To be poetic about my opinions, it’s because They fear the helots. The helotry is a tinderbox for revolution, perpetually smothered with blood to keep the spark from lighting. They know it in their bones, that their whole world is built on this oppression, and even if they choose not to think about it, it’s an inescapable fact of their lives.
“You’ve got a helot singing your treasons?” That’s what Gellard says, because that’s the spark, the treason, the forbidden knowledge. Helots aren’t meant to dream of the world beyond, and they aren’t meant to dream of their heritage and culture. It might make them question if the world really ought to be this way. (This is also a core theme of Stormwright so far.)
And you know what? It was the spark. If he knew the truth, Gellard would rue the day he failed to catch us.
That treason, it’s already embedded itself in the aristocracy. They have the privilege and the ‘high culture’. The deal for Them is to play by the Thaumatarchy’s rules and then reap the rewards under threat of death and replacement. That’s the political context of the Carles prologue, by the way: House de Bors, “heroes of the last great Halassur War”, once Archons of Shayard, accused of treasonous conspiracy by an Alastor captain and destroyed. The Thaumatarchy even considered ennobling that captain with the newly vacated lands. Suffice to say, Gellard would have little to fear from the aristocracy.
But the helotry is different, because those treasons are not permitted to them. The Alastors cannot stop a mass rising, and what Gellard likely saw was the seed of such a rising being planted right then and there. For someone like him — for anyone who thoroughly profits off the Thaumatarchy, really — that’s a nightmare.
And also, there’s another simple reason: helots were supposed to be outside in the agora, where Carles would perform later, not inside the wine room among the ‘people’. To think that there was a helot among them, that would shock Gellard far more than an aristo being there. After all, there had been plenty of aristocrats there in the days before.
So at the end of the day, it’s the simplest answer: helots and aristos are treated differently, and that changes how their lives play out. The Carles prologue highlights that difference, and creates a gameplay effect to distinguish the two paths.
The wording here does point to a larger logistical Theurge Question, if one intends to neither kill them nor let them become part of a new order. Because at the end of the day, so long as they live, they will have their own blood. And if they have nothing left to lose, well — an untrained fledgling mage with only a year’s experience can bring down the side of a mountain at the cost of their own life. What might the most powerful of Theurges accomplish? What chains could hold them?
A lot of the methods we’ve seen to incapacitate mages are temporary in nature, intended to create a window of opportunity to either kill them or escape. And some of those methods are literally torture. But suffice to say, I suspect in all cases dealing with these aftershocks of Thaumatarchic rule will be easier said than done.
So those last words come from arguably the most mechanically suboptimal victory against Hector as a mage (but easily one of the most satisfying narratively), where you use magic to unseat the veneurs, and likely use aetherial blood to stay conscious as you fend off their charge. Which is to say, you hurl a pine tree at them, impaling Ganelon.
Furthermore, to get these specific last words, when approaching him, you need to select “Aye, Tarakatou. It’s me.” with (2 INT, 1 COM) specifically.
If Kal leads the mule train, their leadership will kill Ganelon, and the (2 INT) MC can mourn him then. It’s a similar scene, but actually speaking to Ganelon reveals the depth of his hatred for us. Still, the conversation with Kal afterwards is amazing, especially with all they’ve been through.
Pressing your fingers against your skull, you try to blink away the stinging blur...
The world feels empty but for the smoke in your nostrils, senseless chatter against your ears. You stride off up the slope, but ${kalt} follows you, rubbing dust along ${zhis} arms to remove the blood. It’s a practiced, almost thoughtless gesture; you recognize it from the Keriatou pigkeepers you grew up with.
“You knew him,” ${zhe} says quietly.
“We knew of them all. Didn’t have much cause to know of this one, though. He was no helot-baiter.” You try not to let your emotion show to ${kalt} of all people.
“He show you some kindness?” $!{zhe} waits for you to respond, then drops ${zhis} voice even lower. “You two were…”
“No!” you snap. For a moment, you find yourself fiercely hating ${zhim}—as much for reducing learned Ganelon to a shrieking, mud-spattered victim as for the killing itself. “Damn it, ${kalt}, let it go.”
After a moment, ${kalt} nods. “I know it’s hard, Captain. Believe me, I know.” $!{zhis} weariness is plainly audible again. “But look at him. Remember that he stood there while that Keriatou nailed Glena to a tree. Maybe helped.”
You round on ${zhim} furiously, struggling to keep your voice below a shout. “${kalt}, will you just…”
“They find it pretty damned easy to harden their hearts to us, Captain,” ${kalt} growls. “They can do it at the drop of a leaf. If we can’t do the same? There’s no hope for us. And no hope for…whatever you imagine this rebellion to be.”