Ameris and Mi-Le: Letters

[kleomenes]

///just a quick OOC note. These are two retired characters and this is more of a joint writing exercise/proxy philosophical discussion than something related to IG RP (although, these two characters certainly did discuss things when they were active!). Arn and I are posting here as this seems to be the best place for our little experiment!

However wtih this in mind, please understand that the information here is OOC, and unfortunately these characters arent really available to interact with directly (although they can respond to IC letters and the like, and my character at least is available for cameos)///

[kleomenes]

A letter arrives at the Temple of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate in Marpenoth, delivered by a passing faithful of Ilmater. It bears an Ilmatari seal, but embossed with a miniature of the Ilmatari saint Ramedar, known to be a patron of redemption and rehabilitation of criminals. It is addressed to one Brother Mi-Le, care of the Adorned of Baldur's Gate.

The following letter is found within.

Brother Mi-Le,

I hope this letter finds you well and, indeed, finds you at all. With us both travelling it shall be hard to establish a correspondence, but I trust that the Adorned will hold this letter until such time as your path takes you through Baldur's Gate once more.

I am happy to say that while the constant journeying is of course tiring for both Telia and the children, they all hold up well. Indeed we have added another child, Dag, an orphan who Telia rescued in Athkatla last year. I keep well myself, although I have found the ordeal of the last months in Baldur's Gate tiring. I learn to cope with one eye, and have just about stopped knocking over drinks when I reach for them!

Those who lost their lives remain in my prayers. Would that we could have saved more. It is comfort that we undo his work now, where we can, with the legacy left by his last victim.

Until safety is found and the work of undoing the Barber's deed's is done, needs must we continue to travel. Yet the warmth and conviviality of our lives, whether sailing or on the roads, and the constant sight of wonder at new experiences in the eyes of the young ones, far outweigh any hardships. It is attachment, perhaps, that buoys me so. Yet I am glad of it, as these bonds are unlike those I had in my own childhood.

Timmy in particular keeps well, and remembers you fondly. We still shave his hair when he asks, and I attempt to sit in your place to aid him with his calming exercises. Alas, Telia is not much help there, the concept of meditation is rather lost on her. For a start she does not see the need to sit still. Or, indeed, stop talking, which makes emptying one's mind a challenge.

I confess it was not just a desire to update you as to family life that impelled my message. Rather, I have been wrestling with a question ever since the confrontation with the Barber, and I wanted to see what your own musings would be on the same point.

I recall fondly our talk on the eve before I was due to hand myself over to the Barber. Your words reminded me of what I had stood for ever since I first arrived in Baldur's Gate, that is the impetus to understand the wounds that gave birth to cruelty in the hearts of the wicked, and to try to heal it. When I walked down into that basement, it was with a pure intention, that I would seek to reach the Barber if I could, and failing that, I would do what I could to save his hostages.

My friend, I did try. The Barber shrugged off my words, laughed at them even. His cruelty was devoid of suffering, his heart devoid of compassion, driven by the thrill of mortal power over others, a bringer of death by choice. That is what my heart told me, and I wondered if I had failed in coming to such judgement, my words being wanting.

But I confess, I did not wonder long. For it was anger that came into my heart when his sick psychological cruelty towards the family that were his hostages, and towards especially the poor child, who wept in fear as the Barber crowed about imminent murder.

I have always thought my anger was a sin, to be carefully mastered, and turned towards righteous purpose. Righteous fury might be found in paladins and men of faith, but I, once bloody handed myself, could never possess such truly.

The Broken God's spirit came to that basement, though, and settled his gaze upon what was wrought there. He knew the Barber, and saw the Barber's heart, and what he served, and when he used me as his vessel to safeguard the hostages and let comrades bring the murderer to battle, I felt what he felt. It was anger, hot and relentless. Righteous, no doubt. And yet it merged with my own.

Those brave comrades cast down the Barber, although Bhaal himself laid a hand on the wicked one's shoulder and promised vengeance, hence the need for me to fly from Baldur's Gate. The Barber was dead, and soon he will be but a memory, the wounds he caused across the Sword Coast healed.

Yet still it troubles me to think of that servant of killing. For what did we do to him, but kill him? I would have done it with my bare hands at the end, if I could. The only mercy left was for his future victims, such was the wrathful mandate of my Lord. I have long said that the Ilmatari are slow to battle, but when they strike, they amputate cleanly and swiftly. There is truth in those words, yet I cannot deny the anger I felt, his anger, how it burned like fire.

I recall when we fought undead on the Fields, and confronted the vampire, and I watched your logic reach the rationality of that cursed soul and cause it to seek its own death. As we cut through those massed ranks of zombies and skeletons, I saw you burn with a firm purpose, your fists swathed in the heat of your rejection of these affronts to life.

Righteous fury, if it had been in a paladin. Such is how it seemed to me. A transformation that surprised me, although I offer no criticism, only respect.

