. "Jive"@en . . "Conscience is what stops you from throwing puppies into high-speed traffic. It is similar to the voice in your head, but your conscience advises you to do good instead of evil. The use of conscience is unnecessary in modern times as its primary functions have wisely been relegated to celebrities."@en . . . "This is always understood to be the inner voice of God. Mahatma Gandhiji said he was guided by his inner voice. It is also mistaken for one\u2019s soul, which it is not. Conscience is ethical and not spiritual. Conscience is best described as the personality of one\u2019s ethical consciousness. The Mother calls conscience the adversary to yoga as it will ask you not to abandon the family. The Gita advises NOT to honour any Dharma but to surrender. So, the Gita too wants the yogi to overlook one\u2019s Conscience. Opinion is of the mind. Attitude is of the vital. Motive is of the being."@en . . "Roy"@en . . "Conscience (Moises Arias) is Max's inner-thoughts of right and wrong who was brought into human form after Max performed a spell incorrectly. He claims to be what Max looks like to others and dresses like Max except with his shirt buttoned up and with a tie."@en . "Conscience of Max Russo"@en . . . . . "The conscience is a voice that appears in various forms, such as Garfield's food bowl and blanket."@en . . . . "Conscience"@en . "Any word with science in it is obviously godless and should be considered harmful. This liberal invention is used by the Democratic Party to try and take away America's right to do whatever the most elite most wealthy top 1% favored most by God wants it to do."@en . . . "Your brain is a funny thing. Most of the time, it knows what's better for you in any given situation, and will take ever so subtle control of you to make sure you make the right decision. However, sometimes, if you abuse those mechanisms, your brain will take control accordingly to match your actions. Sometimes, the responses that it comes up with are less than satisfactory. Sometimes they're absolutely terrifying. And sometimes, They're deadly. Tom was not a friendly man. He wasn't the kind of man that had an understandable reason behind his unpleasantness either; he just wasn't a very nice person. However, using that life skill, he had put himself in a position where he could manipulate people into the dirt. He was a high level manager at a local electronics store. He had managed to completely and utterly trample his fellow co-workers on the way up the ladder, using every tactic he had to make them seem unfit for the job. He was a sociopath in every sense of the word. And today, this sociopath held the life of a worker in his hands. Tom sat in his chair, and stared at the janitor with a true sense of apathy. \u201CPlease, Tom. I need this job to keep payments on my studio apartment. I'm begging you. I'm sorry that I missed that carpet stain the other day, and I promise you it won't happen again. Please...don't throw me out onto the street.\u201D Tom shifted in his chair. \u201CListen, bud. Your situation is of no importance to me. There are many more efficient people in line for your job, people who won't miss that one stain on the carpet. You can't outperform them, so you lose. Take anything that's yours, and go home.\u201D The janitor stood speechless in the middle of the office, holding back a torrent of emotion. He was afraid, he was sad. How would he live now? He turned, and slowly walked out of the office, head hung low. He closed the door behind himself with a quiet click. \u201CDidn't really like that guy anyway. Glad I had a reason to fire him. Maybe the new guy will be able to do his damn job.\u201D He pulled a bottle of cognac out of his desk drawer, and drank directly out of it. He put his feet up on the desk, and began to laugh. He felt on top of the world, like he was the king of everything. He had the power to condemn a man to die for a simple mistake. That made him feel pretty good. He thought back to high school, all the girls he had stolen from their respective boyfriends, and then decided that he had no use for them, leaving them single. All the times he stole homework, all the times he laughed at those who had fallen. He didn't care about their lives. He only cared that he had lived in that moment, and had done exactly what he wanted to do. He was satisfied. The workday was almost over, and Christmas was coming up fast. He decided that he'd rather have a little more money to buy himself gifts, so he typed a quick email to all his employees. \u201CAttention workers! There will be no Christmas bonus this year! There will be no compensation for this. Work harder!\u201D He sent the email, closed his laptop, packed his things and left the store. Twenty minutes later, he had arrived at his two story home in a quiet little suburb outside of the city. He opened the door, and his wife welcomed him in. \u201CHey Tom! How was work?