I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Musings

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I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Musings

Post by cptcuddlepants » Sat Dec 17, 2016 8:33 pm

I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musings
---
Certain types would certainly be amused by the lone individual practicing in the guards' barracks: A slim elven youth, dressed in battered leather armor, carrying a two-handed sword that was, without a doubt, far too big for him. Every moment or two, he would lunge forwards and perform a mighty swing at the bucket-headed practice dummy in the corner.

When I was little, I got scolded a lot for not doing something properly, and then I'd have to do it over and over again until I did it right. I thought my way was the best way, and that my elders told me I was doing it wrong because they were fussy old grumps who wanted me to be as boring as them. So, being me, I made sure I'd do everything my way so that they'd get upset.

He paused, panting, and adjusted his grip on the heavy sword's handle.

Is it strange that I'd give anything if I could hear them scold me for not doing something properly just one more time?

He swung. The sword's edge sank into the dummy's straw-filled body.

Now that I'm older, and have had more time to think about it, all of the scolding I got wasn't because Mother and Father were to frustrate or upset me. They were trying to teach me.

It makes me wonder if they'd still be here, if I'd learned to do more things properly.

Jerking the blade back, he retreated several steps, and began to formulate a different attack plan.

If I'd taken the proper route home, instead of taking a detour through the forest so that I could climb trees and look for wildlife, maybe I would've gotten home in time to save them.

If I'd listened to Mother's advice, instead of thinking that I knew better than she did, maybe I would've been able to protect them.

If I'd focused during my studies, instead of running off and playing when I was supposed to be learning, maybe I would've been able to stop them from dying.

He charged, aiming the sword's point at the spot on the dummy right about where a person's heart would be.

But no, I didn't do any of that sensible stuff.

His foot skidded on the floor and, although he managed to clip the dummy with his weapon, he went stumbling face-first into the wall. Wincing, he stepped back, and approached the dummy yet again.

I never thought that something like that would happen, or that something like that could even happen. They were my parents. They knew everything. They ruled the tiny world I lived in. See, when you're young, your parents, guardians, role models - anyone you look up to, really - all of them seem invincible.

Right up until they don't.

Ignoring the aches in his muscles and the soreness spreading across his forehead where he'd smacked into the wall, he resumed his attacks.

That training session the other day? It was fun at the time. Funny, too, even though all of us wound up facedown in the dirt time and time again. Watching a mage run for his life while a big armored man chases after him is kind of funny, in a somewhat sadistic way.

And then, days later, it hit me.

If they can be defeated in a sparring match, then they can be defeated in a real fight.

Those powerful, invincible role models aren't as actually as powerful or invincible as I keep thinking they are.

They can die.

He lowered his sword, allowing himself a minute to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but he would not let himself stop.

That's why I have to practice. I don't want anyone else to die because I wasn't powerful enough to save them.

I don't want the path of my life to be riddled with the gravestones of everyone I've ever admired.
Last edited by cptcuddlepants on Wed Sep 20, 2017 5:05 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri Dec 23, 2016 6:24 am

Words are powerful.

...No, no, I'm not talking about the stuff those magely types say when they're about to wreak havoc. Those are incantations. They're something else entirely and I don't even know if I can begin explaining those.

Really, though. Words are powerful.

They can change lives, for better or for worse. They can inspire hope and courage in the face of despair. Words can shape the world. I think rulers and generals have to be good at speeches, so they can raise the morale of their subjects. Ever seen a general who couldn't give a speech? I haven't.

I haven't been on this island for very long, compared to most. I don't think I've seen a quarter of what it has to offer, and I think the majority of the people who live here could beat me in a scuffle. Everyone else seems to know everyone else already. My family's gone, and I haven't seen my old friends in so long, they've probably forgotten me.

I hate describing myself like this, but I'm weak and vulnerable. Easy pickings for anyone who puts money over morals.

