« on: October 19, 2022, 02:06:16 AM »
In a large leather-bound journal and in fine ink, a young mul writes.
Well, I can't recall exactly who recommended I write this, but I was told this would help enrich myself. For whoever that might have been, I thank you, truly.
So, I suppose I shall start off by writing of what has come before, shouldn't I? It's been a hint of a ride, these past months since I have entered the mist, it all feels like some mirage still some nights while I sit and drink fine wine and look upon the sea. When I arrived, ashamed as I am to admit, I was hardly as kind as I am now. It was all too surreal an experience, I remember I felt as though I was drowning in the green and bounty of the land I found myself in. The people I found however, the locals at least, did not exactly dissuade my presumptions about most humans. Once, I was a treasured asset, and yet they saw me as a misshapen thing to be tossed out or killed.
I carried on some time as I had before these lands, wandering and hunting for whatever I needed, looking down on the humans I viewed as "soft" and "weak" at the time. Though, I did eventually meet some I took quite the liking too, some clergy. It's a shameful thing, but I cannot remember her name, but it was in particular a young Morninglord priestess. In spite of local superstition, and in spite of my distrust of any priests due to the Templars, she offered me her very own cloak during the winter. Such sounds silly, this I am aware, but it was of a greater significance than many could imagine. To a man who had never experienced snow and cold, a cloak to protect from the biting winter was a great kindness. That led me on to a very important discovery, the nature of the people I found myself around. Over a handful of months, I found a bit more respect for my fellow man, I saw them as what they were. Flawed, yet good.
Though, something had always bothered me, there was something deep down that I couldn't help but want. It was in the back of my mind at home, but in this strange new land filled with equally strange people, I could not shake it from pestering me. I wished to be normal. I wished to drink and eat as they did, I wished to walk about and go the places they went, I wished to dress like them and speak like them, to be accepted like them. I remember having a suit commissioned for myself, and sitting in a dark basement to indulge this fantasy of mine, as horribly sad as that sounds.
But, by some strange working of fate, things worked out for me, at least a little. I had received my letter of inheritance, elevating me beyond what I could have dreamed as a boy. I could finally have what I wanted and more, I could at last see the splendors of the world and find some sort of fulfillment. I can tell not many are fond of me, I know how they speak of me, how they call me a freak. I forgive them for it, and hope that one day, we may be friends. I know they would gladly see me cast out if they could, and yet, there are a handful of kind souls that make it all worth it, a few I'd gladly call friends.
I wonder though, what you would think of me, mother.
There appear to be several attempts at writing a new sentence, all crossed out.
I only wished I had not cost you your life, I am sorry. I hope that wherever you might be, that you are well.
I am sorry.
-Tezoh
Logged
Wealth beyond measure, outlander.
