theweakhavepurpose | Hadriel Inbox

[Carlisle nods numbly.]

I suppose.

[He's silent another moment, his nails finding their way to that bandage on his arm and picking at it as he caters to his nerves. He finds his voice, and it's far quieter than it had been.]

It's... funny, really. Back home, in Bear Den, is where I would have something to prove to others. I have a lineage I cannot possibly uphold. A bloodline that dies with me, and a demise that, thanks to this place, I have been able to measure how awful it will be for those who remain. But it is here that I have found a way to stave off my affliction, and a reason to even do so. And I have asked myself time and time again: where is it I should be? Is it worse to be here, fed upon by false gods but truly living, or back home, where I am damned in both life and death?

[Oof. That's a good question.]

This may be living, but is it a life?

[Is it? He honestly doesn't know.]

I'll admit that some of the things here have been.. nice. People are more understanding. Or tolerant I suppose. But people arrive and leave with no purpose - it's in a constant state of flux. Chaos.

There's no real longevity here. Sure there's people who've been here for years, but would you really want to be here forever? Constantly in turmoil, unable to die because Hope will bring you back, watching people come and go.

[Pratt is right, in a way. People are always in and out of the city, and there's no knowing if one day, he will wake up to find Glacius simply gone, having vanished in the night. It's happened with acquaintances, with his students -- with friends he had truly come to cherish. They arrive and leave with no purpose, but that is the very nature of life itself. He could drop dead tomorrow for no good reason whether in Hadriel or not.

Death for Carlisle, however, is not the end, and he's painfully aware his situation isn't normal. For many, Hadriel is a prison, the lives of its captives forfeit to the hungry gods. For him, he is only alive because he is here. Were he back in Bear Den, he'd likely be dead by now -- and undead, as well.]

I cannot die regardless, Deputy. Or cannot allow myself to. What remains of someone with my affliction is far worse, an abomination that would set itself upon my home were I not here.

Oh.

[Well then. That sounds deeply personal and he doesn't exactly want to pry. But ...]

That bad is it? You can't.. there's not...

[He wants to ask if there's anything that can be done, but he realizes that's stupid. As if Carlisle, with his analytical and literal way of thinking hasn't already considered every possibly option and outcome.]

I'm sorry. That's a terrible position you're in.

It is. Was. [His brows knit together.] Still am, ultimately. This fix I have found, while only made possible by my being here and the people I have met in this place, is only prolonging the inevitable.

[As Pratt surmised, it is deeply personal, but with how Carlisle speaks about it, it's something he's lived with for a while now, and had to come to terms with. He's still working on dealing with the worst part of it all, the horrible revelation given to him relatively recently: that death isn't any kind of release for him.]

Are you familiar with the undead? Do they exist in your world?

Edited 2019-02-22 07:39 (UTC)

Like zombies? I know what they are but no, they don't exist in my world. When you're dead - you're dead.

[He's seen some freaky supernatural stuff, but none of it involved bringing the dead back to life.]

As is the case where I come from -- or it should be. My hometown has been plagued by necrotic energies for some time, foul practitioners of dark magic imbuing the very land with their perversion. There are times where the dead do not remain dead, when these abhorrent characters raise them once more.

[He pauses there, disgust riling his nerves. He has found commiseration with Pratt to be a comfort before; he understands guilt and regret, Carlisle reminds himself inwardly.]

Most undeads -- they cannot cast, you see. They have no aural energy, and therefore no access to magic, save for in extraordinary cases. This is the case with Revenants, who are somehow able to access the abilities of their former selves, cursing those around them. We- we always thought they were raised as well, undead creatures somehow able to match their masters in terms of how much of a blight they could be.

[Another pause, his nausea growing.]

A seer I met here -- she had dominion over souls, and she revealed to me their terrible origins. They are not raised, but rise themselves, born from people with the very same affliction as I. Remnants of their energy -- their souls -- becomes trapped in their physical bodies, separated from the rest, never to be whole again. There is no rest in death for us, and no rest for those around us as long as we exist.

[He's trying to understand, but he's not sure he's following. Carlisle's world is just so different from his that he's not sure he'll ever be able to fully comprehend it. ]

And there's no way to .. put the pieces back together?

[He assumes not. If it was so simple then Carlisle wouldn't look like he's about to be sick right in front of him.]

So you're saying that when you die, you'll come back to life only it won't really be you?

Jesus, that's fucking horrible.

[He nods numbly.]

