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The set of the woman's shoulders was low, drooped, as though she had carried a heavy burden for leagues. Across her shoulders and chest the red hauberk of glittering, glass-hard scales that covered even harder metal plates gleamed dimly, cleaned of the blood and offal that stained it by the rain that even now fell from the sky. Black locks of hair dripped water into the woman's face, and her pale skin glistened with the dampness from a thousand thousand previous raindrops, but she made no move to relieve her obvious discomfort. Her arms were folded in front of her on the rough wooden surface of the picnic table; her gaze fixed six inches below the basket of apples though unfocused.
Is it wrong to wish I didn't care?
The woman gave a small, bitter snort and shifted her position, causing a few dangling drops of water to fall to the table surface, where they were lost amidst the thousands of others.
Is it wrong to wish that I could just -- let all of this go, not worry about others or myself? It would be... so much bloody easier... if I just didn't have to care any more.
She could still feel the bruises. They'd healed her, of course, as best they could, but the phantom pain remained. How could she summon any resentment towards the Master, though? He was good. It was her fault for the failure... her fault for stopping to take the time to see to her company, do her best for the land...
It would have been so much easier if she hadn't cared. If she had simply been able to throw aside considerations -- do her job -- see it finished, then they never would have had to discipline her. And at the same time, there was something deep inside of her that still cried out at what they had done.
Is caring really necessary for good to win? Is destroying evil wherever it occurs good enough for victory? Or do we really have to be warm and fuzzy -- full of goodness and light and happy things?
She'd tried, dammit. She had tried, and continued to try. But what could she do when her best efforts were thrown back in her face by the evil gods, and the good ones stood by and did nothing? Was it really so wrong that she had refused to undergo yet one more humiliation, and violate the trust that she'd tried so hard to keep with Tes? Should she even bother? The woman was a menace. The paladin's reading-- but she couldn't dismiss it that easily, could she?
What did the bloody paladin know, anyhow? She'd bet that he had never been forced to strip in front of an enemy in an attempt to satiate him into not killing everyone. A small, bitter shadow of a laugh passed between her lips.
All paladins should be humiliated like that. How can they pretend to defend the helpless until they themselves have felt helplessness? I'll bet that Helmite in his bloody fancy armor, prancing around and collaring warlocks, has felt little in the way of good honest debasement.
She had never wanted to lead, but it had been forced upon her -- and now, those on the outside presumed to snipe at her judgment and question her leadership? Already, she could feel the impending decision of what to do with Tes weighing on her mind. And how could she replace the others? What of that other, who had been seen with her? It was too much... far too much...
Slowly, Tamara leaned down and put her head on the table, closing her eyes.
I'm good... I know it. I can kill things. I can kill them without thinking about it, I can kill them for hours at a time, I can kill them in my sleep. But what good does it do? Always... always... something bigger, something impossible to defeat... Torm says to fight, to defeat the enemies of good -- but why are there so many enemies that are impossible to defeat, and why do they end up in my path? Are the gods mocking me for my pride? Or are they simply cruel, sadistic monsters with little to do in their free time except torture mortals as children capture flies and tear off their wings?
The line of thought could take her nowhere good, and she cut it off. She had to believe... somehow...
Did belief imply caring?
Did she really have to care about the fools and imbecciles that went about their business in blissful ignorance of the suffering she endured to try to keep them safe? Surely it didn't matter, so long as they didn't have to endure the humiliation and pain.
Did she really have to care about the legion of prancing idiots who would charge past her into the Hills and meet their death without aid? Surely they would die later anyhow.
Did she really have to care about the hypocritical priests and paladins that sneered and looked down on her for her lack of dedication to the church, that criticized her involvement with the Lions? Surely Torm and Tyr would not look favorably upon such fools anyhow, for duty was duty wherever it was performed.
Wearied with thought, Tamara Roth leaned her head on the cold, wet metal surface of her vambraces and closed her eyes. The rain continued to fall as she fell into a light sleep and comfortable, empty darkness.
It would be so much easier if I didn't care...
But I still do, and I don't know if I can make myself stop.
Gods help me.
Is it wrong to wish I didn't care?
The woman gave a small, bitter snort and shifted her position, causing a few dangling drops of water to fall to the table surface, where they were lost amidst the thousands of others.
Is it wrong to wish that I could just -- let all of this go, not worry about others or myself? It would be... so much bloody easier... if I just didn't have to care any more.
She could still feel the bruises. They'd healed her, of course, as best they could, but the phantom pain remained. How could she summon any resentment towards the Master, though? He was good. It was her fault for the failure... her fault for stopping to take the time to see to her company, do her best for the land...
It would have been so much easier if she hadn't cared. If she had simply been able to throw aside considerations -- do her job -- see it finished, then they never would have had to discipline her. And at the same time, there was something deep inside of her that still cried out at what they had done.
Is caring really necessary for good to win? Is destroying evil wherever it occurs good enough for victory? Or do we really have to be warm and fuzzy -- full of goodness and light and happy things?
She'd tried, dammit. She had tried, and continued to try. But what could she do when her best efforts were thrown back in her face by the evil gods, and the good ones stood by and did nothing? Was it really so wrong that she had refused to undergo yet one more humiliation, and violate the trust that she'd tried so hard to keep with Tes? Should she even bother? The woman was a menace. The paladin's reading-- but she couldn't dismiss it that easily, could she?
What did the bloody paladin know, anyhow? She'd bet that he had never been forced to strip in front of an enemy in an attempt to satiate him into not killing everyone. A small, bitter shadow of a laugh passed between her lips.
All paladins should be humiliated like that. How can they pretend to defend the helpless until they themselves have felt helplessness? I'll bet that Helmite in his bloody fancy armor, prancing around and collaring warlocks, has felt little in the way of good honest debasement.
She had never wanted to lead, but it had been forced upon her -- and now, those on the outside presumed to snipe at her judgment and question her leadership? Already, she could feel the impending decision of what to do with Tes weighing on her mind. And how could she replace the others? What of that other, who had been seen with her? It was too much... far too much...
Slowly, Tamara leaned down and put her head on the table, closing her eyes.
I'm good... I know it. I can kill things. I can kill them without thinking about it, I can kill them for hours at a time, I can kill them in my sleep. But what good does it do? Always... always... something bigger, something impossible to defeat... Torm says to fight, to defeat the enemies of good -- but why are there so many enemies that are impossible to defeat, and why do they end up in my path? Are the gods mocking me for my pride? Or are they simply cruel, sadistic monsters with little to do in their free time except torture mortals as children capture flies and tear off their wings?
The line of thought could take her nowhere good, and she cut it off. She had to believe... somehow...
Did belief imply caring?
Did she really have to care about the fools and imbecciles that went about their business in blissful ignorance of the suffering she endured to try to keep them safe? Surely it didn't matter, so long as they didn't have to endure the humiliation and pain.
Did she really have to care about the legion of prancing idiots who would charge past her into the Hills and meet their death without aid? Surely they would die later anyhow.
Did she really have to care about the hypocritical priests and paladins that sneered and looked down on her for her lack of dedication to the church, that criticized her involvement with the Lions? Surely Torm and Tyr would not look favorably upon such fools anyhow, for duty was duty wherever it was performed.
Wearied with thought, Tamara Roth leaned her head on the cold, wet metal surface of her vambraces and closed her eyes. The rain continued to fall as she fell into a light sleep and comfortable, empty darkness.
It would be so much easier if I didn't care...
But I still do, and I don't know if I can make myself stop.
Gods help me.