The Last Writings of Aramil Runecaster

“The Last Writings of Aramil Runecaster”

The undying energies of the wraith evaporated into nothingness as Aramil focused his devotion to the god, Falatha, into his holy symbol and counteracted the negative energy that made up the undead mockery before him. The unhallowing scream that followed the wraith’s passing left Aramil shaken, but the wraith’s soul was finally put to rest. The elven scholar turned his gray eyes towards his battle-weary companions. Danian and Lourdes, both human mercenaries of Abi’Tur, were busy putting the last few zombies to the sword while Sabine, the young half elf bard, sheathed his blade and turned his attention to the wraith’s small gathering of treasure. Aramil smiled softly at his companions and jumped when a slender ivory hand touched his shoulder. The Falathaian priest glanced over his shoulder and relaxed visibly as Taya joined his side. The beautiful yet somber elven swordswoman nodded her approval and spoke softly in Elvish.

“Your god, while not elven, serves our cause just as well. You have my thanks for your help in this matter, Aramil Runecaster. I shall sing of your deeds, and those of your human companions, when I return to Arabel. Our people shall always be thankful to you, Falathaian.”

Aramil smiled and nodded his thanks. He was a moon elf like Taya but he had been raised primarily by humans in Candle’s Keep, the center of knowledge along the Moon Coast. Falatha had forever been at the center of his existence and entering into the clergy had been his only desire, his only dream. Knowledge was the key of Aramil’s existence and it was this endless yearning for knowledge that drove the elven scholar. Taya returned his thankful smile and turned her emerald gaze to their other companions. Her eyes grew wide with horror as she watched a form of pure darkness step out of the shadows. Danian’s cry of alarm went up too late as the shadow pushed through him, sending the wailing fighter to the ground holding his right arm. Wisps of shadow drifted up like smoke from his armor and he rolled back and forth, trying to put out the cold flames that seared his being. Aramil stepped back behind the enraged Taya, whose elven rapier was drawn forth and ready to defend her companions. The shadow moved quicker than she could counter and headed straight for the vanquisher of its master. Aramil’s slender fingers reached for his holy symbol and he held the symbol of Falatha, an eye under a burning candle, before him.

“May the power of Falatha send you back to the….”

His words stopped suddenly as the world grew darker. Aramil’s storm gray eyes looked down at the shadowy arm that was coming out of his chest. None of them had seen the other shadow behind them. Aramil could feel tendrils of cold flames racing through his body, sapping the very life from him. He looked over at Taya, who was screaming out but he could not hear the words. All he could hear was the beating of his own heart. The thumps grew louder yet fewer between as the cleric slumped to his knees, his vision growing darker with each passing moment. Aramil cried out in anguish but no sound came forth. He knew he was dying, knew that this was the end of his life. He shed tears as he fell to the cold stone floor, each tear a regret, some unspoken desire. The darkness enveloped him and he felt himself falling. Aramil knew no more.

“Aramil.”

That was his name. He remembered that much. How long had it been since he had heard someone else, save his own hazy consciousness, say his name? He felt cold yet warm at the same time, as if lying upon a cold stone floor near the hearth of an inviting fire. He wished the voice would just leave him be so that he could fall back into the oblivion that was death.

“Aramil. Rise and meet your judgment.”

The voice was persistent. Its tone was almost demanding yet welcoming. He struggled to shut the voice out for all he wanted to do was sleep, to forget the pain that he was feeling and fade away into obscurity.

“Aramil Runecaster, soul of the one once called as such. Awaken and open your eyes. It is time for the deeds of your life to be judged and for your fate to be decided.”

Soul? Deeds in life? His cloudy mind cleared suddenly as realization set in. If his soul was to be judged then that could mean only one thing.

He had died.

Aramil’s eyes snapped open in surprise and he gasped audibly as he took in his surroundings. All about him was gray mist and a floor of stone. He was sitting on the flagstone floor and seated by a green glowing orb, which hovered a few feet off the ground. The warmth he had been feeling earlier was emanating from the orb and Aramil felt drawn to it. He placed a hand upon the orb and found himself staring into the stern eyes of a tall, darkly featured human man. The tangible aura about the armored figure was one of law and power. The raven-haired man turned on booted heels and regarded the much smaller scholar with inquisitive eyes. Aramil knew that if he was indeed dead then this man was none other than…

“My Lord Hel, Judge of the Dead and Keeper of Lost and Wayward Souls... I, Aramil Runecaster, Servant of the One True Hand of Valar, Falatha, am humbled by your presence.”

Aramil rose and knelt upon one knee, truly humbled by being in the presence of such a being. Hel, for indeed that was who it was, nodded solemnly to at the rare showing of respect and motioned for Aramil to rise. Aramil quickly climbed to his feet and regarded the God of the Dead.

