The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir (OOC Replies Welcome)

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FrightFace
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The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir (OOC Replies Welcome)

Post by FrightFace » Wed Jan 20, 2021 5:54 pm

Why am I doing this again?

When I escaped from the land I've come to simply call Dread, it was a choice to incite change into my life.

I was to leave all that I had come to know, all that had changed and harmed me -- all that I loved and wanted. The land was torturous; even in my briefest moments of happiness, the forces of resentment, loathing, and despair crept upwards, as if from the Abyss. Gnawing at me, taunting me. Even the love of my dear, precious, "niece" -- that girl who had come to accept me, a stranger, as family -- could not raise me from the depths of Dread. How could it? She'd always be... disgusted, by what I did -- what I was. She handwaved many of my ambitions, many of my desires. But beyond that, beyond all of that: she was never around. Off excelling, living her life of boundless purpose and potential.. while I wasted away, desperate, worthless in mine; I remained clawing for the most meager traces of joy that I could scrounge up.

The vacuous heart of the woman I loved was held by a fixed phantom, the man I came to see as a son crashed himself against an impossible war, the allegiances I had made in-between had eroded, abandoned me, or lied to me. Beyond it all, the few comrades I could muster... had either passed, or outright left. Granting nothing, scarcely taking the most miniscule of moments to consider old, worthless, decrepit Kesimir.

I do not regret leaving them. But I, as well, miss it all. I hate that I yearn to see them again -- hate that I have been tainted by that place. How it opened my eyes to unspeakable horrors and truths of the world and its people, how it left me incompatible with those on the outside world. I was normal before it forced me into its influence, I could go every day not worrying about the terrors of the future -- not silently judging every person and wondering how they'd harm me, too. Once, I was not a ghost of Dread, wandering aimlessly within a world of light and color -- without really knowing why.

I have toiled for months on this Isle. Between bouts of distractive training, I have struggled to adhere to the world and its people -- it's normal people. I have come to adopt several mentoree's, of a sorts. Some around the magic I no longer possess, some around basic walks of life and standard wisdoms -- one of which, I am desperate is the companion I so desperately crave.

But it's all happening again.

Everyone is rushing off to live their beautiful, youthful, joyous lives. Everyone is bumbling about ambivalently, without regard for the deeper meanings of this world. Making the same mistakes that those I'd known once had made as well, no matter how deeply I try to warn them. The people here, outside of that place, have gone their entire lives without pondering on the intricacies of this world -- never evaluating the implications of their actions, the potential of their beings. At least, there, in the land I call Dread, people were aware of what they were doing, of what the potential futures held for them and us all -- they simply did not care. Even that woman who came to promise a great many things to me weeks ago, I have not seen for said several weeks.

Where are they all...? Where is everyone off to, in their pointless, apathetic, substanceless lives...? And why, again -- despite my greatest efforts -- do I still not find myself able to truly be a part of them?

I hate this world. I hate that I have to live within it -- if one could even call this living. I want to break free of its confines, free of its damnable borders, and explore the cosmos above and below it. At least, there... the Planes are honest. They show you what they are, make you feel what they are. Even those Planes which are constructed on lies, are all the while consistent in them. At least the Planes do not attempt to guilt me into believing that all of my suffering is my fault, despite my best attempts to cease it.

And yet, for the time being, I am trapped here. Trapped, relying still on the fickle strength of others -- despite my best efforts to make my strength my own -- while the Planes lay just out of reach for my strength in its solitude. I have no choice but to suffer, here.

I just want to remember that fickle feeling of happiness. To be happy, without, wading my happiness through fear and doubt -- and seeing those fears and doubts being proven to be right...

...when will my suffering finally be rewarded...?
Last edited by FrightFace on Sun Nov 27, 2022 12:52 pm, edited 1 time in total.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Fri Jan 22, 2021 11:31 pm

Where am I...? It was misty out today...

