Carlisle's gaze returns to the markers before him at her apology. He can understand her sympathy, but is almost irritated in some way that she felt the need to apologize at all. He sighs, thinking himself as a continued inconvenience to those around him. If only he weren't dying, or destined to become an aberration -- how much happier would they be? How much better would their lives have been if everyone he cares for had never known him at all, never needed to—
Stop. That's unproductive thinking, and he knows it. It's still hard to stifle those bad habits, especially when he has so little energy to battle them.
"I have never met one myself," he continues. "Only known of their existence from stories and tales passed to me by my family. Though necromancy plagues my homeland, the Revenants have always been... elusive. An anomaly even amongst their undead brethren. They retain some of the knowledge of their former selves, skills and abilities far beyond that of the mindless horde. We thought them to be true monstrosities, raised by liches and necromancers to terrorize the living in a way the shamblers could not. We burn the bodies of the dead so that they cannot be used against us."
He picks at that ink-stained bandage on his arm once again, trembling. "It is only here that I have learned the truth, something no one knows in my world. We were wrong about their creation. They are not- not created at all, not raised by a wizard. They rise themselves, not quite dead, but no longer alive... as I will be."
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Stop. That's unproductive thinking, and he knows it. It's still hard to stifle those bad habits, especially when he has so little energy to battle them.
"I have never met one myself," he continues. "Only known of their existence from stories and tales passed to me by my family. Though necromancy plagues my homeland, the Revenants have always been... elusive. An anomaly even amongst their undead brethren. They retain some of the knowledge of their former selves, skills and abilities far beyond that of the mindless horde. We thought them to be true monstrosities, raised by liches and necromancers to terrorize the living in a way the shamblers could not. We burn the bodies of the dead so that they cannot be used against us."
He picks at that ink-stained bandage on his arm once again, trembling. "It is only here that I have learned the truth, something no one knows in my world. We were wrong about their creation. They are not- not created at all, not raised by a wizard. They rise themselves, not quite dead, but no longer alive... as I will be."