Olaesta 4, 5122 ( https://gswiki.play.net/Ashes_to_Ashes_-_5122-04-03_-_Kharusa_Control_(log) )
Pookia's thoughts greeted some raiders moments before Leafiara sensed her death. She summoned the familiar Transference spell to her aid, transporting herself to the slain young Zelian, and found herself surrounded by the krolvin mob. Leafiara only shook her head and paid them no mind as they rushed toward her, letting loose with vicious barks that transformed into defiant ones as their weapons bounced harmlessly off of the evanescent shield surrounding her.
Every single time.
Without a word, she dragged the fallen pink-clad adventurer to the square, then returned alone to the fray and invoked disruptive waves of Divine Wrath while drawing her blades. She whirled into a blur of eonake, sending limbs and heads flying while her wordless melody carried her magic on to spill guts and sever spines--but her motions on this battlefield lacked malice, menace, and meaning.
Leafiara concurred with Thadston on one thing: there was something far more important than looking to only the current conflict. He'd said it in the context of the Rooks' tunnel proposal, but the only threat she had any concern over was Amos. "If you understand what drives a person, what motivates them....there is little left to learn." His words. If that isn't more of his usual bait, then finding a new motivation is the key to defeating him. Fighting for things like freedom or friends are out.
More krolvin poured through portals and she alerted nobody, continuing to battle alone. Maybe I can fight for fun. As another severed arm soared, she recalled hunting with Marijka on the Vornavis Outlands years earlier, the two of them jokingly comparing notes over who was more effectively and more flashily killing bandits.
...no. Nothing about this is fun. The entire conflict was pointless suffering caused by everyone's failure to kill Praxopius before it came to this. Besides, she'd been weaker hunting with Marijka, and that was its own boon. It had kept her in tune with the visceral, primal thrill of survival instincts. Here and now, too many years of combat experience later for the young half-sylvan prodigy, she was killing all of the krolvin but the stormcrows with minimal effort--and even those were no challenge to anything but her patience.
"I truly have bigger problems to deal with than you people," she muttered to the krolvin around her, some fallen and others still barely standing. At last a town guard ran by, yelling an alert to open the towers. Days earlier she probably would have quipped about him being late, but it didn't matter. Perhaps the Cryblob would assemble somewhere, but she needed to keep her distance and battle on her own tonight.
As the last krolvin in front of the bank fell at her feet, Leafiara flicked away the blood now coating her exposed arms. She succeeded less in brushing it off than in smearing it into her honey-hued skin, lightly but irrevocably tanned from her time on Caligos Isle. Seeing the effect, she shrugged and made no move to clean her knees and calves, soaked with red.
She slipped away from the bank to look for an undiscovered battlefield, weaving between the alleys and buildings of the Landing as her black clothes stood seamless against the night save for the shining silver symbols of her father's patron, the Huntress. Fun ploy outfit, but nothing more. Vengeance? Amos did me a favor. It's the town he wronged. Besides, I already pursued vengeance against Raznel. It's too "me." Too predictable.
Leafiara found a stray pair of krolvin peering into buildings on opposite sides of a street and launched into a frenzied flurry of slashes against the nearest one. Maybe I can fight primarily to protect the town, she thought as one krolvin fell before her and the other raced toward her. Dust rose around her boots as she gathered the power of a Divine Fury spell and released a ripple of platinum energy toward him and through him, sending his disemboweled figure crashing to the ground.
Impossible. That couldn't be a sincere motivation because my presence isn't the difference between lives lost and lives saved. The Landing would pull through either way.
As if in response to her thought, a slew of Rooks rose from the rooftops and unleashed a rain of arrows down on the krolvin portals--then came the rallying cries of town guards, militia, and armigers as they raced into the streets. The clash of metal rang through town and she knew the scent of blood would permeate the entire area soon enough.
