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#Post#: 404--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: June 22, 2015, 2:33 pm
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[quote]A lot has happened and I have been unable and unwilling
to write about it - largely because when I write about the
events that transpire in the Silent I like to have some grand
sweeping conclusion to back it all up with, but no conclusion
can be met, in this instance. There have been weeks of simple
confusion and I kept delaying writing something because I truly
didn’t have any conclusions to say, and only more
questions. Nonetheless, I am overdue to keep a log, and attempt
to piece together some words and phrases that might actually
lead to some conclusions. I will attempt an effort to go
chronologically through this list of events, and then, tie them
together thematically.
Even became Matrirach as I said, but also she has engaged in an
unusual professional relationship with me. I vaguely recall my
relationship with Philomene, but Eveya is no Philomene, and I am
not the same Caleb. Nonetheless, there is still a point of
comparison; she is leading from little. She spends time with us
for a moment, and then, disappears. She keeps things from the
Silent and answers in infuriatingly vague ways, and keeps our
affairs hidden from us. Philomene would not let this stand, but
similarly, I have to be the one to announce what our affairs
will be to the body of the Silent. I did it with proclamations
and writs in the Silent, but I have no notice border to pin my
orders, or rather, Eveya’s, and thus must track down
members individually.
Marus and I discussed our concerns about Eveya’s
leadership, and eventually, I brought that information to Eveya
herself. We raged at one another for a good hour and a half,
attempting to work out a solution. I did not think Eveya capable
of hurting me with words, but she did, and it was disgustingly
unintentional. She told me that Naidra would be returning. I
banished Naidra from the Silent only two weeks prior, and
intended to have that remain in play. Eveya begged and pleaded
that we needed her, and I refused. We don’t need her, and
we never did. More importantly, the concern isn’t about
Naidra at all: its about Eveya refusing to acknowledge my power
as an Exarch of the Silent, bestowed in me when Sila was still
Mouse. I eventually had to use an ultimatum, which i never like
doing: it would have been Naidra, or it would have been me.
Imagine if she had refused me. I cannot imagine what that would
have been like. I cannot even imagine how I would have felt if
she had chosen Naidra over me. She wouldn’t even have been
choosing Naidra - she would have been choosing everything that
was not me. She would have been choosing to reject all of my
influence, and everything I had given her. I don’t know
how I would have felt. Betrayed, maybe. I imagine I would have
felt how I felt when I watched my paladin order declare me a
heretic, and excommunicate me. That same sense of loss, regret -
regret for wasting my time.
But she didn’t pick Naidra, she picked me. I helped her
open negotiations with the Order of Champions; an order that
does not take us as seriously as they should. They bring
noncombatants into the field of conflict, they are small and
dissipate quickly, and are always late to our meetings. I do not
think they are a worthy ally. I imagine Eveya feels some sort of
strained responsibility to pull them from the depths, due to
Sila’s relationship with them. That is a stupid reason to
do anything. I do not feel a need to force alliances with the
Order of the Golden Law, or with the Order of the Sepulchre, or
with the Servitors. Maybe I should, but i won’t. Those
alliances would be fruitless, and more importantly, they know me
too well. There is a pleasantness in the Silent knowing so
little about me. Even though it also causes me grief.
Marcus has a leak in her mind, and she is spawning monsters that
belong tot he Shadow Plane from the inside of her head. I must
work with her to repair her minds cape. I fear the Leak has made
her temperamental and irksome, and truthfully, I do not know how
much I can help her. My mindscape was only repaired by Tayaere,
years back, and even she only was able to scratch the surface.
Marcus is at least as complicated as I am, albeit more
even-tempered, usually. I fear what I shall find when I
investigate the leak. I fear that I will see parts of her that I
do not wish to know. I fear as well, that I shall see more of
myself than I want too. I fear she will see more. I have already
shown her a true face in the Eastern Plaguelands where I killed
the dead without ceremony or concern. Some of my cultists
watched from the trees. They are small, and largely dead, but I
remember them. I remember having a cult, and I remember them
worshipping me, the ground I walked on, and the way that they
looked at me. I miss that, sometimes, but what I miss more was
the feeling of the belonging that I had. I knew where I was, and
who I was, and what I was, and what my goals in life were, but
now that’s all gone and I am merely a minion of the Silent
once more. I came to them because I needed purpose. I suppose I
have it. I’ll help Marus as well, and see if that thrills
me. I imagine I know enough of what Tayaere taught me. I only
hope that my baser instincts do not make the situation worse.
Speaking of making things worse, its about time we get to Id. Id
is a constant source of both infuriation and peace and I am
utterly uncertain about him, or if I should pursue this
relationship further. I do love him. And that’s a problem,
because it has interfered with my judgement. I saw him at his
baby brother’s grave, Abel, and we talked for a bit. I
expressed concern and worry, and maybe was a touch too cold. But
he was brash and unfeeling, or perhaps he felt too much. He
rushed away to Corin’s Crossing, and I followed him
— but a bit too late. Hierodormu would not come. He did
not come. And the reason he did not come was because he could
feel my thoughts my feelings - he knew there was evil on my
mind. I forget sometimes, that Hierodormu bears me no loyalty.
At a crucial moment like this one, he failed me. When I saw Id
again, one arm was ripped to shreds, and his other was broken. I
tried to help him, but he would not come. I tugged him along
with me, tugged his flesh clean off of his old bones. I wanted
to hold him and help him, but he would not let me.
Then, he lied to me, and told me that there were some relics in
Corins Crossing that jeopardized his existence, and I was afraid
for him. I was afraid the Argent Crusade wanted to destroy him
to get at me, or maybe that the remaining Cult of mine, wanted
to lure me back through threatening Id’s existence. But
neither of these ideas would prove true. It was all a lie. I
lied to the Silent, as Id knew I would, in order to muster a
force to get there. I said that the relics could possibly
control undead, including myself - and it was a lie. I can
masquerade and pretend it was a half truth, but in actuality it
was a lie. We went. A lich was there - Rayas, Id’s former
partner, though I did not know at the time. The lich flung us
into Id’s minds cape,and we saw his entire past play out
infant of us. I was me, with a real face, and real skin. It was
the first time many of them had seen me with my real face. We
watched Id’s memories and I could have strangled him, the
rich, whatever, for playing the memories that we saw. They saw
me, claiming to be a king, and I wanted to kill them all for
laughing at me, or for their looks of horror. Who are they to
judge me. They cannot judge me. They also saw me pull the skin
of Id’s arm off, but nobody reacted then. I do not think
they cared.
Rays said that he kept the undead away, when we emerged form the
nightmare. He told us that Id was a monster based on the
memories he showed us, but none of those memories were
monstrous. He did not show us anything that was truly
reprehensible. He showed his anger and his desire for vengeance,
at having been killed, but only because he tried to kill Id
first. There was nothing in those memories that should tell us
Id was a monster. The bigger monstrosity was that Id lied to me,
and he lied to all of us. In truth, Rayas held my heart, because
Id foolishly hid it here, in Corins Crossing. He was jealous,
apparently, and wanted to destroy it. But Rayas wouldn’t
have, because the heart was behind his lectern, unmanned. I felt
nothing, no surge of pain, no feeling of my humanity being cast
aside. The heart was unharmed, and Rayas died another pointless
death at the hands of the person who loved him. He died twice,
and I am sorry for him. I sat with Id a moment, when I pushed
all the others away.
I told him I loved him, and I was angry at him. He said he did
it all for me. But he couldn’t tell me, and I knew why
— he needed to assure me that he could handle my trust, my
heart on his own. When i returned, a day later, the Silent asked
me - I think it was Marus who asked - whether or not I let Id
keep the damned heart. And I did. I did because I gave it to
him,and I could not be trusted with it myself. I think that was
a lie too. I do not know if its true that i cannot be trusted
with the heart, or if I just haven’t had a heart since I
lost it four years ago. I do not think I could live with a
heart. I do not think I could live at all. The Silent did not
ask about my kingship and I was glad and angry for it. Marus and
I had made a plan, in the case that it went badly and I had to
flee, but not a soul asked. I wondered if they did not care, or
simply did not trust Id’s mind. For a moment, I wanted to
be seen. I am angry that they did not ask because it shows that
they are not willing to put aside fear to ask questions of their
superiors. Or, perhaps they are simply not curious or ambitious.
They are all stagnant and dead, and flies are accumulating.
The caravan delivery mission was a success. I will investigate
the judge that sentenced Alvarik to die, at the request of
Eveya. I am sending Aleifr and Riker to establish contact. Both
of them are subtle enough that I am certain to learn some
valuable information. I have a cover story worked out, and am
eager to send them on their way.
Heirodormu told me, on the way back from the Plaguelands last
night that I needed to led this all go. That it was not proper
for one like me to exist in this way, to act as a bridge between
living and dead worlds. But he also told me I had to find it win
me to forgive Id, to forgive Eveya, to forgive the rest of the
light-damned living. But I cannot forgive them. The world was
cruel to me, and I have tried to be kind to the world, but it
merely breathes back cruelty. Breath is too cruel. Life is too
cruel. I wonder if that is why I died in the first place.
Because it was all too cruel and bitter. The dragon told me that
if I did not forgive, it would grow cancerously within me, and I
would have to go out to sea again to excise the hatred. I
disagree. I am allowed to hate. I am allowed to be petty and
vengeful. Let me hate. [/quote]
#Post#: 410--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: July 7, 2015, 2:36 pm
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Content warn: Suicide implied, dismemberment, rotting/gore.
[quote]There have been many reasons for me to write but i
haven’t written and the reasons I haven’t written are difficult
for me to puzzle out. Perhaps thats because I came within a inch
of death again, and reverted to something strange and terrible,
once again. Perhaps it is because I am still grieving over the
loss of my horse. Perhaps it is because I do not think thins
between myself and Id will ever be the same, and that breaks my
heart, stuffed away in some remote corner of the world. I do not
know where he is, now, and I do not know where the heart is
either. I suspect these are both good things. I do not know
where to begin writing in this journal of mine, and I do not
know how to organize these thoughts and things of mine. I
suppose it could be chronological, but my memory of all that is
chronological is too indefinite for me to structure it. So, I
will go off of theme and intuition, and Light help me if this
entry is less coherent than the others. I am sick of coherency.
I reconvened with Id, and we managed to agree to stay together.
it was a hard path and hard won. He apologized and I berated
him, even though that was not my intention. His actions were
more foolish than reprehensible, but I suppose that’s a kind of
reprehensible in itself. But, nonetheless, we managed to pick up
the pieces of what was our relationship and stick them back
together. I think here’s a conscious fear for both of us, a fear
that if we lose one another there will be nothing left. I wonder
if that’s true. I wonder if we really would lose ourselves
again. Nonetheless, Id and I remain partners, but I have not
seen him since that day, and I do not know if I should
anticipate seeing him again. We may be together, but I do not
think he has any desire to be near me. I cannot blame him for
this. I am cancerous. I am plague. I do not know if that means
that we will be together much longer. I suspect it is only fear
that keeps us together. Fear of each other, and fear of losing
each other.
I ended up walking in Marus’ leaking head. I have never
initiated a nightmare or a brain talking situation myself. I was
only able to rely on her own ability to enter my head, and then,
her ability to project her mid onto my own. Thus, all of the
battle was in my head, not hers. I lessened by control, my sense
of self, in order to let her project her own mind onto mine. I
suspect when I read this over in the morning, this won’t make
much sense to me. But I walked in her mind, while she walked in
mine, and I saw the monster that had caused the leaks. We fought
for a time, and it called mortal. I told him that there was no
mortality left in me. I cut its tendrils to ribbons and it fled
into the deeper recesses of her mind. Marus did not know what to
do then. I told her it had become her monster, and had to be
locked behind doors and keys. She asked me if that was what I
had done, and I told her it was, but it was less by choice, and
more by necessity. I suppose this was necessity too. The thing
had to be contained within Marus, so it would not possess her.
I have no doubt the creature will try to make its move, try to
get past the door. or worse yet, it it will try to trick another
into opening that door and letting all of its monstrosity seep
out of the crack. But I will not be the one to open the door. No
trick could work on me, no plead of mercy. I have already been
tricked into opening my own door, I will not be tricked into
opening another, and certainly not Marus’ door. Another might.
But not me.
Then there was this pointless mission that Oni led us on, and I
am hated for it. I am comfortable with hat hatred, because I
know I am right and they were wrong. I do not particularly care
what the few mutterings of the newly recruited say about me,
because in the end, I am an Exarch, and they are not - as Yumna
Shatterhaze herself told me not a night-ago. As for the mission,
Zindrana had “disappeared”, and I use that term loosely. She had
not been seen in two and a half weeks. That is hardly a
disappearance. That is a vacation. It made me consider whether
or not after the year I spent out at sea anybody had come
looking for me. I rather doubt it. Regardless, Oni expressed
concern, which seemed odd, given that she claimed not to know
Zindrana as anything but a sister of The Silent. This turned out
to be a lie, as I later learned. Oni took us to Zindrana’s
house, where even the most thorough of investigations resulted
in nothing, until Oni conveniently had some papers that could
show another person’s memories. This brings up so many
questions: Why did she not use the paper to begin with? Why did
she have the paper? What did she need the Silent for if she
could have just used this herself? Who makes such magics, and
why? Does it work on everyone, or is it person specific? If its
person-specific, why Zindrana? Who cares?
The answer to these questions can be easily summarized
relatively easily: The Bronze Dragonflight. I have a particular
situation with the Bronze Dragonflight: they loathe me, with the
casual sort of non-interest loathing that dragons have for the
lesser races, if not mortals. I did a little too much, and was a
little too persuasive, and far too violent, but it was enough to
be at least, acknowledged by the Bronze Dragonflight. My own
situation aside, the Bronze Dragonflight had an interest in
Zindrana because of her arm, which as I understand, has a demon
bound to it, and for her great power. More questions should be
asked here: if the Bronze Dragonflight had an interest, and they
sent Oni to look into it, wouldn’t they want to exclude as many
of the lesser races as possible, including the Silent? They
already had their mortal helper. Why did Oni need the Silent at
all? It doesn’t seem as if there was any reason for our
presence. Why would the Bronze Dragonflight care about a
fel-user, unless she had some impact on a time-scale, or thought
she did, as I did? What does that even mean?
