A Prayer Book (Journal)

[Aureilya]

1/9/08


A fine night.

The Tower was simply no match for the brethren.
We clean out the remains this eve.

Such elegant wounds, so many to heal.
So many received.
It was delicious, feeling them, seeing them.

And who else was selected to safeguard the brethren?
Why, one of the elves...a blood knight who has caught
my attention.

She dislikes me. Loathes me.
I could see it in her eyes.

Perhaps she wants to hurt me? Mmmmm...

But I digress, I should not let my thoughts
wander in such a way.

I cannot help but smile when she speaks of The Light.
Her earnestness is entertaining.

She is beautiful.

I think I would like to change that.

[Aureilya]

1/14/08

Wilek wishes to spend an evening together in a tavern.
A tavern.

I fail to see the benefit of such an activity.

There will be no foes to conquer.
There will be no pain.
No suffering.
No use.

I suppose, however, it is
necessary
to indulge one's Love in their
whims.

He has suggested I wear something
special.

I believe my finest priestly vestments shall suffice.

The girl, Malethia.
Her behaviour towards me is
endearing.

I fear, however, her peevishness will
one day, if for no other reason than its
consistency, hit the mark upon me.

I am not
close
with the Artificer.

I wonder how he will respond if the girl's
words somehow find the mark

and I pull her tongue out with my teeth.

[Aureilya]

1/15/08


Wilek was
occupied
last eve.

I was left to my own devices.

I found two in the Lower City.
An elf woman and her child.

It had been some time since I have

enjoyed myself.

There wasn't much left when I was finished.
My enthusiasm may have been a bit

too much.

There are parts of me that recognize what I do.
That look

poorly

upon it.

I am called insane, crazy, disgusting by some of
the brethren.

Most of the brethren.

I do not think I am insane.
I recognize my

tastes

are not necessarily acceptable.

But I also believe that you can see what you do is
wrong
horrible
awful
damning

and still fucking enjoy it.

Wilek enjoyed the pieces I brought to him.

[Aureilya]

1/16/08


I am proud.
The brethren threw themselves at the Pit Lord
with focus and fury. He will fall this eve.

Acherontia...
She and the priest, Pugg.
I see them. What once
enraged
saddened
me, now I find

endearing? delicious?

She speaks of my love, which
has a duality for me.

It is

good?

to talk of him, to know what I have.

But it is
troublesome at times to think that
she may have ulterior motives

darlin'? Was she mocking me?

Was she mocking my love?
I do hope not.
Bringing her pieces of the priest is not
something I really wish to do anymore.
But I am sure I could drum up the needed

enthusiasm

if such a time was necessary.

The girl is going to
fix
repair
heal
save me.

How quaint.

While I would delight in hurt, in pain, in suffering,
she wishes to heal.

I know what I am.
There is nothing to repair, to fix, to mend.
I have my love and I have my

proclivities

I am damaged, yes.
And I like it.

Perhaps I will heal her, in return.
Yes.
After I have torn the flesh from her face.

[Aureilya]

1/17/08

The elves.

They bicker like children.
They couple like rabbits.

But they have their
uses?
advantages?

The urge to tear them open, to destroy their beauty,
is almost overwhelming.

But they contribute.
They make The Grim stronger.
Better.

When one of them
shows arrogance
is prideful
creates conflict
sows discord

it had better, for their sake, be balanced by their
usefulness and contribution to the strengthening
of The Grim.

If not, then I will delight in pulling them open and
instructing what is left in proper comportment.

Or maybe I will just eat their fucking heart.

[Aureilya]

1/22/08

The Pit Lord fell to the brethren.

Satisfying.

We now enter the Caverns of the Naga.
They bleed.
Delightful.

I am conflicted.
Wilek is a treasure.
Our

moments

together have given me

outlets? satiation? release?

for my needs.
They are needs.
I need the pain.
I need the blood.
I need the flesh.

I am a healer.
I cannot help but laugh at my own hyporcrisy.
My own irony.

I heal the brethren, while delighting in the sight of their wounds.
Closing them, only to hope they open yet again.

To vicariously experience their pain when I cannot partake of it
myself, under Wilek's knives or the attentions of whatever obstacle
The Grim face.

I am a healer
and yet all I want is to tear this fucking world open.
For myself.
For Wilek.
For The Grim.

[Aureilya]

1/23/08

Maulgar.
Gruul.
The Pit Lord.
They have fell.
We have moved on.
Continuing our fine work.

But I grow

restless?
unfulfilled?

The wounds.
The pain.

They are not enough.

I want my foe before me.
I want to pull them apart and see it
See it in their eyes in the moment before
I take everything from them.

The evening's work was
frustrating
I am not used to personal failure
and in times it has happened before
I have drowned my doubt
my fear
in blood and flesh and screams

Wilek could see it when I went to him.
He took up his knives.
I raised my hands, spells ready.
When we were

finished

I laid in his arms, letting his pain
and mine wash over us
before I put us back together.

He is so very good to me.

I enjoy the

lucidity

he brings.

I think I will find one of the elves.

[Aureilya]

1/24/08


The forest trolls bleed.
And bleed.
The Grim bleed.
Such exquisite wounds.

I enjoy my work.
The druid, Coyotl.
I watch the rips
the tears
the furrows
the rents
in his body when he
serves as vanguard.

So much more enjoyable than
the ones who encase themselves
in layer after layer of armor.

I am a healer.
One who feels

disappointment

when the wounds close back up.

Cessily is

threatening
promising

violence toward me.

I am so very excited.

I wonder if her blades will open my flesh
If her poisons will course through my blood
If I will not see it coming

That would be so very fine.

