Breathe Into Me

[Alistair]

5th of Ashan, Arc 718

"I have no power," he whispered, "I have no pride. I have no strength, only sin. I have no fear, I have no frailty. I am as empty as the shell that formed me; a hollow being, like all men. With this known, I ask the Immortals for grievance and pity. I, who am expendable, ask that I not be expended," he spoke, eyes shut as he meditated alongside his prayer. Kian merely stared, a bit put-off by the words escaping through Damien's lips.

"Don't you think that's rather self defeating, Damien?" he questioned. The other mage merely shook his head. "No, it's only the first part of this... hymn. Let me finish," he said. "I am nothing; clay, formable, to your whims. I am like the ocean, a solid body with a thousand, thousand corners. Everything you desire is within me, a man. A woman. You created me for your own satisfaction, and I am the ultimate embodiment of that. Yet, Immortals, you continue to rend me open and break me apart. Play with me like that same, formable clay, even as I manifest what you allege is your perfect beauty. I look like you, feel like you, yet I am not you. You made me to be inferior, and so that is what I am."

. . .

"Was freedom ever the dream you set out for me, all those years ago? I was born weak, and remained so. I was born with fragility, hunger, disease, rage. I was born to do war... and so war I live. You made me a monster, and a monster you will have. Mankind will no longer be beautiful, nor fragile, nor temptuous to your whims. We will become vicious, ugly, and insolent. I embrace magic to overcome the weaknesses you gave me. I embrace heresy to overcome the longing in my dreams. I embrace violence to fulfill my wicked nature. Immortals... anu bashaa alla dah que'nos tei; firos alle quindae fortassan. I am weak, fragile, ugly, spiteful, starving, depraved. And I am your enemy. I am a mage."

He didn't recognize those words, but he knew who they must've been written by. Ellasin, particularly by her signature usage of the Ancient Tongue. She despised the Immortals more than all else. Her life's dream was to eradicate them from Idalos.

Soon enough, that dream could be feasible. Each and every arc, she gained more power. She planted her roots, and they spread throughout the planet. Everywhere Alistair went, he could see her corruption. Damien could not defeat her, nor Kian, nor even the two of them together.

But no one cared about the real threat. They squabbled over arbitration. Cassander with his door-throwing man, Ne'haer with their free realms and loose politics... Etzos with its games. They were all ripe for the taking, and she would take soon. But when? And how could they even begin to stop her?

[Alistair]

"We're going to learn how to live, Alistair," he whispered, as the wind blew across the fields, still-golden leaves fluttering from piles atop the floor to the blowing winds. "That's how we'll beat Ellasin. By learning how to live with her still alive," he whispered, taking a seat upon the wooden bench, laying his legs on the center table as he stretched his back and yawned, some bones cracking in his movements.

"She's not going to go anywhere for some time. Until then, you need to learn to not think about it all. Stop fearing that she'll strike you from behind, stop pondering about all the ways in which you may protect yourself. She hasn't struck in all these years, and you know that in truth... if she strikes, you have no chance of victory. You are living under her whim - it's terrifying, but also liberating. You don't have to worry, you can know: if she comes, you die. So live until that moment without worry," the Lich advised, Kian's eyes narrowing, and lowering to the ground. He didn't... really like that idea. Knowing that he couldn't really do anything. She could come to him in his sleep, and he would be dead before he knew it.

Rupturing was loud, but she didn't need to land directly on him. She could... come nearby, stalk him, kill him from afar. She had so much power, so many options.

He'd become something of a superhuman when it came to his endurance, but he still needed to rest. She didn't have that limitation.

"What about my current situation makes you think that now's the right time to stop worrying? That now is when I should let go? I've lost it all. I have so many enemies. How can I ever cease in my fear?" he questioned.

"Discipline. Quiet. Control. Some might say meditation, but its effects are temporal. You clear your mind, but then it opens again, so once more you clear it. On and on, until you reach madness, until your mind is numb. Monks who meditate for years are often the most empty, spiritually illiterate men. Those who know suffering know that it cannot be cleared. It must be acknowledged, but subtly, in the far reaches of one's thoughts. That is what I will teach you to do this trial - to be optimistic, to forget your anger and vengeance. It's led you astray for arcs, and it will continue to do so thereafter."

