Nine Characters In Search of Answers

[Kasimir]

I hereby apologise to those who don't play Sanderson Elimination. As may or may not be obvious, I tend to RP a little more heavily than most, and the recent death of one of my characters depressed me, as I was really enjoying writing his RPs.
 
Well, due to some recent life-related stress (which may or may not include NaNoWriMo), I found myself writing more, and Sonder popped in again. So here you go: a piece which categorically demonstrates that Kas is a few crayons short of a colouring-box, a few cans short of a six-pack, etcetera

P.S. I don't claim any guilt for this, as Gamma pioneered this category first. Also, I am capable of crack, even if it occasionally turns serious. For the confused, a quick glance at my About Me page will list the key aspects of these characters.
 

There were hot mugs of tea, and biscuits fresh out of a tin. Which, Kasir said, was quite frankly the best they were going to get. “Worldhopping,” he groused, “Becomes a lot harder once you’re dead, let me tell you that.”

Kaim listened to this talk of worldhopping and tried not to be confused. He settled for slouching back in his comfy armchair and gazing meditatively at his cup of tea. Steam wafted up from the chipped mug as pale white vapour. Kaim flinched.

“So,” Sonder Kessligh said. His cup of tea was left on the table; he had not yet touched it. “Uh, what are we here for, exactly?”

Asim tsked. “Professionalism, my dear Sonder,” he said, sipping his tea. “It is, I might add, a simple disgrace: an excellent spy is meant to be leaving corpses—or not-leaving corpses—in his wake, not lying in a half-dug grave in the middle of nowhere.”

“Actually,” Sonder said, “I’m, uh, a ship’s engineer. Guess I was, anyway.” He stared down at his hands.

Asim waved that off. “My point being, my friend, that you are supposed to survive. Dying is a very bad way of accomplishing one’s task: one might go so far as to call it unprofessional. And if there’s anything that I particularly strive to avoid, it’s—”

“Hard work?” Kaddar guessed. He lounged indolently in his own armchair, his spear propped on his lap. “Because if there’s anything I make it a point to do, it’s avoiding hard work. I leave that to others: lighteyes and darkeyes alike. As they say: you’re never too privileged to shovel manure.”

Rii dooked, poking a head out of his vest pocket. Kai murmured quietly to the ferret, and sighed, and picked up a biscuit and crumbled it. “Here you go, then,” he muttered. “Will you now be quiet before you get me into trouble?”

Karnad nodded to Kaddar and Asim. “The two of you don’t belong here,” he said. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

Kaddar and Asim looked at each other and shrugged. “We are,” Asim said, “That is true. But then we thought you might need some hints at how to stay alive from those who know how. This is proper charity, yes?”

Kaddar added, “Mind, I’m not overly-fond of seeing more of you die. So I thought it was about time I stepped in.”

Karnad said, “But we’re different.”

“We’re connected,” Kaddar corrected. “The nature of the connection is difficult to explain. After all, at first glance, one might think we are all terribly different.” He gestured at each of them in turn. “Thief-taker, fallen from grace.”

“Don’t say that word,” Karnad muttered.

“Worldhopper and peddler. Sailor. Courier. King’s Wit and right hand. And, of course, a spy.” He favoured Asim with a knowing smile; Asim returned the gesture. “Intuitively, very different. But there is a tale of blind men: each of them touching a different part of an elephant. ‘The elephant is like a study pillar,’ claims the first man. ‘No, you are mistaken,’ cries the second. ‘The elephant is like a solid pipe.’ A third disagrees. ‘All of you are wrong,’ he claims. ‘The elephant is like a wall.’ A fourth declares the elephant to be like a hand-fan. And at last, a mighty king and a wise man, for the two are often separable, comes by and listens to the clamour. And at last, he says, ‘All of you are right.’” He looks at them: at each of them. “The blind men cannot understand this. The truth, the king claims, has many aspects. Just as each of the blind men has touched one part of the elephant and claimed to know the entire elephant from it.”