Or at least, I was weak and vulnerable. I think I'm just weak now, and weakness can be fixed in time.

Words are powerful, remember?

They don't always have to come in the form of rousing speeches. They don't have to be answers to questions upon which the fate of many lives rests. They don't have to be heard by thousands.

Sometimes, a few kind words can make all the difference in the world.

"You're not alone."

I might be a little strange, but those three words had a profound effect on me when they were spoken.

Maybe it's because I'd rather be weak than alone. When you're alone, you don't have anyone to turn to for help, and you don't know if there's anyone out there you can trust. When you're weak, all you have to do is find people to watch your back until you're strong enough to look out for yourself - and that's exactly what I've done. I've got new friends now, and even (do I dare believe?) a new family. Sort of.

I think that's why everyone else seems to know everyone else. Deep down, we're all afraid of being alone, no matter how strong we are.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Wed Dec 28, 2016 8:48 am

Sometimes, we wear our worst memories for the world to see.

It's easy enough to hide guilt, resentment, or sorrow. Paint a big enough smile on your face, laugh as loud as you can, and everyone'll think you're happy.

Hiding scars is a lot tougher.

I don't think it's possible for a physical scar to ever be associated with something positive. An injury that leaves a scar means pain, definitely - humiliation and embarassment as well, perhaps. And failure, too. Failure at deflecting a blow, failure that led to punishment, failure to stop the injury from being inflicted in the first place... none of that is pleasant.

You can pretend the memories of receiving those scars don't exist, but you can't pretend the scars themselves don't exist. You can't laugh scars the scars away. You can only cover them up, and hope that no one ever sees them.

Scars make people curious. They want to know what happened, how the scar came to exist. So they stare. They give you these concerned looks full of pity and sympathy. They ask questions.

I don't want anyone to see my scars. I don't want them to ask. If they ask, I'll have to answer.

And if I answer, it means I have to remember.

I don't want to remember, so I hide them.

Someone's bound to see them eventually, though. I don't know what I'll do when that happens. What if they ask that dreaded question: "What happened"?

It's kind of strange. Asking someone how they got their scars is pretty much the same as asking them what some of their most painful failures were.

I'll have to figure out how I'll answer that question. Maybe I'll lie, or do what I do best:tell a joke. It's strange - when others see you smiling and laughing, they automatically assume that you're happy, and forget that they were concerned just a moment ago. But with physical scars, you can never bury them. You can deflect the inquiries, but their curiosity will remain.

It's usually the memories that wind up being worse than the injuries and the scars they leave behind.

I wonder how different life would be if we could see each others' worst memories like we could see each others' scars.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Thu Jan 12, 2017 4:37 pm

Change is coming.

No matter what happens, no matter what changes, no matter how good the intentions are, change always means a lot of people somewhere get hurt.

It's like thousands of boats, crammed together in a lake that can't fit them all. Someone nudges a boat, it bumps into the next, it bumps into several more, they collide with their neighbors, and so on, and so on...

...until before you know it, everything is in motion.

Everything is drifting away, drifting apart, carried on ripples of change. No matter how far I reach, I can't stop them. I can't hold on.

The dockmaster says it's good. Can't have everything stagnant. Things need to move, or else everyone is stuck.

He doesn't see all of the little boats caught in between the big ones, the little boats that are being crushed and broken as everything moves around them. We're sinking, but he doesn't see it, because the fleet blocks his view of the ships.

Is it bad that I don't want this?
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Wed Jan 25, 2017 9:56 pm

How can anyone take a chaotic whirlwind of complicated feelings and emotions, and condense them into a four-letter word?

Love.

It makes people do weird things. Stupid things, sometimes. And great things, too. There's a lot of books I've read in which the protagonist performs a heroic task for love.

But what is love, exactly?

How do you know when you love another person?

I asked someone that once. I think it broke him, momentarily. It took him a bit of time to answer.

