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Atreus Profile (Journal entry of his past)
Posted on 2006.10.08 at 23:15
“The ends justify the means. So I’ve always thought...”
It was a stormy night in the small farming village when the child was born. The village doctor helped the delivery, and it went almost perfectly. A healthy boy was born, and once his cry pierced the night, the rain slowed and the clouds parted, as if he had beckoned the son to come out. His parents, Tabatha and Morarius, decided to name him Atreus, which Tabatha was sure meant, in elvish “good omen.” In truth, its not elvish, its just gibberish.
You know, if I’m going to keep a journal, I might as well write in narrative. None of this crazy third person stuff. I couldn’t keep it up for long anyway.
Back to the story. The night I was born was horrid. Absolutely terrible weather... but the entire ordeal was easy. Mother even told me I was the easiest of the three of us. Like I wanted to be free and in the world... Anyway. I grew up in that small farming town, not far from the capital. We supplied grain and meat, for the most part. Cows and the like. I think I grew up happy: hordes of other children to play with, animals to chase with sticks, old men to tell stories. Oh, the stories... I lived for them, especially old man Sprug and his epics. He may have been a crazy bastard, but by Bahamut, I loved his stories. Dragons and thievery and dashing heroes and the odd reptile man or were-tiger. Said he never regretted his choices... How I yearned to be an adventurer, but, I must admit, being a farmer seemed safer and easier.
So I grew up, with my brother and sister, farming. I wasn’t there long, but, you know, I learned the basics of growing plants, sowing fields, milking cows. It was easy, fun, and I’d like to think responsible at least partially for my fine physique. But, farmer forever I was not meant to be I suppose. It was when I was ten or eleven that an illness swept through the town. Many people got sick... I forget its name. The plague? No.. That was worse. The flu? Maybe, sounds right. Everyone was losing strength, and had small- Small pox! Son of a bitch, that’s what it was! Smallpox....
I still remember seeing my mother in the bed... It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. I’m glad she didn’t get to see what happened to me, though. She’d be so ashamed... I tried to make money. Bless my little heart back then, I was so idealistic. I tried to sing and dance for it in town, but noone had money to give there. So... of course, my eyes were drawn to the glittering coins in the city, and I left my family in the care of the doctor, promising them I’d return.
It was only a week or so by foot to the capital. We were close, for safety reasons, you see. The guards at the gate were surprised I came alone, but let me in. I guess surviving on bread and berries for a week is strange? Besides the point, I entered the city, and began to do my thing. I sung and danced for money, and actually got some. Oh, how hopeful I was after a day, a hat full of coppers, to bring a city doctor home to my town, or get a medicine... Hah. How hopeful, only to become so disappointed... A child shouldn’t learn about life like that, about money. Not at ten years old.
I slept in a dodgy inn that night, and ate poorly made food. Already I was lost, and scared. I don’t think I had ever felt doubt before that day, nor had I felt so alone. Noone here care what I had to say, or how sad I was. I was shell shocked: anyone at home would listen, even if you had to follow them or help them to get their ear. The city... Noone cared.
The next day I tried to sing and dance again, but it was a sad song and a slow dance. Noone wanted that.. The next few days, I learned fast. Noone wanted more sorrow. Noone cared for it. You couldn’t get anything out of people unless you smiled. I’m pretty sure that’s where it all began... How I never lost this grin of mine. I needed money, and to get money, I had to smile, always.
Well, it wasn’t long before that smiling little chap that I was got found by the underground, or at least part of it. They knew what I needed, could smell it. They took me aside, propositioned me. I was a kid, I didn’t understand how the city worked. I didn’t realize I was being sucked into a guild of thieves, a den of cobras. They had me doing small things, that I wouldn’t suspect... Running bottles of rum for them, small packages of drugs amidst other packages. I started out as an errand boy for them, someone disposable, the asses, and made a pretty penny in the meantime.
