wilderment

Wizard flirting. As awkward as you imagined.

You would've raised one of your family in the fallen absence of the god of the sun, to do what? To fell the Golden Orchard? Divvy up its prizes for yourself? And I suppose when you had this ultimate weapon, you would have stopped there, yes? Would you like to lie again in front of me?

The Pariah blades are no longer hidden away in a museum. They’ve been soaked in the freed blood and spirit of the people who forged and wielded them.

They are in the hands of Rungjani, clanging in the streets of Dol-Makjar, calling the people to witness a story.

The Hallowed Round is also covered in the liberated blood of Rungjani. Blood held captive for centuries now shapes the forms and faces of Rungjani, captives who strove and died, but did not fail, because their rebellion was a step forward on the path toward freedom.

The play is going forward, with no influence from the Creed. Everyone in the city will see it in its true form— a story of rebellion.

It makes me think of the Falconer’s Rebellion, another failed rebellion. Two rebellions that failed with the fall of a single great man.

But there were nine blades used in the Rebellion that succeeded. Decades later, the Lloy name is held in highest honor as the creators of the Blades, not the wielders.

It makes me think of Uli saying, “I know now that those who sang songs in this place, even if the words were meant to soothe [Azgra’s] wrath and keep our lives in propitiating his fury; the melody, the dance, the fury and the passion, that was always for us.”

It makes me think of Demodus, saying that things have to start as an illusion first.

It makes me think of Thaisha, speaking a Rungjani blessing, blessing the Conqueror, “for in his appetite, he saw Aramán forever changed from what it was to what it might be. A blessing to him, then, that the Rungjani reject peace in favor of a dream.”

Why do we tell stories?