\u201D\u201CSame shit as usual, go make me dinner.\u201D\u201COh...okay. I love you dear!\u201D \u201CYeah.\u201D Tom lived at home with only his wife. Despite her desires, they had had no children. Despite how the situation may appear to anyone viewing it, she had the truest affection for her husband, and was willing to work through anything. He held affection only for himself, but kept her around because she was useful. Three hours after dinner, Tom was upstairs, readying himself for sleep. As he switched off the light in the bathroom, he thought he heard a faint crying. Not the crying of his wife; she had gone to sleep. A soft crying, that seemed to come from the darkness. It gave him a peculiar feeling; he felt the slightest bit of pity. He knew not for what, only that he was sad for something. In an instant it was gone, and he shook it off, rationalizing it as a fatigue-induced hallucination. He walked down the hall to his bedroom, climbed into bed with his wife, and attempted to fall asleep. The moment before he drifted to sleep, an image flashed before his eyes. The image of a cold, withered man, sitting and quietly sobbing in a dark alley. Someone on the edge of death. Tom was suddenly awash with grief, depression, and a piercing fear. He quickly sat up, breathing heavily. He looked around the room. Nothing. Only the sound of his own pulse in his ears. He collapsed into bed and passed out, exhausted from the sudden emotional burst. He woke up hours later, at nine AM. It was Saturday, December 24th. The day before Christmas. He rolled out of bed, walked into the hallway, and into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he walked out of the bathroom, he heard it again. The faint crying. It had gotten louder. He looked behind himself, and for an instant saw a pair of small, white eyes focused on him. They were gone within an instant, and took the crying with them. But they left Tom with something. He felt as if a weight had been laid on his heart, like a sadness had been thrust upon him, but with no cause. Just a weight of depression. As the day progressed, the weight became heavier. He would come close to crying at certain points, and would be overwhelmed with pity at others. He didn't know why he was this way. Only that the feeling was eating him alive. The night came, and Tom was walking to his bedroom. As he came to his bedroom door, he felt a chill on his back. A ghostly, blood freezing chill. With it came the crying. Soft, quiet, piercing crying. It seemed to be coming from downstairs. The chill dwindled, and the crying faded away. Tom climbed into bed once again, and tried to fall asleep. But he couldn't. There was a presence in the room. He sat up, and looked around the room. In the right hand corner, a pair of white eyes stared at him, unblinking. Tom blinked out of surprise, and in an instant, the eyes were right in front of him. They stared into his soul. Tom's entire body was suddenly overwhelmed by the horrible, deathly chill. The eyes were connected to a dark, shifting figure. It whispered to him. \u201CYou killed him.\u201D With that, Tom collapsed into bed, passed out from fear. The next morning, he asked his wife if she had noticed a single thing. \u201CNo dear. Last night and the night before, you slept very soundly. You must have been dreaming.\u201D Tom nervously thought to himself, \u201CThat's all it was. A bad dream. Yeah, that's right. Things like that don't happen in real life. It was a dream.\u201D It was Christmas morning. Tom hadn't bought a single thing for anyone; he was too busy relishing the money he attained by cutting the Christmas bonuses of the workers. His wife pulled out a folded heart. \u201CI made this for you dear...\u201D Tom glanced at it as he was reading the morning newspaper. \u201CYeah hun, that's great. Put it somewhere nice.\u201D \u201CI wrote something on it for you...\u201D \u201CI'll read it later. Put it away.\u201D A tear welled up in his wife's eye. \u201CA-alright dear. I know you've been stressed.\u201D She turned and quickly walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Tom continued to read the paper. Christmas was of no importance to him; he could buy his own gifts just fine. Everyone else should be able to sustain themselves as well. Not a moment after his wife had left view, the crying returned. But it was not the faint crying before. It was his wife, softly crying in the bedroom. It sounded eerily similar to the crying of before. The day lazily passed by, Tom and his wife going about their respective business. As Tom exited the bathroom and started down the hall, he froze, paralyzed with a sudden, overwhelming fear. The crying was coming from downstairs. Loud. Beckoning. He couldn't move towards the bedroom; he felt an unstoppable urge pulling him downstairs. He slowly walked towards the stairs. The crying grew louder. It beckoned ever more. He could feel the