The Lives That I Have Lived

Remembering the first

"Have you ever felt like you're not really meant to be in this era?" This was a question asked to me when I was young. My brother Wilhelm was the one who asked. I didn't have the guts to tell him the truth. That I don't belong to this time. That I'm far older than any other person who walks the earth. "Sit down Willie, I want to tell you a story."

These where the words that started it all. My biography you might say. My name is as old as time itself. From a long lost world not remembered by anyone in modern times, and scarcely spoken of in my time. However you may call my Absalom if you wish. On the day in which I told my brother Wilhelm what I was, I was very nervous as to how he would react. Thankfully he did not go running around the countryside spouting off my tale.
Wilhelm was a lanky boy. Often seen as meek or frail. However if you pushed him far enough, you'd see the makings of a fine field worker. For at times he was a strong as a raging bull. But to answer his question in full and with nothing but the truth, I had to do some remembering.

I was born to a man that went by the name of Holliandar Clearview. He was oafish and had hands that forged the best steel in all of Ireland. My mother, who paled in size to her husband, was as sweet as the morning dew. She had such a gentle air about herself and she  always new how to calm even the most hotheaded of men. Her name was Geraldine Mizi. But the town knew her as cneasaí, healer.
As the only child to a forge master, and a healer, I was raised to be strong, but also have compassion for the bounteous gifts the mother earth, brother moon, and the divines would offer. The year was 127 BCE. And I was had just turned 5. 

 There was a certain gratitude everyone held for my father shop. Travelers, military officers, even just townsfolk, all understood the respect that was my fathers shop. As a child, during the winter months, mother and i would just count our blessing from the added heat it provided. Nor  will i forget the scorching summer days. Mother would often wander through the nearby woods to a riverside just so we could cool down. These things i will never forget.

As i grew into a young man, my family left me with choices. "You can run the forge, go to town and sign for the militia, or become something far more powerful, and respected." This was the beginning of my teachings into the wonderful world my mother knew. I became easily adaptable to every test, every new rune taught, all the herb combinations, even spellcasting became such second nature that it wasnt even teachings, more along the lines of reconnecting with a former part of myself. After months of training, and practice, my parents gave me my ultimate trail. 

"Son, youve come very far. Youre Father and I are indescribably proud of you. However your last trial wil decide if you re trully deserving of the knowledge that we have shared with you." My mother smiled as she spoke, that was always my favorite feature of hers. My father then began, "You have one task, forge a weapon, anything you feel. However you must do one thing with what you craft. Put nothing less that your entirety into it, have it become like an extension of yourself. Once you can craft something so pure, you can finally become the man we have always hoped youd be." 

Soon after I set off to find my base. I hadnt the slightest clue what to craft, yet i found myself being drawn towards that same riverside that my mother would have us venture to in the summer heat. Once i got there it took little time before i found what being had held my persuasion. An old alder tree, towering in size compared to the rest around it. I could feel its pull, and for some reason, almost as iff an innate part of myself was connected to this tree, felt as though this majestic being and myself were one in mind. I had found my base, now what? 

For three days i sat and waited. Some force inside myself drove me to do naught but sit and listen to what the old soul had to say. And at the beginnings of the third mid-day shower, i was given my answer. The alder tree, as I stood before her, dropped a branch in the shape of what i would craft, a scythe. Using this branch as the hilt, and forged steel from my fathers workshop, i crafted an instrument solely for one, as a direct line between myself and an old alder tree that had watched over me since i was young, i crafted my final trial. I was 15. 

Two years had flown by. Both my mother and father had aged with grace and blissfulness. I had taken my father's place in the place where fire and water helped to forge objects much more powerful and unforgiving than wood or stone. My giant of a father was more than at eye level with myself, but years of bonding soul and sweat to steel had made his bones stiff, and body crumble under his weight with every step. Still he kept on, his days now consisted of tending to my mother's list of herbs for her ointments, and smoking from his long pipe. During the day i did as my father before me, bonding metal to wood and forging armor out of near nothing. At dusk, i would often find myself back at the old alder tree that had once given me such a precious part of herself. I still had the instrument, my very first, and second important piece. the first was the necklace I made my mother as a child, which she wore everyday till her death.

Not long after these peaceful days, skirmishes between villages turned its sites on our homestead, and in turn took my parents' lives. I now belonged to the neighboring village, as a war prize, and stayed their slave till I died from dehydration. As  the world around me became dim, my body as light as a mid spring breeze, i walked to paradise. 
Or so I thought...