Opalina (prime)/The Whisper Beneath the Snow

The Whisper Beneath the Snow

This is a creative work set in the world of Elanthia, attributed to its original author(s). It does not necessarily represent the official lore of GemStone IV.

Title: The Whisper Beneath the Snow

Author: Opalina Jalcon

From the journals of Opalina Jalcon- 2-15-2002

There are battles that leave blood upon the ground.

Then there are battles that leave no wound anyone else can see.

Today was the latter.

The darkness found me again.

It announced itself the way it always does—not with a face, but with a feeling. Black tendrils slipped from the frozen earth and wrapped around my legs while the stench of burning sulfur filled my lungs. Everyone else saw me standing in the streets of Icemule. They saw me talking to empty air.

Only I heard him.

Or it.

The soul-lich still refuses to tell me its name.

It demanded the same impossible task once again—that I retrieve the ancient staff from one who will not surrender it. As though simply asking louder would change her mind. As though threats somehow make the impossible possible.

I tried to explain.

I have spoken with her.

She laughs.

She ignores me.

She is wiser than I am, older than I am, stronger than I am. I cannot force her hand.

The lich called me weak.

Cowardly.

Worthless.

It insisted I already possessed the power to take what it desired if only I would stop refusing to use it.

But that is precisely why I refuse.

Power without conscience is merely another word for tyranny.

If I become willing to steal, threaten, or murder simply because a stronger creature demands it...then what separates me from the monsters we fight?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The people around me could only hear half the conversation.

Poor Hastale asked who I was speaking to.

How does one answer that?

"A nightmare that lives somewhere behind my eyes."

Instead I simply told them the truth—that one of the Council haunted me.

Perhaps they believed me.

Perhaps they thought I'd finally lost my wits.

Either way, I would not stop answering the creature.

If it wanted a frightened little mouse, it had chosen the wrong rogue.

It mocked me.

I mocked it back.

It threatened me with death.

I reminded it that if it were truly so powerful, it could retrieve the staff itself.

That seemed to anger it.

Good.

Bullies hate mirrors.

Then came the lightning.

Poor Hastale.

One moment he stood beside us, laughing that the lich should fetch its own prize...

The next, lightning split the sky.

He died before he even hit the ground.

The lich claimed he'd simply grown bored.

Coward.

Always hidden.

Always striking from the shadows.

Never brave enough to stand before those it wished to terrify.

Rotsaver challenged it to reveal itself.

It answered with another bolt.

Another body fell.

Another life stolen simply to make a point.

I wanted to scream.

Instead I argued.

If that thing expected terror, I would give it stubbornness instead.

If it expected obedience, I would answer with questions.

Who are you?

Why hide?

Why manipulate mortals into doing your work?

Why demand what you refuse to claim yourself?

Every answer was another insult.

Another threat.

Another boast.

No wisdom.

No lesson.

Just endless demands for that blasted staff.

At one point Locken quietly assured me that I wasn't under the creature's spell.

I almost laughed.

No.

If only it were that simple.

Enchantment can be broken.

This...

This is something else.

A conversation no one should have to endure.

Still, I refused to surrender.

I recited the prayer for peace over Icemule—not because I thought the lich would listen, but because everyone else needed to hear it.

Needed to remember what we were fighting for.

Not revenge.

Not power.

Peace.

When the dead were restored and breathing again, the creature whispered one last promise into my mind.

That I had seen only the beginning.

That greater horrors awaited.

Then...

Something I cannot quite explain.

A soft kiss upon my forehead.

Gentle.

Almost affectionate.

The sort of gesture a mother might give a child.

Yet it chilled me more than any threat.

Because evil that believes itself kind is far more dangerous than evil that delights openly in cruelty.

The tendrils faded.

The sulfur vanished.

The voices of my friends returned.

Someone asked if I was all right.

I smiled.

"Im okie."

The words were easier than the truth.

The truth is that every conversation leaves the creature knowing me a little better.

And perhaps...

Leaves me understanding it a little more.

That thought frightens me more than lightning ever could.

Still...

It will not have the staff.

It will not have my conscience.

And above all...

It will never have my soul.

Not while I still have breath enough to answer back.