On recovering my soul.
What does a man do when his conscience dies? Very few can answer that honestly, and I am one of those few. There is one thing that I can now claim pride in: I have never killed.
When she died, as I described in my older entries, I was lost. I was taken advantage of by, by Caernwhyn-radu. He is only doing what he has to do, just as I was only doing what I had to do. He is a good man, once-brilliant and crafty, but now turns a blind eye to what damage his actions cause.
I made contacts, shadowy, unstrustworthy. I sold things; I bought things; and I knew nor cared what or where they had come from.
Were it not for one event, I fear I would still be the same dark man, inside as hollow as one of those chocoalate treats the children love so. It was an Elday, balmy, peaceful, warm and sunny. I prayed for profit, and admired my latest love conquest as she lay sleeping, her human hair glittering as gold.
Quickly, I dressed and left, the servants soon to wake, and usher her out quietly. I knew it was going to be a profitable day, and as I came close to the meeting place, I noted idly some few clouds on the horizon.
I admit this: my hand shakes as I write this. But I must. I have been remiss in my writing, for business, honest business, has kept me apart from this journal. That day, I was to, as many other days, act as a middle man, allowing a transaction to take place, quietly and securely.
Once the transaction had been finished, to the satisfaction of all parties involved, I departed, not having once seen whom I had been dealing with. All was private, screens, messengers, and envelopes, and we were paid well to keep quiet.
As I was about to round a corner, I paused hearing voices. Listening carefully, I discerned that it was a group of slaves being passed from one slave-master to another, with many assistants standing about talking about the merchandise. I concluded this must be the product I had helped facilitate the purchase of, and I wondered why such secrecy was needed. It was then that it happened, a slave got away, and ran around a corner, /my/ corner.
Crashing into me, she clasped my leg, and begged in simple Tyeni, "Help me." She was five, dirtstreaked, frail. She was human, and she was doomed. A begging glance, a tighter hug of my leg, and then a wail. A loud smack, and a deafening silence followed, and more than a little shocked, I watched and listened further.
"Careful of the merchandise! The master doesn't want the young'uns harmed yer idjits! You know how much he likes them, and what he does!" is what I felt more than heard, the meaning of the words striking me to the very core of my being.
She was never seen again. Of course not... there are many debaucheries that abound even in this city, but that kind...
This part is even harder to write, so my writing shall be messy, but it is worth the sacrifice, to tell the tale finally.
I finally came to, my shirt half off, a pain in my knees, the sound of someone sobbing, and an ineexplicable sense of being wet. Slowly, I realized, in this order, that it was raining, I had fallen to my knees, and the person crying was myself.
For as long as it rained, I quested within myself at my actions, lies, theft, and realized, that I was doing wrong. She would have never let me do these things, and so, I have by this extricated myself from the family business, and started my own. I want to fix all the wrong I have done, but I know, within myself, that were I immortal, and suffered in fire for 100 years, that would still not ease the guilt. But I must, I must appease my own sense of guilt, I must correct my wrongs.
That hospital in the North wall... that may be the way... poor Raunik, a tool in my own redemption, but a good friend still.
When she died, as I described in my older entries, I was lost. I was taken advantage of by, by Caernwhyn-radu. He is only doing what he has to do, just as I was only doing what I had to do. He is a good man, once-brilliant and crafty, but now turns a blind eye to what damage his actions cause.
I made contacts, shadowy, unstrustworthy. I sold things; I bought things; and I knew nor cared what or where they had come from.
Were it not for one event, I fear I would still be the same dark man, inside as hollow as one of those chocoalate treats the children love so. It was an Elday, balmy, peaceful, warm and sunny. I prayed for profit, and admired my latest love conquest as she lay sleeping, her human hair glittering as gold.
Quickly, I dressed and left, the servants soon to wake, and usher her out quietly. I knew it was going to be a profitable day, and as I came close to the meeting place, I noted idly some few clouds on the horizon.
I admit this: my hand shakes as I write this. But I must. I have been remiss in my writing, for business, honest business, has kept me apart from this journal. That day, I was to, as many other days, act as a middle man, allowing a transaction to take place, quietly and securely.
Once the transaction had been finished, to the satisfaction of all parties involved, I departed, not having once seen whom I had been dealing with. All was private, screens, messengers, and envelopes, and we were paid well to keep quiet.
As I was about to round a corner, I paused hearing voices. Listening carefully, I discerned that it was a group of slaves being passed from one slave-master to another, with many assistants standing about talking about the merchandise. I concluded this must be the product I had helped facilitate the purchase of, and I wondered why such secrecy was needed. It was then that it happened, a slave got away, and ran around a corner, /my/ corner.
Crashing into me, she clasped my leg, and begged in simple Tyeni, "Help me." She was five, dirtstreaked, frail. She was human, and she was doomed. A begging glance, a tighter hug of my leg, and then a wail. A loud smack, and a deafening silence followed, and more than a little shocked, I watched and listened further.
"Careful of the merchandise! The master doesn't want the young'uns harmed yer idjits! You know how much he likes them, and what he does!" is what I felt more than heard, the meaning of the words striking me to the very core of my being.
She was never seen again. Of course not... there are many debaucheries that abound even in this city, but that kind...
This part is even harder to write, so my writing shall be messy, but it is worth the sacrifice, to tell the tale finally.
I finally came to, my shirt half off, a pain in my knees, the sound of someone sobbing, and an ineexplicable sense of being wet. Slowly, I realized, in this order, that it was raining, I had fallen to my knees, and the person crying was myself.
For as long as it rained, I quested within myself at my actions, lies, theft, and realized, that I was doing wrong. She would have never let me do these things, and so, I have by this extricated myself from the family business, and started my own. I want to fix all the wrong I have done, but I know, within myself, that were I immortal, and suffered in fire for 100 years, that would still not ease the guilt. But I must, I must appease my own sense of guilt, I must correct my wrongs.
That hospital in the North wall... that may be the way... poor Raunik, a tool in my own redemption, but a good friend still.
posted by Zeroth at 3:04 PM
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