold, for now. Maybe he really did like her but that was becoming harder to determine and so less worthy of consideration.

    He’d said he was arranging a house; A new home for himself to justify the next century of bitterness and isolation when it was inevitably destroyed. She thought for a moment about the calmness he projected, the fascination with the way she thought of things. Pulling back to a longer view to face her fears of the future and rejection.
    Leave the order; Choose a new patron; Love Sy’wyn; Raise little elves.
    It would be belonging to someone, and that was attractive. She smiled, knowing he’d hate that. He’d always doubt her motivation, feel that she’d done it to please him. It’d be hard for him to refuse, if presented right. He’d have to accept her and in time he’d hate himself for it. It wouldn’t even need a crystal or a collar for him to think he’d taken her will away.

    For now, all she had to do was bring him closer. Nicahh and Denna and Eowiel all said he was suitable for her, though she was very aware that their criteria were different. They could probably provide some useful practical advice for the future. Something to relax him, she thought, remembering a slight furrow in his brow during moments of particular concentration. Perhaps the fight training would help. She sighed, remembering the cell she’d shared with the other novices. They’d started to respect her once she’d grown enough to fight back. Nothing builds familiarity and ease like beating people bloody and then meditating on it together.

    Amy. It was a similar plan to reflect appropriate emotion back to her, encourage continued commitment and feelings. Keira smiled, contemplating Amy’s foolishness and trust. It would have to be repaid with an appropriate lesson, eventually. Until then, there were other plans for her. Maybe she could even help with Sy’wyn, considering the number of menfolk she’d lain with. Surely there’d be some sort of common techniques to pass on. That would be good to learn. He seemed to approve when she learned new things.

    Keira returned to her bunk and drifted into reverie, thinking of the smell of his skin and the way his eyes flashed green in candlelight.


  • To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love.

    ‘It was a test. To see how I’d react?’

    Keira watched as his face fell, the smile fading from his lips and eyes. He turned and walked away across the square towards the gate. His last words, that not everything was a test, carried on the wind. She watched him walk out into the snows of the pass, frowning slightly. She could leave, now. That would be best, for both of them. In time he’d realise it was her fault, not his. In time he’d work out that she couldn’t be relied on, couldn’t be one of the carefree dancing forest elves. Better for her too. At times his faith was infectious, almost letting her think he did value her. Of course he couldn’t, that would be another of the pretty lies, but sometimes it would have been easy to let it get to her.

    Yes. Better for them to be apart. He couldn’t really want her, and it would be wrong for her to believe he did. Keira watched the gates and sighed, contemplating what she was losing. She thought of the collars and his reaction to them, his reaction to the crystals and their servants. That loss of self was so wrong to him…

    Without love, we suffer. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer.

    Bring it back to doubt. Unlikely as it was, could he want her? Scarred, insignificant, scared, inadequate, tainted and lost. Why would he find that attractive? What does he see in someone drifting, out of place, struggling to find some meaning in their actions, when every day the futility of them is thrust back by the world. We can’t protect the things we value, only avenge them… He was old, he’d said that. She was young, he’d said that too. He wants to protect her? Heal her from the bitterness and loss he lives with? Keira frowned. Maybe he sees parts of himself reflected.

    He watched her sometimes, smiling. Were those the eyes and smiles of a proud teacher? Is there something more? He said he wanted her. He said it wasn’t a test. Of course he said it wasn’t a test. Action becomes habit becomes character. Keira glared indiscriminately over the square for a moment calming herself. He risks much, trying to manipulate her like this. With encouragement, with reinforcement, he might begin to believe it himself. His plan for her, built on convincing her she mattered to him before crushing that carefully built hope. He was skilled. The looks, the words, the willingness to walk away when apparently rejected to encourage her to follow… Very skilful, except that she knew what he was doing.

    Know your enemy, know yourself and in a thousand battles you will not be defeated

    Follow his lead, draw him in a circle of his own momentum. Show him a weakness, show him the need he wants to foster. Show him the hope that he wishes to crush. Make him believe and then the opportunity will present itself. Precision. Timing. Keira pauses, remembering the Order, remembering the ways she’d been hurt, remembering the rhythm, and remembering the use of contrast. What could he do that was worse than that? She took a breath and let it out evenly. Fear should not drive us, it should only inform us of danger. We choose to act. She knew he’d hurt her, with acceptance of that; the fear was easier to manage. She knew he’d touch her and with acceptance the fear was easier to manage. For anything else, her strength would have to be enough.

    Keira smiled and set out at a jog, following the footsteps in the snow towards the Gypsy Camp.


  • To be truly happy and contented, you must let go of what it means to be happy or content.

    Focus. It all came back to focus. What was she doing, drifting around? Keeping law in Norwick was less fulfilling than before, the more productive questioning techniques frowned on in the quiet times, where there was less of a threat. One thing, to bring her happiness. Keira frowned, trying to remember, trying to arrange her thoughts to see when she’d been happy. It felt like trying to catch a snowflake.

    Focus. She blinked, thinking of Hedia and Amalia and Amy. Amalia hadn’t turned from a dark path and had died. Hedia and Amy had turned, had stepped away from shadows in their past to … some unsettled flightiness. Indecision. Keira knew that’s what awaited her if she chose to step away, knew that without focus she’d be lost. Except her focus now was on herself, on the change, on her troubles. She was too close to see clearly. They see an elf that claims devotion to an evil goddess. They see an evil elf, one who chooses a path they feel is wrong. She seems less threatening than most, less overt than the Banites, so she’s misguided.

    Nothing, no connection, no passion, no feeling anymore.

    Nothing is right, nothing is wrong, except in how we judge it. The doubts placed in her by careful manipulation, the fears. All of it to bring her to this. It’s not about happiness. It’s not about joy. It’s about focus and self. It always has been. It always will. Curling up and whining about unfairness doesn’t make it go away. For all their talk, Her way is truth. otherwise we wouldn’t suffer. The world was as chaotic and vicious as they’d said back in the Order. No innocents, nothing worth saving from itself. We’re all alone. Sy’wyn had been trying to tell her that, trying to make her see something to focus on.

