stickman manga take time have more existential musing instead
Consciousness returned with a faint inhalation, as he felt his body breathe once more. It was like waking up from a dreamless sleep, and like sleep, he felt his body and mind hunger for it again. He knew where he was like he knew the boundaries of his bedroom, this boundary between two realities.
Aleksei stood, and he paced around the central pillar as he felt the breeze from somewhere beyond on his face. He knew it was the divinities at work literally breathing life back into his soul, preparing him for life anew. For a moment he felt a deep resentment welling up inside him at the realization of his now inevitable return, but as quickly as it came resignation fell over him. There was no point in rejecting the inevitable.
He took a moment to orient himself. Aleksei looked around at the cave. It was quiet, small. Empty, too. In the center was not a pillar, but a plinth with modest decorum at its zenith. Wind came in through small holes in the cave that opened into grey infinity, and left through others. On one wall there was a large opening where one could clearly see the reality of death laid out bare before him. He approached it, and looked down.
A familiar sight lay before him. The infinite river of souls, stretching out endlessly. There was no source, and there was no destination. It did not let out into a sea like a river from reality, and it had no source. At least, no source that he or anyone he knew of had been able to find. Perhaps the source of the river was the same source as the essence of The Grey Lady, but that was idle speculation.
He felt his thoughts begin to busy again, and he shook his head as if he could somehow turn it off. Again, he felt a strong longing for the peace of death. He watched the faces in the river below, faces of those who had died and would be fished out once the memories of their lives had been fully washed away. He knew that if he fell back into the river, if he rejected the generosity of others that placed him here in this cave, he would be allowed that sleep he so longed for.
And yet, he mused. Yet, there would be no one left to… no, better it be no one than him. Why had he agreed to come back? He could remember his death vividly. He felt the shame more strongly than he felt the fear. To have been a witch as he was, he was accustomed to remembering death. To have been a knight, he was accustomed to being near it. To have been a murderer, a killer, someone who threw away life like a callous thing, he was accustomed to death in general.
The shame, though, he could shirk fear but he could never do away entirely with shame. He had felt so confident that for he was a knight, he could best Branko. He went there in elaborate and decorated armor, too heavy to fight in. He had a shield that was so large he could scarcely maneuver it, so it would show off his sigil better. He tired himself with showmanship. Aleksei knew the winning strategy, and he could see it now more clearly than he could with the crown.
That damnable crown, poisoning his mind. And damn God too for being so late with her answers. Was it a conspiracy, to teach him humility? That the crown should poison his mind, exhaust his body, leave him without sleep, and then God should only reveal to him how to be rid of it after he had promised it in a duel. And now here he was, dead yet soon to be alive. Soon to be confronted with a world that was friendless as ever, loveless, and now ready to mock him as ever for thinking himself above his station.
Aleksei never felt such a pang of loneliness before. The woman made him this way. Damnable, damnable, accursed, hateful, bitter woman that she was. Alison Kane appeared to him in his thoughts, and in his mind he imagined seeing her restful face drifting by in the river below. She had been his wife. Yet before that she was the object of his lust, the tool by which he released his hate and contempt for his betters. It gave him no better satisfaction than to be the beloved of the wife of his prince at a time when he hated nothing more than he hated the establishment that prince represented.
He was not even a bad man. Perhaps if he had been better supported by wife, by council, by his knights, he would have been the king to repair the damage dealt by first Charlemagne, and then his father Peter. Yet who am I to make such assumptions? He clearly was unqualified as a leader of men, or a statesman. The crown he could lean on, he felt like the crown cleared his mind. In reality it narrowed his focus. Perhaps it made him more intelligent, for he certainly felt stupid now. Yet, it did not show clear paths, it hid other alternatives from his view and in that way made him feel he knew the only right course. In a way, he longed for it now anyway. Even the facade of intelligence, of confidence, of wisdom would be better than having none at all.
He silenced those thoughts for a moment, even as he felt them whispering behind the wall of dull exhaustion, as he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the cave. The steady drip of water, at such an even pace it began to irritate him after a moment. The wind that gave him no warmth, and only made him feel cold. The only comfort Aleksei had ever felt in life since the death of first James Harrister, and then of his entire generation of peoples, came to him in the amorous embrace of a woman, in victory on a field of battle, or in alcohol and food. He felt a longing for such things now, even as they filled the emptiness he felt inside himself for a short while afterward.
