Book that I write in,
It's worth noting that, for all my criticisms of the elevators and aesthetics, the actual layout of the Undercity makes a lot of sense. A near-perfect circle divided into quarters; if you can count to four, you can find your way around. This suited me just fine, as I'm pretty sure that, given the choice between getting a lobotomy done with a mining pick or asking or asking a guard for directions, I would chose the former. Inbetween tasks I set for myself I started to explore the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Banshee Queen. When I did finally see her (guarded by Forsaken, I noted with relief) it was at a distance. I poked my head out from the end of the hallway that led into her royal quarter and very quietly observed her for a moment. She looked very strong, and a little pissed off too so I decided not to approach her. Silently, I thanked her for freeing us and nodded my head in her direction. I knew the gesture was pointless as she was as unaware of it as she was of my own existence; but I enjoyed thinking I at least did something to express my gratitude.
Sometimes when I felt bored I would lay in the coffins of the 'inn' in Undercity (which isn't so much an inn as it is an alcove in the Trade Quarter with coffins propped up against the walls) and pretend to sleep. I knew I didn't need to sleep, but closing my eye sockets and letting my mind wander felt restful, and I started to do it regularly. Rarely, when doing this, I would see something in my minds eye from my time alive, but it was very brief. A quick flash of something I could recognize. At first I was elated, I was finally learning more about who I was before death! I was very anxious, but assured myself that with time I would have all the answers; even still, questions ran through my head without end. Did I have a lover while I drew breath? Parents? I shuddered, but the question came to me still: Children? I had to know. As I have written before, I had no intention of running off to reclaim any ties I had then, but the curiosity was overwhelming. In the hopes of having more of my life revealed I went and exhausted myself mining ore from veins in The Glades so that my time spent with my eyes closed would be more restful.
Weeks passed with no development. Desperate to distract myself until the time came to lay down and try again, I threw myself into my trade. I adored engineering, I still do; but the desire to learn who I was before I crawled out of that grave in Brill was consuming me. Praises from my trainer Lloyd were barely heard, and the schematics I poured over blurred before my eyes. A Forsaken existence is not one made vibrant by the senses, so my obsession must have been nearly all-consuming to further dull my unlife. In order to try and take my mind off my growing obsession I invented projects for myself; testing to see if the trigger on a certain gun would pull easier if it was iron or tin, and which of the two melted faster, things like that.
One night I opened my eyes after seeing several mental pictures, all of flowers. I saw them vibrantly; peacebloom, mageroyal, icecap, roses... Useless. All the rare glimpses I had seen of my life were useless. Did I know who I was? If I was loved? Did I have a family? Social status? No. But I could sure as hell tell you what colour my bedsheets were. Oh, did you know the china in my cupboards was pale blue? Yes, it was. I knew which lamp on an agonizingly nameless street in my mind flickered, but I didn't know if I ever had siblings. I pounded my fist against the wood in my coffin, wishing for some strange reason I could sob. I couldn't, but I did put two star rubies in my hollow eye sockets to get a chuckle out Lloyd a few days ago.
That's not a fair trade.
I cried out in frustration, pulling at my hair. These stupid pictures I saw! Who cared about the colour of bedsheets and the wood my workbench was made of! Wait, workbench? I thought hard, recalling the images from my mind. I had been focusing on the flowers, but the backdrop had been the same; a very well used oak work bench. Yes, I was certain. Who works with flowers? An alchemist is the obvious answer, but there had been no herbs, no mortar and pestle, no vials. There had been a tool on the bench though; I forced myself to think, knitting my eyebrows together and holding my chin. It was small, easily overlooked, common...
A knife.
The realization made me knock over my coffin in the inn alcove, it fell on the one beside it, which caused them all to fall on top of each other like dominos. It ended with a deafening crash and cloud of dust. No, I'm not being dramatic, there was a lot of dust. Forsaken do not clean furniture, how do you think we get all those cobwebs in our buildings? One of the Orcish guards nearby shouted something, and the poor innkeeper looked around in a panic as one approached him. I had never been more grateful for being a fledgling Deathstalker, as slipping away in the confusion and dust was very easy for me. I also noted, for future reference, how quickly those guards could move despite their armour: pretty damn fast. I made my way outside, to the ruins of Lordaeron, to think.
I know I should have checked to see if the innkeeper was alright, but I had more pressing concerns, and really it was his own fault. What kind of fool stacks coffins like that? I sat in a corner of the ruins, shaking my head. I couldn't be, I thought to myself. I remembered one worthwhile thing from my time alive, my profession, and it's incredibly plain. I was a florist. I shook my head harder, thinking maybe I was mistaken. There was a way to test myself, I reasoned. While the specifics of my life where a mystery, the general knowledge I retained in undeath I must have obtained while living. How else would I have come out of the grave knowing what a chair was? Or what blue looked like even though I couldn't see it anymore?