After about a month, I had the money to bring a doctor all the way out to my village. Somehow, I slipped away form the guild, my new friends, by just telling them I wanted to get medicine for my mother. It was another week, by this point almost two months, since I left. I was so excited to be back in my little farming village! It seemed everyone had gotten better though. In my time gone, all those who had the pox seemed to be up and about, doing chores, and the town was back together.. But I led the doctor to my house anyway. How blissfully innocent I was! I didn’t understand why noone looked at me, all their eyes averted. It didn’t hit me when I got to my house. Noone was there, so I of course had assumed they were all better, gave the doctor his fee, and sent him away. Oh... Oh, how merry I was, searching through the town all smiles and giggles, calling out Andrena’s name, my plump little sister, and shouting for my father to stop playing his games. I kept looking, until one of the elders stopped me and told me what had happened.
I’m pretty sure that was the last time I cried... when I saw those four tombstones. I couldn’t believe it, and I ran back to my home and realized that it was true... noone had been there for weeks. Oh... Oh how I regret it. I hadn’t stayed. I left them all with a smile and a promise. Even today. I can still see mom smiling at me... She believed in me. She trusted me, god dammit! My mother, my father, my sister and my brother, Andrena and Nicolas, they all died because I wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough. I couldn’t be the hero they needed.
I stayed in my house for days, weeks even. I was broken, I heard the villagers say in passing, and I was. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never felt heart break. I didn’t understand it. I stayed in my house and neglected my duties. I ate remnants of food, and went out now and then, killing small game with a knife father had taught me to throw. Oh, that knife... I held onto it for dear life, and used it to take life... I remember how I felt killing that first rabbit, but after a week or so, I felt no more remorse.. I even began to aim to maim the things. I remember... I remember how it relaxed me, took my mind off my pain, to skin them, to cut their ears off, to gut them. I can’t remember, though, when I started doing those things to them before I killed the game.
Eventually, I packed up my things. Everything I could carry, and a few things I knew would sell well. I kept one of my mothers bracelets, the only piece of pretty jewelry she had, as a memento before burning down the cottage in the night, and fleeing the town.
I came to the city again, and entered through the same gate, getting the same reaction from different guards. Now that I think about it, I think it may have been my disarming smile, not my age, that shocked them. Just keep smiling, and everything works out, right? I entered the town, and found my “friends.” They were pretty, well, unenthusiastic to see me. All but one, Jonathan. I’ll never forget him. He helped me hock much of my stuff, and set me up with a tiny room to live in at a local thieves guild fence. Then came the training.
It began with just practical training in hiding and moving silently. I respected and understood these skills... They could be useful for hunting game and such. But, I was at first ill at ease with the slight of hand. With the pickpocketing. With the out and out theft he wanted me to learn, and then practice. Jon gave me the classic explanation though... “Steal a loaf of bread for a hungry family,” bullshit. Our hungry family needed gold and booze apparently. But I was young, and lost... What can I say? I went with it, and even felt like I was doing the right thing!
So, for a few years, I was in the thieves guild. I stole for them, and delivered things. They didn’t teach me much else, save simple knife tricks to defend myself. I learned street fighting through the obvious channels... Rival guilds had no problem jumping runners, and I had my fair share. It was sometime around the age of fifteen... yeah, fifteen, about seven years ago. I got caught by a guard. Now... this was a horrifying experience. We have the classic law that stealing gets your hand cut off. I like my hands, journal. So I ran, with a guard chasing me. I didn’t know what to do, especially not when I got cornered. That guard must have been laughing inside, seeing a kid with a knife. How I was shaking! Horrible shaking, I was terrified! Imagine how much worse I got when he drew a short sword...
He went to charge me... Do you remember, journal, how I told you I had been hunting rabbits? To be blunt, a mans throat is about as large as a rabbits torso... I threw my knife, and scored a direct hit. He swung, clumsily, and god bless his soul, still struck me. I didn’t know what to do as he fell, and bled to death at my feet. I had murdered... My mother raised me to be a good kid. I had always respected people, and hated hurting others when I wasn’t supposed to. But you know what?
God dammit, I laughed.
I laughed! I laughed the laugh of the winner! I had survived, and realized that it was thrilling! This was what Sprug had told me about! Hunting, milking, farming, it was gone. This was the life of an adventurer, conflict and fear! I looted the guard, and ran for my life, grinning madly, blood pouring down my face. When I got back to the fence, I was cheered for what I did, and bandaged up. My looted gear was taken to be sold.. And later that night, after I had a few drinks, Jon gave me my first short sword, a tiny blade for hiding, and said he’d teach me to use it for real fighting...
