Ghātikā: Credo of the Long Death

[Arn]

The Value of Death

It is unfortunate that the Order of the Long Death is misunderstood by so many. In my travels, I have been met with fear, hatred, and even violence when people learn which monastic order I belong to. Thus, it is not information I volunteer readily.

But the Order of the Long Death simply teaches that death is nothing to fear. Death puts life into perspective. It teaches us that the things we cling to so dearly are really not so important. The more we understand death, the more we see how fleeting life is.

Most people live their lives turning away from death, running from death, thinking that death is going to come some time later. But that's not true, is it? There is no guarantee that death won't come for us tomorrow, tonight, or this very hour. We can die at any time. This is a truth that is best to face head on, a truth that can lead to great insight. When we really understand that death is close by, do we keep holding on to our petty grievances and concerns? Of course not. We put them aside; they're not so important anymore. Life loses its power to delude us, and we become detached from the world.

When we really understand death, we see that there is no self. We're just a collection of bones, organs, and blood, animated by a set of conditioned mental responses. There's nothing there to really hold on to, nothing important to cherish and guard. Death is simply the natural cessation of our bodily functions, and it happens to all of us. Ultimately, it doesn't matter when it happens. The important thing to understand is that it happens.

Those who abhor the Order of the Long Death are ignorantly attached to life, clinging to the impermanent things of the world. And that is only natural; people cannot be blamed for such delusions. People are conditioned to care for each other and form attachments. They think they can find happiness in people and objects. But these are just illusions people create for themselves, and they would be better off getting rid of such illusions. Thankfully, everyone sees the truth sooner or later, at the end.

The Order of the Long Death helps people see the truth. We understand that there is no self, we understand that we're just a collection of body parts and mental functions. So we don't hold onto some simplistic moral delusion that killing is "wrong." In fact, those who fear death benefit from meeting their fear head-on. In their very last moment of life, they come to a profound understanding of reality. For this reason, our "victims" are actually quite blessed.

In short, the Order of the Long Death studies death to gain a deeper understanding of reality, and then shares this understanding with others. We perform a profound service for all beings.

((This journal is not ICly available (yet). When I was working on Mi-Le's backstory, I just thought about how some people could twist his philosophy into an ideology that encourages apathy, dismisses morality, and has no regard for life. I realized that the Order of the Long Death fits such an ideology pretty closely, and now I feel like exploring it a little more. By the way, "Ghātikā" is the female abstraction of the Pāli word for "murder."))

[Arn]

Baldur's Gate, the present day

Most people paid little heed to homeless beggars, and this often served Ghātikā well. Sitting by an alley in threadbare rags, she remained unnoticed as she watched the people of Baldur's Gate scurry around. So many of them seemed unhappy, chasing after something or other in their meaningless lives.

An armored woman caught Ghātikā's attention. The armor was old and worn, a patchwork of metal and leather cobbled together into a full suit. Despite her poor appearance, the armored woman carried herself calmly; no self-consciousness, no forced pride, just a quiet confidence. And she wore a holy symbol of Jergal. Ghātikā glanced at the woman's face and recognized her. Mara.

Ghātikā smiled to herself, remembering the their time together as Jergali cultists at the Crypt of Imminent Death in Bezantur. When Ghātikā had uncovered records about the Companions of the Pallid Mask, she had shared her discovery with Mara. Despite her younger age, Mara's understanding of Jergal's teachings closely matched Ghātikā's. The two of them had marvelled that there was once a group of Jergalis who destroyed the undead. Mara had left the temple soon after that, only telling Ghātikā that Jergal called her to do His will. Ghātikā had stayed behind at the temple, but not for much longer.

That had been about twenty years ago. Ghātikā could tell that Mara was different now, no longer a zealous young girl but a calm and self-assured woman. Her weapons and armor suggested that her travels had been full of conflict. And Mara had hair now, Ghātikā noted.

