Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Mon Jan 27, 2014 2:31 am

Time heals all wounds.

This was true of the spirit and of the body. This was true for Elliot Gahald, for all his wounds save one. Granted, it was not a wound that he knew about or admitted to have. Granted, it was not a wound that was otherwise hindering his recovery. No, he was young and strong and determined, and each day brought him new strength. At first, he could not sit up. Then, he could not stand. Then, he could not exercise, and now, as muscle tone was starting to return to his body, though in a more lithe way than before, some things snapping back to their natural form even if others never would, his time in the Remedium was finally coming to an end.

Letters were being penned. Preparations were not yet being made, but preparations for preparations were being conceived. That was, to say, that Elliot Gahald had some ideas and some mild understanding of the need. It may have gone against his nature somewhat, but he also had plenty of time to lay about and think. There were ghouls and spirits clinging to his memories and the best way to combat them was with action and drive. Busying one's self was the cure to so many ills.

Today he was seated in a ramshackle chair writing upon a rather poor grade of paper. He was prone to mistakes so each word had to be decided upon carefully. Supplies were sparse, after all. His clothes were plain, not the fare he wore a few months before, and that did make him feel a bit improper, but he was capable of great sacrifice when necessary. The important thing right now was to finish his recovery and to help Myrken upon its own.
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Mon Jan 27, 2014 6:51 am

His knight's recovery is gradual, incremental, and yet encouraging for all that. The progress from fever-wracked invalid to something approaching good health brings with it fresh concerns, however - concerns that have grown more pressing with each day Sir Elliot grows closer to leaving the Rememdium, no longer needing to prevail upon their charity.

As has become routine, Cherny spends a good part of the day at his knight's side; a quiet presence, sometimes tending to small chores for the Rememdium staff - slitting linen sheets into bandages, mending this garment or that so that they might last a little longer yet. Making things go further. At other times he brings a book to read, from his own dog-eared collection or borrowed from the library at Darkenhold. Always attentive, though, always quick to answer Sir Elliot's requests, to ensure that he is comfortable.

Sacrifices have been made. While the knight rested, his squire did what he could to prepare for the times to come - when Sir Elliot would have to step into a world without the Lady, without her patronage and protection. Coins scrounged and hoarded, odd jobs taken. Red-and-gold finery sold off at a fraction of its worth, to be picked into scraps of silk and brocade; braiding and buttons salvaged to adorn the garments of the well-to-do - or those who aspire to become so. In their place he'd found clothes of a more practical nature - tidy, respectable, but hard-wearing and easily mended.

He'd taken needle and thread to what was left of the knight's padded gambeson, patching and repairing the great slashes and rents left by whatever had passed during the missing hour; a layer of stout cambric quilted over the top made it presentable once more, hiding the stains and stitches well enough for it to serve as a warm coat. The armour itself remains beyond the boy's ability to repair, the attention of a good smith beyond his ability to afford.

This morning he's been working at the tavern's stables - mucking out stalls for a few extra pennies - but is changed and fresh-scrubbed by the time he knocks at the door. An awkward entry the moment after, encumbered by a tray bearing a noonday meal for himself and his knight. A covered bowl of thin soup and a wedge of coarse bread, both as nourishing as the Tavern can provide and carried carefully along the path to the Rememdium. Distracted by the need to keep the tray level, he still has a pleased grin at the sight of the young man up and out of bed.

"You're l-looking well, sir. I, I've b-brought lunch."

Once the tray has been placed within the knight's reach he sets about divesting himself of coat and scarf and iron hat, a fleeting glance for that paper in the meantime.

"Another l-letter?"
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Mon Jan 27, 2014 8:12 am

There was much in Elliot Gahald's character to suggest resolve and determination. There was much in his character to suggest that he would recover even the loss of his Lady, his initial purpose, and his brush with death.

Even so, Myrken crushed the resolve of even its strongest heroes. The word itself was made mockery by its bleak woods and graves full of ashes. In the face of such a place, having a stalwart young companion like Cherny made all the difference. It was not just Elliot fighting his ailments, but knight and squire in unison. Every day was a victory against the night and it was shared by the two friends.

