The Arctic Vault

[Adrius Frostglare]

Much consideration aside, I've decided to post a library of some of my works in here as well as the occasional ooc post. Here they be!

MANERE EN MEMORIA

You see... I remember it all, from the first days.

I remember the wheat field we met in, how as a child I almost ended our future by accident. I remember how much taller you were than me, then, how much older, too, how different. I remember my shock, my surprise, my delight at my new friend. I remember I invited you to my birthday.

I remember the secrets I learned, the history of my family and "yours". I remember the theft, the death, the morgue. I remember the farm, and I remember the flight. I remember hiding.

And I remembered our promises.

I remembered departing from you, only knowing you a scant few days but already having you deeply seeded in my mind and heart. I remember how we exchanged mournful goodbyes as we were forced by the sacrifice of my parents - your own adoptive family as well, but family nevertheless - allowed us to fulfill our dreams and promises to each other.

I remember the days of arduous study, the blood and the sweat and the tears I poured my heart into learning the arcane arts. Yes, six years, I believe, before I graduated and was finally out on my own.

I remember the shock that I had upon coming to Stratholme, so soon after graduating, and how I was thrust into politics through no will of mine as events unraveled... but it was bittersweet because it was here, I remember, that I met you once more, whether through some twisted strand of fate or intervention from the Light, I do not know, but we were together, at first as employer and employee, then as friends... but never close enough to warm my heart.

I remember the stress, the angst, the sheer misery I had during those five years, dealing with problems few others had to worry about. The deaths and the threats and the sickness, all tossed at my door. I remember you stood beside me every day, holding my hand, whispering my name, so near to me and yet so far.

I remember the day you told me you were to leave. Oh, few were the times that I had so much grief in my heart, so much regret. So strong was my sorrow that despite my best efforts to understand, tears still streamed down my cheeks. I remembered your lips on mine, then. And after that, I remember pleasure, satisfaction, feeling so near and dear to you that we became as one for but a night...

...and just as quickly, I remember the morning after that you left, the void where it had once been filled. So much sadness, so much emptiness, the depression that hit me like the strangling shadow of twilight, the end of the day. I remember how everything seemed so meaningless as my eyes bled their lifeblood.

I remember the massacre on that same day. The screaming, the treason, the hand of justice turned on its own people, that hand meant to protect the innocent now butchering them like sick cattle. I remember standing in the way of him, that despised beast that was to become the greatest villain of this world, and I remember him crushing my ribs.

I remember escaping. I remember being back in the Citadel, back in my academy. I remember lying on the bed. I remember breathing, barely. Oh, the hatred that welled up inside me... so full of hatred. That hatred filled where you had once been, and yet there was still an empty space for you to lay your hand on... but your hand was not there. No, no, love, I did not hate you, I simply hated. I hated the prince, hated the injustice, I hated the cruelty. I hated.

I remember being questioned by a man. I remember... I remember the frightened gazes given to me. I remember the space between me and the rest. I remember how nothing was to be done to avenging the fallen. I remember the rage I felt. I remembered, though, that it did not matter, for you were safe somewhere...

...and then... then I remember...

I remember no sorrow quite as great as the one I'd had to that point. I remember the uncontrolled atrocities I did in my outburst, as every drop fell to the ground so too did a hapless passerby who came near me. I remember the impossible weight when you died, my heart.

I remember blacking out. I remember being imprisoned, confined. I remember being kept alive, preparing to receive death. I remember my second chance, though, that which was granted to me. I remember the lust for vengeance, one I taste to this day with just as much passion and strength.

I remember when I received the opportunity. I remember how I failed.

I remember... how I was raised again, my will not my own, but the rage and the hatred and the pain so sadistically left intact. I remember the acts I committed, what I did when I was under them. I remember not breathing anymore. I remember the staff I was shown, the promises of power that were made, that i would someday acquire. I remember seeing your face among them, even worse than myself, left with nothing, not even the rage or the hatred I was left with, nothing but a puppet... and tragically, above all, I remember not caring... not being able to care. Not being able to love, no matter what. It was a mocking parody of what I'd been through in life.

I remember freedom. I remember those chains eroding away, the first thing coming out of my mouth willingly being your name as I rushed toward you. I remember... finding you... but you were still not free. I remember the sorrow I'd felt for the first time after so long, but I remember hope. I locked you away. I remember stealing the staff, and then I remember her... and then I remembered my hope again.

I remember fighting. I remember the way the blood of our former fellows in life and death, willing or not, was shed. I remember, afterward, receiving her help... she freed you. I remember pledging myself to her, and you as well. I remember our victories...

...and I remember losing control again for the first time, you in danger, that intoxicating voice from the cursed staff, to protect you, how such corrupting influence and power soon turned against the very reason it was taken. I remember you saving me from the arrow of death, I remember you bringing me back from enthrallment once more, and I remembered my promise to you never to lose control again, a promise I so regrettably broke so many times... like the last promise I'd made.

