10-12-2018, 11:39 PM
The Burden Of History
It's been two years. I still continue this path, this obsession. I've never stopped thinking about it and I continue to pursue some make believe resolution for my problems. I don't even know what I am doing anymore.
I've nested myself in Freeport 11, and spend most of my time there. My debts to Aaron have been paid off and I'm a free man once more. I pirate traders where I can to get by and seldom return to my stead on Malta. I am in a position to begin again and start anew. Nobody knows me, nobody remembers me. I carry my knowledge and experience onward, but what do I do with it? Talk to people outside the Freeport, some futile attempt to pick up bits of information.
It's got me nowhere. Nowhere at all. The only hint I even have is from a few ships that I've seen. The Eidolon Wraith is the only one that carries any sort of impact within my memories. I am at a crossroads. I can abandon my search, try continue my life and make something of it. Use my knowledge and live out the next century trying to unlock it's secrets. But I can't. I can't let go. The thought of it angers me and makes me shake. I've lost my humanity. Again.
It makes me think. I sat outside that Freeport on many days. Some people fascinated about what I had to say and the knowledge I carried; other's glossing over the fact as if it's something everyone knows. There was one guy, Hans something. He offered me an intellectual conversation, something I've been truly lacking, but I didn't really realise it until recently. It was a nice change. I miss that. Still, it hasn't got me anywhere with my search. My search is as dead in the water as when I started. If only it was as simple as going door to door asking people if they've seen this person - but that's not how you find someone. Not at all.
I tried to rekindle one of my contacts, get someone sympathetic to my own personal cause, someone who had experience and knowledge. I got no response. Perhaps they've disappeared and my communication will be lost to the ages, dead like many people believe me to be. Or perhaps their interests will no longer align to my own, and I'm once again a target.
It's almost ironic. It's a waiting game where all the players can never die. We will both outage any fool from house space. It's a race against the clock where the hand never moves. I am an outcast from the world I was part of, my names and deeds lost to the ever flowing tide it feels. Perhaps it would have been better for us both if I had perished, if my wounds had killed me. I would not have been burdened with this lust for revenge, if that is even the right term to use.
I carried on though. I have all my knowledge, my years of research, still embedded in my brain. Everything I ever felt or knew still floating around in there, but with some emotions clouded and locked away thanks to the unique key being stolen by that thief. That thief I cared so deeply about. I need to consider how I am actually going to find them or if I should. Is it rational to be this focused? This driven? I have all the questions in the world. I want to hurt them. I want to care for them. I want to beat them. I want to hold them. I don't know what is normal anymore. Is it time for me to stop, time for me to walk away?
It's anyone's guess, but I can't let the thought go. It overcomes me like the all familiar sense of paranoia I am permanently branded with. My scars, both mental and physical, might never heal; yet I can't just let it go. I can only imagine everything how it once was, and while I know I can never get that back, I still have this internal hope and drive to make it a reality.
But it won't happen. That time has passed. Leere is dead to the universe.
But he lives on.
I live on.
I've nested myself in Freeport 11, and spend most of my time there. My debts to Aaron have been paid off and I'm a free man once more. I pirate traders where I can to get by and seldom return to my stead on Malta. I am in a position to begin again and start anew. Nobody knows me, nobody remembers me. I carry my knowledge and experience onward, but what do I do with it? Talk to people outside the Freeport, some futile attempt to pick up bits of information.
It's got me nowhere. Nowhere at all. The only hint I even have is from a few ships that I've seen. The Eidolon Wraith is the only one that carries any sort of impact within my memories. I am at a crossroads. I can abandon my search, try continue my life and make something of it. Use my knowledge and live out the next century trying to unlock it's secrets. But I can't. I can't let go. The thought of it angers me and makes me shake. I've lost my humanity. Again.
It makes me think. I sat outside that Freeport on many days. Some people fascinated about what I had to say and the knowledge I carried; other's glossing over the fact as if it's something everyone knows. There was one guy, Hans something. He offered me an intellectual conversation, something I've been truly lacking, but I didn't really realise it until recently. It was a nice change. I miss that. Still, it hasn't got me anywhere with my search. My search is as dead in the water as when I started. If only it was as simple as going door to door asking people if they've seen this person - but that's not how you find someone. Not at all.
I tried to rekindle one of my contacts, get someone sympathetic to my own personal cause, someone who had experience and knowledge. I got no response. Perhaps they've disappeared and my communication will be lost to the ages, dead like many people believe me to be. Or perhaps their interests will no longer align to my own, and I'm once again a target.
It's almost ironic. It's a waiting game where all the players can never die. We will both outage any fool from house space. It's a race against the clock where the hand never moves. I am an outcast from the world I was part of, my names and deeds lost to the ever flowing tide it feels. Perhaps it would have been better for us both if I had perished, if my wounds had killed me. I would not have been burdened with this lust for revenge, if that is even the right term to use.
I carried on though. I have all my knowledge, my years of research, still embedded in my brain. Everything I ever felt or knew still floating around in there, but with some emotions clouded and locked away thanks to the unique key being stolen by that thief. That thief I cared so deeply about. I need to consider how I am actually going to find them or if I should. Is it rational to be this focused? This driven? I have all the questions in the world. I want to hurt them. I want to care for them. I want to beat them. I want to hold them. I don't know what is normal anymore. Is it time for me to stop, time for me to walk away?
It's anyone's guess, but I can't let the thought go. It overcomes me like the all familiar sense of paranoia I am permanently branded with. My scars, both mental and physical, might never heal; yet I can't just let it go. I can only imagine everything how it once was, and while I know I can never get that back, I still have this internal hope and drive to make it a reality.
But it won't happen. That time has passed. Leere is dead to the universe.
But he lives on.
I live on.