The Hollowed Men

[Old-Rattlesnake 1534]

When I first began my research into golemancy some three-hundred years ago I went into the field with an open mind and an insatiable curiosity -- two very important characteristics for an aspiring mage. At the time you could say I even had a leg up on my colleagues, having owned a golem myself (albeit briefly) after a strange sort of events involving gypsies, undead, and shamans. Though unlike my colleagues who waltzed upon Dwarven soil and marveled at the rock men of fame and immeasurable renown (Grey Vigil, of course, must be referenced here) I found myself peering through black-tinted glasses.

In front of me stood a fearsome man about six and a half feet tall, his grey and solid skin speckled in dirt, and with a glare that gave the impression he could peer straight through walls. The ground shook when he walked, and all those with a cling to life gave the creature a wide berth as it passed. I had not properly prepared myself to view such a creature, and at only a century of age I could scarcely comprehend what was in front of me. Without shame I can say that the creature who had crossed my path to fetch a bucket of water frightened me to no end.

Though my hair might not gray and my skin might not wrinkle, you could say I’ve experienced some physical changes since that moment so many years ago. As a magical construct myself, many of the opinions I expressed once have long since faded -- save for one. Nowadays when I find myself on the road with my assistant and happen upon a golem it is not fear that overcomes me, but an insufferable sorrow that pains me to no end.

When I am alone I can not simply bring myself to the window and watch the sun rise over the horizon because the mood takes me, nor can I fetch a jar from my cabinet when I wish to collect ink for my writings. Without my aide I would be left to endure the nether that is an eternity of solitude, forced to scream only so that I might hear the voice of another person, and there I would be found a broken shell of madness. In that same manner a golem cannot do anything of it’s own volition, save find an Impera to grant it some small abstract concept of a life. Though they can walk, and they can manipulate the world as any other man could, they are stuck -- just as I am. My personal aide is my Impera, and if he should abandon me at any time I could do nothing about it. If a golem’s personal aide forbid it from leaving a closet, there would be nothing he could do about it either.

Peering into a golem’s distant, dead gaze reminds me of the walking corpses I’ve seen in the darker regions of the world. A bright, intelligent soul with a capacity for love and an innate curiosity has become trapped in a barbed-wire mannequin so that someone else can make their chores a little easier. Who is to say that soul would not have become the next paragon? Or a great enchanter? Perhaps the one who will one day banish the curses that plague our brothers is now even locked away. The Archaengul Aeriel, one of the creator’s most loyal, has even made it her sovereign duty to protect our souls from such a fate. Why then do we continue to allow a craft that can be considered necromancy to some academics to continue? The answer, I’m afraid, is greed.

    If we wish to advance ourselves as a people we absolutely must cast out this barbaric practice that has brought ruin upon our ancestors and persists as a looming risk factor today. We allow soulbound golems to exist now, but should the art of golemancy ever fall into the hands of individuals who lack empathy or regard for life, the next great war will be fought against the remains of our fallen brothers.

 

- Delaselva "Heial" Vientos

Special thanks to my personal aide, Hamil, because I don't have any hands.

Edited October 7, 2015 by Heial The Ender Pearl

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.