Post by Carl on Aug 24, 2011 16:48:22 GMT -1
Good to listen to while reading this: www.youtube.com/watch?v=rXcDf0eW1JQ
The dust was still settling, and Baelze was no more. While Dragos was rebuilding and repairing, Makvhug had seen enough action to last several mortal lifetimes, and had requested leave to go see his family at last.
It was frighting. Potentially hundreds of thousands of years had passed since he had last glanced upon his Wife and Daughter, now ascended after being slain by his own hand. But he had to look them in the eye one more time, and know he had done the right thing, Even if they hated him for it.
Upon entering the heavenly realm, Makvhug already felt queasy. Part of him wanted to go again, but the stronger side of him pressed on, walking right into the gated realm of his ascended people. While he had ascended to become an Avian (of sorts), his people had become simpler immortals, living in one of the lower levels of the heavens.
The realm was an almost exact replica of his home planet. It was as if they had rebuilt their homes, brick by brick, in homage to their old world.
He didn't recognise anyone. Most were going about daily business, reading, talking, sleeping. Most not even looking at him. But at the same time it felt like home. As in the villages of old, the market was still there, bustling with activity. The children playing by the fountain. Guardsman carefully watching for those that cause public disturbances. After all, even those who are ascended still have the potential to do bad. Light does not nessecarily mean good, as Imrik was plain example.
As he walked to where he remembered his home to be, memories kept surging into his head, memories of how he killed every single person here, memories of how he wrecked that little shop. No matter how hard he tried however, any memory of his time before he became Makvhug was a blur. The only things he could remember are the location of his home, the smiling, warm faces of his wife and child. Their faces as he brought that axe down on them...
He nearly turned to leave at that point. But something drove him on. A determination to get closure. He noticed as he entered his old neighborhood a few people looked at him and whispered to each other. Suddenly he wondered if he was about to be attacked by an angry mob. But instead, all they did was watch him as he walked up to the gates of his former home.
The old wooden gate with the squeaky metal joints. Exactly as he remembered it. His stomach was filled with butterflies. But with his grey wings open, and a sense of determination, he opened the gate and proceeded to knock on the door.
A teenage-looking girl opened the door. Her red hair reflected the shine of the immortal sky. His daughter, Beralla. She was obviously no longer a child, but as an immortal remained in a youthful state.
"I... I..." Makvhug found his ability to speak stripped of him, as sheer suprise overwhelmed him. His Daughter. Alive and well in this wonderous place. She looked at him for a moment, a look of confusion on her own face. Which turned to suprise, and then shock. She ran back inside.
"Mother! Mother! Come quickly!"
It was her. Lysandra. Standing in front of him. In the flesh. Her hair as firey and vibrant as the daughter. Both looked at each other for a moment in disbelief.
"Makael. Is that... is that you?"
Makvhug blinked, memories unlocking in that name. "Makael. That was my name once. Yes. Before I-"
He couldn't bring himself to continue. The returned memories brought it all back. The day he gave himself to Oblivion was a dark day on his soul. All he could do was look at the woman who he hoped, was still his wife.
"Its been a long time." Lysandra stared right back at him. Then, she started to run towards him. Her eyes were clearly welling up as she did. Makvhug half expected to be punched in the face. He didn't mind. This was closure for him.
What he didn't expect was for his lips to suddenly meet hers, as her arms tightly wrapped around him. His blue eyes opened wide for a moment, then closed, a few tears escaping them.
"How? How can you welcome me back after so long? I killed you all. I deserve to be outcast."
He broke away from her, trying to turn away, but she pulled him round, her response being a swift slap round the face. "Stop punishing yourself. You always did this!" She ran a hand across his cheek, smirking at him. "The Elders explained everything after we ascended. We know you had to do it. No one blames you. In fact, the Elders declared you a saint to the people."
He was staggered. A saint. He didn't know if it was an insult or a praise. "I don't care if I had to do it or not. I don't deserve forgiveness from you. From no one. I delt you all such pain in the name of a god that was not my own. I took away your mortal lives and those of countless others."