I did not know the right way to hold a sword when I awoke as Forsaken, which was a point for being a florist. I could identify the local flora in Trisfal, which was another point. I thought harder, seeking something that would be a point against the idea and realized I could name all the flowers I saw in my mind even through some of them (like the icecap) were quite exotic. Actually, that icecap looked poorly hydrated. Must have been a bad shipme-- Oh shit, I was a florist.
I conducted another test just to be sure, asking myself what the proper length to cut a boutonniere was. The answer was instant, already known to me: four to five inches, and if you wanted a length more specific than that I'd have to check the lapel of the suit. I stood, dusting myself off and contemplating. The weeks since awakening had done wonders for my ego, I was learning another language, along with the art of subtlety and the blade. Days prior I made a mechanical squirrel with gems for eyes that twitched and moved with life-like quickness. Simply put, I was impressed with myself. Somewhere along the way I assumed I must have been equally impressive in life. The revelation that I wasn't was daunting. I suddenly felt fail and out of place; exactly like I had felt my first hours out of the grave.
I leaned against the walls of the ruins, my hand over the place where my heart used to beat and tilted my head up to look at the sky. It was all very melodramatic, in retrospect. Contrary to the nature of this entry, I'm not a thinker. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that my brain was the first thing to die; in fact, it would explain much. I felt overloaded with information and revelations, I couldn't bear to think another thought. In an ill-conceived attempt to take my mind off things I started conjugating verbs in Orcish aloud to myself.
“Think, thinking, thought, thoughted. Sleep, sleeping, slept. Dead, died, deading. Fight, fighting fought...”
I stopped, swearing and kicking at the grass. I raked a hand though my stiff hair in frustration, not skipping a beat as my fingers found a worm in my tangled tresses and flicked it out. I looked down at myself, and saw the beautiful armour Vaalis had given me. I felt ashamed, I'd barely given him a thought in recent days and he was the reason I was able to frustrate myself with Orcish verbs and look up at the sky and feel sorry for myself. Had I even written to thank him for the gifts? No, of course not. I dragged a hand across my face and sneered at my stupidity. Before I got wrapped up in trying to remember my no-doubt exciting life arranging flowers I had a brilliant idea inspired by him, it was the entire reason I trained to be an engineer in the first place.
I walked to the elevators that would take me back down to the Undercity, so I could get to work crafting prototypes for Vaalis's prosthetic jaw. I wanted to have some ready for when I met him again. I could think about everything else later.
It's worth noting that, for all my criticisms of the elevators and aesthetics, the actual layout of the Undercity makes a lot of sense. A near-perfect circle divided into quarters; if you can count to four, you can find your way around. This suited me just fine, as I'm pretty sure that, given the choice between getting a lobotomy done with a mining pick or asking or asking a guard for directions, I would chose the former. Inbetween tasks I set for myself I started to explore the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Banshee Queen. When I did finally see her (guarded by Forsaken, I noted with relief) it was at a distance. I poked my head out from the end of the hallway that led into her royal quarter and very quietly observed her for a moment. She looked very strong, and a little pissed off too so I decided not to approach her. Silently, I thanked her for freeing us and nodded my head in her direction. I knew the gesture was pointless as she was as unaware of it as she was of my own existence; but I enjoyed thinking I at least did something to express my gratitude.
Sometimes when I felt bored I would lay in the coffins of the 'inn' in Undercity (which isn't so much an inn as it is an alcove in the Trade Quarter with coffins propped up against the walls) and pretend to sleep. I knew I didn't need to sleep, but closing my eye sockets and letting my mind wander felt restful, and I started to do it regularly. Rarely, when doing this, I would see something in my minds eye from my time alive, but it was very brief. A quick flash of something I could recognize. At first I was elated, I was finally learning more about who I was before death! I was very anxious, but assured myself that with time I would have all the answers; even still, questions ran through my head without end. Did I have a lover while I drew breath? Parents? I shuddered, but the question came to me still: Children? I had to know. As I have written before, I had no intention of running off to reclaim any ties I had then, but the curiosity was overwhelming. In the hopes of having more of my life revealed I went and exhausted myself mining ore from veins in The Glades so that my time spent with my eyes closed would be more restful.
Weeks passed with no development. Desperate to distract myself until the time came to lay down and try again, I threw myself into my trade. I adored engineering, I still do; but the desire to learn who I was before I crawled out of that grave in Brill was consuming me. Praises from my trainer Lloyd were barely heard, and the schematics I poured over blurred before my eyes. A Forsaken existence is not one made vibrant by the senses, so my obsession must have been nearly all-consuming to further dull my unlife. In order to try and take my mind off my growing obsession I invented projects for myself; testing to see if the trigger on a certain gun would pull easier if it was iron or tin, and which of the two melted faster, things like that.
