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#Post#: 457--------------------------------------------------
Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: August 9, 2015, 11:36 pm
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[quote]
Norwill and Arthas Menethil, I know not where Daniel Iddear ends
and Id begins. I do not know if they’re two separate beings. I
do not know if Daniel Iddear exists anymore, or if he is a
vestige of my life past and I am just being hopeful that I can
reclaim my humanity. I can’t be sure of much of anything
anymore. I don’t know where my perception ends, and the truth of
the matter begins. I suppose that’s just the haze of undeath.
Many in my position seem to have suffered a similar fate.
I suppose I should start with Caleb. That is the matter that
plagues my thoughts the most these days. My husband-to-be has
lied to me. He has deceived me. He has attempted to remove my
innards. He has befouled my mind of my perception in reality.
Before I met Caleb Norwill, I was sure I had seen Arthas
Menethil in the flesh die atop the citadels of Icecrown. The
Ashen Verdict watched as Tirion Fordring prevailed in the last
moment, shattering Frostmourne and striking down the fallen king
himself. I knew I had seen that.
Now, I find myself questioning what really happened. Could it
have been a ruse by Fordring, an attempt to bolster our hopes in
the defense of Azeroth? Could it have been that Arthas Menethil
lurked in the dark below the Citadels with his fallen heart?
Arthas couldn’t have fallen in Icecrown, as I’ve seen this king
in the flesh. In my mind, in my heart, and in my bed. Arthas
Menethil is not gone, just reborn and taken a new vessel. Still,
the thought of this plagues me. I had seen Arthas die. I saw
Frostmourne shattered with my own eyes. I had seen it all, and I
had seen it again in my memories, and the nightmares plaguing me
in my attempted retrieval of Glory. And still, Arthas returned
to Darrowshire to visit me.
I don’t know what’s real anymore. I don’t know if I am still
Daniel Iddear, or if he died a long time ago in Corin’s Crossing
with his mother. The small details of my very being and
self-identity are as shrouded in mystery as my past was naught a
year ago. I can’t be sure of my own feelings, because I am
forced to ask myself: “Is this what Daniel would think? Or is
this what Id would think?”
This questioning has arised from my arrival in The Silent. I’ve
begun to think of myself in two ways. There is the being wholly
dedicated Caleb Norwill and Arthas Menethil, beings I am not
entirely sure are mutually exclusive. This being, Id, was killed
in service of Light’s Hope chapel, and raised in Acherus a week
later rotting and frozen in hatred. Taking the blade of Wives
Tale, he set out as a crusader of the Scourge and eventually He
is brutal, cruel. His scorn for the living is unrivaled. He does
not want to see the living dead, but rather see them understand
the suffering that he has gone through. He is the Arthas of my
mind, though different in nature.
The other, Daniel Iddear, died at Corin’s Crossing. He took the
runeblade of his deceased father and cleaved his head from his
shoulders. Driven mad by the whispers of his Father’s blade,
Wives Tale, he slayed his mother. Daniel Iddear died that night,
fleeing from Corin’s Crossing to Light’s Hope with the hopes of
enlisting to absolve himself of his sins fleeting in the back of
his mind.
I wish I knew what to do. I’ve joined The Silent as a
behest of my own, and still those of it’s order will assume it’s
been done at the command of Caleb. Daniel Iddear is not a sword.
I am destined to reclaim this identity. I do not know what will
happen to Id. I do not know what will happen to Caleb. I do not
know what will happen to Arthas. As I remarked earlier, I don’t
know what will happen anymore. The ache of the frost has begun
to set in the knuckles of my hand, and a blister on my index
finger has burst. I should stop before I stain the page any
further. I just hope this will work itself out. I can only hope.
[/quote]
#Post#: 470--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: August 27, 2015, 6:39 pm
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Content warning for dismemberment, murder, and abandonment!
[quote]Belethial Dawnsinger will die. Like Meduna Crombeck she
has placed herself above her folly, and mistaken the force with
which she has involved herself. I will string her guts like a
wreath around her head. I will cleave her heart in two and gift
it upon her child, sending the child far away - never to see her
mother again.
