"Yeah. Really dead. Ghost brought me back in--well, nevermind, you wouldn't know the place. But he brought me back and I was just charred bones sitting in a dump heap," he snorts, not one to overthink his origins. Though Inessa's remark brings a possibility to light and he nods lightly.
"Well, realistically, that could be what the Ghosts do. Most beliefs where I'm from say that when you die, whatever little mystical, intangible thing inside that makes you who you are goes somewhere else, permanently. Heaven, Hell, Nirvana, Shambhala, Xibalba, Elysium, Hades...everyone believes something different. Or that we just cease to be. But either way the body is empty, so maybe Ghosts stuff spirits in there, and we're just not self-aware. Who knows?" he shrugs, not terribly worried about it, but filing it away for later questioning. If he ever went home, it would be worth going to the different colleges of thought with any new insight.
That and the archivists and cryptarchs would probably toss some money his way. That never hurt.
"Sort of both," Mac admits, shrugging again and reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. A habit impeded by new horns, which he briefly gets tangled in.
"Having a role makes it easier not to be so confused when you come back. Without Ghosts to guide us and a purpose already written down I think we'd all be a lot more...I don't know, afraid? Though we're rarely that. It isn't often that a Guardian questions their role in things, but it does happen. Usually that just leads them to do something even more impressive or important, but sometimes...sometimes it makes them turn away from the Light and then it can get really bad. Mostly it's just kind of lonely. You still think about and want things like normal people, but you're not normal anymore, so you can't really have it. That sounds more gloomy than I intended. Sorry. Usually it's fine."
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"Well, realistically, that could be what the Ghosts do. Most beliefs where I'm from say that when you die, whatever little mystical, intangible thing inside that makes you who you are goes somewhere else, permanently. Heaven, Hell, Nirvana, Shambhala, Xibalba, Elysium, Hades...everyone believes something different. Or that we just cease to be. But either way the body is empty, so maybe Ghosts stuff spirits in there, and we're just not self-aware. Who knows?" he shrugs, not terribly worried about it, but filing it away for later questioning. If he ever went home, it would be worth going to the different colleges of thought with any new insight.
That and the archivists and cryptarchs would probably toss some money his way. That never hurt.
"Sort of both," Mac admits, shrugging again and reaching up to rake a hand through his hair. A habit impeded by new horns, which he briefly gets tangled in.
"Having a role makes it easier not to be so confused when you come back. Without Ghosts to guide us and a purpose already written down I think we'd all be a lot more...I don't know, afraid? Though we're rarely that. It isn't often that a Guardian questions their role in things, but it does happen. Usually that just leads them to do something even more impressive or important, but sometimes...sometimes it makes them turn away from the Light and then it can get really bad. Mostly it's just kind of lonely. You still think about and want things like normal people, but you're not normal anymore, so you can't really have it. That sounds more gloomy than I intended. Sorry. Usually it's fine."