[Mkguild] What the Spirits Reveal

[Nathan Pfaunmiller]

A short story based on an idea I hashed out with Misha last night, likely
to become part of a larger story that is planned for the future.  Alex, the
patrol leader for my main cast, is from the Glen, and will be visiting his
home following the current storyline.  This scene takes place at the tavern
as he discusses the Glen's final stand prior to the Three Gates with Lord
Avery.

---

“I sometimes wish I could have seen those last few moments, to see how they
died,” Alex mused.  “I have no doubt that their death was honorable, that
they fought to the last breath, but to have been there, to have seen them
fall, and to have been able to bury them rather than just marking a grave
in their honor would have given me far more peace.”

Bryan Avery nodded.  “My father and brother would certainly have spit their
last bloody breath in the faces of the enemy, but I understand your desire
for closure.  Had Angus not been tasked with keeping me alive through hell
and high water, I would have stayed to my own death.  The best we can do
now is remember the fallen, and resolve to keep safe the town for which
they died.  Perhaps one day the gods will tell us of their final exploits,
but until then we can only imagine.”

Alex chuckled quietly, drawing the curious gaze of the squirrel.
 “Perhaps,” he mused, “while the gods are silent, we may instead consult
the spirits.”

The squirrel remained confused until he noticed Alex gesturing to him with
his mug of beer and recalled the mazer which sat, nearly forgotten, by his
elbow.  With a wry smile he lifted it to Alex, tapping the two vessels
together in a casual toast.

“Spirits!” he declared, addressing the mug in his hand.  “Tonight we seek
your guidance, revelation from the last moments of our fathers and their
heroic fall.”  The squirrel’s boisterous bravado had drawn a few confused
glances from about the bar.

Alex smiled as he watched the eyes turn to watch them.  “Use us to tell
their final tale tonight, to reveal their hidden deeds and the hours that
time has lost!” he added.

“Reveal their deeds!”

“Reveal their ends!”

“To the fallen, a toast!”

*    *    *

Nearly two hours later, with the good graces of the free-flowing spirits,
the archer and the lord had turned into a pair of raving fops, declaring
the stories of the Glen’s last stand to anyone who would listen -- and many
did, some even encouraging the ever-more outlandish tales that the drunken
pair spouted.

Berchem, perched on the edge of a barstool, added his voice to the
insanity.  “Don't forget the ogres that they killed on the bridge!”

“Ogres?  Nay, GIANTS! Two -- two giants to a man,” Lord Avery slurred
around a drunken belch. “One pair spitted by an arrow -- a three-headed
arrow that Sir Valius had crafted in the heat of battle -- through the eye
of one and the throat of another…”

“Another pair decapitated at the jaw by the older Avery’s sabre -- nay,
nought but his scabbard, sharpened amid the lord’s deft parry of a lutin
axe!” Alex cried.  He ears were flushed from the combination of drink and
impassioned storytelling.

“Aye, the same axe which my brother shattered with a strike from his
warhammer, scattering shards which pierced through armor and skin, tearing
to ribbons the final pair of giants.”

“But even thus, having survived the final onslaught, the defenders realized
the grave danger of their actions,” Alex added.  “The hells ran over with
the hordes of Nasoj which they had slaughtered, even the daedra and all of
their demonic armies unable to contain them for number!”

Lord Avery nodded emphatically.  “So the last few defenders were obliged to
die to lend their aid to the beleaguered forces of hell -- but not to
remain.  By right of conquest they destroyed their enemy a second time, and
then left the hells to the daedra while they took paradise by force.”

“Though there they were welcomed with open arms, for even Dokorath feared
to resist them.”

“They were greeted by songs and feasting,” the squirrel lord added.  “Even
now they tell the tales of their final stand where all great heroes rest,
and greet the souls of heroes fallen since with song and celebration.
Comport yourselves well, my friends; the fallen of the Glen await after
your final battle!”

A rowdy series of cheers rose from those assembled, several toasts taking
place at random about the room whether any given person had someone to
toast with or not.  Lord Avery and Alex laughed heartily and toasted once
more to the memories of those they had lost, and to the future day when
they would meet again.

A few more moments were spent embellishing the tale as patrons recalled
imaginary exploits for their heroes of lore.  When they all finally did
part ways, many of the Glenners stumbled home stone drunk, while a squirrel
and a lynx, neither as drunk as they had played for the crowd, left
together, smiling proudly at the fictions that they had lovingly crafted.
Perhaps someday they would learn more of that day, but for now they could
remember that dark day as they wished.  The heroes who had fallen to defend
the Glen would not be forgotten, nor would their beloved home ever be left
in ruin.
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