    Her way was Truth. It always had been. Keira sighed, acknowledging her own weakness in the past. She didn’t need to hurt herself anymore, the world would do that soon enough. The path until then was just a race to keep ahead of the coming storms. She didn’t need to hurt herself, that wouldn’t make others understand. Her anger and frustration vanished, leaving behind calmness and clarity. When there are no other choices, one must act without hesitation or mercy. They’ll feel Her touch, in time. Everyone will.

    Listen to them, learn from them. They sow the seeds of their own suffering. A word, a gesture, a misunderstanding. All gentle manipulation to let them move in the direction their fears take them. It's not force, just pressure in the right place to guide. It's their choice really. Support them, help them, watch them fall. All for Her.

    Focus.


  • Without accepting the fact that everything changes, we cannot find perfect composure.
    But unfortunately, although it is true, it is difficult for us to accept it.
    Because we cannot accept the truth of transience, we suffer.

    Truth is. Perception misguides us, showing us an illusion of the truth that is. That’s why they say that truth is perception, even though it isn’t. The ultimate striving to alter perception so that the illusion is reduced, to attempt to perceive the Truth without distortion. That was her path. That was Her path. The struggle, the pain, the doubt – all part of the journey, part of the trials and adversity needed to hone perception. Recognising the illusions of life and words and people and stripping them away to see the world with less clouded eyes.

    What is, is. To hear a man speak, you don’t hear his words, only hear what reaches you despite the distraction of other sound. Only hear what he chose to say, not the thoughts behind it. Paladins can’t lie. Paladins can’t lie without consequences to themselves and their path. Bards seemed required to lie by their adherence to the vagueness of perception and communication, defined by the void between expectation and understanding. So when Eowiel says Paladins can’t lie… is it true? Elissa says that Paladins don’t lie. Sy’wyn says that Paladins don’t lie. Is it true? It doesn’t matter.

    What is, is. Sometimes I feel uncomfortable near people. That same discomfort when Eowiel cast some magic. She says it wards against evil intent. She says the Paladins sense people in a similar way. Sometimes I feel uncomfortable near her without her casting it on me. Maybe she casts something that makes everyone feel awkward. Maybe she casts something on me to make me feel uncomfortable and says it’s because I’m evil. Maybe. She is wrong about many things. Why would she try to confuse me? Bards. Bards and Lliira, pointless frivolity to blind themselves from the world with trivia and sensation. They don’t understand truth, just distort and weave perception around themselves.

    What is, is. If the paladins don’t lie… they sense something that they say is darkness in my heart. Sometimes I feel uncomfortable, less focussed near others. I feel the same when Eowiel casts a ward against evil intent on me. I feel the same way sometimes when Eowiel approaches. She wouldn’t be hunting me, like Zyphlin did to Ikurus, trying to confuse me, trying to provoke me into doing something. I’m not worth that effort to her. Why she acts doesn’t matter, for now.

    Take it back. Not to justify my past, just to look at it. To try to understand. Sy’wyn says that we don’t need to cause suffering, there’s enough in the world. That is Truth. One of Her glorious truths is that we bring our suffering upon ourselves. Life is suffering. He says that suffering and death are the same, that’s not true. Suffering has to be personal to have meaning. A word, a blow, a knife in the right place. Very personal, very precise. Death is just an absolute, a transition, part of a journey. Suffering is the experience, the perception of life’s trials in a very special, focussed way. He speaks as though killing is bad, but I’ve seen him kill. He says bringing suffering to people is bad. He says that what they see, what the magic can feel within me is that. Suffering helps us grow, helps us learn, an opportunity to understand ourselves a little better, a chance to glimpse that Truth. It’s all around us, a part of life but he says that encouraging it is wrong.

    Raryldor said that Her path was one of darkness. He said it would lead to eternal torment. No one can know the future, but looking back the path is straight. Now they say I’m bad. Elor is weak, he refuses to recognise his own failings. He blames others, responds to observation with bitterness and evasion. He is not comfortable with himself, his choices, his past, or his potential. Am I? Sy’wyn says we’re more than our past, that we’re also what we can become. We only move forward from where we are. Where am I? What am I?

    The arrow only lives in flight. It only lives as it fulfils its purpose. The arrow flies from the bow, not towards the target. Maybe Her path is not about seeking Truth. Maybe it’s not about learning our limits and training us to extend beyond ourselves. Following what I thought was Her path has brought me here. Changing that path, stepping from it will have consequences. Remaining on it will have consequences. A simple choice. They think Her path is evil. They think me following my path has made me bad. Any action is possible with will, with focus, with devotion. Serve Her and follow that path where it leads or change and step away from Her truth.

    A simple choice. Without loyalty and devotion to offer the Gods, what else do we have?


  • Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.

    It should be simpler than this, she thought. Joy and satisfaction are bought through adversity and trial otherwise they have no meaning, no worth. He shouldn’t have done this to her… The niggling doubts of the futility of her existence whispered in the back of her head. She was just a pawn of fate, insignificant, to be tossed about in the storms, suffering the blows of an uncaring and arbitrary world. She’d done nothing. Nothing wrong, nothing bad. Her choices affected no one except herself. All that affected her, an opportunity to choose and to learn. Love wasn’t earned. Love was given, unconditionally, blind, foolish. Was that true? The bards, simpering and winking with talk of love and the worthless joys of Lliira. It was wrong.

    Keira smiled, acknowledging Her hand in visiting some more confusion and difficulty upon her. Another test of her resolve, to see whether her recent assertions of putting weakness and lies behind her were true. Already that resolve was suffering. Slight crumbling and chipping and misdirection. Failure to correct people who assumed something within their perceptions of her. All choice, all helping to shape their view of her. Her choices, affecting others and how they act. How could they see her and love her? How could they love her without knowing her? It was wrong.

