by The Kingpin » Wed Jun 12, 2019 9:10 pm
That evening had been one of bridge-building. Figurative, but quite apt at illustrating what had transpired. As expected, there was some semblance of recognition among the elementals at the sight of Septimus, but the nature of that recognition was not something expanded upon by Evisa's flock. Taking the cautious route, the Scholar and his company had spent that night slowly getting to know the elementals, their personalities, their quirks, and introducing themselves in turn. Were there not an ulterior motive to it all, one could readily dismiss it as a night of building friendships and collective, innocent merriment.
Ceridwen had served almost as an ambassador for the Scholar and the Thunderkin, revisiting the antics that had helped her and Beshayir to build that bond of friendship with them previously. From using her magic to play with them to peculiar means of expressing herself, her unorthodox method of interaction proved quite successful at crossing the boundaries that speech could not. Once Beshayir's classes had concluded, Ceridwen had gone into the city to retrieve her, and with her help, quickly overcame the general uneasiness that came with Septimus and Syria's introduction to the elemental group. Despite it all however, it had been decided that they wait for a while before delving into the matter of the Twin Cities' destruction. It was, after all, a sensitive subject. It wasn't something that could just be approached on a whim after a day of talking.
The following morning was a quiet and muted affair. The sky was clearing up on the horizon, but a dark overcast had yet to relinquish its grip over the region. The smell of petrichor worked in tandem with the muted patter of a light drizzle to set a sobering mood in the face of the previous evening's merriment.
The Scholar lay, resting on the dead grass and brush not far from the elementals' den, listening to what Ceridwen had to say. The dragoness had chosen the early morning as a good time to divulge what she had learned from Natalie the previous day. The rumbling of the dragons voice mingled with her own crooning voice as the two Hueilin conversed in a tongue unknown to anyone close enough to hear them.
"The entire kingdom was corrupt with the poison that queen had taught them," she explained, looking up at the larger dragon. "She hated the elves and envied them, so she decided to use her power to turn the kingdom's faith against them. That kind of poison couldn't be removed by changing a sovereign."
"No, it can't," responded the Scholar. His response came without hesitation. It was clearly something he had known for some time. "But many of the people already believed that the old beliefs were flawed. I had hoped that in putting one of those people in a position to change things that I could halt the old Drakons from trying to kill that transition off. Instead, they simply killed the one I had helped take the throne, and in so doing, killed the kingdom."
"They killed the leadership, maybe," responded Ceridwen, showing a maturity that the Scholar had forgotten she was capable of. "But the people are still here, aren't they? The lands of Draxon still have cities in them. Brodudika is another one. There are a few cities over the hills and behind the forests whatever direction you look; all formerly Draxonian." She paused to let the Scholar contemplate that for a bit, tilting her head as she heard the distant chirping of the first birdsong to grace this place since autumn. It served as an apt emphasis of her point. "Draxon is dead, yes...But the Draxonians are alive. They're free. And they have you to thank for it."
The statement had the Scholar silent for a time as he reflected on the implications of what she had said. "Perhaps. But it is a shame that so many good, well-meaning souls had to be lost to attain it," he eventually conceded, staring out over the yellowed plains between them and the City of Friends standing proudly in the distance. He couldn't deny that Ceridwen had a point. It did not change the fact that there were many lives on his hands. Lives he vowed to save after his time in Tyrbenetus. But perhaps their loss, their sacrifice, was the price that had to be paid for future generations to find peace. "I will see to it that those who survived find the peace I could not grant their predecessors."
"Don't take on a burden that isn't yours to carry, Septimus," said Ceridwen, fixing him with a firm look. "You can do what you can to help, but remember each one of them is their own soul, with their own mind, their own choices to make and their own burdens to bear. You've told me the tale of Eredar. Surely you learned the moral of that story yourself, didn't you? That was a god. If he wasn't able to end the lives of all the souls in Aster, is it really so unfathomable that saving everyone isn't possible?" she asked. Another pause, another moment to reflect, before she concluded, "Just do what you feel is right. Those who fight you will fight you. Some will win. Fate will decide whose lives you can change and who will stand by their ways despite everything you try to do."
The Scholar had no response for that, choosing instead to embrace silence amidst the nature around him as he ruminated on what the Daughter of Maelgwyn had said.
"Ah yes, organised chaos. the sign of a clever but ever-busy mind. To the perpetrator, a carefully woven web of belongings and intrigue, but to the bystander? Madness!"
–William Beckett, Lore of Leyuna RPG