It is from his perspective that I wrote 'A Final Rest' and submitted via Achaea's bardic system (back in 2009). This entry clarifies what Goryllin sees as his ultimate goal and reflects how the life of a duty bound Paladin can really cause one to seek that Final Rest.
Please enjoy.
A Final Rest
I rest. I feel such peace. And while I slumber, my mind breaks free to wander,
soaring softly from tree to tree, forest to forest. Enjoying the majesty of this
flight, I am suddenly attracted by a sound in the distance, some great uproar.
And thus I quickly float by to a tavern in the forest, simply slipping through
the door as it swings to allow entry to another, unseen to all gathered. Oh,
what a great and clamorous din this is! This must surely be a feast, for there
is food on every longtable that dominates the gathering space of this tavern.
And such a vast crush of bodies, ranging from those boisterous dwarfs, to gangly
men and even those rajamalan Knights who have set aside their weapons for this
event.
But what sort of celebration is this, for even with all of the loud bays of
laughter, I can see tears on those dwarven eyes, and a trembling lip not well
hid by flagons of ale. Something catches at my mind, making me think that I
should recognize these people, that I should be here with them for whatever
event this might become. Suddenly, as if on cue, a hush falls over this crowd,
and attention turns to the stage at the far corner of the room. Surely this is a
great undertaking, I observe as the candles in the room begin to flicker lower,
shadows dancing along the roof, the quiet so odd to the previous clamor. As I
made these little notes, I noticed a slight quiver in the back curtain and then
strode forth the man of the hour, or so I thought. He is a younger man, firm of
stature, his atavian wings gracefully folded across his back as he seemed to
glide forward into the gathered attention. As he pulls his instruments forward
in front of him, it is obvious that he was a bard, and one of some renown. He
begins a prepared speech, going on about celebration of a life or some such, and
again my mind struggles to place him and all of these people. So, this is to be
a celebration he says, yet still I swear I can see sorrow in these eyes, and
those smiles are all forced. What kind of celebration would bring such a
response? But hark! I just heard that fine bard mention "Use his own words as
proof of his life." Ah, so this is an award for another bard, I consider as I
lean forward to pay attention to the tenor voice as it begins softly.
And this is what he said:
--------
"Screaming agony tears through my gut, as the dark-hooded Knight withdraws
his twisted blade with a snarl of triumph. That pain is soon but a small voice
though, as a mammoth beast of such immense proportions renders my once strong
and supple limbs into a mere mesh of dust and flesh.
Now I slowly lift my pain-filled eyes, my sight dimming ever faster as I see
my foe's hand encased in silver light. There is no pain in my death, not even a
hint of agony as my heart is ripped from my chest.
This is my duty. This is my destiny.
The battle moves on, other warriors to trap and slay. My body now only
ashes, softly fluttering from the shrine of an altar.
With a soft sigh, my lonely soul gazes upon the now peaceful devastation of
the battlefield. Oh! How I long to stay here, where no quarrel rises and no
anger cries.
But this is not my calling. There is still a battle to fight, an innocent to
save.
So with a last long searching glance, my soul lifts his head to the Great
Mother above. His mouth moving slowly to form the words to ancient prayers.
The noise, clamor, and desires of this world slowly fade away, as my soul
softly wanders through the doors. And thus, yet again, my soul shall walk these
Halls.
And soon my blades shall flash once more."
--------
As the words slowly fade away into the air, they seem to resonate to echo from the rafters of the building and something clings to my heart for just a moment.
Shocked by the somber tone, I turn my gaze to the audience and see fresh tears,
not hidden this time, as well as a seeming nod of recognition and even sympathy
for the writer of those words. I quickly turn my eyes back to the bard, hoping
for an explanation. He simply sits there, his hands softly stroking his mandolin
as he seems lost in space. A sudden motion attracts my attention as a scarred
dwarf angrily slams his mug on the table a low growl setting the whole table
into sudden motion. Stumpy legs become a blur as every flagon in the place is
filled to and sometimes over the brim. Almost as if choreographed, every single
person in the tavern lifted a toast at the same time, though I could not
possibly understand it through the tears and choppy voices. This is quickly
becoming a madhouse, I decide and have just turned to flee back to the safety of
my normal dreams when that voice rings forth again, in a chant that simply
commands attention. And this is what we all did hear:
---------
"I bow my head in desperate prayer, words slurring off my lips as chilled
hands grip my weapons. Squeezing my lips shut, I raise rage filled eyes to my
prey, muscles trained by war tensing in anticipation.