That’s how I lived. I slowly worked my way up in that gang, from just another stupid porter to a real member, a real pickpocket finally up to an assassin. Gullible I was, I learned the ways of poison, shadowing, lock picking. Jon taught it all to me, but I never really learned why. Previously, most of my jobs had been looting middle class places. Grabbing one or two items. Little did I realize, or at the time care, that I was becoming Jon’s fist. He could use me to kill people from the safety of his abode, and have no worry of bodily harm...
I worked under Jon for more than a few years. I became pretty adept at what I did, and the tools of my trade became extensions of my person. Guards were my enemies, and I viewed them with a mixture of fear and revulsion. I had grown fond of food and drink and women, oh the women! Every night I had a different buxom wench, and when it wasn’t a woman coming to me, I was going to them. I suppose I’m quite the handsome young man, despite my rather brutal scar, which, by the bye, is on my right eye, from chin to hairline. I suppose I look exotic... But I have learned to seduce women and, even now, find it hard to spend more than a few nights without at least someone under me. Thus is the curse of vice, once released. I had grown to need beautiful women, money and, the thing I am least proud of, blood. I had grown so fond of how blood spills. It became an art. Slit the throat in a way to create the broadest spray of crimson on the wall, cut out the tongue first and watch them drown, slit the wrists of a bound gagged target...
I also became an Protector for the gang. Hah. That’s what we called “extortionists.” Protectors. Ah, That’s where I acquired possibly my worst trait, I think, but it is also what made me finally realize what I was doing. I had grown too fond of getting the money out of merchants. Broken fingers and carving marks, removing earlobes and toes, little things that cause so, so much pain. Mmm... But...
My last job I did for the gang had me in a carpenters shop. I had broken his first finger, left pinky I believe. I felt something, as the man screamed, hit me on the small of my back with a fair amount of force. Of course, I spun, furious, knife drawn, expecting perhaps an angry housewife. No... It was a child. A young boy, tears in his eyes, wooden sword in his hands. “I’ll save you daddy!” He said. He hit me two or three more times, fearless in the path of his fathers pain, like I was in my families suffering. I couldn’t go on. It was like a revelation! I saw my family looking over my shoulder, disapproving of my life. Now journal, I hear you snickering at how stupid that sounds, but at the time, it struck me with the force of a horses hoof to the face. I shooed the bow away with my hand, and placed some coins on the table for the mans injury. Then, I fled. I fled the shop to the fence that Jon kept, and pulled him aside...
It was foolish of me to think I could just talk my way out of the gang... Jon was smiles and nods, But as I left I noticed I was being tailed. Three people I considered friends just a few hours ago attacked me in an alley. Quite the swordsman and skilled with my most unique defense, I dispatched them rather brutally, vicious in my scorn and betrayal. I then marched out of the city, vindictive and lost, yet again...
I had spent so long, nearly 10 years of my life, serving criminals, punishing the innocent, killing them. No doubt some of my victims were corrupt, but not enough. I was a murderer, a criminal, and a general monster, in my own eyes...
But I am not blind. I suppose this was only the first step, recognizing what I have done was wrong, realizing I was a monster, reawakening my conscience. I remembered, then, out in the wilderness, that once I had wanted to be a hero. A great hero, a shining example of what humanity could do! To stand invincible under the sun! But, such a long time ago, I was idealistic, and knew nothing of the world. And now, now that I have the knowledge, it is lost on me. Journal, I am sure you will agree, I am no hero. I am beyond the title of it, and could never earn it, just as no hero could ever truly exist... There are too many things they can’t do to succeed in this world and stay a shining golden example.
So, journal.. I’ve decided what I am to do. I am to find a hero. If I cannot do these things, then someone else will. Someone else will become a champion of the people, a champion of good, a champion for me. And I will simply be their shadow.... I will steal for them that which noone should own, hide that which noone should find, and kill that which should not live. I will act as the hero’s knife, because a hero cannot steal, or kill, or poison, or break into things... But I can. Because the ends justify the means.
Maybe... maybe as someone shadow, I can feel how warm the light is, reflecting off their shoulders....
