Over a decade since, I am at last ready to recount of the most
harrowing sight I have chanced upon, though not without certain anxiety.
Those familiar with the Northern Reaches, may have heard of the
wondrous Lights from Beyond, which once i na while illuminate the sky with strange
colors and make for quite a spectacle.
But if you go far enough north – indeed, so far that no sane guide will
take you there, you may find that there even stranger things to see there.
I was only able to make the journey thanks to the considerable favor I
had earned with the Moonsilver dwarves, one of whom agreed - despite his good
judgment, he said - to take me just far enough to glimpse the outlines of the
Ghost Mountains.
As we went through the bitter-cold tundra, he kept mentioning something
about its being bad to intrude on the ancestor’s domain before our time…
“Disturb their watch” were the exact words, from which I can tell that at least
his clan believes in the stories of the Pale Legions, where the finest of
Light’s fallen go to await the final battle against the roiling dark.
When we reached a plateau overlooking a vast featureless desert of
cracked ice, from which such violent wind blew that no snow could cover it. And
at its end, impossibly high and impossible far, there rose the peaks that
marked the end of the world of the living.
To me it seemed as if they are made of solid ice, for in the eternal
twilight of the deepest north, they shone with a pale kind of light.
Reflected by the clouds, it makes for a mesmerizing sight - so much so,
that I found myself hypnotized.
In that trance, I remarked that it did indeed seem like wraiths were
moving all about those unreachable heights, whether coming or going, one could
only guess, or better not. It seemed to me that we were being watched with a
thousand eyes, silent but intelligent and very much sentient.
Perhaps from having the same feeling, my companion grew so anxious
that, forgetting about myself, he hastened on his way back, and I was able to
tear my gaze from the consternating miracle I knew I would otherwise behold
until the frost claimed me.
Now, after some research, I know that there are indeed legends of how
even the greatest heroes coming to reclaim a soul of a loved one, once there,
could not move themselves and remained there as frozen statues.
To my great shame and regret, I must relay also that during our journey
Dangorn’s hair grew white as snow. Then afterward, despite my best efforts to
console him, he entered into a gloom that, I heard later, hastened him to his
death not a year since.
Such is the price that had been paid for my being able to write these
words, hopefully to warn others against crossing lines that are not meant to be
crossed.
For myself, I know I am cursed to continue seeking out danger and
things forbidden, so alas, Dangorn’s sacrifice has been wasted on me.
If there indeed lies the Afterworld, it is surely a place of beauty and
some wonder, but idea of an eternity spent amidst all that barren rock and ice
seems horrifying indeed.
Of all my journeys, this was the most foolhardy - for I almost lost my
both ears and a number of toes - but certainly also the one I am going to think
about when my final journey is at hand.
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