Accept the things you cannot change (Open)

[Jilitse]

Accept the things you cannot change 8th of Fall 510 AV The Temple of All Gods I pray on principle There had been rumors about the Welcome Home burning. Everywhere people talked. Some of them faulted the blind man who took care of the orphans, some of them cursed the undead that had resided in the Orphanage. Within a day the gossip spread, not one of them bearing any semblance to the truth. Jilitse and Stitch had a falling out. It was the kind of argument between people that could not be resolved with a mug of ale and a hug. It was not the kind that fixed itself. That night changed both Jilitse and Stitch. It was the kind of change that brought people away from one another. Only Tanroa knows how this separation would affect the two of them. But it had to be done. Jilitse was not the same Nuit who arrived at Syliras carrying a portable bookcase and very few belongings. She had been through a lot, but her purpose was a shining light that was flickering in the night. She vowed to free the Archwizard Zarik Mashaen from his Grand Oath, and she had set her heart upon the death of Sagallius. She decided to seek out the most powerful ally she could, and in vain she searched for Priskil, lover of Aquiras whose heart Sagallius had stolen. She had put everything underneath this task. Everything, and Stitch was angry at her for holding on the very thing she had been living for. The Nuit was contemplating all of these in the Temple of all Gods, silent and alone in the middle of the day. She still could not fathom why Stitch was angry about her books. He had received her perfectly well, and he was more than able to know the power that her items had. The book that she was not willing to give up. Why couldn't she make him understand that the book that they were after was just as precious as the lives of his children? Why did he find that demeaning? As a Nuit wizard, the value of life had a different weight to Jilitse. She had the ability and skill to imbue life. It may not be the same as bestowing a human soul upon a golem, but it was the creation of life nonetheless. She was not pristine and perfect, and she have had her hands marred with blood. She could take away life. There was almost no difference to the destruction of a golem and the death of a human. Was there no difference, really? It was all she could do to question herself. She had lived for hundreds of years, and yet it seemed like there was much more to learn about the world. The same boring world that faced destruction some five hundred years ago. She was tormented by her irreconcilable differences with Stitch, so much so that no logical evaluation of the attack on the Welcome Home provided her with an explanation. Why was Stitch so angry?! Jilitse's emotions have been dulled by the passing of time. But she wished to understand, and she could not move on until she had figured out the part of her that was still human. She was static. Almost suspended in her deep thoughts. She needed to commune with the deepest part of her soul, she had to pray to Priskil. Slowly, a crease formed in her brow. Was she really going to pray? Too bad, she didn't know where to start.

[Jilitse]