Horrible indeed. [Fucking horrible, even.] A Revenant born from someone without magic might not be a concern, but- but someone with my abilities—

[He swallows, his mouth feeling dry.] It's- it's more than just glyphcrafting and gardening and healing. It would be a creature with my crafts, but none of the moral quandaries to restrain it -- a being so fueled by only the bitter dredges of the aura it once held, desperately causing harm to those around it so its own suffering feels pale in comparison. And then it will writhe in the guilt of what it has done, only to start the cycle anew. I—

[He manages to reel in his rambling, knowing he sounds delusional. His voice softens with fear.] I am better for now, but I have been so... close to the end that I know what it feels like. I know exactly -- intimately -- what will become of all that is left of me.

And there's nothing to be done about it?

[He doesn't entirely understand, but maybe there's a way to kill him twice or make it so he comes back a ... happy Revenant? Who wants to use it's bitter spite to make the most glorious garden the world has ever seen.

But he knows that's unlikely. Some things are inevitable, and Pratt isn't a hopeful person, not anymore.]

You're stuck in a terrible position, home is awful and here is fake. That's... I'm sorry.

[He really is, and now he feels bad about the whole: everything here is awful and people who want to stay are dumbasses - thing. Because that's a pretty damn legitimate reason to not want to go home.]

[Carlisle sighs.] There is nothing to be sorry about, but I appreciate your empathy all the same. I have spent my life in the service of my goddess, hoping that I may make amends for my very existence in her eyes before I am to pass. I have reconciled within my heart how it, ultimately, will do me no good. Not the kind of good that would spare me this fate, at least.

[But that's not the only reason for his faith, and so, he continues to serve. If nothing else, it makes him more comfortable with himself.]

And while here may be fake, there is... hope to be found here, found within the people trapped in this place. I would have been loath to admit it a month, even a year ago, but it is there, in the connections I have made that I could not have back home. Even now, there is comfort in the commiseration one finds with a friend, even if their bonds were born of tragedy, of a similar suffering or guilt... or of gardening and enchanted rocks.

Yeah the people are what make this place not as terrible as it could be. It's been ...

[He trails off as his mind actually catches up with what Carlisle just said. There's a moment of pure, unadulterated terror and his eyes go wide. No one should be friends with him. Ever. His friends all met horrible fates and he was to blame in a lot of cases. He's bad luck, worse decisions, and a terrible friend all rolled into one.

But.

That was back home. And this is here. Like Carlisle said this place is far different than their homeworlds, and the connections they make are what makes it real. Or real enough anyway.

He looks away, composing himself, and trying to think up a suitable response that doesn't sound sappy or trite. ]

It's true. If we let it, this place can be something worthwhile. The people I mean. Learning from each other, learning about ourselves.

You're right.

Maybe it isn't as bad as I've been thinking.

[It's all right, Pratt. Carlisle's entire family met with misfortune because he lived when he should have died. The twice-cursed are a blight upon all they meet, bad luck and unavoidable troubles personified. He is the last of his bloodline, the failure damned to be the end of it, and in a desperate attempt to save more from suffering the tragedy that follows him, he sequestered himself away in his estate for years, limiting his contact with people to only the occasional sighting at his church. He gets it.

And yet, despite everything, even he could not help but make a few friends here, people who cajoled him out of his shell of melancholic solitude. He would never say this place with its false deities is an ideal world, but there is good that came with the bad, and more often than not, he finds what he has gained here to be substantial enough that he'd consider it an improvement over his old life. This place is not Bear Den -- when he arrived, people did not know of his name, his failure. He was able to figure out who he is apart from the Longinmouth legacy and his condition, and it has been... enlightening. Freeing. He's discovered talents he never knew he had, strengths he had never allowed himself to explore in his world for fear of what might happen if he strayed too far from home. He has learned to cope with his fears rather than run from them.

Well... sometimes. He still runs more often than not, and there are days where hiding in his closet is still preferable to facing the world, but he's a far cry from the man who was taken from Bear Den so long ago, a man who marched inexorably toward death's door with no true purpose in life, save for his servitude.

He has more now, and with his demise further from his mind thanks to Glacius' energies, he is eager to keep what he has. The friends he's made aren't his because of his name, or his father, or his uncles. They're his, and that means more to him than he can express.

Carlisle gives Pratt a genuine smile at his agreement.]

It is not all good, obviously, but there is much here to be cherished for as long as we have it, and much to be found about ourselves that we may not have found back home. I- I never realized I'd ever be any good at glyphcrafting, and had I not had a reason to work on it, perhaps I never would have been. And look now.

[He gestures to the magic rock.]

It's... something that's mine. Something I can claim I had a hand in. Were I to die tomorrow, I would be able to say I made an impression in some way in this existence -- a positive one, at that -- and that is... encouraging in a way I once believe impossible.

Edited 2019-02-27 06:09 (UTC)

A legacy beyond yourself. That's something isn't it?