“Do you regret anything in life?”

The simple question set the young scholar back on his heels. Regrets? Of course he harbored regrets. Aramil nodded to Hel solemnly and spoke quietly.

“I regret leaving many things undone, my Lord.”

Hel outstretched his hand to silence the elf and spoke in a voice that sent shivers up Aramil’s spine.

“All souls have regrets when they die. Many things they feel are left undone. For a soul such as you, I ask this. If you could put one of those regrets to rest, which one would it be?”

Aramil’s thoughts raced and he searched frantically for an answer. Which regret to put to rest? He wished he had been able to see the others home safely. He regretted not being able to complete his degree at the college of Qilar. He wanted to have children and teach them the ways of Falatha. He wished…

Odette. That one name was enough to drive all other regrets from his mind. Odette, the beautiful woman who had come into his life and shown him the mystical world of Saphyr and her mysteries. She was the one who had won his heart and captured his imagination. She came and went with the passing of the moon and he had seen her only a few times. But it had been enough for him to love her forever.

“I regret never being able to tell Odette, the woman who serves the Lady of the Moon, that I love her. That is my only true regret, My Lord Hel.”

Tears fell down the ivory cheeks of the elven scholar. Hel nodded soberly at the young cleric and something stirred in his heart. The god turned his gaze to the side and lifted a finger. The gray mists swirled and parted. A shimmering portal appeared and Aramil turned his gaze towards it. There, as if she stood before him, was Odette. Yet she was not Odette. It was Olivia, a fellow student at the University of Qilar. She was adorned in the robes of a student and not the see-through outfit of a moon-struck Saphyr worshipper. Understanding began to overcome the cleric. Olivia, the quiet and shy student, was in fact Odette, the mystical and wild servant of Saphyr who had won his affections.

“Speak to her. Tell her your thoughts and she will learn them…”

Hel’s words caught the grieving elf by surprise. He turned his gaze upward to see the God of the Dead looking out at the mists, as if lost in some own private thoughts. The god knew of the pain the scholar was feeling for he had once felt the same way with a woman such as Olivia. Yet she went by the name of Qilar…the god looked down at the cleric and pointed to the portal. Aramil looked back at the window into the world of the living and spoke softly to the woman he loved.

“Odette. Olivia. Whichever name you wish to call yourself, you are the same to me regardless. There are many things I wish I could have told you in our short times together. A fellow scholar once told me that the greatest mystery is not death but what one could have done in life. It is this mystery that I must now think of as I say goodbye to you for the last time. I pray that you find someone to take care of you and to love forever, my dear Odette. Know that I will forever love you and will remember you always. I love you Olivia.”

With those words, the image of Olivia looked up from her studies and turned her head as if she was hearing something. Tears fell from her emerald eyes yet they were tears of happiness instead of sadness. Her sweet voice filled Aramil’s ears as the image faded away and the gray mists returned.

“And I love you, my Aramil.”

Aramil closed his eyes and smiled. Olivia and Odette knew at last how he felt and that was enough to set the rest of his regrets to rest. He turned his gaze back to Hel, who stood smiling.

“You have done much with the time that was given to you. Many good deeds have been accomplished in your name and you have served your god faithfully for many years. For this service, the Scribe of Valar has deemed you worthy enough to take your rightful place amongst his servants at the Spires of Knowledge. Your wisdom and devotion shall serve him well. Now, go forth and enjoy your reward, Aramil Runecaster, servant of the One True Hand of Valar.”

With a movement of his hand, Hel sent Aramil moving forth into the gray mists. Aramil felt himself fading away as his form dissipated like a morning mist upon the sun’s rising. He turned to thank the God of the Dead but all he saw was rolling gray mists. Aramil’s vision faded once more.

“Welcome to the Spires of Knowledge, Aramil Runecaster.”

This voice was pleasant and alluring, not as stern as the voice that had disturbed his slumber before. Aramil opened his eyes and looked up at the speaker with tears of happiness and awe. A middle aged human man stood before him, dressed in the gray and white robes of a Falathaian cleric. A flowing crimson cloak swept out behind him against the backdrop of stars. The holy symbol of Falatha, emblazoned upon a circlet of gold, glistened brighter than any of the stars around them. The handsome features of the man smiled down at the elven cleric and he offered an ink- stained hand to him. Aramil accepted the hand without hesitation and stood. He smiled with pride and joy as he stood side by side with his god Falatha. No words passed between the two but much was said without being spoken. Unity with his god sent Aramil's spirit soaring. Falatha smiled to his devout servant and together the two vanished into the stars. The Spires of Knowledge awaited its newest scholar.

~~

Please check out my other stories that feature Aramil Runecaster and his secret beloved, Olivia!

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