I remember when we decided. I remember the marriage. How we were scored in our new society, how we were embraced and shunned at the same time. I remember the cocky priest that we both punched at the end of the ceremony. I remember laughter and bells and regaining, for the first time, a shred of what I had wanted for so long since meeting you. Those days, those months, those years, they were the greatest of my entire existence, they were the days that made this body willing to move... they were the days that set the price. I remember the sorrows we shared, how we could never have children

I remember our honeymoon, years later, in Silvermoon, how you'd wanted to see your ancestral homeland that you'd never known before, how I took you. How you loved it. I remember seeing him for the first time, poor and ragged. I remember taking him in with you. I remember how he grew close to you, how he loved you and even called you "mother". I remember hos he despised me, hated me with every fiber of his childish being. I remember... I remember when that changed, when I protected him from his past, the tears of joy I shed when he called me "father" for the first time.

I remember... the second betrayal, how I was forced to go back. I remember anger, I remember lashing back at her whom I had pledged myself to. I remember reliving the scars and the massacre. I remember returning changed, determined... I returned fueled once more with hatred.

I remember how we drifted apart as I fought against the very person that had freed you, the very person I thought now had fallen so low. I learned of the truth. I remember... returning to you, trying to live happily again, but never truly trusting the world around me save yourself. I remember being sent away, remember trying to help a friend.

...

I am... I am not sure I want to remember the next... the next part... but I do. Every day, I do. Every single day, it is seared into my mind, that day, that day I had so feared. I remember the grasp of demons. I remember hearing of the events that transpired back at our home... the bell tolled for thee again...

I remember the indescribably raw emotions I felt then. I remember carving a path through the city to reach you, a path of destruction so terrible as to have frozen fire and brimstone, a chill so all-encompassing it swallowed the very air itself. I remember losing control... no... not losing... channeling. I remember the darkness that tried to overtake me but that I overtook. I remember vengeance, how very much I had craved...

But vengeance... it is not what you take back, dear love. It is what you justly return.

I remember finding you, so torn beyond description, so ravaged, abused. I remember weeping so much I wanted to burn to ashes and never rise again, if only to join you. I remember the whimper, that sound of hope. I saw our son... broken, but not dead. How I clung to him and he to me, how desperately as we saw the love of our life gone for good.

I remember your funeral...

I remember to this day...

and this day...

I make new memories every day. Never will you return to me, love. Never will you come to me.

But I will go to you.

Someday... when my purpose in this world is done.

UNBURDENING

Crumbling...

He watches as the earth crumbled in his hands, slowly, bit by bit as he gripped the patch of black earth again and again. He watched it fall, watch it rise, watch it fall again, and he questioned,"What is the point of rising if you will but fall again?" That same question he had asked again and again. That same dilemma, that same thought, that had crossed his mind.

Again and again.

He rose to his feet, returning to the house from the garden he must have spent at least an entire hour at in the darkness of the evening. He washed his hands away, noting how the dirt rinsed away and he asked,"What good was washing if only it would get filthy again and again?" That question unanswered about the rise and the fall.

He lived alone. Always alone. He had friends, yes, all married. He laughed and smiled, watched as they became related, then engaged, the united in matrimony, one by one. How strange that the only people worth being with already had the seats filled for them. How he laughed and smiled at them. They thought he was laughing with them, but his laughter was at them. He was not mocking them... he was giving them his joy, but that was just it. "What is the point of giving happiness when you never receive happiness yourself, again and again?"

He walked toward the sofa and turned on the television, digging into a bag of potato chips and a can of soda. He bit into the food, slid the fizzy drink down his throat, watched the events on the screen, and still his mind could not be distracted from the question he'd been asking for weeks, months now. "What was the point of friendship if you only depart from each other, again and again? What is the meaning?"

It was an hour later that he turned off the television and walked toward the bathroom after washing the dishes. He let the hot shower bathe down his neck. The steam rose up, the hot water rained down. After he was done, he dried himself and set upon his bed, lying flat on the mattress as he stared at the ceiling. His eyes slowly closed.

"What is the point of sleeping if we only wake up later, again and again?"

And then the answer.

"So we can rise, again and again."

I like very much, as one who knows the background of this character. My favorite portion of this, was the part where he seemed to break down, and stutter, overcome with emotion. Part of me really I'm not always so big a fan of the repetitious "I remember..." portion - that, I think, might have been cut back some.

And because I'm a huge sentimental sap who wants to be transported by the emotions the author is writing about, I really would love more of that raw emotion - whether it be ecstasy and joy, or soul-rending pain, or pure hatred - especially since this is a "memorial" of sorts for his wife.


All in all - I really liked, a great read. *thumbs up*