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Horror Discovered log, Sun Tzu, and ponies. [Backdated 2/12-2/13. Action, Open]
A black figure paced pensively along Everglade's river line. Like most nights, it was cold, foggy, and sinister. Ted was lost in his thoughts. "Again," he said to himself, "I've to kill the thing again. I thought for sure Arro and I had slain the last of them. But then, you know what they say about assuming..."
He'd nearly considered inviting Arro along for another battle. But he's not fond of the city, for one. And who can blame him? For another, Ted prefers working alone. Not because he's supremely confident, of course. He thinks he's weak as water. But he doesn't want people other than him getting hurt. That's the point of this work, isn't it? Besides, his uniform is very ugly. Better no one see it.
He'd prefer to see his target sometime soon, however. It didn't surprise to hear that the monster was sighted somewhere in the river itself: that watery lane dividing the (mostly) living from the dead. That is where the sewers emptied out. But it's a large river, difficult for his vision to pierce. So he walks on the bank, extending one black thread into the depths in the hopes his enemy might cross paths. It was pleasingly empty; Everglade was a fearful populace even when there weren't any foes about. Doubly so when the presence of a squid monster were widely known. Not a bad walk; he's left to his thoughts in solitude. A large tentacle, dashing from the depths, broke the silence, beginning the fight in earnest.
In a flash he's grappled, then dragged into the water. A gasp, then a dunk as he's plunged in surprise. It attacked all at once; a sharp beak, a crushing grasp, and bludgeoning tentacles. It was as though it were personal; like this brute beast remembered the one who had slain its children. Pure shock at losing the initiative rendered Ted vulnerable to its assault, struggling in an unfamiliar environment against the blows and bites. He could hardly see, left to strike erratically against something with keener instincts.
Nothing for it. Threads darted from below his form, piercing the squid monster's soft flesh at random. But it wasn't for that he loosed them; any opening, no matter how small, was enough for him to traverse out of its bindings and into a less compromised position. The squid was left grasping at nothing, while a black silhouette of a man drew a phase pistol, then fired bolts of searing green energy. Would it work in water?
Apparently, judging from the spray of blood from the accompanying wounds. It made to grab and constrict again; Ted hacked at the tentacles, ready for the second attempt. Lines of hoarfrost marked his cuts as two tentacles separated from the source. Still, it had him again, and squeezed all the harder for the more dangerous threat it now knew.
Ted grimaced under the pressure, then slipped out the exact same way. By now he's adapted to the rudimentary tactics of the creature, lancing its body with more threads. The squid was losing, and knew it, and so blew a blast of ink in Ted's direction before jetting away to fight another day. But however blinded Ted was by the ink spray, the thread held fast, ferrying him right along with his enemy, connected by a thin black tether. The life-fiber spread along the beast's hide, covering more and more of its surface. Now that it was in retreat, it's form compacted into something more streamlined.
Perfect. That meant that Ted could finally absorb and cover the creature utterly. Jet black consumed the thing, wrapping it in threads. Once the work complete, Ted leapt out of the water, creature in tow, and began to attack. It was like beating something in a sack. The 'sack' in question was a mass of life-fibers, wrapping the giant squid in an ebony cocoon. Ted had no need to be direct; the space between his suit and the covering was immediate. He went to work with his blade, piercing and slashing with freakish rapidity until the thing were nothing more than cloven, frozen chunks.
Almost poetic; the fight both began an ended in the exact same way as the one before. But did it feel the same?
No, not quite. The air was more open; brisk and wide and bracing. And now he had the feeling that this would be the last time he felled this particular foe. And how could he forget the lack of stench? The clear clean odor which clung to him in victory? Why not be happy? Why not, for once, be cheerful in the city of gloom?
"Take that, spawn of evil!" Ted cried into the night air. "Never again will your ranks befoul this city! Learn forever the darkness and death you crave; I give it to the wicked freely!"
But then, didn't he look a little black and tentacled himself? Ah, well, he still felt victorious. Time to call it a night.
***
A. The Art of War, what is it good for?
Ted didn't feel quite right from last night's ventures, so he's gone to the Genessia City Park for a reprieve. And what better way to soothe oneself from the stress of violence and death than a book about the best way to deliver mass violence and death?
