I drug my blade across its neck with every ounce of strength I had left, and pushed through what had to be bone, until its head was eighty percent off.
Then it got back up. Usually that does the trick.
I'm not saying I behead creatures often. I still don't really have the knack for it I guess, or the strength, but its a good deterrent.
So I'll spare you the gory details of this misshapen creature, vaguely reminiscent of a feline predator. Suffice to say, I'm typing an entry here, and it is not.
I've been thinking, as I trek back to the 'Underworld' or whatever the hell to call it. There's a lot of emphasis on being cool I think. I'm as guilty of it or moreso than most. I need to stop doing that. We all like the idea of being skilled or strong or dangerous, it gives us all a great sense of domination I guess. That primal urge to be alpha. I know that want well, it was the want to be special that put me where I am, that put that blade in my hand, and chose to kill several people. Because I needed to be the strong one, the special one.
But I also don't want to seem nonchalant about it either. I mean, here I am, in whatever feylands this world is, trying to find a purpose for myself, I have a faecat named Chonk, and I'm a one-armed...FUCK dammit, I'm trying to make myself sound cool again.
God dammit this is hard not to do.
I almost called myself a swordsman, how laughable is that? I have NEVER had a lesson with this damn thing. I just try to do them before they do me, thats it. There's no skillful riposte, or gleaming blade edge.
Honestly, I think this sword does most of the work for me.
And now I'm faced with a question. I see all the lands of the FEARs about, more or less. Its a territory game here near the rabbit hole that I fell down. So what do I do now? Do I try to kill one if I get the chance? Do I not do that? What's my role here nowadays, my purpose? I don't know.
I want to do good. I want to do some good.
I just don't know how to do it.