Goodbye journal. Thanks for the catharsis.
It was a stormy night in the small farming village when the child was born. The village doctor helped the delivery, and it went almost perfectly. A healthy boy was born, and once his cry pierced the night, the rain slowed and the clouds parted, as if he had beckoned the son to come out. His parents, Tabatha and Morarius, decided to name him Atreus, which Tabatha was sure meant, in elvish “good omen.” In truth, its not elvish, its just gibberish.
You know, if I’m going to keep a journal, I might as well write in narrative. None of this crazy third person stuff. I couldn’t keep it up for long anyway.
Back to the story. The night I was born was horrid. Absolutely terrible weather... but the entire ordeal was easy. Mother even told me I was the easiest of the three of us. Like I wanted to be free and in the world... Anyway. I grew up in that small farming town, not far from the capital. We supplied grain and meat, for the most part. Cows and the like. I think I grew up happy: hordes of other children to play with, animals to chase with sticks, old men to tell stories. Oh, the stories... I lived for them, especially old man Sprug and his epics. He may have been a crazy bastard, but by Bahamut, I loved his stories. Dragons and thievery and dashing heroes and the odd reptile man or were-tiger. Said he never regretted his choices... How I yearned to be an adventurer, but, I must admit, being a farmer seemed safer and easier.
So I grew up, with my brother and sister, farming. I wasn’t there long, but, you know, I learned the basics of growing plants, sowing fields, milking cows. It was easy, fun, and I’d like to think responsible at least partially for my fine physique. But, farmer forever I was not meant to be I suppose. It was when I was ten or eleven that an illness swept through the town. Many people got sick... I forget its name. The plague? No.. That was worse. The flu? Maybe, sounds right. Everyone was losing strength, and had small- Small pox! Son of a bitch, that’s what it was! Smallpox....
I still remember seeing my mother in the bed... It was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. I’m glad she didn’t get to see what happened to me, though. She’d be so ashamed... I tried to make money. Bless my little heart back then, I was so idealistic. I tried to sing and dance for it in town, but noone had money to give there. So... of course, my eyes were drawn to the glittering coins in the city, and I left my family in the care of the doctor, promising them I’d return.
It was only a week or so by foot to the capital. We were close, for safety reasons, you see. The guards at the gate were surprised I came alone, but let me in. I guess surviving on bread and berries for a week is strange? Besides the point, I entered the city, and began to do my thing. I sung and danced for money, and actually got some. Oh, how hopeful I was after a day, a hat full of coppers, to bring a city doctor home to my town, or get a medicine... Hah. How hopeful, only to become so disappointed... A child shouldn’t learn about life like that, about money. Not at ten years old.
I slept in a dodgy inn that night, and ate poorly made food. Already I was lost, and scared. I don’t think I had ever felt doubt before that day, nor had I felt so alone. Noone here care what I had to say, or how sad I was. I was shell shocked: anyone at home would listen, even if you had to follow them or help them to get their ear. The city... Noone cared.
The next day I tried to sing and dance again, but it was a sad song and a slow dance. Noone wanted that.. The next few days, I learned fast. Noone wanted more sorrow. Noone cared for it. You couldn’t get anything out of people unless you smiled. I’m pretty sure that’s where it all began... How I never lost this grin of mine. I needed money, and to get money, I had to smile, always.
Well, it wasn’t long before that smiling little chap that I was got found by the underground, or at least part of it. They knew what I needed, could smell it. They took me aside, propositioned me. I was a kid, I didn’t understand how the city worked. I didn’t realize I was being sucked into a guild of thieves, a den of cobras. They had me doing small things, that I wouldn’t suspect... Running bottles of rum for them, small packages of drugs amidst other packages. I started out as an errand boy for them, someone disposable, the asses, and made a pretty penny in the meantime.
After about a month, I had the money to bring a doctor all the way out to my village. Somehow, I slipped away form the guild, my new friends, by just telling them I wanted to get medicine for my mother. It was another week, by this point almost two months, since I left. I was so excited to be back in my little farming village! It seemed everyone had gotten better though. In my time gone, all those who had the pox seemed to be up and about, doing chores, and the town was back together.. But I led the doctor to my house anyway. How blissfully innocent I was! I didn’t understand why noone looked at me, all their eyes averted. It didn’t hit me when I got to my house. Noone was there, so I of course had assumed they were all better, gave the doctor his fee, and sent him away. Oh... Oh, how merry I was, searching through the town all smiles and giggles, calling out Andrena’s name, my plump little sister, and shouting for my father to stop playing his games. I kept looking, until one of the elders stopped me and told me what had happened.
