Insein L'Mort
The sun stings my eyes, and the prickling of my skin reminds me of what I am. I do not come to the Barrens often. I feel exposed, vulnerable here. There are less places to shelter me from the Light, and I find myself wishing for clouds and rain that will not come. Being undead is uncomfortable. The living never let you feel truly like one of them, no matter how they speak to you, their eyes betray them. They watch you closely, looking for corruption and madness. They track every insect that flocks to your skin, or every maggot that may try to burrow within your necrotic flesh.
Being a magus aids the task of keeping yourself repaired. The arcane simply alter time, the fire can burn away anything untoward within or upon your flesh, and the frost makes it impossible for most life to try and take advantage of you. But still, the living observe you, searching for weaknesses.
I have learned that my weakness is my heart, and my misunderstanding of love and of caring. We are supposed to be dead creatures, no longer bound by morals and ideals imposed upon us by the flesh. Most of my kind uses this as an excuse. They perform the basest acts simply because it should not matter anymore, and that they are no longer a part of the living world.
They are wrong. All living eyes are upon us. They want to know what death is like, they are curious. They will all die, it is inevitable. We are the cheaters of death, we have betrayed the natural cycle in their eyes. We are a puzzle to them, having obtained immortality, but at such a terrible cost. Housed forever in bodies that can no longer support us in natural ways, we find our own ways to strengthen our life force.
We cut and sew fresh flesh to our frames, we consume the other dead to encourage our own flesh to absorb the pieces and regenerate. We use magick in every way possible. It is still a struggle, and often it is looked upon as a curse.
Regardless of our limitations, we need to show that we are still worthy of existing alongside them. At all times we should show honour and consideration for the living. Compassion should not only extend for our own kind, but be extended to them as well, if we are to desire such compassion from them. We need to break the cycle of suspicious eyes and paranoia if we are to ever hold any hope to be left alone to our personal pursuits.
The gather was short. For most of the time, I was the lone Forsaken. None of my kind like the Barrens outposts, and fewer still will tolerate the living for long, even among clan. There were orcs speaking of war and debating strategies for the next battle, whenever it may come. The elves breathed in the peace, and took the opportunity to be frivolous and speak of love and passion.
Claire stopped by at my insistence, and while I felt terrible about it, I had to remind her very carefully that I now watched her progress with interest, and held her precious child hostage. It is a delicate form of cruelty, and her words surprised me. The one I despised and desired to punish was now married. Logart? Syvbia? Another Forsaken marriage? Fel. There was love involved between two of the most immoral and despicable of our kind? It is a joke, it has to be.
I demanded Claire obtain me an audience with Syvbia. How far has that monster’s mind gone? What was left that she should feel love, and yet is so mindless in her destructive actions towards the living? Curse my weakness, I am faltering.
Naxevo also stopped by, and he was pleasant enough. I will take each day as it comes with him. He is unpredictable and capricious, but I will continue to try to maintain his friendship. He still wishes to obtain a peaceful unlife, planting flowers and sipping wine with those he knew in life, if they were to speak with him again. It is an ideal that I cannot say sounds unpleasant. Perhaps someday it will be true, but for now we need to cultivate the allies we have before we make peace with the ones that would destroy us.
The death knight Necropsi and the Forsaken Gabranth visited briefly. She wished to speak to me again, and I her. There is much we wish to discuss on trollish customs and current politics. She has been thrall to the Scourge for too long, her emotions are so dormant, yet I see the occasional flash of…something for the other death knight. I wonder if she would enjoy tea?
I returned home alone, and Zyami and Elland slept quietly on the floor by the fire, curled up in each others’ arms. They are so peaceful together, and so complete. It is something I will never feel. Their brief lives should be filled with each other and happiness, and I will protect them if I can. Worgen or no, enemies or no, it is again my weak heart that wants them to succeed where I continuously fail.
I will take a walk tonight to Undercity, and see if there are any new novels in the bookstore. I also need to return Kennius’ book to he and Velexie. I can at least content myself with the stories, and pretend they are me. In my mind, no living can watch me nor judge me.
