Point of View - The Herald
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Purpose of Life.
At one point in time or another, a person questions their purpose in life. It may be a noble knight wondering if his patron has divine plans for him, or a sinister soldier, wondering if he's killed enough innocents to be remembered as a terror. Psychopaths and zealots…are they so different? I have asked myself neither of those questions. I do ask myself this... "Why do I exist?" I have made my body a weapon that I truly have no need of. I thirst for gold, yet I do so hate it. I have killed men because they disrespected myself, those I admire, or simply because I have been paid to. I have also freed slaves, saved lives, and risked my own for the less fortunate. Does this make me any different than the average person?
I think not. Yet I have spoken with the celestials, and they tell me my heart is blacker than the twisted, malformed hearts of demons and devils. I have been called both a paragon and a mortal fiend in my life. So where does this life lead? As far as I can tell, nowhere. The purpose of life is... there is no purpose. It is a pointless thing. Yet a man can take a thousands lives, but only give one of his own. I know this. I've lived it.
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Waiting.
Waiting. The hardest thing I have ever had to endure in this life of mine. I have struck blows against the gods themselves in a literal manner. I have slayed legions of goblins, kuo toa, orcs, undead, humans, gnolls, kobolds and many, many other beings without batting an eye. But this waiting gets to me. I am unsure as to why. Perhaps it is the knowledge that every second I spend waiting on that thrice bedamned priest to arrive is a second that the person I wish to save dies a little more. Life is an hourglass, and when the sand runs out, it cannot be flipped again to begin anew. When the sand runs out, that is it.
So why do priests - those who claim to know the mind more than any others - take their godsbedamned time in getting to me? We all know they will say a few pretty words, stand me before a group who will attempt to act official and make a hard decision. After days of verifying what I say, they will throw to the crowds and have a 'righteous' killing, to show others my life is an abomination. Why can't they simply shoot me in the dark? So much easier for all involved. It's what I would do for them if I were in their situation. I just suppose they are lucky I am not.
I suspect this might be the last entry in this memoir of mine, and hope that Sir Roland Brynmor delivers it to the right place - only he might know where that is. But, I am uncertain of what to think the second before the light leaves my eyes this last(?) time. Do I hope my persistent soul can endure another trip from the Plane of the Dead to the Prime Material? Or do I hope that it shatters, granting me the gift of nothingness, so that my existence might come to an utter and eternal end? I know not, and for the answer, I must Wait. It all comes down to point of view.
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(K)Night.
Knights. They are an odd group of soldiers who follow a creed. Many have some sort of formal training that allows them to be a group of deadly soldiers, though they do refuse to kill the lesser man with no weapon. They refuse every advantage given to them, aside from a sword and armor. I believe that luck is ripe for the taking. You see a man with no blade and a foul tongue, you kill him just as dead as if he had the Foehammer's Axe himself.
I digress. Knights in their lordhood and gleaming blades share a name with the darkness that falls when the sun is gone. Night. The time of the less fortunate. The foul, the fallen the cutthroats and thieves of society. And me. Though, admittedly, I feel more of a sentinel than a cutthroat at this point in my life. Returned from nowhere and everywhere to watch over one who I let down. I suppose when the time comes, I shall step from the darkness, perform my 'saintly' duties and save the maiden fair.
In essence, I shall become a knight. For a night.
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Identity.
What is Identity? A man can live ten thousand years by another's side, but only on the day that the other decides will a true identity be revealed. A man can love, hate, befriend, borne and kill thousands. But only if and when -they- decide will he know their true identity. Assuming they themselves know it. There was perhaps one whom had an identity I knew. Perhaps. Then, in the blink of an eye, things arise. Take precedent. And like a wave on the ocean, it is lost. Who was she? Good. Light. Divine Flame, in passion and fury. Saintly Incarnate. Who am I? Evil. Dark. Unholy Corruption, in fraud and deception. Tainted Incarnate. She saves lives, rebuilds them. I take them, break them. I thought perhaps we evened each other out, light and dark, good and evil. And maybe we did. But she was willing to fall into darkness for me, and I was not willing to repent for her.
Darkness is quite accepting. None are turned away. When seeking redemption, however, redeemers are a most critical bunch. And they should be. If my countless years chasing identity has taught me anything, it is that I started out on the path of Taint, that path is the path I have followed and always will follow. Destiny and weakness combined contribute to that. As a Herald, I am a Tool. A willing aide to any who would have me. Light or dark, good or bad, pure or tainted. Perhaps that is my identity. A Tool, for any to wield. A less interesting identity than many, to be certain, but it is mine, and I shall cherish it.
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Death.
