A Diary Entry...

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Muzan
Beginner
Posts: 11
Joined: 22 Jun 2023 04:40
Location: The Nether

A Diary Entry...

Post by Muzan » 11 Jun 2024 23:15

Code: Select all

..-.----------------------------------------------------------.-.
((o))                                                            )
.\U/_______          _____         ___       _______        ____/
. |                                                           |
. |              Dedicated to Refnas, the Wizard              |
. |              ------------------------------               |
. |                                                           |
. | Yeren was not always a pariah in my eyes. There had been  |
. | whispers, phantoms, but I had not taken heed of such.     |
. | Irrelevant to me. In fact, Yeren had helped me once after |
. | my own death, in the city of Drakmere. I was grateful,    |
. | at the time. Perhaps I sinned in what came next. Then     |
. | again, I wonder how many of you see me as a saint.        |
. |                                                           |
. | Yeren irked many over the course of a few short moons. I  |
. | do not easily mock a man who decides to fight for         |
. | himself, but if others wanted him dead, well... Muzan     |
. | Darkmoor had never needed to be bitten to crave blood. It |
. | helped that Yeren stole the title I wanted.               |
. |                                                           |
. | Yeren also enjoyed posturing. Kender-loving fool. As a    |
. | result, I spent my time stalking him, slowly, cunningly.  |
. | Invisibility is rather versatile. Poor Yeren--so large in |
. | stature, yet the Crusaders of Drakmere gave him trouble.  |
. |                                                           |
. | And there were, of course, the ancient grimoires from     |
. | Cadu. Refnas, in his madness, had created something       |
. | usable. Yes, I tested on my own body. Yes, it takes       |
. | twenty-and-five seconds for one to detonate after         |
. | examination. Yes, multiple can go off at once. Three days |
. | and three nights, I schemed. In hindsight, twenty         |
. | grimoires was too much, and ten would have sufficed. My   |
. | tests suggest even seven are enough for total             |
. | conflagration.                                            |
. |                                                           |
. | I had not intended to kill Yeren this week. But I was     |
. | bored. As evening came, I arose lazily from the couch I   |
. | had been lounging in (praise be to the Eldest for such    |
. | accommodating accommodations), and went forth with these  |
. | grimoires, hidden from the sight of man and creature. And |
. | there Yeren was. It seems he had thought of me, and       |
. | presented himself gift-wrapped in Raumdor once more,      |
. | fighting the same Crusaders. I watched him bring them     |
. | down, man after man, strike after strike. And it took     |
. | him a long time. Too long.                                |
. |                                                           |
. | You see, the last time I had watched Yeren, I had left    |
. | burning torches in every room. Yeren did not seem to      |
. | care--it had been dark in Raumdor, but I found it curious |
. | that he did not notice. So this night, I lit a singular   |
. | torch, and put it at his feet. And the world trembled     |
. | when I smiled.                                            |
. |                                                           |
. | As he was caught up in a battle with three Crusaders, I   |
. | placed the grimoires quickly, almost carelessly around    |
. | us. I examined all of them at once. At that moment, my    |
. | gaze pierced shadow, earth, and flesh. And I waited.      |
. |                                                           |
. | One. Two.                                                 |
. |                                                           |
. | Three. Four.                                              |
. |                                                           |
. | Five. Six.                                                |
. |                                                           |
. | At twenty, I leaned in, placing my hand on Yeren's        |
. | shoulder--the faintest of touches--and I whispered.       |
. |                                                           |
. | "Goodnight."                                              |
. |                                                           |
. | I stepped eastward. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.     |
. |                                                           |
. | And Yeren had ceased to exist. Every atom in his body     |
. | had been reduced to nothingness. Truly, Refnas had been   |
. | clever, for Yerens weapons, his delicious black-gem      |
. | rings, his pouches and packs, all had been spared. Of     |
. | these, I took and made gifts of them. And I strode away   |
. | from Castle Gylar, through the forest of Raumdor, down    |
. | the mountain, beneath a blanket of stars.                 |
. |                                                           |
. | The night was still young.                                |
. |                                                           |
. |                                                           |
. |                           =====                           |
. |                                                           |
. |                                                           |
. |                         Addendum:                         |
. |                                                           |
. | I am reminded of a tale my beloved Cousin Taran narrated  |
. | once. He told me of Redblade, pursuing Justice when hope  |
. | was a mere dream. He told me of Redblade slaying the      |
. | Witchking of Minas Morgul, Sly. Of course, Minas Morgul's |
. | retaliation was swift and cold. Such is how a Hero is put |
. | up on a cross, martyred in his cause.                     |
. |                                                           |
. | I have no love for the Rangers of Middle-Earth. But in    |
. | this, I can but salute them, and their tenacity.          |
. |                                                           |
. | No creature is Immortal. No man is Weak.                  |
. |                                                           |
. | The power to do a thing, great and majestic, is in each   |
. | and every one of us. Even dogs have their days.           |
. |                                                           |
. | Darkness be with you always,                              |
. | Light blind your foes,                                    |
. |                                                           |
. |              The Cherished Son of the Night               |
. |                      Muzan Darkmoor                       |
. |                                                           |
. |                                                           |
. |____    _______    __  ____    ___________     ___ __ _____|
./A\                                                           \
((o))                                                           )
.'-'-----------------------------------------------------------'
Alea iacta est.

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