"Why do you keep dwelling on that?! You made a sacrifice for the good of all life. You fulfiled the prophecy that followed our people since our creation. We can't punish you for following the will of prophecy. We all accepted you did what was nessecary, and carried on in this new life. Just think. If you had not sided with Oblivion, he would have chosen someone else, and perhaps even the heavens might have been destroyed. There would be no one. Not even you."
He was suprised that his wife harboured no ill will or hatred. The Elders knew... trusted in wisdom.
"So... you don't hate me? None of you hate me?"
His wife smiled, embracing him again. "Of course we don't hate you. You are one of us - More than that. You are my Husband and I love you with every fibre of my being."
It was overwhelming. Leaning on his wifes shoulder, he began to sob loudly for the first time in several thousand years. It had been so long, such a difficult journey.
But finally he was home.
Over the next few days while staying with his family, he saw many things he had forgotten. The threshing of the corn during the annual harvest. His daughter Beralla showing him how to braid hair. Sleeping in his old bed next to the woman he loved.
It started to feel like everything inbetween this moment and the last time he saw his wife was nothing but a dream. A shadowy idea in the back of ones head. But still, he would travel daily to the Dragos Realm to check for paperwork and whatnot, while the others carried out field assignments. But he would always be home in time for dinner.
"Father, what is it like out there? In the mortal world. Are things still the same?" He turned to see his daughter looking at him, a hot cup of tea in her hands. His good, inquisitive daughter. She never changed. She sat in front of him, their fireplace crackling lightly behind them.
"Well, how do I put it... the universe is a lot more advanced now. There are great vessels that carry hundreds of people through space. We go to other planets and meet them. There's a lot of friendly planets, but some planets are bad. But don't worry. The good planets keep them in line."
She chuckled, that hint of childhood still in her laugh. "So what do you do out there father? Are you working on one of the good planets?"
"Well, lets see... I work for an organisation of good people. They call themselves Dragos Midnight. We make sure the bad people can't harm any good people. We protect them from evil."
"You kill a lot of bad people then Father? To protect the good ones?"
"Only when we have to. We try to imprison them when we can, so that they can learn the error of their ways, but sometimes they leave us no choice."
Lysandra entered the room, her smile as warm as a sun. "Ok honey, its time for bed. Go and clean your teeth." Beralla nodded, giggling as she ran out of the room, playfully.
He took a sip of his tea, looking into the fire as his wife sat next to him.
"What is it Makael?"
"I'm back on active duty at Dragos tomorrow. I've been requested to scout the multiverse for possible threats to our own universe. Its a nessecary job."
She frowned, putting a hand on his. "How long will you be gone?"
"It'll take at least 1,000 years for the ones I have been set to work on... But I intend to return constantly and see you both. I lost you once. I won't let that happen again."
"Makael, no matter how long you are gone for, we will both be here, waiting for you when you return. You do what you have to do."
He and his wife spent a few early hours of that night sitting in front of that fire, embracing one another.
"I really don't deserve either of you."
"I know. But you have us anyway.
"Not just that. I'm blessed."
After a good nights rest, he arrived in the town square with his wife and daughter, on the way back to the gate. In front of him was a clapping, cheering crowd, and the elders, looking at them.
"Sorry my love, the townsfolk wouldn't let us leave without honouring you first."
One of the elders stepped forward, bowing his head for a moment.
"Saint Makael, you have done great things in the name of life. And for that we honour you and your family with this statue, and this gift."
It was truly a mighty statue. He didn't know what to say. It was his former self, standing proud, a flag in his hand. Fine craftsmanship indeed. He looked down at the gift presented to him. A Medaleon. Minted in gold with his face on it. Printed on the back read "Saint Makael, the willing Sacrifice, and hero of the Zeenth."
He was in stunned silence. He wasn't even considered a bad person by his people. They revered him. Adored him for doing what most others would not be able to do.
"You made a sacrifice for the good of all life, and you will be honoured by our people for all time. Walk tall, walk proud Saint Makael, and know that where you go, we shall pray for your safety.
As he said goodbye to the people and his wife and daughter one last time before embarking on his mission, he left behind not just most of his guilt. He left behind his old name.
