Severance - The endless dajemma of Talas Volodymir

[dogo]

Talas had forgotten how long it had been since he last traveled by ship. He enjoyed it quite a lot, the swaying embrace of the Bitch Queen one of her few displays of gentleness. She didn’t seen to mind this particular voyage enough to send one of her storms, and that was good.

Bitch Queen... Funny how he had come to call most of the gods he learned about during his years at the Edificant Library by their generally "accepted" names. The Three would always be The Three for him tho, eventually naming them in popular fashion if needed, and understanding that Khelliara, Bhalla and his own patron, The Hidden One were surely above such mundane naming concerns.

He had to do just that as he recognised the many-starred symbol on the priest's cloak as he disembarked in Baldur's Gate. He approached and smiled, asking where he could find the temple to the Hidden one, no, to Mystra, in Baldur's Gate. After finding the temple thanks to the directions given by the priest, he prayed in thanks for a moment and dropped a donation for the temple. The lights went brighter and he felt magick running thru his body. The Hidden One apparently approved of his actions. Good omen.

Magick. The Art. He remembered the first time he saw a Hathran actually use a spell. It was the first time he saw someone being killed by magick and it was also his first display of how powerful the Hathrans were. Not today tho, not the full recollection at least. Lest he would be drowned by his everlasting melancholy and spoil the good omen. It would have to be enough to shed three tears, offer his old cloak as payment for safe passage to the Bitch Queen and any telthors dwelling in the nearby waters, and watch it float for a while before sinking uncharactersitically. Another good omen, sacrifice accepted.

Having no instrument with which to play, he drummed his fingers over the shield he brought with him, so the telthors would have a rythm to follow. He let the song come naturally, not choosing one in particular. The first line surprised him. It was the song he sang to Nataschia on the day they last shared a kiss, an embrace, and said their farewells.

"Severance...
the birds of leaving call to us
yet here we stand endowed with the fear of flight

Overland...
the winds of change consume the land
while we remain in the shadow of summers now past

When all the leaves have fallen and turned to dust
will we remain entrenched within our ways?

Indifference...
the plague what moves throughout this land
Omen signs in the shapes of things to come.

Tomorrow's child is the only child
tomorrow's child is the only child"

As the last line faded from his now choking throat, he asked all gods and goddesses and telthors and anyone who would lsiten for forgiveness, and wept like he hadnt in years.

(song by Dead Can Dance)

[dogo]

The first days were as expected. Talas managed to get a few messenger jobs, used sweet words to recover jewels that the hungry stole from the nobles. He was lucky enough to find a couple of illiterate people in need of scribing services to send letters, and he happily obliged.

His apprentice years had just finished, so the memories were fresh and the jobs and sights he found did a lot to reinforce those. He delivered countless messages, notes, meals, books and parcels in the innumerable rooms and studies of the Edificant Library, copied miles of scrolls and tons of tomes, some in the languages he was taught there, some only because of his classic, steady, nearly flawless writing hand. All in the name of knowledge, most in the name of The Art.

Even the fighting lessons from the guards were brought to use, the farmer’s plea stronger than his sense of preservation for some reason. Not that his reasons to learn how to use armor and weapons were any more sensible than hunting wolves or undead, he was young, still unsure of the meaning behind the Olothran’s words, his arms stronger than his wits. He dreamed of returning to Urlingwood, fight the hordes of telthors, and ask Nataschia to elope with him. He was naive as he was handsome then, the Olothran had said, and the wrinkled Witch had spared his life because of that. That and because all the indomitable force of his juvenile love was directed to her great-granddaughter.

He was older now, and this time he was headed to the open fields, shield and sword high, to kill for reward. Not for love, not for his own safety, not for honor. It was a man’s decision, and one he had been told he would have to make one day. He had also been told it is a path that once taken can stretch through a lifetime. But there was no denying it, the violence was welcome, the pent up frustration of years too big to suppress for much longer. In the crossroads that divided the way before his eyes between the life of a scholar, and the way of the warrior, he took the uncaring, mysterious, uncharted mid-way.

“It's a mistake
But go ahead and take a side
But watch how you choose
Or be ready for a ride
'Cause I just don't know if I could

I can't stop what you began
I can't fight for what you began

You've opened the gates
Now face the other side
Just go on it's cool
Now head into the fire
I just don't know if I could

I can't stop what you began
I can't fight for what you began
I know what's in sight
For you again

Switch on your game
Stop wasting all your time
'Cause surprise it's you
Who'll face what you decide
I think I'd have known about you

I can't stop what you began
I can't fight for what you began
I know what's in sight
I know your fate
I know I can't stop what you began”

(song by Deftones)

[dogo]

There are basically two types of magic users from Rashemi. Those who KNOW there is a Szartill, and those who ASSUME there is a Szartill in their dwelling place. No matter which kind owns the dwelling, a visitor will always a find a cup of wine-curdled milk and a small, juicy piece of raw meat somewhere, usually on a clay tray in a tidy corner as far as possible from where the magic user keeps their items. After all, even Hathrans have found common daggers where there should be an enchanted one, just before a ritual, and just after a Szartill’s gluttonous feast.