So the madman sits comfortably on a bench overlooking the pond with Sun Tzu's The Art of War in his hands; a gift from the Moon fairy he's finally getting around to reading. A surprisingly short book; he'd finish in an afternoon easily. Every so often he gets to pondering, out loud, its contents.
"All war is deception? Every one? Goodness, even the war in heaven? The White Rider seemed straightforward enough. Then again, the same is said of swordplay: conceal your intention, and find victory thereby. At this rate, Gengar might make a better warlord than I. God knows he's deceptive enough..."
B. Pokemon playing ponies
Speaking of Gengar the ghost, he and Trevenant the tree were taking a rest of their own, settled on a blanket beside the pond. Even battle-hardened pokemon deserve a chance to goof off every now and then, right?
They were surrounded by five brightly-colored pony toys, with life-like horsehair for their manes and tails. Gengar had eagerly requested these toys once Ted won them off a newspaper contest. The grinning ghost liked them for less than wholesome reasons.
The first thing he'd done is rip one of the tails off, revealing a hole in the toy's rear. He dipped it in the pond, filled it to the brim, then began his demented drama. He held it high in the air, then splashed its contents about, making squeals of terror.
(Ahhh! My anus is leaking!) Drops flew on Trevenant who merrily played along, innocently ignorant to Gengar's toilet humor. He then shook the rest onto the heads of the other ponies.
(Oh no my butt juice is getting all over your faces! Oops! Talk about horse-$#!%!)
What a blessing it is to be Ted, absorbed and oblivious to all the awful ways they're playing...
He'd nearly considered inviting Arro along for another battle. But he's not fond of the city, for one. And who can blame him? For another, Ted prefers working alone. Not because he's supremely confident, of course. He thinks he's weak as water. But he doesn't want people other than him getting hurt. That's the point of this work, isn't it? Besides, his uniform is very ugly. Better no one see it.
He'd prefer to see his target sometime soon, however. It didn't surprise to hear that the monster was sighted somewhere in the river itself: that watery lane dividing the (mostly) living from the dead. That is where the sewers emptied out. But it's a large river, difficult for his vision to pierce. So he walks on the bank, extending one black thread into the depths in the hopes his enemy might cross paths. It was pleasingly empty; Everglade was a fearful populace even when there weren't any foes about. Doubly so when the presence of a squid monster were widely known. Not a bad walk; he's left to his thoughts in solitude. A large tentacle, dashing from the depths, broke the silence, beginning the fight in earnest.
In a flash he's grappled, then dragged into the water. A gasp, then a dunk as he's plunged in surprise. It attacked all at once; a sharp beak, a crushing grasp, and bludgeoning tentacles. It was as though it were personal; like this brute beast remembered the one who had slain its children. Pure shock at losing the initiative rendered Ted vulnerable to its assault, struggling in an unfamiliar environment against the blows and bites. He could hardly see, left to strike erratically against something with keener instincts.
Nothing for it. Threads darted from below his form, piercing the squid monster's soft flesh at random. But it wasn't for that he loosed them; any opening, no matter how small, was enough for him to traverse out of its bindings and into a less compromised position. The squid was left grasping at nothing, while a black silhouette of a man drew a phase pistol, then fired bolts of searing green energy. Would it work in water?
Apparently, judging from the spray of blood from the accompanying wounds. It made to grab and constrict again; Ted hacked at the tentacles, ready for the second attempt. Lines of hoarfrost marked his cuts as two tentacles separated from the source. Still, it had him again, and squeezed all the harder for the more dangerous threat it now knew.
Ted grimaced under the pressure, then slipped out the exact same way. By now he's adapted to the rudimentary tactics of the creature, lancing its body with more threads. The squid was losing, and knew it, and so blew a blast of ink in Ted's direction before jetting away to fight another day. But however blinded Ted was by the ink spray, the thread held fast, ferrying him right along with his enemy, connected by a thin black tether. The life-fiber spread along the beast's hide, covering more and more of its surface. Now that it was in retreat, it's form compacted into something more streamlined.
