Vhalar 39th, 717
“Why do you want to be a hero?”
It was a question that she hadn’t been expecting that afternoon, not to mention a question she didn’t necessarily have a ready answer to. The little girl with big bright doe eyes had seen her on the street and likely remembered something mentioned of her. She was the only half-breed in the entire city so it was likely if her appearance had been mentioned then anyone could figure out who she was. But still, it was fairly strange to be approached by someone so innocent with little more than a question. A question that had completely take her off guard. She thought that by now she’d have a solid answer, but when she was actually asked that by the child her voice had died in her throat. She was completely unsure of what to say. By some form of luck, the mother of the child had quickly rushed over and ushered her away before the half-breed could actually answer. At least there was one thing to be grateful for in regards to the apprehension and fear that people addressed her with. The average person anyway. Anyone with combat relations seemed quick to trust her, the average citizen slowly but usually accepting of her presence, people from out of town were a different story entirely.
Thinking about it, by all means, the half-breed should have had an easy answer to that question. One that slipped off the tongue long before the mother came to rush away with her child. But Nightshade had frozen, choked up. Why? It wasn’t so much the idea of being a hero that she strove for so perhaps that’s what threw her off so badly. Then again, that realization in and of itself brought with it another flurry of identical questions that were even harder to answer. The most prominent of which was why she fought. Why did she risk her life to steal someone else when the idea of killing repulsed her. It was almost like waging war for world peace or screwing to get back your virginity. It just didn’t make sense at the end of the day Killing people to keep people alive. Was any phrase more contradictive or more representative to the nature of the woman?
The idea gave her enough pause to become too distracted from any kind of work. Her mind kept going back to the question. The word why pounded around in her head as she fought to understand her own motives. She could have just pulled out the stereotypical good guy bad guy speech but that wasn’t doing enough justice to the topic to put her mind at ease.
It wasn’t like she enjoyed fighting. At times she found the movement to be therapeutic. There was something relaxing about the repetitive motions and the ability to protect someone, but that could be achieved easily enough with a practice dummy or a partner she had no intention of killing. If anything the half-breed completely hated every moment of a fight. There was always the risk that someone was going to die. The scent of blood, steel, and sweat heavy in the air. It was nauseating, especially in conjunction with the idea that she herself might have to take yet another life. It was such a precious gift that she didn’t want to steal. So why do it? On what spiritual or moral level did these things become okay, what goal validated such means?
At the end of the day, she fought because she thought she needed to. It was the only strength she really had. She wasn't the smartest person or the best leader in the world. If she tried to take control of a situation everything usually ended up falling right out from under her. In fact, a lot of the time she found herself charging into situations blind and simply making them worse. In fact, sometimes it seemed as though anything she touched got destroyed, turned to dust and ash. In a way that was why she fought. It was the only reliable thing to fall back on in her life, the ability to win a fight with the lowest number of casualties possible. The potential that she could knock out a bandit instead of killing them after they've gone through enough townspeople to catch the attention of the Blackguard. The fact that she could give second chances was one of the most important factors in all of it.
At the end of the day despite everything about the half-breed she was a representative of three major ideas. Two of which were chaos and destruction, there was no way around it. She jumped into situations like a whirlwind and had been practicing to fight ever since she was 3. Maybe back then it was only really basic unarmed combat tactics, but even so, her father had ground ever possible form of combat into her head that he could think of before she left home and she'd only sharpened those skills after leaving. If anything, the half-breed could be considered a figure of death at this point with her pitch black wings that she occasionally wrapped in steel. She wondered how much she could play up the visage, she knew a little bit about scythes and she still had her old cloak.
Even so, in spite of the fact she was a harbinger of death like actual ravens, she still stood for one other factor. Justice. That was why she fought, and honestly, it was the largest factor setting herself apart from Noth. At the end of the trial, she didn't use innocent people as means to an end. They weren't cannon fodder and didn't get caught in the crossfire. Her beloved... The half-breed knew very well that he had never changed for the better, she had just allowed herself to become blinder. For as much as she loved him and as much as he had a good enough reason for his actions, they were still bloody and repulsive and she knew that. And perhaps in his mind, he thought that sacrifices had to be made. But did they have to be made using the lives of innocent people who did no harm and asked for none in return?
A guard signed up for their job knowing and accepting the risks. So did a mercenary or a member of the army. In which case, if they died trying to protect something they held dear, like their city, then that was reasonable. They weren't an 'innocent' on the grounds that they hadn't asked for the fight in the first place. In that way their sacrifice was okay. But a caravan trader who only took the job because there was no other way to support their starving family never asked to be attacked by bandits, never prepared for the thought they might die, and has so fewer chances to protect themselves. Those were the people for which Nightshade fought. Their 'sacrifices' border more on the fanatical madness of throwing children upon the altar of a twisted god for the sake of power. It wasn't fair. And that was why she fought. Not because she enjoyed bloodshed. If there ever came a day where Nightshade had to switch professions due to a lack of work she would weep with actual joy. And she knew well enough a perfect utopia wasn't an option. There would always be bad blood and that would always result in fighting.
But the world could be so much better a place if a couple more people were willing to put in the effort. So inspire those people, to give them a chance against a world that took kindness and tore it up in long black fangs, that was why she fought. And as long as there was the possibility she could make a positive change, she had no intention to stop.
Maybe this world was a distant possibly if she tried hard enough. Maybe a world with less conflict and death was truly impossible. But she'd never know if she didn't try. Was it such a bad thing to try? When she was new to the city there had been those who looked at her as though she was insane to show any semblance of kindness. To be willing to jobs for cheap if she had enough to coin to live off, to be willing to work for free if someone really needed the help, those thoughts were something insane to the minds of the people living in Etzos when she'd first come along. And there was something deeply distressing about that. To think of something warm and gentle and kind as inherently weak, it was foolish. The kindest people were often kind because they had learned long ago that the world wouldn't be. Not to them and not to those they held dear. What was weak about that?
Nothing. And that was why the half-breed fought. She'd be warm and kind, forgiving and motherly, a saving grace on a bad day and the worst nightmare of those who endorsed crime. She'd stake her life on it if she truly must. That she swore.