The paper made a large amount of Zindrana’s life play before us,
and I was reminded of the memories of Id’s life we saw. In those
memories, however, we weren’t looking for nonexistent clues for
how to escape, we were quite literally forced to watch them, due
to being trapped within his mind. These memories of Zindrana
were escapable, and had no hints for us. Not a single memory led
us to any sort of conclusion. After we watched four of them play
out, with no hint, I suggested a sweep of Elwynn. Eveya, as
tired of this facade as I was, authorized the sweep - it would
ultimately be faster than watching endless memories that
revealed absolutely nothing. Then, as if struck by lightning,
Oni exclaimed thats he knew where Zindrana was, in the place she
always went when she felt depressed. Why on earth would she not
look there -first-? And lo and behold, we went there and
Zindrana was hiding behind a bush. I, having had just about
enough of this, was unnecessarily cruel. I do not regret it
however, because ultimately, I was not willing to shower anyone
with platitudes about how important and special they were.
That’s not useful, not in the long run. I told her instead to
spare me the self-pity and tears about how much she hurts
everyone around her. I have heard it too many times to care.
Eveya carried her back.
I cannot remember who said it, but while we watched the
memories, one of the recruits - Ghoaithe, I think, or perhaps
Evangeline, said: “Have you not heard the expression history
repeats itself?” I wanted to cut out their heart then. Those
words were written on my runeblade, and I have read them time
and time again since the day I pulled that sword from the ice. I
read them until I could only breathe those words. History
repeats itself. The followup, of course, is that history repeats
itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. I have seen endless
repetitions of the same story, now. Stories of self-pity and
belief all others come to harm around you. All since the
original tale, I suppose, have been farce. I was not the
original, I do not kid myself of that. I am so tired of that
story. I am so tired of pointless, interpersonal soul-searching
that I should not be involved with. It is personal for a reason.
I am not these people’s friend. I am not here to make any
friends.
Reheat “led” a mission. It was so badly organized, that I wanted
to spit up bile and blood to let him know what I thought of it.
His plan simply consisted of: “Charge”, with no preliminary
scouting or planning done. Aleifr asked me later to ensure that
such a thing would never happen again, at least not without mine
or Eveya’s approval. I told him, somewhat snidely admittedly,
that I truly hoped that Ryhek would never lead a mission again.
That is the hope. In truth, Ryhek really should be dead. A hole
through the chest, and strenuous activity should kill anyone,
worgen or no, provided that they’re living. Even I was on the
brink of death by the end of that mission, largely because it
was so poorly planned. Ryhek sailed away. Maybe he’ll be dead
when he boat comes around again. I would not complain, if that
was the case. It would be realistic, at least. It would be
expected. I suppose Ryhek will survive, however, and I will
never see the end of his life. I do not want to see him die. But
I do want to see consequence for his failures. Needless to say,
I will speak to Eveya about his future leadership, and its
nonexistence.
My business with Falahad is reaching its conclusion. I do not
particularly wish to talk of it until it reaches its end.
Nonetheless, I have spoken to his wife, Anna Manz. She is in
stable condition, tended by the Ebon Blade. In order to get them
to help maintain a living patient, prevent her from falling into
undeath, I owe the Blade favour, and I do not want to think
about what that favour will be. I cannot even begin to
speculate. Anna has not said much, and is too sick to travel to
Stormwind to meet with the Silent. Her skin is like paper, and
comes off in long curls when she scratches herself. Most of her
teeth have rotted to black stumps, and her eyes discharge pus
and blood. I was permitted by the Nose to ask a few questions to
the woman, but Anna was not able to tell me much of anything. I
asked her how she had ended up in such a state, and she said it
was the Light cursing her for not protecting her daughter. I
asked her if she could help me prove her husband’s guilt of
fraud and corruption, and she told me that those were not what
he should be on trial for. I wrote down what she said.
“Corruption? Fraud? Falahad was not ever corrupt, not ever
fraudulent… he was angry and vengeful, bloody and bold. <pause>
He was never subtle, ever open with fists and fury.” She sank
into unconsciousness after that, and the Nose had to revive her,
after tearing into me with hisses and half-formed phrases in old
Common. I let her be. I hope she will be well enough to speak to
the Silent on Friday.
When I returned to Stormwind, I found a cluster of death
knights. I bid them good evening, and aired their horses. The
pain of losing Glory is still fresh in my mind, painful and
overwhelming. The elder death knight, whose name I never
received, who rod a horse called Pestilence, invited me to touch
the creature - who flared away at my touch. I was disappointed,
but unsurprised. Living and dead horses alike shy away from me,
save for Glory. I am too dead for the living ones, and too alive
for the dead ones. I miss her. The death knight, the elder one -
probably a Knight-Commander, from he look of him - told me that
he knew me. He called me Oathbreaker, and told me that my story
was well-known through the Ebon Blade. I felt as if I had the
life knocked out of me, only to be slowly drained back in. He
told his friends and our brothers that I was recently dead,
which I wish he hadn’t. They laughed at me. I should say that I
am above such petty things, that I am sure of myself, sure of my
being, and such things cannot hurt me, I who was their King,
their father, their brother, their friend. But it does, it
always does, it always hurts me. He told me, then, that “For the
moment, you exist.” It was meant tooth be reassuring - and a
threat. I knew it for both of those things. There is always the
threat. That is the story of Caleb the Oathbreaker.
I wanted to tell him how I felt. I wanted to tell him that I was
sorry that I was too alive for the dead, and too dead for the
living. I wanted to say that I was sorry for my continued
existence, I wanted to tell him that I was sorry that I could
not be brave and end it. I wonder how sorry I really am,
sometimes, but then this happens and i remember that my
existence plagues others far more than it will ever plague me. I
may be useful, now. I may even be respected by a few. But I am
largely seen by both the Ebon Blade, who should accept me, and
The Silent, who should respect me, as a weak mistake. A reminder
of something that shouldn’t have happened, that did.
Gwen mocked me for having feelings. Evangeline dismissed my
questions as irrational. Ryhek continues to question me and
would spit in my face if he could. Ghaoithe laughed at me. I
have been keeping track. I do not know why I do. If I wrote down
everybody who was cruel to me in this book, I would no longer
have pages for my own thoughts. But that cruelty is what shaped
me into who I am today, and I am comfortable with what I am. I
will never be a dragon. I will never be king again. I know that.
I am not brave or noble, and fluctuate between too many emotions
to none at all on the flip of a coin. I break oaths. My
existence is a plague on everyone, and I am neither unique or
special in thinking this. It is common place. But at the least,
I know who I am. I know where I came from. And I know that I
will be remembered. [/quote]
#Post#: 425--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: July 21, 2015, 7:20 pm
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[quote]It was past time for a new book, and this one seems to be
suitable. Leather cover, to resist water damage in the case that
I decide to return to the salt and the surf that I crawled from,
thick, handcut paper pages from Elwynn sourced paper mills, and
a binding of rune cloth thread for stability. The leather has
been tanned to leech all colour from it, bleached and smoothed
and then stamped with gold paint - not leaf - with the symbol of
the Holy Light as espoused by the Church of Stormwind. The book
was purchased from a scribe in Northshire, an assistant to the
Master there. It was strange indeed, I suppose, for Herren
Waters to see a death knight stand in the opening of his shop, a
pouch of gold in a hand, and demand that the apprentice make a
libram - but that is how the situation played out. I was the
death knight and I watched the scribe select the materials and
craft them quickly but not shoddily over the course of several
hours. The master was out which was for the best : he had
provided the first copies of the Sepulchres' books and I was
thankful not to have such an interaction. Being recognized has
only done me ill, never good.
I was surprised to some degree, not to see some angry message on
behalf of the Other in my last book, some berating to leave
behind my past and surrender to his will. Perhaps this was
because I have done nothing that would earn his ire, and perhaps
this was because I have been more and more fluid with my
identity to the point that we are not so separable as we once
were : no longer oil and water with no clear mixing but I stead,
salt and water, blended to be indistinguishable, the parts that
brought it together no longer removable. I do not know when this
change occurred, or if it were always the case and I simply
failed to see that there was only ever one. This was easier,
once. There was a Caleb Norwill, once - and now there is just
Caleb, Caleb who is not all that he seems. Perhaps it is vain
and self important to say that- but there is something to the
truth of it. Occasionally I ask my new recruits what they think
of me, what there is to make of Caleb who is not Norwill- I
phrase this as a test, of observational skills and reasoning -
but in truth I ask as much for myself as I do for them. I am
surprised with their answers and I am surprised by their lack of
care. Caleb is cold and aggravated, perpetually angry but on the
lowest of levels and scales. Caleb has no family and came from
nowhere but he was a paladin once, Caleb is sensitive and likes
feminine things, Caleb is a death knight with no heart. Perhaps
they are all true, perhaps none of them are.
I remember playing games of questions and truths with the
Servitors of Lothar and those games always meant something- they
were games of intrigue and knowledge - power plays upon power
plays. I always played to win. I wanted to know my lady
commander and the opportunities she gave us to ask questions of
her - even a single question - those opportunities were sacred.
You could learn much and such things were taken seriously. I
wish I remembered what I had asked her but like all things it
has been stripped bare and lifeless by the seawater. I remember
that it had surprised her and that we talked for a long time
afterwards. It had been important and I had felt connected to
her, to all of them. I try to offer the same opportunities. I
ask of them- I ask them in interviews, I ask them afterwards, I
ask them of families and connections and file this away for
later use. But the manipulated and exploited should be allowed
the same opportunity. Ask me, I tell them. Learn something of
the person you serve- as I would ask Eveya if I could ever catch
her attention for more than a moment. Ask of me. But they ask
nothing. They do not know me.
I have cracked down. Ryhek is gone from us, and he is gone for
good unless I see true worth in him- a worth that outweighs his
chaos and cruelty, his malice and subversion. It was the right
decision. Aleifr was thankful, Gewn seemed pleased enough, but
Eveya stripped me of the right to make such decisions without
her interference. For a moment I thought she would strip me of
my title as Exarch but in truth, I would not have cared. I did
what was right, and what was necessary - and if I had lost my
rank for it, I would have know that such things were no longer
valued and the time had come to move on. I do not know where I
would have tried to make my way to, but I would have gone
somewhere. The Ebon Blade would pursue me wherever I went
nonetheless- so I suppose it wouldn't have mattered that much.
The rank was not stripped, but I must make a plan in the case
that it is : there must always be a plan in place for the
retreat. Thankfully I will not be lost over Ryhek. Only a few
days later did a supposed old friend - the validity of that i
doubt - came to me and said that Ryhek had violated the validity
of our contract by assaulting one of his men.
Fizzrikk- the old friend - came to me in the street full of
compliments and greetings, coming on behalf of a syndicate that
wished to remove the Shiv and Silver from the city- a criminal
and mercenary group that the Silent has had minimal dealings
with before. He told me to simply not interfere when the Shiv
was ultimately displaced and turn a blind eye to his orders
proceedings - simple enough when I did not care to begin with.
I am rewarded for not caring about that which I already did not
care about. Perhaps this gang of Fizzrikk's can be used to some
end - and if not , I am on no obligation to get involved. And
that is what I prefer. I am under no obligation to anyone right
now, perhaps for the first time in my existence and it feels
strange and empty. I am an Oathbreaker with no oaths to break.
The only oath that was still standing was the one I made to Sila
when I first joined her, on bended knee in catacomb murk. I, to
this date, was the only one who has ever made an oath of that
nature. But that oath was dissolved with Sila's death, which has
finally happened. We all went to lakeside in order to offer our
final words and grievances. Ryhek was present and voiced dismay
at his dismissal and Yumna and Elinie made their distaste
obvious. I couldn't agree more, truly. It was the wrong place
and the wrong time. Sila said she had invited seven. Present was
myself, Ryhek, Aleifr, Yumna, Elinie, and the uninvited
Telamira. I wonder who the others were supposed to be, the ones
who didn't come. What could possibly have been more important
than watching somebody die? Perhaps it was cowardice that
prevented their arrival - it is not an easy thing to watch
someone you loved die. Months ago I would not have called my
relationship with Mouse love. I would have called it a
relationship of mutual benefit, one tainted by her weakness and
inefficiency and my own struggle for purpose. But I think now,
it is love. I would not have stayed if it hadn't been for love.
The rewards were too little and the hatred was too great: I
would not have stayed if their hadn't been something else.
In private , I gave Mouse three death day gifts, two were
accepted, one was refused. The first gift was the last book.
Torn, mottled, soaked with sea water and only legible in the
entries from following my venture out to sea, but including all
my thoughts on the Silent, and all thoughts on Mouse. I thought
she had a right to read them before she died. She said she had
thought about keeping a diary but there had never been enough
time for her. I have nothing but time. The second gift was a
dagger pendant locket, inside was hair, horse hair, my hair. The
pendant had been forged by a merchant in Ironforge, commissioned
for this specific purpose. I had asked the old dwarf for a
Lordaeronian style mourning pendant, in the shape of a dagger.
The spark in his eyes told me he knew what I meant. I lied to
Sila when I told her that my father had one for my mother and my
sister had one for me. My father did of course, and it was the
one badge of mourning he had for my mother, the mother I had
slain. He had no tears. But the lie was my sister never had on
for me. I imagine she might have, now, but it would sit empty
without my hair and she would never tell anybody who it was for.
She should not mourn me. But one final lie. It was filled with
my hair and Glory's, what precious scraps of her I have left. I
gave them to Sila as silent forgiveness. She did not kill my
horse and I was sick of blaming her for it. She did not melt the
marrow. It was intended to absolve her of that sin. I gave her a
bit of the hair that Id had cut away. I would be with her as she
died, at least some small part of me.
