Days puncuated by pain, headaches and restless nights seem to follow the once well known Kharajyr.
Living the remainder of his life in the wilds, thinking, meditating, raising his last son, and wondering...
Such was one of these days, the Booze Cat as he was known in his youth. . . Chopping wood. An aura of peace, calmness, almost eerily so. Now in his 50s, and still in his physical prime.
All the chaos of his youth has left him, now just another old man, a list of ideas, and a list of names. Names from his youth, friends, enemies, all alike. They ramble on, and so does he. Telling stories to anyone who’d pass by his home, or visit him on occasion in Asimu’lei, if he could be caught there.
He wonders the fates of Tantalus, Rhaella, and the others who’d been such close friends to him. They’d simply disappeared in his mind that’s just how things are it seems. Answers will show themselves in time.
Months pass, close to a year until one faithful afternoon. The Kha is splitting wood, his head begins to ache more then usual, he finds himself unable to work any further.
He turns, returning to his cabbin calling:
”Chicahu! My Per’ come to me son.”
The Tigrasi who he’d rescued, and raised exist from the cabin. Barely an adult, even by Kharajyr standards, just 13.
”Some wood over there I need splitting, if you’d be so willing my giant.”
Chicahu smiles, taking the axe from his father and beginning to split the wood with a few mighty grunts.
”Put your back into it!”
Xinan calls from the cabin
The shout is returned with a heavy emphasis of sarcasm, a tease.
The Leparda lays down, unable to sleep it seems. He takes deep, steady breaths. These would be his last.
As his mind drifts, he ponders, and thinks. Where did his life go all wrong? Was it in Asimu’lei? Asamel?
None of this matters now. Whatever you’d think of the Kha, hero and reformer, an open mind and sympathetic ear. Or a monster that only sought to destroy and ancient culture, and way of life worthy a death much worse the one he got, or some middle ground. Perhaps a moment would be taken to consider that of the Kha, and both sides.
In his final moments he begins to cry, thinking of all he’d done, all the suffering, the pain, the joy. Lenora, Gusiam, Qudlia, Asamel, Ari, Araene, Umi, Savie, Tantalus, Rhaella... Pep...
Would they know? Would they care?
Drifting off... into a eternal sleep, dying of Brain Cancer at the age of 52.
His son returns, a day passes as he goes to wake his father, finding him dead, he sends off the bird with the note as instructed by his father before passing, not bothering a peak at it.
He mourns the loss of his Patta, cremating him, along with the house they live in. Starting a small forest fire in his anger, slaughtering many an animal with his bear hands in his rage.
He arrives at the Gates of Stargush’Stroh... Spending his life a dedicated worshiper of Isuz. The Message To Lenora:
(Please don’t meta, but feel free to read if you wish.)