The Journeyman's Log: Rebirth

[MRCHENN 4741]

Spoiler

 

 

 

[This journal is subject to privacy, unless received through proper roleplay.]

 

“Survive.” 

 

These memories are difficult to recall. The sharp crack of my skull and the pooling of blood is what I most distinctly recall, as the ebon hue of the greatsword's hilt thrashed against the side of my head. In my fall, I saw them: my brother Antonius, and my kin, Eleanore. Those blurry figures resisted in pain. They could not move, even if they wished to. They watched.

 

My master, the one who beheld the Third Eye, was starkly different. He laughed, bemused at my suffering as my consciousness wavered. What was he thinking? It was he who held my fate, as I fell to the ground. 

 

Was this the end?

 

I could feel his voice ring out, soothing the same nerves that were intent on giving away the very life beholdened to Simon. The golden voice brought me back to his childhood - yet it were so distant. I knew it, but I could not feel it. Vivid memories of a young boy of noble stock, frolicking through the fields of his estate, when nothing mattered. 

 

How fickle he was, unknowing to the great tragedy that was to befall him. Fate.

 

In either manner, he knew death was to await him, by rebirth or death. Then, why did he fear? He was clinging to something, was it salvation? If the sword of the AN-GHO pierced his neck that day, I would not have been born. In truth, it was Ant- no, Zahkriikyzer who saved Simon, who saved me. 

 

“There is only survival in this world, Simon Pruvia. Until you receive the sacred pact of STONE.” 

 

The Prince amongst men recanted to me. The dreamer had dreamed, and he had sealed my fate. I remember those three vivid eyes burning as I did on that fiery pyre, reciting unto the wind a golden song.

 

I find myself, perusing over Simon over and over again. Even at the end of times, he was truly alone. Those of which he cared about either perished, or left him. I find myself perusing over his final interactions, praying peace with his Pruvian kin, as he left them for eternity. Was this his salvation, then? Amidst the dark, were there no one to hear his plight? I cannot save him, for he died, binding himself to the truth that his soul is bound to this plane. Binding himself to the advent of Ruin - the ushering of re-order. Accordingly with this tract, I have been born anew as the dragon knight Qahnaarin: The Vanquisher. Yet, am I Simon? Or am I the Conciliator sworn to the endeavor of guiding our mortal descendants? Simon is part of me, yet he is unsalvageable in the deepest of depths. Even as I place my pen against this paper within the peace of Tor'Azdroth, I struggle to find what is me.

 

Everyday, the clash between him and I grows smaller, and subsides sooner as would a wave on the shore of a spring’s eve. 

 

Everyday, Qahnaarin grows stronger.

 

Someday, I fear Simon will lose.

 

Spoiler

I've been inspired to write down the thoughts of my character in these pivotal experiences, and it is my first time doing something like this! Meant to post this way beforehand, but school got in the way. Expect more of these to follow! 

 

[Herod 1417]

The reward you reap from your sacrifice is ever greater, to soar
 

Joseph Alexander sat on a rock beside a crossroads as those words were echoed in his head, a grim grimace follower.

 

In his childhood, Joseph always took pride in his runaway grandfather, how he escaped what was considered normal in the Empire to pursue destiny and things of his own choosing. For years, he never gave up on his conscience despite how dangerous it was to praise the Dragonkin and their heralds. 
 

“Is it?”

 

 He mumbled to himself, he recalled viewing the figure that succeeded his grandfather. How different in tone. How different in his stance and personality. It didn’t even recognize him as his own grandson. A small tear dropped from his eye, his grandfather gone from this world he thought, consumed by earthly vanities and a dangerous journey for a monumental reward.

 

”It’s not worth it.”

 

He answered rather confidently before standing up and going on in his travels.

[Jentos 9422]

Soft singing came from great heights. The three-eye'd figure wondered then, if a heart of fire and a body of stone was worth damnation from the Seven Skies.

 

This was, he mused, tasting the words in his mind, the left handed path.