Scenario:Raphael - Thus Spoke Carrothustra

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Thus Spoke Carrothustra

After meeting up with Gabriel and Michael by his farmstead, Raphael continues to recount his memories.
Distracted by his pondering on life and unused to working with the soil, his initial failures slowly begin to sprout into an enjoyment of this new craft and the produce it brings. Yet all of that is threatened when a sudden storm strikes the carrot fields.


As they continue to wander through the fields, Raphael tells Uriel more stories about his time with the old farmer.
Uriel: Hah, it's so like you to get all up in your own head over life stuff.
Uriel: But there's somethin' I wanna know, Raphael—why the heck d'you try and talk to that mole?
Raphael: I cannot answer that either. I suppose it was desperation, of a sort.
As the wind archangel's farmhouse comes into view, the pair notice a pair of familiar figures standing by the doorway.
Gabriel: Uri-ello! Feels weird to be welcoming someone to their own house, hehe.
Raphael: Sorry for taking so long, you two.
Michael: Don't worry, we've both only just finished up and arrived ourselves.
Gabriel: Should we check to make sure we have everything we need? I don't want to go all the way up the hill just to come back down because I forgot something...
The four primarchs chatter away as they unbundle their luggage, Raphael catching them up on his story all the while.
Michael: How curious—I've never known you to stroll down memory lane like this, Raphael.
Uriel: Right? He's never told me much about the old guy and how they met, either!
Gabriel: So you start staying there to work off your debt to him, and then what happened?
Raphael: All right, all right, I will tell you—you do not need to all lean so close.
With a little sigh, the archangel begins to tell his history anew.
Raphael: About two weeks had passed since I first met the old farmer when I spoke to the mole again...
Raphael: So what do you consider to be life? Some biologists say that it exists solely to reproduce and propagate one's offspring.
Raphael: But us archangels lack those abilities. Therefore, by that definition, are we not suited to life?
Mole: ...?
Raphael: I understand.
Old Man: Are ya still out here readin' philosophy and talkin' to moles? I told you before: you gotta get rid of the molehills before the mice start usin' 'em!
Old Man: We finally managed to get the carrots to sprout—don't go losin' 'em to varmints.
Raphael: "We" only managed that due to your deft hand—I have failed to succeed in even the smallest of tasks. I am sure this one would have ended in failure too.
Old Man: Hah, the only way to beat that feeling is to work. Instead of tiltin' at wind-moles, why not instead try tillin' some carrot holes?
Raphael: Of course...
Raphael picks himself off of the dirt, hoe in hand.
Old Man: So, tell me, windy boy—you figure out if carrots are "alive" yet?
Raphael: The carrots? You mean, a discussion on the nature of life in plants?
Raphael: It is a highly interesting question... According to my sources, one of the agreed-upon definitions is—
Old Man: Nuh-uh-uh! I didn't ask about your "sources," I asked about what you think. Don't go makin' mountains outta molehills now.
Raphael: Well, I... I...
Raphael: ...
As Raphael falters, the farmer relieves him of the hoe.
