The Horadrim were a strange group. They almost reminded him of the Edyrem at times, and of Kalan and his group of acolytes at others. They were a daring bunch, willing to give up whatever lives they'd lived in order to serve and protect their world. All at the behest of an Angel.

They were...charming.

Despite himself, Rathma thought he was starting to like them. It certainly helped that they didn't scream whenever he dropped from the ceiling (well. Not anymore.) and did not comment on his tail or hooves or how demonic they made him look. The group had more or less accepted him as he was, and that was not something that happened terribly often.

The Horadrim were a good group. Rathma had decided that their souls would be protected, and their graves untouched when they passed on. Their memories would be preserved.

He still wasn't totally sure what to think of Tyrael though. Part of him was starting to think that this was not Tyrael, could not be Tyrael. Tyrael was the monstrous angel that his father had feared, that had nearly burned Sanctuary. This was...just a man. A tall, dark skinned man who snored and liked sweets, who ran into the same doorway every other morning and smiled at the sunset.

Reconciling these two ideas as being one and the same was not something Rathma was having an easy time with.

Could all angels be so...normal? Had this always been an option? The idea was starting to drive him mad. The Heavens had always posed such a threat to Sanctuary, still did, but here was something that suggested they didn't have to. Wings or no wings, if Tyrael of all angels could bring himself to live among mortals and drink as they did and sleep as they did...why couldn't the rest?

Or even demons for that matter… Such thoughts were bigger than he wanted to think about though. The idea that everyone was one and the same was somehow mind boggling to him. It made as much sense as it didn't.

Mortals came from angels and demons, they should have been very alike, shouldn't they? [ If two species can produce viable offspring they are the same]

And yet. And yet…

Peace on Sanctuary had not truly existed since its earliest days, when only angel and demon walked its lands. There was always some conflict or another going on. Mortal versus mortal, mortal versus demon, demon versus angel...angel versus mortal. Angel versus angel. All had constantly occurred since the first Nephalem had bled out upon the rocks, sparking vicious civil war between the people of Sanctuary, striking the fear into the hearts of their parents. At no point was someone not trying to kill someone else, this Rathma could be certain of.

Was this all Creation had in store for them? If the Eternal Conflict was anything to go by… Rathma wasn't sure what other options there were.

Mortals had held the power to tip the scales several times now. And each time, no matter who they defeated, someone else came along to spark up another battle. (Perhaps, with the Evils stowed away and Malthael imprisoned, perhaps there was a chance now.)

All this he'd turned over and over in his head. Was there even a point in trying to make sense of it? If peace was never possible, if peace was possible...why did he even care anymore?

Rathma's day was long since over. Perhaps it was time to throw down the proverbial blade, and call it quits. The ancient Nephalem had never quit anything in his life, but there was always a first time for everything. He didn't particularly enjoy the thought of quitting, but then, he didn't much care for the thought of continuing his old path indefinitely either.

And of course, there were the Horadrim. There were also the Neo-Nephalem, those that had stood against Malthael beside him. Rathma had been able to feel their battle in the High Heavens, though he'd been far too weak at the time to do anything about it. They all held such promise within them… And without the stone to hold them back, who knew what they could become in time.

Yes. The more he thought about it, the more Rathma believed that it was time to stop. Simply stop, and perhaps live, for the first time in such a long time. Leave the fight for someone else to take up.

For someone who'd spent several lifetimes asleep, the ancient had found he was awfully tired. Death would probably find him soon, and he knew he was long overdue for that particular meeting.

That decision out of the way, all there was to do now was figure what he was supposed to do with himself for the rest of his life. How hard could that be? There was an awful lot that needed fixing in the world, and he was no carpenter, but he could flatten his skeleton to fit anywhere his skull could, and he could have as many arms as he pleased at any given time. Putting these talents to public use was an attractive option he supposed. Harassing Tyrael was another, which would probably be far more entertaining too.

Rathma could probably manage both, if he tried hard enough.