Death. The only thing in this world that can be relied upon. It is funny that the word that can define each one of us more than any other is only five letters and one syllable. It amuses me when I walk down the street to hear folks utter it without a second's thought or a moment's remorse. Children say it, smiles on their faces and joy radiating from their young naive bodies. Should this word be so easy to say? I have sent many, many people to their deaths, and I believe if they were returned to life they would pretend such a word didn't even exist.
Death. Such an easy word to utter, and such an easy state of existence to be sent into. Is this good or bad, and what does it say about the society I have chosen to live in? I believe this word's meaning has been dulled from its original context, as has the mentality of the average man. At one time, it meant something to kill another. To end his life and send him unto death. To know you had just ultimately ended another, just as you. No longer. Now the average man doesn't pay a second's thought to a man he just felled. The average mindset seems more akin to mine than a humane persons' anymore. And so the world does change.
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Failure.
Failure. It is never an option. When a man does not succeed one way, it is his duty to achieve his goal by all other means availible, and, should that end without fruition, a man needs to devise new means. Or die trying. I have achieved goals in the past, yet, sadly, I have failed at quite a few things as well. However, as philosophers of years past have claimed, what does not destroy you only makes you stronger. Should this be the case, I am nigh indestructible. And I believe that I have embraced failure. I no longer seek to achieve my goals. Should my original plan fail, I no longer have the motivation to try any other means.
What does this mean? This means I am no longer fit to masquerade as a Herald. To do so would be to dishonor the hundreds of men before me who valiantly lived - and died - by the way of the Herald. I have ultimately failed my occupation and lifestyle. Perhaps it is time to try anew, back at home… Away from all vestiges of this life that never should have been. Well, away from all of them but one. Perhaps I shall even grow my hair out as she requested...
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Rebel.
Rebel. My homeland sees me as an exile - a rebel of sorts. I have rebelled against governments in the past. Some have toppled, some have banished me - some have sent killers after me, yet here I stand, not as alive as I once was, but not dead either. There have been hundreds upon hundreds of people who have claimed they will be the one to claim this poor Herald's life. There have been hundreds upon hundreds of people who have died trying to slay this poor Herald. Even when the threat of death hangs above my head, I rebel against it, and live. Yet, what is the rebel I portray? A political criminal who advocates chaos and anarchy, or perhaps the revolutionist who is ruthless, yet fights for 'the greater good'? Perhaps a bit of both, depending on who believes they have the natural right to judge my actions. It's all relative.
Why must this world be so hard to live in? Why must blood and hate pave the road to a man's success? This is the question I truly wish the answer to. This is the question very few men of success have ever truly asked, or even pondered. Because I ask it, that must mean I am either superior to all of them, which each man in this world would deny - myself included - or I am beneath them all. The latter seems more plausible, but why? As men, we are all of equal value. But this cannot be. Heros are the stuff of legend, praised for great and valorous deeds. Villains are also the stuff of legend - despised for their apparent lack of moral value. Both are men, yet both are judged differently. Therefore, one man's life can be more important, or valuable, than another's.
One can only hope his heroics outweigh his villainy if he presumes to be a more valuable individual. Value is a strange thing, as supply and demand is in utter control of it. Perhaps someday there will be a demand of rebels and they will be in short supply. Perhaps our values will change.
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Clergy.
Clergy. I am rather curious as to why exactly one joins a clergy. A friend of mine claims her patron saved her from another, more evil being, so she in his debt. An understandable reason, but I am rather certain not all clergy members can claim the same. There have been many churches that have asked me to consider them in my time, but I see no reason why I should join some church or another and pledge my life and service to one 'almighty' being whom I will assuredly never meet.
Why serve an entity that does not even recognize you from any of his other followers? To join a church seems to be blind acceptance, and, in essence, giving yourself to another without question. I see no benefits of joining a church; as soon as one joins, other, rival churches, find ways to eradicate you. More blood has been spilt over religion than any other thing. A rather violent hobby, is it not? Not all clergymen are the same, but similarities can be found in most of them if one looks. Not my forte.
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Lies.
Lies. Interesting little fabrications that are generally looked down upon by society. I rarely lie, as it requires a great deal of intelligence to pull of successfully. First off, the lie must not be too elaborate, or it will be seen as untruth, so what is the point in embellishing a story by just a tiny bit? Why not simply tell the truth? Another problem with lying is consistency. When a lie is loosed into the general public, a man must remember the exact details of the lie, which tends to be far too much effort than I am willing to put forth on something that has no truth. Lies take extravagant imaginations. My imagination is not nearly so fruitful.
That said, I do not frown upon liars in general. I frown upon those who lie to me. But if a man wishes to lie about every little detail and is caught rarely, if ever, does it truly matter? His falsifications are either minor or trivial if he is not caught, so why bother trying to ostricize him? It is my belief that everybody has lied in some point during their life. Very few, if any, of us feel regret at having lied - we view it as something wrong, but not extraordinarily so. It seems much akin to cursing - our mother's tell us not to do it, but we do anyway. Would it not be hypocritical to call a man out for lying? Ah… how can a thing as trivial as a few modified words have such an amazing impact on society?