Old Man: Well, how's about we talk about it later after you've had a think. Right now it's high time ya learned how to actually use this thing.
Old Man: Look here—this is where your hands need to be to get the most thwack for yer buck when you're out weedin'!
Raphael: Phew...
Old Man: That was some fine hoein' out there! Here, get yerself some water down you.
Under the old man's tutelage, Raphael has made a successful sweep of the fields, and he now relishes the taste of cold water after a good day's work.
Raphael: It tastes sweeter than usual... Has this water been treated in some way?
Old Man: Not in the slightest! It's just fresh from the brook over yonder.
Raphael: Ah, is that so? It tastes so much better than usual...
He downs the rest of the water in one, his eyes fixed on his mentor all the while.
Raphael: Do you mind if I might ask you a question? I've noticed that you have spent all this time teaching me how to tend the fields, but not done any work yourself...
Old Man: Hah! And here I thought you were workin' to pay off a debt to me! I can't work off what you owe me now, can I?
Raphael: Ah, no, I hope I did not offend. I just thought it odd, is all...
Old Man: Tomorrow's another day of the ol' sweat and toil, windy! I want these fields fit to burstin' with food come harvesttime!
Old Man: And if ya keep puttin' yer all into it, then you'll get more of that fresh, sweet brook water!
Raphael: Do you mean that the water and the work are somehow interrelated?
Old Man: Now wouldn't that be somethin'? Keep up the good work and we should have all the ridges plowed by end of day tomorrow, and you can find out!
Raphael: ...
Very well.
A full month passes by. Raphael begins to grasp more and more of the basics of farming, finally getting the carrots to grow into truly magnificent specimens.
Old Man: Look at these beauties! Not a blemish on 'em—and not a single one withered or stunted!
Raphael: Really? I simply dug out those which seemed most likely to shrivel up and die—more of a hunch than anything.
Old Man: That's proof that you've got an eye for 'em now! Let's take these puppies back to the house—dinner made from stuff you've grown yourself tastes twice as good!
Raphael: A-are you sure they will be edible?
Old Man: Hah, proof's in the puddin', as they say! Come on, let's get these gathered up and I'll whip up soup so good it'll blow yer fancy mind clean outta yer head!
Raphael: My mind? Will I... be okay?
Old Man: That's what I'd like to know, sonny. Sometimes you get all cuckoo and philosophy-y on me.
Old Man: Come to think of it, yer not carryin' that book around today, are ya?
Raphael: I thought it best to leave it back at the house. It gets in the way of the farming, after all.
Raphael: Why? Did you want to read it?
Old Man: Hah... No beatin' around the bush, huh...
Old Man: How's that soup? Can ya taste the sweetness of victory in there?
Raphael: Mmm...
Old Man: Yer wolfin' it down, son! Guess that settles that.
Raphael: But why... All you did was roast them with a little salt...
Raphael: It is the same thing as with the water—freshly picked vegetables must also undergo the same phenomenon...
Raphael: So what if I were to grow them fully from seed to crop? How delicious would they become then?
Come the following morning, the clear sky is now a seething gray, and the little homestead quakes as it is lashed by the wind—telltale signs a violent storm is rolling in.

