In my head, Karanina had spoken to me, and it was kind of a solemn voice. A stoicism in her character. She was shy, reticent. A bookworm with hobbies such as tending to a garden, and writing flowing manuscripts of religious faith and doctrine. The professions were a part of the character, the spec was a part of the character, my inexperience at playing a healing priest was part of the character. Kara lacked confidence, she was short on faith in herself.
“You know you’re writing about you, don’t you?”
I didn’t. I mean, I’d never suspected, but, I’d never thought to suspect.
The character, in my head, started to grow up, quietly. Where inexperience had stood, there was devotion to a cause. Where there had been an eager need to prove one’s self, came an inner peace, a knowledge that I could slowly do well. Slowly.
“Your armor means nothing, your faith, even less…”
Deathwing’s quote resonates with me. You might never hear it, over the sound of Mumble/Vent, over the sound effects of a raid group. But, it’s a line that resonates, and it’s pervasive, it instills doubt. That, in spite of you, you’ll never overcome the terrors. If not Deathwing’s, then the next. There’s always a next. It’s not always so cataclysmic, but there is always a next.
In the writings that I share with my closest, Kara isn’t the shy, reticent any more. She’s a leader. Not a tactical one, but a personable one. She recognizes people are better than her at tasks, and she tries her best. Not to keep everyone happy, but to keep everything on rails, because, happy follows where consistent lives. She struggles with things, but, in my silly canon I keep for Waypoint in my head, she’s a pretty okay leader.
And that’s when I realized when Kara had grown to where she was happy, I had too.
That when she had grown to actually trust and have faith in herself, so had I. That, when you pull your nose out of the texts for a bit and see who you’ve surrounded yourself with, it can be really shocking when you don’t realize how well you’ve done it.
As for now? I’ll have faith. If not in a basement windchime, then in me.
"— Snackerston, excerpts from an entry in the The Dungeon Runner
