It’s been so long since I have started any journal entry that I’ve forgotten how to begin, and truthfully I’m hesitant to write my own thoughts. The time I spent reading over old entries has been painful, and not in some tragically emotional way. I mean that I physically cringe at everything I had written in this journal for the past… who knows how long. I can only imagine that my other journals need to be salted, burnt, and their ashes scattered to the wind off the edge of Outland. 

Although, I can remember my state of mind when I had been so avidly writing before. Sad, reclusive, and having to reset or reinvent myself every time some new tragedy came upon me. Striving to be better each day while hopelessly looking into an abyss. Living with self-loathing for what I was and what could have been if I hadn’t been so damned worried about the fate of others. Constantly in doubt for the supposed sacrifice I had made, and lamenting things that seemed out of reach. Always ignoring the lesson that was blatantly before my eyes.

Some things aren’t meant to be. Get over it.

When I finally came to terms with this great lesson, I didn’t feel relieved nor comforted. There was no enlightening moment of brilliance of how to live my life. I felt tired. Down to my bones and soul tired.

Now, I’ve known for some time that I’m tired of war. That had been in the way of achieving goals of mine for a long time and the loss of people I cared for, like any normal person. What surprised me is my overall attitude towards altruism and comradery. The idea of a friend, per my own definition, is a person I can rely on, confide in, share a drink and stories, and generally enjoy being in their presence.

Could I call any of these Templars my friends? Maybe one or two, perhaps three if I’m pushing it. Out of the larger group? No.

Caelryn, Etsiyona, and Aunne I believe are reliable and they are good people to have in one’s company. Would I confide in them and cry on their shoulders? Absolutely not. Everyone else I feel so completely disconnected from that I can hardly write them off as an acquaintance, and that led me to question why I should strive so hard to help.

Certainly, it gives a person good feelings and a higher, noble purpose, but what is inherently wrong with a self-serving purpose? I understand some are born for that life of helping, sacrifice for others, and giving of themselves. Personally, I feel what I have to give is a finite amount, and I am tired of giving away pieces of myself to others. I think I will hang onto what’s left.

Whether he knows it or not, the mage did me a favor by destroying my guild stone. I cannot be tracked, called, nor interrupted by some guilt of morality. I cannot be asked of my progress on searching for the missing souls, and that suits me just fine. 

Honestly, I was never going to look for them or how to fix their issue to begin with. And why should I? When have they lifted a finger to help me or offer anything more than a passing greeting?

Simply put, I do not have the energy to get anxious over the well-being of others, and I’m spiteful enough to find their misfortune amusing. Additionally, this split between the planes offers new opportunities and curiosities to discover. That is not something that should go to waste, and Revendreth customs are the closest resemblance -though quite different!- to a life I once knew. 

I think I’ll enjoy my time here and revel in my current untraceable state. As someone once said to me: fuck you, I got mine.

Author Esreiella
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