Ghosts Crowd a Child's Fragile Eggshell Mind

[Rakvald]

123rd of Ashan 719 (After the Fall)

In the final moments of Emea's connection to Idalos, Rakvald turned his back on it all and left.

That devil, Alistair Venora, whom Rakvald had even met in person in the waking world turned out to be quite something else in reality from who he presented in person. In person he was reasonable, cordial, even good-natured. Now Rakvald knew better.

He'd drained Kielik's ephemera, his ether, his soul, whatever it was that a mage took when they flayed a being. It all flowed into Alistair. And as the One tried to rectify things, there was the fool, Tio Silver. Who a moment ago had been screaming from behind a looking-glass, and from there went onto switch places with the one being capable of stopping Alistair.

The deed was done, Kielik was no more, Jesine followed her twin into oblivion.

And Rakvald wasn't even there anymore.

He woke from that dream, into another immediately after, spared from waking to the rocking of that blasted boat, taking him from Quacia to Desnind again. He was in a University of sorts, or so it seemed. A large library or study or classroom. And he was giving a lecture. Had he the voice to laugh at the irony, he would've done so bitterly. As it was, he just looked at the dessicated husks that sat in their desks and pews ahead of him, and glowered silently.

"Why did you leave?" One of them asked.

"Did you find what you wanted?" Came the voice of another, issuing from a burnt mouth that wouldn't move.

Rakvald took in deep, yet silent breaths as he looked at them all, gathered ahead of him. He appealed for Jesine's sanctuary. Perhaps this was a nightmare. But there was no shelter to be had from his once savior. The Sanctuary was as ineffectual as a broken eggshell.

"How many of the king's men will it help to put Humpty Dumpty back together again?" Came another question, rasped through a burnt and charred corpse mouth.

Rakvald looked desperately for anything he could point to, or show them to answer one of these questions. He knew if he could only begin to answer them, he may put things to right.

The lecturn was a burnt out wreck, though, and the pages of his notes were similarly charred to unrecognition. He flipped through them desperately, but they turned into ash in his hands.

[Rakvald]

"I don't know what I want... A whisper of a breath issued from Rakvald's throat, as he stood at the ruined stone lecturn. For a moment he thought the voice coming from his throat was in his head. Then he began hearing himself breathing, silent breath. He realized his voice had returned... at least in some fashion. "AHA!" He said, testing the range of his voice. He was delighted. Perhaps the sacrifices had been returned... perhaps...

But when he opened his mouth to speak to the students, no words issued. He could not say what he meant to say, and when his lips and tongue fluttered, they did so in vain. "What the... He whispered to himself. Then he realized there was a limit to his sacrifice.

He would never be able to do speak in any voice more than a whisper, but less than a shout.

"Does our professor have a name?" A charred whisper drifted from the burnt lips of another student. It wafted on the air into Rakvald's ears.

He shook his head. He knew his name was Rakvald, but had more or less forgotten which reincarnation he was. Then he remembered, he had sacrificed his immortality, as well as his link to the past. "I AM RAKVALD THE LAST." He shouted, supposing that the Last would have to do. And was the most accurate statement he could make at present about his identity.

"Why did you leave?" Came the question again, followed by: "Did you find what you wanted?"

Rakvald shook his head, and whispered, "I left because there was no hope. The path had gone dark, what use is it stepping into an abyss?" Rakvald asked uselessly of the corpses. "As for what I want... I want to wake up."

A desire that would go unrequited, as the sleep was still heavy upon him in his dreaming.

"How many of the king's men will it take to put Humpty Dumpty together again?"

Rakvald's face twisted in anguish at the nonsensical question drifting from those corpse lips. "WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EVEN MEAN?" He cried.

"Does the King have any men left?"

"THE KING IS DEAD! THE NIGHTMARE IS OVER!"

"Is that what they mean when they say wishful thinking?"

"I suppose."

"What is a wish?"

"What is a thought?"

"What exactly is a dream?"

"And what exactly is a joke?"

The questions were coming faster than Rakvald could even comprehend at this point. He wanted to wake up, wanted to jump out of the hammock and up deck, throw his body to the waters. Let the fish or the creep or the monsters of the deep take his flesh. His mind had flown the coop, and his flesh was just an empty vehicle. He could end it all, if he only woke up.

"Do you want it to end?" The voices came, as if they could tell what was on his mind.

"WILL IT END IF I WANT IT TO?" Rakvald shot back.

