1629, Fire Season, Illusion Week, Wildday or a little later
Context
Berra has Lord Raven with her, and is taking advantage of his presence to talk to him. A lot. Session S5.O-16 onwards, until just before Berra gives Gunda burial rites.
Events
“How’s it going up in Tarsh?”
He is concentrating.
“Alright. Lemme know if there’s news though.”
“Now?”
Inquiring would be a burden.
“How about now?”
Asleep. Had you noticed Yelm was dead?
“Does he dream?”
Priest Berra, have you been sitting by a shaman’s fire again?
“I wonder if Heroes dream, is all.”
Yes. The one Hero I know well enough to use as an example does dream.
“Wanna go for a walk?”
Yes.
“I got you some bread and sausage and a bit of cheese.”
“Thank-you, Lady Berra. Be silent a while, if you can.“
I miss seeing Yelm in his glory.
“Huh.”
…
“Um, Lord Raven?”
I had not realised you were awake. Be quiet.
“Lord Raven?”
Who else?
“I have a question.”
I can tell.
“You just appeared during the day. In a place ruled by fire.”
Under a roof made for strangers.
“And you didn’t look as dark. You looked brighter.”
I would expect so.
“So how?”
You were obviously incompetent.
“Yeah but how?”
Lady Berra. I do not need to explain myself on this matter. Meditate on silence.
“Um, I think it is my duty to ask.”
…
“Because as far as I understand, you appearing in the daytime damages you.”
…
“Did you hurt yourself doing that?”
…
“Because it was for duty, wasn’t it?”
…
“Please don’t do it like that. I think you burn away part of yourself.”
…
“And… you need to look after Lord Eril as well as.”
DO NOT INSTRUCT ME ON MY DUTY!
“…”
I know what is required and expected of me! You made it very clear. I had no choice in serving but I am perfectly capable of deciding how.
“Only-“
Priest!
“…”
Are you hugging me?
“Yeah.”
“Anyway. I wanted to say thanks for your help. Too.”
I’m not here to be a secretary! No matter how helpful! Don’t you know who I am?
“Someone who volunteered to do some writing?”
Can I help it if you are barely literate to the point where I fear you may drool on wet ink?
“Um, you are helping it.”
You learn… slowly.
“I know. I wanna be better at that, Lord. I want to do a lot of stuff. I can see what I want to be next, and there’s a while to go yet.”
You must keep studying. Literacy is a key part of understanding, for it allows… Priest…. are you attending?
“Yeah. Yes, I am, Lord. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to learn and it doesn’t make it so I have the time. Or even we have the time, together. But I like learning from you.”
You may be barely more than a fool, but I grant you are not an ingrate.
“S…”
Say it.
“S’not in your grant, Lord. Only I can do that.”
You do, however, have a knack of getting me to walk into a beam at your height.
“I practiced on better.”
Does he often fall for it?
“Less now. I don’t know if he knows, or if he just defends without thinking. But it’s funny. An’… if it teaches him, then that’s good too.”
Your duty.
“Yeah.”
Have you purposely arranged that it is your duty to annoy the High Sword of Humakt?
“No… but I do know it’s my duty to improve him and the Regiment, and that’s the best way I’ve found.”
In that case, I see no need to burden him with this knowledge.
“Hey, Lord Raven?”
I can tell this is going to be bothersome.
“Yeah, maybe. Can you ride?”
I am notably good at it.
“I mean you. As a spirit. Does it scare horses?”
Not more than you would expect.
“If you don’t know, you can say.”
Why do you wish to know?
“Because I’m wondering if horses can see in the dark. And there’s magic for that.”
Thank you. No.
“Oh. Uh, how-“
Go away, peasant-priest. You are taking up valuable time in which I could be trapped with my own company.
“Lord Raven….”
Oh, what now?
“How come Death has a crossguard?”
What?
“Because… why would Humakt think of defending himself? He was just trying out a power.”
Wyter Priest. Go to sleep.
“I think this is important, Lord Raven. The Death Rune’s got a crossguard.”
Now is not the time for me to consult the High Sword.
“Yeah. Maybe best not to bother him with this one at all.”
Priest.
“Gnggguh’m awake.”
Barely. I believe I have found an answer for you. Do you ever find your grip slipping with sweat?
“Gnnnyeah? Once happened twice. Same set of broo.”
Fascinating. I shall be sure to recall it. A cross-guard stops the hand from moving over the blade.
“But I brace with a hook-finger.”
+You+ do, indeed. However, there are many ways.
“An’ not all of them keep the sword in the same shape?”
Indeed. We know that Humakt did not become his own victim, but we can infer he made choices at a level we cannot comprehend.
“Yeah, I guess. So he changed the sword just in case?”
He did not defend against Grandfather Mortal. He defended against possibilities.
“Yeah, that makes sense. And bronze swords…”
Are easier to cast and make in one piece, and they solve the problem in different ways.
“Yeah. An’ iron is the metal of Death.”
Created to hold it and be most correct to it. While I hesitate to suggest the Swordsman definitely chose that shape for that reason in the moment of the first Death, it is also absolutely true.
“Uhuh. There’s another thing too, though. The cross-piece is also a separation.”
Mm?
“Of the dead from the living. It’s a bar. In a lot of ways. You can’t get back through it.”
Yes. I see your point. It is not a bad one.
“Living from the dead too. That’s the other way around, but I think it’s mostly what you said.”
It comprehends the conceptual as well as the individual.
“Eh?”
Yours was about the world. Mine was about the person.
“Oh. Yeah.”
Do you need me to define ‘person’ for you?
“Maybe. But not now. I need to sleep.”
Try not to dream.
“Uhuh. Night.”
…
“Not define a pers’n. Define a god.”
Amazing. Your first thought on waking was confused, ludicrous, +and+ impossible.
“No, I mean you.”
Accusing me of divinity is hardly right, if flattering.
“You said Humakt was a person. Being protected from his own actions. But he’s not. He’s a god. So you don’t need to define person to me…”
And I refuse to define either our god, or godhood in general.
“D’finin’ a person ain’t easy either.”
Go back to sleep.
“I’m going to go on watch.”
You are a guest here, fool-peasant.
“I’m a Humakti here. I’m defining how to do it.”
Very well. Go tire yourself for the morrow.
“WHY did.. t’ll m…?”
I can’t HEAR YOU!
“Look, you’re… are you alright?”
…o away.
“Humakt’s the cross-hilt too.”
Say that again, and try to explain this time?
“It’s a separator of Life and Death. Or at least, of Death and not-Death. That’s him in his role as the guardian of the theshold.”
Threshold.
“Isn’t that what I said?”
No.
“Oh. But anyhow, when…”
Peasant… what are you thinking about?
“Oh, nothing much yet. Not sure.”
Stop it. It is deeply inadvisable.
“How do you reckon that? Do you know what I am thinking?”
No. I recognise recklessness in you. You are about to think too hard about something, or do a thing without thinking.
“Yeah, probably.”
