It was a sad tale, not unlike the one he had spun after his disastrous brush with kingship – and like his own, he suspected there was more to the story that Loren wasn’t ready to see, or simply didn’t know about. ”I don’t think very many people believed Edy,” was all he said, a quiet opinion that mattered little in the scheme of things. Given what he’d already seen of the earnest young scholar, it was extremely improbable that Loren would end up in such a place. Then again, this was Caido. Stranger things had happened.
”Again with the underestimation,” he said, wearily amused. He was beating his head against a brick wall, he knew, but like a fool he couldn’t seem to stop. ”There are plenty of people who wouldn’t see the ‘need’ for amends. That you do, that it’s not a ‘want’ but a ‘need’ for you, speaks better of your character than you’re willing to admit.” He raised a shaking hand in a little wave, lips creased in a ghost’s smile. ”But I’m the last person who has the right to try and convince someone else of that. It’s a lesson you’ll learn when you’re ready and not before. And it’s one you can relearn many times. I know.” It was always easier to see the good in others than himself, after all.
These Northwinders brought such baggage with them, every one. Jigano tilted his head, an avian affectation – or perhaps a canine one – as Loren waxed earnest in his familial duties. Ashetta had sounded similar, tied to her past. Chained to it. It was enough to make the bard very glad that Zariah had failed in her efforts to remake Caido in Northwind’s image. ”Why? he asked curiously. ”Why do you have to carry the family name? From what I’ve seen it’s a name steeped in pain and torture and betrayal. Your past may define you, Loren Launceleyn… but why do you let it control you?” He flicked trembling fingers as if to cast away hot ashes. ”You’re in a new world. It is a new beginning. Why not choose a new name, and begin a new legacy, untainted by the hatred and darkness that haunts the Launceleyn inheritance?” Of course it couldn’t be so easy, but the question was still worth asking. If Loren was like Ashetta the habits of his old life were so ingrained that he’d never even considered – never been allowed to consider - leaving that viper’s-nest of a family behind for something new. Just posing the concept might give the other man something interesting to chew on in the days and nights to come.
Dr. Loren’s reassurances earned a faint snort, and the blighted bard bit back a tart reply of ‘don’t teach your grandfather to suck eggs.’ The reassurance was welcome, though, and he was feeling far better than he had even a short while ago as the blight receded in one of its sporadic ebbings, leaving him feeling momentarily clearer than he had in hours. Days, even. And at first the history of Loren’s professions was innocuous enough. A farmer to a librarian seemed an unlikely jump, but far from impossible. The spy business, however, earned a faint grimace as Jigano was again reminded of Ashetta and her wretched former profession. The grimace deepened at the self-flagellation and this time he didn’t bother to hide his scoff. ”Stupid? Weak? Who’s been filling your head with such nonsense? Let me guess… the other Launceleyns, was it? Gods least fortunate, you and Remi sing the same tune.” Not the most tactful comment, especially not from a bard, but his experience with such brainwashing involved the Technic League – a group whose strings had been pulled by a mad godling intent on ascending much like the Voice had and enslaving a world’s worth of minds in the bargain.
Jigano’s opinions on that sort of thing were quite firm.
The question he received in return, though, was mild enough that he drew a steadying breath, giving a small shake of his head in rueful memory. ”My father wanted me to be a smith like he was, and to take over his forge someday. I was never a strong child, though. Not physically, at least, and I had no patience for bending metal to my will. I was always more my mother’s son…” He trailed off reaching up to tug his braid forward reflexively and sighing at the lankness of the dull white strands that had lost their luster. ”I was an Oracle, like her. The hair and the eyes tended to give it away,” he added, a touch wryly. ”Though I was drawn to the Mysteries of Lore, while she was an Oracle of Life. I grew up a lorekeeper, and found my secondary calling as a bard only, oh, a little over ten years ago now, I suppose. Being a Lore Oracle was in my blood, but it wasn’t good for keeping a roof over my head.” He shrugged lightly, though at the time the decision had been far from easy. ”I had a talent for story and song, and I pick new instruments up quickly. And the bardic magics were… intuitive.” And lost beyond his reach forever when he’d fallen through the portal, a loss he’d spent a year coming to terms with.
