A gust of cold breeze sends a shiver down the spine of Divine Executor Gale’s back. The “Endure Elements” daily effect must be wearing off. He shrugs it off as the walk back to town couldn’t be much further. Luckily, the normally droll walk back is enlivened with the perplexing conversation he’s been having with the Slyphen priestess walking beside him.
“You do not understand, Executor. The people of these lands, myself included, we do not know life without subjugation.”, Priestess Sonn explains. “Your actions here have disrupted the entire system of life that the populace has become accustomed to. Surely you must understand the ramifications of your actions.”, her eyes pleading for him to grasp the concept.
“Certainly, priestess. Taldor brings the glory of the Imperium throughout Golarion. In time, even the most…resistant of dissidents seem to come around and see our ways.”, Gale counters with a smile.
Jairess’s eyes turn from pleading to disappointment. “Tell me then, Executor, what is the difference between the subjugation of Baba Yaga as opposed to your own king? Your government seems to create the same amount of oppression and domestication of it’s subjects that the Witch Queen does. So please, enlighten me on the difference.”, her final sentence ending with a bemused sense of accomplishment.
Gale’s looks to the sky a moment, as if he was archiving their conversation up until it’s current point, and then turn’s back to the cleric. “Opportunity.”, he replies.
Jairess’s grin widens “Opportunity? How does your oppression provide opportunity?”
Gale’s face becomes a bit stern. “Oppression? Do you think the role of our government is to subject it’s people for no reason? Hardly. The Empire exists to provide structure, not submission. Yes, it can be rigid, but it also is unyeilding, unbreakable. It is the foundation to a house, and it is up to it’s people to build off of it. To mold it to what it needs to be.”
Jairess’s face is now the one lacking comprehension, “I…do not understand where you are leading this conversation.”
Gale’s face continues to remain authoritative, “Of course you don’t, but I do not fault your backwater education. What I will not tolerate is your unnecessarily pitiful demeanor.” He clears his throat to continue, ignoring the bluish face of the priestess growing quite red with anger. “Taldor’s empire provides the foundation for it’s populace to achieve more. To become…more than what they were born into. You talk of subjugation, but what your really mean is adversity. You should be thanking us for providing you an opportunity for a better life, but instead you’re angry because you’re afraid of that freedom, you ungrateful plebeian.”
Jairess’s tolerance for insult hit it’s peak, so she responds to Gale’s condescension with a back hand from her mailed gauntlet. Drawing blood from one of his nostrils, Gale uses his already ruined nightcap to stop the flow. Without missing a beat, he continues his diatribe.
“Like I said, you are afraid of taking responsibility for yourself. You act as you hate to be told what to do, yet your profession is to serve the divine. So even when we free you from the Witch Queen, you will still have the comfort of SERVING. You’re afraid of the unknown, because you can’t take rely on it. When you become comfortable taking the helm of the ship that is your life, you will find your misplaced anger towards our band will have subsided. Now…I’m certainly going to need a new nightcap, do you know of a tailor in town?”, Gale inquires.
Jairess’s face now reads of a crazy combination of anger, confusion, and a growing sense of self loathing. It begins to dawn on her that the Executor just may be correct. Perhaps she should find some comfort in this newly gained freedom, and rely less on her usual feelings of anger and defiance. She straightens her backpack strap, and looks into Gale’s eyes. “You have given me a bit to think about, and perhaps not all of it bad…that being said, you are still a condescending ass.”
Gale smiles his usual knowing smirk, until it is cut short by a snowball crashing into his face.
“I am sorry Banker, some one had to do it! HO! HO!”, the bellowing laughter coming from Thorald from behind a tree. “Behold! We have made it to the town! We can now celebrate and feast as is our right!”
“Yes, viking, you do have a valid point”, Gale states as he wipes the snow off. Mentally noting to slip the ink from the his inkvial into Thorald’s drink at some point in the evening.