...wasn't it?

Yes, that's right, I'm back here, not there.

Thank the gods, there's still color...

...DAMN THE GODS, WHERE IS MY COLOR!?









Foolish, oh, how abominably foolish...

The marvel be damned by his tricks. Yet, I can at least respect a man who knows his trade is constructed on falsehoods.

The friar, puppeted by her "faith" -- if it truly even is hers. Purposeless, and hollow -- a guiding light struggles to string along apathetic feet.

An aspiring empress for her monochrome empire... yet why must she so haunt me even within the world of color?

The emperor, who's moon had been eclipsed by Dread, oh... tsk, tsk, tsk... such a transient rule, the kingdom of ones destiny.

The apostle and his... pre-defined, burning righteousness -- ironic, as he sins to embolden his virtues.

Lust, taste, yearning... oh, but a dinner fit for two, will burst the belly of but one, hrm? The other can starve, beneath a neutral moon.

How the horseless chariot stands still, gathering rust... yet I suppose being carried on only three legs is doomed to meet the river by the bend, hrm?

Strength, oh~, strength... how it toils -- and boils -- as it carries its green self.

Apathy is a swift death... but no, no, that's right, the man who serves without thought, within the hermitage of his uniform, oh no... he's simply disciplined, yes?

A fluke, so sure of itself, yet so adamant on its battle on the upward hill.

"Justice..." Like a tool can uphold "justice." Like a tool "knows" what "justice" is. A lion in a golden cage: sure of its ferocity, enslaved by overblown simplicity.

The sea is no prison to one with means off the island, and yet... well, there are many things capable of turning our world topsy-turvy, hrm? Oh, but where are my manners? Congratulations on the boat.

All-devouring death, a bleeding scar upon the textbook of mortality. Expecting more?

Temperence is strung along by agitation. Were it ever so thorough...? Or, are its plans yet so solid? Hard to see, in the dark.

The devil is a reasonable creature, its business explained in fine print -- most don't know how to read.

Oh, yes, a storm is brewing! Well, a tower often pokes up to the looming storm, does it not? No surprise that a fortress, as well, invites challenge to any who'd attempt to breach it.

The star has fallen, bringing a black void even darker than it had been. Or, simply, admitting to how dark it always was. I suppose the difference is irrelevant.

This moon, oh, how it shines so brightly, displays its splendor so openly. Well... on the phases it allows itself to be so forthcoming, hrm? I suppose every business must lie a little bit in order to find profit.

Still I toil to grasp with the notion that a sun can thrive in a void so cold. Surely its heat sings for its stygian surroundings?

Watching me, following me, judging me... take off my gods damned face, lest I carve it off you and draw it back into the light! But... at least you do what I need of you. I can't complain too harshly.

Right here, on the Isle, the world watches, waiting for an answer.









Forecast? Cloudy, with a chance of rain, thunderstorms, and a thick layer of fog...
Last edited by FrightFace on Sat Jan 23, 2021 1:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Fri Jan 22, 2021 11:34 pm

Remember to seek out gold for Rodolf.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Jan 24, 2021 3:21 pm

Stock up on food later.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Fri Jan 29, 2021 4:40 pm

Why do I still make myself hang around the Lotus? It's not like the people I'm hoping to see are coming back. That brute drove away my pupil, and that talking-advertisement's probably moved onto a better gig. Everyone else's gone back to pressing up against the wall.

I paid Aya back for the gloves. Took me several hours of clearing out caves and crypts to make that sort of money. But, now, at least I've got better ways of funding my own personal projects. I'm on the lookout for two adamantine ingots -- one for me, one for her, both for tailored suits. Well, like, combat suits. I hope I can make something nice for her before she buys or finds everything she needs.