    He shouldn’t have done that to her… She shouldn’t have let him. He thought it would help her, maybe thought it might help him understand. He’d seen something of her and left. Tainted by her. Maybe there was something in what the Paladins were saying. She frowned. He’d said the feelings had passed after the communion but he’d still seemed distant. Then… he was gone. She paused, appreciating the subtle damage he’d inflicted on her. What would it be to show a blind man sight for a moment, then take it away. A fleeting glimpse of something she never knew she’d lost, never realised was hers if she wanted it. How could he care for people he hadn’t met. It was absurd. How can something untested have worth? Nothing can be considered without perception of it. Anything else is a lie, a fiction… We’re alone, always. Sy’wyn understood that, but still cared, still believed, still had connection to others, family, friends. It was … wrong?

    Keira paused, looking at the bruises on her leg. It wasn’t helping her focus as much as usual. She changed her gloves and pressed the frosty gauntlets onto the previous injuries, feeling numbness creep into the area as the blood slowed and nerves failed to respond. Perception. Focus. How many people would say love was good, pain was bad. That didn’t make the statement true, only their perception. Sy’wyn wasn’t right, that hadn’t been truth. It was just a brief glimpse of how he saw things, how he saw everything. How could he be so twisted, so conflicted and so… unaware of it all. How can life be precious when you choose to end it? It’s a lie. It’s falsehood. He deludes himself to make his choices seem easier, to justify his actions with lies and misrepresentation. To follow Fenmarel, to be alone and yet still hold to his family? Weakness, conflict. Does it give strength to know what you miss, know that you choose to weaken yourself in denial of some support, some tool? She smiled, remembering Elor saying something similar to her about those who chose to fight without weapons. Denial of something beneficial, some adversity to promote struggle, learning and accomplishment. That would mean that the emotions she’d been trained to subdue and detach from could be useful? How does emotion motivate action more efficiently than will?
    She smiled, untangling a tiny knot in her mind. It’s more than choice, it’s justification. It provides reason for the weak or thoughtless. I did it because I loved them, or hated them, an unassailable position. Unarguable by others perception. That was the strength of the zealots and paladins. That was the source of their conviction, a dogma that says hate this, love that. The fervor and conviction of emotional response lends an illusion justice to their cause regardless of any real justice. So when they say they hate her, or she must atone… it’s another lie from the lips of their God. A shadow of their perception that they cannot acknowledge is flawed or their world will crumble. That lack of vision, that wilful ignorance… It was wrong.

    Her plan was beautiful, that all suffering is rooted in our minds, our words and our actions. Every day we mislead ourselves further, building traps for our future that the unenlightened will stumble into and curse the Gods. Truly, the Doombringer’s teachings that we get just recompense for our actions are visited upon us. Punishments for the deserving, and all of us deserve punishment. All of us tread a path on which we sow the seeds of our destiny. Her Truth is. The others just perceive it wrongly.

    So, reaching back to love and joy unearned? Those who claim to love her without knowing her must be misguided. Vengeance isn’t a goal, vengeance will come from the world for the actions we take within it. It doesn’t need a champion or a tool, in time we reap our own harvest. Those who claim to love her blindly… they are sowing something. Constantin and his joyful, dancing Maiden can’t reap happiness from it without paying the price… Keira nodded to herself, clarity returning like the painful burn of circulation returning to her frostbitten leg.

    The others? Surely Nicahh saw her for what she was. Surely Amy did. Sy’wyn did too, but he’d chosen to leave. What are they sowing for themselves? There will be pain and torment and suffering, always. That was right. That was Truth.

    What else is there?


  • Original background

    Be patient and tough; some day this pain will be useful to you.

    ‘Last again, Keira.’ The scourge noted flatly as the children regained their breath in the courtyard. They ranged from 6-8 years old but were stocky and well muscled from their exercises. A head shorter than the average and about half the weight, the pale, skinny elf’s breathing was ragged. In 5 years of running that route every morning she still finished last on most days. The other children recovered faster as well, their breathing returning to normal, bright eyes looking to the elf.
    ‘Tarla, come with me. The rest of you hurt Keira until the sands run out. ’ The scourge turned the hourglass and walked away from the sounds of the scuffle as the larger children bore the weaker elf to the ground.
    ‘Well run, Tarla. Starting from now you train with the novices.’

    Pain is weakness leaving the body.

    The novices stand around at one edge of the training mat, identically clad in light vests of undyed grey. Tarla, now a young man, looked over the group and called for a volunteer. Most of the novices were in their early teens, filling out and learning fast. Keira stood at the front of the group, still short and slight in comparison despite the many years she'd lived there. She stumbled forward a step as an unseen hand pushed her. Tarla smiled as her eyes widened and she bowed respectfully.
    ‘Today, vulnerable parts of the body. Most are where organs or nerves are found near the skin. This will be reinforced later in the anatomy exercises.’
    Tarla positioned Keira on the mat, half-facing the group.
    ‘Between the navel and the ribcage, on the centre-line of the body.’
    He smiled at Keira before punching her once, swiftly, in the solar plexus. She crumpled to the ground, winded.
    ‘See how her breathing is disrupted. See the distress. Her mind tells her to breathe but the body cannot function. The effect lasts for a brief time before the natural instincts reassert themselves.’
    He waited for Keira to struggle to her feet and stand ready again.
    ‘The effect can be resisted to some extent by tensing the stomach muscles in preparation for the blow’
    He prodded at Keira’s midriff for emphasis.
    ‘As with most techniques, be versatile. Use distracting blows to divert attention from the target area.’
    Tarla stepped close, stamping on Keira’s bare foot before turning and hammering another blow into her stomach. She dropped again, clutching at her stomach.
    ‘Find a partner, take turns, practice. We cannot deliver pain without understanding’

    I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage.

