[PRP] Blessed Blood (Reaper, Chosen One, Accuse, ...?)

[Scaramouche Fandango]

The question of nature and nurture had recently seized Reaper's mind, captivating her idle moments. She and her siblings were blessed, yes- but blessed by chance or blessed by birth? Was she strong because she was destined to be strong, or was she strong because she pushed herself to the absolute limit, pushing through pain and sadness and all those other cheap excuses? The problem, as she saw it, was that all of the best kin she knew- the only ones who'd proven worth saving- were her father's children. Not metaphorically, but his actual get. Of course they would be strong. No, she needed to know more, to put the question to an actual test. That's how you grew- you tested things and eliminated whatever was wrong. It was certainly a fun question to mull over, turning this way and that in her mind. She thought of herself and of her siblings, but knew that they weren't good examples. To wit: Chosen One was their father. Despite being raised by their mother, they had all turned out acceptable. How could they not?

She needed other examples. She wasn't going to find them at home; she had to get creative. When she had free time, for no mere question could get in the way of her duties to the family, she spiraled outward, quietly observing kin. She spoke to no one, approached no one. She was merely a watcher. The wave of cleansing was coming; while violence for violence's sake was appealing in its simplicity, the brutal inelegance of it was not. She and her family were not mindless; they were guides to worthiness. Their keen discernment was the scythe that would separate the grain from the chaff; she was the instrument of reaping. It was not time to begin the harvest.

During these expeditions, she paid little attention to the land- for her forays weren't about the swamp. Rather, they were about the Swamp. She watched kin from afar, pondering her question. What drove a kin's destiny? She knew how you became strong, that was a question easily answered. But could all kin attain that strength? This she did not know. So she watched. She saw kin fighting, feeding, foraging, failing. She observed families together, families apart. She saw nothing particularly impressive; she couldn't identify some mysterious potential for strength just through observation. Try as she might, their iniquities had no obvious explanation she could determine.

It was by chance she spotted him, although his orange pelt made him stand out from the reeds. She knew that orange; she saw it every day on her mother. She knew that smile; it was kin to the marks that stretched onto her own cheeks. Curious, she watched him move, taking in the buck as a complete creature. She knew Witch Hunt was dead, but what of her lost children? This was one of them- she knew it just as surely as she knew her own name- but which one was it? She didn't know their names. She'd have to ask. She knew her mother; she knew Badlands, she knew of Bloodhound. But those outside her father's sway- those she didn't know.

She watched closely as the buck flirted and preened for another, a doe practically beneath notice. Her lip curled involuntarily, but she tried hard to quiet her emotions and keep a calm, open mind. She hadn't yet learned who he really was from just a simple glance. He'd be an interesting candidate for observation, and perhaps discussion. Silently, she retreated. She'd seen enough for now. The buck didn't need to know of her- not yet. He might be worth introducing to the family; or he might be worth eliminating. However, this was not a decision for her to make- not yet, not now. No, this required a more delicate touch. She would need to seek an audience with her father.  

[Scaramouche Fandango]

After ruminating for a few days, mulling her observations over and over, she knew it was time to ask. Reaper approached Chosen One, her question in mind. Perhaps he had noticed what she was doing in her spare time, perhaps he hadn't- she was just his child, after all, nowhere near as important as he was- but she thought he might find the question interesting. The Swamp had chosen him, after all, to be the executor of its will. Surely his discernment would be wise in regards to this plan.

"I would speak with you, Father," she said, smiling softly at him. She really did think it was a good question, and perhaps he would humor her. "I've a question about our family, our fortunate bloodline."

Ruriska

 

[Ruriska]

He had noticed - of course he had noticed. The Pure was still small, a growing shoot that he was coaxing to greater heights. Eventually it would become a tree, boughs stretched across the Swamp and the fruit it bore would cleanse the world. They would be the tide that washed away the unworthy, the violent and pathetic rabble that didn’t have the right to exist and continued on as if they belonged.

This Chosen One kept a careful eye on everything his small family did - his children especially. They were the future, those who carried his bloodline. He’d cultivated them all carefully, to make sure they truly understood their place in the world, their duty. He was proud of the results, proud of his own efforts and theirs, and when Reaper came to him, he smiled indulgently.

“Ask your question,” he ordered gently. “I will answer.”

She’d been roaming in her spare time, and he was curious to learn the results of her travels. It could be dangerous, to let the young and impressionable walk freely. They could be blindsided by a pretty face or a winsome smile, led to believe that The Pure’s ideals were not absolute. But Reaper he trusted, at least for now.

Scaramouche Fandango

 

[Scaramouche Fandango]

"I have been observing the outside world," she said, "and I have found it... lacking. I've seen many kin, but none have seemed particularly special. I've been pondering the question of worthiness and from where it comes. The Swamp chose you, that's perfectly clear- but what's less clear is how others are chosen, and why. Are kin chosen at birth- when we sleep, when we dream, when we're entrusted with our names- or are we raised to glory? And can one from unworthy heritage escape the bonds of blood and claw their way to worthiness?" It was a difficult question for her, but perhaps he could answer it.  

[Ruriska]

“Many of those who walk the Swamp are sleepwalkers,” Chosen One explained. “They wander aimlessly - breeding, eating, laughing, talking. They march from life and into death while never really living, never realising how corrupt the world has become. They ignore the injustice around them, the lives taken pointlessly, the pain and suffering that waits to ensnare the weak.” He sighed, a sound full of sorrow. “There are many that can never be redeemed, but others can be woken up, shown the truth. Those who choose to shed their heritage and join our family, cast aside the lies, can become pure. That is why I send out my Followers. To spread the word and give others a chance to repent.”

Scaramouche Fandango

 

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Reaper nodded slowly. "There's one in particular I have observed. I don't know his name, but he's... clearly one of Mother's brothers. One of the ones she never knew. His pelt is orange, and his eyes are like mine. And his face- Father, if you had seen it, you would have known. Our faces are the same, the same markings. The same smile. But he's..." She paused. "He wastes his time. From a distance, he seems like he doesn't notice anything around him, doesn't see- but he is of Mother's blood, I know this. And if he's of Mother's blood, then perhaps there's a kernel of worth in him." She swallowed, thinking. "I know I'm not one of your Followers; I am a guardian, and I would lay down my life for this family. But my I think he could answer my question.With your permission, I would like to approach him, speak to him. You've told me that only the worthy will survive, but much of my life has been spent talking to those you have already deemed worthy. I would like to talk to someone untested, unproved. I would not lead him back here, and I believe I'm strong enough to resist any taint from the outside world. I simply wish to see for myself what Mother's bloodline is without your influence. Please."

Ruriska

 

[Ruriska]

Chosen One kept the surprise from his face as Reaper told him of the buck. He had known there were others, more of Witch Hunt’s blood that he had yet to bring into line. It hadn’t mattered, he had doubted they would cross paths. Yet here was proof of the MotherFather’s guidance. All those Witch Hunt had born into world would repent, one way or the other. The darkness of her lineage would be broken. He would make sure.

He was elated, his body thrummed with excitement, but his smile was calm as he said, “you have my permission.” Reaper had done so very well and she would be free to continue her quest until he felt it was time to step in.

Scaramouche Fandango