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Hope.
Hope. What is Hope? A delusion we make ourselves see so the world may look brighter, or is it an honest promise of a better future? If Hope is what guides people, is that necesarily good? People blindly following a delusion they know as Hope is chaotic. It is a lie - most people would consider following a lie a waste of time. However, if Hope is truth, then why isn't the world a happier place? A beggar may hope for a plethora of food, but this does not mean he will ever achieve it. Why is that? As children we are taught that we can do anything we put our minds to. As adults, we learn the things we are taught as children are not all true.
Why do we invest so much faith in this 'Hope' - this word that cannot even be defined in language as I know it? Is it because we are all delusional, or because we all have the capacity to achieve our Hope, some just never travel the distance required? Alas, I hope to someday find out the answer to this question. Perhaps I'll even take the initiative to travel the distance.
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Mercenary.
Mercenary. It's not a job - it's a way of life. A man who performs martial feats for money is how most people percieve a mercenary, and on some basic level, they are right. However, a mercenary is much more than that. I believe that a mercenary is anyone who works for some sort of reward, which acts as incentive. Therefore, any person who has motivation to do something is a mercenary. Mercenary is not only a noun, but also an adjective. A man can be mercenary, but not -a- mercenary. People tend to misunderstand this, too. A mercenary form of life is simply to live quid pro quo - something for something.
Why is this life looked down upon by many? Quite hypocritical. I do not believe there is a single person out there who does not work for some form of reward; be it gold, happiness or simply the experience. If there is one person who does something simply to do it, I believe that person is a sociopath. No feeling, no motivation. Simply a waste of space. Mercenaries are what carries the torch of civilization.
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Afterlife.
I percieve the world differently than a great many people. For instance, I believe death should be final. I believe every action has a consequence that cannot be paid off via mortal currency. I believe a man should answer for his actions if he is caught. And I believe that at the end of the game we call life, kings, knights, priests and pawns all go into the same box. That box is death. No special treatment is given to the rich, and none to the poor. I expect none, and nor should anyone else.
Why should this life be it? Because we live it to its full extent. Because life is just that - life. When life is ended, it becomes death, and who wishes to live after death? Is it not torture to live forevermore? I believe it is. There will be no paradise for me after this life, but nor will there be a fiery hell. That is for me to decide. A person I consider a colleague told me that if I choose a god, my afterlife would be set and I could continue to exist. To what end? I live forever in a paradise with no true control over what becomes of me? A horrible fate. A fate I do not wish upon anyone. So I am 'Faithless,' even though I absolutely believe in the gods. And, because I am Faithless, my soul will be destroyed in the instance of my death.
I do not foresee this in the near future, but in case it does occur, may I be the first to say good riddance.
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Rumors.
Rumors. The rumor is a funny thing. It is not a lie, because if it were, it would be ruled out. However, it is not truth either, because if it were, it would not be considered a rumor. So what is this thing that is neither fact nor lie? Does that mean a person should believe it, though be willing to change their opinion on it in the blink of an eye, depending on what else arises? I have recently heard of a man rumored to be a Banite. Is he? I don't know, nor do I especially care. The local city of Peltarch, however, seems to believe that because this rumor abounds, it must be true, and therefore, this man must be banned. Simply because one man said something. The thing many don't understand, sadly, is that rumors are not an exact science.
Should a rumor live in our head as truth until we can prove different? Or shall it live as lie? Until a man can verify a rumor, what should he think of it? I believe he should be cautious of the rumor, but not lean one way or the other as to its potential factual value. After all, until we can prove it, it is both true and false at the same time, much the same as a cat can be alive and dead at the same time in a box. You simply don't know one way or the other until it is proven. So why not disregard it and put more important things in your mind?
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Reputation.
Reputation. It is a valuable thing at times, a Reputation. A nuisance at others. I have been recently pursuing knowledge of my Reputation.. who percieves it how? It seems most surfacers percieve me to be a liar, a murderer and a slaver. Therefore, my reputation among the surfacers is quite… malign. They most likely would not take me to dinner and a theatre show any time soon.
However, my reputation with the more 'dark' folks is quite good. They tend to see me as a simple Herald, and as long as I stay out of their way, they are more than willing to stay out of mine. As it should be. How does one change one's reputation without telling a lie? I do not believe it is possible, short of doing something that you would not normally do and most people would not -expect- you to do.
Therefore a reputation is only the extremes of what you do... a man might rescue a thousand slaves and be called a good man. Yet if he murders a thousand slaves, in the blink of an eye he is a bad man. Now if he murders a thousand men and frees a single slave, is he a good man or a bad man? What of vice versa?
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Hate.