    The older man smiled at Keira, brushing a damp strand of hair tenderly away from the whimpering elf’s face. His younger colleague busied himself at the table, cleaning the knives and other instruments. He leaned closer, whispering pleasantly, soft brown eyes scanning her face.
    ‘Come here, it’ll be good for you. I know you’re stronger than this. I want you to show me.’
    He traced one of the few scars that ran along her arm with a loving finger, finishing the caress by grazing his thumb over the raw flesh where the manacles had chafed. She didn’t move from the corner, eyes blankly staring into the distance, hugging her knees.
    ‘Trust me. I can’t promise it’ll be easier than before if you come. It’s not far. Look. Refan’s waiting for you. For you. All you have to do is walk over there, we’ll help you.’
    He paused, watching for a reaction or a sign that she’d heard him.
    ‘I can promise one thing. It will definitely be worse if you don’t go over there. If we have to drag you, if you’re weak. It just means you have more to learn and we must provide the opportunity for you to learn.’
    He sighed and stood, shrugging at Refan before gripping her firmly by the hair. The recent wounds on her back, crusted to the wall, opened and seeped as she was dragged to the heavy table with its manacles and gutters. He hadn't lied when he said it'd be worse.

    Pain is life–the sharper, the more evidence of life.

    The new Mistress’ desire to swell the ranks of the Order had resulted in more students. Some were too old to adapt to the monastic regime and assigned instead as devotional subjects for learning and research. Keira looked into the eyes of the boy on the table, then up to the watching scourge.
    ‘What are you waiting for? He’s dead already, by your hand or another’s. It doesn’t matter what you do to him.’
    She nodded, cutting away the tattered remains of the boy’s clothing. Keira showed the knife to his startled eyes and bent down to whisper in his ear.
    ‘You want me to use the knife or my hands to start with? Your choice.’ She watched his tearful, desperate eyes look from the knife to her face. She heard his quiet response and licked her lips slightly before starting to work.


  • Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind.
    Anger will disappear just as soon as thoughts of resentment are forgotten.

    The boar turned lazily, hanging from the tree. Its struggles were weaker and foam dripped from its snarling lips to the floor of the clearing. Keira swayed away from a half-hearted tusk and darted another couple of swift punches to its body. She smiled, breathing evenly, as she watched the boar spasm and cough. Did the boar deserve this? She rubbed at the long gash in her leg, remembering the boar turning after the long chase and charging her. Did she deserve that, for hunting the boar? Where does it end?

    Consequence follows action. Consequence follows choice. She thought of Rolan, blindly supporting the miserable dwarf. Would he have supported the dwarf if he’d cut a child in half with the sword, rather than a mephit? The legion, protecting the weak, protecting themselves. Where was consequence? Where was the violence to meat the dwarf’s action? How long before the Doombringer visits justice on him?

    She sighed, thinking it over again, occasionally hitting the boar when its struggles weakened. It begins with choice, it must. They say she’s tainted, bad, darkness in her heart. A consequence of her action? She’d done nothing wrong. Only killed those who deserved it. Only hurt those who’d asked. Only hurt those who deserved it, criminals, lawbreakers. Helped them to understand… Was that bad? It was so hard to understand. How could one person kill those who deserve it and be right, yet another who kills those who deserve it is branded with darkness? Anakore, Amana, Mariston, Clandra, Kara, Pete – all killers, all respected…

    It begins with choice. If the Paladins speak the truth, the choice is wrong, the thought is wrong, maybe they didn’t deserve it. She shook her head. Murderers, thieves and liars; of course they deserved it, so the Paladins are lying. They call it darkness because their choices are not her choices. They blind themselves with claims of caring and protection without a true sense of the value of life. No one is innocent, no one worthy of protection without us choosing to protect. Why would they lie, with their easy smiles and tales of atonement? What do they want? Another weakling, another mind to control, another victim to save from their own past… They try to drive her from the path, away from Truth into a corral of stagnation, another beast in their herds of ignorant contentment.

    Keira bent, looking at the boar. Its eyes were dull and bulging, the skin of the mouth darkened from hanging upside-down. It had served a healthy reminder not to underestimate a foe. It had reminded her of the feel of flesh yielding under her knuckles and the crack, more felt than heard, of a rib splintering and cutting into the organs inside. Good exercise, good hunting. She closed her eyes, dabbing some of the bright, foamy blood from the lungs of the boar onto her eyelids and lips. It had been strong; it had run well, fought well, endured pain and finally died well.

    It was a good lesson.


  • We shape clay into a pot, but it's the emptiness within that holds whatever we want

    The pale elf sat at the streambank sorting pebbles and dropping the round ones into a pouch at her belt. They weren't as effective as the metal dropped sling-bullets, but no hawk had survived to relate that fact. It rained, plastering her hair to her head, making her shiver. Not cold enough for a fire, not yet. The pouch full, she rose and padded quietly through the woods to the hollow tree she used for shelter.

    Inspecting her leg, under the bandage, grey eyes searching for signs of disease or other unhealthy symptoms. Patience was the key. Removing too much flesh at a time and the leg would require more expert healing than she could perform, alone in the woods. Patience, and trusting to the training (focus). Cherishing the slick sound of the knife shaving a tiny layer of fat, then muscle from her thigh. Not much was left, the scarred and dark fingers of Hoar, just paler lines in the damaged muscle now. She smoothed some of the healing balm from Jiyyd over the wound. Soon it would be done, another lie erased. Tomorrow, she could cut again.

