Advent Prompt 12

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Rhalia
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Advent Prompt 12

Postby Rhalia » Mon Dec 13, 2021 1:46 am

If I were to die today and be given a chance to attend my own funeral, I wonder what I would see.
Would I be able to see? Would all of my senses be as normal men? Or would they be as they were in life?
Let us, for the sake of argument, say I WOULD be able to see. Now, what do I see?
Well, of course I see me, the centerpiece. All kindled up on my pyre, ready to light up the night.
I would hopefully see those I considered to be friends. Like Iron Commander Cody Fireblade, my sponsor and guide into the warrior profession. Would he weep for me? Perhaps. We got along well enough. I even joined Serendipitous Resurrection, partly because of him and his personality.
Maybe Lavender Morgan would be there as well. Among the first to welcome me to Valorn, she had become a good friend and guild sister before she left the guild. Her talks with me during my early turns and the knowledge she imparted served me well for many turns.
Would Iron Commander Raffe Rychmin attend? Would he bear my shield of eternal light after I am gone? I cannot think of anyone I would want to have that precious gift more than he. He has a shining reputation to uphold after all.
Lorenzo… would he spare the time, or would he care more for shine?
Would Bifrost be able to pry himself from that hollowed out tree and his gremlin friends to see me off to the next plane?
Lillya… how long would it take her before she would dance again? Hopefully, she might dedicate a dance to me.
Would Topaz recite an eloquent poem about my deeds?
Rig Mortus, a warrior of few words. Perhaps he would give my eulogy?
Bo Bonnie… She had become a fast friend and helped me to bury my grief over my own lost friends. Would she provide that same guidance to the others in attendance?
My guild sister Rosaline… a beautiful woman and devout to Miranda. Please put in a good word for me sister.
Is that Zibathia? Now why would she be there I wonder. Perhaps she feels remorse for her treatment toward me. She does appear to be wearing the benevolent robes of Miranda I threw at her in my anger.
Who is that languid looking fellow hanging near to Zibathia? What is that slung over his shoulder? Is that a… mop? I think it is. A glowing mop… the things you see when you are dead.
Would the gods deign to observe a mortal’s ceremony? Could their godly eyes shed tears for a fallen warrior who endeavored to honor them and provide them amusement?
Perhaps I might get the chance to ask them. Where does one go when they die? Do they ascend to Sunrifter to be with the gods? Or do they merely cease to exist? All questions I may never get answers to.
And now the time has come. There is Brisingr and Falx, coming to light the pyre. I can see it all… the sparks and embers. The flare as the collection of chucked wood ignites beneath my corpse. I can see the light of the flames reflected on the rivulets of tears streaming down the faces of those I called my friends.
Farewell everyone. Remember me as I was in life. My fight is over.

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Bifrost Janger
Experienced Adventurer
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Joined: Mon Jan 02, 2017 12:02 am

Re: Advent Prompt 12

Postby Bifrost Janger » Mon Dec 13, 2021 6:27 pm

It isn't important to know how I died. But, you should know that I lay there; growing stiff, for two turns before anyone found me. One of my eyes was stuck open. It is strange watching yourself. It was the brown one, incase you were wondering. Do I look like that all of the time? Probably not. The orange part of me was gone. I was much too still.

I watched me. And I watched myself back.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to wail.

I am not safe! I am not safe!! Come and get me!

But the time for crying out had passed. I hadn't any breath anymore. It is a queer sensation of displacement; when breath and touch is taken from you. Now I am nothing but sight and hearing; I am merely memory and feeling. A watcher. A wraith.

It is lucky that nobody looked for me. I was always prone to rove; I slept in numerous places. There is no one to worry when I do not come home. But I needed those turns and those marcs. I needed them to reflect; to calm myself. I needed them to accept what fate had befallen me.

In life, I slept in numerous places, but now I only rest in one. They carried me through the iron gates of the graveyard, and put me to sleep beneath the earth. But my soul does not rest there, no. I could see the Harvesters circling and I would not go inside. I lingered out on the Plains. I wish that they had burnt me and scattered me to the winds. I will not go inside.

There was a funeral for me. But it was a haze. I watched through the railings and the people seemed like echoes. Their voices were distorted and their bodies misshapen. I did not realise it then, but that was me moving away from them. I have moved further since. I think I am slipping away.

I suppose that is what happens when you die. I find now that I don't even care. I am slipping away.
Fear is a strange soil. It grows obedience like corn, which grow in straight lines to make weeding easier. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground. - Terry Pratchett

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Pallas
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Joined: Tue Dec 06, 2005 11:40 pm

Re: Advent Prompt 12

Postby Pallas » Thu Dec 30, 2021 4:18 pm

I didn’t have a chance to see what killed me.
I never could resist the sight of a portal. I’d always known, of course, there was a likelihood of being taken to some part of the lands where I might not survive, but curiosity would get the better of me every time. And sure enough came the turn when I took one chance too many and luck ran out.
I checked my blades and entered a portal I came across, with – as usual – little thought as to where it would lead. I stepped out. And I instantly died.
It’s not easy to watch the mortal world from the other side of the veil which separates the living from the dead. Vision is distorted, as is any sense of time. I could not see clearly enough to work out where I had fallen, or identify the wandering adventurer who stumbled across my body. Whoever that kind soul was, they knew me or at least knew of me. They dug a grave and laid me out, covering me with earth, murmuring prayers as they did so. And then they carved my name on a stone and set it at the head of the grave.
‘Thank you.’ I don’t know if they heard my voice, couldn’t tell if the words penetrated the veil, but from the way they looked up before raising a blade in a salute to the fallen I suspect they may have done so. And then they went on their way.
I looked on for a while, gazing down at the final resting place of my mortal self, and realised this is how I’d always pictured my end. A hastily-dug grave, my name roughly carved on a suitable stone that was nearby, in some far-flung corner where I had fallen alone.
At last I could tarry there no longer. Some force was calling, urging me toward somewhere else. I took one final glance at the stone and wondered if the name carved there would mean anything to others who saw it.
I came to the lands alone, and unknown, and I made a life. And now it seems there is another place for me to go – again alone and unknown – to see what is next in store for me.
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The joke is on the bloke who never spoke a word at all
But whose dreams lay unrevealed 'til they were rotten ...

Lindisfarne 'The Things I Should Have Said'


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