He was unaware the impact he had on the mare in front of him and would not have thought his statement particularly impressive or wise to elicit such a reaction. But perhaps his people were…had been…simply more inclined to ponderance and wisdom than others about the endless onslaught of life. Torleik was mildly pleased when Faelene said he had a way with words; his people had valued a skilled tongue, not only a skilled body, in a warrior. Warrior-bards, they had been called. Perhaps he was the last. Her question threatened to crumble the makeshift shanty he had erected to protect himself from the ravaging snowstorm of his past. A pained smile just barely curved his dark lips and his voice was thick. “For me, I am afraid everything is still awash in a flurry of blinding white,” the stallion managed. And that was true, wasn’t it? He was barely holding his head above what seemed like an avalanche of pain, death and loss. He didn’t know how to cope, how to move on, how to process what had happened. None of that had taken place during his journey here. Numbness had allowed him to keep going, numbness and shock and instinctual self-preservation.
And somehow he had ended up here. But the subject shifted and he asked about the gods, hoping to learn more. His soul felt empty and he longed to fill the void with a purpose, with meaningful worship and a search for wisdom from those greater than he once more. Faelene explained that the gods had disappeared, taking much with them. Magic. Light. Hope. “Doubles?” he asked, curious. “Living doubles, or shades?” One of the reasons the dual-horned demon worshiped so fully the Moon Goddess was because Torleik believed that dreams were another state of reality, another plane of existence. That reality was not subject to the same laws the waking world was, he from his own experiences, he had come to think that some magics and some kinds of spirit-like creatures existed only in one’s dreams – and that when others saw ghosts or spirits, they were really seeing those dream-creatures in their wakeful reality.
He smiled just a little when the red maned mare said her imagination was a little over-active. “A mark of intellectual curiosity and creativity,” he returned, not finding that trait to be a negative one. The dark stallion listened to her speak her thoughts aloud and wondered much the same. These deities he worshiped, did they truly care? Was their motivation purely appearing to feed their egos and stroke their sense of self-importance? To remind themselves of how great and powerful they were in the face of pathetic mortals? Torleik supposed what frustrated him the most about the gods was their behavior. They deigned to judge mortals for their acts, their emotions, their desires – yet the gods acted no better. They were petty, angry, vindictive, haughty, deceitful. What was it that truly elevated one to become a deity, then? A certain kind of magic that made one immortal? If so, anyone who obtained this immortality could also be a god. But he had mentally digressed, and the subject changed again.
“Conscription requires some measure of loyalty to the land, if not the rulers or the cause – I have none. I find it foolish, these leaders who think that demanding my blood in exchange for a home will keep me here. We are not at war. The Basin does not require bodies, fodder for a fight. If this is a place for unicorns, like you say, then I should gain admittance because I wish to be here, and I am a unicorn,” Torleik growled, highly frustrated by this. “Withhold from me privileges that other, loyal Basiners receive. Do not allow me a certain rank until I have committed myself to this place. Keep me from owning any form of land greater than a certain plot – but do not demand my blood merely for my presence.” The rabicano male was touched by her words, by her understanding, and he very briefly touched his muzzle to her shoulder. “Those are the first words I have heard imploring me to find a home that I wish to be in, and I thank you for that,” he murmured.
For Torleik, slavery was a concept he was quite familiar with, and the manner in which his people had conducted it had seemed quite humane and logical to him. Faelene’s question elicited a surprised, almost disgusted expression on his face. “Blood or species? No. Weakness – perhaps. If there was a raid, or a battle, or a war, the stronger, victorious party could take slaves from the weaker party that lost. Among my people it was a consequence of warfare. If you chose to challenge another group, part of the punishment of your loss may be servitude to those who defeated you.” He paused. “But, as I said, it is somewhat complicated. If you wish me to attempt an explanation, I will – if not, then my previous explanation stands. My family had a servant and I called him brother,” Torleik shared. A bitter taste formed in his mouth. That bondsman brother had been close to him, and his loss ached.
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