Author: Maxwell Heimdal

Pascal walked slowly towards his home in the outskirts of town. His sack full of rabbits he had found in the snares he placed around town. He figured he would give some away to other people in town, but first he was going to take care of his own.

Living with his daughter Celeste had its ups and downs, he was extremely grateful that he was able to see her grow now outside of that circle of vecatrans…but the scars would take a long time to heal. Sometimes he would wake up to her crying quietly in the middle of the night or staring into space and he didn’t know how to help. He had never been good with words or comforting thoughts, he was good with his hands and labor so the conversations he tried to have with her ended up plenty of times in dead silence. How does he express to her how much she means to him?

The person she had seen as a mother figure her whole life had raised her to slaughter, it was no wonder that she didn’t fully trust him. He couldn’t blame her for not feeling at home, if anything he wondered if leaving her this hut and him finding another place to stay would be best. She could have her own place and he could come visit her when she would let him, maybe that was what needed to happen in order for her to get use to seeing him as her father figure.

He sighed as he saw that there were not candles lit in the house, that meant Celeste had wandered off to the woods to get some fresh air. There was a small part of him that worried, but the rest of his heart told him she was fine, she was a resourceful girl and that she knew how to take care of herself. If Lucille could see her now, Pascal was sure she would be proud. He hoped she would be proud of him as well, for fighting for the community and for their family.

As he walked inside he washed his hands and busied himself with the catch he had gotten today, if he couldn’t show Celeste through words how much she meant to him he would try to do it his way. His rabbit stew was loved by all that have eaten it and part of it he thought was because he made it with all the love he could muster, he knew that the food was going to those he loved and so he put extra effort in the recipe.

His friends and family were safe now, in selfish days where he was filled with melancholy he wished for himself to reunite with his wife. Minutes after thinking it he would feel guilty, as he had a daughter to take care of now, eventhough they were pratically strangers…would Celeste be okay when he died? He was getting older in age and these days fights in the town were becoming more dangerous. He felt that if he died while fighting for his loved ones, it would have been a life well lived. He had been ready to die for Celeste back when the crone had her, had told Fabron to watch after her. And Fabron would, Pascal was sure of how nurturing his cousin was.

What would seeing Lucille again feel like? He has almost forgotten her features now, only remembering the ghost like appearance she had about a year ago when she last came to him, desperate and crying. Pascal hopes she was pleased with what he had done for his family.

He blinks the tears away, seeing a lantern in the distance coming back. Celeste. He shakes his head to snap himself out of his thoughts and instead busies himself on trying to make the best rabbit stew for his daughter as the lantern gets closer.

He is breaking his biggest smile right now, as he kisses Lucille’s hand gently before putting a promise ring his Cousin Fabron helped forge. Deep inside he knew that Lucille would be happy at the proposal but he still thought that he was beneath her. Her family sure thought so, even if Lucille constantly reminded Pascal that the only opinion that mattered was hers.

Pascal remembered how his parents would joke about him marrying her when they were children. He would get so angry back then because girls were gross and he didn’t want to marry one later in life. By the time he was a teenager he blushed everytime she would come around, her brilliant blonde hair seemed to almost blow in the wind to him. There was no reason why someone so beautiful inside and out would choose someone that came from a line of gravediggers and dealt with death for a living. Someone who had whispers follow him as he walked by.

And yet she chose him.

It still felt surreal that he was going to marry her, that she would say yes and that she would be the mother of his children. It felt like a fairy tale, the ones his father said never came true.

“Pascal…” she said softly, giving him the softest smile “come back to me.”

He would lose himself in thoughts sometimes, not that he meant to do it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to…it’s just…” he tried to explain, “it feels -”

“Like a dream?” Lucille let out a soft laugh before kissing his cheek “We are dreamers, the both of us. But we can make our dreams a reality, together.”

He kissed her cheek gently, letting the emotions take over him “I promise to protect you and our children, to hold you above everyone but God. To love you everyday and be thankful everyday you’re by my side.”

She let out a soft laugh, one that sounded like music to his ears. “Shouldn’t you wait until the actual wedding ceremony for your vows?”