chill slowly overtaking him as he made his way closer. Closer. Down the stairs. He didn't even feel like he had control of his motions anymore. The crying pulled him. He turned the corner, and looked into the living room, where the crying was coming from. There was a thin, emaciated man, standing in the middle of the room. He was clothed only in tattered rags, with unwashed hair and an unkempt body. His back was facing Tom, who felt an unstoppable urge to walk to the man. The chill had completely taken his body, and it became even colder as he approached the man. He put his hand on the man's shoulder. He stopped crying, and began to breathe heavily. He whipped around, and stared into Tom's eyes with his own colorless eyes. His face was horribly disfigured, as if beginning to decay. He whispered to Tom. \u201CYou killed me.\u201D Tom suddenly felt pain. Overwhelming, horrifying pain. Not physical pain. Emotional pain. He felt depression as if collected over years and concentrated into a single moment. Anger. Grief. Guilt. Years and years of emotional pain, concentrated into one excruciating moment. He collapsed on the floor, screaming and writhing in a sea of uncontrolled emotion. The disfigured man looked down at him, with his cold, colorless eyes. His body had turned to one of not filth, but of one that had been physically decayed. He began to speak in a stuttering, elderly voice. \u201CY-you...condemned dozens to scarring, emotional torment. You c-condemned them to poverty, physical p-pain, and soul crushing fear. You condemned t-them to guilt, shame, and undying sadness. A-all for your own amusement. All f-for your own momentary satisfaction.\u201D Tom's emotional torture became amplified. \u201CLook at you. Y-you took a happy, f-fulfilling Christmas from almost two hundred p-people so you could satisfy your own desires.\u201D Tom could only stare in horror at the figure looming above him. He could not speak, he could not voluntarily move. Only react to the incoming torrents of emotion. \u201CB-but this time, you c-crossed the line. You didn't only take g-gifts from your workers, you t-took something much more important. You t-took that old janitor's life.\u201D Tom suddenly felt physical pain. Hunger. Piercing cold. The pains of thirst. \u201CEven if y-you didn't notice the o-obituary, I did. It was for him. T-they found him on the s-street, dead of hypothermia. Y-you have gone too far. You m-must pay. You must feel his p-pain, and you must give your life as he l-lost his. Rest in Peace.\u201D The figure opened its mouth grotesquely wide, and began to shriek. The pain of death was upon Tom. He felt the cold, the fear of the man, his anger towards Tom for doing this to him. He felt every emotion, every physical stimuli. He cried. The total pain of dying, concentrated into the space of a few seconds. The cold reached a peak. The hunger began to eat him from the inside. The thirst had consumed every drop of water in his body. The figure engulfed him, and with a final peak of emotion, everything was silent. He was gone. Tom's wife, now widowed, sat crying in the living room. Her husband lay there, frozen in place by rigor mortis. The police were all about the house, the coroner and head detective next to Tom's body. \u201CSo, mister coroner. A heart attack, you say?\u201D \u201CUndeniably. Must have come on quite quickly. At least it was nearly painless. Poor guy.\u201D \u201COn Christmas, too,\u201D said the detective, \u201CNot a very good present.\u201D The human brain can be a funny thing. However, if you provoke a mechanism too harshly, it will react harshly. Especially your conscience. If you suppress it for years, while at the same time committing acts that would normally get a reaction from it, you only build up pressure, even if you don't notice it building. You can't keep that pressure bottled up forever. Because, if you do, well... It just might kill you."@en . "Any word with science in it is obviously godless and should be considered harmful. This liberal invention is used by the Democratic Party to try and take away America's right to do whatever the most elite most wealthy top 1% favored most by God wants it to do."