Why am I still thinking about the woman I had a one-night stand with? I can barely remember more than her first name. She sounded so convincing, that night. But, I guess after Farrow and I's argument, I was open to anything that would make me feel better. I just wish that thing would be as permanent as she said it would be. Haven't seen her since that awful night -- she was the only time I'd ever been with a woman outside of my sons conception. If anyone finds this in the future: don't believe promises made by people you've just met, no matter how desperate you are, no matter how intimate they get with you, no matter what the story they tell you.

I still think back to a few years ago. The build-up to the whispered "battle for everyone's souls." I don't know how I fell so hard for that nonsense. This, "idea," that people would start doing the right thing, just because their lives were at stake. There are people still back there -- back in the land I call Dread -- and I know deep in my heart that they are still spelling their own misery. It doesn't matter that I left... people are still doing it here. Why...? Why do so many people want to go on, when all they do defies logic...? When all that they do, all that they are, breeds their own suffering...?

Myon's probably going to fall soon. Or, I don't know, maybe it'll just start sucking to live there. Too coincidental that it started seeing specific issues right before the city of Guldorand's grand opening. I'm a bit jealous of elves, to tell the truth. My life will be a fraction of what theirs can be, and their innate skills and talents will shoot them above anything I could ever hope to do. But... I could ignore all that, I really could. The utmost aspect of their existence that I find myself so envious of, is the comradery between them -- simply because they share the same race. Where is that for us, us... pathetic, pitiful humans? And why do they even have it? Because they "share the same creators?" Yeah, sure. Half the Elves I've ever met, you mention Corellan casually around any of them, they have to double-take at you to even pick up on what you're talking about. No, no, I know what it is... I mean, I've already said it, they're simply better than us. I completely understand. If I found myself amongst a tribe of gnolls, I'd gravitate immediately towards any humans I could scrounge up. "Why find companionship in a dog, when you could in something that is your equal?" My disgust is only aimed at those who disagree... all the while, they live like otherwise. Yeah, sure, humans and the like are equal to you in your eyes... that's why your city is the only one closed off to the other races, and why you're so upset about moving and living down at our level, hrm? Maybe... maybe the key lies in how I and others typically use the word "human" -- Elves view themselves as righteous, static beings, while all things -- including us -- see us humans as these ever-changing, dynamic things, yes? Oh, gods... are we truly alone then...? Are they not even "people," but just walking microcosms of the strict ideas of their creators...? No, no, that can't be...

I wonder what Roland is up to. I know he's not dead -- he's the only one of them from back when that I can be sure of. The man said it himself: he was a weapon of Tyr. Even having seen his face, I always wondered if there were a man beneath the armor, and if he were more than a construct. But... I still saw him like he was my own son. Pitiful, I guess, considering it was by his word that my execution was carried out... whether or not he painted it that way. I don't know if I can be upset about that anymore... I mean, I am -- I should be, right? -- but, I've always felt sorry for Roland. And, well... I do suppose it was my own actions that lead to all that, even if he -- someone, anyone -- should've been there for me, "picked me up when I fell." What's the point of justice, if people can't redeem themselves, work back from their mistakes? What's the point, if justice doesn't encompass everyone equally? Something to be carried out, under the fact that any one of us could be the one under the executioners blade? I always wondered if Roland ever thought of these things -- reasonably speaking, he never was in a "good place." I don't know what made him be the way that he was, what made him so adamant to cast off "himself" in favor of simply being a vessel for Tyr's will. Or, inversely... what tricked him into being "more than a man." But, at the end of it, all I can think... was how cruel the masses were. This man, this... titan, of a man. The "man of Steele." How he deprived of himself of the finer things in life, these deeper human connections, these wants and desires... all just to do what was "right." To be the one to act when no one else did, to place everything on the line even if he knew -- he admitted -- that he was fighting a losing battle. All just... to be gawked at, by the masses. His image, paraded around by the lazy, the cowardly, the ignorant... people who never cared about the man, Roland. People who simply cared about "Roland Steele, Paladin of Tyr, of the Order of Holy Judgement." Was I really ever the only one who offered him a beer...? Did his own comrades just "treat it like work?" I knew some of them, and I'd like to think that they meant well, and did well by him, but... after all I did for them, all they said to me was "we owe you one" -- one I never got. I know I'm probably just biased, being the outsider who helped out from time to time, "working without pay," but... gods, I hope Roland's okay. No, no, that's not true... I want Roland to die. I want him to die, because I know it's the only way for his war to end. Dammit, that's not even true, is it...? When he dies, either his soul will remained trapped to wander those lands for eternity, or he'll be whisked to Tyr's Court to continue his duty for all eternity... Gods, he'll probably figure out some way to hold his soul inside his armor, wont he? Some way to continue fighting for us mortal men below the heavens -- all while people continue to use and abuse him!? While the damnable masses continue to fester in their insolence, breeding all the strife he has to fix!? Gods dammit... gods dammit! I have to protect Ander...