Such memory has made me think deep on the anger of my Lord, that anger I know I share, now that I do not fear it as I once did. I think of how the Barber's deeds and actions were an affront to life, as devoid of compassion as any undead fiend, but by choice, not by intrinsic nature. Day by day I learn how deep and devious were his torments, and the catalogue of his murders.

You keep a vow to take no life, and you keep it well, and you abhor suffering and deal firmly with undeath. My question then, is to ask you to enumerate how it is that your Way perceives a difference between undeath and a soul like the Barber, who chooses to make himself an affront to life?

It is perhaps a different formulation of an old question, but one that I would seek the answer for again, to help me understand myself and where I draw my own line; and of course to understand when my Lord's tears turn to anger.

If you seek to reply, entrust the letter to the Ilmatari of Baldur's Gate, they can see it gets to me one way or the other.

Suffer not, my friend,

Brother Ameris

[Arn]

A bald monk of the Old Order passes through Baldur's Gate. He visits just a few locations in the city, one of them being the Temple of Ilmater. He receives Ameris's letter and leaves quietly. A few hours later, the monk returns to to the temple to drop off a reply. He departs again without a word, leaving Baldur's Gates for parts unknown.

The monk's reply is as follows:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brother Ameris,

I am glad that you, Telia, and the children are safe.

When we fought the undead, certainly there was purpose in my actions. However, it was not fury, but compassion that drove me to end the suffering of the undead. I destroyed those corpses to liberate tormented souls, just as one might destroy a cage that holds a weeping child. I fought the undead for their well-being, just as I spoke with the vampire for his well-being.

The difference between the undead and one such as the Barber is that the Barber still lived. As such, he might have changed in the future. The undead, on the other hand, are not alive. They must suffer their terrible undeath indefinitely until they are destroyed.

I do not doubt that the Barber chose an evil path. But such a person suffers and does not know it. His mind is so clouded by ignorance and delusion that he perceives that which is suffering as pleasurable. As long as his mind is like that, it is impossible for him to know tranquil bliss; he, quite literally, cannot know freedom from suffering.

I am reminded of something my teacher once said to me:

• “Suppose, Mi-Le, there was a leper with sores and blisters on his limbs, being devoured by worms, scratching the scabs off the openings of his wounds with his nails, cauterizing his body over a burning charcoal pit; the more he scratches the scabs and cauterizes his body, the fouler, more evil-smelling and more infected the openings of his wounds would become, yet he would find a certain measure of satisfaction and enjoyment in scratching the openings of his wounds. So too, Mi-Le, beings who are not free from lust for sensual pleasures, who are devoured by craving for sensual pleasures, who burn with fever for sensual pleasures, still indulge in sensual pleasures; the more such beings indulge in sensual pleasures, the more their craving for sensual pleasures increases and the more they are burned by their fever for sensual pleasures, yet they find a certain measure of satisfaction and enjoyment in dependence on the five cords of sensual pleasure."

You say the Barber's cruelty was devoid of suffering, but I say to you that his cruelty was suffering itself. The Barber was like the leper. Even as he suffered, he enjoyed it. The more he indulged in his evil, the more satisfaction he derived from it. Such is the insidious nature of ignorance and evil.

Ameris, people have good qualities, and people have bad qualities. That is the reality of it. By all means, do what you feel you must to protect everyone from a person's bad qualities. But do so out of compassion, not out of judgment or anger.

When we think of a person's intentions, we tend to judge those intentions, right? But like anything else, those intentions are conditioned phenomena. What I would do, what I would recommend, is for you to look at your own life and see how conditioned you are. See how much you are a product of the causes and conditions of the world around you. The more you understand that, the more easy it is to forgive other people's ignorance. They're not doing evil because they really want to do it. Their evil is conditioned on ignorance, and that ignorance is itself conditioned on other things. People have habit patterns that have carried on for a long time, and they're being driven by those habit patterns. While they're trapped in those habit patterns, they're incapable of doing anything else. They may know in their heart that to be good and kind is the right way. But they're not able to do that. Once you start to see that, you're able to forgive. You're able to have compassion. You're able to see things in a different way.

We can understand people in a different way from what we normally do. The problem is that we think of people as agents in perfect control of their lives. And if they are agents willfully doing bad stuff, perhaps they deserve to be punished and such. But if you look at people in terms of conditionality, in accordance with the Way, you're actually able to forgive and let go of things much more easily.

This is not a way to justify evil actions by any means. Although one's intentions and actions are conditioned by many factors, one is nonetheless the heir to those intentions and actions. We must always strive to do good, but we can understand that even striving is itself conditioned. And when we see conditionality in all things, we also see how conditions might change so that an evil person can become good.

May you follow the Way to a peaceful place.

-Mi-Le
弥
勒

((Highlighted portion adapted from the Māgandiya Sutta))

[kleomenes]

After some time, in early Uktar - perhaps as long as the delivery takes - another letter arrives at the Temple of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate. Again, a passing supplicant of Ilmater delivers the letter.

Once again it carries a seal fashioned in the form of the Broken Rack of Ilmater, again embossed with a miniature of Saint Ramedar.

And again, it is addressed to one Brother Mi-Le, care of the Adorned of Baldur's Gate.

