The Book of the Dead (1 Viewer)


Captain Chromosome
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Finally, gray hairs have begun to form on my head. I am ashamed to say, that I have died before attaining this venerable age. Only thanks to my Lord, have I truly been capable of understanding the burden of the elderly. It is too soon to call myself a grandfather, but with each passing moon, I can feel my joints stiffening. It is time, I think, to write down my beliefs by way of ink and quill, and to hopefully gift upon future generations the truths I have come to witness.

In its own way, this book is a recounting of my life, or my way of being. I am long dead, and I believe my soul is kept in the Lord's hands, yet my spirit remains driven by a duty towards the living… Much like a revenant, in a way, I have come to find attachment in the mortal world. I suppose, one could consider this book my will. Should I return to my Lord's presence, I beseech merely my name be forgotten, but not my deeds and belief. A name is worthless, if it does not possess the strength to keep it afloat.

Reader, should you gaze upon these words, remember that these come from an old human who has too much bloodshed, too much hate, and merely wishes to all a peaceful life with a dignified death. In this violent land, where we risk the lives of our children every day, I know it is a luxury; but what else should any decent human wish for?

Reader, what you have in your hands, is my afterlife.

[!] This text will explore the following precepts, in accordance

to my own personal virtues and codes of belief: [!]



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Captain Chromosome

When I was a boy, I dreamed of being invincible. "The greatest warrior under the sun", was how I liked to stylise my title. I picked up a stick, and ran into the forest, far away from my father's hands and slew dragons, saved damsels, gained some fabulous king's praise.

In these times of innocence, I strove to teach myself what the world meant. I was ever alone, and the woodlands that surrounded me were a mystery. In these moments of silence, I swung my stick in hopes of mimicking the tales of the old nan. This innocence that so many children possess, fades away with age.

Later during my travels, I sought strength. My resolve had been corrupted by the terror of youth, the scars of my father and the horrors of war. I sought to make a name for myself, going from town to town, taking jobs in inns, joining brawls and always jumping on any occasion to prove myself in battle.

I went to the Citadel, dueled and sparred, hoping to grow stronger and stronger until none could defeat me. I soon came to question why I swung my sword, why I fought. Why did I seek strength? Simply to be strong, or for some ulterior purpose? I came to understand, that a sword without purpose, much akin to a name, holds little value.

And yet that was not enough. I cut those who stood in my way, those who insulted me, who wanted to take what I held most dear. I did not understand. I came to believe that I held strength, somewhere in it all, I felt no satisfaction in such a pursuit. The 'stronger' I became, the further I strayed from the simple truth.

What is the true meaning of strength?
Should we ever obtain true strength, is there even a benefit of having it?

Upon the shores of Argione, a crossbow bolt in my chest. I came to ponder this.


Captain Chromosome
It's a shameful thought, but it is the truth. I only came to understand the totality of my situation during my first dying breath. I came to realise a simple thing. I wanted to live. Those I had cut down, the people I had shot, ruthlessly to defend myself or prove my own strength… my own ego, wanted to live too.

Surely they had a family, children perhaps, friends, aspirations, or none at all. Regardless of their lives, they were human, born and made of the same flesh and blood as I. Some had perhaps been souless, others were blessed in their own way. Yet in my pursuit of the ever strong, I had ended this trail, invading their paths with my own.

The unsatisfaction I felt, the growing unease, all were linked to a single conclusion. I had never been strong, merely lucky. I was a tall lad, strong of body, but feeble of mind, technique and spirit. As I lay there dying, the blood growing like a vine up my throat and through my lungs, I came to understand how far away this dream of mine was.

It was then, amidst my dying last thoughts, that I beheld the first revelation. True strength holds purpose, that which I had none. I could only uncover its secrets when I had climbed to the top, and the climb had been cut horrendously short. I've experienced this thrice, each time as I laid fading away. The insignificance of my being.

A tree is strong, its roots grow deep into the soil, the tree harms none, beseeches none, flaunts nothing. Silent, long lived, stoic… and should the tree ever be felled by human hands, I could turn to the rocks whose permanence was greater. As I lay, my heart beat fading into the silent warm earth, I understood. No blade can topple a mountain.

Invincible is just a word.

Thus spoke my first truth, on the first day of my death.

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