Thoughts of Rashar, "Desert Gifted"

[Harlas Ravelkione]

// These are the notes of the sorceror Rashar Moiro-Jerichan.

Character submission: http://www.layonaraonline.com/forums/forums/thread-view.asp?tid=7149&posts=2

[Harlas Ravelkione]

Someone once told me that it is healthy to keep a diary. Today I think he pitied me. He probably believed that I had issues regarding the preliminary deaths of Lilieara, Makar and Silas. If one has so-called "issues" because one misses his loved ones, then yes, I have issues.
I miss them when I watch the sun set over the ruins in the Anauroch... I think of Lili each time I lie down on my bedroll and it lacks the heat of her warm body... dogs remind me of the boys playing with their Mia near the pond... in the early hours of the morning I miss Silas, who inherited getting up during those hours from me I guess, and I from my father...
Should I "get over" such memories? Why? They are fond memories of a time when I knew happiness. A time when I was a man, complete. The reason why I now start to write down my thoughts is not because I follow this smart-guy's advice, hoping that this will heal those open wounds. No. This will keep me on my path. I have strayed from it lately, and must remember what I swore, and what I owe to them.

* He puts down the quill, sits back and looks out of the window of his rented room at the Hotel in Pranzis. *

[Harlas Ravelkione]

Anger, hatred, a need to hurt others, indifference... those can be swallowed. I nurtured such feelings when I left Saudiria. My heart was swelling with the loss, while my head was producing plans of revenge. I swallowed those daggers and swords. Only because I was able to concentrate these feelings ... into something small... something that could be contained. Hidden. Growing.

I left the cave a changed man. No longer am I the son, father and husband I was. I paid that price for my life. I paid it for a future. I paid it for a chance to release what I hid.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

Often did I venture into the desert in the early hours of the day. If there had been raids on the caravans by the dune runners, I sometimes allowed Makar and Silas to join me. They do never attack two days in a row.

I showed them my most treasured spots. The old tower among the ruins and the hill south-east of the cleft. I showed them how to walk the dunes, and how to avoid both quick- and drumsand. I taught them how to survive the days and travel during the nights. They were eager learners, both of them. Silas lacked the caution that is required of one who walks the dunes of the Anauroch. He would have learned though, I am sure of it. The beautiful waves of sand and silt, the old ruins... they stirr the curiousity of most, and many fail to recognize that the beauty has teeth. Silas would have learned this, had he been given the chance.
When we were lucky enough to watch the mirage form in the sky. The three of us together. Those were the moments I remember, those I cherish. It was then that I discovered that I could manipulate the mirages. That I could form images in the skies, images conjured from nothing but my own imagination. The boys loved this. I did it only for them. In those days I had no desires for more than that. My talent gave me the ability to create smiles on those I loved, and that was enough.

This is not so anymore. Only yesterday I charged uphill into a throng of dune leapers... it must have been 20-25... and fought with fire and lightning, with steel and illusions of death and destruction. How did I change to what I am today? The father and son died in the desert. He followed his family. A monster stirred. A monster that kills with a wave of his hand and a whispered word. For what? As I increase my control of the weave, I also increase the destructive power of my talents. I am almost ready now. It seems I there is nothing I cannot accomplish. I am not talking about building a house, or digging a well. No. I am talking about killing, and murdering in cold blood. Of slaying the beasts of Blood - one by one or in greater numbers, it matters not. The monster has grown strong, perhaps strong enough to accomplish its fate.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

A letter arrived a few days ago. It seems that ceremonial ritual will be staged in Spellguard. I was invited to attend this, and it spoke about a "sponsor" priest. I am not sure what this is about. I did what I could to help those of the Tower when that priestess of Ilsare stole their precious flowers, sacred ones at that. Even though I had the law of Lucinda backing me up, those following her refused to help me in the matter. And now I am asked for a sponsor among her followers? They seem to be a weak-minded bunch. Smart words when the opportunity arises, but silence and retreat when there is opposition. As my grandfather once told me, one who will not stand up to ones beliefs is falling, and since the way up is more dificult many keep falling.

I am not sure why I should go there. Yes, I owe her for what I can do on this day... and what it enables me to do later on. Still, I have nothing to give, and I require nothing. Why choose faith in a time as this? Well. I suppose many choose to believe in a greater power that may yet turn the tide and save them from the coming flood that is Sinthar Bloodstone. I do not judge such thoughts. A few years ago such thoughts and dreams might have been my own. Today I know it is not so. In the end we are alone. In the moment of recognition, when one realizes that the help will not come, I believe that most regret their prayers. Priests, clerics, holy men, knigts... they have dedicated their lives to an image of greatness. In the end, however, this is merely an image. An idea.

Gods are real. I know that. I have seen them meddle. But in the end one is alone. I prayed once, with all my heart. It was then that I discovered this truth. I should not have lived to think more on this matter. 9 out of 10 do not live, and therefore such thoughts do not surface. But I lived to see the outcome. All that I cared for annihalated.

These thoughts are my own. There is no need to tell a priest that what he has spent his whole life believing will yield nothing in the end.
I choose independence. I choose to walk alone, dreaming about a wonderful past that will never return. Memories and dreams are what I have left. But I choose these over a god. I owe my respect to Lucinda, and she has it.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

I have mastered the manipulations of illusions. Only yesterday I gave a dune leaper a scare that made it dive straight into chasm. Well... that was not exactly my intention. I only meant to scare them off, so that I might enjoy the setting sun while I made my preparations for the night in relative peace. It seems that while I over time have gained a measure of control over how other perceive the mirages and illusionary enemies that I am capable of creating, I cannot know how others will react to them.

