• Closed • [Foster's Landing] Threads of Hope

[Maltruism]

Cylus 30, 718

The answer to the soldier's spoken questions, as well as those unspoken ones that stemmed from them, were answered as easily as the the shrug which accompanied them. "Politics." the master smith said mildly, without breaking eye contact. "Tell me which blood line you feel may have had reason to...what? hide you?...For your protection? Theirs?...Civil stability?...Political continuity?....Economic growth?....Military integrity?...Several of them at the same time?...ALL of them?"

The smith paused at each mention, to give his initiate time to get an impression. It was well known, and had never been hidden, that most of the highest offices, of the more prominent factions, were held by descendants of the original founders of the city. It was hard to determine any basis for assuming any one of these blocs to be more likely to indulge in scheming manipulations than any other. But the specific governmental arenas Losten had mentioned brought particular ministers and officials to Gangui's mind.

His own protection, as well as that of the one who'd taken him to Sirothelle as an infant would surely be the mother. Was this alteration to his understanding that he'd been born in Sirothelle a deception? Were the stories of his parents identities all overlapping misdirections? Were these engineered by one of the faction leaders? The soldier could only say that there was not an immediate indication that he should dismiss these possibilities.

Losten's emphasis on 'Civil Stability' brought images of Berrit Segrille, the captain of the Blackguard to mind. A number of Black Guard faces, not the least of which being Zipper herself, flashed past now, but without really making any connection in his focus. There seemed to deception there.

The subsequent mention of 'Political Continuity' brought Gangui's belief in the aims and methods of the tower to bear. Whether it was from it possibly just being true, or from the soldier's genuine zeal to believe it in either event, there was no fluctuation in his determination that this had had no deceptive impact on his upbringing. The same held true for the focus on 'Economic Growth'. Though Gangui may have simply dismissed that faction orientation on the basis that there were so many shared agendas that they were almost one and the same.

That left 'Military Integrity'. Was there suddenly a twinge of doubt? Losten launched into the suggestion of several combined factions being involved before this doubt could really take root in Gangui's mind. But it did not alter the Commander's sense that he was on the right track. Losten himself twitched subtly, "You feel something may dwell within this route, do you, Commander? Convince me, then. Find the path my own mind takes. I will not say it aloud. You must find the tie that will bind us silently."

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts

[Gangui]

When Losten spoke, he did not go into the details verbally. He didn’t have to, because images, thoughts, and emotions formed in the mind’s eye.

Men of power, old blood. Solemn faces and ragged ones. He had never seen them before, but he knew who they were now. Familiar faces too, Zipper and members of the Blackguard. Understandings of these politics began to flood his mind as well. The rush of these new knowledge made him naturally feel happy, even forgetting the fact the “discussion” at hand was on the subject of the catastrophe of his own life. These were all things that seemed to come into fruition by themselves, but simple deduction said otherwise. It was Losten who was showing him these things, yet, Gangui’s own opinions and his own mind were still ever present in the equation.

Thus, the apprentice finally began the process of learning how to listen to the master.

Gangui no longer thought of the unblinking stare down as a challenge of dominance -- a battle of who had a stronger mind-- but rather as an exchange of magic. Despite this tiny pinprick of an understanding had been achieved, the initiate did not have time to unravel his own intuitions; the master was guiding him down a very specific path. Military Integrity.

“I was always a part of this whole game, even before I met Zipper…” Gangui’s mumbled words trailed off as Losten seemed to show a quiver of excitement. It wasn’t about his own safety and it was never about his mother. It was about his father.

The scenes went through his mind.

A man sat in full battle regalia, upon a large wooden chair. He was noble in demeanor, but kind in face. The candle light flickered upon his jeweled fingers as he raised a cup to toast all those around him. All the people around obviously held him in high regard -- genuine appretiation and love was painted on their faces. Whatever he was doing, he was doing right. The feeling associated with this scene was plucked from pride and joy.

“Torrel Hallard…” He intuitively knew.

