Lament of farmhand Geist

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Master is away. She left in the dead of night. AS I awoke from a troubled sleep – such as “sleep” might be for us – I found a note pinned to the doll she bought for my pinkie when it was having the twitching sads. I can never quite get used to my various bodyparts residual memories, you know … especially when they are sad memories. I hear them, screaming, in my head. But all they can do is twitch. Twitch, twitch little pinkie. You were once called … what was it? Ah …

Little Pamela.

Pinkie stopped twithcing when it felt the velvet skin of the doll. Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse – some kind of wood shavings me thinks. It smells of Grizzly Hills. You know, when I was stationed at Voltarus – not long before master became master – I always cherished those moments when we was ordered to the walls, the ones looking down on Grizzly Hills. I think my nose might once have belonged to a lumberjack. As I pulled in the scent of pine – the nose twitched. Just like pinkie.

Oh … I hear their screams inside. At night. Thumbs are scared of the dark, you see. So they twitch, Eye miss the sunsets of Westfall. So it twitch. Lips, well … Lower lip miss her lover. Upper lip regrets he never got to kiss the one he wanted to kiss. I sometimes wonder if they would have kissed what I once kissed … what I might be. If it is true, the thing some philosophers claim, that the soul residesin our brain, then my soul is called Thessalia.

How she longed to kiss those lips that often spoke to her. But then We came. The terrors … Stuffed with the stuff that is coarse. Why am I thinking about this now? We should be out in the fields allready. I see birds of prey stealing flowers.

Oh, flowers! You know, it never occured to me until Nose twitched that flowers smell rather nice. I guess I’m used to the putrid smells of Naxxramas, of Malykriss. Even of the tower itself. HE smelled … not of flowers. But of death. Wich, in a way, I guess is as it should be. My guts trembled as he gazed down upon me. Quite possibly because they once belonged to an initiate that was deemed unworthy.

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“We are legion.”

Mind. All the parts of me have a mind of their own. They can’t express it clearly of course. I do have a brain but it’s not really connected to anything. I guess Creator just thought a hollow skull would be unfitting. So I got Thessalias brain, still intact. The ghouls that brought her down not far from the Wrathgate feasted on other parts. Oh, I don’t like that, you know. Unecessary torment is what it is. My mind can still hear her shrieks. Once you’re past a certain stage of pain and horror your voice goes up, ever up. Until the scream becomes a shriek. And then it stutters, sputters, wheeze … as she screamed her throat into oblivion.

It’s terrible to remember. If my brain could twitch – but all it does is remember. When it remembers … well. For some reason there’s this strange fluid running from my eye. Every time I remember what one of us is twitching about. I can’t explain it properly: My mind is filled with other peoples memories, accumulated over time, packed under a coat of blackness. Of coldness. The cold membrane of My Memories. The sum total of all my parts and what my eye have seen.

The pines of Grizzly Hills, morning mists rising from the woodlands. The thunderclouds of Storm Peaks, drifting down in a slow dance across Zul’Drak sky. The windswept tundra, the cliffs of Howling Fjord. The dread tower, looming under a murdered sky of death. I sometimes climbed the parapet of Angrathar and just sat there, watching the magnificent flying city in the distance … dreaming that I one day would walk the streets of Dalaran. But I knew it would be futile to even hope for something like that. This is the kingdom of the Scourge, only teh dead may enter – such was the message we was constantly bombarded with. But I dreamed, nevertheless.

Then master came into my life. She took me to new places. She took me to Dalaran! Oh how I twitched! Jumped! Skedaddled! My feet hardly touching the ground. My mind dumbstruck: Why did they allow me there!? Was I not an abomination? But master has a sister (I had a sister once, the real me, the chest of me, we lived in Lordareon, her name was Julie, I liked her smile and cookies). Masters sister is … exalted. They call it. I often thought it meant that people would be jubilant whenever she walked the streets. But as she walked by my master side all people do was nod at her – and smile.

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Master is gone now. She left a note. My eye (who – and this is a beam of delight in a dreary world – never could read until it met my brain) read the words over and over again. At first we couldn’t make any sense of it. But then it dawned on us; on Pamela, on Jack the Nose, on Tweezle Thumbs (he used to be a goblin before he was “repurposed”). On … but my name doesn’t matter. WE read. Ian the Eye, who often wished when he was alive that could read but never got the chance.

‘Dear Geist,’ the master said in letters black on parchment grey. ‘I must leave you know. I will return, you know I always do. There’s a battle that never ends inside me. I must sate the flames that burn – with blood. I miss you allready, your laugh, your funny ways. I won’t forget you, nor will I forget how you love to feed Dog. Be a good b… girl now, you hear? I’m coming home – but not quite yet.

PS: Tell that fucking Mudclaw I’ll ram a pitchfork so far up his ass his eyes will swivel like those of an old god, stupid fuck.’

Master is away. There’s orcs to kill. But here, there’s carrots to grow. But when the chores are done I’ll be on the roof, squatting down, closing my eye …

and smile as Thessalia laughs in the wind.

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