“I have studied the ancient pagan faiths that came before this more recent obsession with a single, divine creator. They seem to have focused more on the fundamental forces at play in the world around us and less on arbitrary moral rules...
The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening. The tides ebb and flow. Grass grows, withers, dies, and then in time, emerges from the ground once more. The air turns warm then cools and back again. Some hidden energy keeps us fitted to the ground and pulls us back when we attempt to leave it.
Each of these movements was represented before by a god or goddess. Each force given face, but recognized as something distinct and powerful. Which is not to say there were not connections between these forces - a pantheon of individual spirits - of rules. Invisible hands guiding the progress of the world around us.
And so here there was an attempt to categorize, study, explain, and understand the way things work - even if it was flawed. But no more. Now we are asked to succumb to a far more simplified explanation. How naive to believe there might be a single answer to every question. Every mystery. That there exists a lone divine light which rules over all. They say it is a light that brings truth and love. I say it is a light that blinds us - and forces us to stumble about in ignorance.
I long for the day when men turn away from invisible monsters and once more embrace a more rational view of the world. But these new religions are so convenient - and promise such terrible punishment should one reject them - I worry that fear shall keep us stuck to what is surely the greatest lie ever told.”
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anyway that scene when desmond was talking to rebecca
“did subject 16-”
“his name was clay”
im so normal about this
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Broken
"Your mind, Desmond. It's...broken."
"Broken? I feel fine."
Clay projects himself to be closer to Desmond, only inches away from his face, startling his successor onto the sand.
"So did I!" he laughed, as he faintly recalled what his life was like at the start of it all. In time, it wasn't long, but in the mind? Well, there's a reason he wasn't the same person anymore.
"But who are we kidding, Desmond?" he coldly asked. "No one else is here except for you and me. Nobody that can hear us, anyway. I've been watching you over the past few weeks from right here on this cold little island."
Desmond stood up, trying to comprehend everything that's been thrown at him. It felt every day led to some new crap coming about before he could even make sense of the last
"So you've been here," he asked, looking around "the entire time?"
"Yes, I have. And it feels nice to at least have some company in the flesh now. Metaphorically, anyway. I've been able to see everything you've seen from inside the Animus. Only, instead of a first-person horror, it's been more like a third-person thriller."
"More importantly than that, though, I've been able to feel your emotions and hear your thoughts. From your dreams of Altair to seeing ghosts of Monteriggioni, I could experience it all when you weren't just Ezio inside the Animus, but something...in between. I know you, Desmond. Your fears, your anger, your doubts. Not only have I gone through my own personal Hell ten times worse than yours, but I've experienced you as you see yourself.
"So, no, Desmond, you don't feel fine. You haven't felt fine in years, but that's all a cakewalk compared to the last forty days, isn't it? Burning hot flames, cannon fire, the hollow echo of a gunshot, and sickeningly warm splatter of blood. That's what it meant to be an Assassin during a time of war back then, and you've experienced it all."
"But now? These days? Being an Assassin just means you get thrown into a box for hours on end until your brain breaks apart and you end up losing everything. Your humanity, your sanity, your life, and your very own existence, in that order. It happened to the fifteen Subjects before, then it happened to me, and, if you're stupid enough to stick around long enough, it will happen to you. So do yourself a favor, Desmond. If you ever see an opportunity to get the hell out, take it. Go out knowing that it was your own choice, before someone inside that microscopic Hell helix makes the choice for you."
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His name is Dallan and he suffers frequently but always springs back from it.
Lives in a not-super-historically accurate fantasy victorian-era-ish inspired world with magic, elves, werewolves, vampires, etc. :)
Will take your coat at the door and then serve you tea.
I posted some whump art of him and was not anticipating any number of reblogs but since it's gotten more than like 5 notes I will share some more info on my old blorbo.
He's usually my go-to character if I want to draw something whumpy.
I made him in 2011 for RP with a friend & the poor bastard's been shot, poisoned, & has had attempts made on his life at least twice because his friend (my RP pal's OC) had a lot of enemies after him so Dallan tended to get caught up in all of the chaos.
...If anyone wants to make silly OC blorbos together feel free to hmu.
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