84th of Winter, 510 AV
Failure. It was something Auldwin was learning the experience of very quickly. In life the man had never really thought about those days he spent walking the world and doing his job as small successes. To him they were just small steps taken to continued survival. How wrong he was, and how much he missed the things that were once so negligible. To feel the cradling essence of the ground beneath his feet, for his skin to taste the soft flesh of the grass, or even the sting of a sharp rock would have been a blessing. Now he could only watch in melancholy fascination as the ground passed beneath him as he floated northward toward the coast of Cyphrus, the place he felt the bars of his ethereal prison grow the most tense.
There was a man, a Drykas man whom had the touch of Spirituality about him. The Ghost, even as inexperienced as he was back then believed he could draw it out of him with force. How wrong he had been. His one link to the mortal world, his one conduit to the closest feelings of life a Ghost could ever possibly receive...gone. All that effort turned against Auldwin. His own actions were treasonous, and he was left once again with no one to rely on but himself. The Drykas didn't understand them. All that he had met seemed to either be unresponsive toward his advancing questions, or reluctant to release any possible information. They were a hard people to breach as an outsider, and even more difficult as a Ghost, despite his desperate situation.
That feeling of ostracism drove Auldwin away. Far enough away from civilization to float about and take time to think of what to do next. He wandered for days, watching the sun travel across the sky, chased by the moon. The duo of skyward migrants moved in that loop, over and over again. Sometimes Auldwin would stop to think to himself, how long had he been traveling from the south? Ten days? Twenty days? Time seemed so irrelevant now. All that remained was this dreadful existence. The torturous sentence of watching a world pass him by that he struggled so hard to be a part. To think in life he took all that interaction for granted. What he wouldn't give to have it now. Even to feel the sweat as it rolled down his brow, or the pains of tired muscles as they moved to power his body forward. Nothing. Just the sun and the moon. Dark and the light, growing and fading into one another.
He continued along the coast, moving up and down the rocky crags that dotted the middle Suvan Sea. There he saw the fewest of Mizahar's residents. What few were left on that damnable planet. The occasional sea bird waddled out of the way of Auldwin's passing, bringing the cold breath of the winter wind wherever he went. The temperatures of the waters dropped, the twinge of the air became uncomfortable, but just like all things it passed as Auldwin continued forward, never stopping. He didn't require rest anymore. There was no solace in sleep, it wouldn't provide him with a fresh new day. He had no eyes to close, no physical body that requested the respite of true rest. More days passed.
One day he found something unusual. Something different from all the land he had crossed. The difference wasn't immediate or striking. In fact, it was possible that anyone but a Ghost could have very well passed it by. There was destruction, but many places in Mizahar lie in ruins, pathetic remnants of what they once were. These ruins were different though, and even from the distance Auldwin could feel it. It wasn't like a chill, or a shiver, it was something perhaps only the dead could truly understand. It was the strange pull of a place where death had occurred. Auldwin had felt it before just after he died, it had led him to Black Rock, as if it was to be his savior. In a way, that city of the damned was. It was there he learned what it meant to be a Ghost. Within that island he came to understand his new existence, and the powers of Soulmist and Spiritists. Now he could feel it again, but it was different. It was more focused, sharper.
If the cut that Black Rock had made into Auldwin's senses was like a broad sword, this feeling was more like a dagger. Precise, deep, deadly. Just what had he come across he wondered? Unlike the living, Auldwin didn't feel the fear to turn back, there was so little anything could do to him now. That wilderness that once taunted him, that made him live within the safety of the walls of Syliras from fear seemed so tame these days. He floated through all of it with impunity. Through it's heat, it's cold, it's rain, it's lightning, it's creatures, all of it. Very few times had he felt anything when he traveled, but this was one of those times. Auldwin found himself transfixed with closing in upon the ruins, unable to turn back. It was as if a new road had recently opened up to him, and his only choice was to travel down it's length in order to learn of it's destination.