There were some people Aleksei felt a fondness for, in spite of being a man out of time among them. He thought of his protege, and of that damnable demoness who refused at every turn to change. He felt embarassment at his forwardness with Ashna; he felt bemusement toward Raelur. He felt a strange longing for his wife who he loved and resented almost equally now, made more intense by her betrayal and absence.
It began to dawn on him, then. Gradually, like rays of sunlight burning through mist he felt the fog in his mind clear as he focused on one small thread of thought, and he teased it out to where he could muse on it further. The demons were such a threat to reality. Even more of a threat than the undead, than other men’s ambitions. Is that why I gave them mercy? It might have been. Everything he did when he bore the crown confused him now, and left him uncertain.
If he could destroy them, it would save the veil.
“The veil!” He shouted into the empty cavern, almost rising to his feet, feeling awake for the first time in years. Years since he bore the crown. Years since he… he did not remember the last time he felt such a strong sense of personal purpose in the world.
Heretics did not matter, undead did not matter, men did not matter. None of these things would be able to exist without the veil between this reality and the next. He remembered when Archon broke the planes, and made all things as one. Aleksei would need men, he would need time, he would need resources. He would need men to study it, men to fight it. Magic eroded the veil, but why? Was he right about the theory that he had when he bore the crown? He would need mages so he could understand it.
Aleksei flexed his left hand with a sigh as he felt the racing of his mind slow into a more thoughtful ponderance. He would have this realization again when he awoke, he felt, knowing he would not remember these thoughts he had know but reasoning he would have thoughts that were similar later. He liked the absence of the ring on his left hand, the ring that represented the majesty of God. He wanted fire now, fire that he might scour the attackers of the veil, fire that he might weld it closed where once it had been opened.
He kept these thoughts, this strong will to return, this burning desire for life at the forefront of his mind as he waited. He knew they would hasten his departure. Somehow, the breeze felt stronger now.
Consciousness returned with a faint inhalation, as he felt his body breathe once more. It was like waking up from a dreamless sleep, and like sleep, he felt his body and mind hunger for it again. He knew where he was like he knew the boundaries of his bedroom, this boundary between two realities.
Aleksei stood, and he paced around the central pillar as he felt the breeze from somewhere beyond on his face. He knew it was the divinities at work literally breathing life back into his soul, preparing him for life anew. For a moment he felt a deep resentment welling up inside him at the realization of his now inevitable return, but as quickly as it came resignation fell over him. There was no point in rejecting the inevitable.
He took a moment to orient himself. Aleksei looked around at the cave. It was quiet, small. Empty, too. In the center was not a pillar, but a plinth with modest decorum at its zenith. Wind came in through small holes in the cave that opened into grey infinity, and left through others. On one wall there was a large opening where one could clearly see the reality of death laid out bare before him. He approached it, and looked down.
A familiar sight lay before him. The infinite river of souls, stretching out endlessly. There was no source, and there was no destination. It did not let out into a sea like a river from reality, and it had no source. At least, no source that he or anyone he knew of had been able to find. Perhaps the source of the river was the same source as the essence of The Grey Lady, but that was idle speculation.
He felt his thoughts begin to busy again, and he shook his head as if he could somehow turn it off. Again, he felt a strong longing for the peace of death. He watched the faces in the river below, faces of those who had died and would be fished out once the memories of their lives had been fully washed away. He knew that if he fell back into the river, if he rejected the generosity of others that placed him here in this cave, he would be allowed that sleep he so longed for.
And yet, he mused. Yet, there would be no one left to… no, better it be no one than him. Why had he agreed to come back? He could remember his death vividly. He felt the shame more strongly than he felt the fear. To have been a witch as he was, he was accustomed to remembering death. To have been a knight, he was accustomed to being near it. To have been a murderer, a killer, someone who threw away life like a callous thing, he was accustomed to death in general.