The following is within.

Brother Mi-Le,

With Tymora's blessing let this letter find you, as I was heartened to receive your past response.

Little has changed since my last letter. I remembered you, of course, to Telia and the children, the cause of many smiles. Although I confess when I spoke with Telia of the subject of our missives she merely told me that it was nice, in the same voice she uses with Timmy.

Otherwise things are busy here, however I find it enjoyable to sit and consider what to write back to you, for surely your wisdom always makes me think.

When I read of your thoughts, and your master's teachings on conditioning, I must confess I have pondered in these terms before, myself. Although I must further confess that my thoughts were not formed so precisely as yours, rather raw instead?, blunt and unprepared.

I recall my own upbringing, and how it was our traditions and my father who taught me to approach what is right and what is wrong. When I was near a man grown and returned to my father's house, I often sat beside him as he dispensed the justice of Alemander, such as it was.

(In the following I will not call Alemander by his royal title. Last of the Lion dynasty he was, but a tyrant deserves no such honours, now his tale is done.)

My father often spoke of how it was his duty to be fair, yet hard where needed. Acts should be punished, to discourage further criminality, no matter what led to those acts. To do otherwise was to break oaths to the king and to the people. A soft heart harmed the interests of the people.

I recall a villager, well spoken of and dutiful in other respects, who accidentally killed a villain in a scuffle over their common boundaries. It was not quite a self-defence, rather a fistfight that went too far, despite the malice of the victim having brought the argument about. An unintended murder, but an intended punch, my father deemed it. The commons must be shown that violence is no recourse running beside the laws of the king, he said. Else there would be chaos. So the villager hanged.

So it was when I came of age and did not just learn from him, but served. The bad winters came, and the bellies of the peasants grumbled, even as Alemander raised his taxes. We had sworn to pay our fee from the county. The peasants were obliged to pay their fee to us. We could tighten our belts as much as we could, my father said, to spare the people, but they were already tight. And on our oaths, the king must have his due.

So when the village sheriffs came speaking of thefts from the granaries, meaning their villages could not meet their obligations to us, so that we would not be able to meet ours to the king, the thieves were dealt with harshly. No matter that the theft fed a starving child or an ailing wife. They had to hang, my father said, or else there would be chaos. I believed him then, and so I went and carried out his orders, and villagers hanged like common criminals for feeding their children.

Ilmater forgive me, it wasn't these first hangings that planted the seed of doubt in me. It was only when chaos began to come anyway that I questioned. The harsher we were, the more we embraced the tyranny of Alemander's laws, the more people pushed back, the more my father's words of compassion being the enemies of order and duty began to ring hollow. Yet my response was to throw myself into his service more, exact his harsher punishments, hate those who resisted us. Scratching the wound, as your teacher would have called it. Repeating the same mistake, over and over.

And people paid for that, the people I'd sworn to protect. A woman I'd spoken words of love to, before I decided that I would love this cruel duty more. There was a hard cost to my lessons, but not paid by me.

I remember after I had taken the robes of the Adorned I went back to face my father. I thought that the lessons I had learned, or thought I had learned, could be passed on. I thought he would not be so cruel if only he could see and understand. I still remember my appeal to him, the precise words:

”It was our own steel which bred that chaos. We squeezed too hard, left men and women desperate; they only have the choice to suffer and obey, or to resist; obligations between servant and master becoming chains of slaves...the laws of Alemander are wrong.”

He told me it was a mandate for bandits and had me beaten, disowned and exiled. My mother approving.

I suppose I examine your words by applying them to myself, my friend, and at length. I ask your forbearance for my musings. I suppose why I dwell so much on this now, is in thinking of how much this conditioning, as you would label it, persisted even after I had chosen to try and change.

I did not become something else overnight, when I realised what I was doing was wrong. Indeed, I approached my service to Ilmater as if it merely replaced my service to Alemander. Compassion and healing became duty. Beyond, I remained restricted by what I had learned, fearful of weakness and incapable of giving voice to warmth from my heart. I remained my father's son. And more, my mother's son, truth be told.

Perhaps this is why I threw myself into service so zealously, once my oaths were taken. It does not speak well of my understanding of my own faith, or myself, I think, in those years I spent in Amn, and my first years in Baldur's Gate.

When Telia revealed her wickedness to me, despair was my first reaction. I found myself unable to move or speak. I must have seemed a statue. Yet within two things warred. One, my duty to try and understand, as I saw it, and to consider what would be the best way to react. The other, my fury, and my desire to avenge myself for her betrayal of me. This being a reaction not of Ilmater, but of the tradition in which I had been raised - and my own angry nature.

Over time the rage rose; then over time it burned itself out as I came to understand that I had been her chance to turn away from the darkness within her, and my coldness had denied her that chance. I think it was then, and only then, that I came to realise how much I had been moulded by my past, and still was, then. My faith was false, I felt, until I prayed with all my heart and accepted all his teachings. That meant setting aside my bitter anger as how could I not offer her what was offered to me?

