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exsiliumlogs2012-03-31 11:21 pm
septim) wrote in exsiliumlogs2012-03-31 11:21 pm
( Closed )
Date & Time: March 31st
Location: Coffee shop, afternoon
Characters:Martin Septim and Nathaniel Howe, then Anders
Summary: Brother Martin confesses to his debaucherous youth and highborn adulthood; Anders looks for Pounce
Warnings: Implied debauchery as part of Sanguine's Cult (sex, booze, drugs)
In Tamriel, dark arts such as daedric worship aren't banned. The empire is multi-cultural, it'd be an act of war to officially proclaim a single pantheon as the true gods above all others. Still, the dark arts, such as daedric magic and necromancy, are reviled, the Imperials's enslavement by the daedra-loving Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves, never forgotten or forgiven by the descendants of men in Cyrodiil.
Martin understood why Anders might be wary of magic involving blood, considering its usage as a reagent almost exclusively in the dark arts. However, the Amulet of Kings contained the blood of the Dragon God of Time, Akatosh, who formed the covenant that denied the Ayleids their daedra armies, forever keeping at bay the gates of Oblivion.
Perhaps his position was explained poorly. Surely, if he had offered the historical context, joining his soul and blood with the Amulet of Kings wouldn't appear as abhorrent. Yet Anders seemed so angered, so reviled, that Martin didn't have a chance to explain his position, plus the revelations of Tamriel's fate given by Delphine exhausted Martin mentally and physically.
Hopefully Nathaniel proved more sympathetic, but more important than that, he was due an apology for Martin goading an argument between him and Anders due to his past.
The coffee shop is quiet, mostly empty. Martin sits at a table for two, tucked into a corner away from prying eyes and raised ears. Nursing a cup of latte and a plate of chocolate biscotti, he keeps gazing at the entrance.
Location: Coffee shop, afternoon
Characters:
Martin Septim and Nathaniel Howe, then AndersSummary: Brother Martin confesses to his debaucherous youth and highborn adulthood; Anders looks for Pounce
Warnings: Implied debauchery as part of Sanguine's Cult (sex, booze, drugs)
In Tamriel, dark arts such as daedric worship aren't banned. The empire is multi-cultural, it'd be an act of war to officially proclaim a single pantheon as the true gods above all others. Still, the dark arts, such as daedric magic and necromancy, are reviled, the Imperials's enslavement by the daedra-loving Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves, never forgotten or forgiven by the descendants of men in Cyrodiil.
Martin understood why Anders might be wary of magic involving blood, considering its usage as a reagent almost exclusively in the dark arts. However, the Amulet of Kings contained the blood of the Dragon God of Time, Akatosh, who formed the covenant that denied the Ayleids their daedra armies, forever keeping at bay the gates of Oblivion.
Perhaps his position was explained poorly. Surely, if he had offered the historical context, joining his soul and blood with the Amulet of Kings wouldn't appear as abhorrent. Yet Anders seemed so angered, so reviled, that Martin didn't have a chance to explain his position, plus the revelations of Tamriel's fate given by Delphine exhausted Martin mentally and physically.
Hopefully Nathaniel proved more sympathetic, but more important than that, he was due an apology for Martin goading an argument between him and Anders due to his past.
The coffee shop is quiet, mostly empty. Martin sits at a table for two, tucked into a corner away from prying eyes and raised ears. Nursing a cup of latte and a plate of chocolate biscotti, he keeps gazing at the entrance.
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"A terrible time. Emperor Uriel Septim VII and all his legitimate sons were assassinated. Uriel's and the princes' death meant that no heir of the dragonblood wore the Amulet of Kings, an ancient artifact. Together with the dragonfires at the Temple of One in the Imperial City, the Amulet kept the daedra, immortal beings considered evil by most and gods by some, unable to enter Nirm, the mortal world."
"The assassinations were staged by a daedric cult called the Mythic Dawn, who worshiped the daedric prince of destruction, Mehrunes Dagon. With no Septim in the throne and the dragonfires waning in centuries, they opened Nirn to invasion by Mehrunes Dagon and his armies of daedra."
Martin stops, allowing a break for any questions Nathaniel might have.
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"You're a Septim, though. Uriel was your father? Why didn't they assassinate you as well?"
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"Jauffre, the Grand Master of the Blades, the Emperor's bodyguards and spies, assures me that my father knew I would be in grave danger if he acknowledged my existence. Uriel was right, as always: he was prescient, a gift and a curse from the gods."
"I never knew him." Martin tries to smile, but fails. "But his legacy was all around me. I...tried to hate him, for abandoning me, for leaving me with such a task, but...I couldn't. I still can't."