He was thinking of spirits because, unexpectedly, his letter to Lady Elvina, of the Silver Rose Order, had been replied to. And to his further surprise, she agreed to be interviewed on the topic of her communications with the spirits.

He was at the Friendly Arm Inn offering his services when she approached, recognising him from the guards' description. She invited him to the Order headquarters to talk. And as soon as they were inside, Lady Elvina made her own telthor protector appear.

Talas hadnt seen a telthor for nearly a decade, but the respect taught to him by his family was not easily forgotten. He went to his knees, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and asked permission to Lady Elvina to offer some kind of tribute to the telthor. She had to insist it was not necessary to make Talas stand and follow her to the lounge for tea and talk.

After they talked, Talas asked Lady Elvina if he could touch the Telthor, the longing for his land, his love, his home, the Green Chapel Inn too big to suppress. She communicated with the spirit, and after permission was given Talas touched its head, again while on his knees. The Telthor, probably used to people because of Lady Elvina and the other knights, took Talas by surprise and licked at his face.

Little did he know (or perhaps he did) how much that meant to the bard. He couldnt hold back a couple tears of joy, but he could maybe hide them from Lady Elvina as he pretended to wipe his face.

On the way back to the Gate, he fought bears and bandits, and he fought savagely, striking at them as he would strike the dark shadows that some memories were casting over him.
Tired and dirty, enough to alarm the staff of the inn, he furthered the impression by requesting wine, milk, and a piece of raw meat from the kitchen, no, not fried, thank you, raw. He would try to talk to the Szartill he assumed lived in his room, just waiting for a magic user to bring his favorite delicacy, magic items. But that could wait, first things first. On the same tray that the strange meal was brought to him he wrote a welcoming message by dipping his finger into the milk, then the wine, then the bloody juices of the meat: “Your feast, Szartill”. And off to the Friendly Arm to try and make some coin, and give the spirit some time to eat and drink.

"Thee I evoke
I ask for your aid
Oh spirit of light
The darkness shall fade.

Thee I evoke
Protected be I
And welcome you will be
My eternal ally."

[dogo]

"This ring is only for people with good hearts, I cant use it. You want it?" asked the man he had met while treasure hunting in the ruins where Kobolds made their den. He accepted the ring of course, mostly to sell it later, he preferred the enchantments from the rings he already owned. He was sure he could equip the ring if he wanted, being a bard meant he could impose his personality over most magickal restrictions. But was his heart good?

For one, he lied and cajoled. Not to all, not all the time, but he did. And he took pleasure when either were effective.

He killed, and intended to become better at it too. He destroyed undead and killed aggressive animals, but also humans like himself. Self defense, one could say, but it is not self defense when you cast defensive spells and enter a bandits' den knowingly, to get their ill-gotten goods for yourself. And that he did as well.

It is not like he didnt care about life at all. The concern he showed to the pregnant Hin in her distress was sincere. But he could not say he would concern himself that much or at all to the majority of people he had met since he arrived in the Sword Coast.

Most of all, he thought it very dangerous to fully embrace one side or another.

There was something to be said about the examples and stereotypes that good and evil provided him with. Talas found it amusing how he found peace and rest in a place that was deemed as a pirate town, and had to always be on his toes while near the Friendly Arm Inn.

How on his first day in Baldur's Gate he was met with poise and lack of information from a group of paladins, only to fight and bleed and heal and succeed beside a warlock traveling companion.

But then there was also the foul-mouthed woman cutting herself just to bleed and call for Bhal in the Friendly Arm grounds, and the two Silver Roses he met that were flowers indeed.

While there is great danger in commiting to one side or the other, he realised both were constantly calling to him, and everyone else. So far the middle ground, with a cynical and disguised naivete and foolishness towards most was the choice.

"My pain is self-chosen
At least, so The Prophet says
I could either burn
Or cut off my pride and buy some time
A head full of lies is the weight, tied to my waist

The River of Deceit pulls down, oh oh
The only direction we flow is down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down

My pain is self-chosen
At least I believe it to be
I could either drown
Or pull off my skin and swim to shore
Now I can grow a beautiful shell for all to see

The River of Deceit pulls down, yeah
The only direction we flow is down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down

The pain is self-chosen, yeah
Our pain is self-chosen
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down
Down, oh down"

(music by Mad Season)