I will dismantle her body as she has dismantled Caleb. I will
see it torn asunder and her bones shattered beneath my greaves -
and when she thinks she thinks she has earned the gift of death,
I will rescind this gift. I will rescind it like she has
rescinded her half of His heart. If it means seeing her shambled
body attempt to feebly piece itself back together only to
scatter it once more, I will see to it that she cannot embrace
release. No. She will disclose to me the location of Caleb’s
heart and I will once again make it whole and cradle it in my
arms, and it will be mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Caleb is mine. He
is my fiance. He will be my husband. I will claim His heart. I
will claim His hand - and her head as a trophy.
Light, I have tried. I approached Belethial in peace. I was
kind, not only to her, but her child. She picked me a flower and
offered it to me like a blessing to a partitioner. I take pity
on her. I take pity on her for the storm her mother herself,
because she will leave the child behind. I will release the
child from her mother’s sins - for they were not hers. This
means one thing, however.
Wives Tale will continue it’s legacy. Oh Light, how I have
tried to deny it. It seems the Iddear family’s path will
continue to be forged in blood and skulls. [/quote]
#Post#: 471--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: August 27, 2015, 6:40 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
This journal takes place directly after the events of "In Your
Honor"
[quote]
speak but my tongue, too, is frozen. I am a glacier awash the
oceans. I would weep, but I no longer have tears.[/quote]
#Post#: 472--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: August 27, 2015, 6:49 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
This takes place a short time after the "In Your Honor" event!
[quote] Like Meduna Crombeck and Belethial Dawnsinger, I
act as if I am above my folly. I am not. I am beneath my
mistakes. Crushed. Crippled. My mistakes will continue to haunt
me until The Silent is no more - until Belethial is no more -
until Caleb is no more.
Caleb will die eventually. Eveya will die, eventually, and with
them will die the kingdoms the have built - their folly being
too proud to pass the reigns. They do not care about the
well-being of others.
They claim they do - their actions out of the greatness of
their hearts. They don’t. It is self preservation. I am
disgusted. With myself. With Eveya. With Caleb. I will
unabashedly express this emotion.
I love Caleb. I have loved Caleb. I will continue to love
Caleb. But as I told him after he crippled Riker - “I love you,
Caleb. But I hate parts of you.”
It is the opposite with myself. I loathe my actions. I can no
longer tell when I lie consciously and when it is out of my own
will, but I know my deception of The Silent on not one, but two
occasions has been out of my own design. That is why I am
disgusted with myself.
I have killed my mother, my father, my brother, and my former
lover. I will be the one to bring my own end one day. Eventually
the weight of my own folly will become too great to bear and
crush me. Light, I hope someone stops me before then. [/quote]
#Post#: 477--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: September 10, 2015, 2:14 pm
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Content warning for sex!
[quote]
I will be. I am beautiful because he has made me in his image. I
am a monster by nature. I have realized that my being is not
inherently split. There is no Id, and there never was. This was
always the case. The schism between Id and Daniel was born out
of ignorance of my past. Daniel has always been a monstrous
creature, even in life. His actions thoughts and memories were
wholly mine and undeath did not change this fact. Even in life,
Daniel Iddear wanted to slit Ryas Alston’s throat and watch the
life leave his eyes. The only difference is that Id would not
have hid this fascination.
Caleb asked me last night how many scarlet crusaders I had
killed in my hunger-fueled rage. I answered him, twenty two. He
smiled at me and called me beautiful. I claimed it was because I
was his chosen knight. He denied me this - He claimed that both
Darion and Orbaz had believed they were his chosen knight and
that they weren’t, but I knew that I was his chosen knight. If I
weren’t, wouldn’t he have rejected my hand in marriage. He
wouldn’t have rejected my hand on his thigh. My mouth on his
skin. He wouldn’t reject me these worldly pleasures. I am his
chosen knight, and I will remain this way.