She was sitting on the end of the pew, unmoving as the stationary cart beside her that contained things more precious than her existence. Upon her hands was a humanoid golem, a rare kind - made before the Valterrian. She fingered the limbs of the golem she had named Plinku. There was a time upon Alahea when they had bigger, meaner versions of golems, war machines able to blast and obliterate Suvan troops. Those memories were foreign to Jilitse, for she barely had any recollection of her previous life. It would have been a welcome to her if she could recall the voice of her father or memories of her mother. Maybe she wouldn't feel so detached from the world. The only legacy of her parents that she carried to her Nuit life was the gift of Animation. To Jil, it was somewhat ironic that she eventually gained near-immortality because of the Daek-Nuit ritual. Was she nothing more than an animated corpse? A creature of darkness, of evil, of maleficence? But like any other non-human race out there, the nature of a creature is not defined by what or who he is. At least that was what Jilitse firmly believed in. "Destiny," She said softly, talking in Nader-Canoch. Her voice was a murmur in the Temple, just another person lamenting to the gods. "We assign ourselves our fate, and it is only when we choose our path do we reveal our destiny to ourselves." If her past actions would define her, Jil was a loyal lover to Mashaen. The cliche other woman who never got the man. She built herself all around him, so much so that the love she had for the Achwizard defined who she was now. She will save him from his Grand Oath, and prevent Sagallius and Drainira from taking over the world. It sounded so much like she was a heroine in her story, but in the grand tale of history, she was nothing but a supporting character. Someone who needed to develop her own arc in the plot. The Nuit's words was a monotonous melody, incorrigible to those unfamiliar with the language. "The path that I had chosen is an epic tale on its own. I could summarize what I need to do in one paragraph, but if any deity had ever looked upon me and my long overstretching life, you will see that I could barely make the cut." Her aspirations would make a good list. She would be the person to find a way to foil the plans of Drainira and Sagallius, the prodigal daughter and the evil overlord-wannabe. In doing so, she would be able to finally free Zarik Mashaen from his Grand Oath. "But I have realized many things, and misunderstood much much more. I have involved myself in a task so impossible. No, with Priskil's help, this task would be improbable. As long as there's a slim chance of fulfillment, I will hold on steadfastly to my task. And when the road I take leads me to a dead end, I will forge my own way." Such strength of character that she had never known before! Was this what happens when faith is planted in your heart? "And because I know that this ambition is greater than any I have ever had in my entire life, I trust that there will be someone out there who will be willing to help me." She found it easier to pour out her soul's contents by speaking in her native tongue. If words had power, then Jilitse was speaking with utmost conviction. Jilitse bowed her head, fingers entwining around the golem she was holding. "I still could not wrap my head around the novel things that happened to me." Less than a year into her self-proclaimed quest she was already gathering enemies! "But I try to. I understand my limitations now." A first step in humility in front of the gods and goddesses, and maybe it might bring her a long way down the road. "I cannot do this alone." "I am not prepared." She shifted and adjusted her robe. "And never will be if I keep myself boxed in a world-weary mind. I need to keep up with the changing times." Which was her way of saying she needed to be less cynical about things. "I wish I could find the part of me that is benevolent towards those that have life." She was talking to herself, but she was saying the words with passion and reverence. Praying was certainly different than praise. For Jil, today was a moment to find converse with her soul, with any deity whose ears might be listening. The Nuit wished that Priskil could listen, hear her out. The light of faith and hope in her heart was a very tiny sparkle. Nearly extinguished. Her courage needed stoking. Benelovent towards those that have life. Everything in this world has a life, but not everything has sentience. A golem, a human, a book - sometimes the most unlikely things in this world possess consciousness. The Nuit remembered how Clarissa's mind was bended according to somebody else's orchestrations. She had witnessed the power of Sagallius' gift. How easily could life be manipulated, how effortless could a mind be controlled! Where did she stand in all of these? To think that Jilitse would be so much affected by Stitch's hate! It was unintelligible for the logical mind of the Nuit. "I claim to have compassion," the ancient tongue rolled out her lips, "but I was not able to prove it! Do I really know what love is?" Love. The essence of her existence. Why did the word feel so unfamiliar? "There is an ache in the depths of my soul. I have never felt this way before. Why does it hurt?" Why does it hurt, Priskil? Because love hurts sometimes, that's why. It's just that the Nuit was blind to these trivial sentiments. Maybe someone, anyone, could open her eyes?

[Markus Andres]

Standing in the midst of the house of prayers, Markus let his head lean back and he took in the atmosphere. The silent prayers in the corners. It brought a smile to Markus' lips. It had been too long since he had last ventured to the magnificent house of prayers. It had been too long since he had shown his admiration and inner most feelings of gratitude. He felt it was a work by their will that he had gotten out of his rotten path in Zeltiva and on to a better path amongst the Syliran Knights. The gods had truly saved him from a wretched future. Markus moved through the aisle, soon making it to the altar where he promptly kneeled with all the dignity he could find in his body and lowered his head. After a couple of moments, his head would rise slowly, soon look up again and he sighed happily. He straightened himself and took a step back and away from the altar. It was his ritual. Always kneeling before all the gods and then find a more private place to continue the more, intimate prayers. Personal prayers to the gods. He turned too look at the pews. He soon spotted something strange. A cart of sorts. He walked closer. Examining it as he walked by, wondering, contemplated its use. Existence. Then he saw the girl sitting on the pew. Holding what appeared to be a golem, doll, something. But the clay thing she was holding, wasn't of his concern, for the girl - woman, surely - holding it was rather attractive, but it would be strange of him to hit on someone in a church, probably considered blasphemy for all but a few of the gods. His own thoughts had consumed him and Markus elegantly walked directly into the cart. Markus was quite heavy. So the cart moved a little, making noise as it did, his hand reaching down to his right side and clenching the area that he had hit the cart with. But his own pain must have seemed irrelevant at that moment, for soon his mouth moved, and it moved quickly. "Damn, sorry. I-am-terrible-sorry-for-this. I-hope-nothing-broke!" He quickly said those words. His cheeks reddening as more blood rose to make this scene ever more embarrassingly.