    Where was the Truth? What was the Truth? If the first Truth is that of the self, what is she? (weak) The nightly meditations were not going well. Removing the possessions had been easy. Gifts to those who would appreciate them. No matter how the Ilmatrian rationalized it, no matter how much she claimed that she was saving others from greater suffering, every time she struck a blow with those gloves someone would feel pain, would suffer and be hurt at the hands of (Loviatar) an Ilmatrian. The pale elf smiled briefly, before discarding the thought again. Humour and contemplative meditation were not acceptable.

    'I have nothing, there is nothing here, I am nothing'

    The low chanting was deadened and lost in the forest, barely carrying beyond the glade. The woodsman had stumbled upon a moment of her weakness (coward) during one of the deeper incisions. Had she cared, it would have been hard to tell if he was more stunned by a naked elf in the forest, or the heavy coppery smell and soft pulsing of blood over her leg as she worked (devotion). She remembered a guard, telling her to get clothed… years ago now, in Peltarch. She remembered the woodsman fumble at his pack, tentatively offering an old tunic to mop the blood away before fleeing back into the forest.

    Nothing. No thought, no memory. Take it all and what is left? It should be who she is. After all this time, she has to know who she is. (unrepentant) Again, a flicker of doubt from the teachings. Perhaps, like an onion, there is nothing at the centre of the layers. Peel another, and what is left. The people, the faces she's seen - all noted and discarded. To define herself by others perception is delusion. (whore) To dream that she could see her own value through others? Impossible. What is left, when you've peeled it all away? What is right, when you consider what you've done? (murderer) Who is she? Who am I?

    Who am I?
    am I?
    I?


  • When evil acts in the world it always manages to find instruments who believe that what they do is not evil but honorable.

    The past, unchanging. A series of choices expanding into a story, a line to the present. One of the truths is to look back and see your choices, to see what effect you’ve made to the world. Perception is not Truth. To understand the world and, through that reflection, yourself is to see what the consequences of your choices are. As you change the world, your ability to understand it fades because context is lost. Tread lightly, harm none that would not be harmed. We all walk our own path.

    Keira looked at the knife, remembering the resistance of her flesh, remembering the words of one of the Scourges of the order. The past, unchanging. Doubts, the necessary and revered path to recognizing Truth. She smiled, hearing the high keening whimpers of the woman again, seeing the hatred and fear in her eyes. It was a shame that she clung so rigidly to her faith, choosing to die rather than to convert and live. She was dead, by another’s hand. Keira looked back to herself before that evening, considering the changes she’d made, her relevance and impact. Without her presence the woman would still have died. Without her presence the woman would have died unnoticed, except by her killers. A moment in time; blood pulsing from her wounds, the flow slowing. Another moment; the woman leaving the Inn, smiling, unsuspecting, happy. Keira remembered the feel of the woman’s eye under her thumb. She would be dead, killed by another just a few hours in her future, her path nearly ended. She was dead already, by another’s will – the blood, the pain, the suffering – all a gift to Her.

    Emotion and attachment bring weakness and vulnerability. All suffer this. All life is pain. It is important to perceive emotional response and test it, doubt it and decide whether to act upon its considered message. True detachment would result in such profound isolation that perception itself would not exist. That state of nothing, the isolation of self should be the closest we can get to experiencing the Truth of the world. That isolation is a protection, an acknowledgement that personal strength and being are all that is needed. It could be said that such an existence would be so detached as to be immune to suffering, because nothing would reach you. Certainly none have achieved such a state and been able to describe it to others. Life is pain. To deny pain and retreat from the innumerable causes of suffering would be to deny Her blessings to the living. To deny Her is unwise.

    Keira knelt, considering one of the many questions the Teachings proposed. That there was contradiction and impossibility was not new. It mirrored the many contradictions in life, encouraging growth and a contemplative nature in students. Our actions can change others lives. It’s like web of circumstance and choices, where one innocent step will cause untold suffering for another. The innocent are not punished for this. As the Doombringer taught, recompense will be accrued for those actions, innocent or not. Justice will be served. What had the woman done, to deserve being slain? It was impossible to tell. Would Lady Doom conspire to visit something unfortunate on the killers as mocking payment for their devotions? It was impossible to tell. Would she have died if Keira hadn’t watched her? It was impossible to tell. There is only action and consequence. The woman was dead. She had died secure in her faith, resolved not to weaken or plead or beg for mercy. Keira paused, remembering the sprays of blood from the many wounds, remembering the way the droplets hung in the air. It was enthusiastic, but lacking in finesse or delicacy. A frenzy of focussed hatred, rather than a more serene devotion that should accompany those ultimate sacrifices. Keira sighed, reminding herself that others weren’t like her. They didn’t understand, it wasn’t their fault. Perhaps, a few could be taught, perhaps a few might learn. If the aim is to kill, you should kill. If the aim is to extend suffering, then life should be prolonged. Always act with focus and devotion.

    Keira was sure the woman would have died anyway. She was certain that her observation of the death had neither hastened it, nor delayed it. She was happy in the knowledge that she’d helped a friend. Keira smiled, knowing that her conscience, her path, her choice had been right.

    Certainty will bring happiness, but doubt brings wisdom and Truth.


  • Be miserable. Or motivate yourself. Whatever has to be done, it's always your choice.

    Our path leads to our destiny. Destiny is not a matter of chance, but of choice. Not something to wish for, but to attain. We always reach our destiny, it is merely the sum of our choices, not what a poet might dream of. That was the teaching, that all things were subject to choice and responsibility. Can action be taken without choice? If an impulse is not resisted, is that choice? If possessed by something other, something unnatural, is that choice? Where is the responsibility, then? Who should face the consequences?

    It was like possession, an inevitable horror, trapped in her own body as it responded to her touch. It felt wrong, yet so irresistible. Keira frowned, feeling her mind slipping, drifting to thoughts of Tashina. Her green eyes, the way her hair moved, the sound of her voice, the smell of her skin… Keira bit her finger hard, worrying the skin between her teeth, waiting for the pain to clear her head. This was wrong. She knew she didn’t feel this way normally. It was even worse if Tashina was actually there, much worse. Her scent, her taste, the feel of her nails tracing Keira’s scars… She bit harder, drawing blood, forcing the unwanted images from her mind. It was almost like being drunk, being with her – a warm fuzziness that seeped around the edges of vision and feeling, disconnectedness, a horrible loss of control.

