Duality - Varric Briarwood

[Eters]

At times, I find myself pondering the essence of the lands I walk. Though different from the place I once called home, there's an undeniable familiarity at its core. Death looms large, shaping the lives of many. In death is wealth, and in death is glory. Yet, the line between hero and murderer seems blurred, defined only by perspective. For to kill the nameless goes unnoticed, while slaying the known invites scrutiny and judgement. But who are these judges? One may ask, only to realize they're no different from us. Each carries the heavy curse of a murderer in their heart....

Here I stand, given the position of guardian. Duty bound, I am an edifice of morals, principles and bravery, far above the rabble of the streets. I question the purpose behind it all, as well as the truth in these words. Yet, I wear this facade and assume this role, and my mind throbs with inquiry as to why? Is it for the promises of the past? For the protection of the present? For the love found along the way? Or the loyalty I feel towards my leaders?

Amidst these doubts and questions, I come back to the heart of the matter. I am a killer, in a world of killers. Thus, cloaked by the darkness of night, I seek those nameless figures who, in turn, seek their peers. It's a primal urge that seems to drive every soul in these misty lands. Tonight, within the shadows cast by the City of Lights, I roam, searching for my seekers who, likewise, search for me.

In these moments, my mind finds solace. As we lock eyes, questions fade away, and we perform our roles as killers are meant to do ....

[Eters]

I often find myself contemplating the existence of the Dryad's Keep, this refuge which the Vistani unquestionably guide us to for a mere bag of coins, it serves as a nexus for travel and a bustling center of trade. Here, few are judged and even fewer condemned for what they are. It appears benign at first, and even second glance. Yet I can't shake the notion that this keep might actually serve as an exile for those whom this land has irreversibly touched.

Here, there are no untainted souls. Whether one claims the divine light of their gods guides them, or adheres to lofty morals, makes no difference to me. Every individual who arrives at the Keep have weathered the trials of the Core, braved its darkest depths, faced countless adversaries and consigned many lives to oblivion. After all, these harsh lands offer no charity, nor show benevolence, all it delivers are cruel trials, and for that I remain certain that all those I see walk the weathered road of the Misty camp, have taken a life that perhaps, didn't deserve such a fate.

And so I wonder, if this Keep isn't separating us, the adventurers, the Outlanders, the tainted, from those untouched by the struggles of the Mists. If it shields them from the horrors we've confronted, the battles we've fought, and the abyss into which we've stared, knowing that it has also stared back into our souls ...

[Eters]

One night, I found myself questioning that which lies beyond the Keep's safety, shrouded in the lingering mists. Curious, how despite the clear knowledge of the dangers that dwell within that ethereal veil, an inexplicable urge stirred within me to confront and vanquish them. It is as if every fiber of my being, every instinct, compelled me to face the trials of the Mists head-on. Is it self-reassurance, that my skills are enough to survive this world? Or a form of rebellion against the powers which robbed me of home, and sought to bind me in fear?

Questions flooded my mind, yet my steps have long taken me through that thin veil, and soon I found myself enveloped in the eerie silence of the mists. In this foreign world, every step weighted heavily upon me, and my senses, usually dull and slow were heightened by the danger looming around me.

...They say curiosity killed the cat, and I couldn't help but feel like a particularly curious feline in this moment. What on earth was I looking at? Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes as my mind struggled to comprehend the colossal, shadowy silhouette looming in the distance. It towered over the trees, blotting out the sky with its size.

It seemed to be darkness given form, an entity beyond my comprehension. It was the shadow of all shadows, an illusion? I asked myself, but the palpable tension I felt in the air made it evident, that what was before me was as real as I am ... I wondered whether the overwhelming emotion coursing through me was fear or excitement. My hand trembled, yet it firmly clutched my sword. Instincts warred within me, urging me to flee even as they stirred the desire to fight. And as the creature slowly turned its dark gaze towards me, my body tensed in anticipation. And when our gazes met, the truth finally dawned upon me...

A Nightwalker.

[Eters]

I often find myself reflecting on the distant past, the memories of my youth in Westgate feel like an eternity before now, yet haunt my nights like lingering specters. In those reveries, I see the figure of my father, a man who carries many souls on his back, a killer as I am now. Yet alongside his grim profession, I also perceive a certain elegance in his motions, a graceful finesse that strikes as unnatural. After all, how can elegance coexist with violence? How can gentleness deflect the heavy mace of brutality? How can the dance of nobles, bring about the demise of armies?

His teachings echo in my mind, night after night. His words reverberating like distant echoes of a forgotten dream ...

"Listen, boy. To truly wield strength, you must flow with your sword, not oppose it. Look at you, your stance is tight. It should be open, relaxed, but do not take that as an order to be absent minded, no, but to lure your opponent into perceiving openings where there are none. Remember, wielding a sword means severing destinies, extinguishing candles before they have the chance to illuminate the world, and cast their shadows upon it. Yet to wield a sword is akin to wielding a brush ..."

"The hardest of rocks can only be cut with the softest of touches ..."

In my youth, I dismissed his words as simple hogwash, lies spun to shield the naive child that I was from the harsh reality of combat. I clung to that belief throughout my life, embracing it further as I faced countless battles amidst the crucible of the Mists. But now, having witnessed unimaginable horrors and crossed blades with the tormented ghosts of fallen kings and restless knights, I comprehend what my father saw. I grasp the wisdom concealed in his words ... And now, as I stand amidst the crimson tableau of my own making, red blending with black upon a canvas of death, I understand ...

[Eters]

I once believed the gods of this world to be enigmatic and remote, akin to the ones worshiped in my world. Temples stood tall, altars were revered, and faithful adherents flocked to the worship of various gods. Yet, their presence was faintly perceptible for they shook no world, nor shaped it, content with simply bestowing blessings upon their chosen few.

Yet I was mistaken. This realization struck me to the core as I stood before the temple of Bast, addressed by a divine emissary in the form of a black cat. Alongside three unfortunate souls, our worth was now being assessed, meticulously weighted by the divine scales.

My father taught me to be methodical when approaching problems and strategizing. He taught me the art of killing, and half of the kill is in the preparation. So, I approached these trials with the same systematic precision, certainly it'll work in my favor. 

"Leave".

Wait ... Leave? Just like that, my worth was measured, and the temple's doors swung open as sand began filling its core, signaling my departure alongside my company. I prided myself on my methodical nature, yet I failed to account for one crucial parameter: The utterly unpredictable minds of those around me. The selfish actions of one tainted us all, their failure staining our collective soul and rendering us unworthy in the eyes of this god.

As I walked out, a veil of shame and frustration draped over me like a heavy mantle. Despite my lack of genuine belief in the ways of this god, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being slighted by its dismissal of my worth, bringing with it a sea of questions. Why did it sting so? Was it the prospect of success tainted by another's actions that left me unfulfilled? Or the promise of power potentially awaiting at the end that lulled me into desiring success? Or perhaps, deep down, it was simply the longing to be acknowledged by someone of a higher stature, the yearnings of my childhood self.

...Perhaps I haven't grown at all since then.