As the golden-bearded man raised his cup in toast, the candles in the room flickered away and the laughter died away. As the smoke settled, a beautiful young face shifted into his mind’s eye. Young succulent lips and an intrinsic necklace upon supple breasts. She seemed so tender and innocent, but her eyes begged to differ. She held a babe in her arms, his golden hair already flowing. The astonishing purity of her beauty was a plucked thread of mesmerizing joy.

“Victoria Hallard… Torrel’s wife and her son; Valen...” Once again the mumbled words poured out of his mouth.

Just as before, smoke filled up his mind’s eye again smothering the visualization of the mother and babe, only to give way to another scene.

This time he was in one of the great halls of the Citadel. It seemed to be some type of party. Mead and wine was being drunk amidst the military tapestries depicting the Hallard’s family exploits of the past. The music being played was lively and Torrel’s bannermen danced and laughed. They were celebrating a great victory, no, they were celebrating young Valen’s birthday, who was now four or five. There were other people there as well, other nobles and counsel members. Upon Torrel’s insistence they were all prostrating themselves and giving great gifts to the wee-lad.

However, whilst all eyes were on the boy, Torrel’s eyes were on another. The emotions of worry and contemptuousness were strumed.

“... mother is there?”

He never envisioned his mother like this; painted face with a skin tight cloth dress that moved with the sway of her body. She was a foxy damsel and profoundly aware of her own spell on hearts of men. The strums of suspicion may have been plucked, but the natural feeling of disgust of his own sexualized mother did not need any help from the master. Something was off about the beautiful red head though, something about her set her apart from the other women around. The sudden sensation of suspicion resonated with him, however the feeling of her contrived nature was in retrospect.

“Ildiar is seducing Torrel…” And Losten didn’t know this until later. While all eyes where on the golden-boy, Torrel slipped away with Gangui’s mother, "Hallard is my father..."

Losten nodded, but kept pushing Gangui further in his magical way.

The Citadel chamber faded away now and the another scene formulated into Gangui’s mind. It was a dark chamber, save the single window-slit that let in a bright white light. Several armored men stood around a desk with papers and seals and candles. He couldn’t hear their words, but he felt what they felt. Fear and outrage came from some of the other men, their names echoed clearly, but forgotten. It was something Ildiar had done. No. It was something that Torrel had done. The golden beard of the Marshal sunk deep in his chest as the feeling of bitterness came over him. He muttered a command to a man in the shadows. The man then stepped forward, it was Ranga Munzorig.

“...The Mercenary…” Gangui’s perceptions were beginning to change now. Much like before, his reaction to the image of his father was anger and frustration. As he was beginning to feel these old emotion, Losten’s gaze suddenly steeled -- perhaps even nudging him in the right direction -- Suspicion. Then, suspicion coupled with interest. That’s when Gan realized that he was allowing his emotions to control his thinking. This shattered his understanding of discipline. Sure Gangui was disciplined physically, but now he realized that he was no so mentally. He wasn’t harnessing the right emotions, no, he wasn’t reacting to them properly. This was getting confusing.

Eureka! But not what the master was trying to teach, “...almost there…” Losten mumbled. He needed to show him more.

The dark and damp office of Marshal Hallard faded away and another room came into view, a foyer that was brightly lit by the sun. There was another man there, someone that could not be named easily, not yet. He was whispering to Ranga, handing him a note. He was rushed and anxious. What he was doing was dangerous? Unacceptable? Before he could make sense of it, the vision faded away again.

It began to come together again suddenly. He didn't need to know the exact details of the documents, nor the words being said in the meetings. The feelings were enough for him to deduce what was going on.

"Hallard sent the mercenary to kill me, but there are other deals going on..." Using this new realization, he searched the events he so vividly remembered back in Sirothelle, "Mother also seduced the mercenary. That's why I am still here, Ranga didn't kill me, he fell in love with my mother as well..."

