Land of the False Star

Frustrations —

Damn these insufferable humans, these self-entitled, simple-minded little specks. Gods forbid that one of them actually place practicality ahead of their precious, hypocritically mercenary sense of morality — oh, they can let their lives be led by the promise of gold, they can allow coin to decide what “wrongs” to right and what “evil” to vanquish, they can spend it to dress themselves up like pseudo-heroes for the next “righteous (and profitable, of course) adventure,” but when it comes to allowing me to do nothing more than attempt to copy barely a handful of spells from a book that will be undamaged for it and be returned, regardless, and accompanied by apologies galore, a small bit of magic that could enable me to serve and safeguard the whole of us more efficiently and better assist them in their trite tasks, it is unacceptable.

After all, why be pragmatic when we can be honorable! As if any particular human’s individual’s abstract (and so very often circumstantial) concept of “honor” ever managed to stop them from bleeding out the sword of someone more interested in reality than moral superiority.

And to endure the sanctimonious high-handedness of that half-talented manling, that hairy little ape whose time on this world likely serves as a mere quarter of my own; a creature so devoid of meaning in his wretchedly curt life that he would waste it on being an aimless errand boy for the rich and idle, with no meaningful direction save for where men better than he would point him, as banally servile as a dog and seemingly content to leave nothing in the wake of his existence — no lasting achievement, no pertinent accomplishment, no legacy save for the puffed-up bee’s drone of his flawed logic, forgettable amidst the dust of his bones. Given that I will be basking in my prime while his death is being overlooked, it’s almost pitiable… save that I can feeling nothing but contempt for such dedication to mediocrity.

Besides, he has surpassed the paladin in sheer terms of wearing on my nerves.

However, serving as a much-needed balm to the this seething frustration and serving his role as not merely protector but adviser, Darius has once more felt compelled to caution me and while it admittedly chafes to acknowledge the sense of his words, I would be both disrespectful and a fool were I not to; if he felt them worth saying, thus they deserve being heeded. His perspective is one apart from my own, logic disconnected from the drive of ambition. And he is correct. Though I have no particular reason to like nor trust these “companions,” I cannot afford to earn their ire. It is an unfortunate truth that we have no alternative avenue open to us at the moment, that we require their accompaniment to achieve our goals — although I do not share Darius’ optimism that they simply won’t turn on us like rabid animals regardless of how “agreeably well-behaved” I act for them if (or possibly when) they come to know me. They seem barely capable of tolerating the idea of something as paltry as a stolen book; what will their superstitious ignorance prompt them to do should they observe my control of the undead? I can hardly imagine it will matter if I am assisting them or not. They do not seem open to the esoteric concept of space existing between “black and white”.

Laughable. Repressive. Pathetic.
This place will destroy them if they’re unwilling to evolve.

I also find myself doubting whether they have the bravery, ambition and independent wherewithal necessary to venture beyond the walls of Ravental and explore the awaiting mysteries without being hired and paid to do it. Again, so very much like dogs. Well, I’ve thrown a bone in the general direction of the Crimson Tower. Now I suppose I wait to see if they end up trying to fetch it.

I suppose I simply expected more progress by now. Chained by the limitations imposed upon me by Mist Veil, restricted by the simple lack of resources and like-minds there, stymied by the quiet but palpable disapproval of the Magisters, and now I have managed to venture beyond their restrictive towers, now I am finally here in a world that is supposed be more fast-paced, more daring, full of possibilities — only to discover my scholarly pursuits once again shackled by the hyper-conservatism of others. Exasperating.

But Darius is right and, as promised, I will strive to temper my impatience. I will let him guide me; I will allow him to protect me by reminding me that I must protect myself. And I suppose I can make some attempt to not remind the humans of their natural inferiorities as often as I apparently do.

I will still be pursuing the invitation left to me by Lady Almond, however. I absolutely refuse to turn away from every path that promises advancement purely to indulge the childish naivety of these companions. What they don’t know is unlikely to offend their delicate sensibilities.

And, at the very least, the day wasn’t a complete waste. I will need to fashion this pearl into something practical to wear. Everyone else, in the midst of their disapproval, appears to have forgotten that it was the ranger that originally suggested a favor for a favor, not I; but rather share in their useless fretting, I look forward to my future dealings with this Azure Brotherhood with intellectual curiosity. They do sound interesting.



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