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Shattered; torn asunder is what has been called “my memories.”
Pieces of my past reveal themselves to me like small fragments in a broken mirror. Not knowing who – or why – I was created; I have walked the face of the world in search of the missing pieces of who I am and why I am.
I am neither alive; nor dead. I am what they call Warforged.
As a part of being a Warforged, a part of my core is defending the land and the people who built me. Only, I am unsure of who that is. My fractured memory has revealed to me haunting clues and pieces of my life before what I have called “The Sundering.” The order in which these pieces appear are not in any form of timeline. Sometimes it’s a vision of several dwarves and fighting Duergar, but the next piece is aiding a wizard, another piece is a battlefield on the surface, with the next being collecting the dead in the first vision of the Duergar.
The pieces I recall –
The Wizard: Power and Master of the Magical Realm. Perhaps he was the one who forged me. Proficient in magic, he is the logical choice who may have created me to defend him from those who would seek out his secrets. He was an older Elf, strangely with white hair and golden colored eyes. He worked tirelessly and uncovering and understanding how magic worked. Perhaps it is he who has also imbued within me this understanding and ability to find magic in all things. I remember a group of Magic Using Zealots by the name of the Hand of the Shadow Council coming after him; and that I stood in there way and fought them. Is that when I lost my memory? If so, why is everything else also fractured?
The Dwarves: Powerful smiths and expert weapon makers. I look at my right hand and see a pistol embedded into my arm. I remember this.
“You know what he needs, do ye?” one of the dwarves with fiery red hair asked.
“Don’t tell me ye wanna go with cannons for arms again? Do ye remember how that went last time? He figured his cannons and ripped his arms off, he did!” another dwarf, this one younger than the fiery haired one said shaking his head. “We can’t be affordin’ to be doin’ that again, ye know! Especially with them blasted Duergar and the vicious beasts of the dark they be haulin’ up here to attack us!”
There are fragments here; but I recall leading a charge with Dwarves behind me and attack these creatures called Duergar that bare a strong resemblance to their Dwarven cousins. Leading the Dwarves through the Duergar’s frontlines we confronted something that looked to be a humanoid with a squid like head on its shoulders; and behind it a massive, floating brain, with tendrils connecting into a pit of blood. And this is where that memory ends.
Humans: The War against Orcs. Another fractured memory is me standing amidst a cavalry of Knights, Paladins and Cavaliers. We had chased an portion of the Red Eye Orcs back to their mountain cave where they had retreated and undoubtedly set up a trap for those of us about to follow them in.
“He’s alive,” one of the Paladins pointed to me, “perhaps not born like you and I – but he’s capable of emotion. I’ve personally seen it in him.” This was a Paladin of Helm and his name was Arith Moontide. There is a look of pain and regret in Arith’s eyes when he says that.
“He’s our best chance,” the Cavalier of some Kingdom whose emblem appeared to be a rising sun replied. “He may be ‘alive’ as you say, but he’s a construct. If they’ve laid out traps, and you know they have, he’s the best one to survive it. And should he get damaged we may be able to find a wizard who can piece him back together. If one of us perishes we visit our gods as a consequence.”
The Knight winced and placed his hand on Arith’s shoulder. “I hate to admit it,” he added, stroking his long mustache, “but Tornar is right.”
“I can’t in good conscious allow this,” Arith replied, folding his arms in front of his chest. “The view of the world has changed greatly for me; after all I’ve lived through. He’s more than just a construct in my eyes.”
I turned my head and smiled – or what passed as a smile for a Warforged – and said, “There is no need to discuss this further. I will do it.”
Readying my pistol arm I charged forward into the cave. I remember seeing a large Red Eye Orc, covered in fur, almost like grizzly bear, and then the memory there ends.
The Thieves – Masters of the Tool. I have another memory where a number of Halflings found me floating in the river, all of my functions turned off. They kept me in the river and pulled me into the city sewers not too far in the cover of night where one of their mages who worked closely with the thieves guild (usually trading services of magic for items the thieves stole for him) and reignited me. When I awoke the thieves had customized me and I had Thieves Tools at the end of my hand.
“What have you done?” I asked, regaining self-awareness.
“We’re about to gain entrance to the palace and you’re going to be our frontrunner,” one of them smiled. “Sure, you’re not all that stealthy, but someone your size is going to send most of the guards running. And if there’s traps – well, you’re big and strong – I am sure you will survive them.”
That night I went with these halflings thieves who had numerous tunnels to gain entrance to the inside of the castle. As we made our way, the halflings were able to knock out most of the guards with non-lethal poisons. We reached a balcony where suddenly there was a shout and a piercing pain in my back. I spun aggressively to see who had attacked me and my hand with the gun slammed into a young man who lost his balance and toppled over the edge of the keep to his death below.
I heard one of the halflings gasp, “He just killed the prince…”
“Shut him down! Shut him down! We need to wipe him so he can’t tell who we are and we need to get out of here now!”
The Field Of Dreams. There was a field, endless flowers in every direction. It seemed to be much like this thing called “Heaven” that the Elven Wizard’s books spoke of.
I stood and looked around and could see I was near a farm. I approached the farmland and found that the farmers had been slain. Brutally killed by what appeared to be Red Eye Orcs, by the sheer brutality of their deaths and the painted symbol of blood on the wall.
I have wandered the world looking for who I am.
I am looking to find my purpose.
And make amends to a King I do not know for the accidental death of his son.
One day, I will find out who I am. Why I was made. And I will pray to the gods, if they even care about the Warforged, and beg them and the King for forgiveness.
One day, I will be complete again.