ShalThassan-Nal
02-04-2008, 22:52
It would seem that keeping a diary is a rather universal ambition. From the highest of public leaders down to the lowliest sanitation workers, from ordinary humans to exotic elves, from males to females, all have, at some point, made the attempt to daily sketch their innermost thoughts and feelings onto just a simple book of paper. But what purpose does this serve? Is it a way to keep the memories of ages past fresh in our minds lest we forget the little events in life that make us truly people? Is it a way to give newfound life to stodgy history textbooks, captivating future generations in vibrant tales of one who lived at that moment in time?
We have seen from times long past that leaders have been granted a special place in the halls of learning for their memories. It would almost seem that that was the sole purpose of their decades of writing, that final thought from beyond the grave. But what about that sanitation worker who toils day in and day out for all of his years? The most he could ever expect would be a dusty cobweb-ridden place upon the topmost shelf of an old library no soul would ever visit, yet that does not stop him from writing. Perhaps the purpose of it does not lie in others, in future events no one can foretell, but instead, its meaning comes from within. The yearning to write, the desire to express all that one is, overwhelms us, and because of it, we feel an utmost devotion to such a task. That diary becomes a part of us, a way to truly embrace all that we are.
This truth is still made apparent throughout the civilizations of today, and even into the darkest depths of the world, which have remained secluded for millennia. There, a weary hand opens a tattered tome to an empty page with a barely audible sigh. Then with the other hand, a pen presses lightly against the paper. Beautiful words begin to come alive with each stroke, and a story unfolds…
It’s been ages since I’ve written anything down in here. It seems like all I ever do these days is constantly work. There is no time left for relaxation or any sort of enjoyment outside of this job, other than sleeping and eating. Even now, as I write this, it’s just a mere break from the cataloging that must continue. I’m beginning to find this job to be less enjoyable than I thought it would be when I was just a young apprentice. It now consumes my life, robbing me of the time I wish I could have, and as much as I would try to prevent it, it has begun to affect others in my personal life. Just yesterday, Lua’isstra revealed to me her wish to have children. Oh, how I wish I could entertain that thought! But I had to politely refuse. I had no other choice. What kind of father could I be when I’m never around to be there for them? It isn’t right. I cannot place that burden on them. No…not now. Maybe…hopefully in the future…when I have less to worry about.
Yet, the problems keep piling up; they never seem to cease. Today, another five miners were killed at the The’la’raria site. A stone slab, presumably from one of the Hazkaranithian roadways that passed through that area, collapsed through the ceiling of one of the tunnels, smashing the makeshift supports and causing a partial cave-in on that branch of the tunneling. Unfortunately, that’s not the last of our problems. A mere hour later, on the other side of Che’ariar’qosfan, miners accidentally punched a hole through an underground waterway and flooded that branch…killing nineteen.
I’ve considered suspending any further digging indefinitely, but the Matron Queen would have none of it. I had visited her later that same day, bringing my concerns, but she outright refused to hear anything I had to say about it. No, she wanted to hear of the Great Obelisk in more detail…of course, not giving a damn about the lives of her subjects. It frightens me whenever someone cares so much about that blasted stone pillar. Yes, it’s important, and yes, it was built by the last of our guardians, but that doesn’t mean one should become so enamored by it. But alas, everyone who has risen to that throne has been driven mad by the desire to be the one who meets our former guardians. What greater fate than to be that one! But it does nothing more than make our lives absolutely miserable. I have considered blowing the pedestal away and letting the whole thing crash to pieces. The consequences to myself mean little to me.
But…what stops me is the duty I have been sworn to do and how much that pillar means to everyone else. The people see it as a brighter future, a gateway to someplace other than this dark and dreadful city. I wish I had the same faith as they do. I just wish it truly was a reality…
We have seen from times long past that leaders have been granted a special place in the halls of learning for their memories. It would almost seem that that was the sole purpose of their decades of writing, that final thought from beyond the grave. But what about that sanitation worker who toils day in and day out for all of his years? The most he could ever expect would be a dusty cobweb-ridden place upon the topmost shelf of an old library no soul would ever visit, yet that does not stop him from writing. Perhaps the purpose of it does not lie in others, in future events no one can foretell, but instead, its meaning comes from within. The yearning to write, the desire to express all that one is, overwhelms us, and because of it, we feel an utmost devotion to such a task. That diary becomes a part of us, a way to truly embrace all that we are.
This truth is still made apparent throughout the civilizations of today, and even into the darkest depths of the world, which have remained secluded for millennia. There, a weary hand opens a tattered tome to an empty page with a barely audible sigh. Then with the other hand, a pen presses lightly against the paper. Beautiful words begin to come alive with each stroke, and a story unfolds…
It’s been ages since I’ve written anything down in here. It seems like all I ever do these days is constantly work. There is no time left for relaxation or any sort of enjoyment outside of this job, other than sleeping and eating. Even now, as I write this, it’s just a mere break from the cataloging that must continue. I’m beginning to find this job to be less enjoyable than I thought it would be when I was just a young apprentice. It now consumes my life, robbing me of the time I wish I could have, and as much as I would try to prevent it, it has begun to affect others in my personal life. Just yesterday, Lua’isstra revealed to me her wish to have children. Oh, how I wish I could entertain that thought! But I had to politely refuse. I had no other choice. What kind of father could I be when I’m never around to be there for them? It isn’t right. I cannot place that burden on them. No…not now. Maybe…hopefully in the future…when I have less to worry about.
Yet, the problems keep piling up; they never seem to cease. Today, another five miners were killed at the The’la’raria site. A stone slab, presumably from one of the Hazkaranithian roadways that passed through that area, collapsed through the ceiling of one of the tunnels, smashing the makeshift supports and causing a partial cave-in on that branch of the tunneling. Unfortunately, that’s not the last of our problems. A mere hour later, on the other side of Che’ariar’qosfan, miners accidentally punched a hole through an underground waterway and flooded that branch…killing nineteen.
I’ve considered suspending any further digging indefinitely, but the Matron Queen would have none of it. I had visited her later that same day, bringing my concerns, but she outright refused to hear anything I had to say about it. No, she wanted to hear of the Great Obelisk in more detail…of course, not giving a damn about the lives of her subjects. It frightens me whenever someone cares so much about that blasted stone pillar. Yes, it’s important, and yes, it was built by the last of our guardians, but that doesn’t mean one should become so enamored by it. But alas, everyone who has risen to that throne has been driven mad by the desire to be the one who meets our former guardians. What greater fate than to be that one! But it does nothing more than make our lives absolutely miserable. I have considered blowing the pedestal away and letting the whole thing crash to pieces. The consequences to myself mean little to me.
But…what stops me is the duty I have been sworn to do and how much that pillar means to everyone else. The people see it as a brighter future, a gateway to someplace other than this dark and dreadful city. I wish I had the same faith as they do. I just wish it truly was a reality…