Why Am I Ofeig?
The 'special' child was not the first person to assure me that I was good, yet I was struck that one so young would perceive such a thing so readily, even though the child had seen me do nothing but walk. What did it even mean to be good? What was this 'aura'? I had heard the term before, but the nature of such mystical things had heretofore never interested me.
Notwithstanding auras, I chose, I thought, to do good whenever I could: to be kind and considerate to those I met, to harbor no ill will towards those who had done nothing to merit it, to try to leave every situation I entered generally better than it was when I left it, to help those in need when I could. My mother had long assured me that I was destined for great things. Hopefully that meant that everybody who met me would one day be glad that they knew me.
Ofeig was a rash youth, one more given to action than to deliberation. He would hardly have expected to die in a library, helping a scribe.
Spiders! Spiders were this youth's undoing! Alas, Ofeig thought himself a match for such a creature, but it turned out he was not. Too many eyes. Too many legs. Too many poison.
Doing the same thing and expecting different results is the definition of getting one's butt killed in this world. Perhaps the next world will be more forgiving of Ofeig's insanity...