@en . . "2015-01-22"^^ . . . "Conscience is an overweight, gray haired, older man in Michael Swain's Blockhead movies. He is portrayed as the personification of Blockhead's conscience- his little voice of reason inside his head. Conscience is known to be a bit more then just a little voice, when he has an opinion, he won't hesitate to share it. Conscience is pretty much always in a bad mood, which is usually caused by Blockhead. Whether his anger leads to aggression just depends on the day, or more accurately, the time of day. His opinions are mostly against anything Blockhead feels is right. When Blockhead does anything wrong, Conscience is there to tell him not to. Force is rarely used by Conscience to gain control over Blockhead, but when used, control is gained for a few seconds at least. When control is lost once again, Conscience is sent into a rage making him suicidal, and threatens to kill himself as one last attempt to gain Blockheads attention. When that doesn't work, Conscience leaves Blockhead alone for the rest of the day. According to the Blockhead Webcomic, The Perils Of Gambling, it is said that Conscience feels that gambling is bad for Blockhead. Conscience feels this way because he lost a bet in gambling, and the loss changed his life forever. The bet was that he would either be sent to the fires of Hell, or be sent to live in Blockhead's head for eternity. He claims to have lost the bet, but it is unknown if that is the whole truth or not. Dad? In episode 9 while getting to the door of the disabled mans house, Blockhead refers to his conscience as \"dad\". Does Blockhead simply see his conscience as a father or is there more to it... maybe episodes to come will tell..."@en . "Marisa holds the door for the other two before stepping in after them. The blonde removes her cloak, shakes it off a bit, and looks for a nice corner table. \"'S been a while since I's been 'ere,\" she remarks to Dalayna lightly, \"Las' time were a righ' mess.\" Thayndor Zahir steps in after the girls, wordlessly, and moves off to the side, where he teases at the clasp of his cloak. He pauses mid-motion, looking at the brooch in his hands, facing away from them with his soaked cowl up over his head. Dalayna shakes her head as she follows, pulling back the hood of her own cloak, to reveal a wet mass of braids and loose hairs flitting near her face. \"I dunnae tha' I e'er set foo' in 'ere. Th' only time I were ou' this a way, was when we wen' pas' th' aegis.\" Finding a suitable table, the blonde girl hangs her cloak over the back of a chair and sits, \"'S a good place. A L'masa owns 't, dough I's ne'er met 'er. 'Ard te b'lieve dis town 's L'masa terr'toreh now... Shoul' prolleh nae be 'ere, but 's nae realleh dat big a deal I's guessin'.\" \"Those were the days, weren't they?\" Thayndor says over his shoulder, tugging off his cloak. He's still cupping the raven brooch when he turns around, the garment dripping on the floor. \"When things were as simple as a journey by boat into uncharted territory or a fight with Wildlings.\" He smiles wanly at Dalayna. \"Hello, healer. It's good to see you again.\" There's a spot of blood on his left shoulder. Dalayna, who of course had barely noticed the man before just then, quite quickly tunes in to the signs of injury. Her look of surprise quickly turns to concern, the two emotions warring with eachother. She does finally remember to curtsey quickly, \"M'Lord\", looking at his face before her gaze traces his entire form, and then returns to his shoulder. And she's not the only one. Marisa stands again and frowns, brows knitting as she looks at the spot of blood. Her tone is low for the sake of privacy, but worried as she asks, \"When'd dat 'app'n te ye's?\" She forgets greetings entirely, or perhaps just skips over it for the sake of convenience. She, too, scans over the man for other signs of injury. \"Hmm? Oh.\" The Zahir looks down, touching the drop. \"A scratch. From the, ah, other day,\" he explains to Risa. \"I must have been rubbing at it. We can tend to it later.\" He looks around the room. \"Let's find somewhere quiet to talk.\" Dalayna looks about the room suddenly, her eyes widdening as some thought occurs to her. \"Per'aps we ought t' go upstairs m'lord?\" \"Aye, 'pstairs soun's good,\" Marisa remarks with a nod. She retrieves her cloak and then talks to the innkeeper for a bit, before procuring a room key and returning to the others. The teen smirks at Dalayna, then, \"R'lax, aye?\" and starts for the stairs. Thayndor Zahir chuckles. \"I would say that sounds untoward,\" he quips, drily, \"but I think that is no longer an issue.\" Wringing his cloak out first, he hangs the garment near the door and moves to follow up the stairs. Dalayna stops at the bar, where she receives a few tankards of liquid before following last, balancing things carefully. A rather simple sleeping chamber, sized for economy of space, with a pine-framed bed, polished oak wardrobe and an angled writing desk and chair. Oil lanterns provide light at night, while round glass windows allow daylight in during the day. The teen leads the others to the room and leads them inside. Her cloak is rested carefully in the wardrobe (a temporary arrangement) and her packpack hefted from her shoulder and lowered to the floor. Marisa rubs at her shoulders where the straps were at and mumbles something involving the word 'heavy', before finding herself a spot on the wall to lean against. Thayndor Zahir is last in the room, and closes the door behind them. \"I appreciate the effort, and will reward it when I can,\" Thayndor tells Marisa, fumbling with the lock. \"You were successful, I take that to mean?