When I remember how I at first watched the mirages that sometimes are created in the desert in the heat of the day in awe, it creates a smile on my face. It is amazing how many of my talents are rooted in the Anauroch. Much of who I am today... who have become, I owe the Anauroch. In the beginning I felt flattered when Lucky named me "Desert Gifted". However, the name has grown on me, and today I find it more fitting than any other name.

Lucky. "What a cute girl", was my first impression of her. But quickly I learned that she is knowledgeable of things I had never even heard about. Well, I had not travelled as much yet when I first met her. Still. She has become one of those that I would refer to as friends.
Friends. Others have joined that definition in the months that have passed since I met Lucky. Rolf, Varka, Geir, Jacchri, Ael, Abigail, Angela, Skarp, Nalue, Katrien, Vigg... and maybe even that brute of a dwarf, Fenrir. Gods, there are even more. When I look at all these names I realize that I have strayed far from the path that I chose, on that day in the desert. It is time for me to look back, I think. I must discover where my path changed. Although I enjoy the company of friends, this goes against the oath I swore.

My focus. I have it still.
My sense of duty. I have it still.
My memories. I have not forgotten.
My nightmares. They plague me in the dark.
My priorities. They have changed...

What must I do now. Must I pack my belongings and head back to that cave in the desert? Or is this new path one that I should walk? It is certainly to my liking.

I swore it!

[Harlas Ravelkione]

After the failure on Roldem I and Varka swore that we would travel East, to the continent of Xantril. Here we would learn the ways of demons and devils, so that failure would not repeat itself. The bard said that it was no mere demon, but a veteran. What does it matter? It killed Varka and nearly me, too. Whatever we tried we could not penetrate its defensive stand.

There was much jubilation and song on the trip back to Fort Velensk. Why? It seems that Sinthar Bloodstone has never yet been defeated in open battle. One battle won. Hundreds yet to be fought. People celebrate the moment, while there is no hope for the future. No matter. I keep my thoughts to myself. Others do not want to hear them, and those that might want, should not hear them. I will take the first ship going east, together with the dwarf. If there is a place that may toughen us up for the battle ahead of us, it must be Xantril.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

During the months on this cursed continent I have seen things and lived through situations I will nut mention here. When I took the boat from Lorindar to Arabel I left most of myself behind. I had a feeling that Xantril was for the Monster... I could not have been more right.

Wherever we go there are enemies waiting for us, while others seem to be on our very heels. Until now we have been victorious, but will we last? The odds are good that we stumble into a group of enemies we cannot handle. But such thoughts mean little here. One must continue forward or one will breake against enemies that are harder than stone, tougher than leather and more sharp than any dagger. The slaughter must continue, or they will rip us apart.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

As we left Fort Mitrix behind us and entered the Roughlands Varka mentioned that this is what he was born for... this is his life. I stopped. Suddenly, in the middle of senseless mayhem and slaughter of the so-called enemies of the West I remembered who I had been. Of course I knew who I was before the Monster approached me in that Desert Cave, but I remembered something else.

Once, a father and husband, I would not have believed that people like me and Varka did exist. I would not have taken anyone seriously who would have tried to explain to me how some people live for battle. I would have argued that such would be madness and would only lead to death and misery. A person like that would surely not survive for long. There is only so much that one's sanity can cope with. One can harden oneself, of course, steel oneself against the blood and gore. But surely the death cries of one's enemies would haunt one at night, in one's dreams. No, I would have answered, that simply is too much for anyone to bear.

And today? I have passed out of what I once deemed realistic. I have moved on. I have broken with my own beliefs and sense of morality. Truly I have developed into something I would have called a Monsther. I invited it in and it has swallowed me whole. Alas, there is no turning back. I chose this path for me and I will walk it to the bitter end.

[Harlas Ravelkione]

Days, weeks, months... years? I have not seen a human face since. * A dot on the page, where the writer paused in thought. * Spring. I remember it was Spring time when I meet a traveller not far from the Fort of Last Hope. As curious a name as its location. Although Spring of what year? I live on what I hunt and gather in the wilds, like the beast I have become. Serves me right. My quest? I have lost focus. Bloodstone has been killed I think. My hate... it dispersed with my humanity along the way. With each kill, each outcry, with each life taken I have grown blunt. Everything bounces off me like a blade on a broad shield.

I have thought on ending my life. Still, there are days when I stand atop a cliff, overseeing the sun rise above the dunes that I love. Life is still the only thing I know - the last thing I have. What comes after it? Nothing. I have dreamed it, I have seen it at times when my life's blood escaped my wounds and I was falling into blackness. No, there is nothing at the end of the tunnel. The abyss is black and swallows one whole. Gone equals lost and forgotten.

I am confused as to what I must do now. For the first time in a long time I have sat down to think. In the past I did this often. To sit down and thing, to go over one's accomplisments and one's plans for the future. It was then I felt the rush of joy engulf me. The joy at having a family to care for, to love and to be loved back. All dust now. In dream I sometimes remember, but the pictures get murkier and murkier each time.
Perhaps I should go back to Audiria. My parents are likely dead by now. I abandoned them to a lonely death among strangers. I am cruel, self centered... a fiend in human shape. How did it come to this. Hatred is the answer, along with lust for vengeance. My blood burns at the thought, but not as fierce as before. The nightmares return now and then, but not every night as before. The screams fade with the memories, the blood of my boys spilled on the floor seems less red and the smell ... the smell is gone for good.

I do not remember when last I laughed. Not in the Spring I remember. It must be longer ago. I feel no pleasure at killing the beasts and enemies in the lands I travel through. They are obstacles on my path, and often I do not even look before I fall into the concentration and focus that is required to channel my gift. At times I look before I step over "it", but mostly I don't.

Destruction is what I know now. Destruction is what I have wreaked upon others. Destruction is the answer to my question.