I, Turms, had woken to the sounds of spring approaching.
Walking among the naked and snow-covered trees in my garden, I finally remembered myself as the iron taste of immortality overwhelmed my mouth and the terrible thunder of undying deafened my ears. I turned my eyes to meet the sky to see the light-bodies of sylphs perform their eternal dance, naked and beautiful.
I felt the touch of my guarding angel on my shoulders, burning like a fiery embrace. I saw past the barriers of the physical realm, deep into the depths of soil, and beyond heaven and its shores. I felt the undeniable assurance of my immortality. I saw the well-spring of forgetting beyond the doors of death, so many kneel at and drink deeply when passing through.
I turned to embrace my guarding angel, but my arms grasped only the nothingness of the void. I did not know her, not yet. A terrible lust and thirst filled my mind and heart, as I looked at her uncovered SoulFire body. Arms and wings uplifted she vanished and the sweet sound of her laughter, which is like a thousand silver bells, echoing in Aether.
I returned amidst the shackles of time and the oppressing pull of gravity, yearning for more. My power bled from me like blood rushes from an open wound, and once again, I tasted the bitter ash and tears of mortality. The weight of my bones dropped me to my knees and my ribcage felt like a prison for my laboured breath and strained heart.
There I knelt in thawing snow, in unspeakable silence with clouded eyes, although I had sworn before the most ancient ones I would not shed a tear or kneel before anyone. It was not the first oath I broke, and certainly not the last. The spring of my mortal life would bring more disappointment and oath-breaking than I care to remember, but remember I must. I will touch this orb all will be as clear as yesterday. I have traveled through countless cycles of time and space as it is felt and known on Ea, which is the true name of this plane and planet.
I have to remember, I, who is immortal; I, the one who returns, and knows, and is known.
***
I, Turms, meditated on a specific sigil, which is a naked tree inside a glowing circle.
I had lived in the Northern City States for many a year like an ordinary man, eating and drinking in order to forget the things which are eternal and divine. The relentless debauchery and self-indulgence had left their mark on this decaying vessel of flesh. I was known to the people of the north as “Antero”, a man of many talents. The joyous years as a mortal man took me from the glory of war to wealth of commerce, and from the realms of art to a life of a professional beggar, but I did not mind. I always had a place to rest my weary head, walls to keep the cold outside, and a roof to shield me from the elements.
During the Summer of my life, I had grown tired of people and their mindless and meaningless games. The most delicious delicacies and glorious spirit-drinks tasted like ash and were a bore. Expensive garments and gadgets gave me no pleasure. My mortal body, and all its needs, desires, and whims, ruled over my immortal mind. During the low-points of my mortal years, I infrequently met others of my kind. I enjoyed their company, the talks of eternal and divine, but did not stay with them for too long. They could not hide their sense of pity, and although none spake aloud, they thought I was dangerously close of betraying our true purpose. I did not hear the thunder of undying or taste iron of immortality anymore. I had become a man among others, a faint shadow of my true self. I offer no excuse, nor do I ask forgiveness. Only the veiled Gods will judge me, only to them shall I kneel, but to mortal men I had to pay for my recklessness. Aye, pay we all must. We may do whatever we like, provided we can pay the cost. I had taken life before in the wars and skirmishes against the southern barbarians and troglodytes. I had taken those lives gladly. Like a harbinger of death, I, Turms, had raged in the fields of fire and destruction. The GunBlade I wielded was cursed with power not only to maim and cut, but also to rip apart and destroy any and all metaphysical existence, the timeless SoulFire residue, sending it to the deepest parts of the abyss of nothingness.
What happens in the fields of battle, stay in the fields of battle, but the lives I ruined and ultimately took in Northern City States brought about the Fall, or the autumn of my life.
- Avenging Angel, Pain & Despair, Greenhouse Valley Journals