Wandering amidst the body parts, she spotted krolvin spoils littering the streets and gleaming in the moonlight--probably left behind by mighty warriors like Roblar or Gillien cleaving through their ranks. Maybe I can fight for money, she thought, gathering the rarest trinkets as she found them. ...no. It works in the Duskruin Arena, but I couldn't beat Amos with that tactic. He has infinitely more experience fighting for money.
Time blurred as a Leafiara running low on ideas compensated by running high on adrenaline, moving in full sprints around the perimeter roads, continuing to clash with every krolvin and elemental in sight--but acknowledging almost nothing and almost no one as she looked for her answer, unaware of how long she'd been fighting.
The pylons on one of Amos' warships blazed into the krolvin and she didn't notice. Asben and Pukk exchanged words with her and she didn't remember. Covering fire from the Rooks. Armigers helping. Armigers jumping into the path of her spells. The Knuckleheads' ballista fire. Voln's grizzled old warrior getting resurrected by Lorminstra herself. Fizzling portals.
And all of it failed to register. Everything vanished except her quest, and then her quest itself fell away, as she pushed her body to lengths and limits she didn't know she had, systematically and dispassionately delivering one krolvin after the next into Gosaena's embrace, unknowingly surpassing her past self by every measure of physical and magical might--and all while fighting for absolutely nothing.
For one fleeting minute she existed on some higher plane than the battlefield itself. Above light and dark, above good and evil, above love and hate, above principles and philosophies, above victory, defeat, honor, glory, duty, heroism, praise, condemnation, courage, fear, hope, regret, pride, sorrow, joy, defense, survival, instinct, will, thought, and consciousness. Her beliefs and ideals had dripped away from her as unnoticed as her blood and sweat, and she fought for nothing at all, and in so doing she had discovered something better than fighting for freedom: fighting freely.
But then the battle was over. Before she could understand--before she could internalize--that she'd found a form of herself incomparably more pure, real, and true, Tyrrax's forces pulled back. Before she could know--before she could experience--that she'd attained her pinnacle self, Tyrrax's forces pulled back.
She raced across the streets, eyes darting in search of one last battle that would have ultimate meaning in its ultimate meaninglessness, but no battles still raged. The startling, sudden peace cut her off from her epiphany.
Tyrrax's thoughts said he was in their theatre, but Leafiara didn't pick up that it was a literal theatre until Kayse's thoughts elaborated. She moved toward the Stone Baths dully, her body heavy with exhaustion now that her spirit was rife with disappointment.
Most of the following conversation was a blur to her. People ranting and raving at Tyrrax, the latest non-factor to come to the Landing--as if these rounds of krolvin attacks were somehow different and greater than the other several thousand krolvin slain around the bay by herself and the Drakes Vanguard, Commodore Jaysehn and his crews, and every other force regularly taking to sea.
At some point she invited Kharusa into her head operating on instinct alone, where the halfling mentalist had discovered Leafiara's hatred of Amos and Praxopius. Tyrrax had asked her why and she immediately deflected: "It's a long story."
But it isn't, she realized the next afternoon, when her mind had caught her up and sorted out the haze of memories. Though Amos was craftier than Praxopius, they were cut from the same cloth: manipulators with long grudges, so consumed with their purposes that they had fearlessness without courage and missions without pride, which left them willing to throw hundreds into the line of fire but unwilling to lend their own hands until absolutely necessary.
That's the difference between us. I'd never send others to do my work--
She stared off into space. But I don't have to send people, do I? I could just do nothing. Is that what I have to do? Nothing? If his eyes and ears are keeping track of what I'm doing, but I leave everything to others, maybe they can claim victory.
Leafiara paused, pressed beneath the weight of her thoughts. But can I do that? Can I really turn a blind eye and a cold heart? Can I stand aside no matter what happens? No matter who gets hurt?
She hung her head.
Of course I can't. And that's why he keeps getting further ahead.
Koaratos 4, 5122
Leafiara trudged into her office, sighing as she took in her surroundings. She'd embellished the design just a bit, the painted walls and floors looking like a wonderland of sweets that even Maags would be proud of, in hopes to remind her to be herself. That had been her failing as the mayor, after all: losing sight of herself and trying to appease the masses.