I feel like "love" means something different to everyone. There's the kind of love that's between a married couple. Then there's the kind of love that's between a parent and a child. And the kind of love between friends. It's all different, but it's all still love, isn't it?

I don't know what love is, myself.

Maybe you love someone when the mere thought of losing them makes you sick with terror.

Maybe you love someone when you worry how much they'll hurt if you die.

If that's what love is, then I love a great many things. I love the Guard and all the people I've met in it. I love the city even with all of its strangeness and occasional headaches, and the isle even though most of it is hellbent on hurting each other.

I love them all, and I want to protect them.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Tue Feb 14, 2017 11:31 pm

You'd think knowledge is like books in a shelf. Learning something new is like getting another book, which you put on the shelf, and you just store more and more knowledge as you learn it.

I think knowledge is more like the shelf, actually.

What you know about life and the world serves as a foundation for your actions. If you don't know a lot, if you're ignorant of certain topics, it'll show. Your actions will be unsteady, and the reasoning behind them will fall apart if you shake them hard enough.

It doesn't help that sometimes, learning new facts about something will shatter everything you know about that topic. It breaks the shelf apart, and you need to start rebuilding it with the new pieces you have.

And sometimes, when you finish, you realize that the new shelf looks nothing like the old one.

Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's bad.

I don't know if I like this shelf better than the one I had before. That's the problem with meeting new people and learning new things and indulging my curiosity about things I probably shouldn't know about.

Ignorance really is bliss, isn't it?
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Tue Feb 28, 2017 4:10 am

What does everyone see when they look at me?

Pointed ears and golden hair, fragile grace and slender build. Clearly an elf. He must be arrogant and condescending; a mage of some kind.

Plate armor in blue and silver, the star on his left pauldron. Cordor's colors and symbol. He's one of the guard. He's supposed to uphold the law.

Torm's symbol upon his cloak. A Triadist? He must have a holier-than-thou attitude and a firm belief that everything he does is right. He's going to preach about his faith. He's going to smite anyone who disagrees with him.

Judge people by their actions, not their appearance.

I wish people would judge me by my actions and not what I'm wearing or the shape of my ears. I don't like being scorned because I'm an elf. I don't like being expected to do things because I worship the Triad. I don't like being considered stupid and corrupt because I'm a guard.

But if I want people to judge me by my actions and not my appearance, wouldn't it make me a hypocrite to not extend that to other people?

I don't judge people for their race. I know how it feels to have assumptions made about me because I'm an elf, and it's not exactly something I want to do to other people. It's not like we get to choose what we're born as, anyway.

Recent events make me wonder, though - who deserves that courtesy? Does all sentient life deserve it, or just sentient life that meets certain qualifications? And if it's the latter, what should those qualifications be? Just those who live on the surface? The races who aren't "monstrous"?

I don't know if I'm wise or important enough to decide who's "good enough" to be judged for their actions and not their race.

Even if I was, I wouldn't want to be the one to decide.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Tue Apr 11, 2017 5:22 pm

Evil will always triumph because it will gladly commit atrocities that good will never resort to.

To do good, you have to actually try. You have to care. It's so much easier to cover your ears and close your eyes, to turn away, to tell yourself that it isn't your problem and it doesn't affect you, so you have no reason to act and endanger yourself.

"Don't worry about it," say the people who don't have to worry.

What can one boy do against a tide of unstoppable evil? How can I stand against it, when greater numbers of experienced veterans are swept away in the blink of an eye? How can I protect others when I can't even protect myself?

Anyone with a shred of common sense would run and hide.

If I do, though, that's one more person who's turned away. That's one more person who's made it "not his problem."

Maybe it takes a certain kind of suicidal stupidity to fight evil, one that I unfortunately have plenty of.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Sat Apr 22, 2017 5:32 am

Four years ago, I told myself that I didn't want the path of my life to be riddled with the gravestones of everyone I've ever admired.

