Why?
"Hello, Ephidel," Mark said. It was a friendly enough greeting, but Mark's contemporary looked at him as if he had said something foul.
"If it isn't the cripple," Ephidel said lightly.
Mark smiled. Ephidel was commenting on his illnesses, but Mark wasn't bothered by them anymore. He had gotten used to them.
"Our master told me to tell you to go to Etruria."
"Oh, did he?" Ephidel asked.
"Yes."
"I suppose Lord Nergal must feel sorry for you then. Even a cripple needs a purpose, I guess."
Now Ephidel was commenting on Mark's inability to perform any one of the many duties Nergal assigned to his other Morphs. They all required great strength of arms or magic. Mark lacked both.
In spite of the coarse treatment he was receiving, Mark refused to submit to anger.
If he insults me that makes him bad, if I get angry about it that makes me normal, but if I transcend it then I am excellent.
Mark had espoused this sort of philosophy from one of many books he had read. The philosophers of Etruria were the most brilliant – but it was one of Ilia, Saedel, who had developed this sentiment.
Mark shrugged. "I suppose so."
Ephidel sighed. "As long as you're here, what exactly does Lord Nergal require of me?"
"He wants you to find a book."
"What book?" Ephidel asked. His voice was strained, probably from annoyance.
"The Hidden Will," Mark said. Ephidel glowered at him.
"If that is an attempt at jest, then you haven't amused me."
"Huh?" Mark was taken aback. The look on his face said as much, and Ephidel couldn't sustain his suspicion.
"Never mind," Ephidel said. He teleported.
"What was that about?" Mark thought aloud. His mind yielded no answer.
Awhile later, Mark and Nergal were huddled over their respective books. Nergal was studying a black tome. Mark was reading about military tactics, strategy, and his personal favorite; logistics.
A tactic was a single strike, like moving a piece in chess to attack or defend against one's rival. Sending a lance wielding knight against a sword wielding mercenary was a good tactic because the lance wielder had a natural advantage. A tactic was something for gaining a short term victory in a battle full of smaller conflicts.
Strategy required use of tactics, but not vice versa. A strategy was an overall plan for winning a battle or campaign. Generals usually had to adapt their strategies in response to their opponet's strategies. A strategy was a plan tactics adhered to in order to achieve victory. Defeating individual units of the enemy's army required tactics, but defeating the whole army and capturing their fortress required a strategy.
Military logistics was systematic analysis all of the assets of a whole army – how to consider every factor when crafting a strategy for winning a battle or employing tactics during that battle in order to achieve victory. A true military thinker must consider all factors before crafting their plans – which soldiers had the best weapons and the best training, how to spend money, how to move the army's equipment from one place to another, how to set up camp, how to let your army rest and still be ready for battle at any given instant – it was such a invigorating process.
Mark loved military studies. Perhaps because he was so weak, the strength of those who fought in wars impressed him.
Mark couldn't enjoy his reading now, however. Something about his exchange with Ephidel bothered him. Actually, something about his life in general bothered him.
"Master, why am I so hated?"
"They are jealous of you," Nergal said. There was no need for the master to ask his creation what he meant. Mark rarely spoke of it, but Nergal knew his fellow Morphs treated him with disdain. That actually wasn't especially unusual. They all treated each other like that. Each one of them thought themselves their master's favorite. The others were just obstacles to that.
"Why? I have nothing none of them have. They all have much more than me."
"Wrong. You have free will."
"Ephidel seems free enough – or do you will him to dislike me?"
Nergal cackled. His face became serious after he'd had a good laugh. "When I don't will them to do anything in particular, they form their own desires – just like any other being."
Mark already knew that. On the tip of his tongue rested a request he feared to give voice to.
Nergal knew what he wanted to say. "You can't hide anything from me. You want to ask me to will them not to hate you."
"Yes."
"I will not do that," Nergal said. "It would encourage weakness from you. You don't need anymore of that."
"For what reason do I exist?" Mark asked suddenly, thinking of what Ephidel had said when he said 'even cripples need a purpose'.
Nergal smiled. "I'm sure fate will reveal in what way you are best suited to serve me in it's own time."
Mark went back to reading his book.
May fate hurry then.
A/N: Writing in short bursts makes it hard to elaborate on anything but neh. It seems like I have only one fan. Oh well. So does Kilgore Trout, and that Rosewater guy is borderline nuts.
Well Nightmare, remember I'm spontaneously writing this. It isn't like this is a bread winner story or anything. If I get sick of talking about Mark's life on Valor, maybe I'll flip to the campaign in Fire Emblem. Or maybe I'll stop writing this because "I don't have enough time". Heh heh heh ... not enough time. Yeah right. Nobody buys it whenever someone says that. Why don't they just be honest and say "I don't feel like writing this anymore. Too bad for you. Good bye."