With a snarl torn from the bottom of my soul, I launch myself through the
air; Wind coursing past my ears as I approach my target. Suddenly things are no
longer calm, the sounds of the night air are ripped apart by screams.
Spittle mingles with blood and coats the hard-packed ground as we battle,
furies unleashing themselves in a desperate struggle. But hark, a sudden halt,
the enemy suddenly writhing on my blade, a quick grunt and heave and stillness
permeates the night again.
Slowly I gather my blades and rise from the ground, my body aching, my heart
torn. I look down at the ground, a bitter sweet smile fixed upon my face.
I have done my duty, I have ended the man who would harm my God and his
children. But at what cost, I slowly wonder, head bent against the tears.
With a heavy heart, and no words left in my mouth, I bend to retrieve the
head of my wife's son."
--------
Now even my sickened gasp is lost in the emotion that swells through this room
as the last chant seems to echo accusingly back at me. This is a celebration?
What could possibly be celebrated with such words I ask myself in disbelief.
This is growing entirely uncomfortable, and not just because the room suddenly
feels as if there are forges under the floor, but because something is growing
in my heart. This does not feel right, this does not feel free. I am dreaming,
why can my dreams not be pleasant and happy. All of my grumbling is silenced by
one small sound. Slowly I turn my eyes gently towards the center of the room,
unerringly tracking to that very tiny gulp of a sob. Until that one slip, this
mighty Xoran had completely escaped my notice. She sat there, surrounded on all
sides by warriors and people from every tough and hardened corner of the world.
Yet there was such strength in her gaze, such beauty in the steel shining from
her eyes. So rapt was my gaze that I nearly missed the single tear brimming in
the corner of her eye. Sudden anger makes me step forward from the wall, intent
on putting a stop to such acts of misery and demand that these people grow up
and go home. Suddenly my body simply stops responding, locked into place;
because she is rising. With a deep breath, this beauty that can exist only in
dreams marches stately down the row between tables as people make way. Lifting
her eyes to the audience, she slowly explains that she will be doing the final
honors, in reading the last work of this cherished man. Something presses
firmly into my forehead, causing an ache that I can not possibly bear. I do not
want to hear this, surely it will be more agony. But I can not tear myself away
from her eyes, from that slight tremble in those lush lips and so I listen as
she begins.
Her low alto voice spreads slowly through the room, pearling tones singing
these words:
--------
"Here I stand, the wind swirling the cloak around my shoulders. Resolute, my
shadow stretches across the land as sweat stubbornly coats my jaw.
Ignoring the blood dripping from my blades, I wait with a hopeful heart.
Those that would oppose me lie in ruins behind me, my sacrifices in a heap at my
feet."
--
At this, the very earth trembles at the fluctuation of some powerful force.
Yet, even then, every eye in the room remain locked on those of the speaker and
something deep within me struggles mightily for release. I feel as if I am
mouthing the very words as they continue:
--
"A sudden noise breaks into my thoughts, a distant screech echoing through
the mountains. Lifting not a muscle, patience fills my body as the beat of wings
filters to my ears.
Eyes bright with life take in my silent figure, great talons of war flex as
the falcon circles me. Peace floods my soul, joy fills my thoughts.
While my God has not spoken, I have been answered."
--------
Something snaps in the very fabric of the room, everything blurs, and I wonder
if I am waking up just when things got interesting. A pearling screech rings
against my eardrums, as I still float in rapture of the wonder of those last
verses. All of the horror I had heard before is washed away in the simply and
honest truth of that poem. Something within me resounds deep, echoing through
the core of who I am. My vision is clearing, though it must still be behind the
times. For everyone seems frozen, attentive faces captured in the magic of that
final moment. I am frustrated now, shaking my head because the faces nearest me
are losing focus while everything else is getting sharper.
Surely its time that I woke up, I have been sleeping for sometime. I know I have a great duty that I
must return to, everything in my life has always been on that focal point. But
my mental commands are simply ignored, as I slowly glide forward towards the
stunning visage that just gave me the most fitting eulogy I could have asked
for.
