The Scales Strike Balance
It is a strange sensation, or should I say lack of it; to witness the world around me without tactile sensation. I hold a forkful to my mouth, yet the weight of the fork is nonexistent to my hand. The act itself is just a gesture. Food offers no flavor anymore. In a way, that is a blessing for the stench of decay no longer bothers me either.
What remained of the putrid flesh upon my bones has all but rotted away, and with it, rots away my mind. Putting pen to paper becomes increasingly difficult as my thoughts wander to emptiness. It is no longer that mystical silence of daydreaming where the mind explores its reaches, but the absolute absence of anything at all. That, I suppose, is the end to this curse; an eternity of emptiness awaits us all.
Outside my home, the harbor is alight with the orange glow of massive flames. Judging by the shouts and noise, my countrymen have set themselves to burning the ships. To what end, I cannot say. Perhaps the arson fills them with a small flicker of purpose and life.
For me, I still find solace in philosophy and parchment, for as long as my mind remains capable of it. For example, one may consider the curse which befell our lands to be divine punishment handed down upon us for our hubris. I am a skeptic, yet even I cannot deny the irony of undeath condemning people hellbent on exterminating necromancy. If the gods truly exist, then they have a sick sense of humor and justice. The scales of Ulcama, it appears, have struck a balance in the end.
Nafor, Scholar of Arkovia