Harrowheart (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
westfallcorndog) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_sages2015-10-27 11:20 am
westfallcorndog) wrote in nexus_sages2015-10-27 11:20 am
Entry tags:
Build A Better You
A lovely fall day (but aren’t they all, in their own way?) finds plaid-shirted Harrowheart on a bench in the Parklands. His legs sprawl out in front of him, his arms loop around the back of the bench, and his hands – detached and floating magically just above his lap – are laced at the fingers, anchored together in the air. Despite the space he perhaps rudely takes up, he’s mindfully left room next to himself for at least one other person should they decide to join him. He’s noticed in the Nexus that when people talk, other people have a tendency to arrive, and so he pays no mind to how many or how few people are around.
“It’s Hallow’s End where I come from,” he says. “It’s a Fall festival. Used to be about the harvest, and I’m from a farmin’ land, so that was always good for me... But now it’s about a little more. During Hallow’s End some folks on my world freed themselves from an evil king who held ‘em under a spell that made ‘em lose control of their minds. Now folks all over my world celebrate Hallow’s End as a time to reflect on who they are, who they want to be, and where they came from. We think about what’s holdin’ us back in the present from achievin’ our dreams. We remember times when we weren’t allowed to be ourselves and say goodbye to grudges from our past so we can move on and be free from negativity. Guess you could say it’s a holiday about tearin’ yourself down and buildin’ yourself back up a little better.”
He shrugs, and with a welcoming smile asks, “So? What’s somethin’ you once needed or still need to free yourself from so you can live the life you want?"
“It’s Hallow’s End where I come from,” he says. “It’s a Fall festival. Used to be about the harvest, and I’m from a farmin’ land, so that was always good for me... But now it’s about a little more. During Hallow’s End some folks on my world freed themselves from an evil king who held ‘em under a spell that made ‘em lose control of their minds. Now folks all over my world celebrate Hallow’s End as a time to reflect on who they are, who they want to be, and where they came from. We think about what’s holdin’ us back in the present from achievin’ our dreams. We remember times when we weren’t allowed to be ourselves and say goodbye to grudges from our past so we can move on and be free from negativity. Guess you could say it’s a holiday about tearin’ yourself down and buildin’ yourself back up a little better.”
He shrugs, and with a welcoming smile asks, “So? What’s somethin’ you once needed or still need to free yourself from so you can live the life you want?"
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He looks down at them, and when the shake is over he laces his fingers together once more.
"Kinda hard to explain. It's a little weird even where I'm from. I know I don't dress like it, but on my world? I'm a knight, like you. Except... Maybe not at all like you. Things are different where I come from. In your world I probably woulda been one of the King of Worms' minions. Which ain't to say I agree with the way he acted, but.. I'm undead, y'see? Made of necromancy. It's real versatile magic on my world. The same spells that keep ghosts together or animate a single part of a body tether my hands to my wrists. Lotta folks tell me it don't seem too useful, but they just don't know the applications."
He nods at Shade-Seeker and says, "Now I got a question for you as payment for that answer. You choose the name Shade-Seeker all on your own? 'Cause I do like it. I think on my world a name like that woulda been chosen by an evil person pursuin' darker arts. ...Shoot, but maybe it fits that way? You pursue shadows for justice." He winks. Look at him, trying to be all deep.
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"An aetherial binding of some sort? Fascinating," the lizard murmurs, thinking on some interesting lines of study that the possibility inspires. To the admission of being undead, he offers a philosophical reply: "the same sword may be lifted by a bandit or a guard. The sword is not evil or good, merely a tool in the hand. It is the choices of the one who wields it, the things they do that weigh in the scale. I see no fault in being undead, doubly so if the choice was not yours. You do not strike me as someone evil, so I can place no blame in the circumstances of your existence."
"Ah, my name. No, it was not one I chose for myself, but one bestowed. Most of my kind are green, or blue, or otherwise brightly-colored. They enjoy sprawling in the warm sun. I am white, but for the barest of facial markings, and too much sunlight makes me feel ill. So, ever since I was a child, I have always sought the shade." With a grin, he adds, "but I like your interpretation, as well."