\" Dalayna sets the mugs on the top of the wardrobe, watching carefully how Thayndor moves. She says nothing at this time. Thayndor Zahir might be a bit stiff in the back, but isn't moving with real trouble. Marisa nods, \"Aye, I's gots ev'rehin' but a weap'n fer meh. Ye's din' 'ave anehtin' I's aneh good 't usin'.\" She tilts her head, then, \"Lor' Esv'n was dere. Show'd up nae long af'r meh. I's tol' 'im I's was gittin' ye's some clodes an' yer moneh... 'E 'ad a mess'ge fer meh 'n de ud'rs wut work fer ye from de Duch'ss...\" The teen doesn't elaborate just yet, instead smirking at Dalayna and remarks, \"'E's shoul' 'ave stay'd a bit long'r te git te ye's 's well, Mis'ress.\" \"Oh really,\" Thayndor says, drily. \"What was the message?\" He fiddles with something at his waist, and offers a sheath to Marisa. \"Take this. I can do without it.\" Dalayna frowns slightly, though she seems to be more looking at Thayndor than actually thinking on Marisa's words. \"I ne'er met th' lad. M'lor', woul' ye do m' conscience th' favor of removing your shirt?\" \"Tank ye,\" the teen says, taking the blade and looking it over, before going back to the topic. \"Basic'leh... She wants us te be pickin' a side. 'Ouse Za'ir o' ye's... if'n we's be stayin' wit ye, well... Lor' Esv'n mensh'n'd sumtin' 'bout lettin' a loy'l s'rv'nt die wit deir mas'r,\" Marisa says, her tone rather soft. There's a strange coldness around her for a while, but when she continues it is gone, \"She's piss'd, aye. An' 'pparent'leh she's was gon' give ye's 'er answ'r te ye's mess'ge 'n pers'n. Don' like de sound o' 't, mehself.\" Thayndor Zahir gives Dalayna an odd look. \"Again, it's a scratch,\" he says, but, after a brief look at Marisa as well, tugs off the shirt. \"I believe she is behaving irrationally,\" Thayndor notes. His scarred torso has been bandaged about the midriff with what looks to be the remnants of a tunic. \"Hysterically, in fact. But it is, of course, entirely my fault. Neither you nor the members of my House should suffer the consequences of my troubles or her poor judgment.\" He glances up at the both of them. \"If you insist on tending to me, Dalayna, then by all means I shan't refuse it. And if you've questions about how we came to this point I will answer them. After that, I would encourage you to make yourself whole from whatever coin Marisa brought from my vault, then disassociate yourself from my memory. That goes for you as well, Marisa.\" Dalayna frowns, then immediately begins removing the tunic remnants from Thayndor. She occasionally run her fingers over scratches here or there, frowning at spots, before moving back to the chest, and beginning to pull a number of small pouches out of her pocket. \"Aye, I's 'greein'... Nae meh place te speak, min', an' I's were nae dere, but she's seemin' te ov'rreact,\" Marisa remarks. She regards the man thoughtfully, almost wistfully, before shaking her head with an odd smirk, \"I's nae goin' aneh'ere. Ye's dun too much fer meh te jes' turn meh back 'n ye like dat.\" \"It wouldn't be turning your back,\" Thayndor replies. \"It'd be doing what I told you.\" The man's back, chest, stomach and ribs are pocked in an almost complete sleeve of scar tissue. Dalayna, being well-versed in stab wounds, could certainly identify rapier slashes, claw marks, stab wounds. The two fresh ones -- one in the back and one in the shoulder -- look like they were caused by arrows that didn't quite go deep enough to cause serious harm. \"I\"m not sure how much help you'd be. I'm not sure what she intends to do, exactly, except make threats.\" Dalayna's eyebrows are furrowed as she stares at Thayndor's chest, her fingers working quickly to open a number of small to tiny pouches, and adding a pinch of this or that to each of the mugs in front of her without actually watching what she does. At some point, so picks up one of them, sniffs it, then nods and pulls out a small piece of cloth. \"This mae stin' a bi' m'Lord.\" Is the only commentary she has on the conversation at all as she dips the small white piece of cloth, immaculately clean compared to her outer garments, into the mug, before applying it to the arrow wound in the shoulder, almost digging into the wound with the liquid soaked cloth. \"Well, ye's did say I's nae good 't followin' ord'rs unce,\" the teen remarks to Thayndor. \"I's nae much 'elp 'n dis, aye, but I'd rad'r be dere den nae. 'T de leas', if'n she tries te folluh de threats wit acsh'ns, I's kin 'elp d'fend ye's.\" Marisa grins, then, \"Ligh', an' 'ere I's though' I's 'ad a migh'eh good c'llecsh'n o' scars.\" \"I know,\" Thayndor says, nonchalant. Then he hisses a quick breath as she digs in, grousing. \"Shades,\" he breathes out. \"-Every time- ....\" The outcast sighs, looking up at Risa from under his eyebrows as Dalayna tends to him. \"I've led a significantly longer life than you have. And I'm just as bad a learner. I'm sure you can do the arithmetic.