“All right,” Sonder said, slowly, “But, uh, if what you’re saying is correct, then what is the elephant?”

“The elephant,” Asim said, “Is not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Kasir wanted to know.

“The point,” Asim said, with exaggerated patience, “Is that you have all been dying far too often. And so it falls to us to instruct you. Clearly.”

Karnad said, “Well, I don’t mean to interrupt such fine kindness,” his tone made it clear that he considered it no such kindness at all, “But what’s the point?”

“You do not want to live?” Asim asked, after a long pause.

“Well,” Sonder said. “I want to live. Wanted, I guess.”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Karnad said. “The point is, I’m dead. Teaching me how to survive doesn’t help me. I’ve died. I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. I’m pushing up the daisies—or not, I suppose, since I didn’t even know what daisies were when I was alive. I’ve parted the curtain and joined the choir invisible. The point is—this is not a Monty Python sketch. And I’m very much dead.”

Asim considered it. “You could always come back,” he said. “The boundaries between life and death in this part of the universe are particularly permeable.”

Karnad shook his head firmly. “No, thank you,” he said. “I actually like it here. I hear Tyrian Falls has gone to seed in my death: can you imagine the horror of it? Having to live through koloss burning down your town and murdering all of you repeatedly until you make things right? No thanks. I’m happy to stay dead. Goodness knows what’s become of the Final Empire since my death, anyway.”

“Er, actually—” Sonder said.

“Spoilers,” Kaddar said. “Really, Sonder, you’ve got to be more sensitive of the timeline here. Wouldn’t want to mess with the proper establishment of events, would you?”

“Actually, what’s wrong with that?”

Kaddar blinked. That hadn’t been Sonder.

Kai looked at him, innocently. “I mean, you’re saying that he shouldn’t change things, because that would make things how they weren’t, right? But why are things supposed to be the way they were?”

Kaddar said, speculation beginning to creep into his voice, “You’re not supposed to ask me this question for another hundred-and-twenty-four universes, you know that?”

Kai said, “What?”

“Nevermind,” Kaddar said, dismissively. “Let’s not get carried away here. We’re already breaking enough rules and boundaries as-is.

“Besides,” Karnad said, with the air of a man only just beginning to warm up to his topic, “They were bloody trying to conscript me into defending their town, did you know that? Next thing you know, it’s welcome-to-the-militia-courtesy-of-Teys, with no ‘thank you for being ready to die for us.’”

Kaim said—at some point, he’d produced a pipe and lit up, and now the smoke was wreathing his face, and he looked rather uncanny that way—“Would that make things any better?”

“Probably not,” Karnad admitted. “But it’s the principle of the matter. You can’t just ask someone to die for you like that!”

“Actually,” Kaddar said, “You don’t want to get into that. Believe me when I say so.” His single light eye gleamed with amusement.

Kai fed Rii another biscuit.

Asim sipped at his tea. It was good tea, he thought, even if it made him homesick. The problem was, his homeland wasn’t a safe place for him any longer. With the death of Arbiter Kaleva and the ascension of Gamman to the Rose Throne, he’d found himself fleeing for his life, for he knew far too many of Gamman’s secrets. And while the idea that Gamman thought he’d surrender any of those secrets offended his sense of professionalism, the five crossbow bolts in the shower and the poison in his dumplings had more or less helped him to make up his mind. A holiday, he had decided, was just what he needed. A holiday far, far away from the Imperial Seat and its associated schemes.

“Well,” Sonder said, awkwardly, breaking the silence. “I guess…well, uh, I really would like to live again, you know? I hadn’t planned on dying at all. It was just supposed to uh, be one contract.”

Asim clapped him on the back. “Exactly! And if you sneak back across the borders into life again, and you get yourself killed again? It’s a pointless cycle, my friend. This is why tips on how to stay alive are so important.”

“All right,” Kaim said. “So let’s hear them. What are they?”

Asim grinned. “First rule of staying alive: never get involved.”

Sonder wasn’t sure who’d spoken up first: himself or Kasir. “What?”

“What,” Kaim said, flatly.