So I forgave Telia, and told her where I stood and would always stand. I told her I understood how she had gotten to where she did, and how not all of it was by her choice, and where there was choice, much of it was clouded by fear. I told her that I could not accept where she stood but I would walk with her if she chose to walk a new path. I told her I could stand against that fear that had so misguided her. I suppose I saw how she was conditioned, as you would call it; I certainly remember thinking of her as wounded, grievously, in spirit. A victim of the power of others, until her own power had destroyed them.

You know how it ended, and I have been rewarded for my compassion. Those first steps, though, those first words of understanding, they did hurt, even as I saw how right they were.

Yet I would say I remain moulded by how I was raised, and now by what I have lived through since. There are many things about me that are imperfect as I still struggle with a streak of pride. I remain capable of anger, righteous or not, as my last letter indicated. We can debate more if such anger is by definition imperfect. I know, however, rejecting myself is wrong; in fact it is the path I went down first, when I hid my flaws behind duty. It is like bandaging a wound, or splinting a leg, without proper treatment. I think you might not agree entirely with how I phrase this.

Where do I get with this? We are all creatures of the world, and all of us shaped by what we experience. There is much suffering to be found, and it reduces men and women to beasts, whether they become predators or prey. Such is the evil, I believe, my Lord sets me against, that is to say the effect of suffering in breeding yet more evil. Treat the disease, not the symptom, as they say.

All this said, my path to my current duty has been long and difficult. When my deeds are weighed in balance, the scales will include wickedness as well as virtue. All of it affects me, and makes me act as I do. How can I be sure all of its effects are positive? After all, I was blind to the shallowness of my service when I first arrived in Baldur's Gate.

Was there a quicker way? How can we know that our perspective does not distort our view, of individuals, of groups, of ideals, of our own behaviour? Of course it does. But how can we minimise it? How can we set aside the wounds and poor lessons of the past without losing all that we are?

Once again, I believe the Ilmatari of Baldur's Gate can forward any reply.

Suffer not, my friend,

Brother Ameris

[Arn]

The bald monk of the Old Order enters Baldur's Gate again. A few twigs and leaves clinging to the bottom of his robes suggest that he has been spending time in some forest. He visits the Temple of Ilmater, picks up Ameris's letter, and leaves the city.

A few days later, the monk returns to drop off a response. The monk's response is as follows:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brother Ameris,

While reading your last letter and its description of your younger years, I was reminded of the dual reactions of clinging and aversion. We spend so much of our lives either following after things or pushing things away, don't we?

It seems to me that you described the dangers of clinging to laws and rules when you wrote about your time with your father. Truth be told, it was something I struggled with as well (and still do, to a certain extent). I have found that clinging too tightly to rules breeds an inflexibility that gives rise to suffering for all involved.

I remember a story that is sometimes told at my monastery. It goes like this:

• A senior monk and a junior monk were traveling together. They came to a river with a strong current. As the monks were preparing to cross the river, they saw a young and beautiful woman also attempting to cross. The young woman asked if they could help her cross to the other side.
  
  Now, the monks of my monastery take vows to not touch a woman.
  
  Without a word, the senior monk picked up the woman, carried her across the river, placed her gently on the other side, and continued on his 
journey.
  
  The younger monk couldn’t believe what had just happened. After rejoining his companion, he was speechless, and an hour passed by without a word between them.
  
  Two more hours passed, then three. Finally, the younger monk could not contain himself any longer. He said, “We monks cannot touch a woman. How then could you carry that woman?”
  
  The older monk looked at the junior monk and replied, “Brother, I set her down back at the river. Why are you still carrying her?”

Do you remember when Sister Reine set up one of her healing centers in Baldur's Gate a couple of years ago? A woman approached me with a broken ankle. It was with this story in mind that I tended to her injury.

I think you're right to not reject yourself, your pride, or even your anger. That would just be the opposite reaction to clinging: it would be aversion. It would be running away, pushing away. In fact, I agree with the metaphors you used to describe this. The monks of my monastery also speak of treating the illness, not just dealing with the symptoms.

So what is the proper treatment? We would say that it is awareness, mindfulness. When pride or anger arise, don't follow it down the rabbit hole, but don't push it away in rejection either. Be aware that it is there, face it, and understand it for what it is. See what it does to your mind, how it clouds and diminishes it. See how it gets in the way of clarity and insight. If you can see these things, you won't have to reject anything. You will naturally let go of pride, anger, or whatever it is. It will naturally diminish.

So in following the Way, there is no need to "set aside the wounds and poor lessons of the past." Instead, you mindfully use them to gain greater insight. It is the nature of the Way to use what's around you to build the raft to go forward. After all, what else can you use? Everyone's raft will be made of different things, because everyone is using the different materials available to them. When this is understood, our different perspectives and distorted views stop being problems and instead become blessings. They become things to learn from, materials you can use to build your raft.

May you follow the Way to a peaceful place.

-Mi-Le
弥
勒

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a separate page is written the following:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Speaking of clinging to rules and rafts, I thought I would share the following exchange my teacher had with some of the monks when we were much younger:

• “Monks, I shall show you how the Way is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping. Listen and attend closely to what I shall say."
  