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"This King of Worms," he starts, "If he really changed his ways, if he really sincerely became a better person... How would you feel about that? Would you be able to look past the things he willingly did in the past and see him as a new person in the future, or would you always remember the way he was? Is it even fair to forgive him?"
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"I would," he answers, without hesitation. "If there is no hope of forgiveness, then the flawed have no reason to seek it. The burden on such a soul as his would be terrible, the harm that he has wrought with his deeds calculable perhaps only by the gods, but if he sincerely sought redemption and to make amends for his crimes, I would forgive him, and even aid him."
He considers, then adds an amendment. "I might find it difficult to see him as a new person, for the choices he made in the past would still be there, but I would place greater weight on the choices he is making in the present, and the direction in which he now strives. We all have pasts of which we are not proud--not half a year ago, I sat in a cell under a sentence that was not meant to end, for a crime I did not understand."
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"On my world, I... I don't think there's anyone who thinks like that. Retribution, bitterness, hate over the past? Shoot, we got that. We got that in spades. It's what makes my world go 'round. But I..."
He shifts his mouth side to side in thought as he looks Shade-Seeker's very inhuman face over carefully. "You mean it. You're not just sayin' that. You really feel that way, huh? It's..."
He laughs, and with it comes a remorseful smile. "Sorry if I sound so dumb. I don't know how to take that. Hearin' a person who'd move on from things like that, I just. I'm a little overwhelmed."
To distract himself from a turn in the conversation that he'd never expected he quickly changes the subject. "So you're in a guild of mages, huh? That make you a mage, too, or?..."
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"You sound not at all foolish, my friend," Shade-Seeker assures him. "My world, as well, is rife with those sentiments. I once held my share, but recent experiences have shown me that there is forgiveness for all who seek it, and that life is not a road with a single fork at the beginning, one path marked 'right' and one path marked 'wrong.' There are many branching trails between those two, and no signs at all. We must show each other the way, else we all are lost." He smiles, then catches himself and adds a clause: "at least, that is what I believe. Please forgive me, if I proselytize."
To the question of his magery, he nods. "The Archmage, now, through a chain of circumstances which beggars belief. I am not a great mage, certainly others are more accomplished. I have mastered the art of Alchemy, to be sure, but I am barely a journeyman of the other Arts."
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"What sorts of magic exist on your world? What kinds can you do? Are you allowed to show me, or is it mostly for when you're desperate? I'd love to see what an Archmage from another world can do! Even if you are a baby Archmage for now."
He winks, grins, and readjusts his position on the bench to prepare himself for a display.
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"Nothing prevents a demonstration, at least not that I know. We organize magic into six 'schools' based upon the energies and methods involved, and the applications to which they are put. Conjuration allows us to summon and bind beings and objects from the realm of Oblivion, for instance." Raising a hand, he demonstrates, conjuring a wavy-bladed dagger of some rough-forged metal that glows red at its cracks and seams like a half-cooled lava flow. "The master of Conjuration is never unarmed, nor alone, in battle." As he sets it down, the dagger dissipates into a puff of noxious fumes and vanishes.
"Illusion plays with the senses. At its simplest, one may conjure light," as he does, a glow in his palm spreading outward to envelop him and make him a truly shining knight. "More sophisticated spells may make one difficult to see, or hear, or trick someone into believing they cannot move."
"Mysticism is the magic of magic, if you follow. There is little in the way of flashy displays, but one may dispel magic, ward against it, and sense things nearby by their magical resonance."
"Alteration is the magic of changing things--making one's burdens lighter or heavier, breathing or walking on water, and warding oneself against harm and the elements." A moment's concentration and another upraised hand sculpts a thin membrane of orange energy around him, in which can be seen occasional visions of flame. "This fire shield, for example."
"Destruction is the school of most spells of attack; to conjure fire, frost, or lightning, to crumble weapons and armor at a touch, to raze the body and the mind." He points at a nearby spot on the ground, sending a small bolt of lightning arcing from his fingertip to scorch it.