Thus Spoke Carrothustra: Scene 2

Raphael wields his archangelic power to protect the fields from destruction, but feels guilt for tampering with nature's way. The old farmer assures him that the whole act of farming is being in conflict with nature itself. A short time later, the old man falls ill, and Raphael learns that he used to be a philosopher, and his own view on life was shaped by his time in the fields.


Powering through the tempest and the torrent, Raphael wrests his way through the storm to the carrot fields.
Raphael: The windbreaks are coming loose! The carrots are being ripped from their roots!
Old Man: Get back inside, sonny! We'll be joinin' 'em at this rate!
Raphael: I cannot just let them come to harm!
Raphael: Pile on the soil slowly... Then, gently pat it down...
Old Man: I'd say yer bein' a bit too careful there, but yer doin' fine! Just remember to not bury the parts that need to keep growin'!
Raphael: They should grow straight and tall... If they bend, I should support them.
Old Man: Be careful about water, too—vegetables can drown, just like you an' me!
Raphael: Look! Another leaf is budding over here! And here too!
Old Man: Those lungs of yours can move some wind after all!
Raphael: Do I really have to pull up the ones struggling to grow? Do I have that right?
Old Man: It's so the others can have a fighting chance. Ya can't get sappy over a few carrots.
Raphael: But... all of that work we did...
Old Man: Sometimes we come face-to-face with nature's anger, and we can't do anythin' except let her have her way—that's just how it is!
Raphael: Is there really nothing we can do? We just let this all be for naught?
Raphael: ...
Raphael fixes the leaden, seething sky with his own steely, resolute gaze.
Raphael: I refuse.
Raphael: Cease!
The archangel channels his power over the winds, and effortlessly dispels the storm.
Old Man: Windy... Those wings're...
Raphael: ...!
Raphael: How could I... How could I have done something so foolish?
Raphael now stands in full array beneath a gloriously blue sky, soaked to the skin. After a moment's pause, the old man pipes up.
Old Man: Fair's fair... Actually, I got a birthmark on the back of my neck myself.
Raphael: A birthmark?
Old Man: Well maybe not a birthmark, it weren't there when I was a spry young'un, but it's gotten bigger and uglier as I've put on the years, so now I try an' hide it.
Raphael: I would not really say that's equivalent to having wings... Did I not just reveal my true form to you?
Old Man: I dunno, seems pretty similar to me.
Old Man: Thanks for lookin' out fer the farm, son.
Raphael: I tampered with the forces of nature. I upended a fundamental fact of the world with my powers—that should never be allowed.
Old Man: Hah haha! Ya say that like ya haven't been doin' that already.
Old Man: You've been hackin' up the soil, clearin' up molehills, and pluckin' caterpillars off of the leaves!
Old Man: If that ain't also tamperin' with nature, I dunno what is!
Old Man: And it's not like she ever learns her lesson, either. The moles keep comin' back, year after year, and the caterpillars keep chowin' down on the vegetables.
Old Man: Plants, animals, an' people all change the world to suit their whims every second of every day.
Old Man: An' there's nowhere you get to 'preciate that more than in the fields! You've been havin' fun here, right?
Raphael: ...!
Raphael: Yes... I really have been enjoying myself here...
Old Man: Didja only just realize that now? It's as clear as the tan lines on yer arms, sonny!
Old Man: C'mon, let's go check the damage. Can I trust ya to put the windbreaks back in place as we go?
Raphael: Of course.
Again the seasons turn, and the time for harvest grows near. Raphael pays even more attention to his carrots than usual.
Raphael: Pull them directly upwards and they come out quickly and cleanly...
Old Man: You've grown a fine batch there, sonny! Only a couple waterlogged, too.
Raphael admires his carroty bounty all lined up in a neat row.
Raphael: And now we get to eat them, correct?
Old Man: Well, some go to market, but put some aside and I'll make 'em into soup later!
Raphael: I look forward to it.
Old Man: What's that I spy? Must be my lucky day! I ain't seen ya smile like that often.
Raphael: This... I am? I did not realize...
Old Man: It is yer first harvest after all! Drink it in—ya grew these with yer own two hands!
Raphael: It has been quite the experience.
Old Man: Okey dokey, let's get these back to the house, we'll chop off the leaves and dice the—
Raphael: Hm? Did something...
Old Man: Groan...
Turning around, Raphael sees the old man face down in the earth, unresponsive.
Old Man: How long was I out?
Raphael: A few hours. I called for the local physician to check on you, and he left a few minutes ago.
Old Man: Ya called a doctor? How? Ya don't even know my name!
Raphael: I ran out to the road and shouted out that you had collapsed, and thankfully a doctor came running.
Old Man: Hah, now that would've been a sight to behold!