The third gift was refused. She knew I would offer it, and I
knew that I would offer it. For what else can an old death give
to a fading life? Sila refused it, clinging to her life. They
always do, clutching at the last bit of life with teeth and claw
before it finally gets pulled away. She held me for a moment and
then she returned with me to the rest of the group. She sang a
little song that I do not remember the words to. It was sad and
hopeful and I was sorry. Sorry for her, sorry for myself, sorry
for what I had done and what I was going to do. And then, she
fell. She saw the light, it had not abandoned her. The others
held her and whispered that they would see her again, I remember
Aleifr's words: "until we meet again." The light was with her
and they were with her and I was somewhere very far away. They
will meet her again. They'll meet her, they'll meet my mother
and my father, they'll see Elsiere when her time comes,
Belethial when her time comes centuries later. They'll be one
with all of them in the arms of Light and Elune both. My
children will be with them.
And for a moment I -hated- them. I hated them for their
afterlife. I hated them for their community. I hated that I
would never see any of them again. I hated that I was alone. Id
called me then, right on cue. He felt her pass, he felt my rage
and my grief. I asked him if he never thought about our
relationship as an unhealthy means to an end- if he was never
afraid. He said resolutely that he he was more afraid of being
without me than he was -of- me. And then he had the audacity to
ask me to marry him. I didn't know what to say, and I still
don't. Ultimately I settled on a a dowry, my horse in exchange
for my hand. But even that is just a means to an end. I want
Glory back, but she will not return from the Shadow, and I do
not know why. I have called her and wished for her and willed
for her but such words and whispers have fallen on deaf ears.
Something prevents me from touching her. But I have agreed to
marry a man I love in exchange for my horse. That is a better
deal than my sister ever received and it is not such a terrible
thing. But I do not feel well about it. I feel sick.
B
I thought I would be marrying Elsiere Visana when I was younger.
Later, I thought I might ask Belethial - Eleanore and I would
never have been wed and that would have been for the better. I
am a dead thing and I do not want to be married. Not because I
do not love Id- I do. But I was a paladin of the Light and I do
not want to destroy something that I feel belongs to the living.
Similarly I was raised to be part of the Light and still hold it
dear- Id does not and will not tolerate the exchanging of rings
through the traditional means. I doubt he'd even use his real
name on the documents, and finding officials who would process
us, or even finding someone with the capability of officiating
who does not hate us would be impossible. The wedding, the
marriage, would be farce and fancy and only exist so Id could
have something to call us. I want to make him happy, and I want
to be seen with him outside of the Plaguelands- but I am
uncertain if marriage is the proper route. It feels too soon.
It's only been a little less than a year- and marriage is
forever. And for us, that really is forever.
I wish there was someone to ask. Marus is gone or dead and both
possibilities make me prickle with anxiety. I miss her counsel,
I miss her acceptance, I miss her strangeness. But she's gone
and her sister has taken her place - but not for me. I like
Zultannia, but she is not Marus, not as thoughtful and gentle,
not as reliable. I sent her father to find her, and told him not
to return until he had word of her. I have not heard from him. I
could ask Aleifr, but what even would he say? He doesn't know
Id- he doesn't even know me. He does not understand the Scourge,
the Blade or what any of that means - I am fond of him, but he
is living, with no hand in the grave. I'd ask Yumna , but she is
gone with the blue dragonflight's artifact. Better in her hands
than Yaragosa's, as far as I'm concerned but I have largely made
an effort to distance myself from that mission sequence- largely
because the temptation was too great. I don't want to be
God-Emperor of a land I hardly know, of people who I have never
met. I was trying to be, learning the language and the geography
, and while these things may be useful- they are not anything
that I want. I already have a land I know the forests and fields
of, with people who I loved and needed- and who needed me too. I
would have abandoned them because I thought it unattainable- and
perhaps it is. But better a real, impossible dream- than a
false, manufactured one.
I dug up bones twenty feet away from my own grave and I could
feel myself aching, longing to return to it, to touch the
unmarked Sepulchre and speak to my fathers ghost. But I know he
is not buried there, not with me. I sometimes I imagine the
conversations we would have had, if there had been more time. We
should talk, but I know that there would be nothing to say.
There is only unconditional love, too little, and far too late.
[/quote]
#Post#: 438--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: July 28, 2015, 2:34 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote] Where do I begin with recent events? I had to visit the
desolate North, in order to handle a situation that the Argents
wailed and raged at me for. It appears that my house, and the
stead that they granted me, has gone more putrid in my absence.
The land erupts with black bile and yellow pus, which leaks from
the pores of the earth. It is an unfortunate circumstance for he
Argents - given that the stead is only a mile or two away from
their watchtower, which is the reason hat they assigned it to me
in the first place - it was ideal for them to keep an eye on me.
Unfortunately for them, I could not be contained to that plot of
land, and fled the moment my house was sucked back into the
earth, destroyed in the great gale that is Her. But She is now
destroyed, and the bile of the land is not my fault or my
responsibility. When he Captain showed me the land and demanded
explanation, I only told him that I had not been to the stead in
weeks, and I did not know why it had become so infertile. I told
him to call the druids and see if they could fix it. They won’t
be able to fix it. It is toxic, and the plague cannot be
reversed. Held back, but not cured.
I had an interview with a young man, afflicted by the curse,
called Silas Fromir. We met before briefly, and he seems an
engaging, if idealistic and a bit foolish, match for this order.
We shall see how he performs. His ultimate goal, as he explained
to me, is to reclaim Giles, and by extent, Lordaeron. I did not
share my thoughts with him, only told him that was not a goal
that the Silent was actively pursuing I think of it, often,
though. I think often of the person I was, who would stop at
nothing tor claim my homelands from the usurper. But I don’t
think that person really exists anymore. I play pretend with Id,
that one day I will be a king again, and that my homelands will
be returned to me, to me and to my sister, but I understand the
improbability and impossibility of this. Calia has not been seen
in a long time, and I have not written of her at any length in a
months and months. I do not think that Silas got much of a
handle on me, on my identity and my desires and interests, but
Light help him he tried. I appreciated that. He asked a few
personal questions, which is more than most ask.
Who are you? Where are you from? How did you rise in estimation
in the Silent? None of these questions are particularly
challenging, beyond the first. The first has complexities, but
in truth, he just wished for an exposition. People are not
easily summarized, not in single paragraphs or sentences, but I
suppose I gave him a decent enough story, a pleasant narrative.
I am Caleb the Oathbreaker, so-called because I break oaths, and
more specifically, because Belethial Dawnsinger gave me the name
after I left my paladin hood behind. They always ask me how I
earned the name, but they never ask -why- I broke the oath, or
what the consequences of it were. I suppose that is to be
expected. But I have had an influx of personal intrigue since my
last writing. Kyle Varlash asked after me as well, and wouldn’t
look me in the face as he asked. I learned why later. His wife
and child are gone, taken from him, and I assume, but perhaps I
do so unwisely - dead. And that is what robbed him of his own
life and of the glint of strength in his eye. I will have to
pursue Kyle further, for both his personal tragedy and his
inquisitiveness interest me beyond measure.
He asked me if I was the same person I was when I died. A
foolish question, really. Who could really be the same after a
death? As I have written about in the past - death is traumatic.
Death changes you. I remember who I was before the first death,
but only in scraps and pieces. I remember even less of who I was
before the second death, but more of who I was before the third
- only because such a death was so recent. I see such things as
a progression, because I have always looked for narrative and
theme. The first life, before the first death, was a tragedy
where idealism gave way into corruption and self-destruction,
fraught with misunderstood misery. The second life was a parody
of the first, and ended with self-acceptance instead. The third
was untimely. Kyle did not ask, but assumed, my death was
untimely. I think all my deaths, save for the third were
perfectly timed. The last death was a grave mistake, and one
that I do not think I shall ever recover from.
Glory is still dead, and though I call and call she will not
return from the Shadow lands with me. I see her in the mists and
smoke, but she runs away from my outstretched hands. I have done
something wrong. I have inflicted some injury, and though I use
and abuse, Glory was the one thing that I believe my affection
for was entirely, utterly, honest. But perhaps this is the price
I pay for this third death - I will lose that which I love most
in this world. Maybe Id- or perhaps, Daniel - will never find
her. Maybe it was not meant to be.
He called himself Daniel when I saw him, in all places, in the
square outside the Cathedral. I was swapping words and
disinterest with a pair of paladins, espousing something called
the Grand Alliance Vanguard. I advised the pair of them that
they would not likely find recruits for their Vanguard in the
square, most recruits were either able bodied nor sound of mind
- admittedly, I was bitter after many interviews gone wrong. I
did not recognize the draenei woman at first, a Justicar, but
now I know her. She was Belethial’s acolyte, her friend, and she
recognized me, but only after a time, only after I told her my
name. That killed their interest in recruiting me. They laughed
and made suggestion that I should find myself leashed to them
instead, called me a philosopher. My ability to speak in circles
and confuse and distract does not make me a philosopher. It
makes me clever and capable of manipulation - and that is not
something I am proud of, but it is something that I do.
I toy with people. It’s neither pleasant nor honorable, but it
is something that bears mentioning. I play games with people, I
play chess against myself and cheat. Perhaps the best example is
the recent episode of the Silent’s ever changing political
maelstrom. I have mostly avoided the Uldum expedition, largely
because it is too tempting. Nonetheless, another was tempted,
and I am hardly surprised by her so-called betrayal. Yuma
Shatterhaze took the Taj-tuthl for herself, the Lifegiver, and
now has all she needs to install her as a despot. The Blue
Dragonflight is enraged, and I personally am pleased. I spoke a
little of this in my last entry - frankly, I prefer Yumna having
it than Yaragosa, Yumna, at least, is mortal and mutable, and I
truly believe she would make a decent leader. She’s charismatic,
driven, and provided she takes care of the people of Sharilla -
she could make a decent God Emperess. Eveya wished to remove
her, at the request of the Blue Dragonflight, but I have played
a game. I have toyed with Eveya.
I spoke to Yumna first, and told her of my intentions. I wished
her no harm, and told her that I wished to understand why she
had done what she had done - and I believe, perhaps foolishly,
that her intentions are as honorable as can be expected. She
eventually understood that I wanted to help her. I played the
game. I asked her what she thought she could offer me, and
watched her struggle and squirm for a few moments, as she
thought about what she could possibly give me. It was cruel of
me, and she knew it, but if I am going to play a power game I am
going to enjoy my victories. She suggested Glory, and I told her
that Glory was not hers to retrieve. She attempted to dissuade
me by suggesting that trusting Id with such a thing was a bit
careless - but Yumna misses the point of the exercise.
Nonetheless, I promised her that I would ensure Eveya did not
pursue her.
Then, I went to Eveya to tell her of Yaragossa’s plan.
Naturally, the version i gave to Eveya was heavily edited, but
strictly speaking - true. Eveya came around within an hour: the
blue dragon flight does not understand mortals and would keep
the magic for themselves, and more importantly, if they seek to
pursue Shatterhaze, that can be their own journey and mission.
The Silent will kill he druid, Jadryn, but we will not pursue
Yumna. This allows Yumna to get what she wants and what I
promised - a disinterested Silent - allows Eveya autonomy over
her order without draconic oversight - and directly absolves me
of what I loathe most of all in the world; a leash. I am
tired of being a pawn of the blue flight, and more than anything
else, tired of not being able to pick and choose the Silent’s
endeavors. Now, I have managed to exert my influence carefully,
and to play the game of people, pitting them against one another
and playing off of what I know they want more than they want
what I hate. I am satisfied by my actions, and should it not
play out as I desire, I lose nothing - for I was not involved
until I saw opportunity.
I suppose I did have to pay a small price for my interference.
Eveya and I had a personal conversation, which always causes me
significant distress. I managed to mention that I was engaged,
like a fool, and then Eveya immediately offered her
congratulations and her personal happiness that I was soon to be
married. I dismissed her happiness. Id and I are not married
yet, and perhaps, never will be. He must fulfill my dowry. Eveya
expressed confusion, which launched a discussion of Lordaeronian
dowry tradition, how my sister was nearly bought for fertile
lands in the Arathi, how marrying me would have ensured a vast
fortune for my bride-to-be. But I was able to set the parameters
of this marriage, and my parameter was my horse.
Eveya explained that she had watched friends be married before,
watched them all go past her, but she saw marriage as the
ultimate declaration of love, and though she had been courted,
she had never married because the love had never been so much.
It had always been lesser. I do not know what my love with Id
is. I know that I loved Elsiere as much, when we were engaged,
and I loved her less when she was married - and perhaps only
courted her still in order to hurt her husband. I do not know if
I could ever categorize my love for Belethial as eligible for
any kind of marriage, or any kind of binding. That is a love
that is rarely spoken of, and should, perhaps, never be spoken
of. Eleanore Greene would never have married me. She is laughing
and killing somewhere far away, and I am happy for her. Daniel
Iddear and love are different, stranger things. It is a white
grave-worm, burying itself in rotten flesh. It is parasitic and
unhealthy. He draws from me, and I draw from him. It is not an
equitable exchange.
I will never tell him of this.
Once, after coupling, when we laid in the darkness of a tomb, I
leaned over to him, and he was frozen and cold, staring up to
the ceiling. I stared at him instead. I wanted to tell him, for
a moment. I wanted to tell him that I was scared of how little I
cared about anything, about him, about my life. I wanted to
introduce myself all over again, and be a better person again.
But instead, I stood up, left clothes and armor in a head. I
crawled into the lake, afraid of water, afraid of the sky. It
was four in the morning. The sky was black and endless, and
there were no stars. I floated on my back, a dead man’s float. I
spoke all the things i wanted to say to the sky instead. It
seemed a more fair judge than Id could ever be, and we were
closer to being peers.
I wanted to end this entry with some great conclusion, some
optimism. But I can only end it with self-satisfaction at my own
cleverness, and my terrible fear that I will never stop prodding
the hurt inside of people, and that I will never stop being
unkind and carless. I am happy to be cruel, and cruel to be
kind. I rolled into the water and introduced myself.