I suppose I sort of got what I wanted. There's no gravestones - okay, that's a lie. There's a few of them, but there aren't so many that I'm stumbling into them every few steps. I just trip over them, sometimes, when I'm not looking where I'm going.

No, I have worse than gravestones.

I have ghosts.

I wish I had gravestones. I know what to do with them. You run, and run, and run, and keep running until you can't see them anymore. Once you can't see them, you're safe from them. You don't have to remember them anymore, not unless you want to. Out of sight, out of mind.

Ghosts follow you.

I can't escape from them. Not when they're waiting for me behind every door I open, around every corner I turn, along every road I travel along. A disembodied voice echoing in my ears - heya, Jad, a ghostly hand ruffling my hair. There are ghosts waiting for me by the fountain in the outskirts, ghosts lingering outside the gates, ghosts reading reports in the barracks, ghosts in the Nomad inviting me to join them.

I reach out to them and they disappear. Like they disappeared from my world.

I don't know what to do with ghosts.

I don't know how to find out what to do with the ghosts, because the ghosts are the people that I would've asked about how to deal with ghosts.

They told me I wasn't alone. Does that still hold true, now that they're gone?
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri Apr 28, 2017 4:53 pm

I have a lot of thoughts in my head, but there are no words to describe them. Why did I even buy a journal again? Because someone thought it'd be good for me? What do I even write in it?

She saw them

My handwriting's a mess. You'd think that elves would have penmanship as graceful and fancy as they are. Nope, not me. Then again, I'm not much of an elf. Maybe I could have pretty handwriting, if I slowed down and focused on making it pretty. That'd mean I'd have to spend more time writing reports, though. I'd rather get them done quick. Information presented simply and swiftly is easier to work with than a fancy embellished tale.

Pity, confusion, who did this and why and what happened

Whose thoughts am I writing? Mine? Hers? What I think she's thinking about me?

I need to guess at what's going on in other people's head a lot. It helps me figure out what I'll do next. Sometimes I guess wrong, but I'd rather have a plan in case something happens. Otherwise I'll panic. I'm not paranoid or afraid of them. I'm just cautious.

Damaged?
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri May 05, 2017 8:15 am

It's the combination of things that make me who I am that makes people want me ?

Nothing fits anymore.

Not elfy enough for them. Too elfy for her. When you're drunk, you say the things that you have the sense not to say. It hurt. Still does. She wants me to trust her. She wants me to obey her. I can't.

So I'm running away. Again. That's all I was ever good for, running away from vows and duty.

If you swear an oath to protect something, but that something winds up changing so much it's no longer recognizable, no longer dear to you, it's not wrong to break that oath

I didn't have to make the oath, but I chose to. I thought it'd make him like me more, or approve of me. I felt like I had to prove myself harder than everyone who was lucky enough be born something that isn't a freak. And even if I do prove myself, I'm still an outsider. A piece that doesn't fit.

The people I swore to protect are gone, the city I swore to protect has changed.

I don't know where I am, or where I fit in.

A fear of being alone reflects a desire to belong, a sense of loyalty, and a sense of compassion

He's right.

You're not alone

I want to belong to someone, to something, to somewhere. I want a home to care for. I want a family to love. I had one, but it's gone now. I don't know what I have left, just a lot of broken edges, all of them too sharp to fit anywhere.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Tue May 09, 2017 5:32 am

To the Guard,

The time has come for me to depart the ranks. I've learned so much from all of you and I regret not being able to teach as much as I would've liked to. I wish you all well and


Too formal.

Attn: All

I'm resigning. I can no longer, in good conscience, serve under a Commander who allies herself with infernalists and demands blind obedience and unquestioning loyalty. She is a dirty lying backstabbing traitor who trusts some lying murdering devil-bedding maniac who wants all elves dead over her own subordinates and I thought I could trust you


... No.

Hey everyone,

I can't do this anymore. I quit.

Sorry.