He spoke to me on The Silent. He wants to leave. I told him
this is his choice. I don’t know what to do. I joined The Silent
on my own accord, in an attempt to show Caleb that I am capable
of having a life outside of him and his action. How funny, a
sword of a noble with a mind of it’s own. He told me my
alignment with The Silent was possibly the smallest step that I
could have taken, and I scorned him for this.
Eveya has told me that if I lie to her one more time, my
alignment with The Silent will be terminated and I will no
longer be a member of the society. That is ok. The Silent was
not for me, I feel. I’m afraid to admit this - Caleb will see it
as me riding his coat tails once more but this is not true. The
Silent does not care for me beyond the fact that I am Caleb’s
sword. They see me as just a monster born of brine and plague
and necrotic blood. They are not wrong, but there is more to me
than just this that the Silent do not see - whether it is
willful or not I don’t know.
Whether I chose to leave The Silent or not does not bear change
on the fact that it has influenced me and my actions. Three
nights ago I gave Eveya my axe. Not my runeblade. I told her I
will no longer live the lie and deny what I accept as a fact - I
am a death knight and my existence is dependent on my runeblade.
To deny it is to deny fate, and to deny fate will lead to my
downfall in time. If I am to continue to support Caleb in this
way - to provide him necrotic energies when he is wounded, and
to continue my existence so that I may see him prosper, I cannot
deny this blade and it’s aid.
I cannot deny my inner monster. I won’t. Not anymore. I will
not deny my inner monster because this is my nature. I will not
deny the inner beauty in this monster, because it was shaped and
formed in his image. I am his chosen knight. I will carry out my
duty, and prove to him that I am chosen for a good reason - be
it through blade, flesh, or blood.
[/quote]
#Post#: 480--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: September 14, 2015, 2:05 pm
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[Quote] Caleb's potential departure from The Silent weighs
heavily upon my mind. The reality of the situation has struck me
with full force. Caleb's involvement with The Silent has always
been a crux at the forefront of his mind. It plagues him - it
blesses him - it curses him - it enlightens him. I couldn't
fathom why he continued to keep himself involved for a long time
- but now I understand. It's a community, a purpose.
I visited my brother's grave yesterday. I wondered if his
juvenile skeleton remained beneath the tombstone. It would be a
miracle, in truth. For Abel to have slept peacefully in the
ground through the rise of the scourge was, realistically,
impossible. But still - I hope he has peace in death. I would
not wish this torment of undeath on him. I held vigil over his
grave for several hours. I talked to him - and wished more than
ever that I could embrace him once more - like when we were
children. I miss him. More than Mary Iddear and my father. We
were a pair - fated twins. I thought deeply of the man Abel
would be if he were alive today. Likely he would have followed
the path of father, and joined the crusade.
If, by chance, Abel's continued existence didn't change my
own fate - I would have still taken my father's cursed blade -
and I would have still struck him down - and I would have still
killed Mary Iddear - and Wives Tale would still be bound to me,
sealing my fate. He would have resented me for this. Ryas and I
would still have lived our short lived lives under the
impression that we were star-crossed lovers; still would have
loved, and kissed, and lost. Abel would have found a woman - a
priestess, likely, and we her admist a changing time when such
unions became common. I would still have fallen to the
Kal'dorei, and rottted, and lived again. It's likely Abel and I
would have met at the battle of Light's Hope and it's likely he
would have struck me down like the monster of Arthas that I
still am today. Light, I wish that would have happened. Abel
- his wife, and children - all would be a greater impact on
Azeroth than I would have ever been.
I wept over Abel's grave, and cried out. I wished Caleb
would come to me, but he never did. I have lost another one I
care for - Marus. I feared, for a moment, that I had lost Caleb
but I felt his consoling presence in my mind once more reminding
me that I was forever his. Caleb insists Marus was not a loss,
but what is it, then? The Light, The Church, The Silent. It was
a betrayal, and it's impact on me is not lessened because Caleb
calls me sensitive to betrayal.