[Pratt understands. He's going to be remembered as a traitor and a coward and a murderer and worst of all as being weak. Too weak to resist the conditioning, too weak to kill Jacob, and too weak to save Rook.

He'd tried. Fuck how he'd tried but ultimately it hadn't helped.

Well... maybe it had but he'd never know. Slowly dying alone and in the dark with only the monitors replaying his torture to keep him company.

Here he isn't a traitor and isn't a coward. He definitely isn't much fun to be around, but not because they think he might kill them. So that's something anyway. ]

It's been nice meeting people who have no idea who I am. Or what I've done. A fresh start.

I .. honestly haven't been utilizing that as much as I should. I dwell too much on the past. But I need to focus on the future - even if it's here.

Personal development right? My boss would be thrilled.

[Carlisle smiles.] As would I.

[And as someone who feels he relates to Pratt on a personal level, as they have both clearly experienced hardships that shaped them into men plagued by their own guilt and remorse, he genuinely means that. He's happy he seems to finally be moving forward himself rather than stagnating in regrets of a past he cannot change, and while those regrets still haunt him, it is progress, more than he ever made on his own. He would be pleased to see others do the same, to be given the opportunities he has been blessed with.

Accepting that he need not be alone with his burdens was, perhaps, the most challenging hurdle of all, a frightening deviation from what he had done for years. Not only would he feel accomplishment with himself for helping someone out of a similar situation, but his goddess would look favorably upon such an act. There is purpose in helping others, he reminds himself, however futile it often seems.]

I, too, have described it as a fresh start. Back home, the Longinmouths are well known, even legendary in our region. Warriors, hunters, scholars, magicians -- each has left their mark on the world for generations, tales woven about their exploits reaching far and wide. It all led down to me.

[His smile fades, a rueful tinge coloring him as he opens up.]

I am the end of it, as I said. I am the one who damned it by being cursed. I am the failure of my lineage, and everyone knows it. My work for the church has redeemed me in the eyes of a few, but to many beyond our village, I am known simply as the Longinmouth heir, a title said with more disdain than it once held. Nothing I can do will bring back my uncles or my father. The world was stripped of three capable hunters, each having saved so many... and all that remains is a man who cannot even look himself in the mirror some days.

[His fingers tighten on the bandage around his arm, the ink stains there long dried, but the residue still prominent enough to be felt beneath his nails.]

But knowing that I had none of that lineage here -- no bloodline to loom over my head, no weight to my name -- it was as though a weight was lifted from me. I still feel it some days, but I am trying to take advantage of this freedom I have been given in the hopes of finding a future I was not afforded before. I encourage you to do the same.

Edited 2019-02-28 00:47 (UTC)

[He nods in understanding. Of everyone he's met, even those who have meant well and cheered him up and he'd been able to somewhat trust - Tinya or Peter or Kettara... They don't really understand, not in the way that Carlisle does.

And they probably never will. He wouldn't have been able to if such terrible things hadn't befallen him first. He didn't thoroughly comprehend soul crushing guilt and regret and the bitter taste of remorse that will never be enough.]

That's a lot to live up to. Impossible footsteps to follow in. But no one here knows any of that. You're the first Longinmouth I've ever met, and though I'm not going to have generations of people to tell about you, you made a mark on me. That's something right?

[He smiles again, this time a little less sad and forced - it almost reaches his eyes.]

[And there's Carlisle's smile again, his grin widening to match Pratt's as he gives a polite bow of his head.]

That is indeed something. As the first Longinmouth you've ever met, I should do my best to not further embarrass my family name. My list of accomplishments thus far may be small, but like a garden, it grows ever steadily if nurtured. It... merely needs someone to look after it from time to time, just to make sure it does not become too overgrown, unable to see the light.

[Look at them smiling and having a normal conversation like normal people who aren't reclusive shut ins that don't want to talk to anyone ever. And wow, he is a master at those gardening metaphors. ]

That sounds like a healthy attitude to have. I think we got this. We can adapt and overcome this... whatever this is. Purgatory.

[he mostly means him, Carlisle has been here long enough that he's already had to find his place and fight his demons. Pratt's only been here for six months.]

[One might almost mistake them for regular people.]

A prison between worlds, a life beyond death, or perhaps a second chance for those undeserving of it. No matter what this place may have been intended for, it is, at times, what one makes of it.

[He gives Pratt one more polite nod.]

If you have any questions about your stone -- or simply need an ear to hear your troubles -- I am but a few doors away.

Thanks.

I might.. actually do that. Some day.

[When he gets up the courage to admit that he is not okay and that maybe talking to other people would actually help. But that won't be anytime soon.

Though this at least is a step in the right directions.]

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