Ghātikā followed Mara through the streets, blending into the crowd easily, hiding in plain sight. She watched Mara stop to give some food and coins to some homeless children. Ghātikā wondered at that. Why extend their lives, sister? Life is but a brief abberation in an eternity of death. You know this.

As Ghātikā trailed Mara throughout the afternoon, she was disappointed to see the younger woman stop to help more people. Mara doled out more food, gave directions, even stepped into an alley to stop a robbery.

Finally, as the sun began to set, Mara left the city and headed south. Ghātikā followed her over the Chionthar River, as far as the Trade Way. Night had fallen when Ghātikā decided to show herself to Mara. With no other travelers in sight, Ghātikā stepped out of the shadows.

"Sister Mara," she said without ceremony. Mara looked behind her and smiled in recognition. Her smile faded as Ghātikā continued to speak. "What has happened to you that you now see fit to waste your time in the matters of the living? You even extended the lifespans of children who might have seen the truth if they had been left alone."

"Is it so strange, Ghātikā?" Mara asked. "Our Lord teaches us to prepare for death, not to hasten it. Our Lord teaches us that life is a process of seeking our eternal resting place; people should go through that process with dignity, without fear or misery."

"If the people are coddled, they will become too attached to comfort to understand the final truth. Do you think our Lord takes care to give us all peaceful and painless deaths? No; the final truth is painful for most, agonizing, full of fear. It is only by facing this full-on that they can truly understand. You are doing the people a disservice; you are robbing them of the perfect death."

At those last two words, Mara's expression hardened. "'The perfect death,'" she echoed. "Do not tell me you have fallen in with those death cult monks."

"Labels, names, words," Ghātikā said dismissively. "Call us what you will. We carry out the Lord's will regardless. Death is a gift, a final freedom from suffering, and you are depriving people of this gift. Whereas I share it freely with children, you callously keep it from them. I would not have expected you to fall into the misguided views of the conventional commonfolk."

"You've killed children?" Mara asked softly. She drew her longsword then, and her next words were as cold as the grave. "No, Ghātikā. You have fallen into misguided views. You, along with so many other so-called faithful of Jergal, believe you know His will. But the Lord speaks directly to me. He has made me His paladin, and I render His judgment." Mara charged in with a stab, aiming for the heart, aiming to kill.

Ghātikā twisted her torso sideways, effortlessly dodging the first attack. "His paladin?" She smiled, amused. "I never knew you were given to such grand fantasy, Sister Mara. But worry not; your delusions will end with your life." Ghātikā lashed out with her fist, and Mara's eyes flashed with a purple light. Ghātikā had seen such magic before, and knew that Mara was seeing premonitions of Ghātikā's attacks a few moments before they happened. But a few moments were not enough against someone as fast and well-trained as Ghātikā; the punch connected and Mara took a step back, her nose broken and bleeding.

Mara spoke the words to a spell and her form became blurry and insubstantial, difficult to see. This helped her evade Ghātikā's next flurry of attacks, but the self-proclaimed paladin was still on the defensive.

Then Ghātikā stepped into the shadows and vanished from sight. Mara glanced around in the darkness of the night, and spoke the words to another spell. A burst of sunlight momentarily blasted the area, but Ghātikā was still nowhere to be seen. Then Ghātikā's fist, now engulfed in flames, flashed out of the darkness and connected with Mara's face again.

Mara stood her ground and spoke the words to a third spell. A giant hand made of magical force wrapped itself around Ghātikā and began to crush her in its grip. She was held fast, could barely breathe. Ghātikā considered the possibility that she might experience the perfect death here, and she felt a thrill of joy. It was unlikely that she would be killed here, but just the thought brought a smile to her lips. She might have laughed if the air weren't being squeezed out of her lungs.

But then Mara prayed, and her blade flashed with a mighty divine radiance. Ghātikā knew then that Mara had spoken the truth, that Mara was indeed a paladin serving the Lord Jergal. Mara struck Ghātikā with the blessed blade and Ghātikā could feel the god's divine might cleave into her flesh, cutting her torso open. For the first time in a long while, Ghātikā did not know what to think. Her faith and beliefs faltered against the knowledge that Jergal had chosen Mara and not her.

