LordDarkex
Member
|
Life Story
My life story? Can it truly be considered a story? Or is it simply the events of another human upon this infinite world, strung together loosely by doubt and crimson blood? I do not think my life could ever qualify for the lofty title of "story"; a story is, after all, meant to be beautifully crafted -- a veritable work of art designed to elicit either happiness or sadness from an audience. This is but a description of unending woe, torment, pain....kindness and pity could not heal these wounds of mine.
Let us begin.
I was born into a poor family. We lived on the outskirts of Greenguard Forest, near those interminable horcs. The sound of gnashing teeth tore apart every night sky in a perpetual feast of bloody meat. Barbarians they truly were, and we lived in terror. Our farm produced a measly amount of crops each year, half of which was snatched greedily away by our oppressors to fulfill their own insatiable appetite. Our roof was riddled with holes, and rain was our second blanket throughout the winter nights. We had neither money nor clothes, and frostbitten winds would pierce our skin daily. One would say it was a miserable and pointless life. Oddly, though, I think those days were the most joyful that I can remember. We were plagued by tyranny and poverty, yes, but each day brought with its challenges much happiness as well, small moments that I look back upon with fondness. I would weave through the paltry crops with my brothers and sisters, chasing each other, with the sun as our lamp and the sky as our walls, the light illuminating my siblings' hair till it blazed like a torch. So although one might fairly accurately describe our lives as tragic, I like to think also that they were beautifully uplifting as well. Even as I sit upon my chair of rich mahogany with a gold-tipped pen in my hand, I look back upon those days with fondness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In the middle of the night, after one of these playful days, I was awoken abruptly by the sound of unsheathing metal, its ring slicing cleanly through the crisp evening air and my conciousness. I sprung up, blood rushing and vision whitening, groggy from deep slumber, eyelids heavy and legs like lead, firelight casting a flickering eerie glow around our silent shack, and I was confused and perplexed and scared and frightened, I knew not what to do nor what transpired within my home at that crucial moment. Chaos ruled my life in those seconds.
My eyes focused, frantically darting around the room, heart pumping fear through my being, vision settling on the figures before me. And I saw before me Horcs, feet planted firmly into the floor of my house, gripping in their leather green hands my family. White showed in my parents' skin where the Horcs clutched. I could the fear in their eyes. I could see the fear, more powerful yet, in my brothers' and sisters' eyes. But most terrifying of all, I could feel their fear permeate the cold room. I could sense it in my heart, chilling the deepest realms of my soul... and I'm quite sure -- completely certain, in fact -- that the Horcs could feel it too. And I knew they loved that feeling of dominance, of a prey's fear, and that nowledge filled me with a hatred I had not previously known.
Dread crept down my limbs, cold sweat drenched my hair, as my parents stared at me imploringly. Their eyes were big and I wanted to run to them, but as the two Horcs above them raised their blades and brought them downward with sinewy muscle, I could not help but look away. And in that single moment where I was orphanized, does lay my biggest regret. I could not even summon up the small courage to look at my parents and provide them with a little comfort as their lives were brutally ended. My knees sunk to the floor and thudded loudly against the ground.
"The child has awoken," sneered a particularly ugly Horc. "I will kill him as well, so I can feel his nourishing blood upon my skin."
"You will not," commanded another. His authoritative voice revealed that he was the leader of this despicable group of beasts. "We will let him live," he continued, "and he will inform the world of our power. No longer will we stand passively in the shadows; the world is ours to take, and so we shall seize it." He shook my siblings to their feet. "Let us depart."
They left. They took everything. They took my parents' lives, they took my brothers and sisters, they took my happiness, and they left behind only a carpet of red soaking the floor and an emptiness in my heart. Revenge consumed my being, and I felt myself slipping away into the darkness. Snatching a nearby sword, rusted with age and disuse, I stumbled into the rainy night in pursuit, rain mingling with my salty tears.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Years later, I found myself gazing at these same Horcs. I alone stood weakly, framed against the dreary gray clouds, and felt the rain tickle its way down my face and glue the hair wetly to my face. Within my loose hand I held a beautiful, expensive sword, gleaming with fresh blood. I could hardly believe how powerless I felt, how devoid of energy and life I was then. Only moments before, I, teeth bared in barbaric rage, slashed to bits the same creatures who slew my parents. How could such liveliness have been sapped so quickly?
The rain flowed in abundance, trying vainly to wash away that red carpet which brightly stained the dirt. I shivered; the air was frigid. There was still the smell of Horc lingering in the air, struggling up from the Horcs' now-serene faces. It occurred to me that though it was I who achieved revenge, it was my parents' murderers who triumphed in the end. They were freed from this world, this living prison, while I was left here to wallow in emptiness, in a purposeless life. Perhaps the Horcs were on some grand adventure now, sailing upon the cloudy seas, approaching that gold arch that we all had wished for. Perhaps they burned in eternal conflagration; perhaps they had embarked into nowhere, and had simply ceased to exist. But I envied them for their freedom, I was terribly jealous of it, and almost wished that I too was killed in our struggle...
I was left with nothing. The Horcs had taken everything from me, and so I had done the same for them. The only path I had left was the rough road I had set out upon, many years ago. Although my career as an adventurer was a monstrous abomination of all the positivity with which others plunged headlong into life with, I possessed nothing else. I had garnered in these years an abundance of wealth and fame; was this to be the direction for which I was destined? I might even discover purpose along the way -- maybe, just maybe. Yes! Was it not possible? Purpose, which I had so long searched for -- did adventuring not offer me this boon? I would at last be freed. Finally, the darkness I had fell into many years ago would be illuminated by the light of purpose. It was possible, I was so sure of it. Let us go; let us depart!
I stepped through the mud into the cold, heavy fog.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I sit here now, warming myself by the fireplace, wrapped in fur, the echoes of my servants' footsteps resounding throughout the hallways. I am famous beyond comparison; I have bought everything there is to buy, slain every enemy there is to slay, saved every damsel there is to save, explored every world there is to explore. I cannot tread through the market without being pestered for an autograph, or offered a hand in marriage, or praised raucously by admiring boys who dream also to achieve the heights of power that I have. There is little that I do not know, and nothing that I cannot do. And yet, for me, this life is a shallow one. The purpose I had desperately desired was not to be found.
Fellow adventurers I have met with in the past often described enthusiastically their purpose that they had discovered or created for themselves. It filled them with happiness and meaning, they said to me. But I, having never had such purpose, envied them enormously. Why could I not possess such purpose in life, such strength to vitalize myself in this torn planet of Lore?
I must depart. My servant brings me news of new evils in the South, far beyond the SandSea. It his obligation to inform me of any possible quests, but he begs me not to go. Monsters there are truly terrifying and have laid waste to even the strongest of adventurers. They are truly the rulers of hell -- even the gods shut their ears to their gnashing teeth. No matter. This is the path I chose for myself all those years ago, standing above the carcasses of those who laid ruin to my life. A shallow path, yes, but it is all that I have. If I die, and my legend comes to a close, then such are the bitter winds of fate. And what loss would it be?
But who can know? If I return, perhaps I will return a different person.
< Message edited by LordDarkex -- 2/13/2013 2:15:11 >
|
Printable Version
Icon Legend
New Messages
No New Messages
Hot Topic w/ New Messages
Hot Topic w/o New Messages
Locked w/ New Messages
Locked w/o New Messages
Post New Thread
