Legacy and Potential
Jul. 7th, 2012 08:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwebA look inside the head of an upcoming character of mine, as well as a piece I mostly just felt like doing.
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“I do wish we could go somewhere without any mud for a change,” Fhionne sighed, picking a particularly odious clod of the stuff from a joint in her armor and flicking it distastefully back into the swamp from whence it came.
“I thought plants liked dirt like this? Farmers charged enough for it back home,” said Ogrud Mighty-Thewed, another of the scratch group of fighters assembled in Lion's Arch to track down this most recent menace to paying clientelle. 'Mighty-Thewed', the norn had admitted once when he was drunker than usual, was a name he'd chosen for himself. It certainly fit; the big man's thews were indeed quite mighty. It was too bad, in Fhionne's carefully considered opinion, that so very little of the rest of him was.
“Do I look like a swamp weed to you?” the sylvari woman muttered mournfully. “Mud is mud, it's no more pleasant in my boots than in yours and enough of it will ruin my rifle.”
“But my sister said - ”
“Perhaps you should ask a real live sylvari some of these questions your sister seems so fond of answering for you,” Fhionne interrupted, irritation plain in her voice. “There happens to be one right here, and she's confident she knows more about her own people than your esteemed sister does.” At least, she'd be incredibly depressed if she didn't. Ogrud's sister Olga Sigrunsdottir seemed to be the font from which all of Ogrud's own knowledge had sprung – the phrase “my sister said” slipped from his lips so often Fhionne was half-afraid it'd rub a groove in her ears and she'd never stop hearing it.
The distressingly opinionated norn woman seemed to have an especial fondness for filling her little brother's head with the silliest notions about sylvari. Fhionne had to wonder if the man was so misinformed about the other races of Tyria as well, and was secretly rather glad that there weren't any charr along on this expedition. She couldn't imagine one of the big, aggressive felines putting up with a single day of Ogrud's...slowness...let alone the two weeks of it she'd already swallowed. Really, she'd tried to be understanding and helpful with the big norn, show him where his knowledge was a little deficient, but that was before she'd realized that all his knowledge was deficient.
Ogrud considered Fhionne's advice for a while, during which Fhionne introduced her boots to several more meters of swamp mud. Finally, he responded with, “But...my sister said that -”
“Ogrud!” Fhionne snapped. She drew in a breath with which to scathe the blundering idiot, but stopped short when another voice turned up instead.
“Come off it, Oggy,” said Jayce Heron, human guardian and the expedition's second. “You're wearing on my nerves and you're not even talking to me. I'm surprised our little lily there hasn't shot you yet. Your sister Olga's no doubt a fine lady, but in this case I have to agree with Fhionne – she might want to recheck her sources where sylvari are concerned.”
The norn scowled fiercely, muscling his way towards the front of the expedition group, muttering imprecations the entire way. Fhionne glared after his retreating back for a moment, then glanced over at the fair-haired human. “Thank you, Jayce, Though I must ask...'our little lily'?” she said, a gleam of amusement in her eyes.
“You did introduce yourself to us as Fhionne Dragonlily,” Jayce reminded her, an answering smile on his own face. “Unusual, really – you're the first sylvari I've met with a surname.”
“It was something the Pale Tree said to me when I was Dreaming,” Fhionne explained, falling into step next to the guardian. “I was – am – quite, ahh...direct by my folk's standards. Forthright and aggressive, eager to fix problems. She called me her little dragon-lily. My name is Fhionne, but I decided that if folk from every other race can have more than one name, why not me as well? Hehehe, it gets me funny looks back home in the Grove, but I like the way it tastes when I say it.”
Jayce nodded in agreement. “I envy your people sometimes, you know that?” he said.
Fhionne looked up at him in surprise. “Why would you envy us?” she asked.
“Your people are new...fresh and young,” Jayce said, a wistful note in his voice. “You don't have a history yet, your stories are all yet to be told. No ancient wars twisting your past, no legacy of isolationism or xenophobia. You've got a chance to learn from all the stupid mistakes the rest of us have made...and there are times where I'd give everything I had for my own folk to get that chance just once.”
Fhionne was quiet for a moment, deep in thought as she considered Jayce's words.
“It is a great and terrible responsibility,” she finally responded. “We are the forerunners of our race...the heralds for what is to come. All that potential you speak of is in our hands, and we can make of it a great gift for those yet to come...or a bitter curse. Your people's path is known to you, well-worn and familiar, but our own is an uncut tangle, thick and obscure. A single misstep now, a single one of those stupid mistakes you mentioned, and we could cut the start of a path to somewhere none of us would ever wish to go. It is...frightening. Will the sylvari born a century from now praise us for our wisdom and boldness, or will they revile us for the mistakes we never knew we were making? To be honest...there are times when I wonder if it wouldn't be better to've been born much later, after our race has had time to find its course and settle on the way.”
It was Jayce's turn to fall silent for a time, contemplating Fhionne's words. “I suppose the grass really is always greener,” he commented, staring idly at nothing. Fhionne's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed sharply.
“If that is another bad joke inspired by Ogrud's bizarre notions...” she said warningly. Jayce only laughed.