[Jilitse]

The Nuit moved towards him as fast as she could, the golem doll falling on the floor, her cloak fluttering from the sudden movement. The undead's unusually static gaze pinned his eyes. She reached out for his hand, grabbed his arm and gripped it. It wasn't much of a grip, but there was mute concern in her features as she stared at him with apprehension, searching his face. She wasn't so pretty after all, especially now that she made it obvious that she was frowning. Her lower lips trembled and she pouted at him, looking hurt. Gently, she let him go. She closed her eyes and removed her eyes from him, shaking away a bad memory. She balled a fist and lifted it to her chest, head bowing down sincerely. It was an apology to Markus. The Nuit did not feel any need to explain herself, in her point of view, Markus was the one who aggravated her. Maybe she did overreact a little. She gave him an apologetic smile. She cradled one hand with the other. It did not go unnoticed that she had been praying prior to the interruption. Maybe she was just really bad with intruders. Like thieves, coming in the dead of the night. What went untold was that she had been in the Welcome Home when it burned. That the booked that caused the orphanage to burn was her possession. She had since remembered that day, for the many things it exposed her to. Her senses had been awakened to emotions that had been in deep slumber. A pain like no other. She had been repeating the memory over and over again in her head, hoping to learn a lesson out of it. To Markus, she probably appeared as a conflicted undead. Surely she couldn't be praying to Uldr or some evil god? The softness in the way she looked rather sad and unhealthy told the Knight that she was - in her own unique way - a damsel in distress. He could observe the slight changes in her face - from being sad to relieved. It was a lot, considering that not many Nuits exhibit facial expressions, if any at all. She opened her mouth as if to say something to the man, contemplated about it, then slowly retreated back into the seat, picking up the golem as she did so. The doll was moving with her whispers. Markus could tell that it was alive. Impossible? Then again, in front of him was a corpse come to life. Continuing as if he wasn't there, Jilitse murmured her prayers for Priskil. They weren't really prayers at all, just silly one-sided conversations with the goddess. Priskil would hear, as always. The words were not meant for Markus' ears, but if he stayed he could try to strain his ear and listen. "Nothing else could be done that day," Jilitse mourned in words, "but if I consider myself wrong, if I wallow in regret, then it would invalidate my choice." The lines were clear, she was Drainira's enemy now. She would never be able to stand against the Supervisor if she didn't show any backbone, even if it was just lip service. "With your guidance I will find strength. And perhaps the rest of my journey would not be found within the walls of this castle." In case he did attempt to eavesdrop, Markus would realize that Jilitse was talking in her own tongue, the ancient language of Nader-Canoch.

[Markus Andres]

The lady's swift movements caught the young squire by surprise. Before he knew how to react, her hand was on his arm, gripping it. Markus was too surprised to pull his arm away from her. Too enthralled in the tales of young. Of witches in the wild luring hapless travelers to them. Then cursing them for all eternity. As Markus' thoughts traveled down that lane, his horror grew for each heart beat that passed. Markus forcefully blinked trying to calm down his strange thoughts of witches in the wild. Markus mind had whisked away every attractive feature on the girl's sad face. Why had she made him think of the old tales of witches? Why did she remind him of such a thing? Quite strange. But still, he couldn't shake the eerie feeling that made the hair on his neck stand up in protest. To all appearances to Markus, Jilitse was a common girl. But still. His neck hair were stabbing the air viciously. With the initial distress gone, Markus saw the woman for what she was. Just an ordinary woman who didn't look angry, more hurt. Sad. It was quite depressing to watch. Markus wasn't sure if it was him who had done something. Then he looked to the doll he had seen earlier and something dawned on him. The woman did look like she could have had a child. Was she there praying for her child? Would that explain why Markus felt such a eerie feeling around her. Was it the sadness that affected him? She opened her mouth and Markus waited for her voice to break their silence. Break his line of thoughts. But not a word had been uttered. Markus blinked as the woman turned back to her seat. Picking up the doll that was moving in her hands as she whispered. The young squire felt the desire to run away resurface. Just get out of there. But her reaction to his accidental stumble bade him to stay. Her expression. The wordless talk. Markus ignored his cowardly instincts and moved to stand beside the strange grieving woman. He let his head hang low. His eyes close slowly. Markus had felt grief. Just not the grief of a lost child. His grief had been the reverse, the grief of a lost mother. Markus swallowed hard and let his mind wander. Trying to find an answer. And almost immediately his mouth moved slowly. Whispering a prayer to the goddess of Priskil. Hoping that the goddess of hope would give this woman hope to continue despite her loss(es). Not for a moment did Markus stop think of why he was doing this, he felt right in helping the woman.