Hate. There are those who hate me. There always have been, and there always will be. I do not believe I hate any one mortal being. There is no purpose to it. I can dislike them, but to what end? My preference means nothing unless I act upon it. And I simply avoid the people I disapprove of. It is a pity less people think this way, for many confrontations could be avoided and the need for violence would be lessened considerably.
Why do people hate me? I have asked, and the results are amusing, if somewhat disheartening. It seems people hate me because I come off strange. A foreigner from a town with a bad reputation. Guilt by assosciation. All in all, prejudice. They seem willing to act upon their hate, as many try to insult me. Very few have succeeded in hurting my feelings, but nine out of ten people try. Even when I remain civil and do not riposte with a scathing remark of my own. Perhaps I should, but will that only escalate the number of malignant comments I recieve? Has the general populace no values or morals?
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Mourning.
Mourning. All in all, a rather pointless endeavor as it does not help grief; instead, it tends to aggravate it even more. I was asked recently if there was not a soul in this world whose passing I would mourn. I said no, then thought it over and realized that my answer changed. There are people whose deaths would be mourned by me. Very few, but they still exist. Perhaps I'm not the heartless, greedy killer people make me out to be. A shame. I rather liked recieving the dirty looks from those who don't believe I am a simple Herald.
How would I mourn? Alas, that I do not know. Perhaps tears by a grave would suit me. Perhaps a form of revenge, which in its sweetness, is a rather petty form of payback. And perhaps I would simply sit by a fire and brood, or sit below the sky and watch the stars change to sun and back again… I hope I never have to find out. It will not be enjoyable for anyone, I'm afraid.
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Civility.
Civility. Does it even exist anymore? I can be as civil and polite as I wish… and I am. I address people with their proper titles, I acknowledge peoples' presence and I bid them good day. This is returned with hostile glances, threats and rude gestures/words. Why? Are people so utterly depressed and insecure that a man with ettiquette such as myself makes them rue the day they were spawned into this unforgiving world? Or do they simply hate the fact that through my ettiquete, I am still apathetic and not worried?
This is a question of morals. Morals that no longer exist in the Common Man, and morals that I thought to outlast every mortal. Humanity is nothing without civil values, and when these values are brought into question, so is the definition of the average person. My mother taught me manners when I was quite young. Through death and carnage, I have retained them, for they are as much a part of me as my limbs. Do others simply not learn these polite mannerisms, or do they think they are merely overrrated commodities?
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Law.
I have come to the conclusion that 'law' is just a figment of a man's imagination. A card he can play at will when he knows his explanations are feeble at best. Oscura is a city of law. People call it a city of chaos, then whine and whine when the laws catch up with them and they must suffer the consequences. The fact that an accused traitor is branded and exiled is simply a testament to the strength of Oscura's law, a shining example of how Oscura deals with traitors. People call this corruption and just another example of how lawless Oscura is. Do they realize what they are saying? Our law enforcement is actually an example of…lawlessness?
Law in and of itself is not corrupt. It cannot be. Those who enforce the law may be, but the very definition of law rules out corruption. Meaning if someone follows the law and is convicted of something by a full court... the person broke the law, or is extremely hated. Possibly both. Regardless, people that bring up law seem to do it simply to cover their backs or harass their enemies. A pity people will never grasp the concept of 'Law' in this sense.
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Friends.
Friends. I never had much to do with friends before. I've been a wanderer for quite a while, and a Herald at that. Friends would only get in the way and become liabilities. I've recently made an…acquaintance... a close friend. I do not regret this decision, but think I may have put this fried in danger by doing so. Is that not a disclaimer to how selfish and self centered I am? I put a person in danger by befriending them, but do not regret it, as the benefits seem to outweigh the malignant properties.
I do not think people have many true friends. I thought recently about what I would do for one of my very few friends... so few I can count them on one hand. I would trek across the Hells for one of my few trusted friends, and I feel that with such determination, nothing shy of the Overgod himself could stop me. Do people feel this for all of their friends? I think not, because I have seen people leave their friends and trusted peers to die simply to live another day. Who is right? Or is it simply a different matter?
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Reasons and Motives.
Without reasons and motives, life would be dull indeed. Everything that occurs happens because somebody has a reason to do it. I asked myself why I do what it is I do recently and spent more than a day composing an answer to the simple question. Why do I herald? Many answers came to mind.. I am the only one capable of Heralding this, I am the only one who doesn't have the ambition to move on to 'bigger' things, I am content with the simple life of a Herald where bladeplay and slaughtering need not be a practice, but rather a necesity… but none stuck.
None of the answers I came up with truly answered my question, so I thought about recent conversations. I thought them over and tried to discern my motives, but they sounded awfully cliche. I had just about given up hope on my answer until a package arrived. It contained the key to finding my answer. Simplicity.
