Hearts of Glass [HQE, IC Thread]

[V'aleera]

Any IC posts relevant to the Hearts of Glass campaign storyline may be posted here.

 

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First Fragment: A World of Thieves

 

It breaks my heart; it really does. That in a world so vast in its landscape and so deep in its wonders, a full accounting of the intelligent beings who walk on its surface can nonetheless be filtered into two distinct (but not wholly separate) groups: people who will disappoint you and people who will steal from you. Oh there are a wealth of endearing, if not redeeming, factors to be found if you look hard enough (and to their credit, sometimes you don't even need to look that hard). But beneath the surface of every person there is a creature. A covetous beast. An animal consciousness that will always err on the side of self-preservation and gratification. And when you find yourself at an hour of weakness, the beast will be made manifest in all those who surround you: in some it will stir a craving, driving them to prey upon you and take what you cannot defend. In others it will conjure apathy, and even your most trusted and beloved will shy away, fearful of being contaminated by the miasma of foul circumstance. But in the end time takes it all away. All the covetous thefts, all the fearful denials, and all the suffering inflicted are rendered forgotten and meaningless.

 

I don't hate them for it, of course. Not most of them at least. They don't understand what they are, and most wouldn't know how to help themselves if they did. But there are some, a vile few, who acknowledge this state of affairs. And they revel in it; they worship it. Like a hideous ouraboric god. These are the worst thieves of all. For they would look upon a great wealth such as mine, and not only seek to steal it, but scatter its bounty to the wind or seal its infinite potential into the prison of their limited and primitive perspective.

 

I was born among thieves such as this. I have spent the greater part of my life evading their selfish grasp. And even with these ravenous hounds nipping ever at my heels I have nonetheless managed to find a contentment and satisfaction that will forever be denied to them by the jealous beast prowling within. And that is why they hate me: I have rejected their god, I have spit upon his virtues, and for it I have flourished beyond their petty imagining. To them there can be no greater insult than that.

 

I have until now been willing to tolerate their ignorant thrashing, swatting them away when necessary as one swats a gnat; but their latest offense has gone beyond the pale, beyond tolerance. They have, in blind tandem, struck a blow at that which I hold singularly precious, that which I have labored so long to build. And so they will be delivered a reckoning; their twisted dreams will be cast to oblivion and the altars of their wretched god will be crushed into dust.

 

Let them find strength in their perverted faith and their fetid ignorance.

 

I have all the time in the world.

Edited November 16, 2018 by V'aleera

[V'aleera]

Aftermath: Stone-Cold on the Cold Stones

 

In the days following the hushed collection of Bastienne Laffitte, the "distraught" veteran of the common Ishgardian soldiery, Dominic Cheron observed a notable decline in one aspect of his business and a notable rise in the other: the mood of Grispierre Lane had driven off many his usual boarding clientele (who now opted for lodgings less mired in the palpable dread that had fallen upon the little community) leaving half his boarding rooms empty at any given time. Conversely, with joy and joviality now flush with demand in the dour borrough, the barrels and casks of his tavern were emptied on a nearly daily basis.

 

Few people were aware of the elderly sergeant's fall to spontaneous madness, and fewer still understood the circumstances that had lead to its dark happening. But they understood the presence of at least one soldier or constable on every block corner, and they understood that every three days (or roughly so, the grey mists and glum moods making time blend and distort) the cries of another neighbor in the throes of distress would ring out like a clarion, and be brought to a cease by powerful men with chain-mail hands and binding linens.

 

For his part, Dominic tried to keep spirits high among his family, and through them and their business keep high the spirits of those who sought the relief of community within his little tavern. He kept an open, hopeful ear as well, listening upon the hushed talk of soldiery, adventurers, and the odd inquisitor who came in search of the root of Grispierre Lane's troubles (though all inevitably left disenchanted of the notion that they would be the ones to beat to the heart of the Lane's grim mystery). Cedric Calvet, the midlander gumshoe whose demeanor and profession marked him as eccentric and outcast among the community, remained somehow unchanged by the dour mood of the borrough; some days Dominic thought the detective looked just the least bit energetic.

 

Everyone else, though? Everyone else seemed to be waiting for the invisible blade hanging above their heads to come crashing down once more; and wondering who it would fall upon next.