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The following is an IC recounting of a character's history, published as an autobiography.

Memoirs of a Murderer

My name is Jeoffrey Sicarius. These are my memoirs.

La Petit Mort

You wanna know about my childhood? I was a kid, grew up in Varrock. Slums my whole life till I became a guard. There you go, all you get. Life as a town guard was alright, but it wasn't glory. Better than the slums ever were, but with Varrock's history, I may as well have been a Revenant hunter, would have had the same expected lifespan. Every day just blurred together and my life was boring as fuck and probably would've bit it on the next Mahjarrat attack (hey Zemouregal, eat shit). After a while I stopped showing up for guard duty and just hid out around the church, where I spent time around a childhood friend, which is a shit word to use, named Cyrius. Or Cyrus. Never really gave a shit how it was spelled. He was an altar boy, training to be a priest. Dude was 17 or 18, around my age. We shot the shit and talked about how our job choices went, and I learned that priests don't actually get paid. A fucking scam's what that is, devote your whole life to a set of bullshit rules and live like shit on top of it, somehow that's supposed to make you more holy. Or unholy. Or cabbage-y. Religion's a fucking scam. Time spent in the church to get away from everybody worked a bit too well, and the place was dead-empty like it always was. No idea why it was chosen as the target, but a bunch of babbling lunatics burst through the doors and ran us over like we weren't even there. If I'd read my history I'd have known from the clothing, but I didn't learn for a few days who they were. Muddy browns and sickly greens and every single one of them had a dress on. I know it's a robe, now. Leather robe. Doesn't make my first impression any different, they looked like leather skirts. So they burst in, Cyrus went down instantly and I followed him after a second of trying to fight. Still had my sword, fat load of good it did, I had no idea how to actually use it. Funny, guards with a day-long life expectancy don't get much training. Can't imagine why.

I still got no clue how long I was out. Probably a few weeks, but knowing how much they loved to break clay all over the place, it might've been a single day. Woke up bagged and gagged and bound and sat down in a line of people. Got a few orders barked at me and then my face kicked in because I didn't try to speak around the gag which they thought meant I wasn't listening. Or they just wanted to kick me in the face. Bag got ripped off and I was on a mountain. Air was bullshittingly cold and I had to get used to it. A bunch of shitty tents was all the protection we got from the weather and that was only at night. Basically, what we got politely volunteered to was boot camp for psychopaths by psychopaths. I got about five minutes to get acquainted with everybody before we were told that we were now Servus and would be competing with the others to survive, and that the ugly fuckers that kicked my face in were my new superiors. Atromir, the medic. He was a shit battlemage and a shitter fighter, but he was okay with healing magic and that's what he focused on. Pretty sure he wanted to fuck Cyrus. Domovoi, I think he was a Praetor. Name doesn't mean shit because the ranks were pointless once you were blooded, all it meant was "i can instakill you, you can't instakill me, neener neener neener." He liked his wooden mugs, I caught a few of those to the mouth and it's a miracle I kept my teeth. Rai, the leader. Abbas. Not as mysterious and enigmatic as he was supposed to be, he was around pretty often and I think that helped my case, played to him instead of the others. Then there was Thea. Remember her being Seneschal, but she may as well have been called Mom. Probably the only person with a kind heart, she looked out for us when things got tough, I remember her fondly. There were others but they came and went. So that was how life was gonna be.

They didn't put any restrictions on the camp, we could come and go as we pleased. No trackers, nobody watching over us. They picked a good place, up in the mountain with trolls on one side and unfriendly wildlands on the other, we didn't have much in the way of escape. So we stayed to survive, and a lot of us died. Cyrus and I worked together as best as we could. Beaten damn near every time a fight broke out, he went down and I'd come in from behind swinging like a spastic trying to get everybody off him because it's worse to tough it on your own than it is with a punching bag like him as a distraction. I got a few good cuts in every once in a while but everybody wore the toughest leather to ever exist and I rarely got through it. That or my sword was dull. Pretty sure my sword was dull. The scraps over the scraps were bloody and Atromir was never out of work. Sometimes he'd try to teach us medicine but he usually had to use his examples literally, by treating whatever we managed to do to each other. I didn't fight unless I had to, because staying out of that shit was the best way to survive. Just common sense. Eventually the Sic realized that unless they laid down the law we were just gonna kill ourselves on each other before they actually get any new family members out of us, so that's when Domovoi found his love of the wooden mug. Things are tough to break, though a few shattered off our faces. About a week in is when I learned that we were actually there for a reason.

The Longclaws

The Sic'd been a lot more active in their kidnappings recently, and it looked pretty desperate. Picking random shits outta churches, back alleyways and who-the-fuck-knows where else, the high-ups couldn't keep it a secret for long, especially considering we were suddenly getting actual, proper warfare training. Turns out a week before I got captured, some other unlucky prick'd been left to guard a Sic hideout and it got raided. Not just by any bandits, either, but by some group called the Longclaws. Apparently they're a rebel group of Sicarius that managed to break the mark and turned against the family.

(To be finished eventually)

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