Solitudes and Silence

  ***

  Dark feathers, flapping. A rush of wind, a bite of chilly air. A loud squawk, both protean and civilized, echoing and reverberating. The cold, craggy grip of bare talons, strong and dry, rasping, clutching. The musty smell of down mixed with aged meat and the freshness of night air, and the brilliant flare of a full moon.

  Waimbrill perched on the dark wood of a thick branch in a forest he didn’t recognize, kneeling before a great man with the wings and head of a vulture, Modroben, here in the form of Velteris, his most common avatar.

  "Greetings, Mortiss Waimbrill of Crikland. Do ye feel ye have served me well in your first assignment?”

  Waimbrill was at a loss for words, in awe of the majesty of the great winged man before him and his commanding shadow cast by moonlight. He felt pangs of inadequacy, and he knew that Velteris felt his every thought.

  “Ye be unhappy in your current position, Mortiss Waimbrill of Crikland... Ah, I see. Ye be not Waimbrill of Crikland in your mind. Ye be Waimbrill of Lommia, or ye wish ye was.

  “But your parents, great and noble to be sure, and your brothers and sisters, glorious though they are indeed, are your past. Love them, remember them, cherish them always, but know that a home is not a distant, theoretical notion, it is the place wherein those who live accepteth you unconditionally; your neighbors are the people ye know best, not those ye remember most fondly.

  “Ye last left Lommia as a lad far younger than Terredor is now, and ye last saw it with the wide-eyed innocence of youth. It is not unlike Crikland, and your pains would ring as potent there as here. Ye must not forsake words that bear truth because they contradict memories most keenly desired.

  “Our reputation for neutrality is a tool like any other, a tool we can use for good. None can feel the grief of a thousand new widows and orphans while ignoring the strife that causeth it. I have watched you struggle for what is right over these last few years, and ye have struggled mightily. I know ye wish for a calmer life, assigned to your homeland. But I have come to offer more struggle and strife, more doubt and pain, and also more glory, more honor, more grace. Ye can be a powerful force for good as a champion, fighting in my name against any who would defy me, to corrupt their own souls, and defile the dead in a vain pursuit of mortal power. Ye have all the weaponry ye need. Ye are as strong as needed, as brave as necessary, and as good and just, carrying words that bear truth. Ye are all that you need be to accept this charge, and I hope ye decide ye shall.”

  Waimbrill wanted to say that he did, but Velteris saw in his heart that it was not so, that he ached for the rolling hills and warm castles of Lommia.

  Velteris was disappointed, Waimbrill knew, but such was the nature of giving mortals a chance to choose.

  “Ye feel bitterness towards me. Ye think if ye had not been assigned here, your grief would not ring with such resonance. Perhaps so, or perhaps if ye had not, your world would be much worse indeed. Perhaps ye would have discovered that your home is not as grand as ye recall. Perhaps your remembrances grow fonder with time, and to meet again the incidents of an earlier age would only sour those memories that strengthen your soul.”