ooc: Edited to comply better with game format, replies might be a bit slow at first and for that I apologize They tell me that I'm fictional. That this place isn't even in the same world that I come from and that the people in mine aren't real. Sounds like a load of bullshit if you ask me, but I would've said the same to people telling me dragons were real when I was a kid so who knows? You'd think people could think up a better lie if they're trying to cover up some sort of sanctuary. Not that I'd know what to say either so I suppose this is a good a lie as any other. Doesn't really matter what I believe in the end, now does it? I'm here and at the moment I can't do a thing about it.
If it's true though, and that's a big if, and I'm "real" now, the way I see it that means they all are too, the people back in "my world" I mean. They always were, because I remember them. I lived it, all of it. If I'm a real person, then what made me is real too. I still feel the loss of every single person I buried, every single one I've now been forced to leave behind because apparently I'm supposed to be here now. Why I deserve to get out and they don't is beyond me, and I don't really think there is any argument that could be given that I'd accept, but I guess I stopped really believing in justice a long time ago.
Still, if my memory is the only place that the people in my life are truly real in, then let this be my record of them, so that they can live in other people's minds too.
For now I'll play along with this little game of yours and pretend that you don't know what's out there.
My name is Quinn Abercromby, and when I was a boy a species of animal was re-discovered that had drifted far enough out of memory and time that they'd become myths. Flying creatures who breathe fire, who burn down everything they possibly can to feed on the ashes.
Dragons.
They hibernate for staggering amounts of time so that the world can repopulate and heal, and then they wake up again and the cycle starts over. I saw the first. I was there. But that's not the point of this particular entry. Perhaps another one further down the line. I live, or I suppose I should say lived, in a castle ruin in Northumberland. Though if this is another world I suppose "Northumberland" doesn't mean much to you, eh?
We have a graveyard there, one that I've buried far too many people in. Far too many children. These are their names, along with some there wasn't enough left of to bury.
[
What follows is a list of names along with ages and causes of death, and also brief little descriptions of what they were like. He also mentions the dragon slayers who were only with them for a short time before dying, though he can't say much about them. He regrets that he doesn't even know all of their names. He mentions their leader, Van Zan, and swallows down his conflicted emotions about the man to sketch as fair an outline of him as he can manage. There is one that he saves for last, that takes a little longer to work up the strength to record... ]
Creedy. He was my best friend, and his death should have been mine. He'd punch me for saying it, but since he's not here I can say whatever I damn well please and he can suck it up if he's watching from some afterlife or other. Dragon hunters had come to our home, again something for another entry, and they pulled the wrath of the Bull Dragon down on us. So much bigger than the others, capable of even more damage.
We'd gotten down to the shelters with as many others as we could round up, but there were still people left up in the castle. I wanted to go and get them and Creedy stopped me. He went instead, maybe because he knew it was the only way to make me stay put. He turned around just before he died and looked at me, and I knew then that the bastard had known he would die.
He kept me going, and was one of the few people who really knew me.
He was happy and charming, and funny as hell. He also made just about the worst liquor in the known universe, but I suppose it's a feat that he managed to make any at all when you think about it. I don't know how he managed to stay so damn cheerful, but I guess someone had to be and that was one job I really wasn't cut out for doing. I could motivate people to work, but I'm pretty sure he was the one who kept their spirits up.
We were a team, and a damn good one. It's a loss for every single one of you that you've never gotten to know him. Nobody could ever wish for a better friend. I miss you, mate, and wish you were here so I could punch you in the face for dying on me like that. Killed that fucker who burned you. Shot an explosive crossbow bolt right down his throat. You should've been there to see it.
Leaving it at that for now, need to rest my eyes and my hands.
I can't help these people anymore, but I'll be damned if I give up on those who are still alive back there. They all deserve the kind of life that they could get here, and I will never stop trying to find a way to give it to them.
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