Atonement.
The thought was a drop of blood in the calm waters where his pride lurked, shark like in form and predatory, eager to cruise in and bite that which it views as impostor, transgressor to territory hard won through vicious experience. Yet the arm taken within the Crimson Knight's own frame did much to soothe the thrill of the hunt of his critical ego. His recent vow to speak true summoned within him a willingness to indulge in the council, for his heart had become tender while his ego sensed a bruising from imagined blows.
Atonement.
That beast of pride did circle, a shadow in the deep waters of his consciousness as the spirit of self improvement treaded water with a new method of finding passage in the waters. This humility was new to him, not quickly gripped and adopted. He was reminded of his first fumblings within the tongues he spoke with mastery. From words of the arcane uttered with love of possible reality with all the freshness and optimism of what might change in the world should one will it, to the intonation of vampiric speech which was draconian, hard pressed to change, caustic and derisive to the Other while supporting one's own incontrovertible superiority.
Humiliation in both fields until hot anger and defiance to his betters was expressed and realised.
'To err human. To be killed, divine.' So said his tutors. So he adopted as a shield to his heart.
He shook his head at the thought. Lessons from a harder reality, a reality which shaped him. And now the tenderness of someone who saw him more than the bitter architecture of his mind, all sloping angular planes of pain that reinforced the brutal truths of the world, instead of this word. Atonement. It felt like an invitation to betray and forget. But Valborast had support in this moment. Unlike his past which was one of isolated study he had been offered with far more generous hand and compassionate disposition an alternative to his own embittered self.
Valborast walked some distance with Seluria, arms entwined, a slow pace as he mulled over the thought of atonement. He spoke slowly, ponderously, his thoughts spoken aloud as he unraveled and revealed his own process. Gone was the assurity of truths well won and engrained, the man was fighting to discover a better process of thought, for if his vow was to be respected, he should speak true of his deductions instead of the instinctive and habitious cynicism to the new. He felt as if he was speaking foreign thoughts, but rendered such in elvish, travelling in the silk words that soothed as he travelled in unfamiliar ground.
“Atonement,” Valborast said, as if it were a glaring and blinding ray of light into his vision, his eyes narrowed as he engaged the word in verbal combat.
“I do not seek forgiveness for what I was, and indeed, am.”
He paused and sighed.
“No,” he said and tried again.
“No that's incorrect, not quite true. If I may speak for a time, while I deduct the truth of things. Atonement, it speaks to me of throwing oneself to one's knees and crying out for forgiveness for the spirit of contrition. But it's more complex than that...such a guilty display of conscience. In all things I have acted to survive and prove myself in spite of my circumstances. However, I seek to be more than I can be for virtue of...being more knightly. Simple, dare I say, being a better mortal. A better soul. Of being better. That is the spirit of things. More humane in condition. Such would be a better defiance of my past than simple forgiveness of vicious mindsets that rendered me alive at all, and indeed, successful in my Art.”
More distance travelled. More thought as he entangled himself in the subject. Harrowing as it was to sheen the precious jewel of his mind and memories.
“If I am to atone in deed,” he said slowly,
“in mind, in thought, in conscience, I shall do so without humiliation. Such guided me in my moments of adversity, humiliation that is. I was constantly reminded of my inferiority to the kindred for my mortality. Quickly expunged, to be discarded. Yet I do not seek to...simply be contrarian to what has made me an effective force to the Order. My mind and ways are my own. Yet with you, I can see much more than what might be. What might be, what can be, what...ought to be. If I am to progress, if I am to prove my valour in the fight of the spirit, not just with the blade, I'd be...foolish to go alone. Alone, and without encouraging perspective. Valid and nurturing.”
“Your perspective has guided me now to this moment, as well as your compassion to one such as myself. Such a thing, I find it...uncommon. Rare, in fact. Perhaps I am to blame for such a disposition. I'm hardly a, how you say, a people person. The people I am used to do not forgive, and so, I have become dispassionate to the possibility of being influenced by someone as well natured and well adjusted to the possible truth of things such as yourself,” Valborast said and swallowed hard as he was faced with a moment where his thoughts revealed his own flaws and his tongue hestitated to invite critique to his mental conduct and framework.
The archetexture of his mind was being reshaped with each word. And the thought, daring, hopeful, and with a tinge of trepidation that required a different breed of courage.
“How do you measure a lifetime of self improvement and embetterment which relies, which is predicated upon, viewing oneself as better as others, with this atonement you speak of. I do not want to betray myself, yet, I am found wanting for your good example of a more hopeful existence, one without fear as the cornerstone, without this...bitterness which atrophies my humanity. I see that now. But, such is a long overdue....dare I say, revelation. Yes, revelation. Although I am again loathe to be seen as one who regrets what they have done. I do not. But I regret what I am becoming should I stay my course of attitude. What's more, I fear my own deductions might lead me astray if I sequester myself as is my habit. The creation of Riven was caused by my refusal to admit the truth of things. That is to say, well, speaking plainly, I trust you. Thank you for your patience.”
But a sudden stab of imagined injury struck at him.
He turned to looked at Seluria with something akin to fear as he spoke softly at a sudden realisation.
“
I hope I am not seen as some pitiful stray by you. Such a perspective on my self would wound me deeply. I pray it is not so.”
His eyes carried with it a tender vulnerability that threatened to flash with the old defenses that rose up to greet the moment. But his recent experience belayed such a summoning. Seluria's next words could seal his fate of attitude, for good or ill.
Seluria Estel'Narqua
