Monday, October 10, 2011

Look, RP Stuff!

I was working on my baby priest (now 22 and hitting Hillsbrad, and Silverpine was epic, if troubling), and was inspired. She's on an RP server, and I do want to find an RP guild for her at some point. So here, the first entry of Ameldia's Journal.

Entry the first (though why I'm writing this is beyond me. I suppose it will be interesting to look back on my early days.)

I got asked the other day why I adventure. I suppose they were expecting me to say that I wanted to destroy the living, or serve the Dark Lady. I guess "well, it's something to do" isn't a common answer.

But there I go again, dropping into the middle of things. Sorry, when your unlife (or whatever you want to call it) starts that way, you try to ignore the importance of beginnings. When you don't have one, it stings a bit. Okay, a lot.

I'm Ameldia. Or at least I think I am. But does thinking I am actually make me so? It's questions like these that would keep me up at night if I slept. Am I supposed to sleep? You'd think they'd have a course or something when they raise you, but no, it's go get this and go kill that. Not so helpful.

I'm forsaken, or that's what they tell me. I know I'm a corpse, brought back by some unholy thing. I know the Light burns, but it's a good burn. I rather like the pain, it's nice to feel things. I don't remember anything, really, from life, but I miss feeling things and tasting things.

Physical description, in case you might care what I look like. I'm a bit taller than average, though I tend to slump (something about decay of the structures of the spine, I think). My hair is clean, if oddly-colored (I really doubt I had blue hair in life). My elbow and knee joints show, a common affliction, but other than that I'm quite well-preserved. I also have a baby lich thing that follows me around and occasionally frosts things. He gives me the creeps but I can't seem to get rid of him. My fingers are generally stained with ink, as are my robes. I suppose I'm decent-enough looking, for a decaying corpse. What are the beauty standards for us, anyway?

I have no idea who I was in life, so I'm trying to figure out who I am in death. It's as good a way as any to pass eternity, I suppose.

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