“I’m not worried about it,” he embraced her and held her as close to him as he could “I’ll tell you every day how much I love you if I have to”

“Everyday? For the rest of our lives? That’s quite a challenge, let’s see if you can do it.”

There was amusement in her voice and her twinkle in her eyes as she playfully challenged him to but he did. And he continued to do it even after life and after that beautiful twinkle had left her eyes. Even after burying her. It wasn’t rare to see Pascal Rocheaux kneeling on his dead wife’s grave, whispering with all the emotion he could muster how much he loved her.

He just hoped that one day the words would reach her even in death

“After defeating those undead you could be branded!” says Kotzell cheerfully, I’m not sure how branding works since I’ve never really looked into it so I’m not sure if he’s joking or being serious but my cheeks burn all the same. “Heimir the De-deadnator!”

“ah…I-I don’t think I can ever be branded…” I whisper it, almost a reminder to myself to not even think of dreaming of that.

“You can’t? Why not?” He looks truly confused

“The runes…”

“Oh” he understands immediately.

—–

I’m 16 years old when it happens, all my friends had talked about how important their rune casting had been and had bragged about what it had said for them after. The night before I had stayed up with them thinking of the most heroic things the runes could have predicted for me, all of the things we had guessed were only things teenage boys would have thought of as heroic.

The day is cloudy and miserable, I try not to read too much into it as I step in the elder’s room. Instantly everything is dark except for a few candles.

“Sit.” She instructs me and I kneel down in front of her, all of the sudden I’m not excited just very nervous.

A cold shiver runs through me as she casts the runes.

She doesn’t speak for the longest time, just stares at the runes turning them over in her hands. I can’t read her face and I refuse to look at the runes myself. Something in me tells me not to look.

She takes a deep breath and finally speaks. “From the beginning you were sure of who you were and where you were going. You once had the energy to cut away the old and un-needed. And it was that energy that led you to make the decisions you have made to this point. You are at a period in your life where you are opening up to something new. But remember, movement involves danger, while timely movement leads out of it. Your process will involve disruptions that will turn out differently that you had intended. Hoped-for outcomes will elude you and you will find yourself at a standstill. You will be harvesting the seeds you’ve sown, keep in mind which are thorns and which are beneficial. You may find life easier to find partnership and allies, but true friendship will elude you and you may lose what you hold dear to those undeserving. Your future is grim. You won’t see the growth that you once wished for, and paths that should have been open to you may be closed, disrupted by your past and what may come to haunt you.”

I am trying not to let tears roll down my face, I can feel her stare as I nod get up and leave.

Outside my mentor Ingvarr is waiting for me, my friends are there as well. Ingvarr’s face falls immediately as he sees my tears, I see him moving towards me to ask but I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. And so I run, as far away as I can from everyone until I don’t hear them calling my name again.

Of course the runes would say that about me, it was ridiculous to dream of other things.

I stay in the fields far away from the village, I know Ingvarr must be worried about me and searching for me but I need time to myself for now. This is the time where I grieve the image of myself that I had dreamt of.

It’s night time by the time I get back, Ingvarr is by my side quickly telling me how the runes don’t matter and that I make my own destiny. I nod to him and give him a soft smile, too tired to argue and too tired to think otherwise. The truth is that now the seed of fear has been planted in my mind, one that has to grow overtime waiting to bloom once the runes come true.

“After defeating those undead you could be branded!” says Kotzell cheerfully, I’m not sure how branding works since I’ve never really looked into it so I’m not sure if he’s joking or being serious but my cheeks burn all the same. “Heimir the De-deadnator!”

“ah…I-I don’t think I can ever be branded…” I whisper it, almost a reminder to myself to not even think of dreaming of that.

“You can’t? Why not?” He looks truly confused

“The runes…”

“Oh” he understands immediately.

—–

I’m 16 years old when it happens, all my friends had talked about how important their rune casting had been and had bragged about what it had said for them after. The night before I had stayed up with them thinking of the most heroic things the runes could have predicted for me, all of the things we had guessed were only things teenage boys would have thought of as heroic.

The day is cloudy and miserable, I try not to read too much into it as I step in the elder’s room. Instantly everything is dark except for a few candles.

