Author: Nemesis, Posted: Wed Jul 13, 2022 8:26 PM, Post Subject: Memoirs of the Black Shepherd

To believe myself to be invulnerable, invincible even is foolhardy.  

I've often recollected my past experiences, my former relationships with pantheons, and learned from them to the best of my abilities. If there is a single reason for my obsession with toeing the line, it's simply that I do not need to fall in obscurity as the others have. Even as the new powers of Light flow through me, my memory reminds me of what happens when power seeps and clutches the minds of its wielder. Many think of themselves as untouchable only to be struck down just as fast; plenty of them fell and never came back. Others have, though worse from the wear even prior to their ascensions. I have yet to see stability from the fallen, not with longevity anyway. I ponder why they face such horrors- perhaps it's the disconnection from the higher powers. Mayhaps it's simply that all their injuries, all their wounds, all their turmoil catch up to their now fragile bodies once the Fall takes them. I have come across such and even the most stable among them weren't completely together. 

Death can come to Gods. 

That is a fact that many don't seem to take clearly. The goddess of Death before Sera…She had her life ended by Angela. A god slaying a god…a woman mercy killing another she as saw as a sister… It's as though it came from the pages of an upcoming play. Speaking of which, Angela is one that had died at least twice, according to my recollection. Her "sister" had killed her, though not entirely and the second taste of it came in the form of… Hm. Dal again, but this time she was controlled by a power rivaling the Voice. Creatures that to this day are unfathomable by the highest of scholars. 

Through my ramblings, my purpose is to understand the nature of the gods and what may wait for me in the future should I prove unworthy of my power. Will I too fall into the inescapable abyss?

Author: Nemesis, Posted: Thu Dec 16, 2021 7:47 PM, Post Subject: Memoirs of the Black Shepherd

What makes a man?

That was a question Nemesis had been pondering as he observed the world, from both afar and from a more intimate distance. Aside from the obvious “flesh and blood and the like” answers, the lord’s boredom drifted into digging deeper. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, they were no different from any other creature- they needed nourishment, shelter, and to breed. Some would say that they were just another form of cattle- to serve and be preyed on by the higher members of the food chain. It was also apparent that aside from a very few of them, most needed to be governed. Heaven knew that they would only lead themselves into oblivion. Perhaps that’s why the gods were crafted by that Voice character- to be the shepherds to the misguided and lost.

Of course, many gods of the pantheon did not partake in herding them; they instead preferred to busy themselves in their own interests. Nemesis was among those that sought to affect the world in small doses, if at all. A wolf among the sheep in the literal sense. He allowed for his faith to do as they spread whatever word Reaver and the other priests spoke in his name.

Sheep were sheep. They flocked to whatever would draw their attention.

A wolf-like himself was in what many would consider a perfect opportunity. He hunted them as he wished uncontested before but now that he was the apex, it all seemed too easy. Easy to the point where boredom seeped in. What was a wolf supposed to do now? That he would have to find himself…

Author: Nemesis, Posted: Fri Oct 16, 2015 7:55 PM, Post Subject: Memoirs of the Black Shepherd

Pretty, pretty twisted dreams.

I don't know when it all begun, I don't really recall it but perhaps it was three years…no five…no ten…

Oh who knows? I do recall that I was once like the rest of these people that merely exist in this world, not truly living. I wasn't anything special at all, just a boy from a family in Egjora. We were too poor to even rub shoulders with the elites, in fact I tried that once literally and ended up receiving several lashes across the back from it. I guess that they don't like that sort of thing. Anyway my father was a merchant, a failing one at that since the families in charge of the city controlled the whole system and made sure that he barely saw a few coins tossed his way. My mother was caring and raised me and my sisters as best she could, but eventually she grew tired of this life and ran off with the first wealthy man that saw her as decent enough to be a mistress. My sisters were taken with her while my dear father kept an ironclad grip upon me and worked me like I was his own personal slave. When there wasn't work in the house, I had to attend his shop with him and see what an absolute failure he was. And he knew it too, no matter how angry or violent he became. It was just a mask, one that hide his true self- a sad little man that accomplished nothing and would amount into nothing. But since I was the fruit from his lions, would that mean I would follow in his footsteps too? I prayed to the Gods, hoping that would never take place. But as the years rolled by, and I saw nothing changing at all, I knew that it was meaningless to get on your knees and pray homage to such beings. They were no better than the greedy wealthy merchants here or the bratty kings on the mainlands.

I stopped caring about my fate and just ended up accepting my role of existing.

That was until one night when I was woken up by a strange feeling that shook at my very core. My mind felt as though something was digging deep into it at first. I tossed and turned, wanting for the pain to stop, to go away and never come back. It was many times worse than the lashes, or the backhands or the various items that were tossed at me. Worse than the laughter from the better individuals of the city or the names or the betrayal of my mother. Oh, it was so much worse my friends as it scratched, bite and chewed on me before it stopped suddenly. From there, nothing more happened that night, or the next night. A week went by and still nothing more occurred and for the life of me, I had no idea what had happened. Not until weeks later as the feeling came right back to me as I laid in bed. It was as if it was the same attack as before; it felt as though my mind was literally splitting and then the memories. The memories that I swear weren't my own but of another's. To who they belonged to, I do not know, but whoever it was… I understood him. From what I saw, he too went through so much turmoil and suffering in his life. A family that cast him to the side, another that betrayed and took away what he loved. A world filled with evil, deceit and selfishness. It twisted the man's heart until he felt nothing more than hate and lust, seeking power after power, kill after kill to get what he wanted. The images, the feelings, the sorrows and pain, they are felt too real. As the memories died away, voices song to me. Sweet, unearthly voices rang so many sweet songs into my ears. They picked me of all the people, they picked me to spread forth their word. One of them was a fair maiden of blonde hair and golden eyes. She looked so divine she was that I had thought that she was a goddess herself coming to me, preaching to me to spread forth the very word that the others gifted onto me. Denial is what this world has built its foundation on, fairy tales and happy endings are all but a giant lie. This world is corrupted and so am I. But I am for a good and humble reason; I am to deliver the word onto every single ear around me. It's time to be afraid, they say, it's time to be afraid. Hold the ones you love the most, hold onto them tightly because in the end, when we all go, we all go all alone.

Little by little, I started to believe in them and their message. The masses are merely sheep and I was handpicked to be their shepherd to usher their little tails to the promised land. I knew it wouldn't be an easy task; it would further serve to ostracize me even more so by such a shrewd society but it had to be done. I, the Keeper of the word of fear and truth had to spread it until they all came with me. As everything started to drift away and I grew comfy to let the pleasures of sleep fill me, a man's voice echoed one word at me, one that I hold so near and dear to my little heart, friends.

Nemesis.