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sparkindarknessA brief post - rumblings of things to come and musing of things gone by... I'm not sure where this is going, to be honest. But I have a feeling it's going to be... interesting. Or unpleasant. Possibly both.
Liam stands on the field of victory.
“What troubles you, Liam?” The voice asked, it had an odd, echoing quality about it, somehow managing to come from a great distance through the teeth of a gale yet still feel like a quiet whisper of lips pressed against your ear.
I sighed and gently rubbed a charm back and forth through my fingers; it was made up of long strands of black hair studded with tiny runic disks and drops of blood, still fresh yet not dripping or running. It was centred around a vibrant blue crystal with a deep flaw running down it’s centre. It was a powerful artefact, but not powerful enough. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I tried to push the thought down in my mind, tried to suppress it before it was seen and that vital hope died. Slowly I managed to drag my thoughts to the question.
“Things didn’t go as I expected... or as I hoped.”
“You were surprised?” The second voice was torn, clearly trying to fill itself with emotion but limited only to a damp, rotten monotone. Hearing the voice nearly caused me physical pain, hearing it cracked and broken, hearing the sickly squelch of rotten flesh forced into action.
“Not surprised... disappointed. I knew this could happen, but I really wanted to avoid it.” I sighed heavily. Sometimes I hated being a Seer, hated seeing a near certainty that I was powerless to avoid - hated being part of great evils in the name of the greater good. The grand pattern may be beautiful to behold, but I rarely got to see it. Or really be part of it. Or even got to concentrate on those parts of it that were beautiful, lively and fun. No, I was a Seer and it was my job to find the ugliness, the darkness, the taint and the rot. I was stuck with the task of confronting each one and making it as bright as possible. I was stuck with the dark lines of fate that had to be snapped and twisted to make sure the light prevailed. Cruel thing is, the dark lines of fate can look awfully bright at times.
I’ve heard normal people and wise philosophers vaguely consider the morality of doing evil if you know it would do good in the future. Like, if a man could go back in time and kill Hitler as a child, or if a person at the time saw the future and killed him in the cradle (which just goes to show how ignorant some of these people are about history, but hey, why let facts ruin good philosophy?) Or they’ll talk about wars won and lost just because of orders gone awry. Well, I have to be the hand that holds the pillow over the baby‘s head. I am the voice that relays false messages and watches men march to their doom.
And you know what? Telling yourself it’s for the greater good doesn’t help one sodding iota.
“You got a commendation...” the hollow voice intoned, even with the distortion I could tell it was confused.
I sighed. “Like that matters. There was another way out, a way better than this. I saw it...” and failed. How many would bleed because of my mistake today? I crushed that thought back, holding any wondering at bay. I didn't want the Sight then, didn’t want to see the ranks of the dead and dying suffering because I screwed up, certainly didn’t want to see all the horrible gory ways each one could die because of me.
“You managed what the clan was beginning to think was impossible.” The rotten voice tried to sound soothing. It failed badly. “You did good, Liam.”
“If you achieve the impossible you can hardly be held to blame for failing to achieve perfection in the process.” The hollow voice was icily disapproving.
I sighed, Neither understood. I didn’t do good. Even if it had been the best case scenario, killing people, can never be good. Necessary maybe, but never good. And I didn’t worry about being blamed - who cares what the crusty elders think? Who cares how they rate my performance, how many stars or tics I get? Who cares how many pats on the head and commendations or criticism or even great big hissy fits I cause. It doesn’t matter. It is completely useless, utterly irrelevant - couldn’t they see that?
No. Of course not. They couldn’t See. Even now they were stuck on the petty irrelevances of the world, still blind to what really matters... what really matters and the darkness looming.
Liam stands on the field of victory.
“What troubles you, Liam?” The voice asked, it had an odd, echoing quality about it, somehow managing to come from a great distance through the teeth of a gale yet still feel like a quiet whisper of lips pressed against your ear.
I sighed and gently rubbed a charm back and forth through my fingers; it was made up of long strands of black hair studded with tiny runic disks and drops of blood, still fresh yet not dripping or running. It was centred around a vibrant blue crystal with a deep flaw running down it’s centre. It was a powerful artefact, but not powerful enough. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I tried to push the thought down in my mind, tried to suppress it before it was seen and that vital hope died. Slowly I managed to drag my thoughts to the question.
“Things didn’t go as I expected... or as I hoped.”
“You were surprised?” The second voice was torn, clearly trying to fill itself with emotion but limited only to a damp, rotten monotone. Hearing the voice nearly caused me physical pain, hearing it cracked and broken, hearing the sickly squelch of rotten flesh forced into action.
“Not surprised... disappointed. I knew this could happen, but I really wanted to avoid it.” I sighed heavily. Sometimes I hated being a Seer, hated seeing a near certainty that I was powerless to avoid - hated being part of great evils in the name of the greater good. The grand pattern may be beautiful to behold, but I rarely got to see it. Or really be part of it. Or even got to concentrate on those parts of it that were beautiful, lively and fun. No, I was a Seer and it was my job to find the ugliness, the darkness, the taint and the rot. I was stuck with the task of confronting each one and making it as bright as possible. I was stuck with the dark lines of fate that had to be snapped and twisted to make sure the light prevailed. Cruel thing is, the dark lines of fate can look awfully bright at times.
I’ve heard normal people and wise philosophers vaguely consider the morality of doing evil if you know it would do good in the future. Like, if a man could go back in time and kill Hitler as a child, or if a person at the time saw the future and killed him in the cradle (which just goes to show how ignorant some of these people are about history, but hey, why let facts ruin good philosophy?) Or they’ll talk about wars won and lost just because of orders gone awry. Well, I have to be the hand that holds the pillow over the baby‘s head. I am the voice that relays false messages and watches men march to their doom.
And you know what? Telling yourself it’s for the greater good doesn’t help one sodding iota.
“You got a commendation...” the hollow voice intoned, even with the distortion I could tell it was confused.
I sighed. “Like that matters. There was another way out, a way better than this. I saw it...” and failed. How many would bleed because of my mistake today? I crushed that thought back, holding any wondering at bay. I didn't want the Sight then, didn’t want to see the ranks of the dead and dying suffering because I screwed up, certainly didn’t want to see all the horrible gory ways each one could die because of me.
“You managed what the clan was beginning to think was impossible.” The rotten voice tried to sound soothing. It failed badly. “You did good, Liam.”
“If you achieve the impossible you can hardly be held to blame for failing to achieve perfection in the process.” The hollow voice was icily disapproving.
I sighed, Neither understood. I didn’t do good. Even if it had been the best case scenario, killing people, can never be good. Necessary maybe, but never good. And I didn’t worry about being blamed - who cares what the crusty elders think? Who cares how they rate my performance, how many stars or tics I get? Who cares how many pats on the head and commendations or criticism or even great big hissy fits I cause. It doesn’t matter. It is completely useless, utterly irrelevant - couldn’t they see that?
No. Of course not. They couldn’t See. Even now they were stuck on the petty irrelevances of the world, still blind to what really matters... what really matters and the darkness looming.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-12 07:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-01-13 10:17 am (UTC)