Later that night, after visiting Abel's grave, Caleb and I
sat together at the resting place of a plagued crusader in
Icecrown. We talked at length about his departure from The
Silent and of purity and corruption. I knew that I was born
impure. I was born of wedlock between a paladin and priestess
when it was an inconsolable action. Born with a head full of
ashen hair (I wonder if, perhaps, this was prediction of my
involvement with the Ashen Verdict? I cannot say for sure, as
the nature of fate is foreign to me and I cannot be certain it
even exists) and a bulbous nose - like a villain from a
childhood story. Abel, in contrast, was petite, with a head full
of golden locks and a soft radiant smile. Truly, Mary's radiance
lived on through him. Perhaps Abel was spared from the
corruption of our parent's union and I was corrupted twofold. Or
even, perhaps, that Abel was corrupt but would overcome such an
obstacle and expel it from his being through a pious life.
I wept over Abel at his grave, and I weep over Abel now. It
could be that this all is the root for my disbelief in the
tenants of The Light. I lived by the tenants during my
participation with The Argents, and in my childhood and it all
abandoned me in the end. Abel, born of a priestess, devout in
The Light - more so than I was in our childhood - died following
the tenants and still, the Light abandoned him and my family.
After Abel's death, the lustre in her eyes subsided. She,
too, was beginning to waver in faith, and so it seems the Light
deemed her death and abandonment justifiable. In truth, I do not
know if The Light was ever with me in the first place. If it
was, it had certainly abandoned me in my death. Caleb claims he
was pure - and if it was so, I wonder if he had ever been in the
graces of The Light. I doubt it. I doubt many who claim favor to
The Light. Beneath their veneer of righteousness, they are
hideously corrupt and such lies disgust me. As I have accepted
that I am the sword of a fallen king, I accept that I am
corrupt. I do not mind this. It is what allows me to continue
loving, laying, and servicing Caleb. If he were ever pure in the
first place, none of that would be possible. Perhaps his
impurity is a blessing in disguise.
"The prince sayeth to the servant, 'I love you, just as I've
come to love my bedsores and pus. It is a constant.'"[/quote]
#Post#: 481--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: September 16, 2015, 11:44 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Content warnings for Sex and violence!
[quote] As I miss Marus, I miss Abel. I must admit I have not
spoken with Marus since her departure. I long to speak with her.
I long to hug her, and listen to her comforting words. The last
I saw her, I swore I would not still my blade - and I do not
want to go back on my word.
Perhaps it is because I am unusually cruel. Some time ago, The
Silent were brainwalking at the behest of Bertheroy - a mage of
the Kirin Tor. If my memory does not continue to fail me - this
was an attempt to prepare for the conflict with Meduna Crombeck.
I met with the ranger - Aleifr Kwenning - and caught a glimpse
at the downfall of his partner. He made a remark, some or other,
about Caleb. I retaliated, threatening to remove his tongue from
his head and perch him on a pike. Of course, no one except for
me remembers this. I snuck in, and was not a part of their
ritual. That's not to say I did not leave a foul taste in his
mouth. I can tell from his glances and words towards me, but I
bit my tongue. I'd like to make amends with this man. Caleb
respects him and he seems capable as an ally. I can't say my
cruelness was unwarranted, but my acting on it was a product of
a weak state of mind.
Caleb and I met on top of Stratholme last night. We stared out
into the plagued forest of mushrooms that had devoured northern
Lordaeron, and talked about the Silent. I expressed my fear of
leaving, and how the thought of a place I could finally call my
own collapsing. Caleb gave me his hand, and told me that, unlike
Belethial's taking, he wanted me to give a piece of myself to
his hand. I cut open his palm with his own misericorde - This is
the second time I have cleaved him open with his own blade - and
placed a piece of permafrost into the wound. I warned him of the
dangers of ice. If he did not continue moving, he did not
continue onwards and seeking his goal that it would consume him
entirely. This was a metaphor, of course. Caleb spoke of the
Servitor’s curiosity if he was still Arthas. He lied, as is in
his nature. I told him the servitors would kill him regardless
of whether he was Arthas or not. Eventually the pots he stirred
would burn his hand. He avoided the subject, instead asking if
he saved me from the permafrost consuming my being - and
finally, told me the true reason he called me to Stratholme.