That sounds dumb. I might use it. I should probably ask someone for help.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri May 12, 2017 12:21 am

I did it.

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny

I'm not happy.

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny

I don't feel good.

Justice without mercy becomes tyranny
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Sun May 14, 2017 6:42 pm

It's exactly how I told Anden. Like someone had wrapped everything in cheesecloth. Blurred and veiled, stopping me from touching it and being there and stopping everything from being real but I know it was real, I was there. I saw it, I watched it, I lived it, just through the cheesecloth.

The cheesecloth is unravelling and everything I felt but didn't feel, everything I remember but should've forgot, everything's spilling out, going everywhere, and I'm wandering around picking up the shards of shattered glass and they shred me into pieces every time I touch them.

Injuries are weird. A day or two later, they'll hurt worse than when you first got them, except these ouches are in my head and not my body. The difference is that body injuries usually go away and the head ones never do.

I'll learn to live with them. I don't know how long it'll take, but I'll learn to live with them eventually. I always have. I just don't know what'll reopen the wounds. They're torn wide open right now, raw and festering and bleeding everywhere. They hurt so bad I wake up screaming.

I hope I didn't startle him. I don't want to disturb him when he's asleep, but I don't want to be alone.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Sat May 27, 2017 12:08 am

She taught me how to hate.

She didn't just scar my body. She scarred me. She carved hatred into my heart as she carved Bahamut into my hand. It still hurts and I'm still angry and it's bleeding everywhere, into everything else. I'm losing it.

I dislike hurting people. I used to. Now there's some people that I'd be okay with hurting. There are some people I want to hurt. I want them to suffer. I've never hated people before. I hate ideals, I hate beliefs, but never people. Not until now.

Why do I have to be the one to turn the other cheek? Why do I have to quietly accept every blow that comes my way? Why is it wrong for me to fight back? Why is it okay when horrible things happen to ordinary people but when those people want to retaliate it's suddenly bad and they have to just forgive and forget and let evil have their way with them?

Years ago, these thoughts would never have crossed my mind. I would've cried, I would've hid, I would've gone to my protectors and begged them to keep me safe. I changed. I don't want to hide. I can't be safe when that hatred she carved into me is devouring me from the inside out. She changed me. I'm still a coward, but I'm an angry coward. And it is very hard to be afraid when you want to hurt someone so badly it feels like your blood is on fire.

I hate change.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri Jul 14, 2017 2:13 pm

Chaotic scribbles and haphazardly scrawled notes come to an abrupt end, a mere turn of the page standing between them and the rest of the mostly empty journal.

Thoughts and reminders done in charcoal give way to a single demand stained in ink, black against white.


Give him back.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Wed Jul 19, 2017 4:52 pm

I am a monster.

I have no fur or scales to speak of, no fangs or horns or claws that warn innocents to avoid me. I do not hail from the Underdark (even if some think that I do) and, for the most part, I appear completely "normal."

My goal in life is to help people, though I don't do a very good job of it. I don't like seeing others hurt, or alone, because I know what it feels like being hurt and alone and it's not a feeling I want others to feel.

I am still a monster.

Appearance does not make you a monster, nor does your place of origin. Actions and intentions make the monster, but most of all, it is society that defines what a monster is.

Monsters are threats to society. They are dangerous to a society's people, or its beliefs, or its traditions, or any combination of the three.

The elves aren't wrong to consider me a monster.

I don't want to be outcast and hunted, but they have every right to hunt me.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Wed Aug 16, 2017 7:44 am

One year later

Cold air and colder winds, harsh against his exposed skin. His clothes were warm enough, but there was only so much a scarf and hood could do to protect his face from the chill.

Wrapped in his cloak for warmth, he stepped off the road, towards the lone tree overlooking the lake. He found shelter beneath its leaves, and comfort beside the solitary headstone nestled between its trunk and the shore.

