Talking to Himself

Once Andrei was tied in the cellar of the mansion and Gunter had made his departure, Izmark led Rahsaan up to the second floor, over to a creaking wardrobe for a new outfit.  He picked out a dark blue vest with a white, long sleeved laced shirt. Though it may have carried an old musty odor, it was the garb of royalty to someone like Rahsaan. They sat folded on a bench behind him, as he stood in front of a crooked mirror, running his fingers though his hair to straighten it. While the nobles of Nova Vaasa would spend hours and an alchemists worth of elixirs to get their own hair styled and glossy, Rahsaan's was always naturally easy to work with. It never grieved him by tangling in knots or otherwise misbehaving. Which was good, because the sheer amount of it meant brushing would take over an hour alone. He had just finished twisting the first of the two strands as Voriel began, "Hm, at least that  talking bird and the wizard knew those two men deserved death. I'd hate to see what your world would be if everyone was let off that easy."

"Though they are out of sight, you still have not let them go, have you?" Rahsaan replied, talking around the strip of fabric in his mouth, He planned to use it as a hair tie. "Could you not hear Gunter's remorse? The fear in Andrei's voice, despite his jeering? These were not cold blooded killers who would murder without hesitation; there were men forced into their circumstance. As soon as mercy was shown to Gunter, he saw the errors of his ways."

"You should know by now my concern is not whether if he is holding the knife to your throat now," Voriel said, "I see farther than that. There is nothing stopping them from hunting you after you've been lured into a false sense of security. I do not believe that people change so sharply after a few minutes of shared grievances."

"Then I will just need to trust others." Rahsaan said, while his fingers stopped weaving, "Which is something you seem incapable of doing."

Voriel let out a laugh, "Why would I put faith in someone who will just stab me if it benefits them? It's a miracle no one in your  current group hasn't betrayed anyone or stolen off in the night with your things. Though that puppet does seem a bit peculiar. . ."

"Then why do you trust me?" Rahsaan asked, gritting his teeth as he accidently pulled one of his strands too tight, "You say you guide me because of my lineage, but surely there must be others in the world; you are not worried I might betray you?"

"Of course I'm not." Voriel replied calmly, "You need me."

The angel's reply gave him pause. As much as Rahsaan may disagree with Voriel, as oftentimes the angel erred on the side of destruction and judgement . . . what was Rahsaan without him? He was well intentioned, yes- but how could he face any of his enemies without the gifts Voriel had given him? Would he have ever taken up his spear against the Lawgiver, had the angel not enabled him to do so? Without his mentor, his guide . . . and even he would admit, his friend,  Rahsaan wasn't any sort of torchbearer for the forces of light - he was Rahsaan the terrified street urchin.

"Of course, I need you, otherwise I am only flame and air." Voriel continued,  "This isn't to say just start killing everything that makes you mad, but if a vampire bites into your companion, and your reaction is to hesitate just to make sure. . .

"Mercurian cured him." Rahsaan interjected, remembering that Voriel as absent for those events. The angel gave no immediate reply.

"What?" Voriel asked.

"Using Ezra's gifts, that man was saved from his curse." Rahsaan began tying his disparate strands together,  "That is why I hesitate, Voriel. Otherwise, with each hasty strike, we lose a chance of redemption."

Rahsaan liked to imagine that Voriel was pacing, mulling over this revelation. Or he would be if he had the ability to do so.

"First the divine fire of the Morninglord, then an actual miracle from the Goddess of the Mists . . ." Voriel muttered to himself, "If the Gods are not dead, than why have they forsaken me? "

"You do not exactly proclaim mercy and healing. That may be why Ezra turns a blind eye." Rahsaan said.

"I am not saying I wish to lead services with that pointed knight." Voriel said, "But the fury of the righteous, the passion of holy vengeance . . . are those gods not found within these mists?"

"You are asking the wrong street rat." Rahsaan said, pulling as much hair as he could from his face to slip into the knot at the base of his neck. His left eye was still occluded.

"Hm, well, we may yet come across gods I may have served. Or at least, what remains of them." Voriel said.

His hair now back into his usual single long braid, Rahsaan reached for the shirt as he asked, "Do you have to stay what you are? Fiery vengeance, destruction, and all that?"

"What do you mean?" Voriel said, in a confused tone.

"What if you were submit yourself to the Morninglord, or any other God? Align yourself to more than killing others, even if you think they deserve it?" Rahsaan said, pulling on the woolen shirt. It may have been slightly damp, but was still softer and in better condition than anything the monk had ever worn. After he pulled on the vest and clasped the bottom two buttons, he gazed into the mirror and took himself in. He hardly looked the part of an homeless whelp; in fact, with some conscious thought to carry himself as such, he might convince others that he was a nobleman from Nova Vaasa. Though he knew the illusion would wilt the second he refused the opportunity to kick a small orphan or shove a poor merchant in mud.

Voriel for his part actually seemed to consider Rahsaan's words, before he said, "I don’t think I can. I am a spirit of justice and condemnation of the wicked. If I were to serve a god, they would have to uphold those same ideals- I am unable to become something I'm not."

Rahsaan frowned, before he turned and stepped away from his reflection. It was probably only a few minutes until his turn for watch, anyway.

That hardly seems fair; you're always pushing me to be something I'm not.