(Flashback) Departure (Solo)

[Inoadar]

60th of Spring, 506

He took one last look back at the room as he wheeled the cart out. ‘Job well done.’ He thought to himself, appreciating his preparation and execution. "Execution’ indeed', he smirked to himself. ‘Perhaps I should pursue this as a career.’ It was not the career he would have banked on even five years ago.

He still had thoughts of serving Uphis back then, as his father did, 'and still does.' he thought with a twinge of regret. He shook it off. After all, it was his father's own training that had led to this conflict. He had been telling himself for years now that his father would understand his discontent. 'How could he not?' None had been more pure in his convictions than he.

'To truly serve to the best of your ability, you must expand the boundaries OF that ability first. Then, when you achieve them, expand them further. Never be satisfied! Only when you can equal Uphis, do you have the right to respite.' And this did not even touch upon his policy towards pain...

'Pain must be embraced! It must be desired! When you enter battle, you do so knowing there will be pain. If there is not, then you have failed to give your best. It need not be the pain of injury, for you will not always face a foe capable of delivering such. But if not, then it must be the pain of exertion! There is no excuse not to feel pain in battle!

'Then, when you do feel pain, it is of no consequence. More than that, you now feel complete! Every pain is a reward! A confirmation! An affirmation of your right to call yourself a follower of Uphis! You will see the stroke coming and you will laugh at the thought that your enemy thinks you fear the stroke! Then, it will be HE that quails, because he will know that HE would been unmanned by the pain. And he will fear you! And there is no greater weapon in war than the fear you inflict upon your foe!'

Inoadar took these lessons to heart.

[Inoadar]

He had spent his childhood seeking trouble. He sought out kids bigger than him and picked fights with them. He took foolish dares, often ending in injury. And though he was not a particularly large boy, his reputation as someone to avoid grew as HE grew.

Though his father often railed against him or beat him for being so conspicuously troublesome, Inoadar could detect a glint of pride in his eyes. But as his strength grew, his savagery began to bring reprimands to his family as children of highly placed elders fell to wickedly deliberate injuries and outright maimings.

There was a final incident where citizens awoke to shrieking laughter, to find him bound at the feet of four older youths, each with red hot irons, taking turns burning him. When they put a stop to it and cut the ropes, he swept up one of the irons and attacked the four, laughing and ultimately reducing them to begging and crying as he roared with self-satisfaction, crowing over their weakness and cowardice in the face of "nothing more than a little pain".

Even his father was jarred by the display, the single minded desire to inflict pain, his mad compulsion to fight through the elders trying to contain him to continue assaulting the youths, who all claimed he had ASKED them to do it.

His father met with the elders, who unanimously decided that his son should join the Second Edict as a means of giving direction to his ability to take punishment. His self-infliction would likewise be an inspiration to his fellow devotees and a glory to the Celestials. And so it was, for a while...

[Inoadar]

Inoadar reveled in his release. He praised the Celestials and their servants for this great answer to his discontent. He would bring glory to them, he would inspire others. Never had the embrace of pain showered him with such satisfaction. No more the inexplicable reprimands for displays of strength and endurance. No more the pitiful whining of "victims" that ought to be learning from his example, not fleeing from it. He would demonstrate what great strength was to be gained by the overcoming of the fear of pain. He would be a boon to the Order.

And he was. New members came, attracted to the rise of this former troublemaker to a plateau of prestige and honor. Many who had seen him as a destructive element now viewed him as an example of what could be achieved by such single-minded drive. And though he was not a producer of goods or art, his self sacrifice inspired others to give a little more of themselves.

For himself, he DID consider his self-inflictions to be "art" of a sort. His fellow practitioners oohed and aahed over his masochistic displays and marveled at his resilience. He became the undisputed exemplar of endured suffering. None truly attempted to unseat him from this unofficial 'title'. The recognition of his unequaled ability to absorb pain forestalled any thought of usurping his crown.

It was more than mere 'resistance' or 'endurance'. It was not just a capacity to 'shut the pain away' and ignore it. It became the unspoken realization that he ENJOYED the pain. Almost, it seemed, he couldn't get enough of it. No one had any intention of trying to upstage such an unnatural 'gift'.

