I imagine it would be quite unnerving to look down upon one's self from a height above. That is quite simply what is happening to me. I'm not sure what is happening below, however I am able to see those gathered in this great hall. I see my friends and those who fought along side me in battle. Yet, they are all alive.
It would seem that I have suffered a different fate. There is another below who appears to be an apparition. His body is ethereal, a soft glowing, illuminating blue. I recognize him but his name escapes me at the moment. He is quite the fine fellow, if I remember correctly. He is in a state not like the others. His form touches not the bounds of this earth.
As well there are two black boxes set beside each other in the great center aisle. My friends are hovering about it. One appears to be draped upon its top. He is crying. Crying. For me? I feel an attraction to this particular box, yet my instincts impart me to stay away. Is that my coffin? Could this be the fate that has come to me? Do I now see my death?
My mind races back to the towers upon the battlements. The savagery was unimaginable, the carnage deplorable. I remember my arms weary from battle, the sword of the Rim faltering in my grasp. My head is suddenly warm as if bathed by the heat of the noon sun, but I see no sun to warm my body. I am racked with pain and weary with despair. I felt my eyes close.
How did I get to this point? What has happened to my life that would bring forth such a tragic end? Perhaps I will tell you this tale, a tale that started long ago in the days of my youth, a life that was sheltered in a place as beautiful as any that one could imagine, a place of dreams.
My name is Clancy, and this is my tale.