"He was worried about me. Said if I decide not to give people here a chance, make sure it's actually them and not... other things. And that's dirty fucking pool, considering."
"That's why it's not just 'give people a chance.' We both survived the same virus, the same world. He knows as well as I do the kind of shit people will do to other people if given half a chance."
"So many thoughts," Astarion sighs. "But most schools of belief hold
certain things in common. In most cases, the soul of the deceased passes to
the Fugue Plane, a sort of...I think 'limbo' or 'Purgatory' would be the
closest concepts on Earth.
"From there, if they were faithful to a particular deity in their mortal
life, their eternal fate is addressed by that deity. Some are punished,
some rewarded, some reborn to the mortal plane. Devils will occasionally
use bargaining or force to seize souls for the Hells. Faithless souls like
myself will someday enter the City of Judgement, and the Death Lord
Kelemvor will decide how we live out eternity in the City."
She nods along, acknowledgment more than agreement - although in all honesty, she'd rather that, given how close it is to what she's been raised to believe herself.
"It's nature, isn't it? To wonder about the unknowable," she hedges, chewing her lip.
"Deities are more directly involved in your world than mine, though, aren't they?"
"Much more," Astarion says. "When I say I don't place faith in any of our gods, it's not that I don't think they aren't there. It's more like the way you might say you don't trust a politician to keep their promises."
It makes her smile, because she understands exactly what he means.
"My mother's people - the culture is different than a lot of what I saw in the country where I was raised. Christians mostly fear death. Catholics are Christians too, technically, but my mother was raised, and raised me, to embrace it. To honor and remember the people who have gone before us, and to know that they are watching for us and waiting for when we, too, inevitably join them."
Astarion nods. He knows roughly what a Christian is, and it's not unlike some of the ideas he's heard back home.
"That sounds...well, more practical, perhaps? Elven souls are said to be reborn. If I'd lived a little longer, I might have become able to access memories of past lives."
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"We left notes for each other. We kept switching back and forth. He left me a letter."
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"Something encouraging, I hope?"
Her expression suggests as much.
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"He was worried about me. Said if I decide not to give people here a chance, make sure it's actually them and not... other things. And that's dirty fucking pool, considering."
There's fondness under the exasperation.
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"It is. On the other hand, there are so many people here who don't deserve that much of a chance," Astarion remarks.
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"That's why it's not just 'give people a chance.' We both survived the same virus, the same world. He knows as well as I do the kind of shit people will do to other people if given half a chance."
Both good and bad.
"Did you - get to talk to him?"
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"I'm afraid I didn't," Astarion says. "I was...absent, for much of that week."
Meeting Arthur's daughter was surreal enough.
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"If I bothered wishing, it would be that he got to stay. He deserves another chance."
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That rather clearly indicates what happened to him back home, then. Astarion nods, solemn.
"Another Barge, perhaps. We can't know what other opportunities might present themselves."
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"God, I'd hate to wish for that instead," she admits.
"Do your people have thoughts about what happens after you die?"
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"So many thoughts," Astarion sighs. "But most schools of belief hold certain things in common. In most cases, the soul of the deceased passes to the Fugue Plane, a sort of...I think 'limbo' or 'Purgatory' would be the closest concepts on Earth.
"From there, if they were faithful to a particular deity in their mortal life, their eternal fate is addressed by that deity. Some are punished, some rewarded, some reborn to the mortal plane. Devils will occasionally use bargaining or force to seize souls for the Hells. Faithless souls like myself will someday enter the City of Judgement, and the Death Lord Kelemvor will decide how we live out eternity in the City."
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"It's nature, isn't it? To wonder about the unknowable," she hedges, chewing her lip.
"Deities are more directly involved in your world than mine, though, aren't they?"
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"Much more," Astarion says. "When I say I don't place faith in any of our gods, it's not that I don't think they aren't there. It's more like the way you might say you don't trust a politician to keep their promises."
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"My mother's people - the culture is different than a lot of what I saw in the country where I was raised. Christians mostly fear death. Catholics are Christians too, technically, but my mother was raised, and raised me, to embrace it. To honor and remember the people who have gone before us, and to know that they are watching for us and waiting for when we, too, inevitably join them."
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Astarion nods. He knows roughly what a Christian is, and it's not unlike some of the ideas he's heard back home.
"That sounds...well, more practical, perhaps? Elven souls are said to be reborn. If I'd lived a little longer, I might have become able to access memories of past lives."