This was what started his downfall.

[Inoadar]

Inoadar began to perceive that his fellow members were not striving to unseat him. At first he reveled in his status. But after a time, it began to bore and, soon, to annoy him. He resented the lack of challenge, the lack of any motivation. It was too easy to surpass the others. he began to lose faith in himself. Was he truly pushing himself? He had had to strive for a new level of effort to gain the honor he now held. But there was no new mark to aspire to, except any vague concept of what would surpass his present level. But how could he be sure?

Maybe he lashed himself more times now. But were the strength of the lashes the same? Somehow, he felt he was not pressing himself hard enough. He asked others to gauge the degree of his self-affliction. They assured him he still outdid them all. This brought him no reassurance. He decided to deliberately do less than what he could do, but still they said the same. They weren't really keeping track of his level as a goal to achieve! His status was being isolated from the rest. 'They are conceding to me my superiority, and vying only for second place!'

Here, he had thought he would inspire the others to greater degrees of sacrifice, and he was instead being used as an excuse to settle for less. He was furious at this facade of devotion and decided to take a 'hands-on' approach to this slacking. He accosted individuals and punished them for their mockery of their vow. They protested his assaults to the elders. He tried to explain that he was not doing it out of anger, but out of a desire to help them realize their true potential.

He honored the reprimands they ordered. For a while, anyway. He decided that the glory of the Celestials was a higher calling than the stipulations of mere mortals. This time, he approached these same individuals from the angle that he was 'offering his expertise to aid them with their efforts'. They turned him down! He was shocked and disgusted. This time it would be HE that would report to the elders, exposing the irreverent backsliding of these deviates.

Once again, he was put down, ordered to stop forcing his perception of devotion on others, that they had to find their own way, their own limits. His soul begged for a connection to these mens' conceptions. Why didn't they understand? His intent was exactly that! To help them find their own way, their own limits. He had no expectation that these worshipers could reach his level without his assistance. Nor did he expect their improvement to be overnight, but with his help he-...

The elder's hand slapped the table with a loud smack. He was commanded to silence. He was reminded in no uncertain terms that his place was to obey. The instructions handed down by the elders were, in turn, handed down to them by their superiors and down to them by the very Celestials themselves! Was he, a supposed worshiper and devotee, refusing the edicts of the very deities that the order served? Did he place his perceptions above those he purported to honor? Did he think himself possessed of a higher purity of understanding than the very gods themselves?

Inoadar bowed his head and said nothing, but the seed had been planted...

[Inoadar]

"The gods themselves' the old man had said. 'Indeed, what OF them? Why did they not demonstrate their dissatisfaction? Surely they must be sorely disappointed in the lack of reverence these so-called "worshipers" displayed. Why do they do nothing?' His mind went in circles of reasoning and rationalizing, building a concept of weakness and acceptance of weakness by weak gods.

The old man was all too well-suited to his position. He had done a service to The Second Edict, and now they belittled him AND their gods. Like so many of the older man’s subordinates in his class, they lacked the conviction they claimed. Worse still, they resented the efforts that he, Trandino Adarius, went to in his desire to heighten their capability to show devotion to their gods through self-inflicted suffering.

He had been doing this for years. He knew what a body was capable of enduring. It was one thing for an initiate to be hesitant for fear of permanent injury (although that would be a far greater gesture of devotion than the mere enduring of pain), but it was another thing altogether for a supposedly learned master to go soft on them. Making excuses and allowing them to fall well short of what they could truly endure. ‘Backsliders! Apostates all!’

The conflict cycled endlessly. The predictable argument repeated to no end. "Maybe you DO have years of experience embracing your father’s program of enduring pain! Maybe that IS a practical exercise for a warrior! But these new students are not going to DIE if they flinch and lose focus! They are not at war. There is no need for them go to such lengths. You bring them to the verge of DEATH with your extremes, and I will not allow prospective worshipers to die for YOUR satisfaction when they can be an inspiration to the general population for years to come by staying within reason!"