“Sit.” She instructs me and I kneel down in front of her, all of the sudden I’m not excited just very nervous.

A cold shiver runs through me as she casts the runes.

She doesn’t speak for the longest time, just stares at the runes turning them over in her hands. I can’t read her face and I refuse to look at the runes myself. Something in me tells me not to look.

She takes a deep breath and finally speaks. “From the beginning you were sure of who you were and where you were going. You once had the energy to cut away the old and un-needed. And it was that energy that led you to make the decisions you have made to this point. You are at a period in your life where you are opening up to something new. But remember, movement involves danger, while timely movement leads out of it. Your process will involve disruptions that will turn out differently that you had intended. Hoped-for outcomes will elude you and you will find yourself at a standstill. You will be harvesting the seeds you’ve sown, keep in mind which are thorns and which are beneficial. You may find life easier to find partnership and allies, but true friendship will elude you and you may lose what you hold dear to those undeserving. Your future is grim. You won’t see the growth that you once wished for, and paths that should have been open to you may be closed, disrupted by your past and what may come to haunt you.”

I am trying not to let tears roll down my face, I can feel her stare as I nod get up and leave.

Outside my mentor Ingvarr is waiting for me, my friends are there as well. Ingvarr’s face falls immediately as he sees my tears, I see him moving towards me to ask but I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. And so I run, as far away as I can from everyone until I don’t hear them calling my name again.

Of course the runes would say that about me, it was ridiculous to dream of other things.

I stay in the fields far away from the village, I know Ingvarr must be worried about me and searching for me but I need time to myself for now. This is the time where I grieve the image of myself that I had dreamt of.

It’s night time by the time I get back, Ingvarr is by my side quickly telling me how the runes don’t matter and that I make my own destiny. I nod to him and give him a soft smile, too tired to argue and too tired to think otherwise. The truth is that now the seed of fear has been planted in my mind, one that has to grow overtime waiting to bloom once the runes comes true.

“Bad things happen to good people” was what Valentin Marveille had said to him, Pascal remembered that while telling the other man about his wife he could feel his chest tightening. He had no idea how he had kept his grief to himself for so long, regardless it felt good to finally release it onto someone who understood.

Lord knows he couldn’t do it with Teles, everytime he brought up his wife was in a delusional happy tone and Pascal wanted to shake him until he saw reality. Part of him felt jealous of Teles, living in such a blissful delusion that he sometimes wished for himself. Part of him felt sadness that the man has to relive the news that his wife has passed. It filled him with anger and sadness. Teles was a good man, Valentin was a good man…why were they given such grief to cope with?

“Bad things happen to good people” repeated like a mantra in his brain, he was still trying to understand. He had always been such a devout man to the one true god, he did everything a good Benalian would do and so the idea that the dreadful Vecatra had taken his wife and baby from him made sense to him. Valentin had told him it was likely not Vecatra that had made him lose his wife, Pascal still wasn’t convinced.

But why hadn’t god stopped this from happening to one of their devout children?

Was Vecatra stronger than God? Not possible, he was sure of it. Maybe it was a test. He still feels slightly irritated that during the forum the priests all seemed busy, he wanted to speak of faith but he also felt like there were bigger matters going on in their important lives. It felt selfish for Pascal to want a priest to pat his back and tell him it was going to be okay, but sadly the more he thought about it the more he realized that is what he needed at the time.

His faith had been wavering lately because of his loss, and was searching for a hand to guide him towards the righteous path again.

Pascal’s father had always expressed to him the importance of knowing his place, and he knew that his issues weren’t the issues of the town. There were bigger things at hand that needed to be taken care of, like an ancient being and a terrifying stag walking into a grove where he had found a girl flayed alive a few days before. In the grand scheme of things, the voice of his father would say sternly, a gravedigger wanting to be comforted is not anything of importance.

Pascal agrees with this thought.

Valentin had said something about living on to be able to resolve his grief, he was willing to try it if that made the knot in his chest a little less tight.

With a sigh he snapped out of his thoughts and continued attending to the graveyard. There was work to be done, maybe that was enough to keep his dreadful thoughts away for now.

“Hold him down!” I almost yell at Vernon. Is he now a Father? I should ask what his title is since we never speak anymore.