Reality becomes as clear as that last crystal note still hovering in the
air. Those words that I first felt disgust and then later awe were my very own
words. That bard was my closest friend paying me the greatest honor that I
could have dreamed. That lovely Xoran vision seemed so real because I know her,
I have known her for decades. I have shared my deepest secrets and my greatest
desires with her, as we raised our family to carry the legacy. Still so
beautiful, still so wonderful, oh.. still so strong as she stands there frozen
in time. Just a tiny tear trickling down her face, but her eyes show such sorrow
that my heart no longer seems to beat, as if in sympathy.
As my legs steadily move me onwards, I long only to plant one last kiss on
those tempting lips. One last kiss of understanding and farewell. With
understanding giving weight to my very footsteps, I slowly scan the room,
recognizing each face as they flash into my view. The silence matters naught to
me any more, because my ears are ringing from sounds of another world. This is
when the regrets should start, this is when I realize how I have failed to truly
leave a mark on this world. But somehow, the tears and sorrow just does not
flow. I struggled through a life of blood, gore, and warfare. I lived a life
that left little time for peace and happiness. I let my sense of duty and
responsibility drive me so far, that I never even realized it was time to hang
up my weapons. And yet, for all of my faults, this room is packed with people
that I cared for in my own way. For all of the times that I railed about not
being understood, for all of the times I felt alone in my fight and my quest...
here stands the proof I was completely and utterly wrong.
And now I turn to face the front, gliding slowly past the now obvious casket,
sparing only a simple glance for the armor clad figure within. I have no need
for that mortal body, though it served me well and with little complaint. A
smile creases my face in spite of the tears that still remain. While the room
behind me fades into obscurity, each person still frozen in the mists of time, I
draw my shoulders square and walk towards the light before me. The very forges
of the universe flare brightly to guide my path as I take a trembling step, my
God reaches out a tender hand to pull me forward into His embrace. A sudden
tendril of feeling bursts over me, a feeling so rare that it pauses me for
moment even in this frozen rapture. Joy. I know now that my life was worth
living. Even as I lamented never knowing peace or tranquility, even as I
regretted not spending more time with friendlier pursuits. Even though I lived a
life that felt stricken from emotion by my duty and responsibility, I know it
was worth it. This final moment of my life has taught me the greatest lesson
that I could ever learn. And then I feel my tears fading as the weight rolls off
my shoulder and my heart lifts in freedom. I have accomplished my duty. My Lord
beckons unto me.
Goodbye my friends. Enjoy my wake. My peace is here. I finally shall have
rest.
soaring softly from tree to tree, forest to forest. Enjoying the majesty of this
flight, I am suddenly attracted by a sound in the distance, some great uproar.
And thus I quickly float by to a tavern in the forest, simply slipping through
the door as it swings to allow entry to another, unseen to all gathered. Oh,
what a great and clamorous din this is! This must surely be a feast, for there
is food on every longtable that dominates the gathering space of this tavern.
And such a vast crush of bodies, ranging from those boisterous dwarfs, to gangly
men and even those rajamalan Knights who have set aside their weapons for this
event.
But what sort of celebration is this, for even with all of the loud bays of
laughter, I can see tears on those dwarven eyes, and a trembling lip not well
hid by flagons of ale. Something catches at my mind, making me think that I
should recognize these people, that I should be here with them for whatever
event this might become. Suddenly, as if on cue, a hush falls over this crowd,
and attention turns to the stage at the far corner of the room. Surely this is a
great undertaking, I observe as the candles in the room begin to flicker lower,
shadows dancing along the roof, the quiet so odd to the previous clamor. As I
made these little notes, I noticed a slight quiver in the back curtain and then
strode forth the man of the hour, or so I thought. He is a younger man, firm of
stature, his atavian wings gracefully folded across his back as he seemed to
glide forward into the gathered attention. As he pulls his instruments forward
in front of him, it is obvious that he was a bard, and one of some renown. He
begins a prepared speech, going on about celebration of a life or some such, and
again my mind struggles to place him and all of these people. So, this is to be
a celebration he says, yet still I swear I can see sorrow in these eyes, and
those smiles are all forced. What kind of celebration would bring such a
response? But hark! I just heard that fine bard mention "Use his own words as
proof of his life." Ah, so this is an award for another bard, I consider as I
lean forward to pay attention to the tenor voice as it begins softly.
And this is what he said:
--------
"Screaming agony tears through my gut, as the dark-hooded Knight withdraws
his twisted blade with a snarl of triumph. That pain is soon but a small voice
though, as a mammoth beast of such immense proportions renders my once strong
and supple limbs into a mere mesh of dust and flesh.