Perfect. That meant that Ted could finally absorb and cover the creature utterly. Jet black consumed the thing, wrapping it in threads. Once the work complete, Ted leapt out of the water, creature in tow, and began to attack. It was like beating something in a sack. The 'sack' in question was a mass of life-fibers, wrapping the giant squid in an ebony cocoon. Ted had no need to be direct; the space between his suit and the covering was immediate. He went to work with his blade, piercing and slashing with freakish rapidity until the thing were nothing more than cloven, frozen chunks.
Almost poetic; the fight both began an ended in the exact same way as the one before. But did it feel the same?
No, not quite. The air was more open; brisk and wide and bracing. And now he had the feeling that this would be the last time he felled this particular foe. And how could he forget the lack of stench? The clear clean odor which clung to him in victory? Why not be happy? Why not, for once, be cheerful in the city of gloom?
"Take that, spawn of evil!" Ted cried into the night air. "Never again will your ranks befoul this city! Learn forever the darkness and death you crave; I give it to the wicked freely!"
But then, didn't he look a little black and tentacled himself? Ah, well, he still felt victorious. Time to call it a night.
***
A. The Art of War, what is it good for?
Ted didn't feel quite right from last night's ventures, so he's gone to the Genessia City Park for a reprieve. And what better way to soothe oneself from the stress of violence and death than a book about the best way to deliver mass violence and death?
So the madman sits comfortably on a bench overlooking the pond with Sun Tzu's The Art of War in his hands; a gift from the Moon fairy he's finally getting around to reading. A surprisingly short book; he'd finish in an afternoon easily. Every so often he gets to pondering, out loud, its contents.
"All war is deception? Every one? Goodness, even the war in heaven? The White Rider seemed straightforward enough. Then again, the same is said of swordplay: conceal your intention, and find victory thereby. At this rate, Gengar might make a better warlord than I. God knows he's deceptive enough..."
B. Pokemon playing ponies
Speaking of Gengar the ghost, he and Trevenant the tree were taking a rest of their own, settled on a blanket beside the pond. Even battle-hardened pokemon deserve a chance to goof off every now and then, right?
They were surrounded by five brightly-colored pony toys, with life-like horsehair for their manes and tails. Gengar had eagerly requested these toys once Ted won them off a newspaper contest. The grinning ghost liked them for less than wholesome reasons.
The first thing he'd done is rip one of the tails off, revealing a hole in the toy's rear. He dipped it in the pond, filled it to the brim, then began his demented drama. He held it high in the air, then splashed its contents about, making squeals of terror.
(Ahhh! My anus is leaking!) Drops flew on Trevenant who merrily played along, innocently ignorant to Gengar's toilet humor. He then shook the rest onto the heads of the other ponies.
(Oh no my butt juice is getting all over your faces! Oops! Talk about horse-$#!%!)
What a blessing it is to be Ted, absorbed and oblivious to all the awful ways they're playing...
A.
Re: A.
Ted startled, shocked out of his thoughts. It turned to pleasant surprise when he discovered the Sylvari behind him.
"Oh, hah, hello Trahearne! What a fitting place to find you." Because parks should always be greener. Greeting out of the way, he turned thoughtful again.
"'Vague', eh? I could understand 'broad', but vague? The meaning seems very clear. Why do you say that?"
no subject
"It's good to run into you again Ted." Well they'd only really met over the network, but close enough.
"Mmm, 'broad' would be more fitting for what I meant, that's true. That said, I am not quite sure what is meant by 'war is deception', thought I can guess. If that is the only description, that is terribly simplistic."
no subject
"Oh, the book itself is happy to elaborate. Ahem: 'Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.' A constant current of confusion will, according to the Chinese, complete the conquering. Heh, has that been your experience?"
no subject
"The enemy will always use deception themselves, so it is prudent to do so yourself. What is this White Rider you spoke of?"
no subject
He nodded slowly. "Mm, that's definitely the opinion of Mr. Tzu. My fencing instructor said the same. Heh, makes it all the more frustrating when you're beaten by one who employed precious little deception. Suppose he had a very upper hand indeed. Were you a soldier, then? Or even a commander?