”Again with the underestimation,” he said, wearily amused. He was beating his head against a brick wall, he knew, but like a fool he couldn’t seem to stop. ”There are plenty of people who wouldn’t see the ‘need’ for amends. That you do, that it’s not a ‘want’ but a ‘need’ for you, speaks better of your character than you’re willing to admit.” He raised a shaking hand in a little wave, lips creased in a ghost’s smile. ”But I’m the last person who has the right to try and convince someone else of that. It’s a lesson you’ll learn when you’re ready and not before. And it’s one you can relearn many times. I know.” It was always easier to see the good in others than himself, after all.
These Northwinders brought such baggage with them, every one. Jigano tilted his head, an avian affectation – or perhaps a canine one – as Loren waxed earnest in his familial duties. Ashetta had sounded similar, tied to her past. Chained to it. It was enough to make the bard very glad that Zariah had failed in her efforts to remake Caido in Northwind’s image. ”Why? he asked curiously. ”Why do you have to carry the family name? From what I’ve seen it’s a name steeped in pain and torture and betrayal. Your past may define you, Loren Launceleyn… but why do you let it control you?” He flicked trembling fingers as if to cast away hot ashes. ”You’re in a new world. It is a new beginning. Why not choose a new name, and begin a new legacy, untainted by the hatred and darkness that haunts the Launceleyn inheritance?” Of course it couldn’t be so easy, but the question was still worth asking. If Loren was like Ashetta the habits of his old life were so ingrained that he’d never even considered – never been allowed to consider - leaving that viper’s-nest of a family behind for something new. Just posing the concept might give the other man something interesting to chew on in the days and nights to come.
Dr. Loren’s reassurances earned a faint snort, and the blighted bard bit back a tart reply of ‘don’t teach your grandfather to suck eggs.’ The reassurance was welcome, though, and he was feeling far better than he had even a short while ago as the blight receded in one of its sporadic ebbings, leaving him feeling momentarily clearer than he had in hours. Days, even. And at first the history of Loren’s professions was innocuous enough. A farmer to a librarian seemed an unlikely jump, but far from impossible. The spy business, however, earned a faint grimace as Jigano was again reminded of Ashetta and her wretched former profession. The grimace deepened at the self-flagellation and this time he didn’t bother to hide his scoff. ”Stupid? Weak? Who’s been filling your head with such nonsense? Let me guess… the other Launceleyns, was it? Gods least fortunate, you and Remi sing the same tune.” Not the most tactful comment, especially not from a bard, but his experience with such brainwashing involved the Technic League – a group whose strings had been pulled by a mad godling intent on ascending much like the Voice had and enslaving a world’s worth of minds in the bargain.
Jigano’s opinions on that sort of thing were quite firm.
The question he received in return, though, was mild enough that he drew a steadying breath, giving a small shake of his head in rueful memory. ”My father wanted me to be a smith like he was, and to take over his forge someday. I was never a strong child, though. Not physically, at least, and I had no patience for bending metal to my will. I was always more my mother’s son…” He trailed off reaching up to tug his braid forward reflexively and sighing at the lankness of the dull white strands that had lost their luster. ”I was an Oracle, like her. The hair and the eyes tended to give it away,” he added, a touch wryly. ”Though I was drawn to the Mysteries of Lore, while she was an Oracle of Life. I grew up a lorekeeper, and found my secondary calling as a bard only, oh, a little over ten years ago now, I suppose. Being a Lore Oracle was in my blood, but it wasn’t good for keeping a roof over my head.” He shrugged lightly, though at the time the decision had been far from easy. ”I had a talent for story and song, and I pick new instruments up quickly. And the bardic magics were… intuitive.” And lost beyond his reach forever when he’d fallen through the portal, a loss he’d spent a year coming to terms with.