    They said you should follow your heart when you’re in love, that it was scary and confusing. That it would feel like you’d want to lose yourself in them, to let yourself go to be with them. They said that love was True, that love conquered all, that it couldn’t be denied. How can you tell? No one can tell you how it feels, they said, it’s different for everyone. They said love felt wonderful. None of them had said love felt crippling, terrifying and awful. Keira shook her head. Is it inevitable? No. She could be killed, the feelings would (maybe) fade with time. She paused, considering it. Killing someone, not one of the faceless, nameless shapes that drifted on the periphery of her life, but a name, a face, someone real. Too extreme.

    Take it back to the beginning, to the training, to how to think. Keira trailed the point of the knife over her leg, watching the skin flex, before bowing to the increasing pressure. She watched a bead of blood well from the prick, swelling perfectly round until its weight overcame form and began to run down her thigh. Continuing the cut, sweeping around in a circle, the flesh pale and white, gaping like a pale fish before the blood seeps to the surface. Chanting one of the litanies to Her, to keep herself focussed, refusing to remember Tashina and her hands, her knife. The fire of adversity will melt you like butter, or temper you like steel. The choice is yours. The situation is now; our choice is to move forward. Back to the first Truth, the truth of self upon which all is founded. If self is false then nothing can be defined since everything is perceived. If self is false, all is false by implication (by infection). Completing the circle, wiping the blood away with a damp cloth, watching it flow again. The flow smooth, no major vessels cut. Watching the blood flow, slowing her breathing, calming herself. Watching the blood slow, reaching inside of her for control, closing the tiny vessels, feeling her body react. Action and consequence.

    We control our action. We can learn to recognise desire and need and ignore them. We can choose to deny the natural reactions of the body. The power was in perception, anticipation, all in the self. Keira remembered the training, the work with coals and ice and water, all the things to instinctively avoid. The lessons of pain. All to be felt, to be understood. To learn the message and act upon it, to learn to choose, to learn not be driven by something animal. To recognize fear, to recognize emotion, to choose to respond. She licked her lips slightly, beginning a second circle inside the first. A fine line, without stretching, or cutting deeper it wouldn’t even scar. It was the way to learn control and restraint; to choose when and how to act. That was Her way, the way of Truth. Still they didn’t understand, clinging to visions of Her more vicious aspects. Still they thought that any who served Her would be wild and ignorant of the consequences. Pain is perception. That’s truth. Our action is what defines us.

    Keira smiled, feeling the warm glow from her leg, recognising her body’s acceptance of the injury. She savoured it, occasionally rubbing some salt into the open cuts to stimulate the feeling again. We try to forget what can’t be changed. We accept it and move on, as the body does. It doesn’t drive us, it only tries to survive as best it can in the situations it exists in. It strives, making choices, where blood must flow, what will need to be saved the most. The body is magnificent, even as it shrouds the self and limits our perception. It was a world in itself, travellers moving along the roads and pathways to deliver goods to the cities of the brain and muscles. She paused, smiling slightly as she picked at the crusting blood on her leg. You cannot always control circumstances but you can control your own thoughts. You see the enemy, the body shifts, rising to the occasion, summoning reserves to enable you to fight or run. The choice is yours.

    It hadn’t been like this at first. Tashina was just another face, but a familiar one. Even though they’d never met, Keira knew the look in those eyes. Someone in control, someone to be obeyed, feared, respected. Many of them were like that, even as they cloaked it in smiles and kind words. The eyes often spoke truer than words, an edge implied, held back to strike the deserving. It reminded her of home still, despite many years away from the Order. Tashina reminded her of Noria, so sure of her path. Only those who were regularly touched by the Gods were so certain. She paused, pinching at her leg as her mind started to wander again, bringing it back into check. It wasn’t like this before. It wasn’t like this the first time. Noria had used venoms on her many times, from animals and plants, carefully prepared and known to cause desirable effect in a body. There were at least 3 ways of paralyzing someone and many extracts of plant or beast for each of those. Keira had thought the ointment Tashina used another of those, it burned in a similar way, causing cramping of nearby muscles as it spread. She rubbed at her back, where the cut was almost healed, just a fading reddened line above her hips.

    It wasn’t surprising, given whom Tashina served. Keira smiled, thinking of the others and wondering if they knew. It’s not love, unless love is a disease and the Sunites wouldn’t believe that. It’s not inevitable, because it’s of the body, not the self. The body can be trained to heal. The self can learn to ignore the body. The desires of the flesh can be overcome. Through return to simple living comes control of desires. In control of desires stillness is attained. In stillness the world is restored. Keira nodded to herself. The training never failed. It was of her past, a constant that could never change or leave her.

    In all things there are three choices: Yes, No & no choice, except in this:
    You either choose the truth or you're deceitful.


  • No-one chooses evil because it is evil; they only mistake it for happiness, the good they seek.

    Keira knelt on the tower, watching the woods. The goblins had fled and it was likely to be a quiet night. She sighed, thinking of the problems again. It had never mattered before; there was a hierarchy at the order. It was easy to know what was right, who to obey. Out in the chaos of the world it was different. None of them were right. Blind obedience to their ideals wouldn’t serve Her will, yet so many of them would bring great suffering to their victims. It should be easy to watch, to let them fall, to let their destiny overtake them. Watching, listening – that was easy to do, easy to report. Anyone could do that so her action was not relevant.

