Cursed by the Immortals? The mage's brow rose. "Erm," he responded, unsure of what to say. Other than, perhaps, that the assertion was strange . . . and a bit odd. "The Lotharro were made by an Immortal, Thetros," Alistair stated. He used to live in Uthaldria, and so he knew a great deal about them. He'd even been married in Thetros' temple, his union blessed by a great Pries-
He frowned. But then, he remembered. This... was a positive thought, about Fridgar. It was worth remembering. Yes; they had gotten married in the Temple of Thetros, tied together for all their lives. How could they be cursed by the Immortals, when an Immortal had given them the chance to remain themselves throughout all of their lives?
If Alistair could reference one changing moment in his insight towards the Immortals, it was certainly the life-bond. It had been... so wondrous to experience. Even magic could not offer something of that kind; wholly spiritual, tied to infinity.
"Besides, why would your father care? Aren't you Etzori? Your people hate the Immortals. If anything, that would make the Lotharro better people in the Etzori purview," the mage reasoned, his lips curling in thought.
Then, however, the flood of questions came . . . so many of them. He counted each as they came - ten, in total. Ten questions, all at once. Alistair couldn't handle this... barrage. Even trying to meet each question as they came was difficult, because then he couldn't remember the questions, and he would fumble up, and -- answer the wrong things out of order. Instead, he merely looked at Jonathan sternly.
"Stop," he frowned. "Calm down. Ask your questions slowly," he simply replied, and refused to answer any of them until Jonathan chose one or two to ask - and worded them thoroughly. He provided him an entry point.
"...Aberration. You mentioned piecing a soul back together? Reversing the process of flaying?" he questioned. "Let me ask you that question, Jon. What do you think is a final death? One that can never be reversed, one that cannot lead to anything . . . ?" Alistair's eyes set on his apprentice. "Do you imagine you would be able to reverse such a finalizing thing - undo it, put it back together? I told you that Aberrants destroy souls. It is the worst action one can possibly perform against another living entity. Why do you think it is so horrid? If the Immortals could change that, fix it - they would. But they can't," Alistair said. Perhaps this was wrong, but he didn't imagine it was.
If Immortals could simply undo the mistakes of mages, they would have a much different relationship. It would be... friendlier.
"Flaying is a vile action with no redemption to be had, because none can return from it. You cannot simply say, oops, and mend a deed of such horrors. It is the end of all things, for that soul, and always will be." He sighed, not really wanting to answer all the rest. Jonathan stressed him out. Too many questions, too many wild ideas and theories. He needed to slow down . . . or Alistair's head would explode.
"I'm going to go out - need anything?" he questioned. Kleine immediately scampered off without even an excuse, not wishing to be stuck answering dozens of questions for the next several breaks. New apprentices were wildly curious, but... few had been this much so.
He frowned. But then, he remembered. This... was a positive thought, about Fridgar. It was worth remembering. Yes; they had gotten married in the Temple of Thetros, tied together for all their lives. How could they be cursed by the Immortals, when an Immortal had given them the chance to remain themselves throughout all of their lives?
If Alistair could reference one changing moment in his insight towards the Immortals, it was certainly the life-bond. It had been... so wondrous to experience. Even magic could not offer something of that kind; wholly spiritual, tied to infinity.
"Besides, why would your father care? Aren't you Etzori? Your people hate the Immortals. If anything, that would make the Lotharro better people in the Etzori purview," the mage reasoned, his lips curling in thought.
Then, however, the flood of questions came . . . so many of them. He counted each as they came - ten, in total. Ten questions, all at once. Alistair couldn't handle this... barrage. Even trying to meet each question as they came was difficult, because then he couldn't remember the questions, and he would fumble up, and -- answer the wrong things out of order. Instead, he merely looked at Jonathan sternly.
"Stop," he frowned. "Calm down. Ask your questions slowly," he simply replied, and refused to answer any of them until Jonathan chose one or two to ask - and worded them thoroughly. He provided him an entry point.
"...Aberration. You mentioned piecing a soul back together? Reversing the process of flaying?" he questioned. "Let me ask you that question, Jon. What do you think is a final death? One that can never be reversed, one that cannot lead to anything . . . ?" Alistair's eyes set on his apprentice. "Do you imagine you would be able to reverse such a finalizing thing - undo it, put it back together? I told you that Aberrants destroy souls. It is the worst action one can possibly perform against another living entity. Why do you think it is so horrid? If the Immortals could change that, fix it - they would. But they can't," Alistair said. Perhaps this was wrong, but he didn't imagine it was.
If Immortals could simply undo the mistakes of mages, they would have a much different relationship. It would be... friendlier.
"Flaying is a vile action with no redemption to be had, because none can return from it. You cannot simply say, oops, and mend a deed of such horrors. It is the end of all things, for that soul, and always will be." He sighed, not really wanting to answer all the rest. Jonathan stressed him out. Too many questions, too many wild ideas and theories. He needed to slow down . . . or Alistair's head would explode.
"I'm going to go out - need anything?" he questioned. Kleine immediately scampered off without even an excuse, not wishing to be stuck answering dozens of questions for the next several breaks. New apprentices were wildly curious, but... few had been this much so.