"And last, Restoration is the counter to that; to cure hurts and make whole what is broken. Ah, but here as well, the clever mage finds the means to do battle, for as Restoration is the art of giving wholeness to one, it is also the art of taking some of that wholeness and giving it to another."
Harrowheart and the Really Big Post
He stands then, nodding, and turns to face Shade-Seeker. "That's real, real different from magic on my world," he says. "But I tell you what, if those are a baby Archmage's spells, whew! Folks'd consider you real powerful on Azeroth. You mind if I try explainin'?"
Doesn't matter if Shade-Seeker minds or not. It's happening. But Harrow prefaces anything he could have to say by crossing his arms over his chest and holding his hovering hands up, empty palms out in a placating manner.
"I know some magic, but I ain't a mage. Never been much for studyin', either. But I think I can explain it? See, on my world, we group magic by its elemental types. Most casters know one real well, maybe one or two others a little less. It's a sign of a real bright mind if you can whip up more than that."
"We got fire," he says, and begins to count the elements on his fingers. "Frost, arcane, nature, shadow, and light. Every kind of magic a person can do falls into those categories. I think everything you did would be arcane magic on my world, 'cept maybe the fire shield and the light. Light-worship's a religion where I come from."
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At Harrowhart's alarmed reaction to the light, Shade-Seeker is quick to offer, "my apologies, my friend, I did not mean to startle you."
When it's his turn to listen, though, the white Argonian is a pleasant and attentive audience. When the explanation is done, he nods thoughtfully. "Interesting. We have priests who practice magic, as well, although off the front of my mind I cannot think of any spell which a member of one discipline might cast which the other could not. There are, I know, some special spells, the knowledge of which is bestowed by the gods. My armor, and the blessings earned with it, grant me a few such."
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Shade-Seeker nods obligingly and offers what he knows: "in the Empire, we recognize the Nine, the eight Aedra--Akatosh, Arkay, Dibella, Julianos, Kynareth, Mara, Stendarr, and Zenithar--who created the world, and the once-mortal Talos, who ascended to join them."
"There are also Daedra, the spirits who did not participate in the world's creation. The greatest of them, their princes, rival the gods in power, and oversee agendas of their own. Beyond those, there are also lesser beings, half-gods and figures of myth. Of this last group, I can personally attest to both their resilience and their ultimate mortality. Like the Aedra and Daedra, if their body in the world is slain, their soul retreats to Oblivion but may return again in time. If one confronts that soul in Oblivion, however, and triumphs over it... that death is final, by the grace of the Nine."
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"We got somethin' like your half-gods, too. Trolls worship animal spirits, Night Elves worship the Aspects – animal spirits but less dirty than the trolls' – and we got Old Gods. You can kill 'em, but they always seem to come back. Their souls are all anchored up someplace. Bet it's in where you call Oblivion. Might be the same place we call the Twisting Nether. It's a place of infinity and magic and things I'm probably too dumb to get."
He laughs self-consciously and watches Shade-Seeker thoughtfully. "So you... You killed some half-gods? Is that how you got your magic armor? You know I'm gonna ask, so you oughta get ready to tell me every time you bring somethin' up, bud."
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"I slew one," he answers, and unbidden launches into the tale. "Umaril the Unfeathered. In a bygone age, when the old elves ruled the land and held all others as slaves, one of their patrons was Umaril the Unfeathered. A human, Pelinor Whitestrake, was driven by his hatred of the elf tyrants to strike against Umaril, and he Eight Divines gave him their blessings, in the form of sacred armor and arms, relics which I now bear. He slew Umaril, and was slain in his turn by the elvish wizard-kings. It is said that his head imparted his last testament to his brother after it had been severed from his body, and all the other pieces scattered."
"Umaril returned to the world recently, having recovered in Oblivion enough to once again act upon the world. He sought to punish the gods he felt had turned against him by sending his minions to murder the priests in their temples. Many were tasked to try to recover the Crusader's relics, and by the grace of the Nine, I succeeded. When I faced Umaril in battle, I slew him as did Pelinal before me. And where eight gods had blessed Pelinal, there was now a ninth who could add his blessing, allowing me to pursue Umaril's soul into Oblivion and smite it there."