Post by Luchiadh on Nov 22, 2004 3:22:42 GMT -5
I've spent so much time, wasted so much time, being misjudged and misunderstood, that it's somewhat gratifying to have hit upon the singular idea of a journal. The fool Garrot sold this book to me, treated me as he ever has. A glowering look, a half-again overcharge, and I'm back to what has become my favorite spot in this wretched little thorp - the roof of one of the abandoned cottages across the river from the main thoroughfare of town.
I think if nothing else, this will serve for whomever inevitably steals this tome as a guidemarker against racism. While I do not purport to be the bastion of wholesomeness or good that many of the city proselytize about, I am no more a monster than the being that unreasonably hates half-bred orcs or elves.
Bah. My thoughts are dissheveled. It is wearying to try and piece together the irritation I feel at this place.
I am judged far too often on too many counts. For race, I fit in amongst none, the product of Dlardrageth meddling in the affairs of outsiders. We lucky few, the descendants of this unholy union of gold-elf blood and tanar'ri taint, are called - in what few circles can pretend to true 'knowledge - Fey'ri. A wholly uncreative term, in my opinion. Still, I bear the clear markings of both ancestries and am reviled by all others, within and outside both races.
For faith, I have found, often to my detriment, that light is an offensive thing. Light is judgemental and harsh, bringing with it prying eyes and pointed shouts of 'monster' and 'fiend' from people who puport themselves to be accepting and open. A retreat to a shadow has saved my life more than once from hateful guards who would slay me on sight even in a city where 'murder' is a capital crime, though I had, at the time, done no wrong.
I am judged on my profession, which stems from the others. Who can blame a youthful outcast for a bitterness toward society? Who could but expect a burgeoning street-thief to eventually catch the eye of a guild of mankillers? With natural talents such as mine, and a hate of accursed sunlight, it was a match made in...
I have grown bored with this penning for now. It will be interesting to see if this journal is where I have left it when the urge strikes me again.
I think if nothing else, this will serve for whomever inevitably steals this tome as a guidemarker against racism. While I do not purport to be the bastion of wholesomeness or good that many of the city proselytize about, I am no more a monster than the being that unreasonably hates half-bred orcs or elves.
Bah. My thoughts are dissheveled. It is wearying to try and piece together the irritation I feel at this place.
I am judged far too often on too many counts. For race, I fit in amongst none, the product of Dlardrageth meddling in the affairs of outsiders. We lucky few, the descendants of this unholy union of gold-elf blood and tanar'ri taint, are called - in what few circles can pretend to true 'knowledge - Fey'ri. A wholly uncreative term, in my opinion. Still, I bear the clear markings of both ancestries and am reviled by all others, within and outside both races.
For faith, I have found, often to my detriment, that light is an offensive thing. Light is judgemental and harsh, bringing with it prying eyes and pointed shouts of 'monster' and 'fiend' from people who puport themselves to be accepting and open. A retreat to a shadow has saved my life more than once from hateful guards who would slay me on sight even in a city where 'murder' is a capital crime, though I had, at the time, done no wrong.
I am judged on my profession, which stems from the others. Who can blame a youthful outcast for a bitterness toward society? Who could but expect a burgeoning street-thief to eventually catch the eye of a guild of mankillers? With natural talents such as mine, and a hate of accursed sunlight, it was a match made in...
I have grown bored with this penning for now. It will be interesting to see if this journal is where I have left it when the urge strikes me again.