All these things were very difficult for Gangui to sort out and his head was beginning to feel very strange. The magic being worked in his head was making it feel light and all the knowledge he was gaining was a good feeling. However, his single-minded ways was weighing his head down. There was something holding him back to understand of what was truly going on.

"I understand now blood of the first Etzori flows through my veins... and the conspiracy..." Gangui said looking into Losten's eyes, "But I've only scratched the surface..."

The apprentice looked towards the master for guidance now.

[Maltruism]

Cylus 30, 718

The Smith's eyes were red and unfocused, but still maintained contact with his initiate. But it would be fairly easy to see that there was yet another aspect of this whole situation that he was waiting for the soldier to hit upon. As far as sensing the weavings of emotions present in the telling of his true background, there was little left for Gangui to have grasped.

"You have done well, Commander. But you think there is still some great additional depth to this story. You know who your true father was; you know the basis of his motivations; you know it was conflicting ambitions and agendas, and the opportunities to further those things. that brought this all about. Yes, with additional deductions and meditation, you can probably grasp the name of those past figures, as well the names of the current figures who have reaped the benefits."

He paused, and where one might have expected his expression to grow more intense, Losten seemed, if anything, to grow disinterested. But his eye contact remained locked nonetheless, it could be assumed there was more to be achieved. "But you have made this city's history a fair priority. Of course, you did not have the personal motivation to seek deeper information. Let me ask you though, Commander. In what research you have indulged in, have you found anything to suggest that grand events revolved around this little piece of drama? Were there profound political ramifications resulting from this bit of betrayal and treachery? No, just another bastard being brought up outside of one of his family lines. Hardly anything new."

The empath would let the soldier react any way that he was compelled. He did not interfere with the soldier's mood through the use of his own ability. He did, however, use it to keep his own temper in check; and was pleased to find it fairly difficult to do, with the surge of anger pouring through the connection. And great disappointment followed on its heels.

But that was the point. Gangui clearly felt that such a major event in his life should be of some civic or cultural importance. It was not just that he'd been the product of betrayal and abandonment; a potential target of assassination and political upheaval, that brought on the surge of emotion. Losten could feel plainly that it was the very fact that nothing important had ever come of it that stung.

Sure, there had been possibilities of intrigue and treachery, political back-stabbing and the necessitation of far-reaching alliances of desperation and distrust. There were names that could be gleaned and confirmed from further inquisition. But in truth, no one had quite ever done anything further than the initial infidelity and noting of those involved. Where it had been assumed that some high drama and repercussions must have ensued, it was disappointing to find that everyone had just let it go.

Those that had gained from the threat of scandal over Hallard's head, had never found any particular further use for it. Hallard's line had continued to stay in the line of military Marshalls, and one line that would probably not have otherwise, had also achieved that rank. And since that initial usurpation of rank, there had been no great objection. Those that had filled the rank in question had all done a good job. Things had turned out well for the city, and no one who knew the story found anything to gain from a shake-up.

"You are disappointed, are you not, Commander." Losten said, no taunting in his tone. "This is the one remaining thing to take away from this. The one emotion you were most likely to resist." Now, unexpectedly, Losten's voice again found its intensity. "But embrace it, Commander. Did I not tell you when you first arrived that your words carry a sustenance that many here have been starving to hear? I meant every word of that. But you will not reach those you wish by trying to contact them through grand visions of glory and justice."

He waved around him with an air of disdain, "Look around you, sir. Does this look to be the priority at the forefront of these folks' minds? Glory and Conquest? Freedom and Righteousness? You'd do better to look for threads and weaves of despair and resignation to breach their subconscious. They do not sit at home dreaming of the day that the Immortals are brought low and the human utopia is realized. They think of how they can pay for both food AND drink. How they can shift responsibility for unloading that next barge onto someone else. They wonder if their wife is cheating on them while they are at work? They live a life of steadily growing disillusion...resignation...disappointment!"

He suddenly slapped the table, his demeanor seeming almost comically at odds with his last remark as he rose, "And THAT is how you will reach them!"

Illustration is 'Hope' by GF Watts