My Name Is...
At twilight, Rathorin enters his apartment from long and numerous hunts, slogs over to his weapon rack and hooks up his spear just above his katana and bow. He wanders to his desk and slumps onto the chair. With a heavy sigh and fingers combing through raven and crimson locks, he took a few moments to recollect himself. On his desk, a pair of holders housed several books with empty spines. He plucked the furthest book on the right and set it down in front of himself, flipping to the next empty page which was about two-thirds of the way through. Taking up a quill, he begins to write. Entry 438 I must thank myself for making these entry numbers. My days are slowly blending together. I’m not even sure which moon cycle I’m writing this in. I’ve lost my wife, my friends, and I haven’t talked to or seen Aesa in who knows how long. I’m starting to forget who I am and what I’m fighting so much for. Am I trying to forget? Trying to stay sane? Maybe I’m doing it so that I can remember. I can’t say for sure. Whenever I close my eyes to rest all I see is that figure. The other side of me, chained up and those piercing red eyes glaring at me. Is that what I look like to other people? The chains have been holding, but they’re starting to rust and break. My name is Invalmos Kha. He’s going to get loose eventually, Rathorin is, and I’m starting to wonder if that’s such a bad thing. Would it be better to go back to being a blade for hire? Again, I can’t say for sure. I talk to him every now and then. Like I’m trying to keep him up to date on what’s happening as though he didn’t know already. He’s me after all and I sound insane. My name is Invalmos Kha. I’ll have to think on it though. I think the fighting is making his grip stronger so I’ll probably take a break on that. For now, I have to get some sleep. No rest for the wicked as they say. My name is...
Closing the journal, he returns it back into its place and a wide grin crosses his lips. He stands from the chair and makes his way to the bed, flopping down onto his back with an arm across his eyes. “No rest for the wicked? What poor choice of words, Invalmos. I’m going to sleep like a baby. My name, after all, is Rathorin Locklair...”