Therefore, Sir Gahald would smile upon the arrival of his squire. In many ways he had shown quite a bit of improvement over the last few weeks. Not all of them were physical, but he was still his Lady's creature in many ways. The acceptance of lesser clothing was accepted, but with some pain. They were not simply extravagances, but part of the symbol that he lived as. He represented something and something in increasing sparsity in Myrken Wood.

Still, necessities were necessities. If he could not survive and if he could not function with at least some of what he needed, then there was no good he could do for people at all. He did not see all reason, perhaps, but in important matters, he saw much of cherny's.

"My thanks, as always," this warm and hardly dismissive or demeaning. The thanks were honest and the appreciation real. "And yes, another letter. So much has gone on out there without my knowing. We shall make a plan of action, but if we do so blindly, then it will surely be the wrong one. This one is to ask about the former lands of the Shepherd Knights. It is my understanding that refugees from Derry had taken up residence there, but I was hoping for confirmation and numbers."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Mon Jan 27, 2014 1:12 pm

His squire has done what he can to shield Sir Elliot from certain uncomfortable truths; certain realities which, in his concern, he'd feared too much for the knight to face while still recovering from his injuries and the loss of his patron, his Lady.

Now, though, they are becoming unavoidable. It had begun with Cherny's tacit admission during the Marshall's visit: that his knight's recollection was flawed, compromised, and that a swathe of his past - those years that had shaped him into the paragon he is now - was little more than a fairytale. A fabrication.

He'd handled it well. Better than the squire might have expected, and that had been encouraging.

Since then the boy has worked carefully to guide his knight through the necessary adjustment. He is no longer a champion feted and admired at his Lady's court, but instead a relic of overthrown tyranny; the necessities of life - shelter, food, coin for the upkeep of his steed - are no longer simply provided for him, but must be earned.

Sir Elliot has proven receptive to these ideas; reluctant, for such prosaic matters were a distraction from the pursuit of his ideals, but willing nonetheless.

The boy tilts his head slightly as he returns to his knight's side, peering at what has been written thus far.

"Th-there's Derries in m-most places now, sir. Who're y-you asking about it?" What he knows of the Shepherd Knights comes from Sir Elliot himself - couched in terms of glowing respect for the chivalric order, and memories of his own early days as a squire. Fraught times, as the Ashfiend burned and slew his way across Myrken Wood, but the foundation for the knight he's become. "D-do you have something in m-mind?"
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Tue Jan 28, 2014 12:37 am

Handled was something of a relative term. In this case, he was dealing with things. That did not necessarily mean that he believed them. It did not necessarily mean that he accepted them. No, he was dealing with what Cherny said, what Cherny believed. It had stung, but there was trust between the two, well-earned trust. Honesty was valued. Good intent mattered. Cherny meant to help him and he could only do so through the prism of truth in his heart. There was no questioning that, not by Elliot Gahald. Dealing it would be then. There were the needs of the Myrken people, the needs of the world itself. He could not be plagued by doubt of unsteady memories.

He knew who he was. He knew how he had gotten there. What mattered most was moving forward.

Unfortunately, as Cherny could tell with a glance, what he had written was not exactly high literature. It was simply put, with handwriting which was crafted to be far more beautiful than Gahald's hand could manage. The end result was visually discordant and frustratingly simple. It was a request to Councilor Treadwell for tax information on the land. Underneath it, barely peeking out, was a request to the Inquisitory. "I mean to ask the Constables too, if they may no. I'm not sure if they or the militia would have kept an eye on things if there were disturbances there." In doing good deeds, Elliot hadn't paid enough attention to the structure of the martial institutions in the province. "Sometimes I think it's kind of fluid. I don't know." He smiled and gave a little shrug.

"It's possible, as one of the surviving members of the order, I may have some claim upon the land, if not its ownership than the use of it. We could share it with the refugees, of course. From what you tell me though, Cherny, we've stumbled into dark days. I was thinking of reviving the order to combat them."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Wed Jan 29, 2014 11:23 am

A quiet moment as he works his way through that laborious handwriting, meant to be elegant but lacking the confidence that would have made it so. Still, the words themselves are earnest, straightforward, polite.

