Magnymbus
01-25-15, 04:44 PM
I sit alone in the corner of the Scara Brae, a dark hood obscuring my face, scribbling furtively in a leather-bound journal. It resembles some sort of language, but anyone who catches a glance of it are met with long, flowing scratches they probably can't decipher. This is a record of everything that has happened to me since the beginning of my memory. . . which happens to be less than a year ago. I spent a long time in Fallien, trying my best to blend in while searching for information regarding the world and its history. I finally learned of the Scare Brae a few months ago and found a captain (A certain Mr. Fredrichs) willing to take me there in return for manual labor; carrying cargo, coiling rope, scrubbing dishes, mopping the deck, etc. . . I was surprised to find that I felt at home at sea, I was complimented nearly daily for my "sea legs", some even assumed I had been sailor for longer than they had. I never quite trusted them and played along. . . Serendipitously, it was quite effective at deflecting attention. Anywho, I have digressed. This language I'm writing in is called "Elline". Don't ask me how I know that, as I don't know. It's sort of like how I remember my name, and how to talk. . . Though, you'd expect that any learned language would have degraded after the amnesia, but Tradespeak, which is not my native language, came pretty naturally as well. . . I'm pretty sure I could teach people Elline, but seeing as I'm not trained as a teacher, it might take awhile, I also haven't found anyone who knows it other than me. . . I'm ranting aren't I?
I stared at my writing, trying to think of anything else I could include. I concluded with a few musings and closed the journal. I looked up at the rest of the tavern, futilely attempting, yet again, to find a face, any face that might jog my memory. . . This was going to be a long night.
Edit (I've decided that I don't want to do first person), so this will be the only one from that perspective.
I stared at my writing, trying to think of anything else I could include. I concluded with a few musings and closed the journal. I looked up at the rest of the tavern, futilely attempting, yet again, to find a face, any face that might jog my memory. . . This was going to be a long night.
Edit (I've decided that I don't want to do first person), so this will be the only one from that perspective.