The mask is a sancutary and a curse; an item of comfort and yet also an item of misery. Of course, the true curse is my herritage. Of course, without it I would not be who I am. Without my father's blood on my hands, would I have been driven to be a warrior, to be an adventurer? If I had been born on the surface, I could have just as easliy become a fat, lazy merchant with no motivation to do anything more than buy and sell meaningless goods.
It's my dark elven herritage that has made me who I am today, but at what cost? The cost of the trust of those who I could be close to? Becca Poetr... A decent fighter and someone I could call a friend if it wasn't for the fact that she has yet to see my face, has yet to learn my secret. I haven't a clue how she may react if she were to learn. Perhaps I've fought beside her enough to earn her trust, perhaps she would accept me. But I cannot help but prepare for the hatred that is the standard here on the surface.
It is a strange feeling, trust. I've traveled with many people on the surface, and all seem to trust me. All have seen a mysterious masked elf with a sword, and have chosen to fight by my side rather than investigate. Out of courtesy? To preserve the mystery? I may never know. But it has been beneficial to me. My disguise has remained undiscovered, save by one.
Delia... She discovered my herritage. I believe through healing me after I was badly wounded by a goblin. She did not seem to care however, it has not stopped her from her nonstop flirting with me. Perhaps she is that way towards everyone. At least she accepts me for what I am. I only hope that others may do the same, because in truth, it is lonely behind the mask. It's lonely, and it starts to smell sometimes.
I met another dark elf today... Perhaps worse than that. A man named Steel who claims to be part demon, part dark elf, and part human. I cannot help but be impressed by him. He wears his skin, a strange blue color, openly and with pride. He does not hide from his herritage, and he is widely accepted for it. In fact, he owns his own inn in Leringard. Perhaps regonition is what is needed to find acceptance from these surfacers. But I am no innkeeper. I do believe I would go mad if I were to go without the rush of battle, without the feeling of my blade in my hand. So perhaps I need to find recognition on the battlefield.
In the mean time, I've begun saving money for a home of some sort for myself. If nothing else, to have a sanctuary where I do not need to be in disguise. No matter where I find refuge, there is always the odd chance of some surfacer wandering in and catching me, raising the alarm on a whole town that I could not travel to again. But a house, where I could take my mask off and relax... The privacy sounds like heaven. Of course, homes on the surface are what I consider to be rediculously expensive, but perhaps it will be worth it. I can only hope.
Becca knows what I am. And she did not flee, nor attack me. I could not have hoped for better.
She was on the cusp of learning of my herritage regardless, she had seen a wound of mine and said I must have been "badly burned". It would not have been long before she discovered what I was, and perhaps admiting it rather than being caught softened the blow. I'd like to think I told her for that motive alone, to better myself. The selfish motives that I tried to resist in the deep, but still lie in my head, influencing the decisions I make.
But perhaps a seed of loyalty has been planted beside those that have been with me for so long. For why did I care if Becca left me? Why did I care if she found out what I was and ran away, never to speak to me again? Dark elves are not meant to value friendships with surfacers, those are only selfish connections to further their ends. But I was afraid of losing perhaps the one friend on the surface that I have. Does that make me weak, does that mean that these pale-skinned surfacers are influencing me? Perhaps, or perhaps I'm simply growing out of those traditions left in me by my kin. Perhaps in striking down my father, I freed myself from the requirements of that society, and it is only now that I have reason to do so that I'm growing away from their ways.
Becca Poetr has seen past my mask, and was not afraid. Now I have two people I can be unmasked around, out of the thousands on the surface. But a start is a start.
I had my first real night of drinking on the surface and I don't think its something I mean to repeat again soon... The bartender, Viper, had an ingenious device that allowed me to drink behind a mask, a hollowed reed to pull the liquid out of the glass and into your mouth with. Unfortunately, bets were placed on how well the masked elf could hold his liquor, and the answer is three will-o-whiskeys.
But something important happened that night. And internally, I'm kicking myself for not remembering it... It had something to do with Becca. But the whole night is in a fog to me now, except for the fact that apparenly I owe Toby a dance. How that happened, I'm not entirely sure.
I may look into getting a room at the Arms... It seems more accepting than most places, what with a demon-dark elf owning the place. Besides, I presume the secret is out with the people I was with the prior night. I doubt a drunken Tharivian was the best at keeping a secret, and I wasn't thrown out. So as far as places to call "home", at least temporarily, this may be a good choice.
*the next is written as an afterthought in the journal, a bit of a blank space seperates the two sections*
Viper, the bartender, was an incredible help. I remember that much. Helping my mask, with the hollow reed to drink... It's as if she has had her own experience living behind a mask. A mystery, perhaps one I'll learn someday.
And she looks strikingly like Becca.
Dancing has been discovered to be... How do I put this... Not my strong suit. Becca, Toby, and I broke into Becca's father's house for a lesson, which did not go well for me. On any account, really. Toby had us doing an odd mix of sparing and dancing. Becca is lighter on her feet than me, and so she was the superior dancer... and yet again she beat me in sparing. That makes the runing score... Two to zero? Three to zero? I need to find something to beat someone at before my dignaty begins to slip away.
But that wasn't all. The cat, the same cat that pushed me into the fire in center, appeared in the house during the lesson. At first I thought nothing of it, perhaps it followed us, perhaps it was Daniel's cat. But after the thing lead us to Arnax things changed for the worse. The cat was Corathite. A tiny cat was spying on us for the deity of insanity. And I was none the wiser...
I can't help but wondering what I did to catch the attention of an organization like that. Perhaps it's Becca's father, the holy warrior of Roferian? Either way... I cannot help but be on edge. Something is amiss and I lack the forsight to know what it is... Perhaps Daniel will have a better idea. Of course, this requires admitting we broke into his house. And also possibly admitting my herritage. Which brings up the question, is my herritage alone illegal in his eyes?