I may even thank her for the pain.

While making her eat pieces of those
she cares about.

Wilek, it does not even feel wrong anymore.
Is that good?

[Aureilya]

1/28/08


The creatures of the Cavern fall.
The Duke of Currents.
The Lurker.
Blood and steam.
Water and viscera.

Grim are seeking me out.
For
guidance?
help?
advice?
care?

I do not understand.
I try.
I do not know why I do.
I want to bury my teeth in the corpses of the fallen.
I do not.

Instead I help to rally those left standing
Those who still fight.
Why

The Grim, for myself, is an ideal.
It was nothing more.
And yet.
I grow
accepting?
fond?
of those who bleed with me now.

I once saw them as one of three things
means to an end
obstacles
food

Now I see some as
kin

The Hand and her
man?
The Inquisitor?
The priests
The bear
The shaman
and others

This makes me fearful
Because it will hurt so very much when
I lose myself and tear one of them open

What will hurt most?
Their screams
My betrayal
My self-loathing

[Aureilya]

1/29/08

We fought across Tirisfal.
The Alliance would try to rally.
We would scatter them like
startled birds.
The chase continued.
So much blood.

I summoned my mount
intent on following the brethren
who led the chase

and then I heard her moan
One of the elf women
not quite dead

I stayed with her
sat next to her, watching while
she gurgled and reached toward
me for
supplication?
mercy?
comfort?

She was dying
I took her hand in mine
held it to my heart
I smiled

When I bit her first finger off
her eyes went wide

I think she wanted to say something

She died before she could
I wonder what she was going to say?

She died before I could tell her my thoughts
I wanted to tell her how delicious she was.

[Aureilya]

1/30/08

Patronized.
Does the priest want some blood?
I hear what they say.

They equate my
proclivities?
desires?
lusts?
with a single-minded blindness
or lack of awareness to the world around me

They think me mindless.
I laugh
and I laugh
and I laugh

Giggling at their misconceptions

The elves and my forsaken brethren
are so very guilty of this

lack of sight

If their intellect matched their arrogance
by half, perhaps I would be

concerned?
amused?

save your posturing
your condescension

but give me your
revulsion
distaste

Enjoy the sound of your own voice
While I enjoy the screams of our foes

[Aureilya]

1/31/08



I am looked to as a
guide?
mentor?
leader?

at times

I do not understand why

I smile with a mouth full of blood
and I am bowed toward
I am addressed with respect

At times I feel the attentions
of the elves keeps me
grounded

they can see what I am
they hate me

Their hate is warm and comforting

But those who look to me at times
for advice leadership care reassurance
do not see

I am terrified
I am disgusted
I am proud
I am excited

I once thought of myself as maternal
as a protector
it was a delusion
Wilek helped me see that
I was so very terrible
I am so very terrible

But now I feel
warmth
pride
affection

for the brethren who look to me

while feeling
hatred for myself
disgust for their blindness
fear

They look to a creature
who both wants to see them grow stronger
who wants them to become more to The Grim

while wondering which of them would scream
the loudest when I tear them open

[Aureilya]

2/1/08


Into the Cavern once more.
Blood blood blood was spilled.
By Grim. By the Naga.
Delicious.

Our
Artificer
again put the healing brethren in my charge.

Maurt
So earnest, dedicated
He looks to me for reassurance
He need not
He is valued

The shaman
Orugasa
Malstrom
So very warm
jovial
extroverted
Their ways are different
But fine Grim, both.

The Blood Knight
Aest
arrogant
talented
aloof

The Artificer himself
My Dreadweaver.

I am proud of them.
I want to bury my teeth in their flesh.
They safeguard the brethren
I want them to scream with wounds
they cannot heal while I spit their blood

I wish they knew that I have faith in them
I stay quiet
I wish they knew I want to hurt them terribly
I stay quiet

The elf
Kelven
The silent hunter spoke
asked for assistance
I went to them.

The elf
His wounds, so delicious.
I could see his revulsion
when I ate from our foes.
And yet he did not shy from the caress
of my healing

so dashing
so handsome
I do not think he deserves to be beautiful

[Aureilya]

2/4/08


I am a Dreadweaver.
why
The Artificer has given over to me the Grim priesthood.
why
I have been brought into the leadership of
The Grim.
why does he do this

He puts me in a role to lead
to counsel
to nurture
the fool

I hate him for it.

I stood before him.
Quiet.

I heard the cheering of the brethren
when he spoke
why do they think this is good

why do they look to me

I wrote that
in what was left of the elf
It was good not to think for a brief moment
while pulling her open

but it all rushed back to the fore
when I was done

They hear what I say
the instructions
the knowledge
the orders

but they do not hear what I think
I think
about how their marrow will taste
which will scream
which will beg
which will cry

I cry.

The brethren are strong.
I am so very weak

I will weep with a mouthful of their blood
It is inevitable.

Dreadweaver.
Curse you, Artificer.
I want to beg of you.
Plead with you.
To notice that I am so very

damaged.

why do they look to me
WhY DO THEy LOOk tO ME

[Aureilya]

2/5/08

There is comfort in a lack of lucidity
Of losing yourself in the pain of others
their screams
the blood
the flesh

I cannnot lose myself any longer.
I find no solace in the flesh.
No comfort in the violence.
No silence in the screams.

I close my eyes and yet I see my
charges?
wards?
my Grim?

I hear their voices over the screams
over the tearing of flesh
over the snapping of bones

I feel their presence
even when I am alone

Wilek where are you

Curse you Artificer
I will hurt them because of you
They do not see what they look to
And then I will hurt you
And then I will hurt myself