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"I was squired out to another family when I was in my teens, a fairly common thing for nobles to do with their eldest sons in Thedas." He has no idea if it's that way in Martin's world. "While I was gone, there was a Blight -- a huge invasion of darkspawn that terrorized all of Ferelden." He leaves the definition of Blight at that for the time being, reluctant to talk about the archdemon, and the role of the Wardens in a Blight.
"My father took advantage of the chaos to try and seize power. He ordered his army to murder an entire royal family, from the patriarch all the way down to his five-year-old grandson. He sold elves into slavery, and a lot of other horrible deeds."
He shakes his head sadly. "He was a strict father, but I never saw that kind of real evil in him as a child. I know all of it's true, but it's still hard to reconcile with the father I knew." He feels a little bad that the conversation has somehow steered towards himself rather than Martin, but the man really was a good person to talk to.
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(The trick wasn't his looks, or the cassock. Really, there isn't a trick: people spill their stories because people like to talk about themselves, and Martin cares, genuinely, offering no damnation as priests tend to do. Proselyting never helps anyone. Just advice, and a reverent ear who isn't prone to derail their stories with his own tale. Martin dislikes talking about himself, always has.)
"Power brings the best, or the worst out of people. You're a man of strong moral convictions, because you know what your father did was wrong. It so...easy, to gloss over the atrocities our loved ones commit. You're not wrong for mourning how you knew him, as opposed to how he really was."
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And hopefully it will all still be there once they return home. Hopefully, the Initiative is right in that time has stopped in their home worlds.
He smiles at Martin apologetically. "Sorry. I came here to listen, rather than talk. I'm usually better at it than this."
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Martin re-heats his coffee, his clutch on the cup relaxing once the beverage starts to boil. "It's alright. I prefer listening to the stories of others than telling my own. There's much I'm ashamed of, and I worry about what others might think of me."
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"When I was younger, I used to be fairly judgmental. I've grown up quite a bit since then, thankfully." It's a casual invitation for Martin to talk about his past, if he'd like to.
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That means the world to Martin.
"I grew up in a farm. Farming isn't a respected occupation in Cyrodiil. I wanted more out of life, more than just being a peasant. When I came to my magic, I felt...special, different." Martin takes a drink, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "I was powerful for an Imperial. As all who have magical aptitude, I joined the Mages Guild. I learned quickly, I was a natural. So my ego grew, as did my thirst for knowledge and power."
"I chafed underneath the Mages Guild's restrictions. I felt I deserved more, that it wasn't fair that I should wait for a patron while those who were nobleborn coasted through bureaucracy. So my friends and I threw ourselves into the riddles of daedric worship. Knowledge and power were our only gods."
"I did awful things." Martin casts his gaze downwards, unable to look Nathaniel in the eye. "I consorted with demons. I dabbled in the darkest and foulest magics. And for my hubris, I was struck down. My friends, slaughtered in front of my eyes. I ran away. For weeks, I hid, cursing my birth, my stupidity. Why I survived, but not them."
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He could even possibly be forgiving of a mage using blood magic, so long as they were using it on themselves and not harming others with it. "Others" being people that weren't actively trying to kill them -- blood magic used against darkspawn or other creatures didn't count.
Still, worshiping demons didn't sit well with Nathaniel, especially because of all the stories he'd heard about mages being so easily possessed by demons. So, if Martin were proclaiming that he was guilty of committing such acts right now, Nathaniel wouldn't take it nearly as well. But he's not; he's confessing to things done in his past, things that he was quite obviously ashamed of and had paid the price for. Nathaniel could be more understanding of that.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, "that you lost your friends. I know what it's like to watch your friends be slaughtered in front of you, and helpless to stop it." He'd lost his share of people since becoming a Warden, and it was always hard. It must have been much, much worse to know that you were in part responsible for those deaths.
"I'm glad that you came to your senses, though. You seem to be a much different man now."
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"A priest of Akatosh found me. As penance for my sins, I became a priest. It was a good and simple life: no glamour or riches, a way to help others and keep myself in check. It was...lonelier than I imagined, but I felt I deserved such a fate."
Martin's gaze rests on Nathaniel's, his eyes shaking. "Please, don't tell Anders. I will, once I feel the time is right. But not now."
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He takes another sip of his coffee. "I still consider you a friend, even after all of this. I've no intention of turning my back on you. But I love Anders, and I can't get involved in any dispute you two may have with each other."
He's fairly sure Martin would already understand that, but it needs to be said. He can't take sides, and he can't act as mediator; he'd likely wind up making things worse, anyway.
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