Artificer Epilogue - Jaime Evron
Not sure if I have much right to write one of these since I only attended 3 events, and only understood the endgame through hearsay. I'll give it a go anyway. I'm not multi-drafting so forgive any inconsistencies. The character deserves an ending.
[i] "Please, you have to go. Its my third time of asking. Shall I drop a knee and beg? Or should I force you?" Jaime looked at her with an angry brow, a single betraying tear forming in his eye. It was all the excuse she needed. She took his hand and moved to kiss him, but in the end she could not. He never expected any more, but he could not help wishing for that tender moment to be complete and unsullied. But he had ruined that himself.
Jaime Evron watched his wife and daughter leave the house in pauper's rags to disappear into the crowd. Besides their gift of a daughter, his marriage had been a lie. Strange how now it was unarguably over, like his life itself was soon to be, it seemed like he had just lost the most real thing he ever had. His mistress, his work on the poor lost Golem souls which he had helped to trap into servitude, and most notably his sick conspiritorial joke of a family, all seemed like lies or trivia compared to the two women now gratefully fleeing from his home. She had the decency to insist on staying with her man until he asked her thrice, begged and threatened her. She was more of a lady than so many noble-born. And now she was running. He hoped it was more from the danger than from him.
Could he do the same? No. He had nothing to do with his family's deception, had suffered by it as much as anyone else in his heart. But the mob had no regard for hearts. They only saw the finery, the family colours and the crest - the Evron name. There would be some who could recognise him and would not extend the same courtesy of feigned ignorance they would towards his wife and daughter.
He picked up his pistol and felt its deadly weight. Would he have the strength to pull the trigger now his family were not in danger? Would he fight the revolutionaries to the last? Could he really blame them? He put the gun back down again. Instead he unlocked his desk, and moved certain secret levers, disguised as they were as corners and bookends. He heard the mechanism click and pulled the secret compartment open.
Inside lay a phile of deadly poison and a hand-written booklet in his own hand entitled 'Freedom for Captive Souls - notes on the Unmaking of Golems.' He had written it in five short hours spread over about 2 weeks and had no time to edit or recompile. Although he knew the physical destruction of Golems would be a comfort to the still-living relatives, he hoped his notes on the extrusion of the Lalenthrium soul net and the draining of certain alchemical compounds from the system could speed the passing of the spirit. The very notion of it seemed ridiculous to a man of science, but he could not ignore the evidence of his own eyes and ears. He had also made a few suppositional notes on how a threadweaver (or something stronger like an Outsider, he now realised!) might be able to finish this process psychically.
He took these and lay them in clear visibility on the desk next to him. Finaly he wrote a note that said simply: "I did not know. I was a prisoner too, though my cage was gilded. Free the golem. I enclose notes on how. Go on in honesty, and never again be bound by duty or averted eyes to do evil by your fellow men. JE." He emptied the phial into the best brandy he had. He drank it in one swig and gagged at the rotten flavour the poison made. Slumping in his writing chair, he looked again at his note before unconsciousness took him. His final thoughts were to wonder at how inadequate, how insincere even the best of him seemed in the light of larger events. [/i]
[i] "Please, you have to go. Its my third time of asking. Shall I drop a knee and beg? Or should I force you?" Jaime looked at her with an angry brow, a single betraying tear forming in his eye. It was all the excuse she needed. She took his hand and moved to kiss him, but in the end she could not. He never expected any more, but he could not help wishing for that tender moment to be complete and unsullied. But he had ruined that himself.
Jaime Evron watched his wife and daughter leave the house in pauper's rags to disappear into the crowd. Besides their gift of a daughter, his marriage had been a lie. Strange how now it was unarguably over, like his life itself was soon to be, it seemed like he had just lost the most real thing he ever had. His mistress, his work on the poor lost Golem souls which he had helped to trap into servitude, and most notably his sick conspiritorial joke of a family, all seemed like lies or trivia compared to the two women now gratefully fleeing from his home. She had the decency to insist on staying with her man until he asked her thrice, begged and threatened her. She was more of a lady than so many noble-born. And now she was running. He hoped it was more from the danger than from him.
Could he do the same? No. He had nothing to do with his family's deception, had suffered by it as much as anyone else in his heart. But the mob had no regard for hearts. They only saw the finery, the family colours and the crest - the Evron name. There would be some who could recognise him and would not extend the same courtesy of feigned ignorance they would towards his wife and daughter.
He picked up his pistol and felt its deadly weight. Would he have the strength to pull the trigger now his family were not in danger? Would he fight the revolutionaries to the last? Could he really blame them? He put the gun back down again. Instead he unlocked his desk, and moved certain secret levers, disguised as they were as corners and bookends. He heard the mechanism click and pulled the secret compartment open.
Inside lay a phile of deadly poison and a hand-written booklet in his own hand entitled 'Freedom for Captive Souls - notes on the Unmaking of Golems.' He had written it in five short hours spread over about 2 weeks and had no time to edit or recompile. Although he knew the physical destruction of Golems would be a comfort to the still-living relatives, he hoped his notes on the extrusion of the Lalenthrium soul net and the draining of certain alchemical compounds from the system could speed the passing of the spirit. The very notion of it seemed ridiculous to a man of science, but he could not ignore the evidence of his own eyes and ears. He had also made a few suppositional notes on how a threadweaver (or something stronger like an Outsider, he now realised!) might be able to finish this process psychically.
He took these and lay them in clear visibility on the desk next to him. Finaly he wrote a note that said simply: "I did not know. I was a prisoner too, though my cage was gilded. Free the golem. I enclose notes on how. Go on in honesty, and never again be bound by duty or averted eyes to do evil by your fellow men. JE." He emptied the phial into the best brandy he had. He drank it in one swig and gagged at the rotten flavour the poison made. Slumping in his writing chair, he looked again at his note before unconsciousness took him. His final thoughts were to wonder at how inadequate, how insincere even the best of him seemed in the light of larger events. [/i]