Gone
Posted: Mon Jan 16, 2006 8:03 pm
Velyn, my heart, I wish you were here. Once agian I come to the shrine of Kelemvor. Once again, people I love are dead. Saddly, I have been here for too many friends.
I know more dead people than living.
This time, it is different. This time it is worse, much worse. I watch the light from the ever lit brazier's play in Nicha's hair as I kneel and give her the pipeweed from what used to be my garden. The pipeweed seeds I had got from Gorm Grimbeard....Nicha places it at the base of the shrine next ro her offering of ale, she slices her hand and presses it against the stone, leaving a bloody handprint. I hear her whisper carried away as the wind causes the flames in the braziers to flicker, "for absent friends".
Sunset is here, it is time to say goodbye.
Glad I am that Nicha is here. Nicha, Lady Knight of Kelemvor, Nicha who knew them, who cared for them. "A dwarf doesn't cry", Babras's words. I try not to, but I can feel hot tears trace their way down my cheek. I hear my heartbeat hammer in my ears like the hammer of a smith at his forge. "Gone, gone, gone" it says...Nicha begins...
Lord Kelemvor, Great Guide and Lord of the Dead, we come to you this night to mourn the loss of friends.
Friends. They were more than friends to me. I see their faces in my mind. Dornna Dal, General Drumlin, Lanna, Roscoe the Runemage.... Dain and Babras.
Many have gone along the paths to your realms, to see your city on their way home We ask that you soften their journey, and guide them to the home.
Home? I have lost a home. The halls collapsed. Many years ago I had come to Daggerdale young, scarred and scared. Babras had loved me and cast the protection of his clan around me, making me his daughter, making me an Ironstar. So long he has been dead. At least he was spared this.
May the Dwarf Lords receive their own with open arms, a warrior's welcome, and a seat at their tables.
Tables. I remember the great council table, where Dornna Dal would call the Ironstars to dwarfmoot. The faces around the table...Babras, Dain, Hignar, Bital. Then those who had the right to come because they were sammas, dwarf friends, Rem, Soipa....and Arakiel.
Guide them oh Lord to the Halls, and accept these our offerings, to greet them as they come home at last.
Oh, gods of the green...the Halls as I had last seen them. Dead dwarves laying everywhere. Burned dwarves, stabbed dwarves. Oldhar Brokenhart slain at the foot of the altar of Moradin. One dwarf we found half disitergrated, his face melted away, a short sword in his dead hand.
Dain had used a short sword. Dain! Dain, so clever and curious. Dain the proud ambassador. I saw Dain at the wedding of myself and his best friend, Arakiel. I saw Dain as he came out of the Desertmouth Moutains, grey faced, when he and Arakiel had gone to rescue his love, the woman-child Tace, and found her dead. I saw him last at Arakiel's funeral.
May their comrades greet them with story, song and revelry and may they be held in high honor for all of eternity.
Honor. They should be held in honor. The Irosntars had fought grey dwarves, drow, orcs. So many enemies, only to be slaughtered in their own halls by beholders and their minions.
Death is not an ending, but a beginning. It is a part of life, do not fear it.These our friends met death head on, fighting as the warriors they were. Honor them oh Lord, and help those of us left behind to honor them also.
Those left behind. I was the only Ironstar left in Daggerdale. Bital needs to know. Frors. Hignar. The last time I have heard from Hignar, he told me he had formed an alliance with the thrice damned drow.
May we remember them in our hearts all our lives, and may we be given the chance to greet them again in joy some day.
Nicha was finished. Now it is my turn. My left hand hurts, my nails have made bloody moon shaped marks in my palm. My right fist is closed hard on the Ironstar medalion. My jaws ache from being clamped down on the howl of grief I will not let past my lips. I force it down.
"Farewell you who took me in. Farewell the constant friends. Farewell to the Ironstars. Long may they be remembered in the ale cups of kin. Axes high."
I stand up, knees aching. I look down at my blood smeared armor. I have not even taken the time to clean it. Turning, I look at Nicha, Ky'Talas, Mykhal, Millia. Seva and Valdur guard the shrine. Velyn is out there somewhere, I can feel him. Gods, what he must feel of my emotions?
I look at my friends. Nicha encourages me, "Arien, it will be all right". I have one last dwarf to say goodbye to. A dwarf who came to Daggerdale in the company of a young human named Arakiel. A dwarf who sacrificed his life to work at the Soul Forge, lit by Moradin, now darkened by an insane ghost. It is time to remember Gorm. I tuck the amulet into a pouch and draw my golden scimitar. Flame licks along it's edge, making the runes etched into it glow.
"I have in my hand the last work of Gorm Grimbeard. Long had this been in the planning. He crafted it from a chunk of adamantine ore Arakiel had given him and the fire spear of one of our most constant ememies. I dedicate this weapon, which Gorm's journal names Sunstorm, to something dear to the dwarves. To the defense of kith and kin." I kneel down and drive the point of the scimitar into the ground.
"Thank you, Gorm Grimbeard, for all you have done for me. For Arakiel. And for our clan."