“I want you to hurt me.” he said. I shoved him to the ground
and began strangling him. He wheezed and choked - “Harder.” I
stopped, realizing what I was doing. “Why did you stop?” he
asked. I didn’t have an answer for him at the time, but now, I
do. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to hurt Caleb - but I
am a sword. I am to be swung to harm others, even if it is my
wielder. I kicked him to the ground, put a knee to his chest,
and began again as he placed his misericorde to my throat, cut
my tabard, and laid with me.
I don’t want to hurt him, but I know I will. Be it by his will
or not, I will hurt him and this thought pains me. I love him
and do not want to hurt him. Perhaps it is the same cruel nature
that has threatened Aleifr Kwenning that seeks to harm Caleb. I
can say one thing for certain, though. I will not hurt Caleb in
the same way I have hurt Ryas. I will hurt Caleb because one day
he will have to put me down.
But I digress from my own cruel nature, and again to the
thought of Marus. I wonder what both Abel and Mother would have
to say on the matter? I suppose their council doesn’t matter.
They do not exist anywhere outside of my own mind, and their
decision would boil down to the same as my own.
The Silent has moved locations, to the attic of the Northshire
Abbey. The very same attic that housed me for nearly a year and
a half as I toiled and tormented over finding a reason to
continue my existence after the Ashen Verdict disbanded. I spent
much time reading every tome of lore in that accursed attic. I
will say the change of location is pleasant, but I wish it would
have been to a place with less of a bitter memory attached to
it. In the attic, I rediscovered the play I had written some
time ago - “The Prince and The Servant”, a somewhat allegorical
tale of Caleb and I’s relationship. Looking back, so much has
changed and yet it all remains the same.
There’s so much going on. Gewn has crafted Caleb a new hand,
and the Silent is slowly but steadily crumbling. I find it hard
to keep up with my own thoughts, so I will organized a list of
things I must remember to keep at the forefront of my mind. I
cannot afford to forget these things.
[list]
[li]Make amends with Aleifr[/li]
[li]Prepare for the wedding. Brace yourself. Marus will likely
be there.[/li]
[li]Meet with Belethial and rescind the wedding invitation, if
Caleb has not already.[/li]
[li]Try sleeping.[/li]
[li]Do not lose what you have. Please.[/li]
[/list]
[/quote]
#Post#: 485--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: September 28, 2015, 8:29 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote] Much to Caleb's disdain, I spoke with some members
of The Order of Northshire. I joined into the conversation as
their abbot departed for the night. I was left with a priest, a
woman, and her dwarven bodyguard. At least - I believed him to
be. I suppose he could have been a castrated partner, judging
from the way she commanded him around, but I can't say for sure.
The dwarf and I spoke of Icecrown and the Ashen Verdict as
Caleb poked and prodded at my mind. I largely ignored him, and
remained vague and blunt in my responses. I knew my conversation
was making him uncomfortable but I didn't care. My conversation
was not his, and I did not force him to listen.
Back to the entire reason I joined the conversation - a man was
speaking of his past seminar. I mistook him for another member
of the order of Northshire, or perhaps, the Golden Law. I was
mistaken. He was a battlefield medic and spoke on amputations
and medicine, and their place in the heat of battle. This piqued
my interest, and the man showed me his prosthetic arm. I made a
remark about Gewn; how I had a friend proficient in crafting
prosthetics. I saw her materialize in the distance, shaking and
quivering. I was concerned, and promised the battlefield medic I
would attend his next seminar. I plan to, as I'd like to speak
with him again.
I apologized to a father of the Order of Northshire for Caleb's
cruelty, but he claimed he didn't notice, but I did. Perhaps I'm
more sensitive to Caleb's veiled personalities, because I've
seen all aspects of him. I said my goodbyes and returned to Gewn
who seemed to be amidst a breakdown.