  "Yes, master," we replied.
  
  “Monks, suppose a man in the course of a journey saw a great expanse of water, whose near shore was dangerous and fearful and whose further shore was safe and free from fear, but there was no ferryboat or bridge for going to the far shore. Then he thought: ‘There is this great expanse of water, whose near shore is dangerous and fearful and whose further shore is safe and free from fear, but there is no ferryboat or bridge for going to the far shore. Suppose I collect grass, twigs, branches, and leaves and bind them together into a raft, and supported by the raft and making an effort with my hands and feet, I got safely across to the far shore.’ And then the man collected grass, twigs, branches, and leaves and bound them together into a raft, and supported by the raft and making an effort with his hands and feet, he got safely across to the far shore. Then, when he had got across and had arrived at the far shore, he might think thus: ‘This raft has been very helpful to me, since supported by it and making an effort with my hands and feet, I got safely across to the far shore. Suppose I were to hoist it on my head or load it on my shoulder, and then go wherever I want.’ Now, monks, what do you think? By doing so, would that man be doing what should be done with that raft?”
  
  "No, master."
  
  “By doing what would that man be doing what should be done with that raft? Here, monks, when that man got across and had arrived at the far shore, he might think thus: ‘This raft has been very helpful to me, since supported by it and making an effort with my hands and feet, I got safely across to the far shore. Suppose I were to haul it onto the dry land or set it adrift in the water, and then go wherever I want.’ Now, monks, it is by so doing that that man would be doing what should be done with that raft. So I have shown you how the Way is similar to a raft, being for the purpose of crossing over, not for the purpose of grasping.
  
  “Monks, when you know the Way to be similar to a raft, you should abandon even the teachings, how much more so things contrary to the teachings."

((Adapted from the Alagaddūpama Sutta))

[kleomenes]

After some time, in mid Uktar - perhaps as long as the delivery takes - another letter arrives at the Temple of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate. As before, a passing supplicant of Ilmater delivers the letter.

Similar to the other missives, it carries a seal fashioned in the form of the Broken Rack of Ilmater, again embossed with a miniature of Saint Ramedar.

Once more the recipient is Brother Mi-Le, care of the Adorned of Baldur's Gate.

The following is within.

Brother Mi-Le,

I was glad once again to receive a reply. I hope you are keeping well in your travels, and finding ways to practice your compassion and deepen your understanding of the Way, each day.

I have been considering your letter, and the wisdom within, over the course of this morning. Or daydreaming, as certain family members have put it.

Certainly the Ilmatari always teach that life is a thing lived, and we cannot change the past. The pains and sufferings are burdens to be borne. Lightly, if our spirits are strong. It is Ilmater's way to teach others how to carry their burdens, as he so teaches Tyr to cope with his wound.

It is indeed a point of difference with the servants of the Morninglord, whose ways relate to a rebirth, and revival; a change of what came before into something different, brighter, better. The Ilmatari instead counsel persevering with one's burdens, while remembering that tomorrow is another day. Different views of the same goal, perhaps, and it is no accident that the Ilmatari and the Lathanderites are close allies. Yet the difference is there, not just in the sumptuousness of attire. (I should comment now that occasional, Telia has regretfully mused how much better life would be if I was Lathanderite on these grounds alone. A sign of her love for me that she endures the endless tides of grey in my wardrobe.)

If suffering can teach cruel lessons, ones that fester and distort actions, causing compassion to wither on the vine; but can also teach gentle ones, that give forth a wellspring of empathy, nourishing compassion into bloom, then surely the difference is our perspective and insight. Wisdom, or wise counsel, should then be directed towards a view that breeds compassion. This is what you would call awareness, I think? An understanding of what has happened and why it affects you so.

It is interesting though that both the tale you relate and your master's lesson touch on the topic of rules. Or one might say customs, traditions, dogma. The rules that the senior and junior monk were to follow when they met the woman trying to cross the river can be conceived of, perhaps, as part of their raft, that took them to understanding of themselves and the world. For the junior monk they were an end in themselves, but for the senior monk, they merely illustrated what is good, what is to be aimed for. A useful guide, but not a mandate to deny compassion.

It is interesting for me to think of this. I have always been by nature an obedient man, and quick to cling to the letter of my instructions. Perhaps this was why I have always understood the burdens and roles of a paladin better than most, as my own temperament is sympathetic to their ideals.

There are many who question the need for rules, or traditions, or strictures. They question the need for doing things a certain way rather than focusing on the goal. I do not think you or I are one of those.

However, in latter years, when in moments of extremity, there have been moments I have looked to the spirit of Ilmater's dogma, not the letter of doctrine and laws. One might consider my aid to Telia that, or indeed some of my dealings with unsavoury elements in Baldur's Gate out of necessity. Brother Alavar, who was one who supervised me in Amn, seems wiser now than he did then. His was always a pragmatic faith, as Athkatla is a dangerous city and a cruel place at times. The battle he fought was against suffering, not necessarily against crime.