Ah, that's a figure of Earth prophecy. It's funny; there's no end of words describing his justice and righteousness, yet he's just as happy to make war and wrathfully tread on the wicked. Suppose that's why I could never completely take with a pacifist; I even met one silly man who thought wars were never just. He sounded utterly sincere, too. Very strange."
no subject
"I would struggle to call any war just, as it will devour innocents and bystanders no matter the care put in by either side." When it came to the war he fought, the other side knew no mercy or care. "Yet to stand by and let it consume everything around you is also something I can't agree with. War is bloody, terrible, and sometimes necessary. I feel calling it just is something you would do after it's over."
no subject
"Mm. Would you consider necromancy just?"
no subject
"Do you consider any branch of magic inherently just?" he asked, tone still pleasant and polite.
no subject
"...some, perhaps, might be permitted. I hope your tree house-building is that kind; else I might be stumbling."
Technically, Ted only knew Trahearne was interested in necromancy's study, not wholesale practice. A very small, if not utterly trite, distinction, but he'd give people the benefit of the doubt until the end.
no subject
He passed a hand over his headleaves and added, "Did you suspect the molding of plants to be a shady art?"
Same pleasant, if slightly amused, tone of voice. When one led an army against world ending foes on a regular basis, maintaining that calm became important. He wasn't about to sound apologetic or guilty, for he was neither and to appear as either would be a dead giveaway for his magical profession of choice.
He was pretty sure he'd been a necromancer longer than Ted had been alive, worst anyone had thought of it up until now was that he was creepy. In all fairness, he kinda was.
no subject
Ted's a little pleased as the change of topic from the dark arts, if only because he gets the feeling Trahearne's the shameless sort who's unfamiliar with contrition. Goodness knows he couldn't make someone feel that to save his, or their, life.
"It would be very unfortunate if a Dreamer was vile." For then the Nightmare must be that much worse. "Oh, I suspect all mysticism when it's not mystical." It might be odd, but the sheer plainness and ordinary nature of magic in Genessia made Ted distrust it more than anything. If it were say chanted in a strange tongue by people beyond men's ken, that would be one thing. But it can, apparently, be glossed from books and bought as commonly as candy. He's tempted to call it vulgar, at least in comparison to the fairy magic he read about in fonder, more halcyon times.
"You must admit it's a titch compulsive; I know one who's very sensitive about trees. He might be livid to hear them being 'molded' unduly." He's referring to Trevenant playing just across the way, though anger was an unheard of emotion for him. Still, even a jolly animal awoke in Ted a certain sensitiveness to nature, and the way it might be abused by the arcane.
no subject
"Mmm, sadly, Dreamers are not exempt from such things." As much as Trahearne wished that being a Dreamer made one good, he couldn't say it was so. "Compulsive? I don't follow. I wouldn't want to offend your friend. If it brings any comfort, the trees are not harmed but live contently in their new shapes. A proper grown home will be tended to with care as it continues to live."
"I am curious, Ted, where does this distrust of magic come from? If that is not too bold to ask? It's far from unreasonable, I just wonder as various worlds carry such different ideas of mystical forces."
no subject
Ted could've gone into origins. His own world had magic to be either nonsense or devilry. An outlet for those whose spiritual lust led them to want to get behind the world and try pulling strings for themselves. The good spirits could never entertain such base desires. The bad spirits could. Thus proceeded the sorry business of men losing their souls, the one numinous thing they really had, in pursuit of far darker spiritualism.
But it's not necessary. Genessia had plenty of reason all on its own. Some solemnity crept in his voice.
"I have seen magic invent new and terrible evils. I have not seen it invent new and terrible goods. The disparity isn't lost on me."
no subject
"I'm sorry, Ted, that you've seen such tragedies. I've seen magic do both, for it generates both the destruction of my world and the means to save it. Without it, perhaps, there would be more peace, but from what I've read and heard, worlds bereft of magic are often still plagued with horrors. It would be foolish for me to say much against it, as without it, I would not exist. If it were not such a large part of my world, I might not need to exist. It's hard to say." Trahearne was born to do what he did, the sylvari came to be out of a fluke and rose to defend the world that would reject them for their origins. But he'd been given a vital task and then another, he would not let Tyria down, no matter what it might feel about his species.
no subject
He laughed a bit more dryly at the mild defense of sorcery.