She sat on a planter not far from my original conversation. Her
arm remained in the air quivering. I took her into the catacombs
and interrogated her about what was wrong - I felt genuine
concern for her. I don't know if Gewn is a friend, but I feel
desire to see through her wellbeing. She's greatly aided Caleb
and I, and I hope the best for her.
I deciphered that she wanted a group of silver rings for her
hand. After removing five of these rings, she seemed to snap
back to reality. "Oh, hello." She said, as if the entire
situation had not occured. She told me to try a ring, as they
helped her to think like a madman. I held one of the rings, and
felt the tugging at my mind, not unlike a runeblade. She had
several rings on, and I imagine the whispers were intensified by
wearing multiple.
I think I will invite Gewn to the wedding, if Caleb has not
already. He told Aleifr he was planning for a date in early
November. The wedding makes me anxious, in truth. I love Caleb
and want to be with him, but he and I have many enemies within
and outside of The Silent. I cannot say for sure how the wedding
will go, apart from Caleb and I's union.
Pikewood was... distressing. We found the town in ruin. Many
villagers had become undead, and pinned to the walls of it's
keep were burning corpses. We fought our way through the town
and into the keep. Some death knight whose name I cannot be
bothered to remember claimed the city to be the work of his
king. I took this knight by his throat and told him that his
king is a false one. As I cleaved into him, he looked to Caleb.
I attempted to interrogate Caleb about this to no fruition.
It's left me disheartened. I do not think he took me seriously.
The villagers and death knight referred to their king, and I
fear this won't end well - but Caleb plays a role in this... but
I don't know for sure.
I don't know if I can say anything is for sure. After I
questioned Caleb, we slept together. After we slept together, I
laid in the crypts beneath Hearthglen and thought. My mind
swirled around me, thoughts vividly flashing through my mind. I
quickly dismissed many of them, but one stuck in my mind:
"What do you want from this?"
I couldn't think of an answer.
"Why are you marrying him?"
Because I love him. That was simple enough to answer, but the
first question pained me. Do I need to want something from
Caleb?
... Does Caleb want something from me?
What could he want more than I already give him? I don't know
if I could even give him more than I do. Is being his sword
enough? I cleared my thoughts and laid on the catacombs floor.
The stone was cold and all trace of Caleb's warmth had left. I
trembled and fell asleep. I'll keep a log of my dream in a
separate entry. Perhaps I should begin a dream journal if I'm to
attempt sleeping again?[/quote]
Attatched to the back of the page is another sheet of paper.
[quote]September 24th
I fell asleep in the catacombs below Hearthglen.
In the dream, I stood among a horde of scourge and knights on a
glacier in what I imagine was Icecrown. A frostwyrm flew above
and let loose a howl, setting off the horde to howl in return.
I, too, felt compelled to let loose a scream but I couldn’t open
my mouth.
The scene shifted. I still stood among the horde of scourge,
but now there was fighting. I struck down a few faceless,
nameless, bannerless enemies before I fell to a pikeman piercing
me through my heart. Before my sight left me, I saw a short
armored figure approach me.
It was cold, like I remembered it being. Dark, too. My eyes
opened again and Caleb was standing over my body, wielding
Frostmourne. In truth, I can’t discern if it was Caleb or not.
This is concerning.
He picked me up, and breathed life into me once more. “My
chosen knight,” he said, standing me upright and backing away.
“You cannot fall, for I have not allowed it. You are mine, and
mine alone. You will fall when I tell you to.” he claimed,
plunging Frostmourne into my chest again. I awoke startled. My
inability to differentiate between him, and Caleb is..
disturbing. [/quote]
#Post#: 493--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: October 19, 2015, 5:10 pm
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[quote]Ichor stains the page. Black goo hangs to the bottom
right edge of the page, and stuck in it are two locks of hair
braided together, one oil black and one silvery white. The
borders of the pages are waterlogged, as if someone had sat a
cold drink on the page and let condensation leak onto it. You
sniff at the goo, and realize it’s nature: blood of the undead.
