... I believe he imagined to tread in the footsteps of one of his ancestors, though that's admittedly some speculation on my part ... Valm was a tiny nation on the continent before he came to power.
[ a pause, as he collects stones still from the in between earth. ]
Well. His motives, you'll yet see.
[ the memory isn't yet finished, after all.
around them the battle rages on, and robin must have taken action back then, relayed formations and called out orders, parried blade and spell alike from fatal consequence, but in this illusory recreation of a memory, the confrontation between the two men seems to exist separate from the world around them.
"i would end the reign of the gods, and you object on moral grounds?" the man— walhart— scoffs, shaking his head. "blood is spilled in any new birth, your grace. and in many a just cause, as you know..."
"there is no justification for what you've done," insists his opponent.
"by whose laws do you judge me? yours? your sister's? the gods'?" derision drips from every word.
"you cannot—"
"look at you!" rebukes walhart. "are you not ashamed? your mind is filled with nothing but secondhand beliefs. you dance upon the stage of your gods like a mindless puppet! that is what i reject: being a slave to tradition, to obligation. the old ways. the ways those of your continent cling to so blindly!"
"and your response is to force your own beliefs on those who would not want you?!" snarls the dark haired man in retaliation. "at least in ylisse we choose what we believe in!"
"you claim the freedom to choose when belief lies at the very heart of the foundation your country was built on? even your own title is dependent on your absent goddess!" and that is true, of ylisse and plegia both, but walhart continues before any response can come, making a grand, sweeping gesture with a hand. "damn the gods! damn their fates and their destinies! i will have true freedom! and any man who offers less is my enemy."
"enough!" snaps the king. "i don't require every detail of your twisted philosophy, or the things you tell yourself to justify what it is you do. you're a villain and a murderer, plain and simple, and i am the justice you deserve."
a death on the battlefield, being felled not by the gods, but simply another man. exalt and conqueror, steel against steel.
walhart seems to agree. with a laugh, he declares:
"better. much better! be not an agent of someone else's justice, but justice itself!" his eyes blaze. his steed snorts and paws at the ground in impatience. "now, let us fight as two great men, freed of their gods." the man briefly looks to the younger robin, who squares his stance and heightens his guard, but the moment passes as he once more addresses the exalt: "i grant any challenger the chance to test his will against my own... but you, too, shall be found wanting!"
no subject
[ a pause, as he collects stones still from the in between earth. ]
Well. His motives, you'll yet see.
[ the memory isn't yet finished, after all.
around them the battle rages on, and robin must have taken action back then, relayed formations and called out orders, parried blade and spell alike from fatal consequence, but in this illusory recreation of a memory, the confrontation between the two men seems to exist separate from the world around them.
"i would end the reign of the gods, and you object on moral grounds?" the man— walhart— scoffs, shaking his head. "blood is spilled in any new birth, your grace. and in many a just cause, as you know..."
"there is no justification for what you've done," insists his opponent.
"by whose laws do you judge me? yours? your sister's? the gods'?" derision drips from every word.
"you cannot—"
"look at you!" rebukes walhart. "are you not ashamed? your mind is filled with nothing but secondhand beliefs. you dance upon the stage of your gods like a mindless puppet! that is what i reject: being a slave to tradition, to obligation. the old ways. the ways those of your continent cling to so blindly!"
"and your response is to force your own beliefs on those who would not want you?!" snarls the dark haired man in retaliation. "at least in ylisse we choose what we believe in!"
"you claim the freedom to choose when belief lies at the very heart of the foundation your country was built on? even your own title is dependent on your absent goddess!" and that is true, of ylisse and plegia both, but walhart continues before any response can come, making a grand, sweeping gesture with a hand. "damn the gods! damn their fates and their destinies! i will have true freedom! and any man who offers less is my enemy."
"enough!" snaps the king. "i don't require every detail of your twisted philosophy, or the things you tell yourself to justify what it is you do. you're a villain and a murderer, plain and simple, and i am the justice you deserve."
a death on the battlefield, being felled not by the gods, but simply another man. exalt and conqueror, steel against steel.
walhart seems to agree. with a laugh, he declares:
"better. much better! be not an agent of someone else's justice, but justice itself!" his eyes blaze. his steed snorts and paws at the ground in impatience. "now, let us fight as two great men, freed of their gods." the man briefly looks to the younger robin, who squares his stance and heightens his guard, but the moment passes as he once more addresses the exalt: "i grant any challenger the chance to test his will against my own... but you, too, shall be found wanting!"
with that and a whinny, the destrier charges. ]