User blog:Leea/The Tale of Voronwe, Chapter 22

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4th Era 100, 2nd of Rain's Hand, Summerset Isle
He found that being a ghost made you capable of many things you would not have been able if you were still amongst the living. Though he resented his actions that led to his death, at least some good could be gotten out of it. Orthendar mused over these thoughts as he stood on the water in the North Harbor. Waterwalking came naturally if one was a ghost, but required enchanted items or spells (that wore off eventually) if one was still flesh and blood.

Concentrating his thoughts on where he had seen the steed, he pictured the place in his mind and felt his body dematerialize even further as he teleported to the location.

* * *

The beast was still where Markadil had left it. There was no use in sneaking; animals could sense spirits much easier than Mer of Men. As soon as the beast caught sight of him, it howled in terror and pulled violently on the reins, which were still securely tied to the tree. As he rushed forward, Orthendar mused to himself that Markadil had tied some great knots. Using unnatural speed, he ran up and leapt onto the steed's head, smashing his fist through the creature's eye, killing it instantly. As the beast went limp and collapsed into the water, he was grateful that, as a ghost, he was untouched by grime, or, in this case, animal guts. He was clean is if he had never put his fist through the creature's eye. He stared down at the body in the shallow water, knowing that he would have to get rid of it somehow. While he could move in the blink of an eye, unfortunately supernatural strength was not among those "gifts" he had gotten when he had become a ghost. Thinking deeply, he rubbed his chin.

He remembered that he had read a book long ago about different types of supernatural powers, and that telekinesis was one of them. While there were spells of that sort for the living, ghosts naturally were supposed to have that power. He didn't know if he did or didn't have that power because, honestly, he hadn't tried. No time like the present, he thought. Staring that the dead body, he concentrated his thoughts on moving it into the deep water. To his surprise and delight, it moved a few feet closer to the depths. As a spirit, he had no pains, so he was glad that there was no potential for a headache as he shoved the rest of the beast into the water with the power of his mind. He reasoned that such an action, had he been alive, would have resulted in a crippling headache.

With the steed now plumeting down into the deeper water, he turned to the East, the direction that Balasian now lived. Concentrating on the mental image of the house that his friend and commander lived in, he dematerialized once more and transffered himself to the home.

* * *

Looking nervously over both shoulders, Balasian couldn't place why he suddenly felt watched. He'd also had this same feeling the day Markadil had been killed, though the feeling had quickly passed, convincing him that it had just been nerves. Now, he wasn't so sure. Curwe was out back in the orchard, and he didn't want to appear foolish by running to her and asking if she felt the same as he did.

Chills ran up and down his spine as he thought he heard a whisper at his elbow. Jerking his head around, he saw nothing. He shook his head, attempting to clear these thoughts and feelings. "Just nerves," he told himself quietly. "You just had an assassin come for you. You have every right to be nervous." He rolled his shouders, trying in vain to ease the eerie feeling.

A voice came from the side, making him jump, his feet almost leaving the floor.

"Brother," intoned a male voice.

Color leaving his cheeks, Balasian slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice. At first, all he saw was a brightly glowing form. Before he could cry out in terror, it lost most of its glow, taking on the form of a Sea Elf with beautiful scarlet hair. "Greetings, brother." the figure said, inclining his head.

His features twisting in confusion, Balasian stared at the figure before realization swept over him, his eyes growing wide. "Orthendar? What happened? Why are you here? Is everything--"

The other Elf inclined his head again. "Everything is as it should be," He interrupted. "No one has been detected, and all still carry the cause in their hearts."

He let out the breath he had been holding. "Good. Excellent. But...how did you get here?"

"I had contact with Markadil, which gave me a few properties that I did not have previously. They've been a boon, but, honestly, I prefered my other form."

"'Other form'? What--" Balasian started, before realizations swept over him again. He now noticed the slight transparency and lingering glow around Othendar's body. "He killed you." Balasian said, voice flat.

Orthendar nodded solemnly. "Yes. When I heard through our spies in the King's guard that Markadil was being sent ot kill you, I thought I could kill him first. Alas, it did not happen how I wanted." He stared at the floor momentarily before bringing his eyes back of to Balasian's wide ones. "As I lay dying on his table, I knew I could do one last thing for you: lead Markadil on a course by telling him my true beliefs, where afterwards he would plan to give these facts the greatest - to him, at least - profit. It worked: he was off guard enough telling you of his plan, and it left him open for an attack by your beloved."

Balasian drew himself up straighter. "You were here? In the house?"

The ghost inclined his head again. "No. I was outside. I heard you talking with a woman, and later saw you both carry out Markadil's body. That's how I knew. I did not violate your privacy."

Frowning slightly, Balasian asked why Orthendar was here in Summerset, anyway.

Smiling slightly, the ghost replied, "I followed the assassin here, wanting to prevent your death, if possible. I heard you talking with a woman as Markadil sneaked up to the back door. I frightened the goats and urged them forward into him, where they shoved him over and onto the landing. He was so caught off-guard that he cried out loud."

Balasian's eyelids flickered. "I remember that. I was tending to bread dough at the time." He paused, thinking of what could have happened if Orthendar had not been there. "It seems that I owe my continued existence to you, as well."

The dead Elf waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Think nothing of it. You owe me nothing." He paused and a bright smile grew on his lips. "We can thank Sheogorath, however."

Cocking his head to the side and frowning, Balasian asked, "Why Sheogorath?"

Orthendar's smile grew lopsided. "For placing goats in such an odd place as this."

Balasian nodded thoughtfully. "You know, I'd often wondered about all the stray goats along the beach, especially since it seems that they are built like mountain goats."

The ghost grinned, white teeth showing. "See? The work of the Mad God."

Balasian started to chuckle, before growing into full fledged roaring laughter. Orthendar joined him, the men sharing a laugh after too long.