The Weakening

The person whose soul was conjoined with Pellyn Tawgyr looked out of the window as the oil lamp flickered behind him. Until about 5 years ago he'd been a humble farmer who had spent most of the day worrying about his flock of sheep and whether Ruth Davies really liked him. Then came the change, the revelation. He started to remember who he really was and the things that he had done in past lives. He had secluded himself for days trying to resolve his current memories with those from his pasts and many of the villagers had decided that either he was ill, or ill in the head. The doctor was called and he could find nothing physically wrong with him. The local priest was called but fled the house after he'd used some particularly choice language about the man and his God. The Priest had declared him possessed by the devil, but he knew differently. He'd packed up his things that night, sold his house and sheep for a ridiculously low price and headed off into the hills to his new life.

He could sense the change even in the darkness and it was only getting worse. After all the battles and squabbles he'd been involved in throughout the ages, this incarnation he'd finally decided to leave them all behind and withdraw to this remote hermitage. The work was hard but fulfilling maintaining his simple lifestyle and he'd even become aware of some of the "technologies" of the Victorians, even at this distance.

One of them was weakening what was wrought all those years ago he was sure, but who and why he did not know. Where they trying to draw him back out so they could kill him again? It was certainly possible, but surely if they really wanted to find him they could. The stone that was the source of all the disagreements of the past was gone now and there was no further need to kill him. Sure they wouldn't trust him again, but was that really a reason to draw him out and kill him again?

No this must be something different. Something dangerous. It was someone elses game this time, but one that would probably lead the Heroes of old to knocking at his door and blaming him. He knew their thought processes and it was not hard to guess. He rubbed the mark in the shape of a squashed "m" on his forearm as he did often in times of irritation. He wished he could contact the Stormcrow again and share his sorrow once again. Soon if this continued he might be able to, but he was frightened at the consequences that it would bring.

He would need to defend himself he decided. At the very least he needed a warning of their approach to his hermitage. Tomorrow he would go and swim in the lake and search it for the votive offerings. He remembered that one such offering he'd seen Myrddin sacrifice many years before. Myrddin and his God would be angry at the taking of the offering, but currently was in no position to do anything about it. He would just have to take the consequences later and pay the price then. There was always a price. You always had to pay it. It was just a question of how long you could postpone the repayments for your actions.

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