Water came in, water came out as a name was breathed but never
said. [/quote]
#Post#: 453--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: August 6, 2015, 4:17 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]How can I keep up with writing when I am assaulted by
enemies on all ends, and when development after development
crashed upon me, like so many waves on a shore, eroding all of
my cliffs. It is easy to sink back into the depths of ocean
metaphors and memories of forgotten pains in order to mask my
disdain and fear, my lack of caring, my anger and my apathy. It
is too easy to go back to the Burned Book. But instead I shall
aim for clarity, and attempt to tell the story of all that has
happened to me. I shall move chronologically through the schemes
and attempt to repair the narrative - with as few meanderings of
thought as I am capable of. I suspect my mind will twist and
wander, and I suspect that I will have judgements to make as we
progress through this narrative, but I want to be perfectly
clear. I want to remember the story that I have written.
So. Let us begin with Yumna Shatterhaze, the Empress of Bloodied
Sands. She succeeded in her endeavour, largely unopposed and she
has my hand to thank for delivering her to her promised
conclusion. I toy with people, as I said in my previous entry. I
toy with people and manipulate people. I do it for me, because I
am good at it, and because I like it. We wandered to Silithius.
I could feel the Saronite that had seeped into the sand, from
our previous venture there. We wanted through the halls of
Ahn-Qiraj, a temple once created by Silithids and Nerubians, one
of the two, or both I don’t know. I tried to learn something of
the history through Alyia - but she did not answer my questions
when I asked, and was generally standoffish. I do not know if
she understood that I planned the murder her the moment her feet
touched the edge of the temple. I do not think she did. One of
the last looks in her eyes as that of surprise.
Alyia’s death was calculated and planned. As I schemed in the
previous entry; in order for Yumna to become God Empress, she
had to be the only choice. She was an outsider, and a thief.
Alyia on the understand, was the beloved champion of the people,
and her voice would likely sway the negotiations. If she was in
her right mind, which she was, she would not have allowed Yumna
to take the throne and actively would have spoken against her.
It is likely that she would have been nominated, regardless of
whether or not she wanted the position, and she would have felt
honour bound to take it. If she refused, somebody the Silent
never had worked with would have risen to the throne.
Regardless, none of these powers were necessarily hospitable to
our foreign influence and even less interested in what the
Silent is interested in. Thus, putting Yumna in a position of
power provided a valuable connection between The Silent and
Sharilla. The only person who had to die was Alyia. The only
person of any importance that was present at her death was
Eveya, and she was shocked and filled with fury. But that was to
be anticipated.
You can’t murder and walk away, but I did. I have done it many
times now, and each time I feel the scar on my neck burn hot and
flaming at the memory of the steel pressed against it, the
reminder of an execution that did not go through. My murdering
was ignored for the sake of necessity. We escaped Ahn-Qiraji
after bouncing about in the ideas of the Emerald Nightmare. I do
not think it was the real thing. It was the dream of nightmare
in the shape of a giant, pustulant mass, whose mate I had also
murdered - the former God-King, Jadryn. I do not feel any
sympathy for it, and I find myself feeling less and less
sympathy for anything. Gewn may have been right when she called
us massive, unfeeling monsters. I do not think I was always this
way. Intact, I know it is not the case. The Burned Book consists
almost entirely of my feelings, both good and bad, and I
remember the burden that it was to have so many feelings. I
wished them gone, and perhaps, now they are. I miss feeling. I
can care, but I can’t feel - or maybe I have lied to myself so
much, lied so often about not feeling that it has become truth.
Zultannia was about ready to start a bloody coup and Eveya
expressed that she would be willing to deal with this after her
anger had subsided. It was a strange thing, because there was
almost no consequence for my actions when they first occurred.
It made Eveya appear ineffectual and powerless, unable to
control an unbroken horse, no matter how much she tightened the
lead. I asked for my favour from Yumna and Yara - who,
interestingly enough, had been working together this entire time
rendering any of Eveya’s fears about dragon flights utterly
moot, and my reasoning for giving the throne to Yumna instead of
Yara less solid, but still understandable. I asked them for
relationship advice, which they were surprised about,a nd they
were utterly unhelpful. of course, that was not the real favour.
I am not so sloppy. But it was intended to make them think it
was the favour. They are to lend me legitimacy as well, and
support me in future Silent conflicts - which I know will occur
when Eveya implements her council, if she ever does. I have
their support, but it was given with cautious words to human
eyes. The real beast shows itself.
Beasts stored safely beneath fur and flesh, we moved forward on
our next debacle, ideally leaving Sharilla behind for Yumna to
govern. I am hopeful it will not fall in to my purview again. I
have established a situation and I do not wish to lose it.
Because I was not punished in any kind of timely fashion, I
worked with Eveya to lead a campaign against a council of cult
members who worship the spirit that had possessed Kavea and left
her, leaving a catatonic drifting shell. The council of cultists
consists of fifteen, and I forced myself into a meeting with
them, through an utter lack of lies. Eveya expected me to lie
my way in, but I simply told the truth. it was easier and far
more believable. I think the Silent believed my bluff would
fail, but there was not a bluff to make, and thus, I could not
fail. Our audience culminating in some interesting insights: The
Bard, one of the members of the Council - she knew me. And I
wondered how. I have been wondering since she said she knew me -
since she knew my bloody reputation, since she was afraid.
The most logical thing to believe is that she only knows me as
the person who cleaved the spirit out of Kavea - but i am
inclined to believe that there is more to it than that. There is
more story. There is more of my life. Perhaps she knows me
because there are still hooded figures in the Plageuwood that
chant my name, wishing for the day that the only Son returns to
them. Perhaps she knows me because of the bloody trail of black
and silver banners, torn and soiled that I have left in my wake.
Perhaps she knows me because I was killed in Death’s Breach, and
on the spot where I was slain, there is nothing that can be
grown, nothing that can be restored - there is only ever plague
and death. Perhaps she knows me because I did not die when I
should have.
That night I could not fail. Perhaps it was because my
reputation was at risk, or perhaps it was because I was feeling
cruel and right. With cruelty comes competence. I was something
greater than myself int he moments where I was killing their
Guardian, and the others ported away - I was -just- myself. I
wished for that moment to last forever. The strength, the
competence, the self-assuredness and understanding. The armor
did not fit as it once did, and my severed finger fit strangely
in the glove. The left index finger on the right hand was my
sacrifice to Yumna, and it feels strange for it to be gone.
Perhaps all of my body shall end up scattered across the four
corners of Azeroth. My heart is in a pit somewhere in the
Plaguelands, festering and rotting, but quietly beating. My
finger is in Yumna’s hands, a scepter of her authority. I think
of the legend of Tyr, and his silver hand. The rotten finger, or
the sea-stained heart have less of a ring to them.
The mission was altogether successful. Five children were saved,
and the save collapsed not he cultists. The council members -
the Bard in particular - wished to treat with me but they wanted
me to wait, and in my infinite cruelty and arrogance I told them
that I did not wait. We cut out way through and came out
altogether fine. Then, of course, came the unpleasantly with
Eveya. The situation had to be discussed, and she and I both
knew it. It began as pleasantly as it possibly could of: with
some screaming and shouting, her absolutely fury, while I stared
numb and silent at her, feeling nothing. She shouted at me about
my heartlessness, about how could I believe in what I was doing.
She calmed, eventually, and asked me why I was there. I told
her, and she sighed, wishing that I said that I was there for
some higher reason, for the real greater good. And I cannot
abide that. I told her the story of Caleb - the Tragedy of the
Plaguewood — but its only a tragedy to me, because I was the
only one who really had to die. The story of Caleb Norwill is
one that finished four years ago, and had a simple heroes
journey narrative, but inverted and twisted. The villain’s story
is one of declining power while the hero’s story is one of
increasing power - but there must be a sense that the hero
embodies society’s virtues and the villain is a subversion of
that, selfish and evil. As I told Gewn - monsters are what
society makes them. My cultural values are not Eveya’s. She is a
draenei and believes in high and love and the idea that goodness
can unify us all -t hat is the ideal that she wants so badly.
And its a lie.
The Story of Caleb Norwill has a simple summary. I know the
story. I won’t repeat it all. But I need to remember the moral
of the story, and I need to remember what I told her: I believed
I was doing good, and so did Martigan Lighthammer, and everybody
else was just trying to save their skins and souls. That is the
Story of Caleb Norwill. But because I was destined to be a
villain, I had to die at the end, and Martigan Lighthammer and
Esmond Chasten, and my four generals all had to live with my
blood not heir hands, through either their martial prowess or
their utter betrayal. Eveya listened to the story, and the
emotional appeal seemed to have worked. She admired my
utilitarian nature. I do not think I have ever been called that
until this moment. She said that my motives negated the crime,
at least, in part, but in order to avoid members less clever
than I attempting the same thing, she had to come down harsh on
me. I understood, and simply told her to understand what is in
my nature to do.
She gave me a choice, either two weeks suspension and my title
gone for a month, or the title gone for three and I was allowed
to remain. I asked her what she would have preferred, and she
told me that i should choose what I thought was best. I did not
choose what was best. I chose that which was strategic: two
weeks absence would likely prove to Eveya how much I was needed.
I have done hard work in order to make myself integral. I refuse
to not be taken seriously. I refuse to be seen as dispensable.
So I have taken two weeks of leave, and then in another two
weeks my title will be returned. Aleifr will be given the title
of Exarch, so that there is somebody to run the order on Eveya’s
behalf in my absence. He will make a good Exarch, but a terrible
replacement.
Id and I spoke, because it was long overdue. He does not care
about my suspension and he does not care about the Silent. Yara
told me to ask him to join but she is foolish to think that I
would or that he would want to. He doesn’t want to be any part
of the world of the living but i begged him to try for me, in
the stead of chasing after the impossible goal of returning
Glory to me. At the time, I was still scattered and heartsick,
uncertain of what our relationship was. Id wanted to marry me so
that he could define us, and I suspected I want a definition as
well — but marriage would not solve that. Elsiere Lighthammer
was Martigan’s wife, but much more than that: she was also his
fellow Sepulcherite, a Prelate of the Order that he was a
Paladin of, the mother of his two children, and cuckolded him
with the very man who’s murder had made him famous. Their
marriage does not summarize them. Id stripped bare and I could
hear him weeping in his head, even if it was not outward. He
doesn’t want me to be his only connection to the world but feels
hopeless and disgusting - and finds mortals just as much as him.
I cannot blame him, but I am disappointed. The struggle is my
motivator. And I cannot see why that does not motivate him. Is
he not a fighter like me?
And it was only though Aleifr that I really understood. I called
Aleifr to the Plaguelands through some perverse desire to gain
an upper hand on Eveya, and let him know of his impending
promotion. I wanted him to understand what it is that he must
do, without all of the nobility and emotional stimulus that
Eveya would no doubt thrust upon him. So I told him. And then I
asked him for advice, because I wished to seem human, at least
for a little while. I asked him if he could see me married, and
he asked me if I loved Id. And I realized something hard and
cold, something that I think I always knew. Something that even
when we first met, in the days of The Burned Book, I already
understood but could not put words too. I am a parasite, I am a
leech. I kiss but only so I can suck out both blood and life.
And as Id fed me with everything he had, he grew weaker and
smaller, and whatever there was of Daniel Iddear began to
disintegrate, and whatever was left merged with the idea of
Caleb Norwill. The parasite had taken over the host, like the
fungus whose stalks grow from the eyes of insects. The sense of
self that Daniel has became less and less, as it was sucked away
by a leech, by a parasite by me. And the idea of Caleb Norwill
grew more and more - the parasite got fat and bloated on a
victim’s blood. But the parasite loves the taste of its host,
and will kiss it to pieces. The tapeworm cannot marry the
intestines, the fungus cannot wed the beetle. They are not
equals. They are not even the same species.
What is Daniel Iddear, the species? What is Caleb? I knew once.
Daniel was something steady and deep, calm waters with hidden
depths. I lied about the ocean metaphors. Daniel is lichen
clinging to stones. Daniel is the sigh before confession. Caleb
is the storm, the whirlpool that draws ships in, and then spits
them out broken with tattered sails. Caleb is vines that choke
the other plants to improve tis own station. I do not know what
I will do, still, but I am now aware of the situation on a level
that I was no before. And I think I have come to the hard
conclusion.
I will not marry Id. There is too little of him left.
Gwen and I spoke in the depths of the crypt after Marus squirmed
her way back into the world. I do not know if her story is to be
believed or if it is just a dream, but I do not think it
matters. I had her destroy all that she brought back with
her,and I believe her to be real. I am happy to see her, but
there is a distance between us that I do not know if we will be
ever to bridge. Too much has happened since I last saw her. I
need to ask her about Id. I need to ask her about herself, about
her sister, and about me. Do not forget, I am vain and prideful
ad must always ask after myself. I am happy Marus is here. I
want her to really be here again. Tangible, real, present and
tactile. I want her influence to matter. But I do not think it
will. Eveya is never challenged by anyone - except for me, and
only respectfully. To challenge otherwise is to be Ryhek - and
that is not a state anyone should be. But as Eveya said, I am
not Ryhek. I am not thoughtless.
Gwen and I spoke. She is a drifter like me, an entity that moves
between fleshy vessels. She thinks she was human once, and she
has always been this way. She thinks Sila loved her, and she
thinks she loved Sila. I suspect that all of those things are
truth. I offered her the opportunity to ask me truths, but she
did not ask much. I invited her to the Marris Stead to ask after
me if she so chose. I feel a kinship with her that I do not find
in many others. She is not like any other members of the Silent,
and neither am I. We are more like one another than we are like
anything else - even including Id. We have bodies but we were
not born with the same faces. She asked me what my life had been
like. It was short, that’s what I told her. There’s more, of
course. But I answer vagueness vaguely.
