[Carlisle would argue that ending himself is not a farfetched solution. If he'd passed away before he isolated himself in his family estate, perhaps his body would have been found, burned, and cleansed of what lingering traces of tainted aura he had, never to rise as an undead at all; if he'd thrown himself into the Cottonmouth after his curse first manifested at his father's funeral, he'd have been buried well beneath the river's waters, his uncles safe from the tragedy his affliction was said to bring; if he'd simply died after his failed Hunt, he'd have never been cursed at all, and perhaps his entire bloodline would be alive and well. Qubit doesn't know he was damned well before his demise. How could he possibly understand?
Carlisle's embittered remorse about his circumstances brings rise to his Revenant nature, but as he brings his eyes to meet Qubit's to retort, he sees determination in the other man's gaze, a strength he wasn't aware he had. It gives Carlisle pause -- and maybe even shame he wasn't sure he could feel anymore -- as it quells the ire stirring within him. He feels plenty of shame about a myriad of things, sure, but not about the fact that had he died earlier, things might have been better. The twice-cursed are said to be harbingers of malady and misfortune, and that is certainly what he's experienced time and time again. The thought that his life might just be a series of tragic coincidences isn't encouraging, either.
It isn't a sin to exist. It's hard to believe Poison's words when the world and culture he comes from have so ingrained into him the superstition and paranoia regarding his condition that they inform his nearly every decision. Carlisle used to worry he made things worse by merely existing when he shouldn't -- now he is utterly terrified he will do the same by not. That dread is all that stayed his hand for so long -- that, and the vain hope he might be able to appeal to his goddess enough that she would somehow cleanse him of his affliction. Perhaps that was never possible, but it gave him purpose all the same. That direction in his life kept him moving, working to be anything other than the failure of the Longinmouth line. His devotion and success as a healer are arguably the only accomplishments he has to his name.
And look where it got him. His home is in ruins, the people he knew and cared for now monstrous shades of their former selves, and he's trapped in another world and poised to do the same again, should he ever lose hold over himself. He went from the failure of the Longinmouth line to the bane of it, and the thought that he may one day become the Blight Heir again, what last vestiges of humanity he has slipping away for reasons beyond his control, is his latest, most overwhelming anxiety.
Nothing he did before made his ultimate fate any better. Why would that change now? Why should he bother trying? Why should he not just walk into the endless wasteland all around them to spare the people of Anchor the potential hazard that is his very being?
He was alone before, isolated, sequestered away because he so believed it was the right thing to do for those around him, for his lineage -- for everyone but himself. He is not alone now. Despite all odds, he has people who are willing to help him -- Poison, Pratt, Qubit. People from other worlds and times with access to resources and knowledge he cannot even fathom. They may be able to help him; he needs only accept what help is offered.
He cannot even begin to understand what a modified psionic resonator is, but the way Qubit rambled about the possible methods of dealing with his uncontrolled abilities does speak volumes of how strongly he feels about this, about finding another way -- about helping him when Carlisle has possibly put him in more danger than not in the two times they've been out here. That means something to the clergyman.]
How it is you can sound so confident about that, I will never know, but I appreciate your fervor all the same. That, and the fact you did not leave me out here last time when you knew what I was, and what danger I presented to you.
cw: more of that
Carlisle's embittered remorse about his circumstances brings rise to his Revenant nature, but as he brings his eyes to meet Qubit's to retort, he sees determination in the other man's gaze, a strength he wasn't aware he had. It gives Carlisle pause -- and maybe even shame he wasn't sure he could feel anymore -- as it quells the ire stirring within him. He feels plenty of shame about a myriad of things, sure, but not about the fact that had he died earlier, things might have been better. The twice-cursed are said to be harbingers of malady and misfortune, and that is certainly what he's experienced time and time again. The thought that his life might just be a series of tragic coincidences isn't encouraging, either.
It isn't a sin to exist. It's hard to believe Poison's words when the world and culture he comes from have so ingrained into him the superstition and paranoia regarding his condition that they inform his nearly every decision. Carlisle used to worry he made things worse by merely existing when he shouldn't -- now he is utterly terrified he will do the same by not. That dread is all that stayed his hand for so long -- that, and the vain hope he might be able to appeal to his goddess enough that she would somehow cleanse him of his affliction. Perhaps that was never possible, but it gave him purpose all the same. That direction in his life kept him moving, working to be anything other than the failure of the Longinmouth line. His devotion and success as a healer are arguably the only accomplishments he has to his name.
And look where it got him. His home is in ruins, the people he knew and cared for now monstrous shades of their former selves, and he's trapped in another world and poised to do the same again, should he ever lose hold over himself. He went from the failure of the Longinmouth line to the bane of it, and the thought that he may one day become the Blight Heir again, what last vestiges of humanity he has slipping away for reasons beyond his control, is his latest, most overwhelming anxiety.
Nothing he did before made his ultimate fate any better. Why would that change now? Why should he bother trying? Why should he not just walk into the endless wasteland all around them to spare the people of Anchor the potential hazard that is his very being?
He was alone before, isolated, sequestered away because he so believed it was the right thing to do for those around him, for his lineage -- for everyone but himself. He is not alone now. Despite all odds, he has people who are willing to help him -- Poison, Pratt, Qubit. People from other worlds and times with access to resources and knowledge he cannot even fathom. They may be able to help him; he needs only accept what help is offered.
He cannot even begin to understand what a modified psionic resonator is, but the way Qubit rambled about the possible methods of dealing with his uncontrolled abilities does speak volumes of how strongly he feels about this, about finding another way -- about helping him when Carlisle has possibly put him in more danger than not in the two times they've been out here. That means something to the clergyman.]
How it is you can sound so confident about that, I will never know, but I appreciate your fervor all the same. That, and the fact you did not leave me out here last time when you knew what I was, and what danger I presented to you.