You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: Memoirs of a Nameless Killer  (Read 790 times)

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Memoirs of a Nameless Killer
« on: January 11, 2018, 12:54:55 AM »

[Tucked away between a variety of different books on an old, dusty shelf is a small, black leather-bound, crumbling notebook. Its pages are grossly yellowed, the ink faded, and the tender hand that reached to pluck it out of its nest could almost feel it falling apart on first contact. The handwriting within is eloquent, written in the Vaasi tongue of the Eastern Core. It reads...]

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January, 773

I am uncertain who am I writing to, or why. What purpose these tiny snippets into my life serve to anyone that may be reading, other than myself, other than recorded reminder to the absent soul that is putting all of these words to parchment. I suppose it is because I wonder if it would help with the loneliness. I am surrounded with individuals that want to keep me safe, and now with the only blood I have left. The only true solace to the most harrowing winter I have ever experienced, and not because of the weather.

The events of the last year and more have left me virtually bereft of spirit. I have made such an abundance of mistakes, that a person in a position of power over others should not make. The regrets I keep in my heart from this time will follow me to the grave, and I fear to confess that it would be almost a solace, at this stage, for the grave to find me sooner than my allotted time. Just so that the nothingness would wash it all away, but I must persevere. Not only for myself, now, and not only because of those words that are engraved into my mind, the only inheritance of my father and kin that I will ever have. I must come out on top of it all, and shed away these ghosts of my memories, if I am to be anything but a waste of breath.

He looms over me like a terrible shadow, though his form is only lent such proportions by tricks of light. He is a small man. Weak, pathetic, and subversive -- it almost sickens me that I thought he could be anything more, although his lust for blood could not be denied. I have not seen him for a long time, now, and I wonder if his sated thirst caught up to him, before I had to. I hope it did.

Even if I had to sully my hands, I would have prefered not to. Such a rapid, circular shift from what I was willing to do just a few months ago in order to keep myself safe, and free. What happened to that woman that would do her damndest to stay ahead of everything, be it life or death? Was she led astray by empty platitudes, or was she reformed into something better by her grief and those of a good heart? Does she deserve to return?

The promises I made to the Sainted Mother would make it unseemly.

Pav

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Memoirs of a Nameless Killer
« Reply #1 on: April 27, 2018, 08:35:32 PM »

[After a great multitude of mundane entries of daily business, another, slightly lengthier note comes into the middling pages of the journal...]

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April, 773

A year. A year has passed since my escape, since that terrible encounter in Ghastria, another "achievement" to mar my soul, and what ended up landing me in Dementlieu. At the time, it seemed only to be a good thing; I was making friends. Companionships. Though those only withered quickly, rotting away for winter, and ended up turning to nothing.

It all sickens me. I can feel everyone I knew calling to me from the grave, and those I know calling me to save them from it. One I will bear with me to my last breath, but the other? How am I to continue facing them, knowing that I will fail them, fail myself, fail whoever seats himself above to watch over us? For the sake of my blood, the risk is too great, and yet the shame will continue. I am a coward, let there be no mistake.

And as a coward I will go. Take what is dear to me, and what is needed, and flee, as I have before. To Darkon, so that our memories fade, and memories of us fade away elsewhere; as it only should be. Then, I fled from the tomb of my people - now, I flee from the tomb of my brethren.

Rest peacefully, and suffer no longer, brothers mine.