Escapism, an Acquired Taste

I feel...odd.

I smiled, and actually laughed. I cracked a few jokes, even if I was the only one who thought it was funny. I felt good, sitting and talking without worrying, without feeling like death was simply waiting for me just beyond sight.

Of course, this odd feeling passed, and that familiar weight upon my chest, that one that makes it hard to breathe sometimes, returned and settled in once more. Back to the fields, kill more demons. I do not begrudge my place, I at least know where I belong, but it seems an endless and overwhelming goal, one that appears to be ever more beyond reach.

I still sweep the lake for sickly green fish that move like lightning through the water, and always leave me with a wound full of venom before the fight is through. The single small, crucial item I seek, fails to appear, time and time again. Still..I keep looking. The alternative is unthinkable for me, and for those still waiting for redemption.

Besides, if I do not push myself, I have to face them all and I simply do not know how right now. I can not face them, each one for a different reason, each one presenting a monumental problem that I do not know how to rectify. The reason I hunt the most dangerous creatures this world has to offer, and do so alone...is because...I am a coward. Few can follow me where I go, few would care to and so it frees me...in a manner of speaking. How do I deal with them? Kuzma, Trygon, Balkoth, Shay... I...can not and so I flee to the safety of blood and battle, to the serenity of demon slaughter and pain.

But for a brief moment, I smiled with friends....and it was good.

Random Acts of Kindness

I am surprised, to say the very least, but I suppose I should not be. I held to my faith, to my place in the world, to my purpose here, and was rewarded.

The cure came from the most unlikely of people. He just swaggered up to me whilst I was dying, while I was still searching for the items needed to make the cure, and handed it to me out of the blue without provocation. He said 'at least I was useful'. I could not argue with him there, and all he asked for in return, was part of the cure itself. I was happy to hand over what I had, and watched him depart with a bewildered curiosity. I had always thought the man hated me, at best, he had only a passing interest in insulting me before he wandered off to chase some frilled skirt worn by a giggling, useless female, and yet, he had saved my life. I do not think he knows just how bad off I was, or how grateful I am to him for that simple act of redemptive kindness.

Still, I am not one to question the Gods, or reject the gifts of Elbahn, and so, I am recovering. Slowly yes, it will take weeks to return to my former strength, but I feel stronger than I have since that horrible day by the fountain. Of course, I can not simply return home and lie down to rest as I should, no...there are so many who still need help. And so, I return to the fields, and search relentless for what is needed to bring the aide I was granted to those who still desperately need it regardless of my desire to simply sleep.

My mind...is still a scattered mess, my problems, still linger at the edges of my awareness, ignored for now while I distract myself with other more pressing things. I know I must face all those things that still eat at my heart like so many niggling, writhing maggots. But for now, I can focus on others, on the need that still presses harshly upon the population of the city. I am oddly grateful for that much as well.

Regrets and Resolutions

It has been days, has it been days? Yes...I believe so, days since I collapsed upon the road into friendly arms, and my recovery has been painfully slow. My body refuses to heal as it should, the plague in my system blending with poisons past, and it keeps me from taking full advantage of what rest usually provides me. Still, considering every inch of me has been touched by my recent experience, I am doing better than I should be, though...my mind is still a jumble of images, faces and unmatched names.

My rescuer, is both patient and desperately impatient with me. I can see how he fights with himself in exactly what it is that exists or perhaps more accurately, what does not exist between us. He struggles with his traditions, as I do mine, the unseen barriers and unmet requirements that blockade us from each other, all the while I am trying to unravel just what is that happened to me, and put right the disjointed and fractured memories. I wish we had more time to sort things out between us, but time is something that is drifting away from me like so much smoke on the breeze.

I am dying. I have come to terms with this, and yet, for some reason, I am not as desperate as one might think to prevent this seemingly inevitable end. If this is what the Storm Father has planned for me, who am I to fight it? If I am not His soldier, I am nothing. The vials that I gather for the purpose of keeping myself functioning, and helping to ease the suffering of those around me, are working less and less effectively, for not just me it seems. The longer the illness has to ravage your body, the more damage it does in shorter time. Soon, the vials will do nothing at all, and my lungs will fill and I will drown where I lay as the fever cooks the last of my mind.

But in spite of it all, I will not go peacefully. No, that is simply not my way. I will die on my feet, cutting down demon after demon, until one finally gets the better of me. To the last, I will do what I do, and be what I am, and be damned because of it if I must, but I refuse to die to Her whim on the flat of my back.

Pain, Panic and Pleasantries

I do not remember things as they are, or perhaps more accurately, as they occurred.