Kai fed Rii yet another biscuit.

“Ah,” Asim said, “You see, the first trap is to actually sign up for their games.”

“Who is this ‘they’ you refer to?” Kasir wanted to know, leaning forward eagerly.

Asim made a vague gesture. “Oh, you know. Those nefarious masterminds who ended up murdering each and every one of you. If you refuse to play their games, they can’t win. They can’t kill you. You’ll go on living, exactly like you want to. You’ll be happy. That’s exactly what I do: why, the other day, I was delivering messages from the embassy in Arelon to the embassy in Duladel, when I stopped to spend the night at a trading post. Immediately, when I saw that flayed corpse in the snow, I said to myself, ‘Asim, old friend, you are a professional; this is clearly meant to hook you and drag you into one of Their games, and you are not getting involved.’ So I ran. And that’s how I stayed alive.”

“So,” Kaim said, dubiously, “You’re saying the way to survive is to refuse to play Their games.”

Asim nodded, proudly. “Yes.”

“What if you don’t have a choice?” Kai wanted to know. “I mean, we don’t always know if we’re in a Game, do we?” He gestured around them; at the small, comfortable room with the armchairs, the fireplace, the tea and the biscuits. “What’s to say we aren’t in a Game now?”

“The first sign,” Asim said, “Is when someone inexplicably drops dead. That’s your sign to get out of there, as fast as you can.”

“Not always,” Kaim corrected. “By the time the Mayor dropped dead, I was in it up to my neck. The next thing I knew, I was a corrupted agent of evil—and had always been.” He puffed on his pipe, blowing out a series of smoke rings. “Can’t run away from that.”

“The next rule,” Asim said, firmly, “Is to not get involved.”

“Isn’t this the same as the first rule?” Kai asked.

Asim shook his head. “Look, you,” and this time, he was addressing Kai, “Died because you were talking too blasted much. By the thousand Suns, man! Does it hurt you to keep your mouth shut? Because if you were silent, they wouldn’t have turned on you.”

Khas stuck his head into the room. “Actually,” he began. “That didn’t work so well for m—”

“Go back out there and keep watch,” Kaddar said, firmly. It was always best to be firm with the Once-Dead. Khas, in particular, was a free agent, and somewhat unpredictable. He expressed guilt over murdering Naladar, and claimed to feel some guilt over having murdered Wurum Heron in an alternate universe, but as far as Kaddar was concerned, Khas was always an unpredictable quantity, and so he always kept one eye on Khas.

Not to mention that awfully complicated relationship with Wurum Heron. Killing each other over universes and loyalties. It was enough of a riddle to excite him, but he set it aside for the moment.

“Anyway,” Kaddar said, “That’s incorrect. I spoke a great deal, too. No one murdered me.”

“Not for the lack of trying,” Asim countered.

“And you had the Dark One’s own luck,” Kaim countered. “How does a man evade death nearly four times?”

“Khas,” Kaddar said, aloud. “If Kasimar wants to come into the room, I want you to tell him very firmly that he’s not invited to this conference—”

There was the sound of metal striking flesh, and a body crumpling to the floor.

“Oh dear,” Kai said.

“Very professional,” Asim said, nodding approvingly.

“Very excessive,” Kasir countered, shaking his head.

“Well, uh,” Sonder said. “I guess I was really active…” he shook his head. “I just wanted to be useful. They’d murdered Miral. I wanted to do something about it. And then I ended up getting killed for it.”

“That’s why Rule Two is so important,” Asim said. “You have to get over your emotional impulses, my friend. Involvement is dangerous. If you already find yourself in one of Their Games, the best answer is to keep your mouth firmly shut and lie low.”

Kai fed Rii yet another biscuit. “They’re killing quiet people now, though,” he pointed out, dolefully. “No one is safe, anymore.”

“Which is why Rule One is the most important,” Asim retorted. “If you run out of a Game before it begins, they can’t touch you. They can’t hurt you. Don’t you see?”

Kaim said, “I rather think it is too late for most of us.”