What Sir Elliot suggests, meanwhile, is clearly a surprise to the squire; enough to draw his attention from those painstaking letters, his curiosity certainly piqued. It's an idea that's never crossed his mind, preoccupied as he has been with the business of scraping by from day to day.

"M-more knights, sir?" Ambitious, yes. Almost as soon as the idea is proposed he's considering ways it might be possible, the resources that would be necessary. A reborn Order would need... well, food for its knights, first of all. And horses. And food for the horses. Armour, weapons, someone to mend and maintain the armour and weapons. And more than that - he's read books on chivalric orders, accounts of the ranks and posts and responsibilities associated with each. For a boy who's grown used to living on pennies, the challenges seem substantial to say the least.

Unless Sir Elliot has a different vision.

"With, with h-horses and armour and all?" Not doubting his knight, but his tone betrays a touch of uncertainty; his gaze seeks to be persuaded, reassured that this thing lies within the realm of the possible.

Some hesitation, but only for a moment before he stands a little straighter, speaking with the conviction of the fresh-decided volunteer.

"I c-could go and look, sir. T-take Dash and, and see w-what's there. It's not t-too far, if I s-set out early."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Thu Jan 30, 2014 1:14 am

A man strives always to see the best in those around him. For Elliot Gahald, it was second nature. Oh, occasionally evil reared his head and in those cases one had to be somewhat uncompromising, but they were few and far between. Extreme. Not unheard of in Myrken Wood, of course, but very much the exception.

He took Cherny's questioning look and guarded questions in the best faith possible. He took everything in the best faith possible, but especially this. It brought a small, not displeased smile to his face.

"I know it's a hard road, Cherny, but those are the ones most worth walking, right? We would have to start small, build up over time. I am hoping to find a patron. The old order was funded by a foreign liege and I think that's not..." tenable? feasible? He struggled for the right word, not having those two on the tip of his tongue. "Well, I just think it won't happen, not at first at least. I'm not even sure it'd be the best solution. We need to explore every option though. There's so much to be done and I have some sense of..." His voice faded once more and this time the smile went with it. "I'm but one man, you are but another. We're both very human. I think the last few months have proven that." It could well be those potential sponsors that he writes to now. "If we can't find patronage on that level, then perhaps on a smaller one, if the situation is just. We cannot compromise our ideals."

The gallant young squire makes another offer, one of his endless, tireless bursts of kindness and responsibility. "The more we know, the better we can plan. That would be helpful, Cherny, very much so, thank you."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Thu Jan 30, 2014 5:16 am

His knight is prone to lofty virtues and high ideals - was created for such, to serve as an inspiration to all, a shining symbol of the Lady's rule before it descended into tyranny and violence. He worked to help the poor and needy, yes, and believed his efforts entirely sincere, yet in many ways it seemed like a demonstration, the deeds of a fictional character in some inspirational pamphlet.

The Lady's Champion Aids The Needy; The Lady's Champion Labours For The Unfortunate; The Lady's Champion Protects The Weak.

Sir Elliot helped build homes, he distributed alms, he smiled upon the downtrodden and promised them salvation at his hand - and yet the lumber and nails were provided by the Foundation, the coins handed out to the poor drawn from the Lady's ample coffers, the adoring paupers purchased with promises of bread and shelter.

Everything he had, everything he was had come from Rhaena Olwak's hand. He laboured because it pleased her for him to be kind; on other days it pleased her for him to stand at her side, her knight in gleaming armour, and either way he ate well and dressed in finery of red-and-gold.

"It c-could be a new order, s-sir." The squire knows little of the Shepherd Knights beyond what Sir Elliot has told him; they rest firmly in the past, and as such it's hard to say how much of what the knight's described is truth and how much has sprung from the false history planted in his mind by the Lady.