But perhaps this is why the Monks of the Long Death do not care which god sits as the god of Death. We serve Death itself, not the gods, because perhaps the gods can be wrong. Ghātikā knew somewhere in her mind that she was grasping at straws. Rather than accept the possibility that she had misunderstood Jergal's teachings, she was choosing to reject the god entirely. She recognized that there was turmoil in her mind. And as she observed the turmoil, she knew that she was not as liberated as she'd thought.

Ghātikā let go of the thoughts rushing through her mind. She let go of acceptance and rejection. She let go of being wrong and being right. She watched the turmoil crash and subside in her mind. With her mind thus empty, Ghātikā focused her energies on making her body whole again and healing the gash in her chest. The wound stopped bleeding and knit itself shut.

Then, mind still empty and unfettered, she stepped out of the crushing hand's grip and ended up behind Mara. Before Mara could understand what had happened, Ghātikā struck her in the back of her head. The blow didn't stun the paladin but it did knock her down. After that, killing Mara was a simple matter. Ghātikā did it quickly and decisively.

• "Each being has an eternal resting place that is chosen for him or her at the moment of creation. Life is a process of seeking that place and eternal rest. Existence is but a brief aberration in an eternity of death. Power, success, and joy are as transitory as weakness, failure, and misery. Only death is absolute, and then only at its appointed hour. Seek to bring order to the chaos of life, for in death there is finality and a fixedness of state. Be ready for death for it is at hand and uncompromising. Life should be prolonged only when it serves the greater cause of the death of the world."

Ghātikā recalled Jergal's dogma as she left Mara's body behind. She did not know if the encounter had gone according to the god's will. She could not even decide if the god cared one way or the other. But she remembered how she felt as Jergal's divine might had cut her body open, and it occurred to her that the god was truly ineffable. She remembered her earlier turmoil and considered the work still ahead of her.

Ghātikā went to find a suitable place for meditation.

[Arn]

Doubt

"When the mind is unfettered, so too is the body." When we see past the perceptions and thoughts that often restrict the mind, we are no longer limited by conventional "reality." With such "supranormal" insight, we understand possibilities that previously weren't cognizable. We see the true potential of this machine we call the body, and we are able to use it to that full potential. We understand how fast the body can move, how resilient it can be, and we are able to do things most others would consider supernatural.

Attachment, hatred, laziness, anxiety, and doubt blind us to this true reality and these potentials.

It has become obvious that my recent encounter with Mara has afflicted me with doubt. This doubt has been strong enough to cloud my perception of true reality. For over a month now, I have been unable to exercise all of the potential of this body. Before, for instance, I could see the way to step from one place to another almost instantaneously. Now I cannot. My mind is not as clear and focused as it was.

Such is the power of doubt! Did the Lord Jergal truly mean to speak to me through His servant Mara? Did He mean to tell me that I have been wrong about His teachings, and that Mara had the right of it? Even if He did mean to tell me that, might it be possible that even He is fallible? The Order of the Long Death does not place great importance on which god is the god of death, after all. Perhaps that is because even Jergal can be wrong.

The Lord Jergal, wrong about the nature of death? Wrong about His own teachings? Unlikely, I must admit.

But if I have been wrong this whole time, what has it all been for? What have I been doing?

I have been having the recurring thought that perhaps I ended Mara's life before the time designated to her by Jergal. Not a thought I have had before, but Mara was undoubtedly Jergal's servant. "Life should be prolonged only when it serves the greater cause of the death of the world," and her life did serve that cause. If I should have let death come to her at Jergal's chosen time, should I do the same with others as well?

Doubt, doubt, doubt.

[Arn]

Even doubt is impermanent. In the face of death, what does it matter?

Now having a more perfect understanding of the empty nature of self and life, I feel less inclined to force the truth on others. After all, it will inevitably come at its appointed hour.

Perhaps the perfect death is to die with perfect understanding.