Old Man: Sorry for causin' you trouble on yer special day.
Raphael: The... the doctor explained what is wrong to me. He said that... you do not have much time left.
Old Man: I... see.
Raphael: According to his diagnosis, even so much as walking around outside would take too great a toll on your body—therefore, let me handle the farmwork from now on...
Raphael: You should focus on convalescing for now. The doctor did recommend that you should rest and sleep—it would prolong your life expectancy, he said.
Raphael: And... I want you to know that I also have the power to heal...
Old Man: ...
The old farmer lays his hand on Raphael's clenched fist and softly shakes his head.
Old Man: I used to know another lad like you once.
Old Man: He'd always get caught up in the details, wrackin' his skull over nothin'. He was writin' this highfalutin' book, see—they called him some kinda philosopher.
Old Man: But he got too caught up in his fancy thinkin' ways, and the world passed him by... When he finally came to his senses, he was an old man, and his wife was already long gone.
Raphael: ...
Old Man: He thought he should've up and joined her at first, but then he remembered that she used to tend to this farmland like her life depended on it.
Old Man: So, he set down his books and stumbled his way out here. First, he tried to grow potatoes—he'd heard ya could just leave 'em be and they'd do their thing.
Raphael: But like any newcomer, he assumed that meant just abandon them in the field, instead of giving them basic care...
Old Man: It was a complete disaster. If they weren't mobbed by bugs, they were choked with weeds, or throwin' runners all over the darn place. The ones that survived were puny!
Old Man: He tried again, and really threw himself into it, and that next crop was somethin' special, I tells ya!
Old Man: That's what my wife did with me, y'know. If it weren't for her, I'd never've had half the life I have now.
Old Man: When that first successful crop came in, I decided I wanted to give this livin' thing a shot. Maybe by lovin' the things she'd loved, I could love myself like she loved me.
Raphael: And so you came to be a farmer.
Old Man: I'm just as much a part of the field as the soil, the moles, or the rain. I wasn't gonna drop dead there and then, but that didn't mean I was gonna try and live forever.
Raphael: I understand.
Raphael: Then, I have one more question to ask. Your name... could it be...
Raphael thinks back to the book of philosophy he brought to the farm so long ago, and to the author's name embossed on the cover. The same author that now sits before him.
Old Man: Hahaha! Yer on the ball today, ain't ya, son?
Raphael: "Life and death must always exist in tandem..."
So you wrote that.
Raphael: Did that phrase come to you in the wake of your wife's death?
Old Man: No... I wrote that book when she was still kickin'.
Old Man: I wrote all those complicated words about the meanin' of life, and in the end I understood jack squat about it.
Raphael: How about now? Have you found out the meaning of life? Of living?
Old Man: ...
Old Man: I think I have. Living itself is what it means to be alive.
Raphael: That... is not really an answer, is it?
Old Man: I mean, it's more than a little pun, I'll tell ya that! All that stuff—bein' immortal, life an' death bein' opposites, reproducin'—none of it decides if yer really alive or not.
Old Man: Fledglin' farmers are always the first to rise, first to rush over their crops, an' first to glug down their water once they're done.
Old Man: Gettin' all up in their heads over pluckin' and plantin', takin' time outta the day to try and pick a mole's brain... Those are the moments life is made out of.
Old Man: You're alive, Raphael. Ain't gotta be anythin' more or less than that.
Raphael: ...!
Raphael: I was not aware you knew my name either.
Old Man: Let's just say a little mole told me, haha!
The old man's laugh devolves into a fit of violent coughs, but despite that, a warm smile never leaves his face.
Old Man: Fancy me, comin' across some stranger wanderin' in my fields, holdin' my book, and grumblin' about life like I used to.
Old Man: Forgive me if I sound like I'm tootin' my own horn here, but I saw you an' thought, "Well, here's my magnum opus in the makin'."
Raphael: So that is why you did not just turn me away... You wanted to show me my path in life.
Old Man: As I once wrote in that there book, "Every coincidence is inevitable given enough time."
Old Man: And that goes double out in the fields!
As the old farmer lets out another soft chuckle, Raphael finds his own expression beginning to soften.
Raphael: I finally have proof that I am alive. And it's here—under this sky, on these fields.
Raphael: I cannot thank you enough. You really are a carrot among men.
Old Man: Yer gonna hafta explain that one to me, son! Hahaha!
As they continue to talk and reminisce, a lone book sits atop the bedside table, silently watching over its writer and its master.
Its pages sit unturned, and its thick cover is now paled by a thin rime of dust.

