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[Galathan]

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The robust, transparent brown liquid fizzed languidly near the bottom of the bottle, the few remaining drops to be of little bother for an effort. Another drink down the hatch and the bottle joined the growing collection of empties by the chair in which Galathan sat. Blurred faces blended seamlessly into a background of spinning colors. The din of patrons at Poet's tavern wafted about almost unnoticeable to the inebriated blonde-haired man. The top popped off of yet another rich ale and was soon on it's way to joining the many that came before.

Standing amidst complete darkness, Galathan stood. The darkness was not unfamiliar to him; no, he has been here before. The deafening silence is enough to pierce the cold, dark blanket which envelopes . . . consumes all.
"You let me down." A soft, feminine voice came from the darkness. A young woman clad in the colors of Moonglow stepped forth toward Galathan, "It is your fault that I am gone now."
Tears began to well up in Galathan's eyes slowly, "Jasi, it was not my fault . . . you disappeared."
"You were always too busy for me, always training. Because of you, I am gone." Jasi turned back toward the darkness and walked away, leaving Galathan with outstretched arms.
"You let us all down." Several women chimed in from behind. Several womanly images, vaguely recognizable stood, sad expressions upon their faces, "You just had to hurt us all, didn't you?"

That noise . . . Another one of Poet's bawdy songs to entertain the patrons of the establishment. Cat Lyxen enjoying her cookies and wine, some strangers looking on, not sure what to make of the scenes unfolding. Song, laughter, talking, all surrounding the empty space around the drunk man. With a growing amount of energy required, another bottle falls to the ground. A dozen? Two dozen? And yet another bottle is there to take the place of the former.

"Look at you," a man's voice cut through the darkness like a swift blade, "you were once respectable, you know."
Galathan turned around, coming face to face with Mark Randerstill, who was clothed in the old outfit back from the Council of Valor.
"Once, being a long time ago," Mark continued, other people similarly clothed stepping into line formation behind, "your selfishness, your greed, your thoughtlessness, all of it destroyed what could have been a great thing. You should have listened to our voices."
Glancing toward the ground with a look of shame, Galathan took a step back, "I know that. If I could go back and change things, I would have done it different . . ."
"You can't go back. Look at you now, you should be laying in the streets with the dogs." Charlie the dog appeared from the darkness and walked to Mark, happily wagging his tail, "Then again, that is where honorable and honest animals lay. You belong in the sewers." Mark scooped up Charlie and vanished into the darkness.

Stumbling to the counter to get something more to drink, Galathan was almost oblivious to someone lightly grasping his arm and saying something. The image of the person was almost blurred beyond being recognizable. A short red head . . . soft voice. Galathan shrugged the hand off, replying with some retort or another, and ventured back to his seat with another armful of delightful liquid.

Tatiana Alexi stood a short distance from Galathan, an expression of both anger and pity on her face, "A once 'great' warrior. Defeated countless foes on every side of almost every conflict. Rare was defeat. And this is what you resort to?"
Galathan looked to Tatiana, who had crossed her arms, expecting an answer, "I-I never m-meant for it to go so far, it wasn't supposed to happen that way . . . I didn't mean for it to . . ."
Tatiana cut him off, "Didn't mean for it to? You ordered them to kill me. To take my life. How could you not mean to do that?"
"I . . . I" Galathan tried to say something, but choked back on his soft-flowing tears as he dropped to his knees.
"A great and honorable warrior does not resort to such things," Tatiana snarled, "A helpless woman? You are nothing but pitiable."
Tatiana faded away, and was replaced by several large, brutish-looking men. The forefront-most man spoke, a large sack over his shoulder, "Pitiable indeed. You could not defend those who you were trying to, and you could not even defend yourself." The man laughed cruelly and flung the sack in front of Galathan, four severed limbs falling from it, "Did those belong to you?" The man let out a long, boisterous laugh. Galathan, in a fit of anger, swung at the man who disapeared before being struck down. A multitude of images surrounded him, people known throughout his life. They were chanting.
"You failed as a friend."
"You failed as a leader."
"You failed as a lover."
"You failed your family."
"You failed yourself."

The lively, crackling fire displaced shadows around the room. Slowly, ever slowly, Galathan's eyes had fallen closed, a slumber overtaking him; not completely aware of the things he had said or done. Like many nights in recent history, he drifted off in Poet's tavern, in the same chair as usual.
"So, you know who he is?"
"Yeah, I know about 'em."
"Well, is he good or bad?"
"He's nobody, just a jester."
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Galathan
"Survivor of Ormus"