But the visual reminder wasn't cutting it. Every week felt like it was taking her further away from who she was meant to be. Even Marshal Stormyrain had noticed--startling in its own right, never mind coupled with the revelation that asking about it at all meant that the marshal didn't hate her.
Unless she was trying to manipulate me to finally get me out of her hair.
She recalled Alendrial's words and how the Steward missed conversations with the town's adventurers because the personalities in Moot Hall were dull, but the Councilor scarcely even cared for those conversations anymore. Of the three portraits hanging on her wall, Khylynnia was away on another adventure for the time being, the Marshal had transformed into some younger and more cheerful version of herself that Leafiara no longer recognized, and Commander Shinann--well, who even knew where she'd been?
Maybe it was a good thing. What would Shinann say if she saw Kayse now? Leafiara shook her head at even the passing thought. She was pretty sure her fellow Scion couldn't stand Amos any more than she could--assuming the Scions still trusted the two of them in the first place. She hadn't heard from them in six years. She didn't want to hear from them if Amos wasn't lying about their alliance.
And Vaemyr, oh, he might be the worst of all, without the excuse of a profit motive or not having known Amos very long. A once-promising upstart, a former kindred spirit, now lost and twisted into some dark reflection of herself.
These days she only mainly lit up for time with her wife Saraphenia, Twilight Hall events, Drakes Vanguard events, and the myriad weddings of the past several weeks.
...do I, even then?
Nothing felt like it used to. Not around the Landing, anyway. Too much history. Only one place called her name.
The people of Icemule had recently discovered a new frontier, perhaps a better frontier. No... definitely a better frontier. Cold River, a tiny town with miserable weather well beyond freezing and a single tavern with nearly tasteless food cobbled together from what resources its people could muster in the challenge of the untamed Hinterwilds.
For all its faults, though, it was more remote, more dangerous, more thrilling--and it had no politics, no Imperial soldiers, no Hall of Mages, no Vaalorian outpost, no Amos. Every time Leafiara visited, a large part of her wanted to never leave. She'd already written two ballads for the Hinterwilds, which were one and a half more than she'd ever written for the Landing.
Have I really only lived here six years? Cold River is more the Landing I remember than the Landing itself. Or am I the one who's changed? I don't remember what I used to be like. Before I threw myself into this... this torture chamber.
"Councilor," came a voice from behind.
Leafiara turned, finding herself faced with a scholarly-looking lady wearing spectacles.
"The krolvin have not attacked in a sufficiently long period that I've concluded that the recent situation is likely behind us."
"Probably, yeah." Without missing a beat, Leafiara continued, "If you lost anyone, I'm sorry. It's very clear that we should have murdered Praxopius four years ago to stop any of it from ever happening."
"Hypotheticals aside," the lady continued indifferently, "now that the danger is at bay, I find it timely to ask about your next move. I know you have tried nearly everything."
Leafiara raised an eyebrow. "My next move regarding what?"
"Your next misguided attempt to control the Landing, of course."
"I'm sorry, what?" the Councilor replied, chuckling. "Control? Maybe you don't know me, but chaos--"
"Oh, I know you better than you know yourself."
"I'm afraid I don't recall your face. Who are you?"
The lady returned an insincere smile. "Am I forgettable, or have you chosen to forget me because you didn't like my words? Take another look."
But it wasn't another look Leafiara needed. Her patron was Tilamaire, a once-mortal man who had ascended to become the spirit of music. Through him she could hear the rhythm and harmony of all things, and the sound of the lady's voice stirred her memories. That's right. I was an active militia member then. You implied I'd never reach my potential if I followed through on Thadston's orders. "...yeah, I do remember. Three years ago, you were one of the people who didn't want to evacuate."
The lady nodded. "Correct. A matter which I thought should be my decision, regardless of the risk to my life."
"It was. It is." So I didn't follow through on his orders.
"Yet you continually violate your own espoused philosophy, which brings me here today."
