It is I, the previous anon unmasked. I have questions about the Mordrem Daimhin post:
what caused them to give in to Mordy :0c
(the mordrem dav post in question, since i'm answering this late!) OKAY SO.... i initially intended for this to be a quick doodle answer but then as i started chewing on it i realized to answer this question i have to talk about. basically dav's entire life story. and i'm incapable of brevity. so oops, here's an illustrated essay about daimhin's entire life story?
let's talk it out. let's start with this.
let's say you awake a valiant of the wyld hunt, entwined with another -- same day, different cycle. you wake up promptly at midnight, go straight to his pod and sit outside it. he takes his sweet fucking time, sleeping WAY in, and only finally ambles his way out a few scant seconds before daybreak, yawning.
you've seen the same things, and neither of you know what any of it means; none of the images in your entwined dreams seem to actually crystallize into a task. but you glimpse a symbol that matches one day on a banner, find out it's the emblem of the order of whispers, and know that must be where you need to go. so you start training.
he trains half as hard for twice the results. he cares half as much and gets twice the rewards. there was an assumption, when you first woke, that the two of you would stay in lockstep forever -- you must be absolutely equal, if you share a destiny -- but it doesn't hold true for even a moment.
(of course, you don't know he feels the same exact way about you; you don't know about the gnawing bitterness, the envy, that you can learn anything by trying hard enough, while he feels hopeless about anything that doesn't fall within his raw talent. he hides it well, and you never ask.)
he makes it into the order on his first try. but they don't want you.
you're devastated. he's not. "there's no time limit," he says, breezy as always. and it's not like he'd leave you behind.
but it takes two more years. two years, for you to hone yourself into something the order of whispers wants. as little as donner ever seems to care about the hunt, how can he suppress the itching it when it comes, the agitation? how can he outrun the resentment, when you're holding him in place?
you don't talk about it. you just keep your head down and work harder. the fear of his impatience morphing into contempt is a stronger motivator than anything else you've tried so far.
when you get through, you get through, and then, finally, it feels like you'll be rewarded -- because almost immediately, you run into the next symbol from your dreams. the dark and terrible thief, towering, wreathed in smoke, and FINALLY things are going right because he takes a professional interest in you immediately, mentors you, assigns you to his own personal task squad (and this, alone, is enough to make up for everything you've suffered so far). but.
holding the lightbringer's attention is difficult; pleasing him is impossible. to impress him? a complete fantasy, one you can't even daydream about for too long without hurting your own feelings.
this is when everything was meant to even out, and instead you're competing again. not just with donner, either; even with the stupid necromancer he already had, the one who can barely keep herself alive and seems to have NO formal training whatsoever.
worst of all -- as humiliating as it is to put this particular juvenile grievance into words -- he doesn't even seem to like you.
you keep your head down. you work harder. if anything, that makes it worse; the squeaky wheel gets the oil, after all, and you never make a sound.
then he replaces you.
("no, he didn't," donner insists, one night shortly after merrit's introduction, when you're complaining about it; "replacing you would be if you were kicked out of the squad. there's just a second mesmer now, that's all.")
but that's not all. you're watching.
it's not even that glyndwr is any less strict with the new mesmer, any less harsh towards her; but he's attentive. at times, he even seems concerned about her. you hear him call them his "charge," once, to one of his contacts at the vigil; he has only ever called the rest of you his "agents." the first time he slips up and calls them his son, you realize the enormity of the gap between you.
and it's incomprehensible. you have learned, quickly, that merrit is cowardly and self-absorbed. his mesmerism is disorganized, improvised, unflattering, concerned only with survival. he takes the easy way out in missions, over and over, always without hesitation and seemingly without shame; worse than that, he seems baffled by your disapproval when you confront him about it.
donner can tell how unhappy they make you. maybe that's why he's always so cruel to them. you're selfish enough not to do anything about it, to even be a little pleased by these scraps of locker room vengeance.
you keep your head down. you work harder. acceptance of your position grows around your ribs and down your throat like a strangling vine.
eventually, you're all dispatched to maguuma.
it's horrible, but so was orr. it's lonely, but so is everything else in your life. but the commander is twitchy, agitated, scattered. he jumps at shadows. he lashes out at comrades. is he thinking about what his behavior brings on all your heads, when he acts like this?
is he thinking about you when rytlock brimstone calls him a liability, and he snaps entirely?
obviously not. because after brimstone bests him and spits in the dirt, calling this outburst just another piece of evidence --
he leaves.
he leaves you here.
he leaves you to die in the fucking jungle.
("no he hasn't," merrit insists, even though she's been crying and panicking just like the rest of you. he goes on and on about how it's not fair to call it abandonment, about how it must be part of some greater plan, all that bullshit, and now even damage can't stand him and there has to be some scrap of satisfaction in that, that you're not the only one who's sick to death of the commander's precious favorite, but there isn't, there's just--)
this can't be him. this person cannot be the one who took up so much of your dream, the one who's supposed to be your destiny. unless that's all your dream was ever meant to be. can a wyld hunt be so awful? can your purpose be to die horribly, thousands of miles from home?
(until now, you have been very, very good at ignoring the call.)
(it hasn't known you well enough to tempt you.)
but... couldn't it be, that the commander's role in your story is now complete?
maybe this is exactly where you need to be. and if so, he brought you this far, safe and sound.
you can forgive him for this. after all, how could he have known...? how important it was, how vital, to bring--
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