#scarthas

SG: "To be clear: I have never stated that the world is not wrong. I do not myself believe that the world is not wrong. But I question it. And I advocate for the questioning of it. Precisely because is such an easy conclusion to us."

GB: "Apologies. I didn't mean to put words in your mouth."

SG: "I don't think you did. However, I want to make my meaning clear. It is often misunderstood out of an instinctual revulsion. The truth is—of course—that if I did truly believe that the world had merit, we would not be having this conversation."

GB: "What do you mean?"

SG: "Knowledge of the wrongness of the world is intrinsic to a Strategist. To accept the world is to become something else."

GB: "Ah yes. I have read about this in the works of Ercangast and Alidag."

SG: "Much has been written on the topic, yes."

GB: "From your writings and this conversation I have gotten the feeling that you in particular don't place much value in being a Strategist. You seem rather disillusioned with it."

SG: "Mmh. We are glorious, beautiful and sacred things. But we are also defined overwhelmingly by failure, misery and self-delusion. It is a proud thing to be a Deathwright. But it is a pitiful thing, too."

GB: "By this logic, if accepting the world is to become something other than a Strategist—wouldn't that be a good thing?"

SG: "Ah, we must be careful in conflating these concepts. I am not secretive about my desire to transcend my state of unbeing as Cannamarka once did. But not every transcendence is a change for the better. We are not so wretched that we couldn't fall further. We all know this. We know what it is like to be a mere revenant."

GB: "Do you think accepting the world would cause you to fall back into revenance?"

SG: "No. In fact this is very unlikely. I have not yet met a revenant that didn't hate with the same fervour as we do. I am merely pointing out that—flawed and haunted as we are and yearning as I am to transcend—shedding our nature is not a good thing by necessity."

GB: "I see."

SG: "I cannot tell you what would happen if you opened your heart fully to the world and became truly convinced of its inherent merit. I do not know of a single Strategist who has done this. Perhaps it has happened, but there is no record of it. And so it is impossible to say."

GB: "Does that worry you?"

SG: "You are quite insightful, do you know that?"

GB: "You honour me, Illuminate."

SG: "You are correct. I am troubled by it. My pursuit of the ultimate transcendence has stalled for quite some time now. It is possible that this acceptance is what I am missing to take that final step. But I do not know."

GB: "I find that interesting. I'd think that acceptance of the world couldn't possibly be a part of it, given that Cannamarka had achieved this transcendence before there was a world to accept."

SG: "It is not that simple. Cannamarka's state of enlightenment is a complicated thing. She was not beholden to the dualities that we take for granted. She resided in Rainnuan and she did not. She did neither and she did both. She is in Creation's past and she is not. Both and neither. She was destroyed when Rainnuan was shattered and she was not. Is it really so impossible that she could have transcended void and world both before there was a world to transcend? Could she not have accepted the value of Creation before Cneph even conceived of it?"

GB: "It still strikes me as illogical, I must confess."

SG: "Mh. Then let us return to less murky ground. Assuming acceptance of Creation was impossible and therefore never necessary for Cannamarka, it would still trouble me."

GB: "Oh yes?"

SG: "Cannamarka achieved her transcendence in a vastly different environment and from a vastly different initial state of unbeing. Perhaps she needed not accept the world, but she also was not poisoned and degraded by it. She was never at war with it. We cannot simply walk her path and expect it to still lead to the same end. Rainnuan is no more. Ninuan is fallen. Everything we do, we do in the context of the world."

GB: "Ah. Yes, I can see the logic behind that. Given this, is achieving Cannamarka's transcendence even possible anymore?"

SG: "It is."

GB: "How can you know?"

SG: "It is my fate to achieve it. And if there is anything I do understand quite intimately, it is fate. I only hope that when I find the path, I can mark it for others to follow."

Aaaaaaaaaa I just had an idea that I can't believe I didn't have sooner! Okay here goes:

People aren't usually surprised that Scarthas Gadhra always seems to have claw marks all over. After all, the mysterious hermit has all those cats in their mansion outside town. After all, whenever a new cat comes to prowl the island it's only a matter of time before Scarthas will attempt to capture it, usually bare-handed. The claw marks make sense.

Closer scrutiny, however will reveal this as a fundamental misunderstanding of the matter. If you watch closely, you will realize that a cat's attack never leaves a mark on Scarthas' skin. Any visible claw marks you can see were already there, somehow. But if a cat cannot leave a mark on Scarthas Gadhra, why are they always, always covered in scratches? The answer is in the Eide.