"Oh, isn't that the way with magic! Making problems and then providing the solutions. Like an antidote worked from venom, or a 'hair from the dog that bit you'. If Sylvari have that idiom. Well, I use a few damned enchanted trinkets myself. I swear the most useful one of all is the one that blunts the rest. Magic as a bulwark against magic. The best of it is its own nullity!
Well, I'm sorry you can't curse it. Goodness knows there's much to curse. Indeed, I'm told magic delivers the most potent curses. Would you like to know which branch
[another plant pun, but it's Trahearne's fault this time]made the most potent tragedies? I give you a hint: it's the one that piques your interest."no subject
He didn't find it terribly amusing at the moment. Very well, Ted, he'll sound more serious now, he's very used to that too. A hand went to his "hair" again, fingers running through pale leaves. Ah, how to approach this?
"That's twice now you've brought it up, I feel you have much to say about it." A direct approach, for now. "Whatever you have to say on the matter, I'll hear it. It's best we clear up misunderstandings promptly, I think."
no subject
However many Ted's words, he figured none would sway. If Genessia was some shade of purgatory, there wasn't much repentance, much as he would like that. An elusive dream. Well, if he can't convince or convict, he might at least entertain. He paused, reaching into his recall.
"'There's nothing new under the sun'; it's been said before, in Faust:
The reward of sin is death? That’s hard. If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there’s no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death. What doctrine call you this? Che sarà, sarà: What will be, shall be! Divinity, adieu! These metaphysics of magicians, And necromantic books are heavenly!"
There might have been some poetic verse that addressed occult allure better, but Ted prefers stories. He definitely prefers both to recounting personal experience, which wasn't fit for polite conversation.
no subject
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the text you quote. If it would bring you peace of mind, I could explain to you why I choose to study necromancy. The reason is much less sinister than you might think."
no subject
"Sort of; it rather comes in where divinity doesn't. Darkness in the absence of light, say." And boy did it get really dark. "Faust's a fine play; you ought to try and see it with puppets; no better performance."
Peace of mind, huh? Ted's learned better than to get his hopes up, but who knows? This oughta be good. "By all means, explain yourself."
no subject
"But yes, if it might help. Would you not agree that it's prudent to understand what you stand against? I needed to cleanse a once noble land of corruption left by a great master of the undead. Its minions still claim that land but now it might grow again. If I had not studied what I did, that might not be possible." That wasn't the full truth but Ted didn't need to know everything. It was best if he got a very different view of Trahearne's interests than the reality of them.
no subject
"Yes; I rather suspect it means less, if your humans are still enthralled to paganism. Goodness." He gave Trahearne's account a quizzical look.
"Very prudent; I'm sure a proper priest
not Cassiancould tell you far more about black magic than I could. Not to gainsay your victory, but it seems a very slight one. The undead still pollute the place but now it might be fertile for them? The snake's head is gone yet the rest still lives on, in greener pastures no less? And you aren't certain the same result couldn't have been achieved with another method?Well, at least there's a cheerier shade behind even a meager result. You mean to say, then, that you stand against necromancy?"
no subject
His expression stayed serious instead. A slight victory his leafy rear-end.
"To weaken the serpent for battle, it was vital to tear its influence from the land. This was no small task, nor was it a small victory. It was a task I thought impossible for years and to allow for the land to grow again will help against the remains of the dragon's influence. For once it is gone, its minions will not rise again." Now wasn't the time to be explaining what a Wyld Hunt was, though he was tempted.
"As for necromancy, I mean to say that I stand against using the undead to terrorize the world. If that is what you mean by necromancy, as it's meaning is vastly different between worlds, than yes, I do."
no subject
"Yes, a prenatal step to much more manageable monotheism. They really ought to try it, it's so wonderfully simple and convenient.
Ah, I see. A stepping stone to the final victory. I should very much like to hear that, when and if it came." [Ted likes climaxes more than rising action, narratively speaking. A mark of impatience.]
"Mm, it's a start. Well, let's not beat around the bush. Do you use necromantic practices for the purpose?"
He's almost sorry for that one.
no subject
Sylvari didn't see much point in it themselves, their mother might well be a demi-god herself.
