Trutharchivist

"Contacting spirits is my purpose in doing that." Said Ben. "I'm sure I can deal with a few... Weird dreams. I don't think I'll have much trouble."

@Emery the Steelrunner

I still don't get it. You got higher, but you're still not the Lord Rulers/the Emperor? Nothing ironic in that.

That was a rhetorical question. I know and agree with that. It's precisely why I don't see what you find so funny in it.

... Neither is a high prelan on the top of the Final Empire. Why is an arbiter higher? I have no idea, but it doesn't really matter.

What is the most fascinating class in school? Oh, that? It's just Jacob.

"Umm... No. How far away is the gate after that?"

Trutharchivist stopped mumbling, shaking his head. "Oh, the flute!" He said, his eyes changing from green to yellow. "Yes- right- I thought more of what your sister did in Paris- but that'll work, I guess." The illusions disappeared,and the patterns on the staff relaxed. He hurried up behind Marethyu, trying to keep up. The balance was still somewhat disturbed, he knew, but he could hardly fix it that quickly; he decided he'd deal with that later. Besides, he thought, a few scales didn't kill anyone. Though he tried not to think about the tongue. Or - he shuddered - the fangs.

"I... Have access to illusory magic but... To access it, I have to..." Trutharchivist concentrated for a moment, then the patterns on his staff changed again, to something twisting and shifting. His eyes glowed with a dim green glow. He mumbled: "It may have no rhyme nor reason to it, but this I must do. Among clouds and fog he shall roam; the Darkness shall be light for him." He stopped mumbling for a moment, turning to Maretyu. "You can still have mercy. Hiding is a better option than slaying, if possible. Please, I implore..." He went back to his mumblings, and mist rose from the ground. Half-images of the members of the party appeared, becoming less transparent with every moment. A sly smile seemed to sneak to Trutharchivist's face.

"Hmm..." Trutharchivist seemed thoughtful. He stopped his attacks very quickly - nothing he could do was helping much. He pondered it in his mind. The loss of life was great, but the enemy would kill them if they didn't kill first. And convincing them to not attack was hopeless. But... "Um... Guys? We aren't that many people. A couple of illusions - paired, perhaps, with a continuing physical attack, perhaps lowered in ferocity - might allow us to get past them without killing them. I mean, if someone will call Fadran back from behind enemy lines."

"So, let me get this straight: we have a huge army standing between us and our destination, but it's fine, because when we somehow get past it no one will be there to stop us? Great." Trutharchivist shook his head. He shot a quick look at his staff, to make sure that... Whatever happened with the song thing didn't happen again. "I mean, you guys can probably take care of some of it, but... Um... Isn't trillion a lot?" "No time for words, I guess." Mumbled Trutharchivist. "Let's go, then." He lifted his staff cautiously, then concentrated. His eyes flashed silver, and suddenly rocks and stones from their surrounding flew toward the tip of his staff, the etching on which stabilizing to one pattern... Then he pointed it at the army, his eyes flashed red, the pattern on the staff changed and the stones flew with amazing force toward the upcoming enemies. He smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I can't really do much better."

Scream and throw it as far away from me as possible. WWYDIYF a dragon egg IY (apparently endlessly spaced) pocket?

Trutharchivist looked at the Quarkbeast cautiously. It seemed to like eating random things, but mostly metal. So his staff, made entirely of wood, should be fine. Probably.

"What? Oh, no, I... I didn't mean to indicate you said that. I just meant... It's something I've heard before, as reasoning to 'why the ways of the past are bad'. It... Kind of annoys me." He sighed, took another bite, and after swallowing it said: "And don't ever be sorry for philosophizing. History is my chosen subject, and philosophy does come into it." He kept eating for a few moments, thoughtful. "In a way," he said slowly, "you are right; the present becomes past, the past that must be known to view your future. The world is changing, and you can't help but change alongside it. It's the same with society as a whole and with specific people; we're all different people through out lives, but it's fine, as long as you remember all the people you used to be."

Trutharchivist happened to hear that, and realized he actually never heard this man introduce himself. He found himself... Somewhat envious. It resembled the way he'd have liked to introduce himself. He cleaned his mind quickly, though. The Staff of Life was already acting erratically - it sometimes had, in the presence of music, but never that much - and every thought, every feeling he had affected it. Letting the balance die was... Somewhat dangerous. He looked at his hand. The fur that seemed to have grown on it seemed to backtrack... For now.

Ben sat there for a moment, looking thoughtful. He then resumed eating, slowly. "... Yes." He said. "You are right, of course. One cannot force people to follow old outdated-" he said that word Almost in disgust "-traditions. I guess the best I can do is learn about them, record them, so that our past and ancestry won't go to waste. Because people who forget their past, their present is poor and their future is clouded with doubt."

Trutharchivist nearly found himself trying to hum with this... Warrior god person, but found that he couldn't. He watched with awe as the etchings on his staff moved in match to the rhythm of it, many patterns moving through it.

"They don't like each other much better..." Mumbled Ben, but at the mention of his Longing he straightened up. "My Longing is... Nostalgia, I guess? The past?" He leaned forward. "It's somewhat hard to explain. See, for your clan, with your relative reclusion, it's less apparent, but... The original Wanderers, their way of life, their culture... They were all basically erased a millennia ago. We were once a proud tribe. We roamed free, taking what we saw fit, and admittedly, it wasn't that positive, but we had our own way of life. Our own language, even. Our own... Connection to higher realms, according to legends. We were actual people, completely different from the nations of human kind. We were... Wanderers. "But now, those days are long past. Barely remembered. Most of us almost completely migrated into society. My family lives in the city, and we're seen as upstanding citizens. No regards for religion, race or gender, we are all equal. But by that, by smoothing our differences, we partly erase who we are. Who we were. And that pains me. And not only about my tribe, or Wanderers. About everyone. Draconic humans, dwarves, elves... Dragons... We're no longer what we were. And I want to change that." Ben suddenly realized he'd been ranting and went right back to sitting straight in his chair, embarrassed. "Sorry about that." He said. "I tend to be... Excitable in relation to that."

"Yeah. Let's not go around destroying life. OK?" Trutharchivist followed Wizard/Maretyu.

It also doesn't seem unreasonable He didn't.

"Hmm... Yeah, I can see that. I might be a little outgoing, though friendship isn't my Longing." Said Ben. "But however solitary you may be... Nothing can compete with Hyenasons on that. My uncle met a couple, though they practically hate Wolfsons."

I finally realise the actual situation I'm in. Then I say, hesitantly, "but it's the middle of the day, over here."