Him and Mother Superior Solace do their best to console the Eparch but his trashing won’t stop. I put my weight on him so he can stop moving so much, this is the first time I’ve seen a patient fighting to die.

As I’m starting to prepare my stitching needle I can hear him saying how he’s proud of them, HIS people. I hear him say some more things but I drown them out, I need the utmost concentration on this procedure if I were to save him.

It’s not until I hear Mother Superior Solace say my name that I come back to the moment.

“Heimir…it’s okay…let him go.”

I look at Vernon, I know I must look confused and indignant. He nods and I see that the Eparch himself does not want to be saved. I reluctantly pull my hands now coated in blood away from him and hear him speaking to them both before he stops breathing. Both Vernon and Solace start crying and I can’t help but think how useless I feel at the moment. What was the point of bringing me here?

There’s so many people around, all just quietly staring at the scene. Blood is now dripping from my hands, the wetness making my hands feel like they’ve been frozen.
It’s so bitterly cold right now.

“He didn’t want me to…” I say and move away from the crowd, I don’t want to see or talk to anyone. Life is so important to some that they even beg to not die but this person willingly decided to not fight. How wasteful.

I say nothing to anyone as I get back into town. The blood is hard to get out, maybe it is because the water is so cold. It almost looks as if my hands were stained with his blood. The blood of someone that chose not to fight. What a waste.

Outside I see Ragnar talking with someone and I feel anger come to the surface. It had been him who had taken me to them, telling me to hurry and to run to save that man.

Before I can stop myself I start making my way towards him.

“Ragnar, next time you call me to save someone make sure it’s someone that actually wants to be saved.” I’m trying to not waver on my voice, it’s not normal for me to be rude but I can’t help the words that come out.

“I…they told me to get yo-”

I raise my hand to stop him from speaking, he stares at my blood stained hand as I do.

“I know you have your heart in the right place. But the Church doesn’t like people like me and there’s some of them that would rather die than let people like me save them. From now on if the Church needs someone saved they can come themselves. If not then I guess they die.”

I didn’t wait to hear anything back from Ragnar, there was no point in going back and forth. The rule had been created.

No wonder Dr. Tobias was the way he was…

[[[Good Evening!

Hope you enjoyed this beautiful sunny day, it’s been hot lately but this morning was just the right amount of crisp that I think Autumn is approaching.

It’s been a while since I’ve written to you, I apologize sincerely. I’ve been thinking about you lately, especially here in Runeheim. You should see how everyone gets along, you would enjoy it. I’ve met so many interesting individuals, I think you would also like them a lot. The people here seem really friendly and willing to help each other, there is no animosity I can see and that makes it easier to work alongside them.

Lady Dragomir is as kind as ever and oh! I haven’t told you but I got to save an inquisitor from dying! It was really terrifying at first because they were bleeding everywhere and everyone was looking at me like I knew what I was doing but I didnt! Well I mean it was my first time but I gained some confidence from it. You would be proud! When they coughed for the first time showing signs of life…well that was something special. It ignited a spark in me to learn more about it to save more people.

Oh oh! I also talked to a dwarf! Can you believe that?! Remember how I said I had always wanted to talk to one? Well it finally happened! They seemed funny, like they didn’t quite understand how humans work but I can’t blame them. Most people speak in codes and I don’t know why, I think you should just say what you mean. I liked them because they said what they meant.

The work of transferring our history into books is going well, I know this was entrusted to me and I don’t take it for granted. I do miss you though. A lot. I remember the last time we spoke you told me to be useful and I have taken these words to heart. I am trying my best to do all I can to make you proud.

I’ll promise to write to you sooner this time, I don’t want you to forget about me.

Love,
Heimir ]]]

He squinted his eyes as he signed the letter with his name, the sun was setting which made it harder to see with just the candle light shining dimly in the corner of his desk.

After giving his signature one last flourish he smiled, folding it over and pouring some wax over the folded edge.

He stretched gingerly as the wax ended up drying and as soon it was ready he got up from his desk and kneeled in front of his bed pulling a small chest. Heimir opened the chest, hundreds of letters sealed just like the one he had made and put his most recent one on top before closing the chest and pushing it under his bed again.