"For the purpose of what? I don't raise the dead, if that's what you mean." And, technically that was the truth. Technically. Flesh golems had never really been alive, not really. "If you want to hear that story, I'd be happy to tell it, but it'll be a second hand account. I was not aboard the airship that headed out against Zhaitan."
no subject
"Ah no, the Charr are like that? Well, I suppose if any animal were mean enough to be atheists, it would be cats. That's really too bad; hell isn't convenient at all." He sounds mildly disappointed in them.
"For the purpose of purity or scholarship or marshaling or managing book stores or whatever telos you've come to embrace.
Ah, so Zhaitan's the devil. Or one of them. Well, of course you should tell it. If we refused second-hand stories we'd have precious little of them."
no subject
"Purification was the purpose I studied it. Purification through the study of putrefaction, I find it amusing, thinking about it in retrospect. But no, I wouldn't say I practice it." Not in the way everyone thought was so evil. That was good enough. He was also content with lying, if it would keep tensions low.
"Zhaitan was quite the devil, yes. Ah, it happened after I cleansed Orr, as I said. My commander, many of the Pact, and Destiny's Edge, a group of legendary dragon hunters that includes my sister, Caithe, assaulted the great city of Arah. The city of the gods, or it was, before Orr was sunk into the ocean over two hundred and fifty years ago. It's a terrifying place, crawling with the lieutenants of the dragon, great beasts that acted as the eyes and mouth of the dragon.
My commander- a great hero of Tyria- lead this group through the ravaged city, slaying Zhaitan's forces on the way. Through the grueling journey, they claimed portions of the city and took to the air to face the dragon head on. Even in the air they weren't safe, for some of Zhaitan's most dangerous minions prowl the skies, great undead dragons that looks miniscule beside their master.
Eventually they had to jump ship to the mighty airship, the Glory of Tyria. Minions swarmed the ship as Zhaitan rose to face this threat. It nearly destroyed the ship! But it did not, Zhaitan was struck by the great cannon on the ship and, from there, the commander shot the beast down. It was an incredible sight, so I'm told. I wish I could've had the chance to be there, but it wasn't my place."
no subject
Ted appreciates the alliteration and the five-dollar words. He also appreciates the story, light on details, illustrations, gratuitous action scenes, and properly named characters though it was. He's sure to ask what "Zhaitan" means, looking to satisfy his amateur onomastics.
What he doesn't appreciate is chicanery. He's been jerked around like that before, and developed a sense for it. If Trahearne meant "no" he would've said "no", or some reasonable substitute. He'd have even accepted "I can't tell you" or "good afternoon", though that would've sounded just as bad as "yes". But "I wouldn't say so"? Therein lies something offensively mediocre, even unto mendacity.
"A decent tale. Candid enough. What I don't quite understand is why you're not quite so frank about yourself, or with me. Why is that?"
Unfortunately, Arah story mode really is that unexciting.
"Is it so surprising I am less than forthcoming? You have a clear disdain for something you know I study, information you gleaned from watching my conversation with another. I will make myself as clear as I wish to be; I do not practice the art you find so vile. I use magic, when it is necessary. Unless you wish to define the parameters of what you consider 'necromancy', that is the best answer I may give you." Trahearne sighed after saying all that. Goodness, this was starting to become a headache.
Re: Unfortunately, Arah story mode really is that unexciting.
So he knows that Ted knows, eh? That might be the first time anyone's deduced how he gets his information. He felt some pity that they never attributed it to some mysticism. They don't know; he could be a psychic.
"It's a little surprising; suppose I thought a young race might have youth's innocence. It's certainly infuriating," he said with a merry kind of wrath, "for you keep doing it! 'Clear as I wish to be', 'best answer I may give you'. Of all the unctuous...talk about vegetable oil! Ah, therein, perhaps, lies necromancy's sin. The creation of things neither alive nor dead, much like your words, getting the vices of both and the virtues of neither. A vile art indeed, far more aligned with obscuring darkness than revealing light." Despite the protest, Ted stretched a fraternal arm across the top of the bench.