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Jan 31, 2021 1:03 am

Went to the Farmlands festival today.

Why do I keep going to these things...? What do I even think's going to happen at them? It's always the same thing: I go, stand around, not have fun with any of the festivities, eat the food, and leave. The people I'd like to see there either don't show because they're busy, or they do go and get lost in the crowd.

How often are our interactions filled with deeper thinking? How often are we making genuine, "real" connections?

I don't blame all these kids running around for not thinking about such things. As far as they're concerned -- whether or not they like to admit it -- they believe themselves to be invincible. Life's still just a whole adventure left for them out there, and they have all the time in the world to piss it away on meaningless trite. They can make mistakes, they can outright fail, and thanks to the Isle, they can even die. They'll just get back up from it, and move on -- they have so much time and energy left. They still have so many things they want to see and do, and so many people around them with so much in common who are able to keep up.

I don't have a lot of time, a lot of energy. Even with Ki, my will to do many things has simply dwindled. I don't derive any enjoyment from these substanceless, lackluster interactions that everyone else around me has so often on a daily basis. I don't see any point in worrying about the state of these various factions and political bodies at play -- at the end of the day, they're mostly just varying-degrees of social clubs or businesses. How often does Cordor's military, or even its masses, truly care for the individual? Truly care for the people that represent them, or are contained within them? People in these sorts of groups always tell me how much they "matter," or how "wonderful" those within them or that they support "truly" are. I've never seen it -- or the claims have always been proven false.

I miss Emel. Have I written that here yet? I feel like I've had that thought countless times since my coming here; it feels like that statement should be commonplace in these ramblings.

Sometimes, I find solace in these thoughts I have. Anything to not feel so numb.

More people have been joining the "group," lately. If it can even be called that. We just get together and do writs, and clock out. Even the people that stick around for a bit after that, quickly go onto whatever else. I wish I could follow them. It feels just like my old band... you work, and you work, and you work, to make sure they're happy. Then they just go home. Like clocking out of work, or wrapping up a basic, daily hobby.

I hope Aya's okay out at Skaljard. It's got to be hell out there -- why didn't I go with her?

The Cordor Guard went out to the Plane of Shadow during the festival. I don't think I care. It's just something to write about. It won't matter by tomorrow, whatever it was . Not because they did their job -- because their job doesn't matter as much as they give it credit.

I miss loving Ophelia. How free it made me feel -- like it didn't matter if something was wrong, or if I failed. With her, I felt like I could remember what it was like to feel safe -- to love myself again. I miss hating Irach. She deserved better -- better than me, or him. I miss caring enough so about just one person, that I'd hate someone else for making their life worse. Now all I can do is miss feeling like that.

I keep telling myself that I love people -- why do I feel that way so little often? I see other people seeming so happy in their wistfulness, in their ignorance, in their carelessness. Why can't I do that, anymore? And why do I feel nothing but hate in my gut, from seeing so many people "seem" so happy? Something about it doesn't seem... honest. Are they able to "see" me, too..?