\" After sufficiently tormenting. . . er tending the wound on his shoulder, Dalayna moves around to Thayndor's back, and begins doing the same to the hole in his back. \"Aye, but I's liv'd 'n de Shaduh Distr'ct fer de firs' 'alf o' meh life an' were a band't fer de las',\" Marisa points out, \"'Less ye's been goin' out 'n lookin' fer trouble ye's 'ole life... which I's kin see ye's doin, all told...,\" the blonde teen winks and then continues, \"Ye'd tink we'd 'ave 'bout de same o' sumtin'. Dough I's kin nae see anehtin' 'n dere quite like wut Godr'c did te meh.\" She stretches out, raising her arms, and declares proudly, \"I's kin lif' meh arm ov'r meh 'ead 'gain!\" \"I haven't had a real drubbing in years,\" Thayndor replies to Marisa, by way of explanation. \"Although that might change.\" His look grows serious again. \"I'm not kidding. There are times when I don't think twice about expecting people to put their lives before mine, you know that. But this isn't one of them.\" He winces again at Dalayna. \"Shadow's bite,\" he curses. \"Are you this rough with -everyone-?\" Dalayna shakes her head, though as she's behind Thayndor the gesture isn't overly effective. \"Nae, canna ye smell th' infection? Wha' di' they do, rub th' arrows in th' dirt afore fireing them?\" \"That's the most you've said all evening,\" notes the outlaw, over his shoulder, at Dalayna. \"Did Marisa tell you what I've done?\" He sniffs the air, as if searching for the scent of the infection she mentioned. \"Is it really infected?\" He cranes his neck, twisting as if he'd ever really manage to get a look at his back. \"An' dere was a time when I's tol' ye dat I's woul' nae put ye's life afore mine,\" Marisa points out, \"I's don' do dat fer meh boss's. Save ye's breath. I's chang'd meh min' 'bout dat fer a reas'n.\" She shakes her head, then, and adds, \"I's din' tell 'er, nae. I's tol' 'er ye's sit'ash'n, wut she'd know from de news criers, but nae wut ye's acsh'leh done.\" Dalayna's glare is quite visible as Thayndor turn's his head. \"Nay, I know naug a bi' o' wha' ye 'ave done, cept left yer keep t' run itself, meanwhiles the Imperials decided tha' they wan' th' royal navy t' be runnin' th' rivers, an' order 's to disband.\" She then steps back to the chest, grabbing the second mug, and moving Thayndor's head back forward gently with her hand as she moves behind him again. \"It's worse than I thought, then,\" Thayndor says, hanging his head. \"You've known I was touched by Shadow.\" He swallows. \"Several moons back, when I disappeared, it was because I had gone out to test myself against that ... part of me. It was a fight that has been raging ever since. I wandered Fastheld as a beast that Voreyn Zahir had seen and that I had promised never to show her again. But thinking the only way I could win ... I was losing ... was with help, I moved the battleground to her doorstep.\" He rubs his face with his hands before adding, \"which I subsequently fled amidst a hail of arrows.\" The teen listens to the retelling, pale green eyes drifting off in no particular direction. Marisa has gone cold again, and remains silent for a time, before crouching down to shuffle through the backpack. She pulls out a suit of obsidian ringmail and moves the pack to the wall. \"Ye's lett'rs an' 'nud'r suit o' arm'r 's 'n dere. Also -\" Risa starts unloading. Quiver and bow are set beside the pack, and some spare clothes from the nobleman's closet find their way to the wardrobe. Dalayna sighs and shakes her head as she slathers a wet paste that smells slightly minty into the wound, covering it with a fresh wrap. \"Tha' means ye likely gave th' infection t' yourself, livin' as ye were. I only hope I caugh' i' afore i' could spread inside ye. You'll need t' be drinken th' contents o' this mug, an' I dunna wish t' hear a single word abou' th' taste.\" She moves in front of him, holding out the third mug from the table with an expectant look as she waits for him to take it before she can salve and bandage the shoulder wound. Thayndor Zahir eyes the mug suspiciously. \"I expect I've had worse,\" he says, taking it and downing it. Lowering the mug from his lips, he coughs. \"I take that back,\" he quickly says, wiping his hand with the back of his mouth. He looks across at Marisa. \"Thank you for fetching my things. The letters are especially important to me.\" As Dalayna ministers to his shoulder, he turns the mug over in his hands. \"I'm not sure if the fury in your eyes is directed at her or at me,\" he says to Marisa. \"In truth I think we may both deserve it.\" \"'T her,\" Marisa says, \"Ye's need'd 'elp an' she's turn'd 'n ye. Don' care wut ye's were, dere's nae 'xcuse fer 't.\" She lets out a bit of a sigh and then rubs at the back of her neck, \"I's... tinkin' I's shoul' git 'nud'r room an' try te git some sleep. Jes' gon' piss mehself off if'n I's keep tinkin' 'bout 't, aye.