The words on the page are scrawled in a shaky hand.
I am broken.
I am defeated.[/quote]
#Post#: 494--------------------------------------------------
Re: Daniel Iddear's Journal (Post-Mortem)
By: Elinie Date: October 19, 2015, 9:20 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote] If mother were alive, would she convince the
parishioners to turn their prayers to me?
If Abel were alive, would he perhaps seek me out to put me
down like a rabid dog?
Is that what I am? A rabid dog?
I don’t know anymore.
I cannot say what I am anymore. My right hand is gone, and I
don’t know who has taken it. With any luck it was Caleb. A
payment for my forced replacement of his hand. An eye for an
eye. A hand for a hand.
It couldn’t have been Caleb. The last memory I have is him
leaving on Glory. As my consciousness left me, I found myself in
Light’s Hope Chapel. In my hands was Frostmourne. In front of me
was a man. I could not say who he was, but he bore the armor of
Tirion Fordring but he was not Fordring, just as I was not
Arthas. I couldn’t recognize him, but I knew him. His face was
soft and his lips kissable. He was full of life, despite the
nagging feeling in my stomach that he was undead. I wanted to
love him. I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to be inside of him
and I wanted him to swing me as his sword.
The man stood on the raised platform from which sermons were
given. To the left of him, there was a golden haired woman I
immediately recognized. Mother. Mary Iddear. I wanted to smile,
reach out and embrace her. I turned my head to her and what was
a smile turned into a twisted sneer. She spit on me. “Do not
smile at me, beast. You have taken my child from me.” she
claimed. These words welled into tears on my cheeks, and I
croaked: “Mother! Please! I am here!” but the tears became a
wicked laugh and my words a threat. “I would do the same, and
remember to take you this time.”
I looked around the room again, and another figure emerged
from the shadows of the room. To the left of Mary was Abel,
dressed in the armors and tabards of a high ranking Argent
official. I wanted to smile to him, too. A beaming smile,
radiant and happy and proud. “As if all of this means
something?” The words came searing out of my throat, “And
furthermore, you should be dead. I killed you. I watched your
death.” the words came again, gentler like a second shot of a
sharp liquor. A smile spread across Abell’s face. It was…
impudent. Commanding. It reminded me of Caleb. “You’re free to
check the grave, you bastard. I’m alive and well, but I can’t
say the same for Daniel or my father. Your men took them.” he
said, rising from an inciting jab to an accusatory shout. I
wanted to scream. I wanted to shout and cry and scream for
mercy. “Abel!! Please!! I’m here!!!” but nothing except a
strange laugh came from my mouth. From the shadows behind Abel
emerged a woman, with velvety black locks draping over her
shoulders. She buried her mouth into Abel’s cheek, kissing him
gently and whispering lightly. “He doesn’t regret it, Abel.” she
said, “Stop trying to reason with a rabid dog.” She smiled,
laughed a bit and nuzzled her face into Abel’s neck. She
stopped, and looked at me with amber eyes from behind the frames
of her glasses. It was Meduna. “Besides,” her voice jided, “I
should be thanking him for finishing what I started.” Meduna
curtsied, giving a fanged smile directed past me. It was pointed
at me, not whatever shell I had been haunting in this dream, but
directly at me. “So, thank you. You’ve fashioned him into the
monster I could never create.” she said, grinning ear to ear,
canines sharper than ever. She turned on her heel, becoming one
with the shadows of the chapel again.
The final person atop the sermon pit was a familiar one. All
too familiar. He stood in the armor of an Argent recruit. The
same armor I killed him in. It was Ryas, glossy eyes and freshly
shaven face like always. He made unbroken eye contact with me,
and I remained silent. Abel’s voice was the first to pierce the
quiet. “Recruit Alston. Take his hand.”