The idea of a foreign liege rankles for reasons he can't quite articulate; doing work for outlanders is one thing - tending the horse of the lady from Razasan, for instance - but to be answerable to some outsider, someone who doesn't know how things work here? No. They'd be some noble or lord, older and used to being in charge - and for all his drive, for all his valour, Sir Elliot is yet a youth, his squire hardly even that.

"Knights for M-myrken Wood, sir, not... not b-brought in from outside or, or in s-someone else's pocket. All w-we'd need is enough for us, f-first - you and m-me and, and Dash. That mightn't be s-so hard" Starting small, as the knight said. Manageable.

Which means finding a way to make it work, a way which doesn't leave them beholden to another's coin. He lapses into a thoughtful silence for a while, dark eyes staring at the papers without seeing them.

"In the b-books, sir," Hesitant, unsure how well it might apply to reality, how well it might apply to Myrken. "a knight'd h-have land and, and p-people. And he'd v-vow to keep them safe, and they'd k-keep him fed from, from farming the land."

And if Sir Elliot's claim on the holdings of the Shepherd Knights held up, that was at least a start.
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Thu Jan 30, 2014 9:04 am

Ironically, Elliot understood the relationship that Cherny spoke of far better than Rhaena ever had. Knight - Vassal, a system of responsibility that went both ways. It was the very foundation of knighthood. It had also been warped slightly by Olwak's attempt to make him something out of a fairy story. The hybrid version that remained was proving both rewarding and frustrating for Cherny.

That said, there was usually a lord in the equation as well. "These are weighty questions, my friend and these are perilous times. A new order may be best as it would be beholden to no one but Myrken and the cause of justice. We must rise to face the current need, though, right? I would want to find someone to help us in our cause. We could move more slowly, but people may suffer for it. In all things, though, we must be careful. We will do many things for the sake of good, Cherny, but none of them can be to compromise our values. In the end, that will not benefit those who need the help the most."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Fri Jan 31, 2014 6:03 am

"We c-can look, sir. But it's b-better to be slow than t-to, to end up with th-the wrong patron." The knight, driven by a desire to help those who currently suffer, advocating haste; the squire, wary of swearing fealty to one who does not share their ideals, counselling caution. "Or do what we c-can on our own - and, and s-someone might notice and, and w-want to help us do m-more."

Even as he suggests it he warms to the idea, picturing the older boy as a knight-errant, roving Myrken Wood in search of wrongs to right and monsters to battle, as in some of the more stirring tales. More stirring than looking after farmers, anyway.

"It m-might even work better th-than writing to them, sir. You c-could show that you're a, a f-fine knight with lots of v-virtue."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Fri Jan 31, 2014 1:34 pm

"There you are, Cherny," Elliot smiled, and who wouldn't in the face of so dutiful and loyal a squire. "So young but with such a fine mind and good head upon you. I hardly know what any of us would do without you, lad. Alright then," and while there were others who listened to Cherny and his ideas, it was always a little different with the knight considering their own feudal relationship.

"We'll send notes; that won't change." He'd already started after all, and after all the work he put in there was very little reason not to. He was only sending them off to those of respectable character. "I believe in the inher... the in..." The word, whatever it was, eluded him. "Inner good of people. Some will help right from the get go, with no limits and no attempt to chain or influence. Others, though, will need to be convinced, and we will do so with good deeds and noble action. Some people just need their hearts awakened to the good underneath. We can set an example that will inspire them all."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Sun Feb 02, 2014 3:18 am

The knight's praise is effusive, and his squire bows his head in polite thanks with a slightly self-conscious smile; even now not quite sure how best to accept it without seeming prideful or conceited.

"You're r-right, sir. Th-there's a lot of, of words g-get used, b-but people don't w-want words. They, they n-need helping." Firm insistence in his voice at that, just as he's insisted the knight remember practicalities such as coin and food alongside matters of high principle.

"Writing c-can't hurt. It's just th-that, if we're out d-doing things, that'd be h-helping people - not j-just showing off t-to anyone who m-might want to b-be a patron." Setting a good example for others, making an actual difference.

"And if people c-can see you doing th-things, maybe they'll want t-to join you. All w-we need for, for n-now is enough for you and m-me and Dash to l-live on."