The Argent crusaders come calling every day now. I think they
are hopeful that I will disappear from the Stead and they can
continue to push druids onto the soil, testing the ground to see
if it can be repaired so they can build on the earth. They
always scrape the ground with “Ser Oathbreaker” and I wonder if
they know what that title means. I do not think they understand
that when I was given this plot of land by their Highlord’s
whim, that there was a certain promise that went along with it.
I promised them peace. And if they revoke their gift, I will
revoke mine. They should not fault me for doing what is in my
nature to do.
[/quote]
#Post#: 456--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: August 8, 2015, 3:07 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]I have left the catacombs shaking and trembling. The
undead cannot cry, but the movement of light in our eyes can
look like tears. I cried weakly and stupidly. I cried because I
was neither loved no understood, and I did not know if I even
wished for either one anymore. I am loveless, but I did not
weep for that. I am misunderstood, but I did not weep for that.
I wept for something forgotten, and missed. I have left the
catacombs with a name on my lips and a sword in my hand. When I
left Eveya behind, I thought about taking out Myriad and cutting
my own throat. I thought about it. I thought about it because
that is what one does, when there is no hope left.
This happens every time. I self destruct. I tell somebody the
truth not because I expect them to believe me or because it will
bring me any joy or comfort. I tell somebody the lie, which i
understand to be the truth because I feel I ought to be punished
and this is the only way to do it. I think i should succeed as
well. There is no reconciling the two. There is a many headed
hydra of apathy, duty, judgement and madness that has too tight
of coils and too sharp of claws for me to ever escape. I waited
for my father to come, as I knew he would, when I left the
catacombs, because the hydra is of his making and not mine, and
he applauds my self-destruction every time it occurs. I remember
the meeting with my father as chronicled in the Burned Book.
I remember the day I killed him. It was spring. I will not
recount it because to do so would only serve to cut open the
wound. My father’s ghost looked at me, his body half
merged with my own sepulchre. I could feel my bones aching for
me to return to them. My words are running. This pen is causing
the word to bleed into each other. He looked at me, and I looked
at him. I thought about when my sword first appeared to me, when
She first met me, when I first met Id, when i first met my would
be wife, when I first met Sila. All these first-time-meetings
blurred together in a hideous amalgamation, and I could see them
play endlessly in my father’s eyes. I have tried not to be
vague in my books, since the first one. I have tried to be clear
and keep a faithful document of events. I have tried not to
wallow in the Self. But like I told Eveya, there is no self.
This is just a bundle of memories walking about in flesh
pretending to be a person, pretending to be real, pretending to
be Caleb Norwill. I watched replays of the wars I have been in,
and my father said nothing as he looked at me.
Some names will always taste bitter. Caleb Norwill most of all.
I miss when the name was on everybody’s lips when the
whole world knew Caleb Norwill, even if they reviled him, even
if they believed he was the son of a land so desolate and
plagued that nothing good will come of it. I am nothing good. I
am the product of loneliness and a desire to keep alive what
should have died a very very long time ago. I told Eveya I
should have been smothered in my crypt. That too, was a lie. Am
I so incapable of telling the truth? I should not even have ever
existed - I would say that I should not have been born, but I
will not rob my mother of her agency. She birthed me, and she
died, and I cannot love and miss what I have never had, but
perhaps she was the most sensible person in this horrible
narrative. She left before it became rotten. Before the maggots
set in. I was not born live. This body grew, but I did not feel
the skin stretch.
I am so tired of starting over, only to end up at this point.
Eveya said we must continue, that is our purpose. Because it is
what people do. But when you are no longer a person, that is no
longer what you do. Yet, here we are. Yet, here I am. I stared
at my father and he stared at me, and he did not speak. He used
to speak to me. I just stared back at him, and finally, I spoke
to him. I demanded to know what he wanted from me, what he
willed of me. But he just as there, an entity, a prescence. I
could feel judgement in his eyes, and regret. But then, he
faded, and I clutched my head, and did what I should be hated
most for, for tears, for weakness, for fraility. I am a leader,
and because I am a leader, I cannot show any weakness, and yet,
for Eveya — for myself, I sobbed and weeped like a babe in
arms, and I have no father to run home to, because I murdered
him and I was glad.
I should do the right thing. I should tell Id that I love him
and that I will marry him. We’ll be married in spring, and
the apple blossoms will cascade on our heads, and we’ll
dip our hands in honey and then exchange tastes, for a sweet
life, as is custom. I should return to where Glory died and dig
a shallow grave, clasp my hands, and perform the ritual that I
know I must do, the ritual that pains me. I should run through
the Plaguelands and find my heart and stitch it back into my
chest. I should embrace Marus and tell her how much she has
meant to me. And then I should cross my arms and hope to die.
But I won’t do that. I will never do that. I am too much
of a coward to do that. I am too cruel to do that. You
can’t love that which is not real.
The last time Id and I spoke at any length, he dismissed what I
was. Perhaps this is all a reaction to that. Perhaps this was
all just a way of acting out, of asserting myself. He believed I
did not believe, and I do and I dont all at the same time. This
journal is ugly and messy. There should be a conclusion here. I
wanted to disrupt Eveya, to make her believe that I was weak and
frail to give her some idea of my humanity. That’s almost
believe. I did this all to prove to Id that I believe in myself,
a sick understanding of the self. Why am I still writing.
because, Caleb Norwill, this is what you do. This is how you
live. Through stolen words and a face that is not your own, you
write down these journals and try to justify yourself to
yourself. I should tear out this page and start again. But that
is not how this story goes. This is the story of all the flaws,
of all the journals that should have been scratched out and
thrown away, thrown through the ghosts of murdered
father’s.
I remember what I told Belethial as she came to the ramparts,
the last time. She told me I could still stop this. She told me
that I did not have to die. I didn’t have to be this
person, this murderer, this oathbreaker. And I shook my head,
so long, so golden, so crowned, “No. I have come too far
to be anything else.” I have come to far to be anyone
else, I shout now, at the ghost of my father. He outstretches a
hand, and I wanted to take it. But pride held me back. This was
the man I murdered, my first. The father I loathed. And now, he
offered me a mark of peace, an outstretched hand while mine
curled into fists. This is how the story goes, but this is not
how the story ends. I can’t, I told him. I can’t.
Not after everything. Not after this. Not after you. Not after
me.
He disappeared and I wondered if he was real at all, for a
moment. But I suppose, it didn’t matter if he was real.
There had been a conversation, a mutual understanding of one
another, as well as an idea that the world could not see us for
what we were because what we were was so past the point of what
we now are. I looked at my sepulchre, and placed one heavy hand
upon it. I could feel the bones stir beneath the lid. I could
feel the person I used to be. So many times I have been told to
leave myself behind, and turn with the rest of the world. I
believe it. I know there is a reason, that there is precedent.
But I have lived too long, and my memory is too fragmented, and
I am too unreal. If I stopped clinging to the memories I do
have, I would come undone.
I will look back on this in the morning and it won’t seem
real to me at all. I will wonder, what delirium was I in when I
wrote this? Eveya told me the rest of the world does not matter.
I have myself. She is wrong. I cannot trust myself. Not with
this journal, certainly. The ink is smudged. The person is
smudged too, blurry and indistinct.
I will leave this for the future. For a person who is not a
person, for myself, one called Caleb Norwill. I lament my
actions already. Perhaps this is how one becomes the future.
Through regret.
I should burn this book too. [/quote]
#Post#: 467--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: August 23, 2015, 2:27 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]As you might be able to tell, I did not burn this book.
So an accord has been struck after too much deliberation and
concern. I rejoined the Silent and all were made aware. I
demanded a certain publicity to ensure that they did not think
that they could be rid of me- for hey cannot be. Not until the
last breath of life drains out of this collective - but I
suspect that will happen sooner rather than later. Mouse is dead
and inheriting an order is no simple matter. I remember that
Philomene Asteris bas inherited hers and there was always the
indication of trying to escape her predessecor's shadow. More
than that, loyalties are conflicted. Eveya does not command as
Mouse did, and is rarely present. Our group is floundering
without commonality and purpose, and there is a marked
difference in how full our catacombs once were to how they are
now. That desire for kinship, that boredom for the world has
overtaken me in small but petulant doses as the weeks have gone
on. Perhaps that is why I have acted how I acted. I feel myself
longing to return to the Golden Law, to Paladins, to something
that I know works and something that is familiar but they cannot
bear me and I cannot bear them. We bow and scrape before each
other without knowing the other.
Ryhek called me cruel and told me to be less so, and Eva said
that Ryhek's and I's discussion- which was as pleasant as it
could have possibly been - was that of an adolescent girl. I was
disgusted not by the comparison but that the woman would dismiss
the concerns and comments of a younger member of her sex as
easily and readily as she did - only because they were younger.
I find myself growing more and more tired of these strange ,
half-meant, half-malign comments about my nature. I have gone
from nothing to knightly to royalty to God and then all the way
back to nothing so these various comparisons about my
capabilities and intentions are more than a little distressing.
But they do not know my history, I keep reminding myself - they
do not care and they do not need to know.
I went to Gilneas to clear my head and feed my hunger. I don't
know why I went there, if all places. Perhaps I wanted a
surprise, something that I was not familiar with. As we sailed
above the bay, Hierodormu asked me if I remembered this at all.
I have no idea as to what he meant. I am not from Gilneas. It
became an argument as these things are apt to do. He laughed at
my protests and shook his massive head. I demanded to know what
was so funny and it turned into a game of who knew me best. I
know me best. I slid off of his wing onto the deck of a ship,
and who should I see but Id and Ryhek- and some other member of
the Silent who I neither care for nor speak to. I was in man
shape and fought he urge to cover my face with my hands and hide
myself from them. It was not difficult to fight because I was
already so far gone, into myself. I did not ask why I'd was
there and I do not think I had to. He said he was a member of
the Silent: I was surprised by largely unphased. I told him to
find a life outside of means I suppose this was the smallest
step he possibly could have taken since- much to my fury- the
Silent appears to be my life now.
We killed some sailors and I told Ryhek to give the documents to
Eveya- not before he made a comment about her lack of
leadership. I must remember to tell Eveya of that. I am
uncomfortable on board under the best of circumstances - I hate
oceans and water in any large quantity- my legs shook beneath me
on the ship. As the others walked by, I stopped beside a man's
corpse chained up and salted by the waves and water. He had been
tortured, whipped and broken, and I found myself not feeling
sorry for the creature but instead just feeling an unbelievable
hatred for him. Because I was once like him but my spirit was
strong enough to keep these bones moving. My soul was stronger.
I pulled the diary from his side. I almost expected the first
page to be the same as the Burned Book: "I have crafted a boat
without a bottom and I shall sail to far away shores. All of the
creatures of my gut will rise up and sing to me." But there were
no words like that. There were a few drawings, and my hand
stopped on a face I remembered. Rounder and softer but it was
still her, Marus. I looked the corpse over, looking for a bit of
something I could place, and I found it in the corners of his
mouth and it his teeth- the base cunning and cowardly lack of
integrity. Riker. I knew him then, and I knew what would happen
when Id carried him away.
Id or Daniel or whoever he is now raised Riker as something
halfway between the ghouls that wander drooling throughout the
Ebon Blade and myself. I am uncertain to his fate but I was met
with a terrible feeling that boiled in my gut and started
spilling out from my mouth. Poison. Jealousy. Hatred for the man
who was kidding Riker back into being, and hatred of myself for
being raised in a similar way, but for completely different
reasons. Id raised Riker out of empathy, out of love - or if not
love, a desire to spread something like redemption through him.
I was not raised out of this. I was raised through Her. But,
then again, I suppose there was some love there. A different,
perverse kind of love that could not be returned. So that is why
I felt jealous and hatred. Because of that. Because I didn’t
want there to be another even close to like me, another who
could be raised like me, but through something less malevolent.
Through second chances. So I smashed both of his legs, cutting
through the kneecaps. I understand why I did this, and I should
regret it as a rash bit of cruelty. But I don’t. What I regret
more than anything is the language I used to Id. The words I
said to him, the result of our actions. The result of my words.
I told him that his insistence to raise Riker was not really
about Riker at all, it was a symbol of a shifting power dynamic,
a desire to be freed from me, a desire to surpass me, and make
me see that not everyone was beneath me. I do not know how he
figured he would accomplish this. Perhaps by denying my direct
command that he should not be raised, by my understanding that
this was a mistake, he assumed that this would subvert me. But
ultimately, I learned this was not the case. He raised Riker
because he believed there was something in him, something good.
And he believed that people do not deserve to die. Perhaps
people do not deserve to die. But Id cannot raise everybody who
dies. Death is natural and normal, and I suspect he simply does
not understand. He is so damnably self-assured for a moment, and
then, becomes some sobbing boy in my arms. And it is my ill
fortune to be in love with him.
I asked him how much he hated me. He told me that he didn’t hate
me, that he hated parts of me. But that he didn’t hate me,,
that he loved me. And I wondered for a moment, if that was true.
I am uncertain if it was. I am uncertain about too many things,
but I made a conscious decision in that moment. I decided I
would just let it go. I would just marry him and believe him.
Maybe that was cruel or stupid, but I just gave up on trying to
unpack meaning in meaningless things. I have given up on trying
to play some power game with Id. His insistence on showing his
independence is only proof that he is notready or capable enough
to play this game with me. I told him I would marry him
because after all these vicious words were said, I was terrified
of losing him. I was certain I had destroyed the relationship,
whatever love there was. In fact, I do not think my answer
mattered at all. I am sure I have broken whatever there is.
Riker began to stir to, and I left it in Daniel’s hands. Id
would have left him to die on a roadside, and I would have
kissed him for it. Daniel can nurse him back to help like a
wounded rabbit caught in a trap, but like rabbits and Rikers,
he’ll die anyway.