    Murder. That was different. She’d watched people die, that was easy. She’d chosen to watch some die rather than help them, and that was easy. She’d killed many, all who’d opposed her or meant her harm, and that had been easy. She’d hunted them, one by one, those responsible for the destruction of the Order, that had been a glorious effort of devotion. A true measure of justice and vengeance. If she’d been stronger sooner they would have died sooner. If they’d have died as they should, that night, they wouldn’t have burdened the others. Keira rubbed the scars on her thigh, remembering. Some had run, some had left Helmsdale, some had raised new families. All had died by Hoar’s will and her hand. The children had been hardest. Were they innocent, responsible only for their own actions? Were they aberrations, people who should never have been, if their fathers had died when they should. They didn’t understand.

    That was choice, her choice to return, her choice to kill, her choice to avenge. She could see it coming. This death might be one she would observe but there would be another. We all walk our own path. Perhaps their destiny to die at her hand if their actions bear consequences that requires it. To kill for another, out of some loyalty or for pay was not right. Keira frowned, thinking. Their destiny… If it’s their destiny then that allows any action. That way absolves responsibility and implies a written future. She could do anything at all, with only the consequences of the world to face. Her choice, the ultimate arbitrator in their lives. It was wrong. She knew she couldn’t kill like that, not for those reasons. (Why is it wrong). That was one of the mysteries, not to hurt everyone, lest they turn against you. She smiled at the memory, overheard in a cold cell in the mountains. Back when she knew what to do, when she was (weak) safe.

    Out here though, who was there to trust and obey. The Banites were flawed, posturing, arrogant fools for the most part. Blind to the fact that their indiscriminate actions brought them to the attention of others. Unable to see that to progress their plans they had to survive. Keira couldn’t join them, she was (afraid) wiser than that. The monks of the Four Winds still didn’t trust her, still felt she was something to be spurned. The paladin said no-one accepted you for being good and they were right. The servants of the crypt were distant, and strange. It was horrifying to consider the self bound to flesh, yet unfeeling of pain. An abomination in Her sight. Yet their plans too would cause suffering in the world above, would bless many with Her touch. The Militia were accepting, encouraged random cruelty and openly praised her work with the prisoners. Most offences had been confessed to now, sometimes even the sight of her in the cells was enough to make people eager to admit their crimes. Such declarations always had to be verified, but to see the anticipation in their eyes, the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she’d pass them by… Keira sighed dreamily.

    All the time she’d lived here, all the years – never hurting anyone that didn’t want it, never killing anyone that didn’t attack her, never doing anything wrong. Still they watched her, waiting for a chance to destroy her. Waiting for an excuse. They were blind too. To make her feel this alone, to drive her to what tolerance she could find in others. As they hate her, so they shape her into something to be hated. Action and consequence. Keira ground her knuckles viciously into her leg, blinking back silent tears as the sparks from her gloves scorched her flesh. Why not act that way? Why not be reviled, shunned and hated for what she did, rather than what they only thought she did? Why not give shape to their nightmares?

    Her eyes flickered over the quiet woods and the South road. She heard the faint screech of an owl finding its dinner in some unsuspecting animal. She thought of the plan, again. It wasn’t like her to feel anger that way, but the pain had cut through it like it always did, bringing her Truth. Not today, but soon. She’d have to choose a side. The Banites or the Militia, the Banites or the servants, the servants or the Doomguides, the Doomguides or the Militia - All without considering what lay beyond in Peltarch. As soon as she finds someone, they leave. As soon as there’s strength in her life, someone to follow, they leave.

    Soon she’d have to choose.


  • Personality is born out of pain. It is the fire shut up in the flint.

    Memory is not Truth. Perception is not Truth. Words are not Truth. They can be, but we fog ourselves with expectation. Which would venerate Her more, great pain healed and repeated, or less severe pain unchecked. Keira pondered, sitting on the hill overlooking the Orc plains. A year since she’d seen Noria here. Alone again. Everybody leaves. We’re all alone. She marvelled at the nuances of the often repeated phrase, wondered at the times she thought she’d understood and learned what it meant, only to have it rear up and confront her again. Only through acceptance of what is can we move forward.

    Elor had left, moved on to Selune. Arizima had left, leaving Arnath for Lathander’s light – if that shone wherever she was now. Elissa had left, maybe to exact her revenge, maybe pursued. Noria had left her, for whatever reasons she had. What is it trying to teach? They leave, some for light, some almost certainly not, but they leave. Often without words, or message or apparent consideration. Is that betrayal? Is it just easier? They leave because you’re nothing to them, a tool to be discarded. They leave because you’re weak. They leave because they sense you need them more than they need you. They leave because they know it’ll hurt you.

    We’re all alone.

    The path is not just choice as Elor thought. It isn’t a game of deciding to weaken yourself by choosing a life without weapons or armour. It isn’t ego or hubris to say ‘I can learn to avoid the blows’. It’s not about the fighting. It’s about boundaries. It’s about knowing where you are and what everything else is. It’s about self, that foundation. He’d asked if it could all be a dream, a rare flash of insight for him. It could be. He failed to understand, again. She saw it in his eyes the next pointless questions about why it mattered, how we could tell, what it allowed us to do. He thinks she’s stagnant, unchanging. He thinks she doesn’t see what is, because he dreams of what should be. Change, learning and growth all require a place to begin. The only place that can be is here and now. Without recognising what is, how can that be changed to what should be? Precision not power. Keira sighed. He would likely never understand the difference between action and chaos. He would never learn focus beyond himself.

    We’re all alone.

    Her path was one of strength and devotion, one of hardiness and endurance. All suffering is individual, because everyone suffers differently. Yet the order, Her priesthood, the teachings… These were all activities with others, all striving to enlighten others to Her mystery and Truth. There was a lesson to learn. How to teach without needing to teach? How to be alone within the crowds? How to watch them leave, as they always will, without losing too much of herself with them…?