One night I opened my eyes after seeing several mental pictures, all of flowers. I saw them vibrantly; peacebloom, mageroyal, icecap, roses... Useless. All the rare glimpses I had seen of my life were useless. Did I know who I was? If I was loved? Did I have a family? Social status? No. But I could sure as hell tell you what colour my bedsheets were. Oh, did you know the china in my cupboards was pale blue? Yes, it was. I knew which lamp on an agonizingly nameless street in my mind flickered, but I didn't know if I ever had siblings. I pounded my fist against the wood in my coffin, wishing for some strange reason I could sob. I couldn't, but I did put two star rubies in my hollow eye sockets to get a chuckle out Lloyd a few days ago.
That's not a fair trade.
I cried out in frustration, pulling at my hair. These stupid pictures I saw! Who cared about the colour of bedsheets and the wood my workbench was made of! Wait, workbench? I thought hard, recalling the images from my mind. I had been focusing on the flowers, but the backdrop had been the same; a very well used oak work bench. Yes, I was certain. Who works with flowers? An alchemist is the obvious answer, but there had been no herbs, no mortar and pestle, no vials. There had been a tool on the bench though; I forced myself to think, knitting my eyebrows together and holding my chin. It was small, easily overlooked, common...
A knife.
The realization made me knock over my coffin in the inn alcove, it fell on the one beside it, which caused them all to fall on top of each other like dominos. It ended with a deafening crash and cloud of dust. No, I'm not being dramatic, there was a lot of dust. Forsaken do not clean furniture, how do you think we get all those cobwebs in our buildings? One of the Orcish guards nearby shouted something, and the poor innkeeper looked around in a panic as one approached him. I had never been more grateful for being a fledgling Deathstalker, as slipping away in the confusion and dust was very easy for me. I also noted, for future reference, how quickly those guards could move despite their armour: pretty damn fast. I made my way outside, to the ruins of Lordaeron, to think.
I know I should have checked to see if the innkeeper was alright, but I had more pressing concerns, and really it was his own fault. What kind of fool stacks coffins like that? I sat in a corner of the ruins, shaking my head. I couldn't be, I thought to myself. I remembered one worthwhile thing from my time alive, my profession, and it's incredibly plain. I was a florist. I shook my head harder, thinking maybe I was mistaken. There was a way to test myself, I reasoned. While the specifics of my life where a mystery, the general knowledge I retained in undeath I must have obtained while living. How else would I have come out of the grave knowing what a chair was? Or what blue looked like even though I couldn't see it anymore?
I did not know the right way to hold a sword when I awoke as Forsaken, which was a point for being a florist. I could identify the local flora in Trisfal, which was another point. I thought harder, seeking something that would be a point against the idea and realized I could name all the flowers I saw in my mind even through some of them (like the icecap) were quite exotic. Actually, that icecap looked poorly hydrated. Must have been a bad shipme-- Oh shit, I was a florist.
I conducted another test just to be sure, asking myself what the proper length to cut a boutonniere was. The answer was instant, already known to me: four to five inches, and if you wanted a length more specific than that I'd have to check the lapel of the suit. I stood, dusting myself off and contemplating. The weeks since awakening had done wonders for my ego, I was learning another language, along with the art of subtlety and the blade. Days prior I made a mechanical squirrel with gems for eyes that twitched and moved with life-like quickness. Simply put, I was impressed with myself. Somewhere along the way I assumed I must have been equally impressive in life. The revelation that I wasn't was daunting. I suddenly felt fail and out of place; exactly like I had felt my first hours out of the grave.
I leaned against the walls of the ruins, my hand over the place where my heart used to beat and tilted my head up to look at the sky. It was all very melodramatic, in retrospect. Contrary to the nature of this entry, I'm not a thinker. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that my brain was the first thing to die; in fact, it would explain much. I felt overloaded with information and revelations, I couldn't bear to think another thought. In an ill-conceived attempt to take my mind off things I started conjugating verbs in Orcish aloud to myself.
“Think, thinking, thought, thoughted. Sleep, sleeping, slept. Dead, died, deading. Fight, fighting fought...”
I stopped, swearing and kicking at the grass. I raked a hand though my stiff hair in frustration, not skipping a beat as my fingers found a worm in my tangled tresses and flicked it out. I looked down at myself, and saw the beautiful armour Vaalis had given me. I felt ashamed, I'd barely given him a thought in recent days and he was the reason I was able to frustrate myself with Orcish verbs and look up at the sky and feel sorry for myself. Had I even written to thank him for the gifts? No, of course not. I dragged a hand across my face and sneered at my stupidity. Before I got wrapped up in trying to remember my no-doubt exciting life arranging flowers I had a brilliant idea inspired by him, it was the entire reason I trained to be an engineer in the first place.
I walked to the elevators that would take me back down to the Undercity, so I could get to work crafting prototypes for Vaalis's prosthetic jaw. I wanted to have some ready for when I met him again. I could think about everything else later.
"Book that I Write in" is the journal of Genavie, a Forsaken Deathstalker. The story is ongoing and based off of actual roleplay done with the character on Wyrmrest Accord - US. The first entry can be found here.
One of my favorites, for sure! Freshly risen Genavie is so..... adorable and innocent!
ReplyDelete