Now I slowly lift my pain-filled eyes, my sight dimming ever faster as I see
my foe's hand encased in silver light. There is no pain in my death, not even a
hint of agony as my heart is ripped from my chest.
This is my duty. This is my destiny.
The battle moves on, other warriors to trap and slay. My body now only
ashes, softly fluttering from the shrine of an altar.
With a soft sigh, my lonely soul gazes upon the now peaceful devastation of
the battlefield. Oh! How I long to stay here, where no quarrel rises and no
anger cries.
But this is not my calling. There is still a battle to fight, an innocent to
save.
So with a last long searching glance, my soul lifts his head to the Great
Mother above. His mouth moving slowly to form the words to ancient prayers.
The noise, clamor, and desires of this world slowly fade away, as my soul
softly wanders through the doors. And thus, yet again, my soul shall walk these
Halls.
And soon my blades shall flash once more."
--------
As the words slowly fade away into the air, they seem to resonate to echo from the rafters of the building and something clings to my heart for just a moment.
Shocked by the somber tone, I turn my gaze to the audience and see fresh tears,
not hidden this time, as well as a seeming nod of recognition and even sympathy
for the writer of those words. I quickly turn my eyes back to the bard, hoping
for an explanation. He simply sits there, his hands softly stroking his mandolin
as he seems lost in space. A sudden motion attracts my attention as a scarred
dwarf angrily slams his mug on the table a low growl setting the whole table
into sudden motion. Stumpy legs become a blur as every flagon in the place is
filled to and sometimes over the brim. Almost as if choreographed, every single
person in the tavern lifted a toast at the same time, though I could not
possibly understand it through the tears and choppy voices. This is quickly
becoming a madhouse, I decide and have just turned to flee back to the safety of
my normal dreams when that voice rings forth again, in a chant that simply
commands attention. And this is what we all did hear:
---------
"I bow my head in desperate prayer, words slurring off my lips as chilled
hands grip my weapons. Squeezing my lips shut, I raise rage filled eyes to my
prey, muscles trained by war tensing in anticipation.
With a snarl torn from the bottom of my soul, I launch myself through the
air; Wind coursing past my ears as I approach my target. Suddenly things are no
longer calm, the sounds of the night air are ripped apart by screams.
Spittle mingles with blood and coats the hard-packed ground as we battle,
furies unleashing themselves in a desperate struggle. But hark, a sudden halt,
the enemy suddenly writhing on my blade, a quick grunt and heave and stillness
permeates the night again.
Slowly I gather my blades and rise from the ground, my body aching, my heart
torn. I look down at the ground, a bitter sweet smile fixed upon my face.
I have done my duty, I have ended the man who would harm my God and his
children. But at what cost, I slowly wonder, head bent against the tears.
With a heavy heart, and no words left in my mouth, I bend to retrieve the
head of my wife's son."
--------
Now even my sickened gasp is lost in the emotion that swells through this room
as the last chant seems to echo accusingly back at me. This is a celebration?
What could possibly be celebrated with such words I ask myself in disbelief.
This is growing entirely uncomfortable, and not just because the room suddenly
feels as if there are forges under the floor, but because something is growing
in my heart. This does not feel right, this does not feel free. I am dreaming,
why can my dreams not be pleasant and happy. All of my grumbling is silenced by
one small sound. Slowly I turn my eyes gently towards the center of the room,
unerringly tracking to that very tiny gulp of a sob. Until that one slip, this
mighty Xoran had completely escaped my notice. She sat there, surrounded on all
sides by warriors and people from every tough and hardened corner of the world.
Yet there was such strength in her gaze, such beauty in the steel shining from
her eyes. So rapt was my gaze that I nearly missed the single tear brimming in
the corner of her eye. Sudden anger makes me step forward from the wall, intent
on putting a stop to such acts of misery and demand that these people grow up
and go home. Suddenly my body simply stops responding, locked into place;
because she is rising. With a deep breath, this beauty that can exist only in
dreams marches stately down the row between tables as people make way. Lifting
her eyes to the audience, she slowly explains that she will be doing the final
honors, in reading the last work of this cherished man. Something presses
firmly into my forehead, causing an ache that I can not possibly bear. I do not
want to hear this, surely it will be more agony. But I can not tear myself away
from her eyes, from that slight tremble in those lush lips and so I listen as
she begins.