The recent history of my faith includes times when both blindly following doctrine, as well has disobeying it, have caused much harm. The conflict between the Ilmatari over the Tome of Torment is little known, but it saw priest set against priest, and paladin set against paladin, over a holy relic.

The conflict began when the last wishes of the Spontaer were ignored. The Spontaer had wanted the Tome to go to Keltar, where the House of the Broken God lies, the largest temple to my Lord. Instead, the Tome was retained by the House of Holy Suffering in Mussum, under the orders of the Exalted Sufferer Shrymaun Beldaerth.

The senior priest in Keltar, Archsufferer Bloirt Waelarn, declared the Adorned of Mussum false in faith and victims of a mental illness, yet they would not yield up the tome to him, asking the Companions of the Noble Heart for protection.

Archsufferer Waelarn rallied no less than three orders to his own cause, and began a war, with Ilmatari shedding the blood of Ilmatari in bloody battles. We are stubborn in our causes, neither side admitting defeat, so tragically the cost of the conflict was high.

In the end it was Lord Jargus Holenhand of the Order of the Golden Cup, fighting for Archsufferer Waelarn's cause, that finally saw his madness, defied him, judged him, and had him confined and exiled for his insane ambitions. Although he saw the Spontaer's desires honoured too. And so Ilmater's work was done, and the madness ended, by defiance to narrowly defined doctrine.

Is it right then, to consider that rules and strictures, doctrines and dogma, are good things because they impose a lesson on us; but that it is the wisdom from the lesson that should guide us? That at some point the narrow stricture will be superseded by a true understanding? Such seems to be the tenor of the lesson of your master.

Indeed, that is not to devalue the importance of traditions. They help us learn, and understand, when we lack the wisdom to make our own judgements. They help others know what to expect of us and give a means to build trust and understanding. I think that is implicit in your master's lesson too. And, of course, they exist for those moments of doubt, when our judgement might be conflicted.

Perhaps I have gone off on a tangent. The idea of learning and teaching does weigh heavily on me at the moment, with these three young souls looking to Telia and I for guidance. Dag, particularly, the child you have not met, wishes to learn of the Ilmatari. Perhaps this is because he has been fostered with Brother Alavar for a year. It thus falls on me to consider the moral guidance I give, and how to deliver it.

For depth of understanding does not come from rote learning, yet without a bedrock of guidance, a young mind cannot learn at all.

Once again, I believe the Ilmatari of Baldur's Gate can forward any reply.

Suffer not, my friend,

Brother Ameris

[Arn]

The monk of the Old Order has been seen around Baldur's Gate more often in recent days. On one of these more frequent visits, he goes to the Temple of Ilmater to pick up Ameris's letter.

A few days later, the monk delivers a response which is as follows:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brother Ameris,

If no letters follow this one, know that I have passed on in peace.

It seems an orc has been causing suffering to the people of the Sword Coast. What makes this particular orc interesting is that he has displayed powers and abilities that typically come from a monk's training. These abilities should never be used to cause suffering to others, and yet I have seen them utilized towards destructive ends before (I remember encountering a monastic order known as the Order of the Long Death, who worship death). It saddens me to see these abilities misused once again. This orc seems to worship a beast lord god of hunting.

Our last couple letters discussed rules and strictures. As you know, perhaps the most important "stricture" a monk of my monastery follows is the vow to refrain from taking a life.

When I was younger, I did not fully understand this vow. There were occasions when I was confronted with great evil and I was tempted to break this vow. On these occasions, I thought, "Why not? It is for the greater good for this evil individual to die." However, though I did not fully understand the vow, I never broke it. I felt bound by it.

I can see now that it is absolutely necessary to have compassion for all beings, no matter how deluded, ignorant, or evil they are. It is like how a mother would view a yard full of her children, some behaving well, some behaving poorly. With a heart of loving kindness, she would seek to correct the misbehaving children. But for her to intentionally kill one of the children, for any reason, would simply be impossible.

Similarly, for me, it is no longer a matter of being bound by a vow. The vow no longer matters, because it is redundant.

Brother Ameris, so many people seek the death of this orc. I would see him have at least a chance to find his Way.

My teacher once said:

• As a mother would risk her life
  to protect her child, her only child,
  even so should one cultivate a limitless heart
  with regard to all beings.
  With good will for the entire cosmos,
  cultivate a limitless heart:
  Above, below, and all around,
  untroubled, without enmity or hate.
  Whether standing, walking,
  sitting, or lying down,
  as long as one is alert,
  one should be resolved on this mindfulness.
  This is called a divine abode
  here and now.

No matter how this situation unfolds, may you follow the Way to a peaceful place.

-Mi-Le
弥
勒

P.S. I have met a woman by the name of Diane, who resides at Candlekeep. She asked about how she fits into Ilmater's world, and yet she said she is not one of the Ilmateri. She mentioned that she has met you, though. I am afraid my response to her may have been inadequate, since I am not a member of your church. Do you have any thoughts on how to respond to her question?

