is something I find quoteworthy...
This next journal entry is only half as long as my normal ones... partially because I feel I've been making them far, far too long.
Vanya's Journal - Entry 21, Part 1
This is a leather-bound journal that once belonged to Vanya, the formerly homeless elf who had lived in hiding in Spearbreakers. Though in the employment of Mr Frog at the time of her last entry, you cannot help but wonder how much longer it lasted.
I don't know how long I laid weeping on the floor of the forges, clutching the dead girl's little gorlak doll and trying fruitlessly to wish the memories away. The memories were in my head, but how could they be mine? How could I not remember killing so many Ballpoint agents until now? More importantly... how could I have killed them at all? I'm not a killer...
The more I thought about it, the more I feared that maybe the nightmare I'd had was the real me showing itself at last. I tried to ignore those thoughts, pointing out to myself that I hated violence... but I was forced to acknowledge the fact that I didn't know anything for sure about myself anymore. Parasol had altered my mind so much when they made me a fallback agent that they'd even made me believe I'd had a sister, if Mr Frog’s analysis could be trusted. Somehow, I still felt as though she'd been real... that all my memories about her were real, even if I couldn't remember what she looked like, or sounded like. Though I couldn't recall anything about her physical appearance, I could remember her personality... or at least, I thought I could. I didn't know anything for sure anymore. If I could kill two dozen Ballpoint agents and not feel a thing... what kind of person was I? I'd never considered myself "good"... but now I seemed to be far worse than "bad".
I wept a few more tears, curled on the magma-warmed floor behind the barrels, and held the little dead girl's gorlak doll at arm's length. It was an ugly thing - green with huge yellow eyes and a bulbous body supported by spindly legs. Its mouth was huge, taking up most of its form, and had two huge stone teeth poking up like inverted fangs. Still... despite how ugly it looked, it had all the appearance of having been loved at some time: all the wear and tear of a beloved toy. The seams beginning to weaken, and the stuffing was squashed a little flat.
I'd murdered its owner. I'd killed the little girl who it'd belonged to, at some point, years ago... all because she was in the way. I hadn't even batted an eye... but now, reliving the memories yet again, I couldn't hold back the tears, and I clutched the little doll close to me again, wishing the little child was still alive. I rolled over towards the rough, dusty wall, leaning forwards til my forehead brushed against it.
Why had I been working for Parasol to begin with? Why couldn't they have just left me alone? Even if I was an elf; even if I was a skulker... what right did they have to take me from my home in the alleyways of Spearbreakers and turn me into one of their own kind? I may not have been an official resident, or a dwarf, but I'm a person, too. Who did they think they were, acting as if the fortress was theirs? Acting as if the world was theirs? Acting as if lives, hopes and dreams were nothing more than statistics? They're monsters... abominations just as bad as the Spawn themselves, taking without asking, and not giving anything in return.
And they'd turned me into one of them.
I shook with sobs. I wanted to die - I wished that none of it had happened. I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved - I'd lost my little sister to the hospital's malpracticing doctors a couple years before. I wanted to apologize to the little girl's parents, even though I knew I'd never be able to make amends. Weaver, the Hammerer, would likely kill me for it - the punishment in Spearbreakers for murder was fifty hammerstrikes, and that meant death.
I could vaguely remember that I was in the forges - there were pools of magma not fifty feet away I could throw myself into...
"V!" someone whispered urgently from behind.
I recognized it at once: it was Urist. But I didn't care: my mind was full of how horrible of a person I'd been, to massacre so many people without even flinching. "Go away," I whimpered. "I don't want you to see me now." I know I must've looked awful, but that was the furthest thing from my mind.
His deep voice continued. "V, we must leave this place."
I didn't care how desperate he sounded. It'd been months since I'd seen him last, and though I'd missed him, he didn't have the slightest idea of what a monster I was. "Urist, go away!" I begged. "Please, just leave me alone!" Even as I said it, I felt myself wishing that he wouldn't - that he would realize I was hurting and try to help. I imagined him sitting down beside me and listening, telling me he cared about me and that everything would be all right.
My fantasies were shattered when he roughly pulled me to my feet. "V!" he whispered fiercely, spinning me around to face him so quickly that I almost dropped the little doll. "We must leave this place now."
It took me by surprise, and I stared at him blankly through my mussed hair, looking over the lantern jaw I'd wanted so, so badly to see again, less than a week before. It seemed pointless now to want him. After all, how could he want me, if he knew what I was? A little whimper escaped my throat.
Urist grabbed my hand and began to pull me hurriedly towards the entrance of the forges. I felt myself stumbling behind, barely able to keep up with his pace. But I didn't want to follow - I didn't want to go anywhere or do anything. I tried pulling away from his grip, and he responded quickly.
"Listen, if we do not leave now, the Ballpoint soldiers that Count Splint has cleaning up the aboveground are going to kill you!"
Splint was a count now? He'd only been a baron, the last I heard. "Let them kill me," I muttered despairingly. "I don't deserve to live anyway."
He threw an incredulous glance back at me for my words, but continued down the hallway without hesitation. Moments later, he pulled us into a darkened alleyway next to the stairs. "You must be completely quiet," he warned. "I could hear them on the stairs above me for much of the way down - they know you are down here. They have been looking for both of us, and if you make any sound, they will know where we are."
His words echoed, muffled, through the little hallway, and I searched his face. "They're after you, too?" I'd been hoping they wouldn't know who he was.
"Indeed," he intoned slowly.
"Then let them just find me," I whispered, brushing a tear from my eyes. "I deserve to die."
He looked at me curiously, his expression just barely visible in the dark. "What are you talking about?"
I hung my head and looked away. "Urist... I've done horrible things... I... I didn't remember them until earlier tonight, but..." I stopped, aware that my words didn't make sense.
For a moment, there was silence, before Urist placed a finger on my cheek and gently turned my face towards him. "V..." he began quietly, "your past actions do not determine who you are. What matters are the decisions you make in the future, and how you learn from your mistakes."
His words were sweet, and while they did calm me somewhat, he didn't fully understand. "Urist..."
"Quiet now," he whispered, moving his finger to my lips. He looked towards the stairs silently, listening.
It wasn't long before we heard the stomp of a number of heavy boots coming down the stairs, amidst quiet conversation. Though their voices echoed towards us, I couldn't quite make out most of what they were saying until they'd reached the bottom, just around the corner.
"We 100% sure this is her?" one asked.
"Dunno, HQ says it was dark and the image was blurry. Suspect was running or something."
"But she matches the description, yeah?"
"Yep. If it's her, we get to leave this dump."
Their whispers faded into the distance as they continued towards the forges, and still Urist stood silently, waiting, listening, almost as if he was holding his breath.
"Now," he whispered, grabbing my hand again and pulling me forwards towards the stairs. I couldn't keep up with his pace, and stumbled, falling to the floor. He stopped to pull me to my feet.
"Hey!" a voice yelled from down the hallway. "Who are you?" The Ballpoint accent was unmistakable.
Urist muttered under his breath, "Run!" We made a dash up the stairs, and I groaned inwardly as I thought of the 1500 stair steps between the forges and the living quarters. The thought of the Ballpoint soldiers right behind us terrified me, and I ran onwards frantically as Urist led the way, hand in hand.
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2273483 times)