He'd brought no gifts or offerings, nothing that would draw attention, nothing that roving goblins or beasts would carry off for themselves. He was unarmed and unarmored, vulnerable, alone.

Not alone. Definitely not alone. Not today, at least.

He cautiously tested his weight against the headstone, making sure it wouldn't move, or worse, fall over. Satisfied that it was stable, he leaned his head against it and closed his eyes.

What would he have said, if there had been time to say anything? Not some long, drawn-out goodbye. Goodbye meant that you were never going to see them ever again, and he didn't like to entertain that possibility.

He drifted away into memories of a time when everything was simpler, when he was nothing more than a lonely, lost child searching for his place, not in the world, but in the worlds of others. He drifted away into memories of his head resting upon a warm, cloth-clad shoulder, a protective arm curled around him, the knowledge that he was safe no matter what happened, that he was accepted and wanted despite his differences and shortcomings and flaws...

Friend, mentor, teacher, guardian, savior.

What could you even say to someone who was all that for you, and more?

What would he say, if he was sitting here right now? If his head was on his shoulder and not cold, hard stone?

He let his thoughts slip away. For a long moment, there were no politics, there were no impending raids, there were no shadows to chase and rumors to catch, there were no duties or errands, there were no worries weighing him down. There was only himself and the headstone and memories, and finally, the words that he would say to him if only he could.

Thank you.
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Re: I Have No Idea What I'm Doing: An Aspiring Cleric's Musi

Post by cptcuddlepants » Mon Sep 04, 2017 4:26 pm

All of those "feel-good warm fuzzy" things - like redemption and heroism and being a "good" person - are similar in the sense that if you go blindly chasing after them, you'll fail horribly at it and also wind up leaving ruin in your wake.

I want to chase after redemption right now. I want to throw myself at the Triad until they forgive me. I want to do deed after deed that will repair whatever it is I did and put everything right again.

I know better.

We lost faith in each other, I think. There was no magnificent collapse to be seen, only erosion that I never saw until everything had gone cold. Like lovers who gradually drifted apart, whose communication gradually crumbled and drifted away.

Faith in someone isn't something that you sink your claws into and sieze for yourself. It isn't something that you shove down another's throat and force them to take. It's something that two people build up, little by little, over a long time.

That is how I will approach this. Small deeds, small tasks, little by little. No heroics, no attempts at glorious self-sacrifice. I can't help anyone if I'm dead. I can't think about other people if I'm only thinking about my goals.

I have always been that weird, nosey kid who just likes helping out. I'm older now, and a lot wiser to the ways of the world, and stronger (acknowleding that feels strange) than I was when I first left home. I'm no mage, I'm no priest, and I'm only a merely average swordsman on my best of days, but that doesn't mean I can't be useful to someone, somewhere, somehow.

I wonder who will need my help tomorrow.
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I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Musings

Post by cptcuddlepants » Wed Sep 20, 2017 5:00 pm

Something happened.

I don't remember when or what, but something happened.

Everyone has that little voice in his or her head, the one that says, "Your existence is merely tolerated." The one that says, "You are a burden." The one that says, "No one wants you."

Something happened, something I think was brought on by that ritual we did to find out what's wrong with me. My little voice is now a big voice, and those nightmares are back. I haven't told anyone. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to make them leave.

He said I have to do this alone. There isn't anyone who can help me.

There are more books than pillows scattered around my room and I don't understand any of them. I drew a ritual circle out of some magic-for-beginners tome onto the floor and I don't know what it's supposed to do. I tried to copy some runes onto a piece of paper and none of it makes any sense.

It should work, right? But a lot of things that should happen wind up not happening, for some reason or another.

I feel the same way that I do with my crazy help-all-the-people dreams. Like I'm a tiny, insignificant ant at the foot of an insurmountable cliff, wondering where I can even begin.
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Re: I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Mus

Post by cptcuddlepants » Sat Oct 14, 2017 9:21 am

You don't have to either embrace darkness or cower away from it. I dance on the very edge of darkness and laugh in its face.