On which point he clears his throat quietly, nodding to indicate the as-yet untouched bowl of soup he's carried from the tavern.

"It's g-getting cold, sir."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Glenn » Sun Feb 02, 2014 11:42 am

"Of course, Cherny. I'm sorry," and he was, as he did not mean to belittle his young friend's kindness. "I get caught up in these things. It's something to watch out for. A Quest is good. Enthusiasm is good. Too much of it can blind you to what's right before your eyes, right?" In this case it was just soup getting cold but it could be all sorts of things.

He would begin to ingest the meal, making sure not to speak once again until swallowing were done. Manners were still entirely too important for Gahald. "It doesn't really matter, not right now. It doesn't matter if it's just us. It doesn't matter if we gain a hundred stout men. It doesn't matter if we have patronage. What matters, first and foremost, is that we do good. So long as we do good, the rest will follow. So Cherny, that's what we'll do. We'll help who we can, you and I. It is cold out there, Cherny, but friendship and purpose will protect us from that cold."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Rance » Sun Feb 02, 2014 3:42 pm

Manners were entirely too important for Gahald--

--but for Gloria Wynsee?

She threw open the door to his room in the Rememdium as though it were a wretched, weakling thing; she gave it more force than she intended, and it hammered like a sledge against the wall at the furthest reach of its swing.

The interruption was sudden and divested of its friendliness; she, with her shoulders forward-hunched and her dress a gray banner of tea-stains and street-snow, played the part of the wary interloper standing in all her awkward extravagance just past the threshold to these, his scant, private quarters at the Rememdium Edificium. Crushed against her thigh, clenched there by a gloved hand, were several folds of yellowed parchment, and her thumb flick-flicked the ear of one of the leaflets.

For weeks, visiting Zinniah at the infirmary, she'd looked upon this door, his door, and knew he lay beyond it; for weeks, she'd struggled with confusion, frustration.

I want to look right into his eyes and tell him what I think of him.

I want to see his face and break it; I want him to hurt for forgetting.

He's hiding -- hiding here, under the guise of some feeble wound.

Concealing himself so he doesn't have to admit that everything about him is a lie.

And on this day, when she'd finally found the gall and the spleen to do it -- she'd imagined taking a whetstone to her tongue, binding iron around the flexible legs of her doubts -- he wasn't alone.

Cherny, ever-vigilant, was near his side. The whole world went cold.

The seamstress lingered in the doorway, her lopsided bonnet shielding most of her face. In this moment, she was invariably fifteen years old, bristling with girlish rage at him, his face, at herself for being able to do nothing but take a stiff, discontented step forward and blurt--

(with no care for what she interrupted, ignoring her concern for the glare her younger brother would surely level toward her):

"I brought something for you, Elliot Gahald. Because I don't want it anymore."
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Re: Idealism in an Overly Practical World

Postby Cherny » Mon Feb 03, 2014 10:00 pm

Sir Elliot begins his meal and his squire retires to his customary seat, taking up a piece of busy work he'd left there the day before; some piece of leather to stitch with steel needle and stout thread, a scrap of craft to keep him occupied. Still within the knight's line of sight, though, so that they might yet converse without either having to crane to see the other.

He nods as they find themselves in agreement on the value of doing good above all else - the rest is trappings and details and a question of scale more than anything. There is a touch of pride to the smile that he offers, perhaps gladness to have the privilege of serving a knight so virtuous and true.

When the door opens abruptly this new arrival is greeted first by a sharp hiss of pain and annoyance as the needle bites into the meat of his fingertip; what begins as a glare transitions quickly to confusion, though, as the seamstress stands in the doorway like a spirit of vengeance, a confusion that's hardly allayed by her words and her pugnacious stance.

He's quietly to his feet in the moment after, leatherwork set carefully on his chair, edging forward to some point midway between seamstress and knight, brows lofted at the former in mute request for some sort of explanation before he offers a bow of his head to the latter; his voice is impeccably moderate, polite, in stark contrast with his sister's precipitate entry.

"M-miss Gloria Wynsee t-to see you, sir."
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