What are you going to do if you see your loved one die? Not because of age, but because of terror & unnecessary violence? What if you marry and you start a new life and then tragedy struck? What are you going to do to get your spouse back?
This is the story of Roland, the first & last mortal who became immortal in every way possible. But lets start with a thing with what every story starts: with the beginning.
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Roland and Althaea couldn't be happier. After years of saving and squarrels with their parents they could move into a nice house near the Daveldare Mountains with a workshop, a few nifty defenses of iron and magic and enough space for both of them.
It was all done. All set, the last carriage on its way down the mountain range. Both had a good night full of pleasure and rest and were now on their way with said carriage, as tragedy struck. And it was not a metaphorical thing, it was the hard stone club of a Troll. At first it struck the carriage and the really relaxed ox. It had no idea what killed it and that was good, maybe it was some kind of mercy.
Althaea weren't so lucky and in hindsight, Roland wasn't either. The Troll tried to catch them. Roland used his hammer to distract it. They haven't had a chance, not even fully fledged warriors would try to attack a Troll if they were alone. But Roland did. He tried. The Troll didn't even flinched. His large hand sent Roland flying to the sky and the next thing he heard was a gasp and the hammer squashing flesh.
He found his beloved Althaea in a puddle of their remains, half-eaten next to the remains of the formerly strong ox. Their face was smudged with blood and a look in their eyes which was surprised and far, far away.
Roland brought their remains into their new home, where their parents weeped and cried and grieved with him for a few years, the remains of Althaea next to the house in a shallow grave. This was the time where Roland burned himself out with work. He smithed sixteen or more hours a day and sometimes he trained with the swords he would smith for the elves - not as good as an elven smith, but he managed - or other parties. He didn't care and no one else cared as well.
After the time of burnout where he had nearly lost his mind in addition to nearly every ounce of fat in his body and gained a lot of muscle weight, he started to get angry. Not at the Troll. Well, yes, angry at the Troll as well, but angry at the gods both were worshipping. Old gods, long forgotten. Even when Althaea was a High Elf, she also believed in other gods as only Life and Death. And so they were real and so Roland had a target.
He armed himself with a longsword, a dagger, food and a bit of armour and tried to find a way to get into the afterlife of said god and free his Althaea from the shackels of death. Even when that means that he had to do terrible things. Even when that means he had to kill a god.
At first he ran into problems. A lot of problems and sometimes he ran against walls. Closed doors, closed minds. Nobody could or wanted to help him. Not a surprise. Maybe he was as gentle like an axe in the woods with his questions, but he figured out what he needed: a necromancer.
For a few hours of work he got pointed in a direction near the kingdom of Ganguk, where he eventually found the necromancer, a female dwarf who tried to overcome the destiny written in the book of Greybeard. Roland didn't really cared, but he tried to understand. They shared a path towards their own goals. Roland wanted to have his love back and the necromancer wanted to be free of her own destiny. So they needed a way to reach the gods and a weapon. A weapon only a god could forge.
They prayed to the Goddess of the Forge. Day after day, week after week, month after month. No reaction from her besides a small headache from all the prayers. Roland had enough and he dived deep into libraries, questioned sorcerer and magicians and scholars. He digged through ruins and books and parchment and stone tablets, even asked the Longardir bloodmages. And finally he found a name. Not only a name, but the name he needed.
He spoke it in front of the small house in which the necromancer and he lived. The Goddess appeared in fire and smoke including a mean headache. She wasn't amused and he presented her both their causes. She thought a long time while making faces full of pain until she spoke. "I will help you. But you need to craft your own weapon."
Roland was up to the task and both got transported to the beautiful and strangely hot realm of the Goddess. There she showed them her workshop inside a mountain and deep below the earth. The necromancer were the first one to get her weapon, a small hammer with the head of a goat. It only took a few days and the Goddess transported her back. No words of parting, no sentimentality. Roland quite liked her, but she was a strange and evil dwarf, a dark companion on a darker road. Maybe he was the evil one.
"You know that it is not an easy task to convince a god?" she asked during their sessions at the anvil.
"I do not have the words to convince a god." said Roland in a very certain way as he inspected the blade of the longsword he was crafting.
"And what are you going to do?"
"I hope I do not have to do anything."
There were a few days where they didn't talked. Where they just kept each other company while during their work. The sword was a stubborn one, more resiliant to forming than any other material Roland had ever used before. And at some point as he spoke of Althaea, the Goddess hugged him. She was taller than him and that was a strange feeling. She was burning hot like she had fever, smelled of clean sweat and iron, her muscles able to crush a Troll with ease.
"You know my name" she whispered "and you used it careless. But now I give you the permission to call me by my name and to use him when you speak to me. Do not say it to other people." Then she smiled before the headache came back and it was the second-most beautiful thing Roland had ever seen.
She sent him away and there he was. Back at the house of him and the female dwarven necromancer he needed to decide how to get into the afterlife. And so he asked the elves and they forbid him to search for it. Of course he didn't listen and sneaked into their libraries where he found a way. Well, the hint of a way, the missing of a way. Psychological reversed he spent three years learning how to craft iron runes on his own and how to use the energy from beyond the veil.
With this knowledge he set up a ritual circle and used a few unwilling participants to power the circle with their magic. This also worked and dragged Roland into the afterlife of the God ██████████. He challenged the god and the god refused to let Althaea go.
They fought and ██████████ screamed as he saw the blade. He screamed in anger and fury and fear. And then in anguish as the dull metal blade cut his body into tiny pieces, spilled the honey-white blood and destroyed an entire realm including the afterlife. Dead people came back, souls roaring through the darkness and haunting their places of death in need of a Spiritfarer. And there she was, Althaea. As beautiful as ever, confused as hell and concerned.
Roland brought both of them back, the unwilling ritual participants dead, burned out. The circle had used up all of their energy - technically the energy was too much to bear, but that is just a detail - and Roland tried to convince Althaea to ignore them and what he had done to bring them back. They still love him but needed a lot of time to process all of this, even the lost years.
And Roland was confronted with their parents and the council and everything the elves had hold holy and divine. They cursed him because he did a great evil and killed off one of their gods, even when not worshipped anymore. But he could live with that and Althaea could do it as well. Their parents were happy that they was back, but sad and sometimes furious about the circumstances.
And on one day, as Althaea was in the woods to collect some herbs, Roland got two visitors. A large woman looking like a walking plant and a huge skeleton in a robe with a huge scythe.
The Eternals Life and Death. Life smiled at him and spoke silent words which burned of power, action, authority. Death looked like himself, but Roland had the feeling that Death was... sad.
For your heroism I grant you immortality.
For your hubris I cast you out of heaven.
For your actions I close the afterlife to you.
May you live forever and despair.
