After several disconcerting forays into places I fear the tribe was never meant to tread, two of our bravest appear to have been afflicted by some kind of madness. The spirits tell me terrible things whispered in their dreams and I fear they may be driven to the very edge of sanity if I do not intervene. This precipice, this very razor edge between sanity and the abyss of madness below is one I have long walked, and as brave as they may be they are ill equipped to deal with such. Particularly the Tauren Kruega who walks with the light, the higher one places themselves morally, the more painful and intense the fall...and he will not survive this...I have seen this. This madness...I know his foul stench for I have smelled it before with the Rising of Hakkar, ancient, foul, cruel and determined it permeates their being...but this is not the will of the Baron...and I will be damned for eternity before I let any harm befall my adopted Tribe. As the gardener to the uncooperative branch, I will guide it to it's place or snap it off at the root and begin again. My determination is my strength...I am iron...and beast nor god is prepared to contend with my will in the defense of my charges.
To this end I have fashioned a Soul string...an ancient fetish used by my ancestors to capture troubling dreams and visions and funnel them to a Witch Doctor who can guide and negate such unclean apparitions. The creation is an arduous process and taxing on my resources but necessary. I will present this to Kruega soon and have him place it where he sleeps at night...and then the game begins. Let us see how well these horrors fare against the two of us when I control his dreams, this should offer some temporary solace until the root of the issue can be found and severed.
...In an unrelated note..and one that I must confess has me at a loss...I find myself reminded of my living self in a...not unpleasant way. One has dared to brave the shadows and I fear has awoken a frightening passion that I'm concerned...this brave soul is unprepared to weather. Though as I record these words the the fragrant scent of a creature that has not graced my home in...many many years hangs about me like a warming blanket on chill nights..and I find my ears turned to the moonlit night with hope...hope that the gathering storm finds soft footsteps back to my humble abode.
The IC thoughts of the Troll Witch-Doctor Ka'Zak'Guul servant of Bwonsamdi and the three disembodied spirits of his predecessors, collectively known as "The Fathers" whose off color and often perverse comments interupt the Doctor and his work at almost every turn.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Memories like a Sharp Blade.
Many times the Baron's Collectors have been asked why we do not blink, why our gaze is as eternal and finite as the grave itself, and more often than not we respond with some kind of cryptic reference to our duty.
This is however a lie, one we weave to continue the concept of the unbiased ever watchful Collector, it's a deliberate misdirection spawned out of requirement, the less questions asked the less revealed and the mysteries of the grave are preserved. The truth however is far less noble, and is an uncomfortable thought for those whose faith depends on our unshakable laconic nature.
The truth is that at one point or another we were all Trolls, our hearts beat, we felt pain, love and suffering and...we remember. As I sit in this old chair it is not swords, nor fire, nor loss of limb that I fear most...it is memories. Like spirits conjured from the darkest recesses of the mind, they return to haunt me in the late hours of the night when my eyelids grow heavy and sleep clutches at my mind dragging me down to witness all that I have done, all that I have witnessed in my long, long existence. Like many of my brethren I do not close my eyes often for when I do the ghosts of my past return to haunt me...and they are as unforgiving and cruel as only memories can be. The touch of every lover left behind, every mothers tears shed for a lost child, the anguish and pain I daily encounter are entombed within my mind for all time.
Try as I might I can not think of myself as a...thing, a creature who spirits those away to their end without feeling or concern..I am...after all is said and done..a Troll, and while my flesh has faded to shadow and my heart is a darkened grotesque mockery of it's former state, I still feel...everything.
This is however a lie, one we weave to continue the concept of the unbiased ever watchful Collector, it's a deliberate misdirection spawned out of requirement, the less questions asked the less revealed and the mysteries of the grave are preserved. The truth however is far less noble, and is an uncomfortable thought for those whose faith depends on our unshakable laconic nature.
The truth is that at one point or another we were all Trolls, our hearts beat, we felt pain, love and suffering and...we remember. As I sit in this old chair it is not swords, nor fire, nor loss of limb that I fear most...it is memories. Like spirits conjured from the darkest recesses of the mind, they return to haunt me in the late hours of the night when my eyelids grow heavy and sleep clutches at my mind dragging me down to witness all that I have done, all that I have witnessed in my long, long existence. Like many of my brethren I do not close my eyes often for when I do the ghosts of my past return to haunt me...and they are as unforgiving and cruel as only memories can be. The touch of every lover left behind, every mothers tears shed for a lost child, the anguish and pain I daily encounter are entombed within my mind for all time.
Try as I might I can not think of myself as a...thing, a creature who spirits those away to their end without feeling or concern..I am...after all is said and done..a Troll, and while my flesh has faded to shadow and my heart is a darkened grotesque mockery of it's former state, I still feel...everything.
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