Existence of Existence

So, so strong; one could not tell which was the worse, the rumbling, the inevitable stench following the rumbling or was the anticipation of the stench coming from the rumbling the worst. Existence was, no beginning, no expected ending, time, all that time, time immemorial that birth was forgotten. Others had a time of growth and maturation but immortality with limited memory capacity meant discarding the memories of youth, had there ever been a youth? Now is now, and has always been now the others, human, titan, dwarf, lived a linear life, a beginning, a middle, and an end, but for the elf how long was before, how long until later.

Breathe, breathe, tranquil time, the falling of the leaves, the singing of the brook, the shade of kingdoms trees, did this place ever not exist? Stop, breathe, breathe, calm, patience, think, think, no danger, just exist, those memories having been discarded can no longer be accessed, what do I remember?

Another place, another time? So strange, that place compared to this place, this kingdom, and yet before that ethereal stream another place drastically different a different plane of existence so unlike this world and it’s places. Some similarity, back, back, way back into the negative side of linear thought and time, but Kobolds had existed there too, that’s where I can remember a beginning, but I was different then, so different, still so immortal had I begun there? Perhaps the physical side was younger, more vibrant, more reliant on physicality of attack and defense….. A sword, made of fish? Yet fists and feet honed to quickness delivering greater blows than strength could ever imagine. Yes, velocity of the foot and fist was more important than the brute behind the eyes, what did I look like then?

The rumble, and oh no the vile stench follows the rumble, but I alone tolerate through existence, has it ever been different? Rats, and more rats an eight way cellar to hunt rats, till dexterity and movement are learned and improved to use the fish spine as a weapon, falling down a hole and fighting off thieves with their hands inside pockets, and packs. Oh I did not like that, my choice far away, much more preferable to get to the water, cooling water much more tranquil and yet, no stench. That came later, much later when deterioration set in, but how, the elf is immortal, there can be no deterioration other than self affliction. Realization, am I self afflicted? But how and why, not to mention the rumble and never ending anticipation of rotting, oozing, bleeding, rancid, putrefying, is that healing?

The swarms of wraiths followed by the social similar to what is now only then more uniform, more precise, not free, not free. GEMSTONE!!! The place, the place, not me, not me, but it was me, it is only me and I must continue. So much larger than now, so much more powerful no mana sense, only mystery of what could be the immortal soul of varying body shapes and sizes perhaps this explains the limitations of the mind as only static where old enough memory must fade and be discarded. Oh to access all of that information perhaps the rumble and stench causing my current suffering exists only to keep those memories away. I fear that the immortal time I exist requires discarding those memories so that they can never be retrieved as so far no one, no thing, no way can bring them back to me yet I remain on the journey never to stop, to continue. That is not a memory; that is a desire, to continue, to pursue the un-pursuable, the vicious play, the depth of meaning, the longing for adventure, my fate.

Fate refers to an end is there an end? Can I choose the end? Have I experienced it all? What is Goth? Where is its door? Similar? Yes, similar a Gemstone, curtain rising to a Gothador.

THE RUMBLING…..

The Rumbling.

A voice, deep, odd, freakish, coming from a box, being shouted, “are you there?” Am I different? I am; my girth, my width, my respect is now a sense, a sense of power removing the warrior and emerging the mage within, yet I am lost. Simultaneous a Mortal (Mortl?) and the rumbling commenced then in that ethereal place. I must exist, therefore I am but why a spoon cousin? More rats, always more rats, why are they never a challenge, only a tedium to get to the big thump, of dark magic emanating from the elements of this Gemstone, no that is not right, this Gothador. Water, Fire, Lightning, Ice and two unforeseen powers of Holiness and something in-between, call it Transdimensional.

My sense, my aura, my instinct tells me that I am more and to unleash the storm within that rumbling I must change I must seek out great knowledge a knowledge of epic librarian erudition. He speaks, a hoof, a master, he points yet says nothing with his speech, I yield the place that was, and is no more for me and yet I must go on to a Mount of Braskin. This memory includes that rumble yet the memory has faded there is no stench, I stumble blind I am new, yet not young.

Gold? What is Gold? I need pieces to travel? Rats, more rats and throw in some bile, of which I eat for I know no better and the vile of the bile is the beginning of the stench. I stumble I rumble I fumble into a warp and I reach for my transdimensional awareness to find another new land strangely heated, sulphuric, and the stench grows. Foreshadow, of worse things to come my anxiety increases as the rumble leads into the stench only what is in it for me as my blindness can only increase.

Step lightly the Guild of Wisdom had told me yet they go unheeded for my blindness is hidden in my deafness, my immortality I will never cease I never began. One wrong step, the bridge is a quadrant away I fall, I cannot die yet flesh now putrefication creates the last of the stench as nothing smells as bad as burnt flesh yet I cannot die I am Elf. I can only heal and at such a state the healing is slow as eternal as my sight from frayed and damaged nerves. I stumble along and obtain my power in all its glory when the voice the bass of rumbling calls to me again to take me away to a better place. A place beyond the stars actually onto the ethereal stream and I find peace. Temporary, one in which I for once participate and find home.

Only to be removed by a Constant Sin of regret to now…. What is now, there never was a before there never will be a then, yet all of those still cannot tell which is worse, the rumbling, the stench or the anticipation of the stench.

Not to mention the fact that you were dropped on your head as a child...



Damn!! A smelly Elf that's putrefying from rotting flesh that's healing with puss, eeuugghhh that's an awful smell.


Stay away from me...

You'd love to lick me and you know it

Of course, but I'm not going to until you taste like Malted Milk Balls.


Dork

did you just say that you would like to lick his malted milk balls or was that my imagination ?