I asked Nibar for help with my blackouts. Although they aren't really blackouts anymore. Everytime it seems to happen now, i'm still a little bit awake. Whatever it is, whatever I do, I want to be able to control it. I know that I am strong, tougher when it happens. Problem is I don't think when it happens, and so it just...happens. I want to be able to be like that when I decide. Not just to let it wash over me like river in flood.
So I figure, tell Nibar. He's smart. He knows about magic and curses and stuff. I understand him telling everybody else too. After all, if I can control this, I can fight better and they won't get hurt as often. But I can't figure why they all when into that room Owenhiem likes too much. What on earth is a bunch of glass bladders and casings going to do about what happens when I get really, really hurt?
Well Nibar, Korak, Owenhiem I guess; they're all smart. If they need anything, they'll probably ask. Hell, Naila will come and badger it anything of me and then spend seven hours wondering what to do about it.
Or should I have actually have told them everything?
Should I have told them what I saw when the ghost hit me and I started to be awake for my fits?
How important can an old nightmare be? I thought I had forgotten it. It had been so long since I had it. But then that fighting skeleton looked and me and it was like the first time. I was standing on the barren hills. The woods around have been chopped down and burned. This is because there is an enormous army stretching almost all the way to the horizon.
At the front of the army are a bunch of single riders. I get right up next to the closest one. It's a woman, an half orc like me but her skin to entirely grey. Not even the little bit of green like mine. She's wearing plate armor, a full set like the skeleton, but all in black. Really black. It's not just painted metal, like somehow they took the black of burning coals made armor out of it. One her back she carries a double ax. A lot like the one I carried.
I can't see her face even though her visor is up. It's odd, even though she is half orc. She manages to be beautiful. Like how fire is beautiful. I'm drawn to her and go closer, trying to see her face.
Suddenly she turns and looks right at me. Her eyes are completely black. Oh gods. Those are my eyes. That's my face. The other me smiles. A cruel smile and I know that she is evil beyond belief.
Her empty eyes grab my gaze and now they are my eyes. I wear the armor, ride the horse. I know her bloodlust. Feel the power and joy that comes from the slaughter of those who are foolish enough to face me. I ride with this army for the glory of my master. To see his enemies fall and to bring the land to it's true rulers. Those that oppose me, those that do not turn under the power of my will fall under the might of my hand. We ride out, my brothers and sisters in arms; the chosen warriors who answer only to the true master.
And all that time, I am screaming inside my head. Only when I am surrounded by the screams of my opponents can I escape. I unleash the darkness of my soul to create a hell of pain and death around me. And I know contentment.
Somehow the horror of that peace I find in slaughter helps me slip out of that mind. Now I watch the slaughter from that barren hill. But I can't forget that it was me. It is a memory of another life, averted but not forgotten.
Hmmm, maybe I should have told them, after all. Maybe they should know exactly what the curse is that I carry.
Maybe I should find out what the hell they just blew up in there?
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