Rikkard's Imprisonment

Rikkard meditates quietly in his "suite", as his captors had called it. Even with his eye shut he's acutely aware of the meager accommodations around him - a hard bed with a thin blanket, some sort of bathing cylinder, a small washbasin, a wardrobe, and four white, featureless walls. Admittedly more amenities than his own home back in Portes, but the indoor latrine stirs some discomfort. The Aethian obsession with personal privacy seems "illogical" to him, and besides, such unsanitary things belong outside.
 
The Volts have taken his clothes to be laundered and supplied nothing for the interim. Well, they left a robe in the style of their own, but Rikkard has no inclination to don it. Completely exposed, the dust primordian sits cross-legged on the floor as he attempts to commune with his god, as is his daily routine. The ceremony he'd endured to become a Scion of Primordius was meant to make this process relatively easy, but once more he finds himself unable to focus enough to make the connection. He sighs heavily and opens his one good eye, resigned to stare at the wall in frustration for a while.
 
With meditation off the table for the time being, he reflects back to his time on the other side. The process to become a Scion is a closely-guarded secret that he was forbidden to speak about with anyone but his mentor and colleagues. Rikkard recalls the old man’s face as he drove the glass stake into his heart. It was clear the old cleric did not enjoy inflicting pain, but the process was necessary to ensure that young Rikkard had the conviction to curry the favor of Primordius. He didn't feel very courageous at the time, but seven days later the cleric successfully raised his decaying body without the need of a gem, so Primordius must have seen the courage somewhere within him.

Recollections of his brief time in the afterlife are hazier, but some impressions and feelings linger: The presence of Denizen at the moment of his passing. Three brilliant orbs of light directing him to Primordius. A powerful feeling of unity with his fellow deceased disciples. Basking in the presence of Primordius himself, the true face of Ethos shining upon him - a visage seared into his soul and pricking his amber eyes with joyous tears. It was the single most beautiful moment of his existence, and one he was not permitted to share with anyone but the other Scions. From that time he'd usually been able to reach out to Primordius through meditation to receive direction. Lately though, he'd been unable to forge this link.
 
It made sense that he hadn't been able to commune in the jungle, where entering the meditative trance would drop his guard and leave him open to ambush. As it was, he barely managed sleep most nights. When it wasn't the nightmares keeping him awake it was the beasts and monsters lurking through the jungle’s underbrush. If it weren't for his danger sense he'd be a lot worse off than a petrified eye and some stitches. But now, in apparent safety? There are no dangers in this room and nothing to distract him, though the nightmares will likely follow him to sleep tonight, even here.
 
The nightmares. His mind drifts to the most recent one. He remembers standing on the peak of a mountain, looking beyond a densely forested valley to the peak of an even greater mountain where another version of himself stood. This one wore the Aspect of Ethos over his face, and next to him was a lithe Aquian woman wearing the Coral Crown and a dreamy expression. His doppelganger placed a hand on her shoulder and called out to him, "Take her, and reclaim the honor of your people, your god, and yourself! The honor you failed to protect!"

Rikkard remembers taking off down the mountain and into the jungle.
 
The next thing he remembers is a face appearing beside him, keeping pace. He recognized it as the Aspect of Socius, and it pleaded with him: "Turn back! You burden those you call friends! This path will be their demise, as well as yours!"

"Begone, imposter!" commanded Rikkard as he summoned an ethereal sandy arm to push it aside. "My god beckons me!"
 
A few more strides and the visage of Ars appeared overhead and spoke with a melodic voice: "If you do not care about the fate of others, perhaps I can appeal to your vanity." In an instant, thorns and brambles sprang from the earth, tearing into his flesh. Every step through the thicket raked his skin and produced more scars. He could feel his youth draining with his lifeblood. Joints creaked and clicked with exertion, but he did not stop. In the dream, Rikkard clenched his jaw and forced his enervated body to continue.

In the present, Rikkard touches his stone eye reflexively.
 
Pathos appeared next. It didn't utter a word, but Rikkard could feel the weight of sadness and regret emanating from it. It felt as if his heart was being drained of joy and ambition, and it became hard to find the drive to continue his journey. Still, placing duty before feelings is a familiar compromise for Rikkard LeRou, and he managed to quash the despair just enough to keep pushing through the trees.
 
Finally, the Aspect of Logos stood in his path, well-muscled and wielding a long glaive. Rikkard was forced to stop - in this depleted state, attempting to fight past it would surely fail. Logos addressed him, calm and unaffected: "You will not listen to reason. You will now be solved."

Before Rikkard had a chance to react, he felt the glaive cleave through his emaciated body, unable to provide even the weakest resistance. That was when he woke.
 
What could these dreams mean? Are they what prevents him from receiving guidance from Primordius? Are they products of stress? Are they the workings of some malicious entity, poisoning his mind?

Or, as much as the idea brings him shame, the dreams are a reflection of a doubt he'd buried deep within his heart. A wave of anger passes through him when he remembers that it was none other than an Aethian who planted it there in the first place, when Rikkard was still a child. He balls his fists as he recalls asking the visiting trader why the Volt Primordians only recognize one Aspect of the Primordian divinity.

"There are many ways to be beautiful, moralistic, altruistic, or passionate. There is only one, perfectly optimal way to be logical."

Truthfully, this interaction is the basis of his distaste toward Aethians. It made him ask uncomfortable questions. If there are multiple interpretations of what it means to act morally, could they all be valid? And if not, can he truly claim to bring honor to his god with his actions if they only fit his personal definition of justice? Was Ida correct to kill that cultist, and if so, did that mean his own ethics were erroneous? In the past, Primordius' occasional divine guidance kept him confident in his judgement, but his god has been silent for months now, and the doubt grows.

Rikkard stands abruptly to pace the room, drawing a long, steadying breath and allowing a moment for his simmering emotions to subside.

The simplest answer is usually the correct one and there is an obvious explanation for the gulf that stood between him and his deity: he failed. He brought shame to himself by being so easily deceived by a human, he brought shame to his god by allowing his holy artifact to be used as a political tool, and finally he brought shame to his nation by allowing another to hold a piece of their civilization for ransom. Primordius must have simply lost faith in him. As his captors would say, this is the most logical conclusion. He must retrieve the Coral Crown if Primordius is ever to forgive him.
 
Rikkard can feel his emotions starting to spiral out of control again. He slams his fist into the door and calls out, "Somebody please bring me some damned reading material!"