[Jilitse]

Silence passed and embraced them and then Jilitse talked, switched to her heavily accented Common, not exactly to the knight who was still lingering, "People. Why do they pray?" She turned to face him, brown eyes dead, "Where you there, where you there after the Welcome Home burned?" It had only been a few days ago, and Markus must have heard of it. "Do you know the truth about it?" In whispers, she declared, "Dark shadows encroaches, and not even Syliras is safe." Did she sound crazy to him? "I was there when the fire happened, I saw it consume the orphanage." Maybe the Nuit happened to be close to the place, "The children suffered the worst." She remembered Clarissa, who was controlled by Cordas, used as a pawn by the Pycon who was used by Drainira. "I knew Stitch," she said, maybe this woman had been a neighbor to the blind man? "and I hope he is okay. I hope the kids are well." "And in times of despair," she lifted her eyes to face the ceiling, "Do you pray to the gods? Do you, Ser Knight? And when you do, do they answer?" There was no hint of despair on the Nuit, perhaps she had her prayers answered. Why did she question the gods, so?

[Markus Andres]

Markus' didn't understand the woman at first. The accented voice and his surprise in her sudden spoken words. He took a quick glance in her direction. To see if she was speaking to him. He assumed so when he saw she was facing him. But he didn't respond yet. Considering the question when the dead-eyed lady continued. Talking about the Welcome Home fire. A black spot on the recent history of Syliras. It made Markus bitter inside to think of the horrors those kids must have faced in that inferno. He shook his head slowly when she asked about the truth of it. The next, sounded very dark in Markus' ears. A dark prophecy of sorts. It sounded as if the burning hadn't been an accident. As Markus thought. Someone had set fire to the orphanage. That made his blood boil. The strange lady continued. Explaining she had been there when it burned. Stating the children suffered the worst. Markus wanted to scream at her. Tell her to stop talking about it. Stop feeding his brain. Stop having his brain conjure images of the sight. She said she knew Stitch. Markus knew little of Stitch before the fire. Only that he had been helpful to the kids. Markus felt like reaching out and patting her on the shoulder. Give her a comforting nudge or something. But he couldn't make himself do it. The woman continued. Asking Markus a question he really didn't know the answer to. He had never prayed in times of need. He felt sad listening to the woman. To her words. They seemed... deprived of hope. "I don't know. I have prayed, yes, but I don't know if it was the gods or just coincidences that helped me. I'd like to think it was the gods. To know they listened to me. But I don't know, I just have faith in them." Markus said. Looking away from the woman. Just gazing at the wall at the far end of the temple.

[Jilitse]