"Dear Trahearne, are you not being a little deceptive?"
no subject
"My race might be young but I was the first and I am no child. Youth's innocence was lost to me some time ago. Self preservation is no evil." He shook his head. "You talk with a great deal of ire for something you have little understanding of. It is not your place to condemn or absolve me, certainly not for this. I give you answers that suit your lack of explanation of what exactly you find so detestable.
I'd be more charitable about this nonsense if I had a clearer idea of your intentions. I owe you no answer at all, whether the one you want or the one I chose to give you instead. What is it you wish from this? I insist you not dally, I have little patience to stand here and be insulted."
no subject
He chuckled. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He's not shy about the j-word; entirely fond, actually.
"Self-preservation's not exactly a good, either. Consider the cost." Sounded suspiciously like selfishness; a far too common spiritual affliction.
"Oh I vastly prefer insults to obscurities; they're more definite. And there'll be more where that came from if you keep dodging. You say you don't do what I dislike, then claim that my dislikes are not, mysteriously, very well defined. Very well! I should like to know whether those I might come to trust indulge in occult evil. Call it what you will; black or dark magic, diablism, and so on. I've seen my fair share of all its sinister shades.
Now, you may give me no answer and keep your privacy. You may tell the whole truth with no omissions, rather than say what you think I want to hear. Either of those will do. What won't are these half-hearted evasions. Deception like that is, per Tzu, an act of war," he said with a mischievous grin, "and I'll respond in kind."
no subject
"Neither is my magic, it is what it is, nothing more, nothing less. I have no intentions of harming anyone on Genessia unless it's needed. And-" He paused to sigh. "-it isn't wise to threaten me. An act of war is much more than you want to truly deal with."
no subject
"Pff. Your imagination might need expansion." Mocking laughter aside, nothing raised Ted's flag about someone quite like claiming innocence for themselves. Ironically he'd trust someone far more if they admitted to some kind of sin, rather than falsely claim spotlessness.
So his trust continued to wither, especially under meaningless tautologies like "it is what it is". He dearly hopes Trahearne doesn't reduce right and wrong to mere harm; therein lied much wrong.
But so long as he's thinking about right and wrong, he might as well focus on whether Trahearne did, after all, practice vile sorcery. And when he did think about it, all he really had to go on was his morbid fascination of the undead and his increasingly suspicious and evasive way of talking. Both of those things are worrying, but not definitive. Given that, he must, annoying as it is, believe the most charitable thing he can of another. He suspired.
"Fine. I'll take your word for it. With full understanding, of course, that if it proves false I'll be paying a visit and testing just how far Sylvari have come in the art of grappling." It was a poetic punishment; what slippery people really needed is something pinning them down.
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He looked down at Ted, looking equal parts tired and unimpressed, his arms crossed and a finger tapping away at his forearm.
"You'll come find me just to wrestle me to the ground, Ted? Be careful where you do that, you'll spark quite the scandal. Best your hands stay above the leaves." Whoops. Trahearne spent too much time with Tannusen. "I advise against it."
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Ted would've enjoyed the lecture, so long as it was meant and didn't use too many catchphrases. But then, therein lies the charm of Genessia: everyone's about as equal as they can get, and it respects no persons, save for those who have the will to live. Ted's always easygoing about danger, being one who's viewed far too comically to be taken as a threat. That's probably for the best.
"Just wrestle, eh? Well, if you want something more severe, I suppose I could employ some rope, or compel you to confess that you're my nephew. If it's privacy you want, I know a few good back alleys." Ted had been in Everglade longer than most, and Trahearne's not a hard man to find. He knew who opened that book store, after all.
"How charitable you are with advice. Call it pride, but I can't let it go unmatched; allow me some turnabout." He cleared his throat, dialing down the merriment.
"It would be a terrible shame if your green magic, which doesn't seem too bad, got mixed up with black magic. Indeed, that would render all your claims about being against corruption hollow. Pray it doesn't come to that."
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There was only so long the marshal would take this banter seriously.
"A terrible shame mm? You'll come tie me up in an alley and make me cry for mercy should you catch me doing something you don't like, Ted? I know more about corruption than you think, perhaps more than you. This has been a fun chat, but don't get too carried away. Good day." He turned to leave, he had nothing else to say and little interest in what more puffed up nonsense Ted was going to spew.