"What do you mean?" Leafiara sighed.
The lady half-smirked, adjusting her spectacles. "You've attempted to be just about everything in an effort to defend or emerge as a leader in this town. Become a Twilight Hall officer. Join the militia. Try to join the Rooks."
"Hold on, if you're talking about the poison, I wasn't trying anything other than to save Rysus' life. I warned his messenger to test the vial and said it probably wasn't what was claimed. I took it to several people to test too and we couldn't find anything. Sure, it did occur to me that--"
"Good to clarify--and entirely beside my point," the lady said briskly, as if Leafiara had voiced nothing at all. "You have tried to make a difference in the Landing by being and doing just about everything. Scion of Shaundara, Twilight Hall member, TownCrier reporter, failed mayoral run, advisor to the Mayor, Champion of the Fallen, Ord an Dragan member, failed mayoral run, attempt to save the leader of the Rooks but accidentally kill him, militia member, Twilight Hall officer, successful mayoral run, pardon Malluch, successful Town Council run, approve a bazaar, Drakes Vanguard member, remove Amos... But it is never enough with you, is it? Have any of these things worked out as you hoped?"
Leafiara's response was swift: "A couple worked out in ways I didn't expect, but no, none worked out as I hoped."
"And what comes next, which will also not work out as you hope?"
"...I don't know."
"I see. Would you like advice?"
Leafiara shrugged. "Humor me."
"You've tried doing everything except doing nothing."
...she arrived at the same conclusion I did, those months ago. But no, I can't just...
"Stand aside. Watch at a distance. Whatever happens happens. Don't worry about anything except yourself, and maybe not even that."
"No. People will die."
"So what?"
Heavy silence.
"Does anyone else fret about people dying? People die every day by the hundreds, yet you're the only one putting on a dozen hats and badges and doing every imaginable thing while admitting afterward that none worked."
"The past ones haven't, but I'll find the right path eventually. My calling, my training, my magic--everything I've worked for has been to save lives since when I was young."
The lady nodded once before smiling. "Then grow up."
Silence.
"You know I'm right. Only once did you campaign on saving lives. The other times were the people's freedom--because you value that more, yes?"
"Of course."
"I see. And does 'people' include you?"
"Yes."
The lady shook her head. "Wrong. Either you don't understand your own old slogan or you're unwilling to live by it, so allow me..."
Leafiara visibly tensed.
"Embrace the chaos."
It had sounded so fun at the time. Sometimes it still sounded fun today. Chandrellia had a way of making it sound exhilarating. No... it is exhilarating. It is in the Hinterwilds, anyway. Why isn't it exhilarating here?
"Embrace freedom. Embrace people's decisions to be as wise or as foolish as they wish to be. There are no right and wrong, there are no good and evil, and so no organization, no position of power, and no action will bring you what you want. You might aim to surpass Roblar. You might follow in the footsteps of Tilamaire and challenge the Arkati for their negligence. You might follow Grishom Stone himself and challenge the Arkati for--well, whatever philosophy he's espousing by now, I know not. None of it will ever sate you. No, it will continue killing you if you keep trying to control your surroundings. And it is definitely control."
No rebuttal nor response came to Leafiara. The lady did not follow up, however, and after a too-long pause the Councilor at last spoke again: "Why are you telling me this? What does it matter to you what I do?"
The lady smiled. "It doesn't matter to me what you do. It only mattered that you heard my words. A beautiful thing you might not understand."
"Spell it out for me, then."
"You'll reject my advice and I'll laugh as I do what you should be doing: standing aside, watching from a distance while a naive, arrogant fool who thinks she can solve this town's problems flounders and drowns in the deliciously foreseeable fate of her misery and hypocrisy, and all of it while knowing I've already told her the way out."
"...cold."
"You put chaos and free spirits on buttons," said the lady, flashing a grin, "but I live them. Keep celebrating freedom with your words, Councilor, but so long as you constrain yourself with your sense of obligation to do 'the right thing,' you're the least free person in the Landing."
