Rainforest Cliffs
08-14-2017, 12:07 PM
It was not something anyone would be surprised to hear admitted, but: Kisamoa did not understand. Saying he didn't understand mortals was a simplification, and partial lie, because some of them were immortal, and he couldn't say he had understood every immortal creature he had ever come across either. He found his natives easier to understand, for they had grown bitter and hardened by the land they were confined in, survival always on their mind as the shadows crept closer and the magic lost its sway.
No, what he did not understand.. it was the complex relationship between emotion and memory. How they had the gall to be upset about him killing a bunch of their friends and taking their lands from them.
But when they did it..it was okay?
That was the reason why he was there, on the beach, in the driving rain. He had sought to understand, but he hadn't, but he had made a promise, and he wasn't going to back out of it. The way he saw things, he had one path to redemption: understanding. And by understanding, modifying his behavior so that he was less..evil, he supposed.
Without losing track of his goal. And with the angry creatures fuming in the back of his mind.
They frustrated him, dead gods and Helovians alike. He didn't know how to deal with them, and that was why he found himself surprised when one he had taken from her birthland condemned the majority of those she had come with. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand it, either; had greed upset them? But the Rift ran thicker with magic and opportunity. It was built on greed. Then why..?
Or was it about what they had lost? Not only their friends and loved ones (and enemies), but the more material aspect of it..? He had been aware of some companions going rogue, disappearing into the depths of the Rift, and he knew of all the magic devoured. It was the lifeblood of the broken land, but not enough to replace all that had been lost.
They needed more of it, or to find a way to stop the bleeding.
He found himself staring at the Pistris, weighed down by the task and the unhelpful gods screaming murder in his ears. "I don't," he said quietly, raising his gaze to meet Castiella's for a moment. The girl looked down, and kept at her task, but Kisamoa was left watching her. Another broken thing, but this one wasn't his fault. "What's bothering you?" he asked, uncertain if the question was too blunt, and hoping for an easy-to-fix answer. Like, go blow up this guy, but that posed another problem: no more death, not even at the bidding of another.
So, no problem was easy to fix.
Maybe he should just kill everyone, huddle in a corner of the Rift, and wait out the inevitable end. Seemed almost merciful. His lips pulled into an utterly humorless smirk, and he rolled the mangled Pistris over.
No, what he did not understand.. it was the complex relationship between emotion and memory. How they had the gall to be upset about him killing a bunch of their friends and taking their lands from them.
But when they did it..it was okay?
That was the reason why he was there, on the beach, in the driving rain. He had sought to understand, but he hadn't, but he had made a promise, and he wasn't going to back out of it. The way he saw things, he had one path to redemption: understanding. And by understanding, modifying his behavior so that he was less..evil, he supposed.
Without losing track of his goal. And with the angry creatures fuming in the back of his mind.
They frustrated him, dead gods and Helovians alike. He didn't know how to deal with them, and that was why he found himself surprised when one he had taken from her birthland condemned the majority of those she had come with. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't understand it, either; had greed upset them? But the Rift ran thicker with magic and opportunity. It was built on greed. Then why..?
Or was it about what they had lost? Not only their friends and loved ones (and enemies), but the more material aspect of it..? He had been aware of some companions going rogue, disappearing into the depths of the Rift, and he knew of all the magic devoured. It was the lifeblood of the broken land, but not enough to replace all that had been lost.
They needed more of it, or to find a way to stop the bleeding.
He found himself staring at the Pistris, weighed down by the task and the unhelpful gods screaming murder in his ears. "I don't," he said quietly, raising his gaze to meet Castiella's for a moment. The girl looked down, and kept at her task, but Kisamoa was left watching her. Another broken thing, but this one wasn't his fault. "What's bothering you?" he asked, uncertain if the question was too blunt, and hoping for an easy-to-fix answer. Like, go blow up this guy, but that posed another problem: no more death, not even at the bidding of another.
So, no problem was easy to fix.
Maybe he should just kill everyone, huddle in a corner of the Rift, and wait out the inevitable end. Seemed almost merciful. His lips pulled into an utterly humorless smirk, and he rolled the mangled Pistris over.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
