They came to us to swear an oath so long ago. Now we're going to go down and visit our old friend, our oathsworn. It will be good to see Wraithvine in person again, even if it's just a short visit. -- Anon Guest
In all the world, in all the planar realms, there is little so powerful as a heartfelt oath. Heartfelt prayers must be answered, of course, but an oath... Beings like Us exist for oaths like that.
We remember the young world. When mortal life needed Us. Fed Us with sacrifices. Begged Us for intervention.
Only one sought to make a vow. In your service, I will make this world a better place before I die. Such a vow. Even the life of an Elf, one among the firstborn of the mortal plane, could not make such changes. So We granted them the lifetime they needed for such a deed. We granted them the lifetime of a star. That... may... have been a mistake.
We came down to the mortal plane in a body of mortal flesh. One unassuming and ordinary. Mixed heritage, but not Unwelcome by those who mattered. Our -my- oathsworn certainly should be one who mattered.
I found hir in the middle of trouble, of course. Unriddling it, rather than causing it. Helping with hir two kind hands. Guiding and teaching. Answering questions with a patience known only to the immortal. And after all these intervening millennia, still in hir original body.
I would not let hir perish by any means. Not with an oath like that in hir own breath. The fact that Wraithvine kept hir own skin with due care and caution meant that ze was not one to use hir gift unwisely.
Ze recognised me immediately. Whispered a name unspoken for at least three Eons.
"I came to see you," I told hir. "To see if you still honoured and wished to honour your oath."
"I take that oath as seriously as you did when I swore it," said Wraithvine, using a language none others knew any more. Kindness was in hir blood and bones. Ze would not disturb those around hir by letting them know who or what was visiting. "Some small miracles would be welcome with the wounded and woe-betided."
Only Wraithvine would politely ask a god to help others, rather than demanding or begging. In mortal flesh, I did what two kind hands would do. Cradle a babe. Stir a stew. Clean a wound. Stoke a fire. Comfort the sick.
Those ailing would recover well. Those wailing would find soothe for their aching hearts.
And nobody there could recall where the other mysterious stranger went.
I - We - returned to the Plane of Boons. Our oathsworn continues to do well. Continues to do good.
In Our service.
[Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash]
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