I’m pretty sure that was the last time I cried... when I saw those four tombstones. I couldn’t believe it, and I ran back to my home and realized that it was true... noone had been there for weeks. Oh... Oh how I regret it. I hadn’t stayed. I left them all with a smile and a promise. Even today. I can still see mom smiling at me... She believed in me. She trusted me, god dammit! My mother, my father, my sister and my brother, Andrena and Nicolas, they all died because I wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, good enough. I couldn’t be the hero they needed.
I stayed in my house for days, weeks even. I was broken, I heard the villagers say in passing, and I was. I didn’t know what to do. I’d never felt heart break. I didn’t understand it. I stayed in my house and neglected my duties. I ate remnants of food, and went out now and then, killing small game with a knife father had taught me to throw. Oh, that knife... I held onto it for dear life, and used it to take life... I remember how I felt killing that first rabbit, but after a week or so, I felt no more remorse.. I even began to aim to maim the things. I remember... I remember how it relaxed me, took my mind off my pain, to skin them, to cut their ears off, to gut them. I can’t remember, though, when I started doing those things to them before I killed the game.
Eventually, I packed up my things. Everything I could carry, and a few things I knew would sell well. I kept one of my mothers bracelets, the only piece of pretty jewelry she had, as a memento before burning down the cottage in the night, and fleeing the town.
I came to the city again, and entered through the same gate, getting the same reaction from different guards. Now that I think about it, I think it may have been my disarming smile, not my age, that shocked them. Just keep smiling, and everything works out, right? I entered the town, and found my “friends.” They were pretty, well, unenthusiastic to see me. All but one, Jonathan. I’ll never forget him. He helped me hock much of my stuff, and set me up with a tiny room to live in at a local thieves guild fence. Then came the training.
It began with just practical training in hiding and moving silently. I respected and understood these skills... They could be useful for hunting game and such. But, I was at first ill at ease with the slight of hand. With the pickpocketing. With the out and out theft he wanted me to learn, and then practice. Jon gave me the classic explanation though... “Steal a loaf of bread for a hungry family,” bullshit. Our hungry family needed gold and booze apparently. But I was young, and lost... What can I say? I went with it, and even felt like I was doing the right thing!
So, for a few years, I was in the thieves guild. I stole for them, and delivered things. They didn’t teach me much else, save simple knife tricks to defend myself. I learned street fighting through the obvious channels... Rival guilds had no problem jumping runners, and I had my fair share. It was sometime around the age of fifteen... yeah, fifteen, about seven years ago. I got caught by a guard. Now... this was a horrifying experience. We have the classic law that stealing gets your hand cut off. I like my hands, journal. So I ran, with a guard chasing me. I didn’t know what to do, especially not when I got cornered. That guard must have been laughing inside, seeing a kid with a knife. How I was shaking! Horrible shaking, I was terrified! Imagine how much worse I got when he drew a short sword...
He went to charge me... Do you remember, journal, how I told you I had been hunting rabbits? To be blunt, a mans throat is about as large as a rabbits torso... I threw my knife, and scored a direct hit. He swung, clumsily, and god bless his soul, still struck me. I didn’t know what to do as he fell, and bled to death at my feet. I had murdered... My mother raised me to be a good kid. I had always respected people, and hated hurting others when I wasn’t supposed to. But you know what?
God dammit, I laughed.
I laughed! I laughed the laugh of the winner! I had survived, and realized that it was thrilling! This was what Sprug had told me about! Hunting, milking, farming, it was gone. This was the life of an adventurer, conflict and fear! I looted the guard, and ran for my life, grinning madly, blood pouring down my face. When I got back to the fence, I was cheered for what I did, and bandaged up. My looted gear was taken to be sold.. And later that night, after I had a few drinks, Jon gave me my first short sword, a tiny blade for hiding, and said he’d teach me to use it for real fighting...
