Coming from someone who's endured quite a lot in some more painful memories, being tortured and whipped aren't nearly as bad as knowing that your choices aren't yours—that they were never yours. [ and then, mostly to himself: ] Funny how the hopelessness always wins the battle against the physical, isn't it? [ as for slaying infants. children, maybe. himself, once upon a time. what sacrifice had he made for his freedom? he became a creature drowning in guilt, struggling to break the surface. now he was running from who he used to be, using the capricious nature of memories to erase villainous deeds. ]
Things are meant to be because they're expected to be that way. Stories are written in patterns, which are re-inked and re-prophesied by feathered quills and wrinkled old fingers and sold for new. [ his body language changes, his voice changes. being boxed in is anathema to him. ] There are two kinds of ways that gods are conceived: either they're bound to a linear story, one that plays out in roles and natures and comes to and end, or they're bound by the circular, that which continues to repeat endlessly into eternity.
For us, the Aesir, it was the latter rather than the former—our cycle was called Ragnarok. It happened in different detail each time, but the concise version is that everyone dies by betrayal, [ his betrayal ] and is reborn again to follow the same road to ruin. Over, and over, and over again. Centuries or millennia? [ there's a little bitter snort that follows, and a shrug of his shoulders. ] Hel if I remember. I only know that we were being used as fodder for a hungry universe, disguised beneath the word destiny.
It turns out that my father had plotted various schemes across that time to try and stop the whole things and end the suffering of the gods; most all failed, some came close, but there's only so much that can be done when dealing with the boundaries of reality. In the end, it was my brother that freed us and cast away the shackles of fate. [ a pause, and then a slight laugh. ] When it was all said and done and we were free from Ragnarok, all the gods wanted was to know the end of their story. They wanted to be chained again.
No one wanted their choices, or their free future. They had been bound so long that they knew nothing else.
[ the coffee goes down, and he reaches out to her, beckoning with dark nailed fingers for her to give him her hand. he sees that cut there. ]
Luckily for you time and space are mostly the same, so I would rest assured that you can go back to the time that you came. Consider this an opportunity.
SADLY HE KNOWS
Coming from someone who's endured quite a lot in some more painful memories, being tortured and whipped aren't nearly as bad as knowing that your choices aren't yours—that they were never yours. [ and then, mostly to himself: ] Funny how the hopelessness always wins the battle against the physical, isn't it? [ as for slaying infants. children, maybe. himself, once upon a time. what sacrifice had he made for his freedom? he became a creature drowning in guilt, struggling to break the surface. now he was running from who he used to be, using the capricious nature of memories to erase villainous deeds. ]
Things are meant to be because they're expected to be that way. Stories are written in patterns, which are re-inked and re-prophesied by feathered quills and wrinkled old fingers and sold for new. [ his body language changes, his voice changes. being boxed in is anathema to him. ] There are two kinds of ways that gods are conceived: either they're bound to a linear story, one that plays out in roles and natures and comes to and end, or they're bound by the circular, that which continues to repeat endlessly into eternity.
For us, the Aesir, it was the latter rather than the former—our cycle was called Ragnarok. It happened in different detail each time, but the concise version is that everyone dies by betrayal, [ his betrayal ] and is reborn again to follow the same road to ruin. Over, and over, and over again. Centuries or millennia? [ there's a little bitter snort that follows, and a shrug of his shoulders. ] Hel if I remember. I only know that we were being used as fodder for a hungry universe, disguised beneath the word destiny.
It turns out that my father had plotted various schemes across that time to try and stop the whole things and end the suffering of the gods; most all failed, some came close, but there's only so much that can be done when dealing with the boundaries of reality. In the end, it was my brother that freed us and cast away the shackles of fate. [ a pause, and then a slight laugh. ] When it was all said and done and we were free from Ragnarok, all the gods wanted was to know the end of their story. They wanted to be chained again.
No one wanted their choices, or their free future. They had been bound so long that they knew nothing else.
[ the coffee goes down, and he reaches out to her, beckoning with dark nailed fingers for her to give him her hand. he sees that cut there. ]
Luckily for you time and space are mostly the same, so I would rest assured that you can go back to the time that you came. Consider this an opportunity.