The Journal of Ebrim Darkmoon
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
Whoops, sorry all -- got sort of caught up in real life. Now that 1.04 is out, though, I plan to log back in as soon as I can manage, after which there will be more journal posting posthasteforthwith.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
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obsoletenihilist
- Dasarian Scout
- Posts: 476
- Joined: Thu Nov 23, 2006 11:13 pm
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
Drinking to forget is a funny old thing.
Picture this scene: a man with some, shall we say, unpleasant memories concerning his family and his future comes into an unexpected sum of gold: and, being a sensible sort of man, decides that best thing for him to do is to spend all that gold on the strongest drink he can find.
So this sensible sort of man does exactly that, and the months -- maybe the years -- that follow do two things: one, they brand him as the villiage drunk, which is not something that particularly bothers him, and two, he does forget.
He just forgets the wrong thing.
He still remembers his family -- a family of, shall we say, dubious lineage. Oh yes, he remembers every brother, sister, uncle, and aunt; his parents, grandparents, and specifically a certain great-grandfather. He remembers every single bloody git in his ruddy family tree, every branch, every leaf, every sodding acorn.
But the city? The bloody city he spent all those months, maybe perhaps even years, staggering from pub to pub, tavern to tavern, drinking himself blind every night in order to try to forget his family?
... he can't remember the bloody city.
I swear to the gods, it's like I woke up in a completely different place. Nothing looks right. It's completely bloody new. It's like while I was passed out on the tavern floor someone came in, tore down the city and built up a new one all around me and then made everyone promise to act like nothing had changed.
The village looks about the same, but step into the city and there are buildings where there used to be walls, walls where there used to be buildings, hills where there used to be valleys and I have a message in my hand telling me to tell some molly about goblins in the farmlands but I can't find her ruddy temple.
That said, I'm dragging myself back to the tavern when I hear the all-too-familiar voice of a trapper asking me if I ever got around to skinning that ruddy bear.
Of course he had to stay the same. Bloody hell.
Picture this scene: a man with some, shall we say, unpleasant memories concerning his family and his future comes into an unexpected sum of gold: and, being a sensible sort of man, decides that best thing for him to do is to spend all that gold on the strongest drink he can find.
So this sensible sort of man does exactly that, and the months -- maybe the years -- that follow do two things: one, they brand him as the villiage drunk, which is not something that particularly bothers him, and two, he does forget.
He just forgets the wrong thing.
He still remembers his family -- a family of, shall we say, dubious lineage. Oh yes, he remembers every brother, sister, uncle, and aunt; his parents, grandparents, and specifically a certain great-grandfather. He remembers every single bloody git in his ruddy family tree, every branch, every leaf, every sodding acorn.
But the city? The bloody city he spent all those months, maybe perhaps even years, staggering from pub to pub, tavern to tavern, drinking himself blind every night in order to try to forget his family?
... he can't remember the bloody city.
I swear to the gods, it's like I woke up in a completely different place. Nothing looks right. It's completely bloody new. It's like while I was passed out on the tavern floor someone came in, tore down the city and built up a new one all around me and then made everyone promise to act like nothing had changed.
The village looks about the same, but step into the city and there are buildings where there used to be walls, walls where there used to be buildings, hills where there used to be valleys and I have a message in my hand telling me to tell some molly about goblins in the farmlands but I can't find her ruddy temple.
That said, I'm dragging myself back to the tavern when I hear the all-too-familiar voice of a trapper asking me if I ever got around to skinning that ruddy bear.
Of course he had to stay the same. Bloody hell.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
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StormRunner
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 704
- Joined: Tue Oct 03, 2006 7:43 pm
- Location: Brocation?!
