[RPG] Re: [FEI] Visitations

[Bob]

The man who stood before him was dead. He wore the armor of a hero and the
colors of the Cuthalion family. He still bore the arrows that finally slew
him, protruding from his torso, the blood no longer flowing but not yet
dried to the color of rust. His skin was pale but his eyes alive and alert,
and they pierced Maltheo with their gaze.

He shrunk away, crawling into the underbrush, as if a worm trying to burrow
into the earth. Not again! he thought. The dead pursued him, their thirst
for vengeance insatiable. He cowered in miserable self-pity.

"Fool!" Olwe the Bold stated, the voice echoing in his mind with unearthly
clarity. Maltheo looked up at the apparition fearfully as it continued. "You
cower before nothing! I cannot harm you any longer, yet you shake in fright!
Why?"

Maltheo shook his head like a child. "You… I killed you. My men… my unit. We
killed you, and now… now you want…"

But Olwe the Bold was not moved. "Vengeance?" he finished for Maltheo. Then
he laughed! The sound was cold and bright, like a tree falling in winter. "Oh,
you fool. You still do not understand. Your arrogance blinds you. You think
I have some petty need to slay those who slew me? Why should I do that? I
was your enemy! I was felled in battle, as I knew it was my destiny."

Maltheo continued to shake. But now his fright was no longer for his mortal
life. It had morphed, and now the threat remained, but oblique. Confusion
began to take hold of him. "It was… dishonourable. You fought on the side of
good, and I… and I, I did not."

Olwe the Bold crouched on the ground nearby. His massive presence was
overwhelming, but Maltheo was in no shape to escape. He knew he couldn't
walk, couldn't move, could no longer run. He began to weep.

Olwe the Bold shook his head, disgusted.

"You pitiable fool. I fought, and you fought. Such is life. Life is
struggle, and war is battle. You were barely conscious when your archers
loosed their arrows at me, yet you act as if you stabbed me in the back. I
didn't return to kill you... nor to watch a grown man weep like a child!"

It was as if he had been slapped in the face. Maltheo's eyes widened in
shock. This wasn't going as he had expected… and now he felt guilty for
feeling relief. "Why?" he could only ask.

"For months you've been wandering like a moon-struck calf, asking the gods
why you've survived, why you failed to take down that ruler you once
served... why, why, why.  The question is not 'why!' You need to ask
yourself what you will do with the time you have left. I died in battle, and
there is no why. It was inevitable, for a man like me. There is no more on
this plane for me to do. I am not even here, now. I am but a shade... and
you are a man very nearly out of your mind with useless emotion."

Maltheo didn't know what to say. Then he remembered Olwe of Toren's letter.
"Your son… he doesn't know that it was my men. He doesn't know why, either."

"Then you may tell him, if that is your wish. He is my son and he is at
peace with himself, just as I am. You may tell him he has no need to avenge
my death, but he knows this. Serve him, for he is destined for greatness.
But, Maltheo. Your one crime was dishonour."

Maltheo almost began to weep again. He remembered his unit of archers. Good
men, but they had orders to slay any of the enemy, without mercy… such
dishonour!

"No, not in the manner of command, fool!" Olwe rebuked. "Your crime was not
in failure, either. Your crime was in that tongue of yours. The day after my
death, you indulged in your hatred and spoke in anger. You spoke ill of the
dead. Do not dishonour the dead, Maltheo."

And the dead warrior stood up again. His blood was less visible, now, the
arrows more like threads than wood. Soon Maltheo realized he was fading out
of sight. He sat up, suddenly eager to know, so many questions now…

"How do I make my penance, Olwe?" he asked desperately.

"I think you already know. Farewell, Maltheo of Olik. We shall not see one
another again," and indeed, Olwe was no longer visible. Maltheo could only
barely make out the ghost of the great hero's words as they, too, faded: "…for
a while."

He found himself sitting in a wintery copse, his head spinning with ikrif and
wonder. He was alone now – perhaps he had always been so. He almost began to
feel self-pity again, but caught himself just in time.

The weight of Meaning and Truth began to bear down on his shoulders, and he
realized what a fool he had been. Throwing himself around like a sullen
child, taking on the burden of the deaths of everyone he had ever known… as
if he were a god, who could control who lives, who dies, and why.  Such
arrogance and blindness!

He stood, awkwardly, feeling the last of the effects of the ikrif leave his
shaken body. He realized he was hungry, and he rejoiced in his need for
food, for it meant he was among the living.

Penance.

And like that, Maltheo was a man who had purpose in life once again.



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~b
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