We hunted down a few cultists and killed a few machines that
they had made, deep in the depths of Gnomergon. I watched one of
the Gnomish infantry die a hero as he tried to disassemble a
bomb to cover our escape. The Silent joked about his death
afterwards and I could feel the taste of bile rising in my
throat. Eveya lamented the trail of blood we leave in our wake,
our lack of survivors. I do not lament that because it is what
is reliable and expected. I have seen it so many times before.
nobody leaves the business of doing good with mind, body, or
spirit intact. There are always casualties. I think on what Gewn
told me late last night - wholesale, unthinking destruction is
always better than this business of doing the right thing,
because it at least, is honest. As I have told Eveya many times,
the idea of good is so relative and dependent upon world view. I
do what is right - but only in my own mind. I find killing
abbhorent but do it all the same, I find the shadow corrupting
but I am healed and nursed by it. I justify all of this to
myself because that is what I must do.
Gewn and I talked for several hours last night. Being around her
is a welcome change from being around others, in some respects.
She is guarded and deflecting, and we both understand that our
conversations, while meandering and at times mocking, are
weaponized means of unraveling the mysteries of one another. But
more than that,t here is is the kinship of being ancient,
timeless monsters who walk the world in mortal faces, and shed
them only rarely. I shall miss Gewn when she no doubt becomes
someone else, and when I decide to leave again. We understand
what is in our natures, and I appreciate that, I think, the most
about Gewn. She knows herself, and when I am with her I have the
ability to define myself through that context. There is no
justification, as there is with Id, with Eveya, with so many
others. There is no explanation. There are just two monsters
sitting and talking in the dark. Eleanore would have kicked me
for that, if she was still here. You’re waxing poetic again,
Bear. Tell it straight. I don’t miss her often, but when I do,
it is terrible.
A haruspex came to the Catacombs, hoping to buy spices. We had
nothing to give. The seer arrived in the midst of a harsh
interview that ended in denial. I cannot abide spies and I
cannot abide puppets. If I am offered a puppet, I will want the
puppeteer. I like lying less than anything - especially when it
begins with truth and over the course of hours becomes a lie: I
cam her for my mistress becomes I came her on my own behalf. The
lie was long since out. But the seer came, and told me that the
exchange was harsh. “You made a decision and stuck with it.” As
if that was difficult for me. I judge too quickly, and too
coldly. The seer said that the spirits had talked to her about
me, and I thought of the episode Zakkuen and I had with the
spirits - I expressed my disbelief that the spirits had any
fondness for me. The seer said that they spoke of love, they
spoke of cruelty, and that they called me oathbreaker too. A few
of them spoke of royalty, so said the haruspex. And then the
seer was gone.
Id told me he was going to ensure that Riker had a runeblade
with out without my help. It will be the latter. I will not be
an accomplice in this. The Ebon Blade wants an excuse to be rid
of me, and that would be a perfect reason. The Argent Crusade
still scours the plaguelands for the rememnants of my cult, and
the trickledown of my influence across the foothills. I will not
given the Ashen Verdict reason to send an inquisition my way.
Vanity demands that gravitas to the situation. Truth insists
that two monsters can sit together in the dark and watch
warlocks and paladins pass by without incident. My days of risk
and rebellion are over. Breaking oaths in routine. Maybe Id will
earn my name. He’s taken everything else.
[/quote]
<A note is pinned to the page>
[quote]
TO DO:
Short list of wedding invitations - find officiator.
So far: Eveya, Marus Veshirion, Aleifr Kwenning, Gewn, Philomene
Asteris + Hildan Pearce (if they remain together), Etharion
Longsight + Partner, Squink Shadowquill, Prikka Graymind,
Eleanore Greene, Martigan Lighthammer, Esmond Khaston, Belethial
Dawnsinger (maybe - may still be angry), Elsiere Visana /
Whatever her new last name is, Oliver MacGlynn (Id will insist)
+ his wife?, Golden Law?, Yumna Shatterhaze (remember honorifics
in invitation) + retainers. Come up with more comprehensive
list.
Find Venue - Alonsus Chapel preferred, possibly difficult.
Request permissions of Ebon Blade
Find Glory
Rebuild house?
Buy/ Make ink
Buy Oil-cleanser.
[/quote]
#Post#: 474--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: August 28, 2015, 3:11 am
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]I am writing this journal with a a trembling hand. I
usually use my other hand to brace my journal against my knees,
but my hand is gone, now. I could kill her, for that, but I
won’t. How does one begin to summarize the being of Belethial
Dawnsigner? How does one quantify her existence? I forgot her
once upon a time, and I refuse to forget again. It was the
forgetting that started all of this, started this endless back
and forth that culimnates in mindless, and ceaseless destruction
between the two of us. Her destruction, of course, is righteous.
Mine, less so. But since I have forgotten Belethial before I
will attempt to summarize her being to myself, so that I can
have some point of reference for when this no doubt happens
again. it will always happen again. Former Archon Belethial
Dawnsinger and I knew each other through our mutual paladin
order, the Order of the Sepulchre. She joined the Order when I
was already long gone - I had taken off to the North, and felt
cold and desolate. She was only an acolyte, when I nearly killed
Elsiere.
Her personality is one of great extremes. Belethial has never
been described as particularly reasonable, or even rational. She
defied death by coming to me when I was in the middle of my
madness, and I was sitting on the ramparts of the dead city of
Stratholme. Her masters had told her not to come to me, and they
were right. She and I talked, though, and I appreciated that.
She was the only one of the Sepulchre who had actually bothered
to come to me, not with swords and hammers held in hand, but who
came with words. We began to speak more and more often. She
would slip away from our Lady Marshall - Cyrell Lucavi, who was
her mentor and also mine. She was the one who came to me before
I died, and as I told Eveya - the story is one where I was
begged, pleaded with to give up on my dream and return to the
Sepulchre, cowed and submissive to the will of the Light. I
refused because I could not accept that as a greater, more
benevolent thing. I couldn’t give up on myself. Eventually, I
did return cowed and submissive to the Light’s will, and that
was that. It wasn’t quite tragic, but it was traumatic.
Trauma caused me to forget. I was disoriented when I pulled
myself out of the grave that was being dug for me. I saw the
towering mound of corpses next to me, prepared to be burned. I
suppose I should wonder why the didn’t burn me. I suppose I
should wonder why they were burying me in the plagued dirt,
instead of doing what would have kept me from doing exactly what
I did. I dragged myself to Hearthglen, and there, the Order of
the Sepulchre found me, and pulled me into a bed. I slept there
for three days. I did not dream, I could not even remember who I
was. I just felt empty and lost. I remembered my name, and that
I had done something that I should not have. I remembered being
told that I was Caleb Norwill, the Praetorian gone astray.
Everyone’s faces were a blur. Elsiere, I remembered piecemeal.
She had been in my life for so much longer than Belethial. But
Belethial I did not remember, and I told her as much. She never
recovered from that, I do not think. And I think I understand
now, seemingly thousands of years later. Being forgotten is this
terrible thing. It’s not that they never cared - it is that they
do not care anymore. I feel it now.
But Belethial seems to have found herself an order of some sort
- she wore a tabard when we emt. I invited Id to the city with
me, because I felt soemthign within me, telling me that I had to
be there. Id stared for a moment, but agreed with me. I do not
know if he was agreeing to agree, or if he genuinely believed
that I should be there for some unknown reason. The reason
became clear enough. Belethial was sitting in the garden, with a
child who looked almost like her, holding a crate of gold-leaf
and turning the crank on a music box. It played a familiar song.
Belethial and I are drawn to each other, like moths to flame.
And like moths to flame, whenever we meet one of us incinerates
and crumbles into ash before the other. This time we met was no
exception. I let Id and Belethial do most of the talking and
perhaps that was a mistake, but I think it would have been
better if I had said much of anything. She offered me my heart -
a piece of it. Some small piece that I had left with her. I had
forgotten that I had done such a thing. But apparently, I did,
and she was returning it to me. I took it, happily. And I said
something.
I shouldn't have said anything. I should have known that no
matter what I had done, she would have found a way to twist it,
to burn and incinerate me because of whatever I had done. I was
not grateful enough. But one becomes used to having no heart, so
the perilof being heartless has become less of a relaity. I was
grateful, and expressed my thanks bt it was not what she had
expected. She wanted me to cry and wallow infront of her, to get
on my knees and drag my hands against her dress and syas "thank
you, thank you, for giving me this last piece, I am whole and it
would never have happened without you." But that is not my
relationship with Belehtial, and it is not what was meant to be.
I am not whole, and I have not been since the day I died. I know
that. I accept that. But she can't accept htat and I expect tits
because after all of these years she is still depserately,
sadly, in love with me. I wish she wouldn't be.
I invited her to the wedding, unwisely. She is still important
to me, and will always be important to me. Just like Elsiere
will always be the first person who I fell in love with, how
Calia will always be my sister, how Alivore will always be my
brother, and how Philomene Asteris will always be my mentor even
if they're not in my life anymore. They are still important to
me. And I wished terribly that Belethial could have understood
that, but she couldn't. She is terrible and hateful and I cannot
blame her. I invited her to the wedding and knelt before her as
I will never kneel before Id, and how I will never kneel before
anyone else. I told her to take my head if it would make her
feel better. I have made that threat before to so many people
before, and not a single person has ever claimed me. But
Belethial Dawnsinger, The Devout, The Righteous, The Resolute -
she sliced my hand off, and took it as a trophy.
The part of my heart that I thought was there was just an
illusion. I am sick of illusions. I am sick of seeing things
that are not there, that are not real. It reminds me of the
depths of my illness, of the times when I saw my father's ghosts
on a regular basis and not just went I saught him out. I have
been fouled by illusions again, and I am tired of such things.
Id told the Silent that there was somebody who sought us out for
a dinner in our honour but we should be wary, for it was
possible it was a trap. I knew what it was the moment we walked
to the hill in th eplaguelands, and I saw my house in perfect
condition, every part gleaming, the rabbits squeaking and
huddling, the grass green and lush. The house has never looked
like this. Not since I've lived there. Not since the famiyl who
lived there all died out, and their blood slicked bakc my hair.
I knew what was happening and I also knew that my feet could
only go forward. But I was tired of fighting. I have been tired
of fightign for a very long time but I still feel conciously
driven to commit greater and greater acts of violence.
Handless, we battled through the basement full of horrors, a
vertible haunted house of monsters and gelatinous organs made of
candlewax. Hallow's End decorations, eat your heart out. It was
so ridiculous, so overwrought, but it got underneath my skin
nontheless, because I could see Her, and I knew that it was my
fault for recreatign her again. The Silent could see her too,
and they shouted taunts and curses at her, and I wish they
wouldn't. I wish they wouldn't say how pathetic she is, how
powerless she is. She is not pathetic. She is not powerless. She
is not is. She was. And what She was, was a monster, and a
monster that made me a monster, a monster that ruined me and
rotted me from the isnide out. I have tried to scrub away Her
touch, I have tried to shed the skin that She stitched, but I
cannot scrub all of Her off of me. To get rid of her, I would
have to disappear, because I am the last thing She made. She is
only alive in the memories that I have of Her. She is not real
to any member of the Silent. They can taunt Her, and it will
have no consequence. Id can proclaim this a great victory - and
Light, how I wanted to rip out his throat for that, but he
doesn't know Her and he never did.
He brought me to Her, I think, because he wanted to see us and
me triumph over this past fearful thing, this past nightmare. I
think he needed to assure himself and me, and all of the others,
that my past was some sort of defeatable entity. There is a
strange struggle for relevancy in this action, in this
deception. When we had "killed" all of Her illusions, he called
this a great victory, but I knew better and I couldn't let him
tell the Silent that this was a victory. I felt more than
anything else, embaressed that this had occured at all. I felt
embaressed and angry that my past had been exploited for some
self-interested, self-involved victory. The narrative that I
defeated Meduna by pushing her off of the side of a tower is not
a satisfying one, as I told Gewn. There is a striving for a
better narrative. But off she went. Her limbs smashed. Her head
dashed. I saw the life leave her. Everytime I see her, everytime
she pursues me - she is less than what she was before. When she
appeared to me before, she was still her -- she used illusion
and narrative to pit us against one another. Here, she ranted
and raved like a penny dreadful villian and fought us as a
dragon. It was fairytale. And it was fiction.
None of it was real, and I feel less real for being part of it.
Gewn and I sat in the catacombs of the Cathedral, and she told
me my new hand was coming along well. I told her that I was not
interested particularly in a new hand. I told her the reason I
told Marus. She asked me. The reason is I have never believed in
erasing damage. You just learn to live with it. With all the
scars, with all the decay. Her father is dead, and she knows
now. i expected her to kill me, for robbing her of a
kin-killing. I would have killed whoever killed my father. I
robbed her of the ability to take agency. Only the son or
daughter can decide to kill the father. I violated that, and I
should not have. I saved one piece of my Burned Book. I should
not have taken the page, but I want to pin it here. I want to
keep this remaining chunk, so i can remember the words I wanted
to say to my father. I have never believed in erasing damage.
You learn to live with it.
I will transcribe the scrap. Faithfully.
"I have always walked this black-line between the land of the
living and the land of the dying. The scent of rotting meat
follows in my wake, and my treacherous guardsmen begin to secure
the room. I went ahead, pushing open the door, and looked at
you. I gave you a chance. I knelt at your feet, the black sword
in my gauntleted hands. It dug into the marble floor, breaking
through the tiles and our crest. There is always a moment's
hesitation, a chance to leave. You should have run, father. You
should have taken your skirts in your hands, and bowed your
head. You should have come to me, and embraced your son for all
that he was. White hair, blue eyes. Not yet dead, but never
quite alive. You should have held me like I was a child. I would
have stared over your shoulder. My hands would have clasped for
the black blade, and tried to draw it, but some part of me would
find that I could not. You would have held me, and I would have
clutched at you. Your approval would have been a halo; halfway
between a traitor and your son. You did not touch me. You looked
at me.
We all have choices to make. We all have a chance to change the
course of history. But those chances die on your aging lips, and
the roses fall like rain. I thrust this blade through the
intimate place between your seventh rib and your lungs, and I
twisted. You asked me what i saw doing. You called me your son.