I stand up and look up, my eyes meeting Nicha's.
"Now they can rest."
-Arien
I know more dead people than living.
This time, it is different. This time it is worse, much worse. I watch the light from the ever lit brazier's play in Nicha's hair as I kneel and give her the pipeweed from what used to be my garden. The pipeweed seeds I had got from Gorm Grimbeard....Nicha places it at the base of the shrine next ro her offering of ale, she slices her hand and presses it against the stone, leaving a bloody handprint. I hear her whisper carried away as the wind causes the flames in the braziers to flicker, "for absent friends".
Sunset is here, it is time to say goodbye.
Glad I am that Nicha is here. Nicha, Lady Knight of Kelemvor, Nicha who knew them, who cared for them. "A dwarf doesn't cry", Babras's words. I try not to, but I can feel hot tears trace their way down my cheek. I hear my heartbeat hammer in my ears like the hammer of a smith at his forge. "Gone, gone, gone" it says...Nicha begins...
Lord Kelemvor, Great Guide and Lord of the Dead, we come to you this night to mourn the loss of friends.
Friends. They were more than friends to me. I see their faces in my mind. Dornna Dal, General Drumlin, Lanna, Roscoe the Runemage.... Dain and Babras.
Many have gone along the paths to your realms, to see your city on their way home We ask that you soften their journey, and guide them to the home.
Home? I have lost a home. The halls collapsed. Many years ago I had come to Daggerdale young, scarred and scared. Babras had loved me and cast the protection of his clan around me, making me his daughter, making me an Ironstar. So long he has been dead. At least he was spared this.
May the Dwarf Lords receive their own with open arms, a warrior's welcome, and a seat at their tables.
Tables. I remember the great council table, where Dornna Dal would call the Ironstars to dwarfmoot. The faces around the table...Babras, Dain, Hignar, Bital. Then those who had the right to come because they were sammas, dwarf friends, Rem, Soipa....and Arakiel.
Guide them oh Lord to the Halls, and accept these our offerings, to greet them as they come home at last.
Oh, gods of the green...the Halls as I had last seen them. Dead dwarves laying everywhere. Burned dwarves, stabbed dwarves. Oldhar Brokenhart slain at the foot of the altar of Moradin. One dwarf we found half disitergrated, his face melted away, a short sword in his dead hand.
Dain had used a short sword. Dain! Dain, so clever and curious. Dain the proud ambassador. I saw Dain at the wedding of myself and his best friend, Arakiel. I saw Dain as he came out of the Desertmouth Moutains, grey faced, when he and Arakiel had gone to rescue his love, the woman-child Tace, and found her dead. I saw him last at Arakiel's funeral.
May their comrades greet them with story, song and revelry and may they be held in high honor for all of eternity.
Honor. They should be held in honor. The Irosntars had fought grey dwarves, drow, orcs. So many enemies, only to be slaughtered in their own halls by beholders and their minions.
Death is not an ending, but a beginning. It is a part of life, do not fear it.These our friends met death head on, fighting as the warriors they were. Honor them oh Lord, and help those of us left behind to honor them also.
Those left behind. I was the only Ironstar left in Daggerdale. Bital needs to know. Frors. Hignar. The last time I have heard from Hignar, he told me he had formed an alliance with the thrice damned drow.
May we remember them in our hearts all our lives, and may we be given the chance to greet them again in joy some day.
Nicha was finished. Now it is my turn. My left hand hurts, my nails have made bloody moon shaped marks in my palm. My right fist is closed hard on the Ironstar medalion. My jaws ache from being clamped down on the howl of grief I will not let past my lips. I force it down.
"Farewell you who took me in. Farewell the constant friends. Farewell to the Ironstars. Long may they be remembered in the ale cups of kin. Axes high."
I stand up, knees aching. I look down at my blood smeared armor. I have not even taken the time to clean it. Turning, I look at Nicha, Ky'Talas, Mykhal, Millia. Seva and Valdur guard the shrine. Velyn is out there somewhere, I can feel him. Gods, what he must feel of my emotions?
I look at my friends. Nicha encourages me, "Arien, it will be all right". I have one last dwarf to say goodbye to. A dwarf who came to Daggerdale in the company of a young human named Arakiel. A dwarf who sacrificed his life to work at the Soul Forge, lit by Moradin, now darkened by an insane ghost. It is time to remember Gorm. I tuck the amulet into a pouch and draw my golden scimitar. Flame licks along it's edge, making the runes etched into it glow.
"I have in my hand the last work of Gorm Grimbeard. Long had this been in the planning. He crafted it from a chunk of adamantine ore Arakiel had given him and the fire spear of one of our most constant ememies. I dedicate this weapon, which Gorm's journal names Sunstorm, to something dear to the dwarves. To the defense of kith and kin." I kneel down and drive the point of the scimitar into the ground.
"Thank you, Gorm Grimbeard, for all you have done for me. For Arakiel. And for our clan."
I stand up and look up, my eyes meeting Nicha's.
"Now they can rest."
-Arien