"Do you even know what you want?"

This childish, banal torture was more than he could stand. He simply whispered, "No. No I don't."

"Then, why do you wish to wake?"

"I want this dream to end now. That is what I want. I want this dream to end."

"What waits for you outside of this dream?"

"Do you have a family?"

"A lover?"

"A wife?"

"Friends?"

"ENOUGH!!!" Rakvald shot at them, overturning the stone lectern. He grabbed books from the shelves, and threw them at his students only to see them to scatter as ash on the air. Their words lost to flame and dust.

[Rakvald]

Every book and tome that he took and threw out at his students crumbled in the air, scattering into ashes and charred dust. The students sat in their seats, their dessicated mouths agape, burned bodies still in their stone seats. Above, Rakvald thought he could hear a choral melody, that reminded him of the Dawn. Perhaps it was time to wake. But he didn’t feel any closer to rousing. So he turned his back on his students, and examined the ruined bookshelves behind him, now devoid of most of their tomes.

In the air, he thought he could detect the smell of coffee. It would be good if he could have a cup. Then perhaps his sleep would be forestalled, to the point where he didn’t have to endure this broken and destroyed dreamscape.

He appealed for sanctuary from Jesine again, but none was forthcoming. Finally, resigned to his fate, he turned around to receive their questions once more.

”Why did you throw those books at us?”

”Are we getting on your nerves?”

”Are we annoying?”

”Do you think you’d like us to stop?”

”What will you do for us if we stop?”

Rakvald shook his head silently. Neither in the mood to whisper his answers back nor shout. He was tired, even in his dreams, he couldn’t find any rest. Somewhere in that coffee scented room, lit by the dawn chorus, he felt the boat swaying under his feet. He knew in his waking world he was on the way back to Desnind, having decided not to abduct his child.

”Why won’t you rescue your child?”

”Is his mother an evil woman?”

”She is a treacherous woman. But such is the way of women. They are wily beasts.”

”Why is that?”

”They tend to be weaker of arm and body, but stronger of will. They have to be, in order to survive alone and endure a dangerous world…”

”Is that so? Then, if you are stronger and more powerful, why not take what is yours?”

”My ancestors had thought to do the same. It did not end well for them, or their children. There’s no benefit in pursuing aggression against your own blood. And once you’ve created life with another, their blood might as well be your own, for all that you share.”

”Isn’t that a bit pathetic? Isn’t that an excuse?”

”Are you a cuckhold?”

”Maybe I am.”

”Is that why you left?”

”Are you weak?”

”Will your son take after you, afterall?”

”What will happen when Ildred decides to make a slave of your child? Will it be time to retrieve him then?”

”Quiet… QUIET!” Rakvald shot at them, and began tipping over furniture again. He ran out of that lecture hall, and found a broken up, ruined door blocking his way. He grabbed the door by it’s wooden slats, and tore it off it’s rusty hinges. With every ounce of strength, he threw the door over his shoulder at the few students that were sitting in that hall.

Before he had the satisfaction of watching them crumble into coals and ashes, he awoke on the ship, bound for Desnind.

[Strange]

Thread Review

Rakvald

RAKVALD THE LAST

Skill Points: +10 (cannot b e used for magic)
Magic XP: None.

Renown: None.

Injuries/Overstepping: None.
Wealth Points: None.
Loot: None.

Skill Knowledge:

• Discipline: Experience of temptation to bash the students.
• Discipline: Enduring psychological assault
• Discipline: Venting every now and again to relieve stress.
• Teaching: Dealing with impertinent questions
• Teaching: Taking rapid fire questions from students.
• Thrown (Furniture): Throwing a door off its hinges.

Non-Skill Knowledge:

• none requested.

Notes: n/a.

Great next step for Rakvald on the dreaming path after the Fall. Lot of dialogue that played off who Rakvald is, and what he seeks. And the question that all dreams tend to cause, in the words of Rakvald the Last: "WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO EVEN MEAN?

Surprisingly nightmarish with the ash and the dust and the charred bodies. Seems like this dreamscape could be a decent way for Rakvald to process through his thoughts about life, family, and the direction of his future... or he'll just keep having nightmare-ish dreams. You know, one or the other.

Enjoy your rewards!

PM me if you have any questions, issues or concerns.

Total Word Count: 1562 words.

Review Request Link: viewtopic.php?p=124008#p124008
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