The shame, though, he could shirk fear but he could never do away entirely with shame. He had felt so confident that for he was a knight, he could best Branko. He went there in elaborate and decorated armor, too heavy to fight in. He had a shield that was so large he could scarcely maneuver it, so it would show off his sigil better. He tired himself with showmanship. Aleksei knew the winning strategy, and he could see it now more clearly than he could with the crown.
That damnable crown, poisoning his mind. And damn God too for being so late with her answers. Was it a conspiracy, to teach him humility? That the crown should poison his mind, exhaust his body, leave him without sleep, and then God should only reveal to him how to be rid of it after he had promised it in a duel. And now here he was, dead yet soon to be alive. Soon to be confronted with a world that was friendless as ever, loveless, and now ready to mock him as ever for thinking himself above his station.
Aleksei never felt such a pang of loneliness before. The woman made him this way. Damnable, damnable, accursed, hateful, bitter woman that she was. Alison Kane appeared to him in his thoughts, and in his mind he imagined seeing her restful face drifting by in the river below. She had been his wife. Yet before that she was the object of his lust, the tool by which he released his hate and contempt for his betters. It gave him no better satisfaction than to be the beloved of the wife of his prince at a time when he hated nothing more than he hated the establishment that prince represented.
He was not even a bad man. Perhaps if he had been better supported by wife, by council, by his knights, he would have been the king to repair the damage dealt by first Charlemagne, and then his father Peter. Yet who am I to make such assumptions? He clearly was unqualified as a leader of men, or a statesman. The crown he could lean on, he felt like the crown cleared his mind. In reality it narrowed his focus. Perhaps it made him more intelligent, for he certainly felt stupid now. Yet, it did not show clear paths, it hid other alternatives from his view and in that way made him feel he knew the only right course. In a way, he longed for it now anyway. Even the facade of intelligence, of confidence, of wisdom would be better than having none at all.
He silenced those thoughts for a moment, even as he felt them whispering behind the wall of dull exhaustion, as he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the cave. The steady drip of water, at such an even pace it began to irritate him after a moment. The wind that gave him no warmth, and only made him feel cold. The only comfort Aleksei had ever felt in life since the death of first James Harrister, and then of his entire generation of peoples, came to him in the amorous embrace of a woman, in victory on a field of battle, or in alcohol and food. He felt a longing for such things now, even as they filled the emptiness he felt inside himself for a short while afterward.
There were some people Aleksei felt a fondness for, in spite of being a man out of time among them. He thought of his protege, and of that damnable demoness who refused at every turn to change. He felt embarassment at his forwardness with Ashna; he felt bemusement toward Raelur. He felt a strange longing for his wife who he loved and resented almost equally now, made more intense by her betrayal and absence.
It began to dawn on him, then. Gradually, like rays of sunlight burning through mist he felt the fog in his mind clear as he focused on one small thread of thought, and he teased it out to where he could muse on it further. The demons were such a threat to reality. Even more of a threat than the undead, than other men’s ambitions. Is that why I gave them mercy? It might have been. Everything he did when he bore the crown confused him now, and left him uncertain.
If he could destroy them, it would save the veil.
“The veil!” He shouted into the empty cavern, almost rising to his feet, feeling awake for the first time in years. Years since he bore the crown. Years since he… he did not remember the last time he felt such a strong sense of personal purpose in the world.
Heretics did not matter, undead did not matter, men did not matter. None of these things would be able to exist without the veil between this reality and the next. He remembered when Archon broke the planes, and made all things as one. Aleksei would need men, he would need time, he would need resources. He would need men to study it, men to fight it. Magic eroded the veil, but why? Was he right about the theory that he had when he bore the crown? He would need mages so he could understand it.
Aleksei flexed his left hand with a sigh as he felt the racing of his mind slow into a more thoughtful ponderance. He would have this realization again when he awoke, he felt, knowing he would not remember these thoughts he had know but reasoning he would have thoughts that were similar later. He liked the absence of the ring on his left hand, the ring that represented the majesty of God. He wanted fire now, fire that he might scour the attackers of the veil, fire that he might weld it closed where once it had been opened.
He kept these thoughts, this strong will to return, this burning desire for life at the forefront of his mind as he waited. He knew they would hasten his departure. Somehow, the breeze felt stronger now.