For once, Kian was skeptical. He didn't really imagine that one could simply diminish these negative feelings by keeping them in a pocket. They would leap and crawl to the forefront, frequently, and just like with meditation you'd need to bat them back. Damien underestimated how much had begun to compile. The last few arcs had not been kind to his state of mind. More and more, he became cynical. More and more, he doubted himself, and certainly everyone else.

[Alistair]

. . .

. . .

Quiet.

"Think about if you died," the voice whispered. "How peaceful would that be? Nothing but silence. No feelings to fall, no heart to lose. Nothing but quiet... emptiness... a loneliness that lasts forever, but within a space where loneliness doesn't exist. Think about that, Kian. Doesn't it sound beautiful?" he questioned.

Was this... supposed to help? It didn't make him feel any better. Sometimes, his heart had already longed for death. He didn't want to go, but he did, but he didn't -

"Yes..." he responded, quietly. He could envision it in his mind, with his eyes closed. Wasn't this a sort of meditation? He didn't understand.

. . .

It was... an endless night sky. A black canvas, the darkness within space, with little stars fluttering about. He could only imagine his outro. Cursing at everyone in earshot, telling them all to die. Passing on, settling his scores and his prayers. Dreaming. Dreaming, one final time. He loved it, that freedom. He'd wanted to die for so long. When did it begin? How old was he?

"Nine," he answered, Damien's eyes opening. The Lich said nothing, in surprise. Kian had spoken an answer, but no question had been asked.

"I've wanted to die since I was nine. Ever since my father... hurt me. Ever since then," he answered, a moisture forming on his eyes. "I've never been able to feel anything, because I was broken. I wasn't a psychopath like I told myself. I was just in a state of lucid dreaming, remembering the pain and the betrayal. I carried on, walking, zombified. I had already given up on life, Damien. That was why I felt nothing. I wasn't a pyschopath, I was just depressed."

He could remember feeling that way from the start. Looking on the knives on the dinner table, wanting to see them in action. Picturing his own body sprawled out on the table surface, everyone watching him, seeing the mess they'd made. The child, the pubescent, the man they'd ruined.

How long had he lived in despondence?

Too long. Too long.

"If death is that peaceful, let it have me now, Damien. I can't live in this world any longer. It's been nothing but a waking pain."

And there was the truth. But Damien wouldn't stop his lesson - this was exactly where he'd always wanted to go.

"Picture that vision, with the empty canvas, the white dots for stars, the quiet hum of space. Do you see how beautiful that vision is, Kian? How you yearn to imagine it?"

. . .

"It doesn't exist in death, Kian. There's nothing there. It's a pure black, darker than anything anyone could ever see. There are no white, glowing stars. There are no silent humming voices, nor planets circling in motion. It's the end. It's not freedom, but the end," he whispered. "If you love the thrill of the night sky, and the quiet whisper of the wind as it brushes against your cheek, then we'll start here. On Idalos. We'll get something you can look into space with, and we'll study and learn. We'll see what it's all about, with the grass blowing and a fire crackling behind us. We'll laugh, enjoy ourselves, and be free. No one will find us. That's the life you can lead right here, now, in Cappola. I can help you become a Lich and we can do this for all eternity. I don't care," Damien spoke, eyes passionately inflamed as he stared into the irises of the young one, the lost.

"It doesn't matter. Look at the freedom you still have, Ali. Know that once you have gone, the only freedom you have is the freedom of staring into empty darkness or forever closing your eyes. Learn to love your life. That's how you'll push away the stress. Have some joy to fall back on, and the rest will recede the moment you feel it begin to crawl."

[Ellen'wyn]

Alistair

Comments

A very meaningful thread. I like how you switched up the norm of meditation with discipline.

Points

EXP: 10 points

These points may not be used for magic.

Renown: None

Knowledge

Skill Knowledge:
Discipline: Killing one emotion with another
Discipline: Controlling suicidal thoughts
Discipline: Diminishing stress with self control
Discipline: Learning how to conceptualize a calming thought
Discipline: Can replace meditation
Meditation: Vividly imagining a higher concept

Non-skill Knowledge:
None

Loot & Consequences

Items: None

Injuries/Overstepping: None

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