Soul: Tales of the Black Lotus

Epilogue: A Soul with No Name

On the first part of the journey I was looking at all the life. There were plants and birds and rocks and things. There were hills and rings, and the first thing I met from all the life was a fly with a buzz. I witnessed a sky with clouds made off earth and the cold was cool while the ground was dry. The air, however, was always full of sound just how it was in the end despite my passing. No one mourned for me, even though they spoke a tale that mentioned me, and life, as always, carried on without me. The human souls of Lemuria, like all the rest, have been on a journey of their own and to the strangers they were like souls with no name that would only be mourned if they spent their time well, if they actually lived their lives and explored the world. The humans of Haven Tor have been through the lost forest that still has a name of its own and it felt good for them to be out of the rain after a long perilous journey. The tales of the now haunted forests of Natura traveled far and wide throughout the remainder human settlements that wanted to know the truth behind why over at least seventy percent of their population had disappeared without a trace, why all that remains off them are their spirits, mere apparitions and ghosts, that haunt swampy marshes of what remains off it. After spending days lost in a forest with no sun, their skin began to turn pale and white as cheese. All the while spending their time in the region they stared at the river, and the story it told was off a river that flowed that made the humans so sad to think it was dead. In the haunted forests of Lemuria, the lost souls do not remember their own name for there isn't anyone that can give them no pain. After nine years the human civilization thrived free and Haven Tor became a place with its life underground with the perfect disguise above, and underneath their settlements there was a heart made of ground. But the humans, like always, gave or showed it no love the more they grew distant from it. They began their evolution all over again, setback for decades after the fall off the Cyberpunk Empire. So they came to a place underground, a shelter, which was one of many where they sat around campfires and tables to share tales, discuss myths, speak off rumors that would evolve to folklore, and legends that would move the soul of young future adventurers to set out into the world that inspires them to explore it. Life carried and moved on despite all the deaths like always...

"So what happened then?", one of the gnomes within the underground shelter-like taverns stayed up late that night to speak with a group of gnomes and dwarves that spoke of a tale of the past.

He was younger and eager to hear more that he questioned the elderly dwarf telling the tale with a group that surrounded a round table. The dwarf drank from his mug, lowered it down on the table and then shrugged his shoulders. The others around the table seemed to be enjoying their cigars and cigarettes while listening onto the conversation. The only ashtray in the centre of the table was nearly filled with ash and badly needed a replacement.

"Nothing, for that be the last of them tales.", said the elderly dwarf and the gnome could not believe it, along with all the others present in the room besides one that was already pretty well familiar with the tale that the elderly dwarf was sharing with all those present.

This person that knew off it well was the only malfhi sitting in the corner of the room with her back leaned against the wall. The dwarves, gnomes and humans were not isolated anymore from the rest of the world. They would welcome anyone in their settlements if they were hard workers or wished to help the economy grow, even aliens. One truth is also very common and that is that is that times change, and you should value time for one day no time might remain for time is not eternal. The beverage that the half-blooded human and elf consumed was long in her belly and there was not a drop in her mug due to how long the Tales of the Black Lotus dragged and carried on. Indeed, the tale was a legend and legends lasted for hours when being told by inexperienced, especially drunk, storytellers. The elf remembered her past, she remembered the voices that once surrounded her long ago and each memory of her exile now took her mind. She thought once she had sucker's luck and that it's better to give up. She felt like her life is a trial. She was thinking so fast like marbles on glass that she exhausted herself and that's why she drank, so that she can numb the pain. She kept vilifying by talking to herself in her mind, convincing herself that she should not even try, and she kept on remembering those that meant so much to her. What those could not see in the tavern is just how alone she truly felt inside. The elf leaned her seat against the wall and got up as she left her mug behind, and all those within thought she made her way to the bar in order to pay her tab. The barkeep kept his eyes on her as he kept his eyes on all the rest. The memories of those she lost faded away out of sight.