But here I am, diving headfirst into the jaws of hell to save someone who nearly everyone - maybe myself included, to a small extent - believes is beyond salvation.

I'm all he has, he says. The only friend he's ever had. The only person he's ever cared for. The lone light in his darkness.

And he doesn't know it, but he's all I have. A purpose, something I can focus on, a reason for me to roll out of bed every morning. A reason to push myself and study and continue. I've poured my heart and soul into helping him and all of me hopes that the suspicions around him are wrong.

How can I advise him, when I can't even follow my own advice? How can I help him when this madman's quest of mine is all that holds me together?

I want to help him. If it was me in his place, I'd want someone to help me. I don't want to be alone. No one does. I don't want to leave him, but there's that nagging voice in the back of my head, the one that knows he doesn't want my help even if I could do anything to help him.

I told him that trust and hope are stronger than fear.

I'm afraid to trust in my abilities.

I'm afraid to have any hope for him.

And yet here I am, preaching to him as if I know what I'm talking about. I want to be right about him, about myself, despite what others say about him and what my traitor thoughts tell me about myself. I want to believe that he can be saved. I want to believe that I can save him.

Please, Triad, let me be right about this.
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Re: I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Mus

Post by cptcuddlepants » Thu Nov 09, 2017 4:21 pm

It wasn't the first time he'd woken up on a cold, hard floor and immediately wished he hadn't done so and immediately wished he would never have to do so ever again.

He hurt. Not the lost-a-fight kind of hurt, or the drank-too-much kind of hurt, but the inside kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that settled itself somewhere between your heart and your stomach and ate away at both.

Several long moments of staring at a closed door later, he finally understood why he hurt so much, and why he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

The door would not open.

No, that was silly. It would open, at some point in the future, once a new resident settled in. But it wouldn't open to reveal the person who should be living inside. It would open to reveal a stranger, or a squatter, or a visitor - someone who didn't belong there.

It would never open to reveal the person who had given him a purpose. The door would open, oh, it would, it would open many times in the future and he knew that every time the lock clicked and the hinges creaked his heart would give a great leap the same way it did whenever the door to the lounge opened and he heard the whoosh of those wards that he'd become so accustomed to hearing whenever he made his appearance.

The door would never open to reveal that bright light who could, without fail, pierce the dull gloom of monotony and aimless wandering and that awful feeling of being lost.

His book wasn't the sunshine. He was the sunshine.
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Re: I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Mus

Post by cptcuddlepants » Mon Nov 27, 2017 9:11 am

They caught us. Outmanned, overpowered. Is it over? It's over. They're all dying. Dead, in pieces, burned. I can't help them. I couldn't help them.

He can do anything he wants to me. Whatever he does, no matter how horrifying, no matter how brutal, will be called "righteous" by the ones around him. The ones watching. I'm just a villain to them. They don't care if a villain dies. They don't care if a villain dies slowly in front of a bloodthirsty mob because this is "justice." They don't care because they want to see blood and this man is going to give them the blood they want to see so badly.

Even villains don't want to die.

He steps forwards. Eyes are on him. They want to see what he'll do. What manner of "justice" he has planned for me.

I don't know what he's thinking. Does he want to do this? Does he enjoy it?

Who's really the villain? Me, or him?

He steps forwards again, and I scream.


She screamed, too.

Who did I hurt more? Her, or myself?

I wish I knew what she had been thinking. Was she afraid of me? Of what I'd do to her? Was she afraid that she was going to die?

Even villains don't want to die.
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Re: I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Mus

Post by cptcuddlepants » Fri Dec 08, 2017 9:14 pm

I do it because I have to.

I thought he'd been ensorcelled. I thought he was being forced to act against his will, that something was controlling him.

I understand now.

Enchantments and compulsions aside, the only thing that truly forces us to do anything is ourselves: our needs, our desires, our ideals.