\" She retrieves her cloak and folds it about her arm before looking around to make sure she covered everything. Dalayna slathers the salve into the shoulder wound, covers it with a small wrap, and then begins to wind a long, skinny stretch of fabric around Thayndor's arm, across his shoulder to his midsection, and around his chest and back, then back again, varying the route until all the wrappings are secured. The strange conglomeration still allows full arm movement, unless extreme sports tricks are attempted. \"I dinnae thin' I had time t' 'ide th' flavor m' Lord. There. Tha' should 'old ye, though i' would 'elp iffen ye could stop gettin' sho' a' for th' time bein'.\" Return to Season 7 (2008)"@en . . . . . . . . "100"^^ . . . . "song"@en . . . "1969-01-16"^^ . "Conscience"@fr . . . . . . "Marisa holds the door for the other two before stepping in after them. The blonde removes her cloak, shakes it off a bit, and looks for a nice corner table. \"'S been a while since I's been 'ere,\" she remarks to Dalayna lightly, \"Las' time were a righ' mess.\" Thayndor Zahir steps in after the girls, wordlessly, and moves off to the side, where he teases at the clasp of his cloak. He pauses mid-motion, looking at the brooch in his hands, facing away from them with his soaked cowl up over his head. Thayndor Zahir might be a bit stiff in the back, but isn't moving with real trouble."@en . . . . "L'inconscience \u00E9tymologiquement signifie \u00AB sans science \u00BB, ce qui ne nous \u00E9claire pas plus qu'avec le mot conscience. Aujourd'hui, on a tendance \u00E0 traiter d'inconscient un peu tout le monde. Toutefois il s'agit au contraire dans la plupart des cas d'un d\u00E9bordement de conscience. On dit par exemple que rouler \u00E0 200 kilom\u00E8tres en agglom\u00E9ration est de l'inconscience, mais en r\u00E9alit\u00E9 le sujet est en parfait \u00E9tat de conscience puisqu'il n'a pas envie de rater le match de foot \u00E0 la t\u00E9l\u00E9, pas fou le mec."@fr . . . . . . . . "Conscience is a Scottish Professional wrestler."@en . . "L'inconscience \u00E9tymologiquement signifie \u00AB sans science \u00BB, ce qui ne nous \u00E9claire pas plus qu'avec le mot conscience. Aujourd'hui, on a tendance \u00E0 traiter d'inconscient un peu tout le monde. Toutefois il s'agit au contraire dans la plupart des cas d'un d\u00E9bordement de conscience. On dit par exemple que rouler \u00E0 200 kilom\u00E8tres en agglom\u00E9ration est de l'inconscience, mais en r\u00E9alit\u00E9 le sujet est en parfait \u00E9tat de conscience puisqu'il n'a pas envie de rater le match de foot \u00E0 la t\u00E9l\u00E9, pas fou le mec."@fr . "The conscience is a voice that appears in various forms, such as Garfield's food bowl and blanket."@en . . . "2003"^^ . "Max's Conscience"@en . . "PJ Murphy"@en . . "2009-09-19"^^ . . "Conscience is what stops you from throwing puppies into high-speed traffic. It is similar to the voice in your head, but your conscience advises you to do good instead of evil. The use of conscience is unnecessary in modern times as its primary functions have wisely been relegated to celebrities."@en . "6"^^ . "Conscience is an unreleased song by Britney Spears. It was recorded in 2003 for her fourth studio album In the Zone."@en . . "Conscience is an eight year old girl in Lisa's mind, along with Jealousy, Honesty and Libido. She is the biggest of them."@en . . . . "Conscience might refer to: \n* Conscience (SVU), the Law & Order: Special Victims Unit season 6 episode. \n* Conscience (CI), the Law & Order: Criminal Intent season 3 episode."@en . "Your brain is a funny thing. Most of the time, it knows what's better for you in any given situation, and will take ever so subtle control of you to make sure you make the right decision. However, sometimes, if you abuse those mechanisms, your brain will take control accordingly to match your actions. Sometimes, the responses that it comes up with are less than satisfactory. Sometimes they're absolutely terrifying. And sometimes, They're deadly. Tom sat in his chair, and stared at the janitor with a true sense of apathy. Tom shifted in his chair. \u201CYeah.\u201D But he couldn't. \u201CYou killed him.\u201D"@en . . . "Britney Spears"@en . . . . "Conscience is an overweight, gray haired, older man in Michael Swain's Blockhead movies. He is portrayed as the personification of Blockhead's conscience- his little voice of reason inside his head. Conscience is known to be a bit more then just a little voice, when he has an opinion, he won't hesitate to share it. Conscience is pretty much always in a bad mood, which is usually caused by Blockhead. Whether his anger leads to aggression just depends on the day, or more accurately, the time of day. His opinions are mostly against anything Blockhead feels is right. When Blockhead does anything wrong, Conscience is there to tell him not to. Force is rarely used by Conscience to gain control over Blockhead, but when used, control is gained for a few seconds at least. When control is lost once "@en . . . "Conscience is an unreleased song by Britney Spears. It was recorded in 2003 for her fourth studio album In the Zone."