Thus Spoke Carrothustra: Scene 3

Time passes, and the old man grows weaker and weaker. Yet, when he passes, the wind primarch sheds no tears—for he cannot. Wanting to show his appreciation for the man's life, Raphael calls the other primarchs to help give him a burial, and decides to take over the farm.


Following his fall in the fields, the old philosopher-turned-farmer began his path down a steady slope of decline, until his bed became his permanent home.
Occasionally, Raphael would invite Uriel to come visit from in town as a reprieve from the stress of setting up his new restaurant.
In turn, it offered Raphael some respite in caring for the old farmer and his failing health.
Uriel: Yooo! Watch out, 'cause this carrot stew is popping off!
Old Man: Wow, that smells amazin'! You've really got a knack for cookin', Uriel.
Uriel: All I did was follow your recipe, gramps! And a cook is nothing without some awesome ingredients like these carrots!
Raphael: These were the first batch I actually grew and harvested all by myself—I made sure to keep them safe and sound in the soil until you could use them.
Uriel: Your first batch ever? Damn Raphael, you've got talent there!
Raphael: I would not praise me quite so highly—Mother Nature did all of the work.
Old Man: Why don't we have dinner in the fresh air for once? Let's use that table outside!
The archangels help the farmer take his seat, and then the three all turn to their meals.
Raphael: This is amazing...
Old Man: Hah, does it blow yer mind, sonny?
Raphael: My skull may still be intact, but I can see how someone would describe the deliciousness as their mind being expanded violently—I have never had anything so tasty before.
Old Man: Haha, that's what I meant in the first place!
Uriel: Seems like we're still a perfect team! I made a whole vat of this stuff, so have seconds, fifths, as much as you like!
Old Man: Windy boy, when yer done eatin', can ya go out into the fields fer me?
Raphael: Again? I have never seen someone so close to the end of their days so dedicated to ensuring young sprouts can grow.
Old Man: Well, the fields can change at a moment's notice! You go take a look, now.
Raphael: I will not take too long.
Uriel: You sure you want him leaving you alone? Sure, I'm here, but he's the one who knows how to help you—
Old Man: Come talk with me, Uriel. I have a lot I want to discuss with ya.
As the days wend on, the old man grows more and more frail, as if his vitality is being sapped by some unknown force.
The seasons barely have time to change before the long-dreaded day arrives.
Raphael: Is this... it? Are you dying?
Old Man: Hah... No beatin' around the bush, huh...
Old Man: But I s'pose... I'm the same as one of them carrots to you, in the end...
Raphael: ...
Raphael sits beside the farmer at his bedside, feeling the warmth rapidly fade from his old, worn hands.
Old Man: You did good work out there, son... Yer debt's paid off.
Raphael: What? If anything, I think you now owe me a little bit in return...
Raphael: You took in a lost, ignorant boy, and taught him what it means to live.
Raphael: Live just a little more! Please... You owe that to me, at least.
Old Man: Haha...
Old Man: So it's not just wind, you can blow hot air too...
A raspy laugh croaks out from the old farmer, though a flash of pain across his face soon puts it to a stop.
Old Man: Make sure to... not drown the potatoes...
Raphael: Of course.
Old Man: Don't forget to... dig up the molehills...
Raphael: I know...
Old Man: And... one last thing...
Old Man: Thank you... Raphael.
Raphael: ...!
Where once there had been furrows of pain and suffering, now all that is left is a warm, peaceful smile.
Raphael: No... Gah...!
Holding his friend's hand as it slowly goes cold, Raphael finally breaks.
And yet, sorrow's rain does not yet fall. Archangels are not built as mortals are.
Instead, he merely has to let the waves of unfathomable grief wash over him, in the knowledge that this life was but one of countless others.
The night following the old man's passing, Raphael calls the other three primarchs together to lay him to rest.
Though yet unfamiliar with the customs of the Sky Realm, and with the farmer having no known relatives to help guide them, the four press on, undaunted.
His body is cleaned and dressed, a place to dig a grave chosen, and the archangels gather to say a last farewell.
Raphael: This hillock has an overview of the whole farm... I think he would have liked to be buried here.
Michael: Are you sure we should be burying him? I heard that people here prefer sky burials...
Raphael: He was a man of the land, and I want to return him to the soil. He cared for it, and so it shall care for him.
Gabriel: Raphael, look! There's already a grave here.
Raphael: What is this? Who...
There lies a little headstone, the name of the old man's wife incised upon it.
Uriel: Looks like he thought the same as you, Raphael.
Raphael: It would seem he did.
Raphael: We will bury him next to her. That way they both can watch over the fields—together.
Once the ceremony is done, the four gather again in the farmer's former stead.
Raphael: Thank you for coming and helping out today.
Michael: Of course! We help each other out, you know?
Gabriel: No one else in the entire Sky Realm knows what it's like to be us, either.
Uriel: Hey, Raphael—the old man wanted me to pass something on to you.
Raphael: Pass something on?
Stony-faced, Uriel pulls out a neatly folded envelope, clearly holding a document of some importance.
Uriel: Remember when I came over and made that stew for you guys? That's when he gave this to me.
Old Man: Come talk with me, Uriel. I have a lot I want to discuss with ya.
Uriel: Me? Why?
Old Man: Take a look at this here paper—it's the deed to the farm. Look after it for me.
Uriel: Huh? Why me? Shouldn't this be going to Raphael?
Old Man: I want him to choose whether or not to follow in my footsteps all by himself, y'hear?
Old Man: He might've learned what livin' was from me, but what he does with his life is up for him to decide.
Uriel: Why don't you tell him that yourself, then? He'd be more likely to listen—
Old Man: Haha, no, I couldn't.
Old Man: If I started flappin' my gums at him about inheritance; the farm; after I'm gone... You'd never stop me cryin'.
Uriel: That's the gist of it. He said you're free to throw the deed away, if that's what you wanna do.
Raphael: ...
Raphael: My answer has long been chosen.
Raphael: I... want to be a farmer.