Makvhug was dead. Makael had been reborn this day.
Makael the redeemed.
-End-
The dust was still settling, and Baelze was no more. While Dragos was rebuilding and repairing, Makvhug had seen enough action to last several mortal lifetimes, and had requested leave to go see his family at last.
It was frighting. Potentially hundreds of thousands of years had passed since he had last glanced upon his Wife and Daughter, now ascended after being slain by his own hand. But he had to look them in the eye one more time, and know he had done the right thing, Even if they hated him for it.
Upon entering the heavenly realm, Makvhug already felt queasy. Part of him wanted to go again, but the stronger side of him pressed on, walking right into the gated realm of his ascended people. While he had ascended to become an Avian (of sorts), his people had become simpler immortals, living in one of the lower levels of the heavens.
The realm was an almost exact replica of his home planet. It was as if they had rebuilt their homes, brick by brick, in homage to their old world.
He didn't recognise anyone. Most were going about daily business, reading, talking, sleeping. Most not even looking at him. But at the same time it felt like home. As in the villages of old, the market was still there, bustling with activity. The children playing by the fountain. Guardsman carefully watching for those that cause public disturbances. After all, even those who are ascended still have the potential to do bad. Light does not nessecarily mean good, as Imrik was plain example.
As he walked to where he remembered his home to be, memories kept surging into his head, memories of how he killed every single person here, memories of how he wrecked that little shop. No matter how hard he tried however, any memory of his time before he became Makvhug was a blur. The only things he could remember are the location of his home, the smiling, warm faces of his wife and child. Their faces as he brought that axe down on them...
He nearly turned to leave at that point. But something drove him on. A determination to get closure. He noticed as he entered his old neighborhood a few people looked at him and whispered to each other. Suddenly he wondered if he was about to be attacked by an angry mob. But instead, all they did was watch him as he walked up to the gates of his former home.
The old wooden gate with the squeaky metal joints. Exactly as he remembered it. His stomach was filled with butterflies. But with his grey wings open, and a sense of determination, he opened the gate and proceeded to knock on the door.
A teenage-looking girl opened the door. Her red hair reflected the shine of the immortal sky. His daughter, Beralla. She was obviously no longer a child, but as an immortal remained in a youthful state.
"I... I..." Makvhug found his ability to speak stripped of him, as sheer suprise overwhelmed him. His Daughter. Alive and well in this wonderous place. She looked at him for a moment, a look of confusion on her own face. Which turned to suprise, and then shock. She ran back inside.
"Mother! Mother! Come quickly!"
It was her. Lysandra. Standing in front of him. In the flesh. Her hair as firey and vibrant as the daughter. Both looked at each other for a moment in disbelief.
"Makael. Is that... is that you?"
Makvhug blinked, memories unlocking in that name. "Makael. That was my name once. Yes. Before I-"
He couldn't bring himself to continue. The returned memories brought it all back. The day he gave himself to Oblivion was a dark day on his soul. All he could do was look at the woman who he hoped, was still his wife.
"Its been a long time." Lysandra stared right back at him. Then, she started to run towards him. Her eyes were clearly welling up as she did. Makvhug half expected to be punched in the face. He didn't mind. This was closure for him.
What he didn't expect was for his lips to suddenly meet hers, as her arms tightly wrapped around him. His blue eyes opened wide for a moment, then closed, a few tears escaping them.
"How? How can you welcome me back after so long? I killed you all. I deserve to be outcast."
He broke away from her, trying to turn away, but she pulled him round, her response being a swift slap round the face. "Stop punishing yourself. You always did this!" She ran a hand across his cheek, smirking at him. "The Elders explained everything after we ascended. We know you had to do it. No one blames you. In fact, the Elders declared you a saint to the people."
He was staggered. A saint. He didn't know if it was an insult or a praise. "I don't care if I had to do it or not. I don't deserve forgiveness from you. From no one. I delt you all such pain in the name of a god that was not my own. I took away your mortal lives and those of countless others."
