08-22-2016, 11:37 AM
Armande felt his mouth tighten even as he felt a pang of disappointment. So much of humanity, including many of the Atharim, had lost their curiosity. Among his brethren, so many of them lived solely for the hunt. They relied on weaponry- on sword or dagger or guns- meticulously, almost worshipfully, taking care of them. They cleaned them regularly, sharpened them to razor's edge, practiced with them, honed their skills with them, as if it were an extension of themselves. Their ritual of training and maintenance bordered on the fanatical.
But even as they took care of their physical bodies, training to be at the top of their craft, the best humanity had to offer, so many neglected their greatest weapon, the greatest tool they had. Their mind.
They lived for the hunt. Dedicated, true. Martin was as fiercely loyal as an Atharim could be. He lived for their organization and their purpose. His work as High Inquisitor had shown a directness of mind, a toleration of no heterodoxy. He possessed the requisite zeal and drive to be his successor.
But the Atharim needed more than just heart, more than just pure unadulterated loyalty, more than just zeal, especially in one who be called Regus, Vicar of Iscariot. They needed a mind. For the greatest weapon and tool available to man was his mind. A mind that quested along infinite paths, seeking for connections and links, for patterns, thirsting for information like a man in the desert. One who sought knowledge not for pure practicality or utility, but for its own sake. Only by doing so, did the mind find all that was possible.
It was mind that had allowed weak mankind to defeat the gods. It was mind that had lifted man, so far fallen at the end of the god wars, from the barely maintained subsistence of the aftermath to so much more. The men who had trained and honed their mind, expanded it, a living machine that so perfectly expressed the Dialectic, Fichte's resolution of Kant's Dyad dilemma: Thesis + Antithesis = Synthesis. A lie, of course, to attribute its existence so late in human history. Thales of Miletus, more than 2000 years before Kant, had already discovered this truth. The birth of Greek philosophy and deduction that was the bedrock of science and western civilization.
It saddened him that Barovsky would never be that. A deadly instrument, a trusted and loyal tool. But not a leader.
He did not understand. He did not see. This was not mere theory, a dry and dusty recounting of myths and history long past. They fit perfectly. There was a consistency here, the perfect fit of pieces across languages, myths and archaeology, across millenia. No accidental confluence of occurrences and discoveries could create such a perfect pattern. This was True. It was fact. Armande had no fear in using it the tablet, his unanswered questions to the Sentient notwithstanding.
Still, Barovsky wanted something more. He raised an eyebrow. "If you require it, perhaps something can be arranged. However, you must understand. The Ijiraq assassins were made to hunt the gods. While they may attack a normal human at random when they are not in Erebos, that is not what we are speaking of. We are talking about control. About siccing, for lack of a better word, the Ijiraq on a specific target." The imagery appealed to him. He picked up the tablet, examined the relevant markings. The commands- people later replaced them with incantations in their mythologies- were in the broken scroll, the ancient words. "But that would require something. Someone, rather. We would need a reborn god. Do you have one? Do you think you could hold one for a test?"
The question was rhetorical. He did not feel the need for a test. But he was willing to mollify Martin. For a short while. Apollyon had made his move. He could not be allowed much more time. Not even for Barovsky's questioning heart.
But even as they took care of their physical bodies, training to be at the top of their craft, the best humanity had to offer, so many neglected their greatest weapon, the greatest tool they had. Their mind.
They lived for the hunt. Dedicated, true. Martin was as fiercely loyal as an Atharim could be. He lived for their organization and their purpose. His work as High Inquisitor had shown a directness of mind, a toleration of no heterodoxy. He possessed the requisite zeal and drive to be his successor.
But the Atharim needed more than just heart, more than just pure unadulterated loyalty, more than just zeal, especially in one who be called Regus, Vicar of Iscariot. They needed a mind. For the greatest weapon and tool available to man was his mind. A mind that quested along infinite paths, seeking for connections and links, for patterns, thirsting for information like a man in the desert. One who sought knowledge not for pure practicality or utility, but for its own sake. Only by doing so, did the mind find all that was possible.
It was mind that had allowed weak mankind to defeat the gods. It was mind that had lifted man, so far fallen at the end of the god wars, from the barely maintained subsistence of the aftermath to so much more. The men who had trained and honed their mind, expanded it, a living machine that so perfectly expressed the Dialectic, Fichte's resolution of Kant's Dyad dilemma: Thesis + Antithesis = Synthesis. A lie, of course, to attribute its existence so late in human history. Thales of Miletus, more than 2000 years before Kant, had already discovered this truth. The birth of Greek philosophy and deduction that was the bedrock of science and western civilization.
It saddened him that Barovsky would never be that. A deadly instrument, a trusted and loyal tool. But not a leader.
He did not understand. He did not see. This was not mere theory, a dry and dusty recounting of myths and history long past. They fit perfectly. There was a consistency here, the perfect fit of pieces across languages, myths and archaeology, across millenia. No accidental confluence of occurrences and discoveries could create such a perfect pattern. This was True. It was fact. Armande had no fear in using it the tablet, his unanswered questions to the Sentient notwithstanding.
Still, Barovsky wanted something more. He raised an eyebrow. "If you require it, perhaps something can be arranged. However, you must understand. The Ijiraq assassins were made to hunt the gods. While they may attack a normal human at random when they are not in Erebos, that is not what we are speaking of. We are talking about control. About siccing, for lack of a better word, the Ijiraq on a specific target." The imagery appealed to him. He picked up the tablet, examined the relevant markings. The commands- people later replaced them with incantations in their mythologies- were in the broken scroll, the ancient words. "But that would require something. Someone, rather. We would need a reborn god. Do you have one? Do you think you could hold one for a test?"
The question was rhetorical. He did not feel the need for a test. But he was willing to mollify Martin. For a short while. Apollyon had made his move. He could not be allowed much more time. Not even for Barovsky's questioning heart.