No, it is a jumble of distorted images, blinding pain, confusion, and unmeasured panic. That much, I do remember. The panic over the pain as I stumbled sightless through the black. How did I end up in here? I really can not recall. It only mildly dawns on me, that I have stumbled past a pile of pillows. Pillows? Really? I know that should mean something, but it simply can not for now. I must GET OUT! A corridor of doors...pain, aching, agonizing, mind flaying pain, and...a bedchamber? and then..another? I do not understand.

Get out...I must get out. Where am I? Storm Father...help me. Back past the luxury, the fabric, the musty smell of dank stone beneath...back...out...there is no way out down here, I must go back. Sightless again, wandering, Gods above please...show me the way! And then....I fall.

I am so weak, so utterly close to my last breath I can feel Morhaig's chill hand over my heart. I see the Oasis, that familiar warmth...it would be so easy to just drift into that calm place again. And so I lie there, in the rain, surrounded by...sodden, grey soot and burned out boards. Where am I now? I can not even put that much together as I sway back and forth between the worlds.

It dawns on me eventually, that I feel as bad as I should under these circumstances, and that I have something to help that close at hand. It takes me a good long time to struggle free of the backpack upon my shoulder to claim the tiny vial of relief from within and tip it to my lips. Ahhh, that rush of health, it only brings me to barely functional, but a damned sight closer to survival than just a few moments ago. I will take it.

It is only then that I can look around and realize, somehow, I am in the slums, behind the barricades, and the burned out shell of a once bustling neighbourhood, is utterly deserted. I try, I really do, but I simply can not make heads nor tails of the fact I am here. I can barely find my own feet let alone figure out how I got here. My feet...yes, that's it. One foot before the other, moving, that's a start! It seems like hours I wander, looking for a way out. It probably is, but I can not be sure, my head does not seem to be able to lock onto anything for long before it drifts away from my attention again, and only what is right before my nose registers.

A barrier, of hastily constructed logs bars my way. It is the same with every street. Where am I again? Oh...right...home is on the other side. So..find a way over. There is a wall, half collapsed, but, the debris is piled just so, that if I apply what little strength I have, I could scramble over. Still, it takes me entirely too long to figure out just how to do such a simple task, and when I finally manage it, I still fall to the cobblestones, flat on my back. No one sees.

I remember...arguing, so...angry. A blur of tirrish lies and skrel'eth barbarian logic being spewed at me, all blending into a poisonous soup of disjointed betrayal. The fields! The road! I am where I should be! That brings such a flood of relief to me it is impossible to describe. I stagger down the road, just so happy to have it beneath my boots again, that I barely even notice when a familiar form appears before me. I am certain he must have caught me when I collapsed, but to be honest, I can not say for sure.

Of Floss and Flowers

It's raining. But then, it always is. A swift blue hole in a grey ceiling teases to the warm Twins beyond our reach, beyond our hopes, down here in the sodden fields. The afternoon is late and I am soaked through, and though I would never admit it, I am cold. It is harder to keep my energy up, resting does nothing to ease the ache of my body, the fuzzy edges to my vision, the haze that filters every thought in my head.

I am hunting alone, but I do prefer it that way. I can be what I am meant to be, what I am designed for, the only thing I am really good at. A demon killer. I hunt them, chase them, run them down and turn them all into lifeless lumps, mounds of poison, black blood and rotting flesh. The hordes, they come and come and come, and I break my body and my own spirit holding them back from the small bastion of survival left behind the walls.

The misery huddled behind those walls is tangible and contagious, just like the illness that has ripped through the masses that call the city home. Young and old, healthy and infirm, devoted and wicked alike, seem to suffer, save the few that call to Her for relief. Oh how I despise them. The weak and cowardly that turn to Darkness to save their own worthless skins, while the Faithful hold out on hope that the endless efforts to find a way, and heartfelt prayers to the Six will pay off in time.

My prayers rise only to the Storm Father, as has always been my way, but I ache for all the Six and the losses they are sustaining these days. It is my belief, that the Gods..each requires love and adoration to maintain strength and power and work their influence in the world. It has been the ploy of the Others, all along to divert that love, redirect the adoration, to themselves. And to my shame and dismay, I see their plans working, the plot successful and more and more fall victim to the easy way out.

I for one, will not be making an appointment. I can see it now, just the tone of the sign, it screams to me, "The Price for the Cure..is highly personalized". I have to have faith in the visions, faith in my purpose, faith in the skills of whom I have delivered all hope for survival....for everyone. That is a lot to lay upon the shoulders of one person, but we all have our burdens to bear.

I pat the heavy backpack in my hand, and pull out two small grey vials, one marked with a white lily, the other a small slip of green floss, tied in a dainty little bow. I weigh the pros and cons of both, the Lily enough to boost me for now, saving the green thread for when the chips are really down, so to speak. But oh to feel that strength that flowing, wondrous strength that is delivered with the green. I sit there, staring at the two a moment, then put away that little grey vial with the moss colored thread, saving it for...a rainy day.