I spoke to someone at the festival today. They told me the same old, brash, youthful "wisdom" that all these damn kids tell me when they get me to talk about the "specifics:" "don't worry about it." Or, even, "it doesn't matter." This casual dismissal of my wants and needs. They said they wanted to talk again, that they'd see me again -- why can't I believe them? I feel as if this exchange has happened before, countless times.

How many people I "know" have walked past me today without so much as a simple "hello?" Do I really have to be the one putting in that effort? I tried to talk to that moron Kenton today -- he didn't even acknowledge me. He probably went off to spark another conflict between Cordor and some other group. Again.

I don't want to die yet. But it feels like people keep telling me that I should. This youthful glorification of "dying a good death." I know what they want to tell me; they want to tell me that I should just die already, because I'm as old as I am and haven't gotten my life "on track." They're always so sure that they'll settle down, raise a family, and everything'll just be done, just like that. That they have everything all planned out, that the gods will give them everything they need. I did that. It didn't last the first time, and hasn't worked since.

This rug is cold. I need to buy a bed. I hope this time I can find one that isn't cold, either.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sat Feb 06, 2021 6:15 pm

They say that what I've done today -- by no stretch of exaggeration -- saved the world.

I don't quite believe them.

We brought that thing to Amn, that orbed demi-lich. Sealed by Blackstaff himself, supposedly, or at least those under his watch. At every step of the way, the mission was a circus. Lack of communication between all sides, allowance of the slipping of information from more. Management on all fronts purveying incompetency -- one of my own men was promised a position on the mission, and my commander allowed him to be shoved off. He didn't like us being called mercenaries, but what were we, then?

Regardless... yes, I am told that what we did technically saved the world.

But, it doesn't feel like it. Instead, it feels like we were sent there to die, to further the schemes of the Amnians and Thayans alike.

But, intent disregarded...

... the victory left me hollow.

Everyone got a great big thanks, favors from the Archmage's of the Tower. That dimwit Ander was lauded as if he burdened himself with the mission all on his own, when it was his incompetency and lack of intuition that lead to as many problems as we ran into. Tsk, I shouldn't be so hard on Ander... working with fools is only going to bring foolishness.

But where's my thanks? My reward? Am I, yet again, to be guilted into saving the world around me, only to be saving a world that doesn't give a rats Snuggybear about me? Is it so wrong to want to like the world I am saving? To ask it treat me with the same respect I give it? I was the only one speaking sense when we were trapped on that ice, the first one to be adamant about us saving our snatched comrades -- the only one seeking any answers as to the actual goal of our mission, the only one concerned about why the cargo we were carrying was placing all of us into peril.

And what do I get for all this...?

...six-thousand gold, and a feeling like I'd only accomplished one of my daily writs.

I don't know how much more of this I can take... I feel an anger, a loathing more abyssal than what my words on this paper describe. I simply don't have the energy in me, anymore.

I hate this world. I hate that I am disposable to the people within it. I hate that my few chances at love have slipped from my fingers, or forced me into positions where I'd be "better off" if I leave them. I hate that I am still suffering, despite my best efforts.

Is it so wrong to want the world I helped save, to save me when I am in danger...? To want someone to rally to save me, just once...? To not put my life on the line at others behest, and be treated like a doormat? To want someone to remember me when I pass, to mourn for me ever after? In that orb, alongside the demi-lich, a man was trapped... someone who aided in it's sealing. Would I be so lucky as to have people strive to break me free of such a prison, to grant my soul peace? Or am I doomed to suffer the same fate, and be "brought peace" by a nameless, faceless cleric, who only seeks to help me because it's part of their job description? Assuming I would even get that release... far as I'm aware, I'd be left to rot with that demi-lich if I were in that fellows position.

Am I truly that worthless...?

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 07, 2021 2:24 am

Is it so wrong to want others to know the torment the I've known -- to understand it in all its horror?

