A lull on the battlefield. It was decided, after much bickering, that we would strike down our own troop, rather than allow a confrontation with the nearby minotaur groups. We continue to struggle for unity. Any attempt at captaincy among this group is met with hostility. We lack any coherence, our coordination on the battlefield is shameful, yet somehow we succeed, and lose neither life or limb. Is that not in itself a miracle, cause for the counting of blessings? I feel no joy, I can assure you of that, my nameless peer for whom I write. Can our good fortune continue on for much longer?
Every exchange between us is volatile. Differences in morals and goals stretch us one moment, push us together the next, though never all at once. At any time there is at least one of us at odds with another. It is just as well – it occurs to me that we hold no real purpose in these goings-on. I see naught but politics, and the lingering stench of worldly ignorance and unchecked animalism. This is nothing but the familiar warring of man and his eternal soul-seeking. Part of me seeks to sympathize with it, for I know what it is to yearn for definition. Then, part of me wretches in disgust at their utter lack of regard for the sanctity of life. For it is such a greater sin to desecrate something made holy by mortal works, rather than abstractly mandated by the gods.
Obad-Hai has taken my spirit. I receive no condolence. I have waited patiently for this sense within me to pierce the umbra of my nihilism, yet so far have only been reinforced in my distaste for association with all other sentience. By the gods, is this the grand culmination of life? To stay one’s self and remain disenchanted, or be taken by the wolves? Of what use is it all…
This feeling. It commands me to move, but affords me no compass. How sad I must seem, little more than a lonely vagabond, a sniveling hermit skirting the bounds of society with ne’er a kind word to offer. Yet I remain, illuminated by great heaves of emotion that seem to well up from nothing, independent from my thoughts and rationalizations. I remain, battling alongside these strange consorts of mine. I fight with them, and yet not for them.
But…if not for this, what would I do? Perch within the trees and watch the strife of man flow around me, as I always have? Commit to nothing, feel nothing? I have led a life most dull. Yet, when I stand over a fallen foe and retrieve my arrow from his chest, and in his dying breath he looks to me and wordlessly inquires, “what is it that you stand for, that you would strike me down?” What shall my eyes respond with? That I slew him and took away his life…for sake of mere idleness?
I must solve these riddles. They cannot go unanswered.