"And what of ‘Martyrdom’, sir? Is that not an inspiring goal for a worshipper? And I do not impose levels for them even NEAR the levels I set for MYSELF! How can I call myself devoted if I do not aid a follower to achieve more and more for his god?" he answered back defiantly.

"How can you call YOURSELF a follower if you do not honor your elders, Trandino? Would your father tolerate your disdain for the chain of command?" The old man bellowed, the discussion ended.

Even after the fact it caused him to grit his teeth in fury. Always it ended thus. The master sidestepping his point and falling back on rank. He was not fooled, cowed or impressed. The master was right about ONE thing, though. He DID feel disdain. Disdain for cowardice, disdain for complacency, disdain for accepting less than the most you can achieve. 'They set a mark and, having reached it, sought no improvement upon it. They INSULT their god with such mediocre reverence. And their gods do not demand more!'

This had been the line of reasoning which had ultimately brought about his break with the order. 'What manner of god allows its worshipers to display such diluted piety. Meager gods for meager worshipers. He decided it fit. They deserved each other! But he wanted nothing more to do with them, gods or followers! But a gesture was clearly called for!

[Inoadar]

The idea struck him a few days later. He had seen the way the elder had grown afflicted by the presence of certain shrubs. Some sort of reaction only certain people shared. He had witnessed many similar afflictions. People breaking out in puffy choking fits around cats or dogs. Sudden swelling, gagging from eating certain foods. People dying from an insect bite. A weakness, 'an additional punishment for weakness on the unworthy', he thought with contempt. It was no surprise to him that he did not suffer any such malady.

He located some of the bushes and rubbed the spores all over his tunic. Returning to the Order's facility, he wheeled a cart of laundry into a storage room near the elder’s quarters. Then, he went to the demonstration area to "go to extremes" one more time. It had certainly been a simple matter to get himself called into the elder’s presence for another dressing down. These days it took more effort NOT to be reprimanded than otherwise.

When he was called in, he brought the cart with him, feigning ignorance of any impending disciplinary lecture. In short order, the elder grew red-eyed and began sneezing uncontrollably. Trying to appear helpful, Trandino grabbed a towel and approached his desk, whisking the letter opener off the top unnoticed. Giving the towel to the older man in such a way as to be sure it was near his eye, he plunged the dull blade into the eye and stirred it around to scramble his brains as the man screamed into the muffling towel, which also served to catch the majority of the blood. Twitching and clutching spastically at Trandino’s arms, his screams ebbed shortly and he lay still.

He quickly grabbed another clutch of towels and made the small effort required to prevent an incriminating mess. The towels were wet and it was not difficult to clean up sufficiently to render the picture into that of an elder sleeping peacefully at his desk. He then wheeled the cart back to the laundry room, gathered up a few of his things and walked out of the compound. It would be hours before his actions would be noticed.

But he knew he had to leave town. Even though there were no witnesses, it would not take long to determine that he had been the last one to have cause to enter the old man’s quarters and at least he would be held while the death was investigated. He smirked at the thought of them realizing the futility of trying to torture a confession from him. He started to laugh, a chuckle at first, but soon it grew in volume and intensity to a near howl. He had never felt so invigorated! Who needs gods when one has his own resolve. He would show his devotion to himself! In SPITE of them! He would kill the worshippers of gods EVERYWHERE HE WENT!

[Balderdash]

Delicious rewards! Happy days and jubilation!

Skill	XP Reward
Philosophy	1
Persuasion	1
Intelligence	1
Observation	1
Weapon: Dagger	1
Stealth	1

Lores: Pain Is Gain, Perfection Is Not Enough, Power Is The Only Worthy Master, Killing An Elder, Justifying Murder, Disguising A Death

Items or Consequences: +1 lucky letter opener. A little memento from your first assassination. Wield it with pride!

An interesting little look into Inoadar's masochism, and a delightfully wicked entry into a delightfully wicked business! I enjoyed reading it, though you'll want to go into slightly more detail if you want larger XP rewards. The solo's breezy clip was wonderful, however

If you have any questions or concerns about this grade, please PM me. A happy you makes a happy Balderdash!