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 07, 2021 4:48 am

Happy people can be so cruel.

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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 07, 2021 5:33 am

[Hasty scrawling's litter this page -- a poor attempt made by Kesimir to ease the burden of an ongoing panic attack.]

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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sat Feb 13, 2021 6:41 pm

Figures... the moment I place money down on citizenship at Bendir Dale, everyone goes off to Guldorand.

Why can't I keep up with them...?

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sat Feb 13, 2021 7:29 pm

...I met someone the other day.

What can I really say about her...? I feel right around her. She doesn't judge my thoughts, she doesn't try to make my suffering seem false or unworthy. I don't hate myself when I'm around her, I don't hate living in this wretched world.

She sat with me during my panic attack. Didn't berate me or dismiss the sight of it. Days later, we walked from Bendir Dale to Soulhaven in the snow, and I showed her the many sights on the way. We even had a little bit of a picnic when we reached the place. She told me that she feels a kinship with me like none she's ever felt before.

Oh, gods, I am horrified. The mere thought of it makes me tremble, brings me ever closer to another night of solitudinous torment. I feel like I love her, like I can love her -- like she can love me.

But this is exactly how Bell made me feel. How she would be close to me, would listen to my woes, would let me dance with her and hold her close. But that whole time, she had someone else -- someone who treated her like garbage, abandoned her to her wretched graveyard-shifts, while he made countless enemies and wandered as little more than a phantom with substance. She deserved better than him -- better than me -- and now she's probably rotting alone on a hill somewhere.

Gods above, please, I beg of thee, to allow this to work. I want to be allowed to love her, and I want her to love me.

I'm scared.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 14, 2021 2:59 am

Is it crazy to think that all these "happy people" around me, have never suffered enough?

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 14, 2021 3:00 am

Is it selfish to be wanted? To want recognition -- validation? And then, as well, to question why others receive it for less?

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Feb 14, 2021 3:11 am

Is it evil to want others to do more?

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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Mon Feb 15, 2021 7:42 pm

Where do they go? Where have they gone?

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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Fri Feb 19, 2021 7:44 am

The world's changing -- it's time we changed, too.

The war for everyone souls rages on... the battle for everyone's souls, is soon.

FrightFace
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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sat Mar 06, 2021 12:54 am

Life's been good, lately.

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Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Tue Mar 23, 2021 11:16 am

I really shouldn't complain about my life as it currently is.

I own a beautiful home, as a citizen of a neighborly township, where I facilitate a worthy cause. My friends are plentiful, my strength is (for my purposes) great, and the woman I love lives under the same roof as I do. I have travelled the Planes in their grandeur, and the gods have been "fair" to me -- at the very least, they've left me alone.

I should not complain... but as the days go on and on, my old thoughts have relapsed time and time again.

My friends appeared to have moved on, for the most part. No one's visiting, or coming to find me just for the briefest of chats in the day. Many of those I thought I were friendly with, walk past me without so much as a glance. Months spent without seeing certain faces has left me desperate to see them once again. Bendir Dale has been cold, and vacant, most of the times I've gone back. Did I simply get lucky, those good several months when it was bustling with friendly faces? All I can rightly do is wait around for people to schedule appointments with me at my clinic, but many folk I have to continuously remind about my services. Otherwise, they apparently forget about them.

The Planes have been disappointing. The most basic facets of this world, brought to varying extremes. I could construct a better heaven in my backyard.

I often do not see my significant other for weeks or months. She has been spending all this time training, I'm sure. I just wish she would stop by more often, or at the very least retire to the house around the times when I do. The hope that I will see her again is, considerably, one of the few reasons I still get up in the morning. When her training has reached considerable heights, I want to surprise her with something... but I feel guilty, with her often absence meaning that I cannot help her more. What if she grows tired of me? What if she forgets about me? She's everything I've ever wanted, and she's simply, not... here. You hear about cases like this all the time in my field: when a couple spends so much time apart, that one of them simply loses interest. I don't know what I'll do if that happens; I couldn't bear to even keep the clinic open.

