Chirelith's Ghost

It was a cold evening at Odin's Gate.

Kirth wrapped his cloak tightly around his chain-clad body. He glanced up from the small campfire to see a young Paladin striding towards him, clad in plain but serviceable plate armor, a 2-handed sword slung over his back.

"Greetings, good Cleric!" said the Paladin. "I had thought that I was alone in reaching this Milewall." Kirth smiled slightly, and motioned him over towards the fire. "Our Stealthers report no activity yet", the young man continued. Suddenly he stuck out his hand. "Aillas at your service". "Kirth Gersen of Darkholme" said Kirth, grasping the young man's hand. He noticed the younger man looking at his disheveled appearance. "I have been gone for quite a while" he told the Paladin.

"It is good to see a strong Cleric such as you here in the Frontier. We all serve Arthur in defending our Realm." Kirth nodded absently, and stared back into the flickering fire.

The quiet grew between the two. Finally, Aillas spoke; "Something is on your mind, my friend?"

"Old memories of those passed away..." Kirth said, trailing off. The wind kicked up sparks in the fire, swirling them up into the air, at first bright, then disappearing. “Old friends, Guildmates long gone…”

Suddenly, the howl of a wolf broke the stillness. Aillas stood, unsheathing his greatsword. Kirth hefted his mace and shield just in time to see several Trolls moving towards them out of the dark. The sound of harsh laughter was heard, as they unslung their heavy axes.

"Run lad!" said Kirth. Aillas chanted a song, as Kirth cast a Smite at the youngest Troll. Blue electric energy danced over its target, causing the Troll to shriek in pain. Aillas leaped towards the stricken enemy, and felled him with two sword blows.

Suddenly, both Albionians were frozen in place, stunned by the magic of Midgard. The Trolls loomed over them, cutting them down with their axes.

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Kirth lay in the snow, his spirit having not yet left his body. Aillas lay near him. He lay there, remembering his Guildmates, now gone, who would have been by his side...then he saw the white glow in the trees.

A slim transparent figure of a woman, wreathed in unearthly light, moved towards him across the snow, leaving no footprints. Her long blond hair fell upon her dark mail-clad shoulders. She bore a Chalice in her hands.

Chirelith! Kirth wanted to cry out. He lay hypnotized by the sight of her. She bent over Aillas, touching his brow. Then she walked over to him, a slight smile playing across her face. Kirth could see right through her as if she was a transparency.

She placed the chalice to his lips- the chalice he recognized as the strong magical gift he had given her long long ago. He drank a draught of warm liquid, and he remembered...

...healing by her side in the evil Barrows, telling her how hard it was to keep Paladins healed fully in a fight...
...hunting with her alone in the Catacombs all night one eve, the time when they both fell in love...
...adventuring with her all over the Realm, from Lyonesse to Snowdonia...
...making love with her for the first time on a summer night in a deserted tower in Campacorentin Forest...

The flash of memories dazzled him, bringing a feeling of contentment he had not known in a long time. The moment lasted for a small eternity of bliss.

Kirth strove to speak to her, but no words came. He looked into Chirelith’s eyes, and thought of what he would say. He had told her so many times of his love for her, even after they had grown distant and did nothing but argue. So when he moved his lips, he formed the words: ‘Forgive me’. Chirelith, face expressionless but eyes full of life, bent to kiss his forehead…

…then Kirth’s spirit released from his body. As he was brought back to life, a flash of terrible memories filled his head- the arguments with her; leaving her group in Lyonesse and standing from a distance watching her with mixed feelings; the unforgotten bitterness when their engagement was broken off; the grief when Chirelith was gone, never to return.

Aillas, also reborn at the bindstone at Cotswold, looked at the Cleric as he sat weeping on the ground. "Kirth?" he said, placing his hand upon the old man's shoulder. He got no response. He started to ask a question, but thought better of it. "I must go help my Guild, my friend" he whispered. "Be at peace."

Aillas ran off. It was years later when he saw the old man, for one last time.

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Aillas sat drinking ale in Ye Mug, a thoughtful look on his face. His Guildmate Balnorr resumed his questions.

"So, what did you see in the Catacombs to make you so thoughtful, friend?" Aillas continued with his story.

"As I went to ressurect my friends, I passed through the darkness of the lower levels. At one time they had held terror for me, but I have more learning than I did then. I strode past Skeletal Centurions, motionless in the darkness. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an old man in tattered armor along the wall. I was startled, but I sensed something familiar in his pale face. 'Do I know ye, father?' I asked, and then I exclaimed! He was an old Cleric I had encountered out in the Frontier one day, many years ago… he smiled slightly. I strode closer to him, and by the torchlight I could see he was slightly transparent. I drew back, making the sign of Arthur's Cross. 'No need for that friend' he spoke is a soft voice. 'Not all ghosts are evil. Do you remember Chirelith?'

I thought for a while, and remembered an unearthly glow that had hovered over us on the Frontier that night so long ago. 'Yes Kirth' I said, more to please him than anything. He nodded..." Aillas faltered.

"Yes?" Balnorr said. "Continue?"

Aillas took a deep breath. "He told me that this corridor was where he and Chirelith first kissed and fell in love. And he said he was there to remember all the good, and to forget the bad...because someone should remember those who were gone, was how he put it."

“Then I heard a noise, and I whirled around, my greatsword in hand. For a second, I thought I had a brief glimpse of green hills far away- then I blinked, and it had disappeared. I turned back around, but the old man was gone.” Aillas sighed, and put down his cup. "I have never heard of Kirth nor Chirelith", admitted Balnorr. “It is a sad tale. I hope ye don't believe that there are good ghosts my friend, as the Church would frown upon that methinks."

Aillas was lost in thought and did not reply. Later that evening, he went to the Lady he was enamored of and gave her a bouquet of flowers, and spoke of his love for her.

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A few years later, Aillas and his Lady parted ways. Many years after that, no memory existed of neither Aillas, nor Kirth, nor Chirelith. The world forgets, but the dead will always remember.