Author: Tormod, the Elder (Gamaeliel/Loden); Jan 2000
Recovery
On the evening of the 6th day of the year 2000 as dwellers on the plane known as Reality figure such things, I ventured forth again to that place called Norrath in the world of Xegony. Some, among them my wife of three decades, call this place where I adventure Unreality and consider it a place of time wasted and useless exertions.
The question, I suppose, is what is there that gives worth and meaning to any plane of existence? At one level, mere physical survival occupies us who judge such things. But, in an existence where that is the principal or only pursuit, there is little room for dreams, imagination, honor or the other things we call "higher" reasons for life. Note that the very higher reasons we so acclaim are all intangible creations of our minds and culture. None are required for the physical maintenance of life, yet without them we die. First we die spiritually, then emotionally, then intellectually and finally physically.
Can there be anything worse than the death that begins in the heart when we accept the demands of reality and finally leaves the body a soulless hulk counting the endless days until physical death? Infants not held and loved, itself an "imaginary" concept, either die or grow up to become destroyers of their fellow beings. That premise is accepted now that we have begun to acknowledge that the physical is not the sole purveyor of existence that our rationalists once thought. But what of the adult or near adult deprived of the opportunity to adventure with good and honorable friends, to witness and demonstrate loyalty, bravery, courage and that most elusive of traits, valor and to know the exquisite pain and joy of defeat and victory in combat?
Higher reasons for existence are wrapped up in relationships. The more difficult and dramatic the adventure, the more inspiration is created for each participant. I postulate some of us have a need to struggle alongside good friends against what appear to be insurmountable odds as much as infants have a need to be held. To approach an impossible task in the company of loyal comrades, to be defeated and to return again and again until the unscaleable height is scaled, the unbeatable foe is vanquished and the impossible dream is fulfilled is, I believe, the highest calling of any person. The inspirations of such accomplishments are creative. No person who has struggled through defeat after defeat to finally achieve victory will ever be the same again.
In the world of reality, we survive in an environment where the dangers have been reduced for most of us to marginal changes in lifestyle. No person of reasonable intelligence or skill starves. Deaths from violence have been reduced to the point where we are in greater danger from bee sting than from violence from our fellow citizens. Today, random death is the rule in the rare case of death before old age. Auto accident, heart disease and cancer are the big three. All strike seemingly at random. There is no honor in fighting a random opponent. Bravery, truth, loyalty, courage, none can effect the outcome when opposed by the death dealing enemies of this world.
If chance is the only enemy then what is the point in virtue, in valor, in courage? Yet, we would all agree that the decline in these very things is reducing existence to nothing more than just that, existence. We search for meaning beyond ourselves. We know that in the depths of our souls we will surely die without a higher reason to exist.
Some pursue the ultimate golf score. Others orient their lives on the success or failure of their favorite professional athletic team. Still others, sadly, seek to create a reason for being in their profession or in the accumulation of wealth or power.
There are those amongst us however who have chosen an different course. We know we must earn a subsistence in the plane of reality. We know we must have physically based relationships, but we seek an important part of the "higher things" that give life meaning on a plane now known as "virtual." For, in that plane we have found something rare in mundane existence: Virtue.
i became aware that I was back in Norrath. My eyes opened to a scene of dim gray light. I was on the top of a hill overlooking a valley bisected by a frozen river whose two branches that joined in front of me extended to a distant wall of mountains on my right. Directly in front of me, on the bank of the river, was a temple structure consisting of a built up base about six feet high with two sets of large pillars extending down its two longer sides. Walless like the Parthenon, it was covered by an ornately decorated roof structure.
In the dim gray light it was hard to tell from what material the Temple had been constructed but it appeared to be some sort of white stone. White. That seemed to be the predominate color everywhere. Or, perhaps I should say "gray" as that was, in fact, the color that seemed to cover everything like a blanket over the very snow and rocks themselves. But, white would be my guess if the sun were to shine on this land.
As I looked around more, I slowly concluded that this must be a place where the light of the sun had been unknown for a very, very long time. AS far as I could see in any direction there was no evidence of vegetation, only mounds of snow and ice punctuated by stark gray rocks protruding nakedly from beneath the land's white cloak.
My increasing consciousness revealed that I was standing under a stone structure of massive proportions. On my left and right two huge pillars disappeared down into the snow drifted around their bases while a low but equally massive arch extended over my head. My first impression was that I was standing under an unlikely geological example of a hilltop natural arch.
I walked forward a few steps down the hill and turned to look back at my apparent recent place of rest. It was immediately clear that I had been standing under a statue larger than any I had ever seen before.
Long years must have passed since its creation as its features showed much wear and it leaned drunkenly to its left. I made a mental note not rest there if the sun ever shone on this land as a good thaw was all that was needed for that huge chunk of what appeared to be granite to return to its native ground. Being under it at that time would be a seriously depressing position.
Squinting at the giant's features, I barely suppressed a laugh! You have to understand just how funny a dwarf looks without his beard to understand my feelings. This giant statue was clearly a dwarf with a close shave. Dwarves are always quite sensitive about their height (or lack of it, more accurately) and somewhere in the distant past at least one seemed to have dealt with his sensitivity in a rather decisive manner. The absence of a beard still puzzled me as the second thing it was generally unwise to criticize about a dwarf was his beard. Every dwarf I have ever known would rather be seen in public without his pants than without his beard.
- Beginning of the tale "Recovery, a story of death, depths and victory" by Tormod MacLear.