The old fears are setting in, again. Like a parasite I've continuously tried to carve out. Fear of loneliness -- of abandonment -- and fear of loss. I don't have the time and energy, anymore, to work back from that loss again. With this fear, I've been brought often to anger, and then quickly back to a hatred I do not intend. Angry that people make these great promises to me, knowing from history that they will not keep them. Hatred of these people and myself, for when I fall into these same pitfalls over, and over, and over again. At the end of it all, I am suffering in silence -- the only people I could trust to remedy or bear this suffering simply are not here.

Why...? Where is my clinic? The one I can go to, when I need help? Where do these people go, when I do not see them for weeks or months on end? Would it kill them to simply leave a letter, saying where they are going, and maybe when they'll be back? If they are dead, would it kill someone to tell me!? I've had countless times on this godsdamned Isle, when people I've loved and cared for were killed, and it took people months to tell me of their death. I toil time and time again to see these people raised to new heights, brought from the brink of despair, and well taken care of, and they always tell me the same old stories: "thank you for the help, these talks mean a lot to me, I'm not going anywhere," but where are they when I need them!?




















I don't want to feel so cold, anymore.

FrightFace
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Nov 18, 2020 10:36 pm

Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Tue Mar 23, 2021 4:12 pm

I know exactly what I have to do.

FrightFace
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Nov 18, 2020 10:36 pm

Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sat Mar 27, 2021 2:49 pm

She said yes.

FrightFace
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Nov 18, 2020 10:36 pm

Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Fri Apr 02, 2021 9:52 pm

The Lesson of The Leader Who Would Lead Her People For Her Own Self-Image:

It is the nature of a villain, to do so little and deem themselves right, and brand others villains when their own actions have shaped the "evil" they claim to exist.

It is, as well, the nature of a villain, to brand ones accusers of the same level of villainy as the worst-of-the-worst, to ease their own mind and assure themselves of the "purity" of their own soul -- and to deny their actions in the corruptions of others.

FrightFace
Posts: 27
Joined: Wed Nov 18, 2020 10:36 pm

Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by FrightFace » Sun Nov 27, 2022 12:37 pm

I do not relish the duty to which I am logic-bound to.

I am the man who I am, so that others can be the individuals whom they are. I only wish it were less cold here, though.

In my search for all things good -- honesty, justice, virtue, compassion, ethics, and empathy -- I have become keenly aware of those things which surmount the ideals I strive for. Not simply the textbook-vices which any eight year old can meander on about. No, it is laziness, stupidity, conceitedness, and -- above all else -- apathy, which fuel the fires of evil.

Once, I was a man like any other upon this backwater rock. I wandered. I sought simply the companions which would grant me the most validation. I brushed off the "minor mistakes" -- as many would so foolishly call them -- of others, wholly ambivalent to the critical flaws of the individual which necessitated them. I laughed it off when someone failed to pickpocket the fruit vendor. I cheered on when destructively-large polymorphs were used in tight, cramped towns. I nodded my head when the indignations of others dragged down others more, out of pity of those "grievances" which "struck" them.

I have ran out of patience.

I have tried, and tested, the methods which others have. I have been both ends of the extreme: I have galivanted in a mask and coerced others into good, from under a well-crafted guise. I have been the "town wiseman," excusing the failings and actions of others, while instead choosing to focus on solely ways to "help" them -- the same useless "toxically-positive 'help'" that most continue to spout to this day. I, currently, am a public official amongst several officially-recognized powers. I am designated to sit here -- with a smile on my face, with my mind in a ledger -- and operate mechanically, within arbitrary boundaries which are often designed solely to "withhold an excuse from my retractors."

