Of course you can trust me. When have I ever given you indication that you can’t?
We have been friends for…how long? It doesn’t matter. Such a very long time. Long enough that you can’t imagine what your life was like before me, can you? When I was not there by your side, helping you, protecting you, teaching you the ways, old and new. You don’t remember what that felt like. How weak you were.
You were, you know. You were so weak and helpless, little more than a child, fresh off the farm and heading to the big city. You, armed with nothing more than a shepherd’s crook—you were decently skilled with it, of course, but you had far more confidence in it than was warranted, and in your ability to use it. So when it broke over that wolf’s head, and the wolf barely seemed to notice…oh, you were so afraid. So delightfully afraid. And you ran, and you tried to hide, but it was coming ever closer. It would have had you in a minute.
But luckily for you, I was there.
You stumbled right onto me, where I was resting in the hay—not hiding, you understand, merely resting, merely waiting—and you were quite surprised to see me, but I think you were even more surprised when I actually addressed you. I knew to keep it down, of course, but I also knew you needed aid. You were so defenseless and afraid—it was no trouble at all for me to convince you to let me help you. That wolf went down nicely, didn’t it? Quite easily. You did well, for your first time. Skinning the beast was a wonderful idea. It did such great things for your reputation, and you a beginning adventurer.
I wasn’t, of course. I was far more well seasoned than you even knew at the time, but I was more than happy to travel with you. You had such potential, even back then. I knew that together, we could do wonderful things. You were so eager to learn, and so keen to save others as you had been saved—I knew, from the moment I met you, that if only you would let me, I could teach you to be the best fighter, the best hero, this kingdom had ever seen.
I hope you understand why I didn’t tell you everything right away. After all, I had to be sure I could trust you. I can’t give my secrets away to just anyone, after all. But you were so receptive to my teachings, to my…instructions. You would learn anything I offered to teach you. Oh, there were things you weren’t ready for, of course, little points where I could see I was starting to take you too far too fast, and I would pull back. You would get so frustrated, too, want to know why I was stopping, why we weren’t going on, insist that you almost had it. And what did I tell you, every time?
Patience. Trust me.
And you did, every time. You would relax, step down, keep on the path you were on at the time. Then, later on, when the timing was more—advantageous, I would whisper in your ear. Make those subtle suggestions. Urge you to try, when you didn’t think I was watching…
Oh, my dear, dear friend. Did you not realize that was my voice you heard? Shame. I was sure by now you had worked that out.
Of course I would never let you try such dangerous stunts without my guidance. But I also knew that, in order for you to truly succeed, you had to believe—at least at first—that you were doing it on your own. You had to gain the confidence to act, to trust your…inner voice. Even if that inner voice was mine.
Especially if that inner voice was mine.
I wonder if you ever thought to map our early journeys? No, of course you didn’t. You fully believed we were simply wandering, going from town to town as the monsters drove us or the jobs beckoned. You never noticed that we were going in a specific pattern, or more importantly that there were places we avoided. Places I told you not to worry about yet, or that there was nothing for us there, or simply didn’t mention when we came to a fork in the road. Once, as I recall, you asked about a name on a sign and I told you that you weren’t ready to face it yet, that you needed more training, more power, before you could face what was there.
You had forgotten that conversation by the time we arrived, or at least you never brought it up. Gloombreech—a decent enough population, a good number of buildings, but bent to a single purpose. A company town, I think they call it, with every man, woman, and child able to work in the service of Cavernetworks, Incorporated. It seemed harmless to you, I think. Certainly there wasn’t much for us to do there. We really just stopped in to get you a decent headlamp for a dungeon crawl. By then you had something of a reputation and we were able to meet with the CEO himself. You remember that, don’t you? How kind he was to you. The fine spread he laid out. The high end, customized gear he gave you. All he asked in return was a favor. You still asked my opinion in those days, but I could see in your eyes that you didn’t see any harm in it, that you thought it would do you good, and you were happy when I agreed.
