Clyde shook his head at her mentioning her own demise if she'd been in a similar situation.
“You'd be surprised what you'll do to stay alive, how strong you can be. The time I had to travel alone, I was a guard for a caravan. I'd gone off on patrol, or I'd left the caravan for something, I can't recall fully why, but when I returned everyone was dead. And the people that killed them were still there. People, not monsters. Then they attacked me. I think most would agree that story would end with my demise.”
“But I'm here because I didn't give up. I fought them back, managed to escape, and managed to make it the rest of the way back to the city which was still a few days away. On foot. If your life is on the line, often you can find the fire within yourself and do what you must. Though admittedly its a bit easier if you've got a bit of combat knowledge. If you'd like perhaps we could spar some time, practice a bit. Though I don't know much but staff fighting. I'm not sure what type of fighting you'd want to learn, fists, steel, or whatever. I've seen some people who used bows pretty effectively, though I've never used one myself. But any combat knowledge is better than none.”
Pressing on from combat, the subject turned once more to Sunberth. Elann wanted to know how they weren't all dead, which Clyde supposed was a valid question.
“I suppose a lot of people die there, life tends to be cheap in a place like that. But I suppose enough people are born or immigrate to offset those who die. And I'm sure eventually if you go about killing people, someone is going to kill you in turn, so people aren't able to just kill unimpeded. I only know so much of the place though, I've never been there.”
However quickly enough the subject shifted once more, turning to Elann's god Yahal. Clyde listened to her description, nodding on occasion. Purity and righteousness. On the face that was about as opposite of Rhysol's domain as one could get. But he supposed, infusing a bit of Chaon logic into his thinking, it wasn't so different from what Rhysol did.
If one was a bit liberal with the definition of pure and righteous. Which, Clyde thought to himself, was a subjective thing in truth. Rhysol did wish for a purity of sorts for the world, cleansed of the influence of others opposed to him. Chaos had its own truth, its own pureness in its complete everything-ness. And fighting for Rhysol's ways, fighting for the good of all even if they didn't see it as such, was a righteous path. If the world was utterly pure, then Rhysol wouldn't be able to corrupt.
His touch only brought out the darkness within, took away the lie and facade that hid it within a person, and brought this true self to the outside. The truly righteous, if they did exist, could not be twisted or turned from the true path. The fact that so few could resist just showed how much darkness existed within people, hidden as a lie within while on the face they acted good.
“How do you know though what is pure, what is righteous? Right and wrong is so subjective in my experience. So situational. There are so few absolutes. I've killed, I won't deny it. Many would say that is bad, or impure. But if I hadn't, I wouldn't be alive here today, but others would. I wouldn't say that is wrong, or impure. Not in the world we live in. How then... How then do you know you are on the right path? That what you do is pure or righteous?”
Clyde paused for a moment, shaking his head, a contrite expression on his face.
“I'm... I'm not sure if a god like that would take me. Sometimes there is no good choice, no right answer. I won't lie and say I've never done anything like that. I've been pressed into many such corners. Do the Benshira not fight? Not kill? Not defend themselves?”
From her words, Clyde wondered if the benshira girl had ever truly faced a real trial, a real test of her conviction. He didn't want to assume that she was judging him, but he'd faced many harsh tests and only come out alive because he'd been willing to do what he must, even things some would call dark or impure. He'd long since lost count of the number of men he'd killed, though he'd never doubted the necessity of any of the deaths.
“You'd be surprised what you'll do to stay alive, how strong you can be. The time I had to travel alone, I was a guard for a caravan. I'd gone off on patrol, or I'd left the caravan for something, I can't recall fully why, but when I returned everyone was dead. And the people that killed them were still there. People, not monsters. Then they attacked me. I think most would agree that story would end with my demise.”
“But I'm here because I didn't give up. I fought them back, managed to escape, and managed to make it the rest of the way back to the city which was still a few days away. On foot. If your life is on the line, often you can find the fire within yourself and do what you must. Though admittedly its a bit easier if you've got a bit of combat knowledge. If you'd like perhaps we could spar some time, practice a bit. Though I don't know much but staff fighting. I'm not sure what type of fighting you'd want to learn, fists, steel, or whatever. I've seen some people who used bows pretty effectively, though I've never used one myself. But any combat knowledge is better than none.”
Pressing on from combat, the subject turned once more to Sunberth. Elann wanted to know how they weren't all dead, which Clyde supposed was a valid question.
“I suppose a lot of people die there, life tends to be cheap in a place like that. But I suppose enough people are born or immigrate to offset those who die. And I'm sure eventually if you go about killing people, someone is going to kill you in turn, so people aren't able to just kill unimpeded. I only know so much of the place though, I've never been there.”
However quickly enough the subject shifted once more, turning to Elann's god Yahal. Clyde listened to her description, nodding on occasion. Purity and righteousness. On the face that was about as opposite of Rhysol's domain as one could get. But he supposed, infusing a bit of Chaon logic into his thinking, it wasn't so different from what Rhysol did.
If one was a bit liberal with the definition of pure and righteous. Which, Clyde thought to himself, was a subjective thing in truth. Rhysol did wish for a purity of sorts for the world, cleansed of the influence of others opposed to him. Chaos had its own truth, its own pureness in its complete everything-ness. And fighting for Rhysol's ways, fighting for the good of all even if they didn't see it as such, was a righteous path. If the world was utterly pure, then Rhysol wouldn't be able to corrupt.
His touch only brought out the darkness within, took away the lie and facade that hid it within a person, and brought this true self to the outside. The truly righteous, if they did exist, could not be twisted or turned from the true path. The fact that so few could resist just showed how much darkness existed within people, hidden as a lie within while on the face they acted good.
“How do you know though what is pure, what is righteous? Right and wrong is so subjective in my experience. So situational. There are so few absolutes. I've killed, I won't deny it. Many would say that is bad, or impure. But if I hadn't, I wouldn't be alive here today, but others would. I wouldn't say that is wrong, or impure. Not in the world we live in. How then... How then do you know you are on the right path? That what you do is pure or righteous?”
Clyde paused for a moment, shaking his head, a contrite expression on his face.
“I'm... I'm not sure if a god like that would take me. Sometimes there is no good choice, no right answer. I won't lie and say I've never done anything like that. I've been pressed into many such corners. Do the Benshira not fight? Not kill? Not defend themselves?”
From her words, Clyde wondered if the benshira girl had ever truly faced a real trial, a real test of her conviction. He didn't want to assume that she was judging him, but he'd faced many harsh tests and only come out alive because he'd been willing to do what he must, even things some would call dark or impure. He'd long since lost count of the number of men he'd killed, though he'd never doubted the necessity of any of the deaths.