Death of a Vagrant

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Baron Saturday
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Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 4:34 am

Death of a Vagrant

Post by Baron Saturday » Wed Jul 05, 2017 7:21 pm

I die, and I remember.

Mostly I remember the smell of turnips. It comes, most potently, from the wagon full of the wretched things, but also from the young donkey pulling the wagon, and even, faintly and despite many washings, from my tunic as I pull the donkey.

It is early fall, and we - the donkey, whose name is Dragon because of his sweet disposition, and myself - are headed to market in Baldur’s Gate, there to rid ourselves of turnips and return to the farm with all the goods that will keep my folk warm and fed throughout the winter. I am fourteen, and I have only been to the market by myself once before, so I am very excited. Papa was to come with me, but Mama is down with a fever, and someone needs to keep the little terrors that are my younger brothers off of her while she recovers.

So I am alone when the storm hits (unless one counts Dragon, which I do not). A freak early blizzard, unforeseen and unwanted. I lose the road almost at once, and must unhitch Dragon from the cart as it becomes stuck. We wander, Dragon complaining, me crying, and seek shelter. We find none, until…

In the years to come, when I share this part of the story with others, they will call me mad, or give me a funny look. I do not care. I believe every word to be true.

… There is a light, visible through the storm.A fire, under a cliff, protected from the wind and snow. At the fire, an old man, shrouded in grey - robes and beard and mane of hair. He looks at me and does not speak, but merely nods and gestures for me to join him. We break bread, eat, drink, and in silence still I sleep.

When I wake, curled up against the warmth of Dragon, the old man is gone, and the fire is only sodden ash. The storm has broken, the snow melts, and sticks laid out upon the ground point me back to the road where, impossibly, I find the turnip cart. I am a dutiful daughter, and so I complete my task - turnips sold, winter goods bought, I return home.

Within six months, I leave again, in search of the old man, to offer my thanks, as is proper. Within a year, I begin to suspect that the old man was truly Shaundakul. Within two, I have booked passage for the isle of Arelith that sits on the edge of the map, reasoning that if a god of travel is to be found anywhere, it will be there.

Within 21 years, I lay dead on a slab, deep in the earth, betrayed and sacrificed.

I die, and I forget.

The memory of pain fades swiftly, torn away along with a chunk of my soul, nourishment for the Spider Queen. Before my eyes are the twisting paths of the Fugue plane. Only dimly remembered in life, here each twist and bend returns to vivid recall, and I remember all the other times I have walked these labyrinthine ways in search of a hole through which I might drag myself back into life.

This time, I know, there will be no return. I am tired. Too tired to face it all again. And so I walk the other path, the one that leads - inevitably - to the Wall. I look back only once, for I know I leave unfinished business. I suppose Lucia will just have to forgive me.

As I take the final steps, I wonder idly if Shaundakul will remember me. I wonder if, thanks finally given, he might let my spirit wander the afterlives, to visit friends and family who have gone before. I will visit Merin first, I think.

It is my last thought before stepping into the City of Judgement.
Rolled: Helene d'Arque, Sara Lyonall
Shelved: Kels Vetian, Cin ys'Andalis, Saul Haidt
Playing: Oshe Jordain

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