    She would leave, no matter how steady her hand or pleasant her smile. She was promised to another. She is not here… None of them are here for you, they’re just here. Watch them, listen to them, learn from them, use them. Your concern must be for yourself. None of them are constant. They’ll be swept away soon enough. Watching them as the inevitable Truth consumes them will be worthy devotion. Watching them as their noble plans spread more suffering and dissent will be fitting retribution. Already they sow the seeds of their downfall. All of us do.

    We’re all alone.


  • 'The choice of inaction is in itself an action'

    Keira smiled, looking through the bars. She thought he'd never understand. Elor's voice drifted on, talking about choice but still not understanding. His eyes flicked to hers again and she nodded slightly, reflexively so that he'd continue talking. She watched the muscles in his jaw and his throat work, imagining their touch underneath her fingers.

    Elor had stopped talking and was watching her. She smiled slightly. 'What do you want me to do when I get out?' he said again. Another pointless question, on many levels. Why dream of a future that might never be? The one that is will be here soon enough. Why would she have an expectation or a desire for his behaviour? That's his responsibility. What does he want to hear? He's asking the wrong question. Again.

    Yet, maybe he was right. It had to be considered. There were fragments of wisdom in what he said, even if they were mangled by vague assurances of light and hope. Her answers for him swept though her head, Learn, live, die, choose, all of them too close to Truth for his ears. Elor was a dangerous man, always too trusting, too willing to believe he'd found Truth. She'd seen what he was capable of in blind service of what he thought his truth. He'd have to learn for himself.

    She said: 'I d-don't know' . She'd learned enough to know that you don't tell them you don't care.


  • All sides in a trial want to hide at least some of the truth.

    Fitting recompense will always accrue for one’s actions. Keira rubbed the scars on her thigh idly, feeling the ridges of the design there. Give pain to the deserving. He’ll learn, in time. He wanted life without me, and he has that now. He wanted to run, blindly, to the answers and certainty of light. Word becomes action.

    She’d watched him in the Jail, deceiving himself. Heard him desperately justify his actions, hoping that his certainty would overcome the Truth. She’d watched him at the trial, listening to the words arrayed against him. Watched his actions chip away at his certainty in his eyes. He’d lied to his counsel. Nate had no idea what he was getting involved in. Another hope, another expectation crushed. She’d seen it in Nate’s eyes when he realised that this case would not be won. This case was lost from the beginning.

    Uphold true justice. Temper suffering with kindness. He’d not understood. Keira remembered the note in the Boarshead, so blunt, so innocent. Action. She remembered the fire in Elor’s eyes leaving the Temple of Tyr, a new man, free to pursue his own path, not the twining indecision and conflict of his demon. She remembered his zeal, his conviction that in the glow of his new light others would understand. We learn when we’re ready, not when we’re taught. He’d wanted to leave pain behind but he didn’t understand. Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.

    To leave pain behind. Keira smiled at the ridiculous idea. You can’t ever leave it behind, only choose what can hurt you and ignore all else that others call pain. If you truly didn’t care, you might come close. What ignorance, what impotence that would foster. Another path of victimhood. Elor bore Her mark. Keira remembered carving it into his shoulder, remembered the devotion in her heart. Remembered recognising one of Hers, even if he chose to deny it, furthering his own torment. She knew he’d seen flashes of Her at the hands of the slavers, his family. She’d told him how to move on. To leave those specific pains behind, or to carry them forward at his decision. Still he persisted in anxiety and doubt. He still suffered, as he should, as he chose to.

    Then he chose to leave. Declared he wanted nothing more from her. Keira remembered the snow falling on the near east road, the one-sided conversation punctuated by foolish hobgoblins. She remembered him talking, his thoughts solidifying in his head, his certainty building as he spoke. He convinced himself he didn’t want her as she watched him. Until he needed her ears again, her advice, her help in his decisions. He’d decided such advice no longer needed his love to pay for it. Keira sighed, remembering. A scourge wouldn’t have been so easy to let go. With training she could have offered him some hope to re-kindle his desire, to lead him. She still didn’t deserve a name. Rejected again, alone again, as always.

    He couldn’t see that either choice would lead to suffering. Every choice leads to pain. Without pain, there would be no suffering, without suffering we would never learn from our mistakes. To make it right, pain and suffering is the key to all doors, without it, there is no way of life. So he chose to purge himself, chose to seek some light to banish what he thought was his darkness. He didn’t see that we can all do evil, or good. He didn’t see that we don’t need a Demon within us to justify our action. There is only our will, our choice, our actions and their consequences. He tried to leave pain behind without understanding how it was bound to him, dragging it with difficulty rather than accepting it and bearing it well.

    He chose his path, without me. He chose to run to the light. He chose the weakness of certainty over the wisdom of doubt. He chose. Keira sighed, remembering his last chance in the Lucky Ferret. She remembered asking whether he should fear the Sharran he hunted, or her allies. She remembered warning him to consider the consequences of his choices before acting. She remembered asking him what he was planning, in the crowded Inn, in front of Amaliel. Remembered her choice of which questions to whisper and which to ask aloud. She remembered sadly, his conviction. She remembered his devotion to that path, not realising it justified many others. A just and fitting vengeance for that persecution. A small measure of pain in return for rejection.

    Keira remembered the trial. Remembered Elor’s face, watching her. Remembered him shaking his head as her perception differed from his. Remembered him shaking his head as his perception differed from Amaliel’s, from Natanya’s, from Anah’s. Remembered Nate, asking the wrong questions – briefed only from Elor’s perception. Without consideration, we cannot tell the inevitable from the things we can change. Without consideration, we can’t see how to change the things we can. Keira smiled, hoping that a simpler life, an austere routine would breed understanding and wisdom in him. Pain has its own noble joy, when it starts a strong consciousness of life, from a stagnant one.

    Keira smiled, knowing she could wait to see the result.


  • Belade Galadon mumbles something about punish, Loviathan and not fair when she hears about all of those pain addicts