Why did you have to say that when you were dying? Why did you
say it when I was something else - when your son was almost
entirely gone? It is wrong for me to say this. It is wrong for
me to assume that you could have somehow pulled me from the
waters of this discontent, to assume that you could have done
anything. But since that moment, you have always said that I am
your son, first and foremost. Modern historians will say that is
because you were trying to appeal to my long-forgotten better
nature. I disagree. I think you were trying to remind yourself."
I told Gewn it was strange to watch pieces of me disappear, but
she did not understand. How could she? She has been in amny
diffierent bodies and taken many different forms. They were
never her - they were never her body, they were not her bones.
She told me I should try maybe to be connected with my human
thoughts and mind, but I told her that had long since gone and
the body was the only reminder - and by human, she meant mortal,
and by reminder, I meant trace - and now it was getting away
from me. I am losing bits and pieces of myself. Lungs, hands,
teeth, fingers, flesh. I am losing it all. Gewn told me that her
madness got bottled up, and that she had to fight tooth and nail
to reclaim it. I was unpleasently reminded of people's attempts
to cure me.
I asked her what she thought of Id, and she said he didn't seem
like a complete person. Too short, too terse, but obsessived
with me. I think that is his tragedy. He is not complete. He has
the opposite trial that I do - I lose bits of myself because I
have too much Self, and have become and endlessly replicating
cancer - he has too little Self so he must take more and more
into his being, so that he can feel real. I understand the
struggle. It was mine. Gewn and I briefly talked about sex, and
I thought about it as I walked through the Plaguelands -
striving to go nowhere, intending to go nowhere. I thought about
his hands, I thought about killing him. Gewn told me that maybe
I should. it might make this easier. But I didn't kill him
because that is the peril of loving. But I always kill what I
love. Each man kills what he loves, and I am guilty of this as
anyone, save for I do not manage to kill them, only leave them
bloody and broken ont he ground with all consuming guilt and
never ending self-hatred. It is toxic and I am toxic. I thought
about pushing him down the stairs of the basement, and I thought
about consumating our impending nupitals on the ground where She
planned to pull my life apart.Where she suceeded.
I thought about strangling him and slamming his head against the
side of the stones until blood came out. I thought about
watching his face shift from Daniel to Id to Daniel. I thought
about killing Belethial and weaving her hair into quilts. I
thought about what Gewn said, taking out what was left of my
insides and minglign them with Id's to make a new hand for me. I
thought about too much, and I thought about foolish things. But
more than anything I thought about the stars, empty and far
away, and how they were peeking through the sky ever so slightly
in the Plaguelands. I felt my chest seize up. If I had a heart,
it would surely hurt. The lands were getting better. They were
healing. I wondered if in a hundred years, if they would be
healed completely. I do not believe in erasing hurts. I believe
they need to leave scars to matter. [/quote]
[quote]
To Do:
Short list of wedding invitations - [s]find officiator[/s].
Marus might be able to do it, if I asked her and coached her
through it.
So far: Eveya, Marus Veshirion, Aleifr Kwenning, Gewn, Philomene
Asteris + Hildan Pearce (if they remain together), Etharion
Longsight + Partner, Squink Shadowquill, Prikka Graymind,
Eleanore Greene, Martigan Lighthammer, Esmond Khaston, NO
BELETHIAL, Elsiere Visana / Whatever her new last name is,
Oliver MacGlynn (Id will insist) + his wife, Yumna Shatterhaze
(remember honorifics in invitation) + retainers, Ghorna, Ser
Caste (maybe), Jon Kalery (maybe) -- too many paladins might
make Id uncomfortable though. Or me.
Come up with more comprehensive list.
Find Venue - Alonsus Chapel preferred, possibly difficult.
Consider: Uther's Tomb (importance to both of us), [s]The Shadow
Vault [/s](proximity to Icecrown too dangerous for me),
Thesalmar? (beautiful year round)
Hide from The Ebon Blade in Stormwind
Find Glory
Find a new house.
Convince Eveya you've not completely lost your mind.
#Post#: 476--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: September 4, 2015, 8:28 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]"I've been looking for you," we're the first words out of
his mouth.
I was staring into the eyes of Archon Daenal, somebody who I
hadn't seen in four years. He had been Caleb's mentor, my
mentor. I had been his squire, or at least some small part of me
had been his squire. I thought he was dead or missing but here
he was infront of me and the first words out of his mouth were
"I've been looking for you." My initial response was to scream
at him. I thought about shrieking that he could have found me if
he wanted to. I have not been hiding. I wanted to scream that he
could have found the clues I had left behind. There is an empty
grave in the Plaguelands that is unmarked, with trails grave
dirt and blood marking the way I crawled. There are the tousled
covers of a bed in Hearthglen that have never been straightened,
there are the ashes of a burned box without a bottom where a
once vital organ rested. I left this long trail of my bits and
my pieces that extends from that open grave all the way to this
chair where I am writing this journal. The chair even has the
trace of me on it, a smoothening of the arms from where I have
rested my own, indentions in the dusty, mouldering fabric where
my back has pressed. Daenal could have found me. But then I
remembered that there had been a year where I had hidden beneath
the sea, a year where I had gone by an entirely different name.
I had been hiding , by becoming somebody who Daenal would not
recognize from the bright eyed boy who traveled with him on his
frequent journeys to holy crypts and sepulchres. He wouldn't
have known what he was looking for. Certainly, what he was
initially looking for wasnt me.
I have been thinking about what he was looking for initially. He
was probably told that I was an Oathbreaker and thus, no loner
wore the blue and gold of the Sepulchre. He knew to look for
somebody in wolven shape, with the eyes that did not glow in the
darkness, with scars beneath the fur. He knew I was not tall and
thin. He knew, or perhaps he didnt, that I still tended to
response to Caleb Norwill. I do not think that he knew about my
other names, and maybe that is for the best. What other
information would Daenal have? Perhaps he thought I was dead,
well and truly dead. It has been rumored before that I was dead.
The army officially listed me as Missing In Acting but they
truly didn't know , and I doubt that they even cared. More
likely- they thought I was a deserter or killed by the Orc
incursion in Pandaria. Maybe Daenal did look over the military
record, and maybe that is why he didn't find me until now.
Because I had disappeared without a word. Because until
recently, nobody knew that I had gone out to sea instead out out
into nothing.
When he said that phrase, "I've been looking for you." There was
only one thing I really could say in return: "you're too late."
I meant it, and I still do. It has long been too late for Caleb
Norwill, who by all rights, shouldn't exist anymore. Caleb
arrived too late, and Daenal arrived too long after the
expiration date. I was sad he was too late. I wish he could have
been ther a year prior, two years prior, three. Maybe he could
have saved me from myself. Maybe he could have stopped me. But
it was too late, and I was sorry for it. But Daenal Has always
excelled at Tenacity- even when the other two virtues have
failed him. He dismissed me. We'll see if it's too late. And
then we walked into the night, autumn moon above and cobbled
street below. We walked where we used to walk, skirting the edge
of the graveyard and into the harbor,mover looking ships and
sea. I didn't have the heart to tell him that looking out at
sailing ships made me nauseous. I didn't have the heart to tell
him that the sea was the thing I was most afraid of in this wide
world. I didn't have a heart at all. But we looked out on that
vast, incomprehensible ocean and we talked for the first time in
four years and that entire time I wanted to embrace him or self
destruct or cry or run. But there was no way for me to do any of
these things. So I talked instead.
Daenal asked me how my undeath had occurred and I told him the
circumstances, reliving Her hands around my throat at every
venture. He asked me if I had let it corrupt me, but int he
roundabout way, the way that gave me the opportunity to trust
him and confide. In truth, it didn't matter much what I said;
Daenal already knew that I was not corrupt through my deaths and
the magic that keeps me going. Daenal knew I was corrupt through
myself. No magic was necessary to render me vile and dark. I
could trust him. And that was the strangest feeling in the
entire world. I hide parts of myself from those I profess to
trust or utilize explosive episodes in order to lend me a
credibility and humanity that would have been otherwise lost on
me. I cry and shake before Eveya to draw her sympathies, so that
she understands that beneath it all I feel things. Gewn I only
show callous indifference and my love for Daniel which
ultimately are they same thing. Aleifr doesn't ask so he doesn't
have to know. Daniel I do not weep infront of only kick and cut
at , knowing that even if he cannot take it - it will improve my
belief in the greater me. Daenal was my way back into harbor,
even after the wind and water had railed against me, leaving
sails and hull pitted and ruined.
I told him what he did not want to hear. I told him the truth. I
told him that I had almost killed myself, once. He was not
surprised and he shouldn't have been: for what is a more noble
and tragic end for a paladin to kill himself when he becomes
what he hates? But Daenal did not agree, as I knew he wouldn't.
He told me that if I had - it would have killed him too. He
would have failed me, as he failed me long ago. And we did not
pretend that he did not fail me. He is my mentor and I am cursed
to love him and care about him: he tried to spare me from some
of the cruelty of the Order of the Sepulchre, and he tried to
fight the losing battle against my great and terrible nature,
but ultimately he could not fight Cyrell Lucavi. She took me as
her squire and my feet were rubbed bloody, my skin split and the
creature that came out was not recognizable. He did the
unthinkable. He called me his son.
Perhaps out of primal, Kin-killing, instinct I felt I should
kill him for that. I killed my father. He lies in pieces, in
ashes, in an urn that I have broken and stolen and used up. But
instead he embraced me and my hand shook. It was torn between
drawing my sword and brining it up through his guts, or grabbing
him, pulling him as close to me as I could, holding him and
never wanting to let go because this was the father I deserved
but the father that I hadn't had. Daenal was gone but not
distant, failed but not a failure. I did not draw my sword. I
held him and wanted him to stay to tell me it was alright. And
he did exactly what I hoped for, because he looked me in the eye
and said: "I am glad you are still here, Caleb." Nobody has said
those words and meant them. Not to me. I am glad you are still
here, I am glad that you didn't die. I am glad that you did not
choose to end your life. I am glad for you. I wish my father had
said those words, once, ever- then, he might still be alive.
Belethial had helped him find me. I wondered why, but it became
clear soon enough. She was proud of how she had mutilated me.
She was proud of what she had done. She was proud that she had
ripped my hand off, and absconded with my heart. She thought it
was justice for everything I had done: real or imagined. Daenal
followed where her pride led: to me, mutilated and dreaming of
impossible revenge infront of the altar. Daenal understands
something difficult about being a man of Faith: we cannot
revenge. Revenge is what killed me. But we can act as forces of
retribution, if not vengeance. He is furious at Belethial.
Furious. In his eyes, 'twas she who caused the Order of the
Sepulchre to disintegrate all around him, it was her hand that
waved aside Cyrell's crimes. It was by her hand that I was
nearly sacrificed to the Light, as if this body would feed the
ever and all consuming flame. Daenal wishes her dead for her
mutilation, for her perversion, for all the actions she has
taken. I offered my sword. He handed me a hammer.
He told me that all of his years of abscence were for this
hammer, forged of what seemed to be purity and Light itself. He
asked me to name it. The Final Blessing, I told him- because
Daenal's arrival was the last time I felt like the Light was
shining on me. I doubt I shall ever feel so lucky again, or so
blessed. Here is a man willing to kill a person who I cannot,
willing to tell me I am important and that I matter, and regrets
the way that he treated me. Here is a man who is willing to be
my Advocate in a world that thinks of me in simplistic,
antagonistic ways. I am Caleb Norwill who never smiles, who
pretends to be important but has no real power in the world. I
am a forgotten relic of a time of troubles: better forgotten
than recalled.
We spoke some of Daniel. He was nervous with the topic of
marriage and I cannot blame him: afterall, dead men rarely are
wed. He asked what Daniel was like. I told him that Daniel was
unstable, lacking in a concrete identity, fluctuated between
over emotional and unresponsive. And that Daniel drove a sword
into his thigh to "punish" himself for his failures towards me.
That is the point when Daenal understood, and I was happier for
his understanding. We are perfect for each other and terrible
for one another. Gewn wonders how we can be like this, how we
can love but not like and I wavered in my explanation, failed to
give any sort of context and understanding to what she was
rightfully not understanding. Gewn, however, seems to love
carelessly and without meticulousness to her actions .nshe
believes she can solve all problems of mortality and death
through apathy. She lets go off all nostalgia, of all human
attachments. It is throughly practical and without weakness. No
wonder then, when I speak to her, I remove most of my sorrows
and return to the primordial, laughing state. I become the
Other, and I do not know who holds the leash. But surely,
talking cannot hurt - until it does. Until my words become
weaponized. I spilled out how to ruin me perhaps because some
part of me still wants to be ruined.
Before Gewn, I had been waiting for the Golden Law. I wished to
speak with Kaleery, their highlord, Jon Kalery, and apologize
for the way our relationship had ended and ask him why I had
been promoted to a much higher rank upon my removal. I suppose
the legend of Caleb Norwill looks better than the actuality of
Caleb Norwill. It certainly felt that way when I saw him again.
He tried to ignore me at first, consciously, and then he no
longer could ignore me. I challenged him on legacy and Light and
that was foolish but it made me seen. He fled soon after and I
did not apologize. Sometime later, maybe. By he preferred to
ignore and default to his children in white and gold so maybe I
will strike and sob and sorrow another time. I stood with Gewn
and watched the Cathedral for a little longer. I manipulated a
paladin to see if I could. I was cruel, needlessly cruel. I
moved him from one room to another had him hating and pitying
all without him knowing my name or who I was. Gewn clearly was
not taken with the performance. It does not matter to me.
It matters that somebody wants me to be alive. It matters that
somebody thinks it is worthwhile for me to live. It matters that
there is something in a world that was cruel to me, a world I
was cruel towards, it matters that there is something that will
still fight on my behalf. Even if that person came far too late.
[/quote]
[quote]To Do:
Short list of wedding invitations - find officiator. Marus
might be able to do it, if I asked her and coached her through
it.
