What does one do when they are stuck in the dark, alone in the hands of the enemy?
I can’t write. I can’t see. It will look like gibberish. To write this small missive is taking all of my abilities and I still believe it will be almost impossible to read. Maybe someone will find this and learn what happened to me. It is the only reason I am continuing it at this point. Of course, it may only prove to them I went insane. These things cannot be avoided.
I have occupied myself other ways. I have searched the walls for flaws. I have sung happy songs to keep up my courage. Told the walls heroic tales from my youth. I especially enjoyed regaling the walls with the battles from the War Against the Darkness.
It is all to keep up my waning spirits. I am hungry and tired. My fingers are raw from searching. My eyes strained from trying to see in the absolute darkness.
This is my private torture chamber. Utterly alone in the dark. Left to rot far from all I call my own. I will become a legend. A warning. A tale told to pouchlings as they lay in their beds. If my enemies and their friends have their way my story will at best be whispered among my people. Or my people will cease to be.
The Darkness would enjoy that. The grubby Narn being destroyed from within.
Enemies come in many forms, but the enemy with the face of a friend is the most insidious and evokes betrayal beyond any other foe. I have spent time listening to the Narn collaborator in my mind. If I meet him outside of this cave he will shortly be missing his throat and I will be preparing Phroomis.
I will not show the enemy weakness. I will sing and tell stories and laugh in their faces until my tongue rots from my mouth. I will not show them my sadness, my horror. I won’t let it touch my face. I won’t let it into my heart. If I die in this place, I die a Narn.