@en . . "Conscience"@en . . "Justin, Alex, Thersa, and Jerry Russo"@en . . "\"Diatribe of a Mad Housewife\""@en . . "Bloodshy & Avant"@en . . "279.0"^^ . . . . . "Conscience is a Scottish Professional wrestler."@en . "Conscience is an eight year old girl in Lisa's mind, along with Jealousy, Honesty and Libido. She is the biggest of them."@en . "Conscience might refer to: \n* Conscience (SVU), the Law & Order: Special Victims Unit season 6 episode. \n* Conscience (CI), the Law & Order: Criminal Intent season 3 episode."@en . "Blond"@en . "This is always understood to be the inner voice of God. Mahatma Gandhiji said he was guided by his inner voice. It is also mistaken for one\u2019s soul, which it is not. Conscience is ethical and not spiritual. Conscience is best described as the personality of one\u2019s ethical consciousness. The Mother calls conscience the adversary to yoga as it will ask you not to abandon the family. The Gita advises NOT to honour any Dharma but to surrender. So, the Gita too wants the yogi to overlook one\u2019s Conscience. \n* Opinion, Attitude,Motive, Preferences, Conscience, Consciousness are likely to be confused. \n* Opinion is personal, One\u2019s personal response to a person or event. By definition it is limited. Mostly it is of the mind. \n* Attitude is the direction of the vital energy directed by the opinion of the mind. \n* Motive is more deeply seated than opinion and attitude. Opinion is of the mind. Attitude is of the vital. Motive is of the being. \n* Preference is intensely personal. It can be a mental or emotional preference. \n* Not all people are developed enough to have a conscience. Mentally developed persons acquire moral notions based on ethical principles. Ethics is of the mind. While morality can have a social dimension, ethics tend to be personal. Those who have developed ethical urges refer their actions to them. Over the years one\u2019s ethical urges acquire a personality. In spirituality it is called the being. Thus, Conscience is the being of the ethical personality. \n* Everyone may speak of his conscience even when he has none. \n* The strange fact is conscience can be selfless or selfish. \n* It may be family conscience or communal conscience. \n* Conscience can also be irrational. The fundamentalists who want to encourage terrorism and kill their enemies do act on their conscience. A conscience that encourages killing cannot be rational or even ethical. \n* Patriots talk of patriotic conscience, which leads him to die a hero for his country. \n* Consciousness is neutral. It can be mental consciousness, vital consciousness or physical consciousness. \n* It is a vast progress for the animal man to acquire a conscience. To be fettered by one\u2019s own conscience one becomes a conscientious member of the family or society. But, when one wants to awaken his SOUL and lead a spiritual life, his own conscience will stand in his way. He can make spiritual progress only when he outgrows his conscience. \n* Conscience is mistaken to be spiritual. Consciousness also is mistaken to be spiritual by itself. Consciousness is what exists. It is spiritual only when it is in the spiritual plane."@en . . . . . . "Michelle Bell"@en . . "Conscience is the human sense of what is right and wrong."@en . "1997"^^ . "Conscience (Moises Arias) is Max's inner-thoughts of right and wrong who was brought into human form after Max performed a spell incorrectly. He claims to be what Max looks like to others and dresses like Max except with his shirt buttoned up and with a tie. Throughout the \"Chronicles of Moises: Voice of Reason\" saga, he and Max have a comical relationship which revolves around Max not being able to understand what Conscience is teaching him, which has led to incedences such as Max releasing Monsters into New York City. He tutors Max and gets him ahead in his wizard studies. Being an extension of Max, leaving him for too long would make Conscience become his own person and leave Max permanently, causing Max to do only the wrong thing. He returns to Max's self-conscious in Night at the Lazerama, but not before he became his own person and received his own conscience (Adam Irigoyen). When he and Max first met, Max insisted on calling him Roy, and even told him to say his name was Darren if anyone else asks. He also calls him Gordon once, probably forgetting what he actually called him. He is later called a \"dummy\" by Alex, but she thinks that he is ruining her chances at being the family wizard, although her own laziness is more likely the actual cause of that."@en . . "Conscience is the human sense of what is right and wrong."@en . . . . "Conscience"@en .