"But you come here, in profession of your faith?" Her voice turned milder, "Or are you just on patrol, Ser Knight? Surely the temple would be the least to warrant visiting from the Syliran Knights." She continued, "What is it that brings people to the Gods? Fear or Faith?" She looked at him, never removed her eyes on his, waited for him to meet her own brown orbs. Markus came to her at a time that she needed a lot of questions answered - questions no ordinary Nuit asks herself everyday. "Hope is a very trivial thing to some people, Ser Knight. But to humans who have lived and survived the Valterrian, it's the very thing that keeps them alive, despite all consequences." She sighed, or at least her shoulders rippled, and continued, "The temple is a place where you are supposed to commune with your deities, but even when I am here, I do not feel the same way. I have seen Priskil," she declared, but people claim all sorts of things, maybe this woman - no, Nuit - had a chance glimpse upon the goddess in a dream, "She saved me," and maybe Markus would think that Jilitse was speaking figuratively, "from despair, she was there because I did not abandon hope. She allowed me to become her friend." A short pause, as Jil checked to hear what Markus had to say, or observe what he would react to her words, "But it's not the same, talking to a statue. Talking to some invisible being out there." She astonished herself by the next words that she let out, "I do not feel emotions at the same rate as other humans do, it takes time for me to realize what has been said, what has been done, what I have failed to do." "Ser Knight, will you be willing to listen to a secret and keep it? Promise me your honesty, and I will tell you something." Maybe if he looked it up in the handbook, somewhere in there states that it's also a Knightly duty to feel compassion to the weak and to be a sounding board to the depressed.

[Markus Andres]

Questioning ones reason for believing in the gods. The concept was foreign to Markus. Very foreign. He could not recall ever questioning his faith in the gods. But once that door was open, his thoughts went far and wide. Why did he worship some gods more than the other. Some he had been indoctrinated with through the knights. Wysar he had chosen himself with aid from his master. He just had blind faith in those. They were on the side of goodness. Of order and Syliras. – That was his firm belief. Not a hint of fear involved there. He gave them his faith because he believed in them and their chosen domain was for the good of mankind. ”Faith. Not fear. One should never pray out of fear, it would be demeaning to ones character. Only out of respect for the deity in question and acceptance that you are in a domain where he or she is the lord and master. I do not enter the ocean without paying my respects to Laviku first.” He paused briefly. ”I have little doubt that the gods I have faith in will aid me when the need comes.” He said with a simple, but fierce determination. It was a tough question really and he did not like to think about it. It just invited him to doubt his choices. It also had him think of how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. Some gods were bloody celestial objects, others were the entire ocean. Or claimed it as their domain, at least. How insignificant he felt in comparison. That was why he liked to keep most thoughts to himself and his own future. Those he could relate to. That he could understand. The closest thing, was the woman going through a crisis of faith. Or crisis of fear, depending on how you looked at it. But his mouth went open with awe when she continued. She had met a goddess. In person. Been saved by one? That made it harder for him to understand. But as she continued, he thought he understood. She lacked the two-way conversation that prayer did not provide. ”But you have met her? Is that not reason enough to believe, to have faith?” She wanted to confide in him. Tell him a secret of sorts. He had to restrain himself from smiling with pleasure. He enjoyed secrets. The hard part was not letting that shine through. "Honesty is not something you must ask of a squire, it comes with the territory. I will keep your secret, but if the secret is a risk to the knights, I can't in good conscious keep it." He said, trying hard not to sound too eager for the secret, at least his voice had been under control and not shown his curiosity.

[Jilitse]