"Why do you keep dwelling on that?! You made a sacrifice for the good of all life. You fulfiled the prophecy that followed our people since our creation. We can't punish you for following the will of prophecy. We all accepted you did what was nessecary, and carried on in this new life. Just think. If you had not sided with Oblivion, he would have chosen someone else, and perhaps even the heavens might have been destroyed. There would be no one. Not even you."
He was suprised that his wife harboured no ill will or hatred. The Elders knew... trusted in wisdom.
"So... you don't hate me? None of you hate me?"
His wife smiled, embracing him again. "Of course we don't hate you. You are one of us - More than that. You are my Husband and I love you with every fibre of my being."
It was overwhelming. Leaning on his wifes shoulder, he began to sob loudly for the first time in several thousand years. It had been so long, such a difficult journey.
But finally he was home.
Over the next few days while staying with his family, he saw many things he had forgotten. The threshing of the corn during the annual harvest. His daughter Beralla showing him how to braid hair. Sleeping in his old bed next to the woman he loved.
It started to feel like everything inbetween this moment and the last time he saw his wife was nothing but a dream. A shadowy idea in the back of ones head. But still, he would travel daily to the Dragos Realm to check for paperwork and whatnot, while the others carried out field assignments. But he would always be home in time for dinner.
"Father, what is it like out there? In the mortal world. Are things still the same?" He turned to see his daughter looking at him, a hot cup of tea in her hands. His good, inquisitive daughter. She never changed. She sat in front of him, their fireplace crackling lightly behind them.
"Well, how do I put it... the universe is a lot more advanced now. There are great vessels that carry hundreds of people through space. We go to other planets and meet them. There's a lot of friendly planets, but some planets are bad. But don't worry. The good planets keep them in line."
She chuckled, that hint of childhood still in her laugh. "So what do you do out there father? Are you working on one of the good planets?"
"Well, lets see... I work for an organisation of good people. They call themselves Dragos Midnight. We make sure the bad people can't harm any good people. We protect them from evil."
"You kill a lot of bad people then Father? To protect the good ones?"
"Only when we have to. We try to imprison them when we can, so that they can learn the error of their ways, but sometimes they leave us no choice."
Lysandra entered the room, her smile as warm as a sun. "Ok honey, its time for bed. Go and clean your teeth." Beralla nodded, giggling as she ran out of the room, playfully.
He took a sip of his tea, looking into the fire as his wife sat next to him.
"What is it Makael?"
"I'm back on active duty at Dragos tomorrow. I've been requested to scout the multiverse for possible threats to our own universe. Its a nessecary job."
She frowned, putting a hand on his. "How long will you be gone?"
"It'll take at least 1,000 years for the ones I have been set to work on... But I intend to return constantly and see you both. I lost you once. I won't let that happen again."
"Makael, no matter how long you are gone for, we will both be here, waiting for you when you return. You do what you have to do."
He and his wife spent a few early hours of that night sitting in front of that fire, embracing one another.
"I really don't deserve either of you."
"I know. But you have us anyway.
"Not just that. I'm blessed."
After a good nights rest, he arrived in the town square with his wife and daughter, on the way back to the gate. In front of him was a clapping, cheering crowd, and the elders, looking at them.
"Sorry my love, the townsfolk wouldn't let us leave without honouring you first."
One of the elders stepped forward, bowing his head for a moment.
"Saint Makael, you have done great things in the name of life. And for that we honour you and your family with this statue, and this gift."
It was truly a mighty statue. He didn't know what to say. It was his former self, standing proud, a flag in his hand. Fine craftsmanship indeed. He looked down at the gift presented to him. A Medaleon. Minted in gold with his face on it. Printed on the back read "Saint Makael, the willing Sacrifice, and hero of the Zeenth."
He was in stunned silence. He wasn't even considered a bad person by his people. They revered him. Adored him for doing what most others would not be able to do.
"You made a sacrifice for the good of all life, and you will be honoured by our people for all time. Walk tall, walk proud Saint Makael, and know that where you go, we shall pray for your safety.
As he said goodbye to the people and his wife and daughter one last time before embarking on his mission, he left behind not just most of his guilt. He left behind his old name.
Makvhug was dead. Makael had been reborn this day.
Makael the redeemed.
-End-