“Actually,” Kai said, “I really don’t see it, Asim. I mean,” he glanced at the room and forged on, idly stroking Rii. “Would any of us even be alive, if it weren’t for the Game? The Game created us, Asim. Or at least we were created for it. We’ve all got some sort of purpose, I reckon. And if we ran away from the Game, would we even live? I mean, it’s better to live, for even a few days, than to never have lived at all, isn’t it?”

“To have lived,” Sonder said. “And to have loved.” His hand went to the bracelet at his wrist.

“Yes,” Kaddar said, quietly. “I would choose life, over a thousand evils. But I think most of us would, wouldn’t we? Dying was never in my plan, and I was fortunate that I was able to live. But to choose to die, knowing what you are giving up, but to do it for a higher reason…” he shrugged, looking at Sonder. “I think that takes a decent amount of courage. Ivare enim euge.”

“What does that mean?”

“A lapse,” Kaddar sighed. “Not one that concerns you.”

“Then why are you here, though?” Kai wanted to know.

Kaddar stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Asim said that you’re both here to teach us how to survive. But you’re disagreeing with him. And you said I wasn’t supposed to be asking you that question for a hundred-and-twenty-four universes. So what are you doing here?”

“I also said I wasn’t overly-fond of watching all of you die,” Kaddar sighed, “And I stand by it.” He looked at them, again, each and every one of them. “I’m old. I’m sentimental. It happens. Get used to it.”

“How old are you?” This was Kaim.

“Far older than you think, boy.”

“Then—”

Kaddar smiled, gently. “Why do we bury the dead?” This question was addressed to Sonder.

“Er, well, I guess…” Sonder fumbled. “It’s what the living owe the dead,” he said, at last. “Dignity. Their last rites. It’s our way of showing respect for, uh, our common humanity: us and theirs. We’re showing respect for who they used to be. And acknowledging that one day, we, too, will…uh, join them.”

Kaddar nodded. A small gesture. “Exactly,” he said. “I cannot save the dead. Somewhere out there, Sonder, there is a universe in which you did not die; in which you continued to live, and failed to stop the traitors from killing the Captain. Of course, there’s another universe: slightly adjacent to that one, in which you do. I can’t save the dead. But I can pay my dues. I can bury the dead. And I can show respect to each one of them.” He looked at each of them, in turn: Karnad, perched on his chair; for a moment, his fall superimposed on his features. Kaim, screaming and burning in flame; now puffing languidly on his pipe. Kasir, dissolving before the Shade’s touch; sipping at his tea. Kai, feeding his ferret yet another biscuit; drowning, sirens feeding on his corpse. And Sonder: a Shardblade sweeping through his spine; sitting here now, hands clapsed awkwardly.

“So you see, I am here for my own purposes. Just as Asim is here for his. And while he tells you to hide, I tell you to live. Because that, at least, is better than never having been. To live fiercely, intensely. To burn with that focused, gem-like flame, as Ruskin would have it. So that when the time comes for you to die—as it has, as it must and always will—you will not have died, regretting never having lived.” His eye lingered, this time, for an appreciably long time on Kasir. “Life is a gift,” he said, at last. “Immeasurably precious, as trite as it sounds. Don’t waste it. Don’t run away from it.”

He looked at Asim. Asim looked back at him; unapologetic. “This is why I run,” Asim murmured, at last, his voice low. “Because my own life is more precious to me than to be lost in Their Games.”

“I know,” Kaddar said, calmly. “But one day, it will knock on your door, old friend. And what will you do then?”

“Kill, I suppose,” Asim said, with just the slightest shade of regret. “Kill until nothing is left. What else did you expect? I intend to survive, my friend. No matter the cost.”

[Mailliw73]

I've rarely read such good fanfiction, let alone fanfiction of one's own original characters created for games based off of another author's universe. 

[Kasimir]

Thanks, Odious One

[Arrae]

I was missing the SE RP from you, but this makes up for the lack of it! 

 

Asim has a pretty good strategy for survival, but unfortunately it's the most boring one.