Tears of a Barbarian

Tears of a Barbarian

The mountains stand tall and watch the world. Day by day, children grow, old men die, and the mountains watch. Storms roll toward, and roll back, and the mountains watch. The sea laps at its feet, but the mountain pays it no mind. They simply watch.
Krell wakes to the sound of thunder. In his dreams he was with friends, men and women he does not know. In his dreams he saves the world, but when he wakes, he feels as if he destroyed it. He turns and holds his wife, thunder rolling overhead. Tomorrow he is hunting. Rumors have bandits nearby. He sees his hammer in the corner, standing against the wall. He watches as the lightning flashes and lights up the room, shining off the steel head of the massive war hammer. It glows with a magic he did not knew it possessed. He holds her close, her calm body working to silence his over active heart. He misses her, even though they lay together. He misses Omar, and the girls, though they are only a room over. He misses friends he never knew he had.
Morning comes and he packs up, Olavi runs up to hug him, but she only reaches around his knees. “I'll be back soon, honey.” he pets her head and ruffles her hair. “Can't I come?” She pleads. Krell smiles and takes a knee, trying to level with his daughter. “Actually, I have a different quest for you.” Olavi's eyes go wide. “Run up the hill to old man Zelpher, and ask him if storm told him any stories.” “The storms tells stories?” Olavi was just less than two hands old, but she had the open mind of an adventurer, and one's bravery too. “They do, but only wizards can hear them, and they will only tell them to little girls who listen to their parents.” Olavi laughs, “Okay, dad. Ill go talk to the old robot man.” Krell chuckles and ruffles her hair again as he stands back to his feet. “I want to know what he says.” His little girl smiles and turns away and into a sprint, heading into the village. Krell turns to the open plains of Chorto, and goes off on his hunt.
That night Krell returns with his kills. He cleans them, Omar helping, and they work together to process the meat, tomorrow they will go to market, and the winter will be safe. This was a good hunt, and this would be a good year. Olavi wakes in the early morning, to find her father and her brother covered in blood and sinew. She rubs her eyes and lets out a soft “Dad....” “Morning sunshine!” Krell says with a tired enthusiasm. She looks worried, “Zelphar told me what the storm told him...” Krell notices her worry and puts down his knife. “Whats the matter?” He steps toward her but stops when her eyes glow purple. “He said the storm spoke your name.”
The winter was calm. Krell taught Omar to hunt, and together they fed their family, and much of the village. The year after they taught Laria, and a few years later Olavi. All can hunt, all can provide. Krell watched with pride as his children grew. They trained and became strong of body, they prayed and became strong of spirit. Iris became the goddess of the household, a Goddess of family. Krell taught and trained, and when his children started families of their own, he trained, and he taught others. He did not want to be voted Elder, but he was, and he served, and he served.
Karissa, his wife, would die of old age, and though Krell was older, he was still as strong as he was the night Olavi told him the storm spoke his name. Krell was gray now, but as strong, and as wise, as he ever was. His children have children, and he spoils his grandchildren. He trains and he teaches the next generation, and the one after that, and after that... and after that.
Laria died first, during the birth of her third child, a boy named Krell, she was just 38 years of age. Her husband Jawis would go out on a hunt and not return a year later, and Krell would raise his grandchildren.
Omar would die at the hands of cultists. Pieced and quartered and left to be feed the birds and the rats. A warning, they said. Krell killed them all, a warning, he said.
Olavi would live long, long enough to see her own great grandchildren, but she took a different path. She swore an oath and became a cleric. She worshiped Iris and traveled the seas, and whens she returned home she would tell her father of her adventures, though he dreamed every night of his own. Olavi would die after aging over a century. Krell held her hand as she took her last breath.
His grandchildren would have grandchildren, and so would they. Generations and generations grow old, and Krell watches. He trains and he teaches, and he watches.
At night he sees adventures that never happened, battles at sea and at shore, in temples and in ruins. He sees a teifling, and a herengon, a dragonborn and a genasi. He sees a bold knight. He sees a storm and he sees two children, and he sees their energies.
The mountain watches as the storm wants to cross it, but the storm can not travel that far, it does not have the energy, the power.
It is a day, like any other, a thousand years into this endless life when he feels a pain in his chest.
He sees a woman, a human woman, old and cloudy. She is old, and she is dieing. He has watched this before... In a dream, they found her, and she expired. She was there often, she was pure and she was.... she was an object in a storm.
Krell takes a deep breath, he too is an object in a storm.