I wanted to protest, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, talk,
breath. I could only watch as Ryas unsheathed the sword at his
side. Until now, the man who dressed like Tirion Fordring but
was not Tirion fordring had remained placid, but he spoke at the
sound of a sword’s sheath. “No, Abel.” he said. “No, he is my
problem. Leave, all of you.” His voice commanded. I was chilled
to my core, because I knew him, too. It was Caleb, behind the
Ashbringer and the medals and the armor and the Light. The
others left at his command, shutting the doors to the chapel
behind us. Caleb unfastened the manacles keeping me on my knees
and my hands behind my back. He gripped my face, squeezing
painfully.
“And what am I going to do with you?” he said. “This was all
your fault, after all. You have no one to blame but yourself.” I
opened my mouth to speak and he squeezed my face tighter until I
closed it, biting down on my own cheek. “You do not deserve to
speak.” he shouted, throwing me to the ground and placing a foot
on my back. “Not after what you have caused me.”
There was a searing flash of light and pain. I felt like I
had swam adrift into the ocean and then… nothing. I was afraid I
had died. This cold nothing was exactly what it was like my
first death. It was cold, and lonely. I awoke and my right hand
had been cut off entirely. Black blood had seeped into the
ground and coagulated into a sticky mess. I was alone. Scared.
Panicked. Unsure of what to do, I pulled myself to my feet and a
dizzying sickness struck me. I vomited. I vomited blood, and
viscera, and ice. That’s all I am, isn’t it? I’m convinced that
is the only contents of my body. Inside and out. That’s all I
am. Blood and viscera and ice and a missing hand.
I found my footing once more. I opened a portal to Acherus
and stumbled in, promptly falling over as I opened. I fell
unconscious once again and awoke to an attendance by a
fleshcrafter I knew well. Her name was Marcia Sundershield, and
she was beautiful by dwarven standards. Freckles dotted her pale
undead skin, and her ginger hair bound into a tight knot atop
her head. I wondered, for a moment, why I couldn’t love Marcia?
Surely it would be easier than loving Caleb. Surely it would be
easier than loving anyone named as an Oathbreaker. What was
Marcia to me? A friend? An acquaintance? Nothing more than that.
This was just a hypothetical question I had asked myself. Some
justification that my toil would pay off eventually. I smiled to
Marcia, and she smiled back at me.
“Marcia, how can you stay positive? In times like these when
you see your fellow knights fallen and in such need?” Marcia
shrugged.
“‘oi dunno, really. ‘oi just find it hard to feel pity for
‘em I suppose.”
“Can you feel pity?” Marcia shrugged again, wiping her nose a
bit and unrolling a spindle of bandages.
“‘oi suppose ‘oi could, ‘oi just don’t for ‘em. ‘oi feel pity
for yew, I suppose.”
I was shocked by this. Marcia felt pity for me? “Why do you
pity me, Marcia?”
“We all feel pity for yew, Id.” she said. That name made my
skin crawl. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t who I was. It was a lie.
“Yer stuck with the oithbreaker? What’s there not to pity?”
I was quiet for a time. “I suppose you’re right, Marcia.” I
finally croaked. My throat was dry. “Is it bad to pity yourself
for loving someone so cruel?” Marcia shook her head in response.
“Noi, ‘s not. Yer strong, Id.” Was I strong? Was I really strong
or was it a veneer of courage I had learned to cope with?
“Marcia. Please, I have a favor to ask?” She grunted in
response, sealing the bandages around my arm with a salve.
“Would you cut my hair?”
“‘Oi don’t see why yewd trust someone with the reflexes of
the dead with scissors, but.. ye, I could.” I was delighted. My
hair was more fitting of someone in my position. I wasn’t a
sword to a king of an abandoned throne. I was an accomplice to
the throne. One to keep it’s king in line. One to criticize it’s
king, and hold it in reverence. One to despise his actions, but
see the reason. One to hold him and love him, but also one to
cast him away when he has done wrong. I must think, now, of what
comes next. How I will act. How I must act. This was the start
of a battle, I know it. If I plan three steps ahead, I may just
win the war. The only question is who I would be fighting, and
who would stand by my side.[/quote]
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