Rodrick Krimmson's Memoirs

A (hopefully) large collection of dictated memoirs from the Mayor of a town in the DnD campaign that I am playing in. This is to help me develop his character in a meaningful way, whilst unable to play with the group due to exams on the GM's behalf.


2. Crimson Evil

Last time you asked me what I did between being eight and seeing the Stonastery burn down and arriving here, so I guess we should finish that up before we start with what happened here.


So, after I clambered to the top of the mountain I remember just meditating for days, trying to deal with what had happened. I knew that I would not recover emotionally for many years after that, I do not feel that I have fully recovered even now, as Mayor, but I knew that simply reflecting might help me cope in the short term. I mourned, I cried, I screamed and I yelled and I cursed so loud that it echoed for minutes on end, rattling through the mountain range like an earthquake. I got up, after four or five solid days of meditation and just punched a boulder the size of a house as hard as I could, and I remember it cracking. There was a deafening snap, and a gash appeared down the boulder's side, top to bottom. I spent twenty years wandering in the mountain, hunting mountain goats and cougars, and any other life I could find that I could eat. There was a constant gnawing in my stomach such as I had never had before, a feeling of starving to death every day for the first five years, until I started getting better. 

It was a gradual improvement at best, the time I spent hungry growing less and less each month, and I was learning. Every day I would carve out the alphabet in order of sounds, into a rock, and I would amost always be talking gently to myself, so that I would not forget how to communicate with the outside world. I think that my first interaction with the world was when I was about sixteen though, butt naked sneaking through the small boreal forests atop the mountains, when there was an explosion, a bang so loud that I thought that it was thunder, and the cougar I had been stalking burst open from the top of it's head to the bottom. At the time I didn't know about guns you see, so I had assumed that these men were mages of some sort, and the one thing I remembered about mages was that they were either friendly and helpful to everybody, or evil. Stepping out of the undergrowth to see four men, each carrying guns, looking positively happy that they had killed such a creature. The four of them however immediately stopped celebrating when they saw me however, and as they asked me who the hell I was the only thing that went through my head was that they must be evil, so that is what I said. The four of them looked at my well built body, my tall figure and dark complexion, and reasoned that I was some sort of demon sent to punish them for their sins. As they ran for their lives I jogged after them, catching up easily in my own territory. As I put a hand on one he screamed "Get away you demon-boy", and slashed at me with a knife.

I had seen knives before, and managed to get out of the way, but what he had called me hurt deeper than the knife could ever have, and I was at that point enraged at how easily he had manipulated my actions and thoughts, with only a few simple words. I pounced, like a mountain goat, twenty feet through the air and landing on his back screaming and punching and wailing, beating him within an inch of his life. As the last of his lifeblood left through the holes in his chest he said, blood flying from his mouth, "What are you", and I just stopped. He looked into my crimson eyes and I could see that he truly had no idea. As I gazed deeply into the reflection of my own face, my red irises shining through all the gore and bone and organs spattered across me, I realised that what I said now would forever be what I would be known as, not just to others but to myself. And I said the only thing that I could see. Krimmson. As the thought echoed through my head and the air around me seemed to darken visibly, the last of his lifeblood drained from his corpse, and he fell limply in my arms. I looked up as I heard movement, only to see his three friends begin to run once they had seen me. I didn't sleep that night, just dug into the mountain, and made a grave. I didn't know anything about this man, other than that I had killed him and he had taught me more about my existence than anyone else combined.  I carved into his headstone the only words which he had heard. Crimson evil.    

That moment shaped my life, in ways much further than I could have predicted. I spent months just meditating on the concept of evil, of what murder meant, and what would happen to me in the future, but never did I regret what I did, and I still don't. That man turned out to be a known highwayman, and a poacher, and the animals he was killing for sport were endangered, and he knew it. I had been eating them, but a least I didn't celebrate after every kill, defacing the corpse and dishonouring what it had stood for.  Now that I think about it I should probably be in prison, but just think what this town would be like if I were. Oh well, the past is the past, no use thinking about what could have been or what should have been, we may as well think of what we ought to do in the future, at least that can be put to good use.        


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