A Strategist's appearance is not simply a matter of their physical make. Rather, it is a reflection of what they dream themself to be, which is in turn informed by how others view them. The claw marks aren't there because cats often scratch Scarthas¹, they're there because among other things, Scarthas is 'that person that keeps getting scratched by cats'. They're there because Scarthas knows themself to be 'one who reaches out to help even though it often hurts'.

They're there because Scarthas has learned that to render aid is to make oneself vulnerable.

Sometimes you ask a guy who's clearly struggling to join your therapy group and it goes really poorly.

Bonus Image:

A little ways outside Beach City on a rocky hill in the forest lies the old Vandenberg estate complete with a two-story mansion, stables and an iron fence around the property. The current owner — a strange and troubled Hermit — moved in about twenty years ago, filled the house with cats and has let the grounds go to weeds. The forest is reclaiming them bit by bit.

The Hermit arrived the day the previous inhabitant's last will was executed. The evening before, when the sun was just sinking below the waves, a couple fishermen returning to port with their catch witnessed a stranger in dark dress walking out to sea off the mainland coast, as if walking on the water. The morning after, a dock worker spotted the same person stepping off a pier at the harbor.

The very same day the newly inherited Vandenberg estate was sold. Nobody involved in the deal will speak of it openly, but the Vandenberg heir - previously deep in debt - left the island a wealthy man.

The way the locals used to tell it, sometimes desperate, cursed people arrive on the island by boat ever since. They ask about where to find “the bodhisattva” and enter the old mansion, never to be seen again. This is an exaggeration. Usually these people are seen in town while staying at the estate, though it is indeed true that most people who come here looking for instruction and an answer to their suffering do eventually vanish without a trace.

Nowadays, the Hermit of the Vandenberg estate is quite a bit less mysterious. They have emerged from their den and shown their face around town with greater and greater frequency. So while cursed strangers still come every now and again and still disappear, the locals are almost comfortable with the Hermit’s presence.

They are the Rider Scarthas Gadhra and mostly harmless. Quiet, soft-spoken, gentle and melancholic, they have an air of great wisdom and great burden. It is understood that one should avoid deeper conversation with Scarthas, lest they begin dismantling the very foundation of one’s most ardently held beliefs. This is not difficult advice to follow. Scarthas struggles to hold a conversation even on a good day. Asking about the cats is pretty safe in any case.

It is ALSO understood, that the bodhisattva must be protected. They are clearly, demonstrably a sacred being and any who would allow them to come to harm will be consigned to Hell immediately. It has happened before (though, miraculously, everybody returned from Hell soon after and recovered in fairly short order)

There are no stray cats on the entire island. Scarthas has adopted all of them. This has done a lot to solidify Scarthas' public image as 'harmless crank' rather than 'local serial killer'. The vet in town can attest that the cats are alive and well cared for.

Scarthas Gadhra, Fated to die

I am wing-shuttered wind in your heart’s fine halls: I open wide the gate to final shores.

Sometimes, I fall back into a bad habit. I fall into the trap of thinking I am somebody. My attention slips and suddenly I am Scarthas Gadhra. Sometimes I'm someone else. I forget that nobody is Scarthas Gadhra and Scarthas Gadhra is nobody. At those times, when I am lucky, I forget the true me, or at least what it means. I am simply Scarthas and I go about Scarthas' life. Other times I am not so lucky and while associating with identity, I retain my understanding of what it means to be Scarthas Gadhra: It means that I am not real, a mere facade for something deeper, something dark and violent and unknowable. It means that I am fleeting, subject to that deeper thing's needs and whims. The moment it is no longer useful to that primordial darkness to play at being Scarthas Gadhra, I will cease to be, replaced by someone else or no one at all. This should not be frightening. After all, my true, deepest self remains unchanged, but at those times it is terrifying. I know… even then I know on an intellectual level that not being is my destiny, my most deeply held wish, my salvation at the end of it all. But I am then too mired in the habits of humanity to discard the fear of death. I always snap out of it eventually, remember that there's nobody there and there's no reason to be afraid. The dark violent nothingness that may wipe me out: that is me. The true me. The truest me there could ever be.

I suppose in writing this I am also falling into this habit. I am using the pronoun "I". Though I feel at this moment like I am nothingness, Scarthas a mere facade and I am not exactly afraid, there is a light anxiety about the "who". Who knows they're a facade? Who is afraid of the cruel, sacred void within? Who is afraid to die in those moments?