((Highlighted portion adapted from the Karaniya Metta Sutta))

[kleomenes]

And yet again, in early Hammer a letter arrives at the Temple of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate. It is delivered by a passing Ilmatari priest.

As with the other missives, it carries a seal fashioned in the form of the Broken Rack of Ilmater, again embossed with a miniature of Saint Ramedar.

And again the recipient is Brother Mi-Le, care of the Adorned of Baldur's Gate.

The following is within.

Brother Mi-Le,

I was glad once again to receive a reply, although I confess that I am troubled that you face such a test as this orc who perverts your ways and teachings so. I know that Ilmatari are tasked with opposing the works of Malar and his kind, for their preying upon the very meek to which we give succour. This foe of yours sounds as if he has similar beliefs to those of the Beastlord, and that they are the antithesis of mercy.

No doubt philosophers of fury would say that such hunters merely exemplify nature's laws, pitiless but not sadistic; and would say that the ending of those not strong enough to defend themselves by those with the strength and will to survive is merely a cleansing of meek cowardice from the natural cycle. Such a worldview, however, puts survival paramount. I cannot blame those who have suffered for doing so, it is a natural reaction. Yet the wild-eyed survival that is won by such selfish, hungry greed for life is hollow and empty in many ways, blind to the true richness of existence and destined to leave nothing but a rotting corpse and then bleached bones.

For it is through our bonds with others that we impact the world and express who and what we are. What is a furious hunter but a flesh and blood manifestation of natural forces? One may as well be an avalanche, or the eruption of a volcano, for all the sapient thought a hunter exchanges with prey. It is an empty existence.

With such thoughts in mind, I cannot question your compassion. Indeed, I laud it. Once the gentleness you display even to enemies tasked you, as you write, and it is a mark of your deep wisdom that you carry your beliefs with seeming ease. While I do not share your absolute commitment to preserving life, I wholeheartedly hope that I am as confident in my own understanding of my ideals as you are in yours.

I wish you success in teaching lessons to this wayward soul.

I do recall Diane, indeed I do not think I represented well the Ilmatari to her the day I met her. The fire of my Lord was within me, still. His anger is rare coming but it burns hot, and it can seem harsh to those expecting the commonplace gentleness of the Adorned.

It is an interesting question the lady poses. Often it is said that the gods watch over their faithful, and those who offer them prayers in moments of need. It is true that Ilmater responds to prayer, and those who utter his name when seeking the strength to endure and persevere have those prayers answered. Likewise, he draws strength from worship, which is why our most holy ritual as the Adorned is the Turning, during which we invite those dying to turn to Ilmater for comfort and venerate him in their last moments. And so they preserve their souls from the sins of the past, and ease the passing of their body. Atonement is found in Ilmater being strengthened to help others.

Yet, the Ilmatari do not minister only to those who speak His name in prayer. Help all those who hurt, we are told, and that is what we do. Whether it is a wounded bandit or goblin on the road, or the combatants on both sides of a battle, or a pauper presenting himself at a shrine. We do not heed the whys and wherefores of where the pain came from, only the pain itself. His goal, therefore, is for people to live free of suffering, physical and mental.

This, I think, reveals much of where people stand in Ilmater's world. He is the god who stands for perseverance and endurance, yet what motivates him is compassion, a compassion he feels for all. At its core, it is a compassion for individuals, not groups, and it cuts across politics and grand ideals. It is founded on a belief that showing love and mercy counters pain and suffering. Such is the motivator behind the forgiveness Ilmater offers to sinners. We have already written of how the performance of evil is a symptom of suffering; this is a lesson Ilmater teaches too, I believe, and why he mandates outreach to even the most base and wicked.

That is not to say that Ilmater is passive and ambivalent as to the great struggles and the great questions. One only need consider the resistance of the Ilmatari to slavery in the Shoon Imperium, leading to their initial persecution, to see that. Indeed, resistance of the Ilmatari to the cruelties of the Shoon was deep and total, and tales tell of the forging of a mighty blade to fight demons summoned by those unethical wizard-rulers.

Yet, the Adorned for the most part resisted without violence and still brought mercy to those who needed it, no matter who they were. Indeed, it was through such compassion they were victorious, as when the Emperor Amahl Shoon V brought his sick daughter to an Ilmatari hermit, the girl was healed and that most blessed Emperor passed his liberating edict protecting the faith of the Broken God in his lands - a protection for the Adorned that makes harming them taboo in the south even to this day.

No, the Ilmatari are not ambivalent to the world of pragmatic politics. Yet their approach is one of ideals, and one focused on the suffering of individuals, each and every individual. And their first weapon is love. My Lord's anger is preserved for those who cut all bonds with others, and treat their suffering with cold indifference, or as sport. I have often likened the violence of Ilmatari to be akin to an amputation, quick and clean, done when medicinally required and not before. It is not free of anger, though, I know this now.