The murmuring pain was finally given voice. Markus was but a squire, and he probably had no idea what happened on "the 6th of Fall 510 AV." Jilitse took her time, unfurling the words in her head before she started narrating. Slowly she searched Markus' face. He was bound by oath and duty to the truth, he was a knight. But even the immaculate held their own secrets, do they not. After all, what did the knights say of the fire that occurred on, "the 6th of Fall 510 AV." Jil wouldn't know now, but Stitch might be sent to the Tank for it, the blind man accused to be unfit to act as guardian to three kids. After all, what do they know about a man who was responsible for three orphans? What do they against him when his house is burned and the real explanation was put forward? Everything and anything. For they knew not the story that took place on "the 6th of Fall 510 AV." Would Markus have remembered the day the Welcome Home burned? It was but two days ago, surely there was news about it? Where was he and was he on duty? Mentioning the date over and over again seemed to help Jilitse, she heaved a deep sigh just before the words flew out of her tongue, unlike any other story she had ever told before. Tyveth bless her, but it was all truth. "I was there." She began in whispers, "I had been staying under the grace of the blind man named Stitch. But even in his disability, he took care of them well. The kids. Fentya, Damien, Trish, Clarissa. I know their names, and I shall never forget." How I chose a book over the lives of four children. "They took care of him too. I was witness to their pulser home, its warmth and mirth that I have not observed elsewhere. And I had been part of it Ser Knight. If only as a guest, but I could say it was almost as if I was, though for only a few fleeting moments, part of that family." They were alone, and it felt a lot like a confession, but she went on, the words left her tongue without her controlling them to make them sound prim or proper, as the truth is often told without embellishments, "But I was a liability to that household, the ramifications of which I had not earlier calculated. The risk a Sahovan Nuit presented to a house filled with children. I am familiar with the prohibitions of magic, I tried my best to be a nondescript citizen. I obeyed the Syliran rules to the core. Syliras is a well kept city, and we have the Knights to thank for that. But what if there were things that are beyond hiding. Beyond protecting? That night the house burned not because of neglect, and not because of unknown attackers. There was..." How can truth be such a burden to speak of? Jilitse looked away for a moment, and cupped her mouth with a rotting hand. She had seen it done everyday, a human motion to dramatically pause as if there was something important that could not be said. And yet that part of her was not acting out, not begging for pity, because her insides would burst anytime now, and a little human reaction might help alleviate the emotions slowly curling around her heart. How could she feel this way right now? "There was a god involved." There, she said it. Better it be known by Markus. It was half a warning, how she said the name of "Sagallius." Hopefully the squire knew his pantheon. "He sent his champion, Drainira, after me. The kids, Stitch, the Welcome Home was just caught in between." The god of manipulation wasn't exactly a desirable deity, how he usurped Aquiras' place by stealing the god's heart was widely known. That makes Jilitse against his foul schemes. Jil wondered if Markus would be able to figure that much out before ratting her to his superiors. In case he thinks this should be brought before the superiors. The Nuit let it out, holding back nothing. "This Drainira, Ser Knight, you may not believe what I say, but she was a golem. I am from Sahova, so please do not look at me funny. I know what I am talking about. I am an animator myself and I am not unfamiliar with magical devices. But Drainira is something else.A golem that has come to life. You may not know about golems and supervisors, and I would not expect you to understand. Sahova once had an intelligent life form installed as a supervisor. Imagine if the Grandmaster was part of Stormhold Castle. Can you imagine the Citadel alive? If Loren Dyres were part of it, seeing and hearing everything within. That is what a golem supervisor can be, and so much more. Sorry. I won't try to explain it too much, I don't think you can stand the schematics of it. Anyway, think, if the being within Stormhold obtained a physical body and left its place. So now you have Loren Dyres, in the flesh, but not really. That gives you an inkling of what happened to Drainira. She is as good as a living person, made powerful by the blessings of Sagallius." It went on, and she relaxed, knowing the Markus was lending an ear. "But it would not be right to call her a person, after all, she was an artificial life designed to be a supervisor and overseer. What would Kihala say about this animated golem that decided to be alive?" She asked, not exactly begging for an answer, but she was trying to make a point. "Do not answer that. It is a weird question. But even weirder now, is if I asked you what if Drainira, champion of the god of manipulation, now decided to take over the world..." She stopped for a moment, and watched intently how Markus would wrap the words around his mind and heart, how his eyes would change, and if they would mirror fear or uncertainty or cluelessness. "Would it be acceptable?" No, she seemed to say, don't answer that too. The answer to it is obvious. In half a whisper, Jilitse said, "I won't allow it. Not if I can do something to prevent it." But the opportunity came and she was not able to even raise a finger against Drainira. It would be easy to draw conclusions to her tale, but Markus was free to ask anything if he had doubts. "Faith, it still allows room for a little doubt, does it not? Just enough to challenge a heart." Jilitse addressed his earlier question, "Yes, I have met Priskil, it is reason enough to believe in her and all that she stood for. We have an idea what brings people closer to gods, but we ask sometimes, what brings the gods closer to their people? Priskil came to me and said a light was inside that she could not let die. And now I am a bearer of her gnosis. But at the cost of my friendship with Stitch. He is angry. I apologized but he was very angry, and it seemed like I would never see him again." Was it coming together now, was Markus still listening? "I could not undo that night." Guilt. "But I have come to learn more of myself because of it. I want to find the deeper meaning to this." She showed the gnosis for him to see, a sparkling light in her hand.