So far: Eveya, Marus Veshirion, Aleifr Kwenning, Gewn, Philomene
Asteris + Hildan Pearce (if they remain together), Etharion
Longsight + Partner, Squink Shadowquill, Prikka Graymind,
Eleanore Greene, Martigan Lighthammer, Esmond Khaston, DAENAL +
retainers, Elsiere Visana / Whatever her new last name is,
Oliver MacGlynn (Id will insist) + his wife, Yumna Shatterhaze
(remember honorifics in invitation) + retainers, Ghorna, Ser
Caste (maybe), Jon Kalery (maybe) -- too many paladins might
make Id uncomfortable though. Or me.
Keep the wedding small - begin planning.
Introduce Daenal and Daniel : maybe ask Daenal to officiate
Find Venue - Alonsus Chapel preferred, possibly difficult.
Consider:Thesalmar? (beautiful year round)
Find Kalery -- Apologize maybe.
Find Glory
Find a new house.
Convince Eveya you've not completely lost your mind. [/quote]
#Post#: 478--------------------------------------------------
Re: Caleb's Journal (Age 21-24)
By: Caleb Norwill Date: September 12, 2015, 2:51 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
[quote]This situation with Marus has been handled to the best of
my capabilities and as anticipated, it is less horrific than
Eveya or Daniel would make it out to be. They scream and cry
about betrayal, about how the loss of Marus is an inconsolable
hurt. They have the look of those who are not betrayed often. I,
on the other hand, understand exactly why thoughts are in Marus'
head, what words she would have said had she attempted to smooth
the situation herself. But I did not think it right to force
that peacekeeping upon her. Instead , I shouldered that for her
as I would have shouldered such for anyone who desired to break
away, to leave oaths behind. I am an oathbreaker. I must do
this, because it is what my nature is and what I have made
myself to be. I think she was relieved for my expertise, for my
experienced and for my advice. She was blonde now, and if it
weren't for the afar of her eyes , I was looking at Calia. I
told her. She didn't notice it, or didn't care.
She asked me how to end it, how to stop clinging to a false
hope. I handed her my misericorde and told her to be as me. The
only way to be truly set free is to kill that which binds you. I
told her to follow the path of the kin killer , the path of
murdering your father, the path of turning your back on your
history and tryin to make something new with yourself. I only
exceeded at half of this challenge. I took her to Acherus. The
Knights looked at me with cold dead eyes, eyes like mine. They
wondered without words why I had brought a living girl here ,
and more importantly why the famed Oathbreaker had brought her,
what his plan was. They wondered what evil thing I was going to
do : and I only whispered to them in harsh guttertalk that I was
escorting Daniel's guest. They didn't believe me, but they knew
that if they asked Daniel he would only agree with my words,
confirm my lie. The only thing t hat sees through me , through
all the lies are the death Knights. They are too wary, and I
have wronged them too often.
In the end, Marus did not need the knife. She killed her father,
and has become like me, the very thing that Daniel was so
adamant about her avoiding. She brushed it off when I asked her
about it, when I told her how Daniel felt. "What is so terrible
about being like you?" She retorted, and I wish I could have
told her of everything that was so terrible, everything that was
bad about me, but she also asked me, she asked what my greatest
selfishness was, the thing that I would sacrifice literally
everything for, and although I knew she was not aware of what
she was asking, her question had become: "why did you kill your
father, Caleb?" I faltered and defaulted, leaving it to every
repression, every bit of Id to answer. I gave many answers and
none were understood , but unlike Marus, I was determined to be
understood, if not loved.
I will answer with clarity here. My identity is what I will
sacrifice all for , my nature is what I would kill countries
for. My selfishness is my insistence upon a narrative where I am
the hero of my own story, even though I know I am the monster of
many others. My selfishness is that I know who and what I am:
and I will see it through to its absolute conclusion. I lived
past the day I should have died, and that was me, that was who I
am. I am the hermit in the Plaguewood. I am the ill-made knight.
I am a brother, a son. I am the Oathbreaker and I am one who is
not defied, only slain. All this I am. All this, is selfish.
Daniel screamed and cried about Marus, but it was not she who he
took issue with. He took issue with the belief that I had
corrupted her, and that I had corrupted him, even though he was
already a monster before I came to him. But I don’t believe
that. I don’t believe he was a monster - but I broke him and
belittled him, and I turned him into a sword that I wield.
Daniel was trying to spare Marus from me, from my worthless
raging and cruelty. He wanted her to be pure, as if he was able
to determine these things. He looked over towards me, as we
stood in snow, as I looked at the spot where Bridenbrad died. He
said softly, “I am convinced you’ve never been pure, Caleb.” And
I felt myself drift away. But I remember being pure, I insisted,
but this too was selfish. I know I have never been pure, and I
know that what I am is a foreign body with an all-too familiar
soul. I was never pure, because my history is a fiction. I am
not so much a person am I just this great corrupting agent, that
Daniel claims to love.
I am considering leaving the Silent behind, but I am uncertain.
I feel as if I have reached the crux of my ambition, because I
have achieved a rank directly below that of their commander, but
there is nobody left to command. A better second-in-command, a
better right hand would try to fix the situation, to recruit and
weed out the weak. I am only good at pushing people away, I am
not good at bringing them in. It is what makes me such a good
second-in-command, but such a terrible commander, such a
horrific officer. Eveya had to words with me about our
interviews. She refuses to admit that we are struggling, that we
are dying. I think that is what makes me wish to leave. She is
deluded. We are down to handfuls, to tiny pieces. And she
demands we still are coming from a place of strength. What
strength is there in the Silent? There is no strength. But I
acquiesced to her, even though she told me to do as I will. she
did not mean it. If it was my will, I would dismantle the Silent
and scatter them to the winds. If it was my will, I would cut
away the cancer, and trim the Silent down, until the strong
remained, and scour the city, flush out the scum and turn them
to our command. One or the other, I would do. But I do not,
because that is not what Eveya wants from me. She wants me to be
kind and soft and egalitarian. But I am a tyrant.
Adravis provided me with a suit of armor, belonging to a group
of cultists. It smells like ozone and burning paper, and I am
enarmored by its shimmering, ever-changing surface. I did not
tell him thank you, nor did I offer him kind words. Out of
loathing, I brushed him aside and dismissed his secrecy, his
attempts to draw my attention and makes friends with me. With
blue eyes, white hair, and this armor, however, I look the part
of a cultist, and will be able to lie all the more fully. I am a
very good liar, as I have always professed to be. I think it is
because for so long I was so dedicated to upholding the truth.
The virtue of Respect requires honesty, after all, and that was
the virtue to which I was so dedicated once upon a time, in a
time when I was still impure. I think I am such a good liar
because i understand the truth’s power and value so well. I will
remain until I have a chance to utilize the armor, because I am
interested to see its effect. I wonder what the cultists must
think of me, who has killed so many of their commanders, but
professes to be one of them. I suppose it is the same feeling
that paladins have about me.
I am looking at three orders for when the Silent collapses. One
is the Order of Northshire, occupying my old haunt at the
Northshire Abbey,w here the Order of the Sepulchre was once
stationed. Twas troublesome to ensure that their Abbot would
speak with me, as their conceptions about death knights are
grounded in the popular, and largely true mythos about them.
However, I am an outlier, and the Abbot began t realize that.
The way he eyed me told me that he longed for me to be there, to
be an example of how the Light could come to everyone, how all
evil things could overcome their nature. I am uncertain of how
much I like being held as that, but at the same time, i am
intrigued by the difficulty of being a monk, and hiding from
violence, when i have earned fame through military and combative
practices. I am intrigued by the idea of taking the cloth and
pledging to the virtues once more, and taking the vows that I
knew long ago. But I am an Oathbreaker, so the habit would never
sit quite right upon my shoulders. But perhaps that is part of
the game. It is a possibility, and seems the likeliest of my
options. My stay may be short, but I am determined to leave an
impact.
The second option is that of the Oathsworn order, a tumor that
divided off of the back of the Order of the Golden law, led by
the Prelate Ennalor — or so I believed. According to my old
friend, Otulissa Skyheart, it seems as if Ennalor does not lead,
so much as facilitate a chaotic band vaguely dedicated to a
greater good. Even their name, the Oathsworn, is a flexible
thing — the man I talked to, he professed that he had been int
he order for six months or so and never taken a single oath. As
fond I am of the irony of an Oathbreaker in the Oathsworn - the
lack of structure is something that pricks at my skin.The idea
that Ennalor is hands-off, rarely around, and leaves it to his
seconds to vaguely command a band that does not seem to care is
all too familiar. I refuse to be part of something as chaotic as
the Silent. I refuse to be an egalitarian. Otulissa begged for
me to at least speak to Ennalor before I brushed them off. She
wanted me to stay. She needed me to stay. I remember saving her
life, impaled by a pole, black blood leaking out everywhere. Her
husband, now long gone, was nowhere to be seen then either. I do
not know if I will honour my promise to see Ennalor before hand,
but I ave her a GCD so she could call for me should Ennalor
deign to show his face, or even consider that he should show his
face to recruits that I suspect have never seen him.
The third option is the first I would choose, but my ability to
joint hem is entirely rooted in their commander, Etharion
Longsight, who I suspect I have troubled too much, who I suspect
I have played the fool infront of. If I was him, I would not
sign me on. If i was him, I would have killed me. I would join
the Servitors again,a nd this time i know it would be different.
It would be different because they have ceased being military
and now are mercenary, due to budget cuts. It would be different
because i am not as mad and slobbering as I once was. It would
be different because I have been through it once before and i
understand how my ambition works, I understand how their ranks
work. It would be different because the first question that
Etharion asked me when I walked into their mess, after we had
exchanged our pleasentries was: "Are you still Arthas?" And I
told him no, and the lie that was not a lie floated through the
room. I am not Arthas anymore. I am Caleb Norwill, and all that
he brought with him. But I was happy when he said; "Good," and
then added, lightly, in the way that he speaks, "But that woman
really did a number on you.' I wonder if he would have smashed
his whiskey bottle and driven it into me if I had told him yes.
Why would I have told him yes, even if it were true? That is
what you lie about.
I think my chances of joining the Servitors is ruined however,
because of the personal tragedy that followed. Their POW was
killed by Etharion's daughter, and high command was coming to
check on their little mercenary chapter. The air was filled with
the smell of burning orc. Etharion raged and frothed, and I,
stupid, I, undetered, walked to him and tried to calm him, when
I have backed away. Their gnome spy or scout - something of the
sort, berated me. Don't lead. You're not a Servitor. Not
anymore. I knew my mistake, and withdrew. I did I was asked, I
was ordered. I did what I was told, because that was all I could
do to rectify the mistake. Apologies would not have helped. They
are short on officers, so I am to submit an application on the
27th, when their shuffling of offices is completed. When the
budget cuts came into effect, Prikka Graymind disrobed, and
walked back into the earth to join with the cockroaches and hive
that I knew she misssed. Light, I miss her too. I miss her stern
face, her intended hurts, her strange understanding. I miss them
all.
If Etharion asked me to kill a member of the Silent, any of
them, I probably would. That is hideous of me. That is terrible.
But I miss them.
There's always the possibility, however, that I would not leave
at all. This thought has plagued me some. I have tried to weigh
the pros and cons. The pros of leaving is that i would be the
rat abandoning the sinking ship. it would collapse in my wake,
but I would not have to subject myself to watching it collapse
around me. I would be free to pursue my ambition,a nd I would
not have to listen to Eveya anymore. I could stop endorsing
justice and the greater good in every word that I speak. I could
stp the Light-damned interviews that only leave me feeling
restless and perturbed with the state of the average person. But
the cons of leaving also weigh upon me. As Gewn said, my leaving
would be what would truly end the Silent. It is a dying dog, but
leaving would be the sword through the stomach. I have enough
guilt, and I do not need the Silent's remenants on my hands. I
would lose Aleifr, Gewn, and Eveya -- even though I know I would
not view it as a loss, they certainly would. I would not enjoy
the same position of command within any other order, because any
other order would realize that I am too ambtious and too
unstoppable to be put in a position of power. Light, I can't
imagine Etharion naming me to any rank -- and my nature makes it
impossible for the clergy to do such without insighting a
scandal so great that it would draw a fracture in the Church, as
it did when I was first accepted to the Sepulchre. And perhaps
the biggest con of all is that change is unpleasent. I cling to
my trust, my frienship, my reputation, all these things that I
bult up of myself within the Silent. Gewn made me a hand.
Gewn and I talked some. It seems we speak almost every night. I
wonder if she does not have to sleep, like I don't. Marus, Gewn,
Silas Fromir, and Aleifr worked to mutilate my new hand to get
into working order, so that it felt as crushed and monstrous as
it should have. It felt like family, like kinship. I was
overcome for a moment, with absolute, terrible affection for all
of them. My wrist is broken, and it feels how it should. Gewn
remarked about how poor a leader Eveya is compared to Mouse, and
I wondered for one terrible second if I should do what is in my
nature to do. I wondered if the fact that in that moment, where
it nearly felt like family meant that the time had come for me
to take my sword and kill her. The Silent needs a leader, and
its not Eveya. Mouse, even her madness, everyone had affeection
towards. Eveya comes and goes and is unknown. I wonder if Gewn
knew, when she told me her feelings. I could -- no. I will stop
writing about it. I'll consider it. Maybe. Maybe, maybe.
[/quote]
[quote]
To Do:
Updated Guest List:
Aleifr, Gewn, Eveya, Marus, Yumna, Etharion Longsight (plus
one), Brommidor Stonebrow, Daenal, Oliver MacGlynn (plus one).
This list has gotten small.
Location: Thesalmar / Menethil Harbor / Discuss with Daniel
Officator: Debating: Daenal, Marus, or maybe death knight? Try
to re-establish contact with Tsali.
Write application to Servitors, send so it arrives on 27th.
Speak with Abbot Landen further. Discuss vows, oaths, and
expectations.
Deliberate about Eveya. Consider options.
Leave Silent, or not. Determine what is the most beneficial.
Find Glory.
Kill Gellexine.
*****************************************************
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