It is the evening. Standing at Lakeshire Inn’s bar, a lone figure with a febrile mark upon his right cheek hastily scrawls on the ancient parchments of an archaic tome; he has borrowed a quill from the barkeep and dips the point into a seeping wound on his left palm. He is overlooked and ignored by those revelers around him; there is love in the air that does not consider him. With the ink of his blood, he writes:
Lakeshire Inn; time and date unknown – but past the supper hour.
I am Sorba, the Cursed; I bid thee, good day.
It is a short entry tonight as the town is on fire with the passions of the heart and culminations of the flesh. There are many about who do not seem to notice or care that there is one amongst them such as I, him called ‘the Cursed”, him destined to walk alone.
There was one whom I loved, my beautiful wife, Callyeta, betrothed to me before my arrogant swagger into the heart of honor and this eternal refrain. She bore the first brunts of my Cruse with nothing of the grace or beauty shown since our wedding night; it is a small matter. Though the first and the like, she will not be the last.
In every world I have traveled and in every cultured I have ensconced, I have been found by she who would love me, by she who would betray me, by she who would slay me according to the principalities which maintain such mighty sway over my name; lo there, my Curse doth carry me on. Only by timidly retreating into the hills to live as a hermit amongst the crags have I managed to stave the thirst for my repetitive destruction. It is a simple life and one bereft of comfort, but it affords me the sanctuary and assurance that there will not be another lass so afflicted as was my Callyeta. Though I pray the Dragonslayer has forgotten me and carried on.
As I have borrowed this pen from the proprietor I should return his kindness by shortly leaving his establishment. The atmosphere here is one of bliss and becoming, of the first blush extended beyond those moments where eyes meet and hearts combine. I will leave them here, these revelers and embraced, and know that where I walk, the foul and unrighteous will follow, protecting them and keeping them from harm. I am weary for this burden, but tossed asunder in my refrain; my strength has perished and so has my hope been slain.
