Personal Essay: Falthor Longhand

  Its interesting how the world reveals itself to those who are in it.  Theres a construction worker who is hard at work hammering away at the cement sidewalk with his jackhammer, there is the teacher standing at his pulpit leaning down over his students as he decrees his mind to them.  Then There is the writer, The writer who sits at the keyboard and types himself into perfect oblivion, if only for a short time.  Through his characters and stories the writer transports all of himself through to another world in which his is the character or vice versa, the doorway is there for anyone to use, it stands open, and inviting.  Anyone can enter, if they have the determination to try hard, and the will to step through into the world of the imagined.

  A game on the internet, a required persona to be created, and the birth of a new life.  But for want of a name, what to call this mighty slayer of foes?  The name Falthor Longhand springs to mind, bringing with it a picture of a blond norseman, long flowing beard hanging down to his stomach, two handed sword slapped across the worn back of his clothes.  Muscles ripple slightly as Falthor smoothly reaches up to hold his broadsword out in front of him, challenging those around him with his stare, and the glint of his blade.  What of his past deeds?  Falthor Slayed his father as a child after watching him brutalize his mother.  He is the man who rid Maldonia of its tyrant dragon Bloodclaw.  He single handedly overthrew the wizard Moligar.  He is an upholder of good and justice, everything that I am not.  And with that the keys start to bang Falthors story, name, and past into life. 

  A fitting place to be born, the net is.  It gives one the ability to create any world possible to imagine in the words and pictures you send through the computer to those around you.  Falthors first view of the world, and my first look through his own eyes ended in tragedy.  I recall chatting amiably in the room.  Sitting at a table with a frothy mug of Ale in front of me, as I chatted with Sir Daniel.  It seemed as if Sir Daniel was on a quest to rid the world of a troublesome foe, the mighty Tim-E.  Sir Daniel told harrowing tales of immortals beheaded, and then laughed at, such a severe breaking of the code of ethics.  The door stood open the whole time, and let in the trash of the next generation of fighters.  Tom Fearer sliced Falthor down in the chair he sat, even before Falthor could draw his sword.

  It was an awakening experience to know that a character of your own making could die so easily, With no input from myself.  It seemed that I had made some enemies already in the game as well.  What could be done to change the situation though.  Tom Fearer roamed the outer reaches, slashing and terrorizing the net-based world with his sword, and the power of many immortals.  Falthor was reborn in the guise of a long lost and misrepresented god Skuggblatt.  Under his new guise Falthor strode forward into the world of the microchip, and radio-wave .  The hunt was on.

  A cyber-based vendetta?  Would anyone ever believe such a thing possible?  I knew it in my heart, and in my brain that this is exactly what was happening, I had grown accustomed to Falthor.  He seemed a presence in the back of my mind, a gentle reminder of the things that I was slowly becoming through the actions of my character.  Then that same character was cut to shreds, and the tatters returned to me to piece together once more.  Falthor had never been perfect, he was as close to what I think of a perfect was however.  Tom Fearer must be taught to see the world through tainted eyes as well.

  The chase lasted many weeks, for Skuggblatt could not challenge the all-mighty Fearer until he himself was equally powerful.  The trail lead to many stops both in the Net-based world, and the IRC based world.  It lead through hordes of devoted followers of clans, and lead to the destruction of the same clans.  Many head hung from Skuggblatts belt by the time his worn and tattered cloak was dropped to his feet before the prize holder, Tom Fearer.  Many of those heads belonged to the self same creator of the powerful immortal, and we both knew that this would be a great fight for the two of us.

  The fight was long and drawn out.  It seemed that neither fighter could seize an upper hand, neither could Jeppy, the main watcher himself, decide the outcome of the fight.  I remember inhaling my breath in a steady stream the next day as I opened the E-mail box, and saw the message there regarding the outcome of the cataclysmic battle.  I remember wishing that I had not left Skuggblatt to fend of the mighty Fearer.  There had been nothing to do though, as my earthly body was tired, and I could not stay on-line forever.

  The message told a tale of both fighters being wounded and having to disengage from the battle.  Both however were not telling the truth, as Tom Fearer turned on the unprotected back of Skuggblatt only to find his sword knocked down, and thrown aside.  Skuggblatt had won the fight, and had taken Fearers power under his wing.  Falthors cry of rebirth from this dark and destructive  battle was rung out across the net, each pulse of it coming from the page that bears his name even now after he has faded into the shadows of the realm of information. 

  Falthor is me, and I him.  We are one, bound together to live out our existence in the real, and net-based world alike, only switching control of the reins every so often to make sure the right thing is done, and the wrong things punished.