That’s how I lived. I slowly worked my way up in that gang, from just another stupid porter to a real member, a real pickpocket finally up to an assassin. Gullible I was, I learned the ways of poison, shadowing, lock picking. Jon taught it all to me, but I never really learned why. Previously, most of my jobs had been looting middle class places. Grabbing one or two items. Little did I realize, or at the time care, that I was becoming Jon’s fist. He could use me to kill people from the safety of his abode, and have no worry of bodily harm...
I worked under Jon for more than a few years. I became pretty adept at what I did, and the tools of my trade became extensions of my person. Guards were my enemies, and I viewed them with a mixture of fear and revulsion. I had grown fond of food and drink and women, oh the women! Every night I had a different buxom wench, and when it wasn’t a woman coming to me, I was going to them. I suppose I’m quite the handsome young man, despite my rather brutal scar, which, by the bye, is on my right eye, from chin to hairline. I suppose I look exotic... But I have learned to seduce women and, even now, find it hard to spend more than a few nights without at least someone under me. Thus is the curse of vice, once released. I had grown to need beautiful women, money and, the thing I am least proud of, blood. I had grown so fond of how blood spills. It became an art. Slit the throat in a way to create the broadest spray of crimson on the wall, cut out the tongue first and watch them drown, slit the wrists of a bound gagged target...
I also became an Protector for the gang. Hah. That’s what we called “extortionists.” Protectors. Ah, That’s where I acquired possibly my worst trait, I think, but it is also what made me finally realize what I was doing. I had grown too fond of getting the money out of merchants. Broken fingers and carving marks, removing earlobes and toes, little things that cause so, so much pain. Mmm... But...
My last job I did for the gang had me in a carpenters shop. I had broken his first finger, left pinky I believe. I felt something, as the man screamed, hit me on the small of my back with a fair amount of force. Of course, I spun, furious, knife drawn, expecting perhaps an angry housewife. No... It was a child. A young boy, tears in his eyes, wooden sword in his hands. “I’ll save you daddy!” He said. He hit me two or three more times, fearless in the path of his fathers pain, like I was in my families suffering. I couldn’t go on. It was like a revelation! I saw my family looking over my shoulder, disapproving of my life. Now journal, I hear you snickering at how stupid that sounds, but at the time, it struck me with the force of a horses hoof to the face. I shooed the bow away with my hand, and placed some coins on the table for the mans injury. Then, I fled. I fled the shop to the fence that Jon kept, and pulled him aside...
It was foolish of me to think I could just talk my way out of the gang... Jon was smiles and nods, But as I left I noticed I was being tailed. Three people I considered friends just a few hours ago attacked me in an alley. Quite the swordsman and skilled with my most unique defense, I dispatched them rather brutally, vicious in my scorn and betrayal. I then marched out of the city, vindictive and lost, yet again...
I had spent so long, nearly 10 years of my life, serving criminals, punishing the innocent, killing them. No doubt some of my victims were corrupt, but not enough. I was a murderer, a criminal, and a general monster, in my own eyes...
But I am not blind. I suppose this was only the first step, recognizing what I have done was wrong, realizing I was a monster, reawakening my conscience. I remembered, then, out in the wilderness, that once I had wanted to be a hero. A great hero, a shining example of what humanity could do! To stand invincible under the sun! But, such a long time ago, I was idealistic, and knew nothing of the world. And now, now that I have the knowledge, it is lost on me. Journal, I am sure you will agree, I am no hero. I am beyond the title of it, and could never earn it, just as no hero could ever truly exist... There are too many things they can’t do to succeed in this world and stay a shining golden example.
So, journal.. I’ve decided what I am to do. I am to find a hero. If I cannot do these things, then someone else will. Someone else will become a champion of the people, a champion of good, a champion for me. And I will simply be their shadow.... I will steal for them that which noone should own, hide that which noone should find, and kill that which should not live. I will act as the hero’s knife, because a hero cannot steal, or kill, or poison, or break into things... But I can. Because the ends justify the means.
Maybe... maybe as someone shadow, I can feel how warm the light is, reflecting off their shoulders....
Goodbye journal. Thanks for the catharsis.
