Ghosts

They were always there
The whispers and the mutterings
never did they cease
never did they slow
Never would they fade​

He could hear them in the comfort of his bed, reading to his daughter, fighting in battle, the voices would remain. For some ritualists the voices are simply a bi-product what happens when one accepts which ever god or gods they dedicate their service to, but he...he was different. Every day and every night he could hear them the faint words of the dead...every now and then he heard his own ghosts. Ever Doughall his family slew, ever sanguine he put to the blade, and once in a dark day he heard the muffled screams of the curings that would end with a single gasp. The Gasp before the river of blood that would pour from the single cut across the neck.

Penance, Penance was what he once thought it. Those random mutterings of the dead some cursed him, some berated him, and some mourned what they had done that which they could now never put right.

Too long had he spent in penance, regretting what he had done and philosophizing on what could've been had he been different. Now he was different, yet they remained he could still remember many of their names and their faces but more importantly He could remember those who loved them. Those who mourned them and those whose souls Alu would tie to the dead so she might give them solace. To show them a immitation of the dead, a ghostly visage which was both a dire warning and a opportunity for final goodbye.

Yet what if his penance was done, Lanarra's Oath now laid satisfied as well as Ellea's he would be a good husband and father. He would uphold that which he had sworn out of love for his family and for his gods, yet even with his wife. Even in those moments she held him and reminded him that it was all over and he was no longer the Beast. That he was loved...the worry never ceased.

He could still hear them, still remember the stroke of sacrifice which had stained his knife with dark blood of Sanguine and cured alike. Still remembered his hunger for his supposed righteous cause of ridding the world of monsters...but truly what is a monster. He had seen so much in this city...no longer could Sanguine be what they were to him. The Ghosts of the Slain reminding him that these aren't simply beasts but beings which might change if given the chance and even under the curse can do good.

Once he even the thought of summoning them would've been unthinkable but now. Now it might be time so let the Gallery rise up so the Gods might pass judgement through them.

It was instinctual like reaching a hand into a river and pulling out stones. With a simple chant and a snap of his fingers he pulled them forth from Alu's door.

The Doughall pack which had been slain by his family, the countless sanguine and werebeast taken by his blade, Doetheia, Alanzo, and so on until the Forest was filled with ghosts.

He looked upon them with a quiet gaze though the wild beast of worry and shame began to rise in him, but suddenly he understood what he had to do. He looked upon their expresionless visages and went to each in turn and apologized asking for absolution. It took many hours until the sun had risen and set for him to finish with the final spector Alanzo...the man who had taken so much from him. He had made his death particularly heinous, cutting him over and over as he rubbed the cure into each and every wound. It had burned every nerve within the sanguine's body for 12 hours, at the end of which he was weak and looked ready to beg for either death or his life, but He would never know. For he had taken even this from the man cutting his throat the moment he gasped out he was cured.

The Url looked at him and apologized, "I took from you Alanzo just as you did me but I regret how I did it and that I never let you have that last request. I ask for your absolution so we might be free."

The Ghosts said nothing but as the Url sat and began a day's worth of meditation admist the forest. He performed the Hertok to cleanse himself of his feelings to the ghosts over and over. Until finally it was over, the voices scattered their words ebbing away until suddenly new ones took their place . He would never be rid of the whispers but now his penance was done.

He rose beginning to make his way to his home, his wife, his daughters, and the silence without his ghosts. His actions would always stain him but now he was free of their haunting.