#asksolomen

"It may have been a bit... Unorthodox but... I-It brought me back... T-Thank you..."

"...I will just rip that magic out of your head!"

asksolomen

Mod: I hope this answers your question

Three moons and eight nights since the longest day/p

I had long began to suspect that the troubles my condition perpetually plagued me with knew. They knew what they were doing, every time it was the most inconvenient or the most life threatening the bad luck seemed to stack up against me. This is one of those times.

I don’t think I’ve written it in this section yet so I’m going to reiterate it for practicalities sake. Your name Is Sol Omen, But everyone you know just calls you SolOmen or Sol for short. This is your Journal, You are a cursed soul, cursed to never die or more accurately, never stay dead. Apparently the condition isn’t the handicap it used to be, but I digress. Usually that’s not such a bad thing, but in your case there is a catch. If you take a look at your hoofs for a moment you will notice they are covered in scars. Yes the fact that your hoofs are a forest of thin pale line on top of tanned flesh is no accident, but we will get to that later.

You can’t die. Period. For all the research and searching you have done you . . . You know when I write to myself like this I’m going to use we. That way it sounds less depressing. The road gets lonely and I need someone to talk to, or be it the illusion of talking, but I’m digressing again.

Ok, for all the research and searching we have done we have never been able to find anything that has been able to make the sweet release of death stick. Burning, drowning, every single puncture wound you can think of, Dismemberment, Decapitation, Decapermemberment (the combination of the two latters), Burned at the stake and scattering the ashes, electrification and finally Ritual sacrifice. . .Yea, I’m not sure what we were thinking either.

Every single time we die we come back the next sun rise in a pillar of fire, ghostly screeches and the shattering of rock, so far we have no idea what it means. When we come back to life we get a scar from the injury that killed us. If you stop reading and take a moment to look at your body you will find that you have a metric fuck ton of scars. I would recommend you keep a jacket on because everyone ask questions when they see them and that’s the last thing you need. But here’s the catch.

Every time you die you lose your memories, usually a few months to a year. This is the reason we are writing this down in a Journal. We make sure to log everything important. This helps us remember people places and important things, and in case the worse were to happen and we woke up having no idea who we are, this Journal will serve as are guide. There’s one more thing, it’s not every day that someone is put in a life or death situation, so following that chain of logic I bet you’re wondering why your coat looks cutting board that is long overdue for a replacement. Well we are also cursed with bad luck.

I’m not talking about I got a bad hand in poker kind of luck, although that happens too. I’m talking about that cave you decided to sleep in is also the home of a sleeping bear, or maybe it just so happens that there is a flash flood that spews from an underground spring or it’s an old hide out for a group of bandits. You might laugh but all of those have happened before. We don’t know why but terrible things just seem to happen to and around us all the time, and it gets worse the more we stay in one place. This has stopped us from developing any lasting relationships or settling down in any shape or form. As you can imagine is not the easiest of lives, and with no real way to end it we have no choice but to persevere. Which is why we are searching, searching for anything and anyone that might know what this curse is or who might have done it or even WHY they did it in the first place. Which leads me to are current adventure.

The woods we are currently in are called the Sleeping Woods. They span for leagues and are home to many a nasty zombie ghost or even Necromancer. Which is good news for us, since necromancy is generally frowned upon in most civilized cultures. Sensible people not wanting their loved ones reanimated corps jumbling around and what not. We heard of a Necromancer by the name of Nyx that lives in these woods from some folks in the last town we were in. Apparently Nyx is a beginner and hasn’t yet created an army of the damned or made themselves a litch or whatever ignorant people think necromancy does to a person.

We have been traveling for a few days and making good time . . . well we’ve had to. Remember that town I mentioned, well apparently a few of those residents fall into the ignorant list we just discussed. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem, we are no stranger to evil looks and long glares. What is unfortunate is that they seem to think we are some kind of demon and have come to bring power and immortality to are new master. I have no idea who put that idea in their heads . . . the fact that we died from infection and blew up the grave keepers body cart the next morning didn’t help are case. Ok, I’m getting off topic, if you want that story go back a few pages. Anyhow, the point of the matter is three beefy farmers with sickles and hunting rifles are coming to kill you and do what they can to keep you in the ground.

As of now we have 6 years left in memory and 25 of it written down. If that’s destroyed or we are murdered a half a dozen times we might be up a creek and without a paddle. So I need you to keep me safe (the journal if I wasn’t being clear). You gota find that Nyx fella and convince him to help ya. We are running out of options, we have been steadily losing years for the past 25 and Harlequin isn’t making it any easier. If you want the whole story about that freak and what his twisted plans are for you then go to page 34 under PONIES TO AVOID. The short story is be is the one that gave you that scare that runs 70 percent through our neck and he would be happy to give you another after he tortured the sanity out of your last screaming breath. But like I said, Page 34, it’s a good read, I would know I wrote it myself.

Oh last thing.

If it things come down to a fight you have three options, one Run. We are very good at it. A life time on the road and being avid practitioners of cowards, we have become masters in the art of running way. You can’t lose a fight you don’t show up to.

Three punch them in the nose and run away. Another one on the long list of mysteries is how good we are at fighting. Most of the thin scars on your hands and forearms are from blocking knifes and swords and stuff. For more on that go to page 66 under LONG LIST OF MYSTERIES. Also on the long list of mysteries is the dagger, which brings us to option three. We have a dagger made out of some kind of black ice. The thing is seriously weird and never melts but is always cold to the touch. No matter how hard we try to get rid of it we can never manage to keep it gone. As soon as we die again there it is, back in are possession. Anyway we are really good with the damn thing. It cuts threw almost anything and looks pretty cool to boot.