“No no, it's just a saying my folk have. It means...”
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“I do wish we could go somewhere without any mud for a change,” Fhionne sighed, picking a particularly odious clod of the stuff from a joint in her armor and flicking it distastefully back into the swamp from whence it came.
“I thought plants liked dirt like this? Farmers charged enough for it back home,” said Ogrud Mighty-Thewed, another of the scratch group of fighters assembled in Lion's Arch to track down this most recent menace to paying clientelle. 'Mighty-Thewed', the norn had admitted once when he was drunker than usual, was a name he'd chosen for himself. It certainly fit; the big man's thews were indeed quite mighty. It was too bad, in Fhionne's carefully considered opinion, that so very little of the rest of him was.
“Do I look like a swamp weed to you?” the sylvari woman muttered mournfully. “Mud is mud, it's no more pleasant in my boots than in yours and enough of it will ruin my rifle.”
“But my sister said - ”
“Perhaps you should ask a real live sylvari some of these questions your sister seems so fond of answering for you,” Fhionne interrupted, irritation plain in her voice. “There happens to be one right here, and she's confident she knows more about her own people than your esteemed sister does.” At least, she'd be incredibly depressed if she didn't. Ogrud's sister Olga Sigrunsdottir seemed to be the font from which all of Ogrud's own knowledge had sprung – the phrase “my sister said” slipped from his lips so often Fhionne was half-afraid it'd rub a groove in her ears and she'd never stop hearing it.
The distressingly opinionated norn woman seemed to have an especial fondness for filling her little brother's head with the silliest notions about sylvari. Fhionne had to wonder if the man was so misinformed about the other races of Tyria as well, and was secretly rather glad that there weren't any charr along on this expedition. She couldn't imagine one of the big, aggressive felines putting up with a single day of Ogrud's...slowness...let alone the two weeks of it she'd already swallowed. Really, she'd tried to be understanding and helpful with the big norn, show him where his knowledge was a little deficient, but that was before she'd realized that all his knowledge was deficient.
Ogrud considered Fhionne's advice for a while, during which Fhionne introduced her boots to several more meters of swamp mud. Finally, he responded with, “But...my sister said that -”
“Ogrud!” Fhionne snapped. She drew in a breath with which to scathe the blundering idiot, but stopped short when another voice turned up instead.
“Come off it, Oggy,” said Jayce Heron, human guardian and the expedition's second. “You're wearing on my nerves and you're not even talking to me. I'm surprised our little lily there hasn't shot you yet. Your sister Olga's no doubt a fine lady, but in this case I have to agree with Fhionne – she might want to recheck her sources where sylvari are concerned.”
The norn scowled fiercely, muscling his way towards the front of the expedition group, muttering imprecations the entire way. Fhionne glared after his retreating back for a moment, then glanced over at the fair-haired human. “Thank you, Jayce, Though I must ask...'our little lily'?” she said, a gleam of amusement in her eyes.
“You did introduce yourself to us as Fhionne Dragonlily,” Jayce reminded her, an answering smile on his own face. “Unusual, really – you're the first sylvari I've met with a surname.”
“It was something the Pale Tree said to me when I was Dreaming,” Fhionne explained, falling into step next to the guardian. “I was – am – quite, ahh...direct by my folk's standards. Forthright and aggressive, eager to fix problems. She called me her little dragon-lily. My name is Fhionne, but I decided that if folk from every other race can have more than one name, why not me as well? Hehehe, it gets me funny looks back home in the Grove, but I like the way it tastes when I say it.”
Jayce nodded in agreement. “I envy your people sometimes, you know that?” he said.
Fhionne looked up at him in surprise. “Why would you envy us?” she asked.
“Your people are new...fresh and young,” Jayce said, a wistful note in his voice. “You don't have a history yet, your stories are all yet to be told. No ancient wars twisting your past, no legacy of isolationism or xenophobia. You've got a chance to learn from all the stupid mistakes the rest of us have made...and there are times where I'd give everything I had for my own folk to get that chance just once.”
Fhionne was quiet for a moment, deep in thought as she considered Jayce's words.
“It is a great and terrible responsibility,” she finally responded. “We are the forerunners of our race...the heralds for what is to come. All that potential you speak of is in our hands, and we can make of it a great gift for those yet to come...or a bitter curse. Your people's path is known to you, well-worn and familiar, but our own is an uncut tangle, thick and obscure. A single misstep now, a single one of those stupid mistakes you mentioned, and we could cut the start of a path to somewhere none of us would ever wish to go. It is...frightening. Will the sylvari born a century from now praise us for our wisdom and boldness, or will they revile us for the mistakes we never knew we were making? To be honest...there are times when I wonder if it wouldn't be better to've been born much later, after our race has had time to find its course and settle on the way.”
It was Jayce's turn to fall silent for a time, contemplating Fhionne's words. “I suppose the grass really is always greener,” he commented, staring idly at nothing. Fhionne's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed sharply.
“If that is another bad joke inspired by Ogrud's bizarre notions...” she said warningly. Jayce only laughed.
“No no, it's just a saying my folk have. It means...”