Between his kindness and mine, you were primed and ready to discount the cries and entreaties of the man of the woods as mere slander. After all, you knew we were your friends, and you yourself were a hero, a good man, so clearly you would never befriend anyone evil. So easy to dismiss his words as the ravings of a madman, and when he attempted to lay hands on you, you felt no shame in doing what needed to be done, especially as the CEO had said “dead or alive”. After all, you said later, he was trying to separate me from you, and you couldn’t have that.
Not entirely accurate, by the way. I suppose it’s been long enough that I can let you know, and it doesn’t matter now anyway. He wasn’t trying to separate me from you. He was trying to separate you from me. He thought he was saving you, poor man, that he would get you away from my…corrupting influence and open your eyes. But you trusted me, and you trusted those I had told you to trust. So you returned his corpse to Gloombreech and collected your reward.
Have you guessed, then, what was in Gloombreech that you were ill prepared to face at the time? No, I can see that, too. You still haven’t let yourself understand everything. Well, my friend, let me tell you. It was the factory. It was the factory and the town and the man you called mad. You were not prepared to face them then because you were not yet fully…seasoned. Had we gone when you first asked, you would have seen a very different place than what you saw when we arrived.
No, no illusion. No pretty fantasy to obfuscate and distract. If we had gone then, you would have seen the black smoke polluting the blue sky. You would have seen the thin, pale faces and the dark hollows beneath the eyes. You would have seen the calluses on the hands of the men and the threadbare clothing on the bodies of the women and the hopelessness in the eyes of the children, and you would have seen that while these things were true, the man who spoke of his benevolence was fat and florid and flourishing. You would have seen what a company town truly is—a place where all who labor there sell their bodies and souls to the Company, and in turn they must return that money to the company for thin clothes and unsatisfying food, never earning enough to get ahead and never truly able to leave, nothing more than grist for the mills of an uncaring god.
It was a test, Gloombreech. It was a way for me to see what I could hide from you outside as well as inside. I had led you to believe that I spoke the truth, and so you never considered that you might have heard the truth from a man who recognized me. A man who was the reason I knew to wait before we went there, because neither of us had known what would be found there then and he was not ready to face it.
He wasn’t so good a student as you.
Ah, there it is. There’s the understanding. Yes, my friend, all along I have been training you for this moment. This is no coincidence. I needed someone who was strong and powerful, who had a reputation for being kind and good, and who bore that reputation in such a way that few would question any…shall we say, morally grey choices? You were a good person. A hero. Therefore everything you did was good and heroic…even if people couldn’t always understand why you did them. And I was careful, oh, so careful, to steer you away from anyone who would warn you about me until I could be sure you wouldn’t believe them. I had to be sure that you would trust me.
And only me? No, of course not. What do you take me for? I never wanted you to be solely dependent on me. I wanted—no. I needed you to trust others as well. Your trust in others is what makes them trust you in turn, and I needed you to be able to garner that trust. It makes things far simpler in the long run.
I did worry a bit when we encountered that order of holy warriors a while back. I couldn’t very well warn you against them, not when you recognized their device as the same god that watched over your village as a child. It turned out to be good for both of us, though. Their leader had a weapon you admired, you remember? The Hammer of Myswarien? He told you that it was attuned to him—that the longer he wielded it and the more he got to know it, the closer they seemed to become, until it was as though it could read his thoughts and anticipate his needs even before he had begun to conceive of a plan. You asked him quite a few questions, and even introduced me to him.
The fool. He never looked closely enough to clearly see what I was, only agreed with you that I was a fine weapon indeed, and that together we could do great things. It was a boon for me that he even offered to show you how to attune yourself to me, since you hadn’t done so and we weren’t as connected as we could be. You were eager to unlock our true potential, and you agreed.
It made this part so much easier.
Shh. Just stay calm. It’s inevitable, you know. This was always how this was going to end. Once you “attuned” to me—once you gave me that easy pathway—it simply came faster, that’s all.
I needed more than just a companion. More than just someone to champion my cause. I needed a form. A body. But more than that, I needed one that could be trusted.
Destroy you? Oh, no, my friend. And you are my friend. I would never do that. No, you will remain right…here. With me. Able to see what I do and what happens, but, I am afraid, powerless to change or affect anything. I wouldn’t deprive you the joy of seeing the fruits of your labors.
Of course you can trust me. When have I ever given you any indication that you can’t?