Empty Halls and Hearts

[Rumblebore]

The wind blew through the window, and the loose shutter caused the frayed curtain to flutter. Slowly and gently, the wind died down and the curtain came to rest again, only to suddenly flare up and out when the heavy oaken door opened to admit a short but stocky dwarf within the open hall. He stood there, the sunset throwing orange light into the seemingly empty room, and the shadows seemed to flicker with the new breeze flowing into the room from the open door.

Dust had begun to collect on the floor, and despite the obvious attempt at having cleaned and ordered the place, there were still a few leaves and pieces of parchment on the floor. It was obvious that no one had been here for some time.

Red rimed eyes continued to scan the room slowly. The dwarf took a step, and another to enter the room, the Black-handled halberd making a ‘thunk’ sound on the wooden floor of the entry way. He stopped and continued to scan the room, stopping for long moments to stare at a place, eyes twinkling at fond memories, then wincing at current fact, then moving on to another spot, to have the bloodshot eyes turn warm and fond, only to tear up and become sad.

The darkness crept across the threshold, and he stood silently, listening to memories gone past.

He recalled his mother saying to him as a young dwarf, that the past is not where people live, that they live in the present. The future is for looking forward to and dreaming of, and the present is for living to its fullest, but the past is to be remembered and learned from. He recalled the great stone carvings and mason work in Kaladim, and the deep zones where no one but Dwarves were allowed to travel and see. The masterworks of generations, the histories and stories carved into relief and fine stone, to allow the one who is a Dwarf to learn of life and times, to gain wisdom and a sense of purpose and belonging, to know what it is to be a Dwarf and live as a Dwarf.

He looked at the empty hall of his former Guild, and the barrenness of it. No carved relief, not statues or masterworks or histories depicted on it’s walls. Just an empty shell. Yet why did he feel that there was something here, something present that he could sense and see?

He let the thought become a fox in his mind, running through forest and vale, searching for its home, the place of safety and warmth. He watched the fox run and his thoughts followed it.

Time passed.

At last the fox found its den. The dwarf opened his eyes and squinted at the new days sunlight brightening up the room.

Somewhat shocked at the passage of time, but not unfamiliar with it from recent days of traveling aimlessly through Norrath, he almost forgot the location of the den. It was in his own heart.

He frowned at the realization, for it made no sense to him. He finally sat, his legs far more tired than he had realized, said a prayer to Brell for wisdom, and pondered some more.

He came to realize that his heart was at this time as empty as this room. Dusty and without warmth. Yet the rising sun had begun to warm his shoulder where its light fell and illuminated his armor. He knew that this represented the future, the warmth and promise of things to come, the light promoting new growth and illumination. Yet here he was in the present and he felt in no way like living life to the fullest, for he could only see and remember the past wonderfulness that had been this Guild.

He let the memories flow through his mind and heart, warming his soul. He had to close his eyes to allow the memories their fullest expression in the recesses of his imagination. Yet something was wrong about that. An image of his mother sternly wagging a finger at him and yelling to open his eyes came to mind. He opened his eyes and the memories immediately began to fade. He struggled to make them return. He wanted to feel the warmth of them, to never let them go.

Yet like wisps of smoke, they faded and disappeared, yet their aroma stayed with him, a hint of what had once been. Again, tears came to his eyes. This was what he had fought for weeks. And still the connection eluded him.

He had wandered at first, weeping and sobbing. The people in Rathe had thought him a madman, and his anger had been poured out on the giants there. He passed through Antonica, through Kunark, through Velious, and many creatures sought him to inflict mere physical pain on his small frame. Yet they all eventually learned. Drolvargs now feared him and ran yelping when they saw him come near, even the Dreadland Giants held a healthy respect for him. Yet all the release of anger he took out on their miserable hides could not assuage his pain, could not provide the path to the center of his being lost.

And so he had eventually returned to these halls, the sacred halls he had once called home.

And yet now his feelings of being lost were being intensified, instead of resolved.

Had he done enough for the guild? Had he done too much? Had he caused more problems than solved? Had he chased away more than he brought in? What had he said or done or not said or done that could have made the difference?

He sobbed anew, and his eyes closed. Suddenly he was remembering sitting together with the leader and a cleric of the guild, and the jokes about lace undergarments were once again flowing like a cool clear stream. The image was so real – the walls so blood red, the tunnel heading to where the mobs awaited its death all came back to him. And his heart raced with the warmth and joy of the moment remembered.

The hall of his memory became a thing alive for him and he wondered at that. A drumming began, a steady beat that scared him at first, yet it seemed familiar. The leader and cleric didn’t seem to mind at all. They kept up the jokes and she kept but blushing while he kept cracking jokes about lace and leather. The drumming became louder, and with a stark moment of awareness, the pieces fell into place. The drumming matched his heartbeat, the walls matched the walls of his heart. He opened his eyes and the image never wavered, never failed. The empty Guild room was no longer empty, for his memories were there with him.

And Rumblebore realized, that there are some things carved on objects that no one but you can see. Memories scoured into our hearts are always with us. We don’t have to go visit them, for they are but rooms in our home to walk into. People and places, events and activities, joys and wonders were all there to revisit. One didn’t need to carve them into a marble statue or granite relief.

He had been carving then into his own heart all along.

And once again, in the empty and dusty halls of the Sacred Legion of Tunare Guild Hall, Laughter and Joy rang out, filling the roms to overflowing.

[Synthania]

Will actually become and maybe earn my Title

The Wandering Wizard....

[Svinter]

omfg Im seriously in tears Rumble. I love all of you, some even before SLoT. You all were the reason I came back when I started eqoa, and then I remembered, those memories of all the times you have helped me out, our groups, past guilds, etc. and they made me come back.

So now is the only question that is on my mind "What the hell am I suppose to do now?", I hope to find a new guild with some of you all, and see others just randomly. Yet friendship is like a river, digging deeper and deeper, until there is nothing left but a huge gorge, dividing all that want to be on the same side of it, yet can't. I said before I love you all and I wish you the best in all of your adventures, EQ and RL alike.

[Hinil]

Very nice farewell story Rumble