Failure. It was something Auldwin was learning the experience of very quickly. In life the man had never really thought about those days he spent walking the world and doing his job as small successes. To him they were just small steps taken to continued survival. How wrong he was, and how much he missed the things that were once so negligible. To feel the cradling essence of the ground beneath his feet, for his skin to taste the soft flesh of the grass, or even the sting of a sharp rock would have been a blessing. Now he could only watch in melancholy fascination as the ground passed beneath him as he floated northward toward the coast of Cyphrus, the place he felt the bars of his ethereal prison grow the most tense.
There was a man, a Drykas man whom had the touch of Spirituality about him. The Ghost, even as inexperienced as he was back then believed he could draw it out of him with force. How wrong he had been. His one link to the mortal world, his one conduit to the closest feelings of life a Ghost could ever possibly receive...gone. All that effort turned against Auldwin. His own actions were treasonous, and he was left once again with no one to rely on but himself. The Drykas didn't understand them. All that he had met seemed to either be unresponsive toward his advancing questions, or reluctant to release any possible information. They were a hard people to breach as an outsider, and even more difficult as a Ghost, despite his desperate situation.
That feeling of ostracism drove Auldwin away. Far enough away from civilization to float about and take time to think of what to do next. He wandered for days, watching the sun travel across the sky, chased by the moon. The duo of skyward migrants moved in that loop, over and over again. Sometimes Auldwin would stop to think to himself, how long had he been traveling from the south? Ten days? Twenty days? Time seemed so irrelevant now. All that remained was this dreadful existence. The torturous sentence of watching a world pass him by that he struggled so hard to be a part. To think in life he took all that interaction for granted. What he wouldn't give to have it now. Even to feel the sweat as it rolled down his brow, or the pains of tired muscles as they moved to power his body forward. Nothing. Just the sun and the moon. Dark and the light, growing and fading into one another.
He continued along the coast, moving up and down the rocky crags that dotted the middle Suvan Sea. There he saw the fewest of Mizahar's residents. What few were left on that damnable planet. The occasional sea bird waddled out of the way of Auldwin's passing, bringing the cold breath of the winter wind wherever he went. The temperatures of the waters dropped, the twinge of the air became uncomfortable, but just like all things it passed as Auldwin continued forward, never stopping. He didn't require rest anymore. There was no solace in sleep, it wouldn't provide him with a fresh new day. He had no eyes to close, no physical body that requested the respite of true rest. More days passed.
One day he found something unusual. Something different from all the land he had crossed. The difference wasn't immediate or striking. In fact, it was possible that anyone but a Ghost could have very well passed it by. There was destruction, but many places in Mizahar lie in ruins, pathetic remnants of what they once were. These ruins were different though, and even from the distance Auldwin could feel it. It wasn't like a chill, or a shiver, it was something perhaps only the dead could truly understand. It was the strange pull of a place where death had occurred. Auldwin had felt it before just after he died, it had led him to Black Rock, as if it was to be his savior. In a way, that city of the damned was. It was there he learned what it meant to be a Ghost. Within that island he came to understand his new existence, and the powers of Soulmist and Spiritists. Now he could feel it again, but it was different. It was more focused, sharper.
If the cut that Black Rock had made into Auldwin's senses was like a broad sword, this feeling was more like a dagger. Precise, deep, deadly. Just what had he come across he wondered? Unlike the living, Auldwin didn't feel the fear to turn back, there was so little anything could do to him now. That wilderness that once taunted him, that made him live within the safety of the walls of Syliras from fear seemed so tame these days. He floated through all of it with impunity. Through it's heat, it's cold, it's rain, it's lightning, it's creatures, all of it. Very few times had he felt anything when he traveled, but this was one of those times. Auldwin found himself transfixed with closing in upon the ruins, unable to turn back. It was as if a new road had recently opened up to him, and his only choice was to travel down it's length in order to learn of it's destination.