Here there lies a truth, as its often said that my Lord loves children, and protects them fiercely. It is because, I think, it is much easier for the strong to cause those weaker than them to suffer. And as we know, suffering is the author of evil, and yet more suffering, a cycle of unhappiness. Such is why those who enslave, torture and kill are anathema to my Lord, for their victims, even when they survive, are moulded by their experience, their dignity replaced with a bitter anger, misplaced against others. And this is true of none more than children made to suffer.

What then, is Diane to my Lord? Where does she fit? I do not know of the small mercies and cruelties she may or may not offer, yet the fundamental answer to the question does not change.

She is a woman, an individual who lives and breathes, whose life has value and is an essential gift, and whose dignity should be free of chains of suffering. He expects nothing of her, yet asks her to look to compassion when she has the chance to show it, to have empathy of others. Whether she does or not, he will be there if she seeks solace or help with her burdens. Only if she treats others with cruelty would his deep love for her be joined by something else, and only in so far as she refused to change.

And in this, she is like every other living being in Faerun.

Needless to write, perhaps, but the Ilmatari of Baldur's Gate can forward any reply.

Suffer not, my friend,

Brother Ameris

[Arn]

The monk of the Old Order picks up Brother Ameris's most recent letter and does not return for a few days.

After a few days, the monk delivers the following response to the temple of Ilmater:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brother Ameris,

I have heard that the orc I wrote of in my last letter is no longer among the living. May he go in peace. I agree that "survival of the fittest" is a hollow and even shortsighted worldview. As sentient beings, we have the potential to live for more than mere survival. I hope that this orc is able to understand this for himself, wherever he may go.

You mentioned that "the Ilmatari are not ambivalent to the world of pragmatic politics." It is interesting that you wrote that. There are those who would say that my monastery is ambivalent to politics, pragmatic or not. Some of those people would say this as a criticism, and perhaps it would be a fair criticism. For one of our "rules" is to refrain from engaging in politics. As my teacher once put it:

• And how is a monk consummate in virtue?
  . . .
  Whereas some contemplatives, living off food given in faith, are addicted to talking about lowly topics such as these — talking about kings, robbers, ministers of state; armies, alarms, and battles; food and drink; clothing, furniture, garlands, and scents; relatives; vehicles; villages, towns, cities, the countryside; women and heroes; the gossip of the street and the well; tales of the dead; philosophical discussions of the past and future, the creation of the world and of the sea, and talk of whether things exist or not — a monk abstains from talking about lowly topics such as these. This, too, is part of his virtue.

Having said this, I believe there is a difference between politicking and working to directly relieve suffering. I believe my teacher would have praised the Adorned's nonviolent resistance in the Shoon Imperium. I find myself agreeing that the focus should be on individuals, each and every individual. After all, the Emperor Amahl Shoon V was won over because the Ilmateri focused on relieving suffering for every individual, rather than taking political stands.

One must be very mindful of his own intent. Are his actions motivated purely by compassion for others? Or is there some self-righteousness involved, some ego, some desire to make a statement, prove something, punish someone? This is important to the monks of my monastery, because virtue and compassion lead to tranquility, and tranquility leads to liberation. On the other hand, acting to satisfy the ego leads away from tranquility.

In my last letter, I mentioned the Order of the Long Death. I encountered a monk of the Long Death years ago, while I was traveling from Rashemen through Thesk. To make a long story short, I fought this monk after she had killed many people (her monastic martial arts training far exceeded my own, and it was only with significant help from the spirits that I prevailed). I now realize that any thoughts I entertained about vengeance, about killing her, were borne of ego and not compassion for her victims.

So while the monks of my monastery are indeed ambivalent to politics, we will act to end suffering with a mind of compassion wherever we can. I believe this work can be done with love, and without attaching to the result.

By the way, Brother Ameris, I have taken the liberty of scribing a copy of the part of your last letter that addressed Diane's question. I have sent her this copy. I hope that I have not crossed any boundaries, and sincerely apologize if I have.

May you follow the Way to a peaceful place.

-Mi-Le
弥
勒

P.S. You mentioned a sword forged to fight summoned demons. I have heard that summoned demons are not killed when they are destroyed, but rather sent back to their own realm. Are you able to confirm this?

((Highlighted portion adapted from the Samaññaphala Sutta))

[kleomenes]

In Mid-Hammer Ameris delivers a letter personally to the Temple of Ilmater in Baldur's Gate.

Again it carries a seal fashioned in the form of the Broken Rack of Ilmater, embossed with a miniature of Saint Ramedar.

Once more the recipient is Brother Mi-Le, care of the Adorned of Baldur's Gate.

The following is within.

Brother Mi-Le,

Thank-you for your letter. It is regrettable news about the orc, that you did not get the chance to speak with him. I would have liked to see if your beleifs would have swayed him - I saw you reason successfully with a vampire once, after all.

Transcribing part of my letter for Diane is a liberty I would be well able to forgive, were I to consider it improper, which I do not! For the answer was for her, after all.

I am in the city for a few days and I hope we can meet to discuss the rest of what you write of in person. Just let the clergy here know that you are around if you pass by. If you do not receive this in time, I shall leave a fuller response as I depart.

Suffer not, my friend,

Brother Ameris