Post by ◎Raineigh◎ on Apr 10, 2010 22:01:30 GMT -6
Borderline Personality Disorder is a condition in which a person makes impulsive actions, and has an unstable mood and chaotic relationships. Can be attributed to the severing of personalities in order to deal with various traumatic experiences or memories.
I am fragments of a past life. Or perhaps of a life touched multiple times deeply by other current and past lives. They've all left their parts, and yet I feel...shattered.
I have a name, a place, and a rank. I have personality quirks, and despite the lack of life, I am a person within. But am I one or many? Am I who I was...before? Or am I them and a few others too?
For me, to ask where life began, I will tell you nothing. I cannot. Because where my life began was at the point where communication became nigh impossible for me. I was a mage at the Frozen Throne, captured by the agents of the former human prince Arthas. Most of my adventuring party was dead, those who survived had been taken in for questioning.
There's an inkling in my mind...a remembrance of having been taken in for questioning before. I fought. I would not be broken again. I had found friends again, I remember not wanting to be alone. My spells cut their numbers, their cages could not hold me. They underestimated the little Sin'dorei mage...
...and they cut my tongue out to silence me.
They didn't count on something...something I do not remember where I learned. I could cast instinctively. It was from a place, close to my soul. Words were not needed for the pain I wanted to inflict on them. I had been days, months even, without feeding on the mana and magic of others. My bones had ached, and so I made them feel everything that I felt in that moment.
I wanted to make them feel as crazy as they all thought me.
There was pride, not breaking, for denying I had the addiction anymore. But I think deep down I knew I did. I just teemed it up into being addicted to their suffering. I knew they needed me. I knew they couldn't kill me or I would be dead already.
I thought I knew they needed me.
Talents and fight like my own, where information could not have been bought or sold, had only one other use to them. In death. They killed me there and made me into one of their own. And it was in this darkness where my real story began.
I am the Dread Admiral Raineigh Ceridwen Dravenholdt, and I am an agent of Death.
Do I remember the years that shaped me as a humanoid being? No. But do I still feel quirks of things nonsensical to the later upbringing I have? Absolutely.
I remember my abilities as a mage, the ability to make all feel pain quickly through the invocation of the elements around me. However, with sword in hand, I am able to unleash pain in a way that I--to my knowledge--never did before in my living days. I could take punishment and hold attention of others while my fleet picked them off quickly around me. It came...naturally.
The addiction still eats away at the cold of my flesh, and yet I find myself able to suppress it just long enough to make another feel the anguish and pain I do. Perhaps that had always been there. Perhaps it hadn't.
It doesn't have any matter, truly. There is nothing I can change, and nothing I wish to change. Just a tingling questioning of my origins.
I am fragments of a past life. Or perhaps of a life touched multiple times deeply by other current and past lives. They've all left their parts, and yet I feel...shattered.
I have a name, a place, and a rank. I have personality quirks, and despite the lack of life, I am a person within. But am I one or many? Am I who I was...before? Or am I them and a few others too?
For me, to ask where life began, I will tell you nothing. I cannot. Because where my life began was at the point where communication became nigh impossible for me. I was a mage at the Frozen Throne, captured by the agents of the former human prince Arthas. Most of my adventuring party was dead, those who survived had been taken in for questioning.
There's an inkling in my mind...a remembrance of having been taken in for questioning before. I fought. I would not be broken again. I had found friends again, I remember not wanting to be alone. My spells cut their numbers, their cages could not hold me. They underestimated the little Sin'dorei mage...
...and they cut my tongue out to silence me.
They didn't count on something...something I do not remember where I learned. I could cast instinctively. It was from a place, close to my soul. Words were not needed for the pain I wanted to inflict on them. I had been days, months even, without feeding on the mana and magic of others. My bones had ached, and so I made them feel everything that I felt in that moment.
I wanted to make them feel as crazy as they all thought me.
There was pride, not breaking, for denying I had the addiction anymore. But I think deep down I knew I did. I just teemed it up into being addicted to their suffering. I knew they needed me. I knew they couldn't kill me or I would be dead already.
I thought I knew they needed me.
Talents and fight like my own, where information could not have been bought or sold, had only one other use to them. In death. They killed me there and made me into one of their own. And it was in this darkness where my real story began.
I am the Dread Admiral Raineigh Ceridwen Dravenholdt, and I am an agent of Death.
Do I remember the years that shaped me as a humanoid being? No. But do I still feel quirks of things nonsensical to the later upbringing I have? Absolutely.
I remember my abilities as a mage, the ability to make all feel pain quickly through the invocation of the elements around me. However, with sword in hand, I am able to unleash pain in a way that I--to my knowledge--never did before in my living days. I could take punishment and hold attention of others while my fleet picked them off quickly around me. It came...naturally.
The addiction still eats away at the cold of my flesh, and yet I find myself able to suppress it just long enough to make another feel the anguish and pain I do. Perhaps that had always been there. Perhaps it hadn't.
It doesn't have any matter, truly. There is nothing I can change, and nothing I wish to change. Just a tingling questioning of my origins.