Her low alto voice spreads slowly through the room, pearling tones singing
these words:
--------
"Here I stand, the wind swirling the cloak around my shoulders. Resolute, my
shadow stretches across the land as sweat stubbornly coats my jaw.
Ignoring the blood dripping from my blades, I wait with a hopeful heart.
Those that would oppose me lie in ruins behind me, my sacrifices in a heap at my
feet."
--
At this, the very earth trembles at the fluctuation of some powerful force.
Yet, even then, every eye in the room remain locked on those of the speaker and
something deep within me struggles mightily for release. I feel as if I am
mouthing the very words as they continue:
--
"A sudden noise breaks into my thoughts, a distant screech echoing through
the mountains. Lifting not a muscle, patience fills my body as the beat of wings
filters to my ears.
Eyes bright with life take in my silent figure, great talons of war flex as
the falcon circles me. Peace floods my soul, joy fills my thoughts.
While my God has not spoken, I have been answered."
--------
Something snaps in the very fabric of the room, everything blurs, and I wonder
if I am waking up just when things got interesting. A pearling screech rings
against my eardrums, as I still float in rapture of the wonder of those last
verses. All of the horror I had heard before is washed away in the simply and
honest truth of that poem. Something within me resounds deep, echoing through
the core of who I am. My vision is clearing, though it must still be behind the
times. For everyone seems frozen, attentive faces captured in the magic of that
final moment. I am frustrated now, shaking my head because the faces nearest me
are losing focus while everything else is getting sharper.
Surely its time that I woke up, I have been sleeping for sometime. I know I have a great duty that I
must return to, everything in my life has always been on that focal point. But
my mental commands are simply ignored, as I slowly glide forward towards the
stunning visage that just gave me the most fitting eulogy I could have asked
for.
Reality becomes as clear as that last crystal note still hovering in the
air. Those words that I first felt disgust and then later awe were my very own
words. That bard was my closest friend paying me the greatest honor that I
could have dreamed. That lovely Xoran vision seemed so real because I know her,
I have known her for decades. I have shared my deepest secrets and my greatest
desires with her, as we raised our family to carry the legacy. Still so
beautiful, still so wonderful, oh.. still so strong as she stands there frozen
in time. Just a tiny tear trickling down her face, but her eyes show such sorrow
that my heart no longer seems to beat, as if in sympathy.
As my legs steadily move me onwards, I long only to plant one last kiss on
those tempting lips. One last kiss of understanding and farewell. With
understanding giving weight to my very footsteps, I slowly scan the room,
recognizing each face as they flash into my view. The silence matters naught to
me any more, because my ears are ringing from sounds of another world. This is
when the regrets should start, this is when I realize how I have failed to truly
leave a mark on this world. But somehow, the tears and sorrow just does not
flow. I struggled through a life of blood, gore, and warfare. I lived a life
that left little time for peace and happiness. I let my sense of duty and
responsibility drive me so far, that I never even realized it was time to hang
up my weapons. And yet, for all of my faults, this room is packed with people
that I cared for in my own way. For all of the times that I railed about not
being understood, for all of the times I felt alone in my fight and my quest...
here stands the proof I was completely and utterly wrong.
And now I turn to face the front, gliding slowly past the now obvious casket,
sparing only a simple glance for the armor clad figure within. I have no need
for that mortal body, though it served me well and with little complaint. A
smile creases my face in spite of the tears that still remain. While the room
behind me fades into obscurity, each person still frozen in the mists of time, I
draw my shoulders square and walk towards the light before me. The very forges
of the universe flare brightly to guide my path as I take a trembling step, my
God reaches out a tender hand to pull me forward into His embrace. A sudden
tendril of feeling bursts over me, a feeling so rare that it pauses me for
moment even in this frozen rapture. Joy. I know now that my life was worth
living. Even as I lamented never knowing peace or tranquility, even as I
regretted not spending more time with friendlier pursuits. Even though I lived a
life that felt stricken from emotion by my duty and responsibility, I know it
was worth it. This final moment of my life has taught me the greatest lesson
that I could ever learn. And then I feel my tears fading as the weight rolls off
my shoulder and my heart lifts in freedom. I have accomplished my duty. My Lord
beckons unto me.
Goodbye my friends. Enjoy my wake. My peace is here. I finally shall have
rest.
No comments:
Post a Comment