Thursday, August 24, 2017

The Ballad of Grimbad Willowisp, Halfling Necromancer

Year 331, Twelfth Age
Highsun, Day 14

Dear diary,

It's been three months since I took the name Grimbad Willowisp and swore myself to the study of darkness and death, and my parents are still in denial about it. My mother keeps telling the neighbors that I'm studying to be a wizard, which I guess is sort of true. But she can't even bring herself to say the word "necromancer", even though I've done everything I can to make it obvious: black robes with red trim, black eyeliner, grim expressions... Seriously, she can't think she's fooling anybody, can she?

And my father's even worse. He's started making a point of calling me by my full birth-name, Grinbroad Willowsend. I tried telling him that my name is Grimbad Willowisp now, but he just shook his head and said, "No it isn't." Can you believe it, diary? Neither could I. I became Grimbad Willowisp when I became a necromancer, but just try telling my dad that.

My sister is just as bad, but at least she keeps the other kids off me. After Merrybloom Rosewine made fun of my clothing and then mysteriously lost her homework on the way to school for three days straight, everybody leaves me alone. That's fine with me. And it's not like I don't have friends. I mean, yeah, Mopeybeard is a dwarf, but he's really good with his lute and his songs about how his father doesn't understand him and he just doesn't fit in in the Deep Halls make me feel like maybe I'm not the only one, you know?

They just don't get it. We spend our lives speeding towards death. How can you ignore that? How can you not want to know everything there is to know about it? But they don't. They're too busy worrying about what's for lunch. They'll never understand me.

It's just you and me, diary. And Mopeybeard, when his father brings him up to town.


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