By: Minosha Posted on: April 20, 2009
You're born. You live for a while. Then you die. It's a rather simplistic way to
look at life, I know. I would prefer to make the tale of my history a little
more colourful. Wouldn't you? Of course you would. That's why, when you heard
the rumours, you went to the crossroads north of the town of New Thera and
waited. I went and waited. When the old crone appeared, as I was told she would,
I followed her. That was the end of my life as I previously knew it.
I first heard about the trial of rebirth from a cousin. His name isn't
important. He was a typical brute, thick-limbed and thick-headed. The longer you
knocked on his head, the greater became the revelation that there was no one at
home. But for all his strength, that old troll didn't have what it takes to be
an adventurer. He's back on the farm stacking bales of hay, and I am standing
naked before a beautiful woman of untold age and immeasurable wisdom.
I shall wear these robes, milady? As you wish.
Although purple is not my colour, it hardly seems appropriate to argue with
someone possessed of such obvious power and influence. To think that the
greatest adventurers of recent years must have stood here shivering in Ceylon's
gentle breeze. Pasiphae has seen them all. With that thought in mind, I quickly
dress.
Follow this road here? To the north? Very well.
With feigned bravery I set out to meet the man up the road. My mind is spinning
with all I've experienced, the sights and sounds of a strange new world. If this
replicate plane is anything like the first Ceylon, teaming with the world's
first mortal beings, it must have been a wonder.
I meet Severian, the great orator and architect of the Empire; then Overlord
Gruul, a champion of Nishnatoba and forefather of the race of trolls. I do as I
am told, precisely and carefully. I know many mistakes will come, but now is too
soon for failure. I have left my former self behind, burned into ash by the
lavendar flame of Yggdrasil. The only way to go is forward.
I stand once again before the lovely Pasiphae.
I will collect the dragon orb as a token of my worthiness, milady.
My voice is unfaltering, but my heart pounds relentlessly against its cage of
bone. I stride away on legs of rubber, trying to remember the words of the
armoured giant, Gruul. Recover balance and strike again. Sip from the vial when
the pain gets too great. Oh, what have I gotten myself into?
I round the bend sheepishly, lost in my thoughts. Before me on the path,
smoldering with a faint orange glow, stands a tall figure. It is like nothing
I've ever seen. Pain shoots through me as the fire guardian lands a glancing
blow. Every shred of reason argues for a hasty retreat. I ignore the voice of my
conscience and throw myself at the guardian, head first.
My head slams into the creature and I stagger back, stunned. Perhaps that was
not the best idea. When my head stops throbbing, I'll make a mental note of it.
I try to recover my balance as the fire guardian swings at me with a molten
fist. I launch myself into the air and land a kick. During the momentary
reprieve, I sip from the vial and feel a vibrant rush of well-being flood
through my system. I thank the Creator for my rajamalan grace and ball up my
fist. My punch collides with the guardian's chest and the being crumbles into
ash.
There, on the smoking ground, lies the dragon orb. As my fingers close around
it, I feel a surge of energy. The feeling of uncertainty leaves me, replaced by
the excitement of such vast potential. I hold victory in my hands. What will I
do with it?
Moments later, as the water of the pool closed over my head and the faces of my
guides faded to memories, I smiled, eager to begin the writing of my life's own
history.