He wasn't being forced to do anything. He had to do it because it was what he stood for. It was what his heart told him to do. Research, study, discover. He did it because his conscience would not let him do otherwise. He did it because he had to.

And despite how often I tell myself that I've retired, that I will never help another slave again, that I will withdraw and allow the Underdark their victory, I find myself fighting, time and time again. I know I'll lose. I know I'll drag myself home, even more broken and exhausted than I was the previous day, and when the sun rises I'll drag myself back into the very same war that defeated me and continue fighting a losing battle for people who'll never thank me or care or see me as anything except for an evil, bloodthirsty madman.

I do it because I have to.
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Re: I Still Have No Idea What I'm Doing: A Wayward Elf's Mus

Post by cptcuddlepants » Mon Dec 18, 2017 9:45 pm

He hated silence.

It pressed against him, suffocating. It was worse than any Silence ward he'd ever been caught in, at least those would end eventually and if he ran fast and far enough he could get escape.

The silence he hated was the silence of a quiet town, a lonely road, a barren forest. The world around him was not silent - lifeless as it was, alone as he was, he knew that the grass rustled beneath his boots, his greatswords (they're not mine, he's going to need them when he comes back, he's going to come back) thumped softly against his back with each step he took. A faint breeze ruffled his hair and whispered through the trees, but he heard none of it.

I won't need it where I'm going.

He paused. Glanced up - very far up - into twinkling hazel eyes set in a handsome face lined by age and stress brought on by leadership.

But you'll need it when you come back, he said. If you don't have your sword, you can't protect me, and then I'll die.

He knew he wasn't dreaming. His senses worked better when he was dreaming. He could actually trust his senses in his dreams, because whenever he dreamed he would remember everything he desperately wanted to forget, down to the most minute detail.

You know it's useless. This voice was different. Female. Cold, cruel, hissing. He blinked. The man was gone (he's going to come back) and a drow had taken his place. She lounged against a nearby tree, ruby-red eyes glittering maliciously. She was too close for comfort, close enough that the whip coiled on her belt could easily reach him. No one can protect you. You are destined for either slavery or sacrifice, nothing more.

He stared at her. She stared back at him and smirked.

It's just past noontime, he stated flatly. Enjoying the sunlight?

He also knew that none of what he saw and heard was real. They were only ghosts, but he couldn't get rid of them. He could never get rid of his problems, anyway. All he could do was endure them and hope nothing bad happened.

You forget your place, slave. Kneel.

Go away, he snapped.

She laughed. Why do you still fight? Submit. We own the surface. You will never stop us. You are one foolish, pathetic elf against the might of the Underdark. You are alone. You were always alone.

One hand went to the amulet hanging around his neck, the other hand pointed towards her. He ripped the amulet off and spoke to her, not with speech (no one listens to you, no one cares, they don't believe you and they never will) but with spells (they were right, you're mad, you're dangerous, he left you because you were a burden and all you ever did was drag him down, he just wanted to be free of you and he hated you up until the very end) and fire and the only way he would ever be heard.

The silence broke.

Flames roared, wood cracked and groaned as the burning tree came crashing to the ground. The heat pressed in on him, the smoke suffocated him. Startled into reality, he called forth a water elemental before the flames could spread any more. He was in a forest. Forests burned easily. If the forest burned because of him...

He slipped his amulet back on with hands that trembled as the water elemental flitted to and fro, quenching the flames as it danced over the smoldering remnants. They were right, he was insane and dangerous - but at least she was gone. The tree was gone too, just charred splinters and smoldering scraps of foliage, but she was gone -

Oh, but she wasn't.

She was still there. She would always be there. He would always be her slave, forever under her rule. She was his fears, his doubts, his nightmares, she was everything that had ever haunted his life, given a face and a voice by whatever madness had claimed him. She was a part of him, and he could no more get rid of her than he could get rid of himself.
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