I cannot do "this" anymore. I do not mean my duties, nor my intentions. In my quest to conquer apathy, I have utilized honesty above all else...

...but, perhaps I have not utilized it hard enough.

I do not care what my "designation" is. I will speak on evil. I shall make others keenly aware of the ways they are failing, and shall fail. I will do so, from within these officially-recognized systems, to both offer myself validity. As well, to simply be better than those whom I consider a moral-enemy -- malicious, or otherwise. If I am to be better than those I scrutinize, I must be better. I do not mean stronger, faster, or sturdier. I mean wiser, more more intelligent, more logically-sound. The patterns of the past lie before us all, and the proof of the future remains in front of us to the blindness of many. I speak not of a cataclysmic doom, or an eternal damnation; I speak of a frigid, prolonged, putrid, entropic decay of all we hold dear.

The isle, and the world around it, could stand for eons more in a prosperous state of splendor. What it won't do... is do so in glory. In honor. In honesty. If it keeps heading down the current path, it will do so in apathy, in decay, in cynical false-integrity. No matter how beautiful, how wonderful, how whimsical, a lie will remain a lie. Knowing this, I still desire peace. I still desire to fight. No matter how it harms me, I will see the world a better place than how I will leave it. Though violence will always be a last-resort... I am fully aware, that many will hate me for it. Shun me for it, as if I will default to violence. To many, the truth is as destructive as the sharpest sword. The truth is...

...that these institutions, these cities, these towns. These "borders." None of them matter. Cordor, Guldorand, Brogendenstein, Bendir Dale, Myon. Icehold, Darrowdeep, Castle Gloom, Jotunhold. House Rivondir, House Derlson, House Silver-Wind, House Starym. The Triad, the Ptarians, The Radiant Heart... and the Radiant Heart Chapterhouse. They don't "matter." Not "really." It is the people within them, that matter. In truth, I respected the hell out of Bruppii, when she openly stated that we are not above devolving into mass-recruiting a bunch of "mindless sheep." No one is. "Groups" don't matter, if the individuals within don't matter. The Chapterhouse could disband and lost most of it's members, and become a troupe of black-clad shadow-bound rangers. So long as those who make the group what it is today remain -- so long as their virtues remain the same -- it doesn't matter what we are called, what we look like. The mission is the same. This, I hold to above all else...

...and everyone will hate me for it. This approach will not grant me the most popularity. It will not grant me the love of others. Many will consider my position sacrilegious -- an attack on the character of others. Few come to me for personal matters -- even just to talk. That number will only drop. But I know that refraining from offense, more often than not, keeps people victimized. Keeps people coddled. I seek to raise up as many as I can. I refuse to allow the world around them, and their own vices, to keep them down any longer. If all it will take for someone to better themselves, is their spite of me, then I accept that. Knowing that, potentially, my word will be shunned solely on the account that I'll likely lack a popularity-insisted ranking, is simply an obstacle in my quest for "truth." I am to remain where I am, and continue to head to where I wish to be, if nothing else than to keep people honest.

The only thing I ask, is that at the setting of the sun when all return to their homes and hearths, that some will not abandon me to this prophesied isolation. I ask only that someone find value in my work -- that somebody value my existence enough for it to be remembered. That some think of me in more than just a passing-courtesy on the street.

Somebody, let me feel like I am not alone. Like I am not crazy.

Please.

gryggrstrkssontreelover
Posts: 19
Joined: Wed Mar 23, 2022 12:52 pm

Re: The Journal of the Man Known Simply as Kesimir

Post by gryggrstrkssontreelover » Wed Nov 30, 2022 8:31 am

FrightFace wrote:
Sun Nov 27, 2022 12:37 pm
Somebody, let me feel like I am not alone. Like I am not crazy.

Please.
*holds ur hand*
cool down dude

u n me 2gether. we'll make it i swear. woaaahhh. (u finish the rest of the lines)
- Mr. Treelover

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