I’ve started this log to practice my writing skills, and to keep a written record of my life.
Whether the trolls can and will appreciate my candor remains to be seen. If this happens to be found and read by those to whom it does not belong, may you live in interesting times.
Where to start? At the beginning, at the end? Or just with what’s on my mind as of late…
I’ll start here and work backwards to fill in gaps as they become relevant. I’d rather the recent events be fresh and recorded clearly without the haze of time to cloud and obscure some things while the light of past days casts visions from my mind in sharp relief that may not be accurate.
I am a slave. The trolls call it Nerot, basically you’re apprenticed as a slave and either you graduate to something else or you die. Not really a fair light, but I think I’m starting to understand the failings of their honor in full. Might makes right, and what you conquer you keep. Sounds simple enough, but to them it doesn’t matter if it takes three of them to subdue you. You still lost, and therefore you’re theirs to do with as they please. If you kill three of them in defense of your life they will hunt you down and kill you for being a murderer.
I am not being abused. Well, not physically anyway. Emotionally I’ve been cast back into the bonds of slavery. At least my mother got out easy, between dying from her illness and the hooded men who broke down the door to our home so many years ago… That knife to the heart they gave her was a mercy, and they took no such pity upon me. I know not what happened to my father other than one of the men lectured the one-handed blackballed ex-thief about how this was a blessing for him. He was no longer responsible for the sick or the young. He could start over.
Shortly after winning our freedom from the undead guards, and the horror constructs, and the horrors, and clawed our way out of the Caer’s demented depths rescuing those long trapped within its claws while delivering them from evil… We were beset upon by slavers. I expect they were the same ones to bring us to the mine in the first place. Us…
We’re a ragtag band of people who managed to escape the foul wind of death. Literally. Like a fart to a candle an ill wind ripped through the mine killing all but a handful, and reanimating even more. Namegivers all, adepts to the last, bound together in an attempt to do little more than survive a few moments longer. We few, we mighty few.
I’m not sure why I bothered, I’m still not sure why I bother. Some days I expect death would be the better option. At least that’s something I still have control over in my life fore now… When I die, if I choose to.
We were free. Stepping into the sunlight for the first time was heavenly. Instead the fresh snow simply didn’t reflect the ugliness lurking nearby. Slavers leaping down from the heavens, their craft gliding through the air effortlessly. Pulling out my bolo I quickly entangled one and pulled him from the roof of the cave entrance where Hans quickly sent our assailant to his final rest.
From there we pushed forward into the open, heading for a creek only to find ourselves continually harried upon all sides. As the odds began to even in our favor another boatload of slavers began leaping into the fray. I knew not if they were collaborators, or a rival gang. I didn’t want to find out.
We found out anyway.
And, I’m a slave once more. Instead of reading lips at parties, and practicing disguises as I fetched supplies I now tend to children. In the end all I can do is look at them and remember what was stolen from me. My childhood, my innocence, and my freedom. The children did not force this upon me, and I do not hate them. I simply envy them.
The trolls apparently feel I am unimportant enough to farm off to take care of the kids they don’t want to bother raising themselves. The rest of my compatriots instead are allowed to go fishing, or hunting, or on patrols. Me, I get to live with a semi-senile woman and listen to the squealing of tortured piglets as they dash about playing the latest game they have invented. I guess they need warriors more than they need a bard, and as such I’m dismissed to a life of care-taking. I barely find time to practice my own skills beyond reciting stories to the children and inventing silly songs for them.
As I have said, they haven’t laid a finger on me so far. I gave them my word, and they gave me theirs. I am preparing supplies in case I have to leave quickly for my own safety, but that is not an option I will exercise unless it becomes necessary to avoid harm from them. They know only might, and they know only that the mightiest make what is right. If you question their honor, they will threaten to kill you. If they question yours, you must stand there and take it as if it were never said and that you’ve never had honor in your life.
In the coming days I plan to use the children as an excuse to conduct field trips. Perhaps we could tour one of the airships so that I may get close enough to study how to disable one if necessary. Outside of that my personal time is spent practicing my martial skills. I’ve become quite proficient with the bolo, and I think this is a tool of the trade that fits me well. It is flexible, yet has reach. It is swift, yet it is also capable of moving you off-balance.
Lately I have seen my party mates laughing, and talking, and visiting each other. Not one felt the need to reach out to me and see how I was doing. Perhaps they need me even less than what little I thought they did. Either way I’m alone once more, slavery is my only constant and faithful companion in this life so far.
I think will wrap this up for now. The light is fading, the shadows are creeping, and my favorite rock for playing an contemplating calls to me before I must help get the children ready for dinner. Once more into the breach Suulin, perhaps tomorrow will bring new surprises.