There’s no such thing as an immortal body, but immortal spirits exist. Those who carry on the lessons and history of the past from one generation to the next can be considered immortal. Immortality isn’t out running death; it’s outlasting it. -- Anon Guest
[AN: Link leads to Overly Sarcastic Productions' take on the Epic of Gilgamesh. I can recommend]
What is death, the philosophers asked, when you get down to it? The true and absolute elimination of a person, in its completion. The death of the body, in their eyes, is just the beginning. The end of the bloodline could easily be another. Despite all the arguments regarding various other forms, they all agree on one thing.
A being still lives in one form or another while their name is still spoken.
Elderly Elves pass their names on to favoured relatives who are anticipating the arrival of a new babe. The cult of Life Scribes in Dourmount record important lives from death to birth, and tell them to any willing to listen. Orcs sing songs of their tribemembers.
In all cultures, those who live seek to loan some immortality to those they love. Some write histories. Some keep their own journals. Some insist on generating paperwork. And some... are the Reciters.
They keep the names of the lost on their lips. They remember the names of everyone they lost in their lives. They begin their day by reciting the names of pets, grandparents, and perhaps even friends who have moved out of their lives.
By the time they come of age, a Reciter has most of their daily morning taken up by the names of all that they've lost. Many have turned the list of loved ones in to some form of poem or memetic song.
Many, many people find them annoying. It's therefore understandable that this particular belief is fading away.
Reinart believes they are the last of them, and they are dying.
"Ennys. My friend. Take... my name... with you. Have it spoken. Plea..." the last breath left them, and Ennys could not bring them back.
"Reinart Aldivol," ze whispered. "You were a pain in my ass, but I will honour your wish." Ze was an artificer, and could create anything to spare effort done by other mages. All it truly took was a little alteration of extant spells, and some charmable clay.
It took hir a tenday, each morning singing Reinart's song and adding their name to the end. The end result was a clay mouth that recited the words on its own. Every time the sun rose.
Ennys left it in the middle of the rainless deserts. Ze had said ze'd honour Rainart's wish. Not a word about annoying anyone else with the fulfilment thereof.
[Photo by Lisette Harzing on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
Send me a prompt [85 remaining prompts!]
