Fever Dreams of Serendipity

[Pav]

Quiet is relative. In the deep hours of night, the rush of upper winds blew past her ears while she sat atop the roof of her crumbling tenement, its sound mingling with the flow of the Musarde's dark waters. In the distance, over many bridges and populated isles, stood the Chateau Delanuit; bright lights from all its windows and estate grounds reached all the way to the other side of the city, the occasional firecracker booming off. She could see tiny specks moving around in tandem, creating a harmonious swarm made of imperceptible colors.

In spite of the buzz of Pont-a-Museau, she would come up to that rooftop for the quiet. These sounds were not for her - they were for the earth and the land, or for those better off. No one pestering her for her notations, no one asking for change for their next meal, or drink, or hit of opium. No one trying to sell her something, no one at all but the quiet that is only found in the solitude of one's own mind. Her mind would often take her to her studies. Was she to become an Anchorite, after she was done? As if faith should be a career path. A professor? No. Pretending to enjoy the half-baked thesis of young students like her would drive her up against a wall. That was something she would likely need to work on amending. As every night in the last few weeks of that spring, she reached for the stack of parchment that served as her draft, to read through its latest addition..

...it can be efficiently surmised that the Guardians that Ezra sought after as mentioned in the holy scriptures are individuals that indeed existed during her search, before, and most naturally after. The Church itself strives to be that Guardian and performs the role adequately amongst individuals, but there are other stories of creation around the Core that speak of higher beings between the mortal and immortal. Namely, in the Faith of the Lawgiver, the First King of the Vaasi people can be construed as one such individual, an immortalized individual without which the world descended into sin. With the Faith of the Overseer, the figure of the Guardian is that which has similarly transcended base ideals of virtue and community.

Such comparisons could be drawn through most perspectives of each religion in the Core. However, by the time of Ezra, she fails to find them. While we undoubtedly attempt to mimic her, it leaves one to wonder what happened to these Guardians - how could a type of individual be erased from our world?

The answer to that is they cannot. Like the secrets of Richemulot's cities and underground labyrinths, the secrets of Ste. Mere-des-Larmes, and the darkened places of the Core, they are hidden. They still walk among us, though the continuous oppressive nature of the Mists of Death shows them no mercy, no reprieve, and inevitably keeps them from our sight, though as mentioned earlier in this essay, the psyche of those that attempt to be righteous would lend to them, through zeal, the inability to recognize when someone is their better. Thus, we are all in part to blame for the Guardians' elusiveness, but whenever one sees a bright light in their life, one has to wonder if it is not serendipity, but the works of a Silent Guardian amid the Mists.

She crumpled the parchment and tossed it to the river below. The sun was shining its morning rays onto the water, then washing her face with light and a sudden gust of wind. A lecture was taking place later that same day at the Academie, but she had not a moment of rest nor desire to attend. A punishment and salvation both, the spending of her uncle's savings to send her away. It made it her belief, that coincidences do not happen. Turns of events are not based upon luck or divine providence, but the guiding hand that set forth the chain of events. Something that provides a subtle push to the churn of the wheel, through mortal but preternatural means. Her uncle set in motion a chain of events that would, perhaps, lead her to something more than she would have ever hoped to be... Thoughts that sent her back to her days in her hometown of Lechberg.

[Pav]

Bustling streets in the summer shine with the commotion of a thousand people, and few souls could pick out the redhead youth, much less the fact that she nipped three purses since breakfast. Lech's Mountain cast a shadow on the market square in those morning hours, though not one that was enough to turn away a keen halfling's attention from his competition. With the agility so many in Borca detest in the smallfolk, he caught up to the youth and snatched her purse, jingled it to her dumbfounded expression — and ran, with a cocksure grin and whoop. Needless to say, Fiora gave chase...

...and so it is, that men of the most outstanding virtue have to shine. They shine so brilliantly that it is blinding to behold — men of such conviction, duty, and compassion would have to exist on a plane of thought and morality separate to that of the common rabble, for there can be no other explanation to why the influence of the Legion is so minute on them. But the question remains: How does one form such an individual? Is it birthright, simply a preordained creation, or is it learned? If it is the former,  the powers at play would be far more indecipherable in their vagaries than the Mists of Death or the Grand Scheme. If it is latter, then how? Is it just reflection, meditation, and correcting your own wrongs, building the discipline and iron will to resist all temptations? Perhaps something more?

While the most simple solution is often the most likely to be true, the question in itself deals with infinite complexities that cannot be explained with absolute truths, other than faith in what we define as an absolute truth — which would not be 'true' truth. It is interesting to think of what might happen if you place man in front of his deepest, darkest desires, and told him he had to face them, for every waking moment, until they ceased to exist. Until he managed to subdue them forever, into indefinite control. Would that man be, by lack of sin, a man of brilliant virtue, or would he be an empty shell, void of either? In that case, the reflection would be required to evolve oneself, and one might very well argue that birthright is the only way from which you would emerge as a beacon of Her good will.

Months passed, then years. At home, little but frowns of disapproval cross her uncle's features when she skips her lessons to roam the streets for some manner of excitement. On one specific morning, however, there would be no glare from him. Sneaking out the window, the redheaded youth went to join her newest halfling friend and mentor on the job of a lifetime, after which she would have no need for her family's roof. If only she knew, that those few midwinter days would be some of her worst.

[Pav]

"I will not tell him what was discussed here."

The words spoken cut through her like a knife. The braziers in the closed tavern felt dim and distant, as if their light could not reach further than a finger's length, and darkness overtook her. Why is this happening, she wondered. Why is it that, even with a life owed, she could not bind him? The new cacophony in her head burst into a million jeers and insults, a million little bees stinging at her mind, all her insecurities brought to the light and paralyzing her.

The crack of a belt sounded off in her ears. A cry of pain. The world twisted around her, memories of the past playing back in her mind's eye.

Why was this happening? Why was he beating her? Did she do something wrong?

She felt a scourge roil against her back.

Why was this happening? Why was she left behind? Where was the promised rescue?

Her mother turned away from her. All she wanted was to show her the new doll uncle got her.

Where was she going?

Echoing laughter from the café on the riverfront. She watched her fellow students from the rooftop of her apartment, wondering...

Why?

A lash struck her again. She was in her private quarters now, back in Vallaki, back in the present. Her hand trembled and failed to perform the repetitive task, the leather simply sliding off her bloodied back. Her bloodshot eyes were hanging without focus, the skin pale, covered with cold sweat and drying streaks of tears. She could never understand why. Where did her faults lie? Where has she failed to show that she cared? To her family, to her fellows, to her father, to her mother - to the Divine. What did they need from her?

Questions that she could not answer. For her entire life she was alone in a dark void, trapped with questions that she could not answer, now accompanied by a horde of voices that scream out her failures, her angers, the cracks in her sanity.

Always alone, with only the pain reverberating from the walls of her soul.