A story about a role-playing character, the assassin Silver.


Existence is a trinity; birth, life and death, beginning, middle and end. So it is for all mortal creatures. Many a time I have felt the icy embrace of Death, but then again, I have also felt the fierier embrace. Some people find ways to cheat Death, but in the end they all fail. Death cannot be cheated, only postponed. The living dead are by my reckoning, the only ones who have succeeded. And why is that you might ask? Embrace. They have embraced the thing that we all fear. I try to convince my mind of the cleverness I have shown, to adopt the same strategy as these unnatural creatures. But try as I may, the irrevocable fact still exists. It was fate, always fate pulling my strings. Why else would my youth be filled with the teachings of killing? Why else would her path cross mine? Why else would misery keep coming back, knocking on my door…?

I scarcely remember my childhood. Years of bitterness and loneliness have washed away the memories, leaving only the corns of sand to be blown away by the wind. And so is the tale of my life. Sand corns that lie still for some time, only to be abruptly stirred, spread all over the world, never to be brought together again. My mind it remembers only loneliness and sorrow and yet it truly doesn’t erase anything. It represses. My life can be divided into many parts. Each part is separated by a period of travel, with reflection and loneliness as my only companions. But always, in her many guises, Death is by my side…

As far back as I remember I have been alone. Even though love is scarcely, if ever, passed between my kin, I often wonder why I had been abandoned so? It is a question I have stopped searching an answer for a long time ago. It no longer bears the same weight as it did in the beginning. I have made arrangements to other sides, and these have also been broken, much to my discontent. Love is fickle and not so different from hate. It is something one should never strive for. As I write these words, I cannot help but smile at the irony in this statement. Love is fickle and not worthy of pursuit. Oh how good it feels to speak lies, how it heals the wound that have never fully healed. How it makes me strong…

Time has passed before my eyes. A century alone, another in the company of my foster father, yet another alone, a fourth with her, a fifth battling the demons within and a couple in search of something, anything to recreate that special era where I felt something other than coldness within. I have experienced many times the most wonderful thing in the world, and yet at the same time, it is also one of the things that people find to be the most horrible. I have looked into the eyes of Death, I have laughed with Death, oh beautiful Death…