Chapter 1: The Mask
The vagaries of infinite space and time. It sounds intellectual, but in the end it makes no sense. I do not know why I put those words to paper, but it seems to be something that is expected of me. This is what has happened to people, we have become what is expected of us. Everyday we don masks that display different personalities that we think people would want to see. The caring Samaritan, the lover, the clown and many others. We bury ourselves deep inside and let our masks do the living for us. We live a life of lies and falsehoods from the moment we can think to the moment we die. We construct these masks to shield us from the trials and tribulations of daily life, to distance ourselves from our actions, to make us into someone wanted, appreciated, noticed. This is the story of one such mask, my own.
It all began in a sleepy little village in a now forgotten country. A stereotypical beginning to be sure, but the truth is sometimes very close to fiction. I was a simple miller, content with the life I was leading and happy with what little I had. I had no aspirations to be greater than what I already was, no towering ambitions and no noble goals. This all changed the day I caught bandits trying to steal my old draft horse. They had bludgeoned my apprentice and he lay on the floor surrounded by his lifeblood. A great rage overcame me and I attacked them with fierce vigor. My furious assault shocked them and they bolted, but not before I had rendered one of them unconscious. It was my first victory against lawlessness and the first inklings of a mask began to take shape in my psyche. The old, naïve, easygoing miller was beginning to disappear. After this botched robbery, I interrogated the bandit to find the location of their lair, and organized a band of hunters to flush and destroy them. Thus started my life long fight against disorder. The mask began to take on specifics. A few years later I became head of the village and instated changes to ensure that order would be maintained at all costs. The miller had all but disappeared. Over the years I began to rule larger and larger counties in the interest of maintaining order. It was my duty to save the world from itself, to be its conscience, to help it along its path to glory. It was my destiny. The mask snapped firmly into place. I warred to maintain the peace; I killed to save people from themselves. I became what I had never thought I would ever be. I have power, respect, fear, loyalty. I have things people would die for, and have done so. However, it all belongs to that mask of mine. The one that made me what I am. With it also come all the negatives, hatred for what I have done, loathing for what I have become, regret for what could have been.
The words I pen on this page have no meaning however. They are hollow and purposeless. I do not dream of what I could have been, what I could have accomplished had I not become a ruler. I do not write this to absolve myself of my sins. I do not write this to keep a spark of the young miller alive inside of me. I have no room for such weakness. I do not cry, for I have no tears to shed. I do not look for the absolution of my soul, for I have no soul to absolve. I am what my experiences have shaped me to be. A famous philosopher once said “I think, therefore I am”, well I experience, therefore I am. I have no hidden me buried deep inside of my soul. I need no mask to show to the world, I am that very mask. I am the one that shall order this wayward world, and woes betide those that come in my way.
- Letter found in the study of Gillnik Olzan, First and Last Lord of Order, soon after the defeat of his forces by the alliance of the lost. Beside it lay a mask of polished onyx.