Thus Spoke Carrothustra: Scene 4

Raphael's tale now complete, the four primarchs arrive at their destination—the old man's grave, one year after his passing. Michael asks how many more people the four are prepared to lose, but Raphael objects, saying that the man isn't "lost," but instead lives on in the lessons he taught Raphael, the soil he tilled, and the crops he grew.


As the four primarchs listen to Raphael with rapt attention, they soon arrive at their destination—a pair of little graves atop a hillock in the fields.
They all know why they are here—what they are commemorating. One year has passed since the old farmer breathed his last.
The Four: ...
The archangels solemnly clean and tend to the grave they themselves dug but a year ago.
Michael sweeps away the dead leaves and debris, Gabriel diligently washes away the dirt and grime on the headstone, and Uriel sits to the side, cooking up a carrot stew.
Once their ministrations have finished, the atmosphere lightens somewhat, and Uriel turns to Raphael.
Uriel: If he was still here, I'm sure he'd be mad we'd be using this time to clean his grave instead of helping you with the farm.
Raphael: That definitely sounds like him. However, I wanted to do this for him, and so I shall.
Gabriel: How very gallant of you, Raphael! You're the very portrait of dashing.
Raphael: Ah! Do you finally intend to let me model for one of your pieces, Gabriel?
Michael: Heh. I'd almost forgotten how desperately you wanted to be in a painting.
Raphael: ...
Raphael: We should always try to leave something of ourselves behind.
Uriel: Ah, I get it now. The old man didn't have any pictures or portraits of himself, did he?
Uriel silently gazes down at his feet, and Michael sighs softly.
Michael: As time goes on, the number of people we mourn only increases. How much more loss will we have to bear?
Raphael: I do not know if I view it as "losing" them.
Raphael lies down in the softly waving grass and gazes up at the sky.
Michael: Raphael?
Raphael: He is still with me in everything I do here. The lessons I learned, the soil I till, the crops I grow—he is in them all.
Raphael: And not even the ravages of time can wipe those away.
Raphael: If a breeze ceases to blow, do we not still remember how it felt for it to brush against our cheek?
Michael: That we do. You may just be right.
The one who once guided the wind gazes up into the blue yonder above—clear, deep, endless.
Old Man: So, tell me, windy boy—you figure out if carrots are "alive" yet?
Raphael: I know now. They live—as do we all.
The words are nary a whisper as they emerge, soon swept up along the thermals into the vast unknown.
Beneath them, the fields burst with splashes of green—fresh shoots pushing their way into the world, full of exuberance and life anew.
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