I don't bruise so easily; No scars inside...
In case it isn't plainly obvious, these journals are going to be heavy on the spoilers. Don't read them if you're planning on playing the game (which you should be) and want to be surprised. I am purposefully obscuring many smaller details, but major plot developments are likely to remain largely unchanged.
Planescape: Torment Journal
Entry III: The sins of yesterday's selves
Many days have passed since my last entry, but until tonight I thought I had nothing more to write - or at least, nothing that I could bear. Now, as I sit at this desk, in chambers which have belonged to me longer than I have existed, I realize that there is a great deal to explain. If I am to be whole, I must remember everything, not only the pieces that are palatable to me. This has become increasingly clear as I have grown to know my former selves.
I have wandered much of Sigil since I awoke in the Mortuary three weeks ago. The Hive is *known* to me, as Dak'kon would say, and I am becoming quite familiar with the Lower and Clerks' Wards as well. I travel with my friend, Morte, who is a liar; my bodyguard, Dak'kon, who is a slave of the past; and Annah, who defies classification. I have also been joined in my quest by two additional companions, whom I will introduce later. I have come to understand some small part of why these tortured souls follow me, though the understanding grants me no relief. Torment binds us, cages us, and where I go, the cage goes with me. Dak'kon and Morte were trapped here with me long before my most recent awakening, but these others are my doing. I only hope that the conclusion of my quest frees them from these bonds. I carry enough sins already.
In my wanderings, I have tried to find links to my former lives which might jog new memories. I have had several such experiences, though rarely are they pleasant. Of my most recent incarnation, I have learned a great deal. From an old woman in the street, who recognized a face as unique as my own, I learned that my most recent self (whom I have come to think of as the Cold One) also gathered to him a party of followers. As I had suspected, Morte was one of these; so was Deionarra, the ghost I met the day of my awakening. Of Deionarra, I have learned a great deal. I found her father, an Advocate in the Clerks' Ward. He did not know me, but he knew of the Cold One by reputation. He knew who had taken his daughter from him, and never returned her.
My endeavors to ascertain the nature of the golden orb I recovered for Pharod, and subsequently took from his corpse, have come to nothing. No one can tell me what this thing is, or why a man such as he would want it so badly. Whatever it is, it must be important, for I had hidden it in my own tomb. Why would I do this?
During one of my periods of despair, I found my way to the Brothel for the Slating of Intellectual Lusts. I had heard strange things of the place, and decided that I needed to experience it myself. The proprietor is a succubus who calls herself Fall From Grace. She explained that the establishment is a training house for her students, aspiring Sensates. The Sensates seek enlightenment in experiencing as much of their realities as possible. There was no sex here, indeed no physical contact whatsoever. This was a place for intercourse of the minds. In interacting with the intellectual prostitutes here - debating, playing games of strategy, trading compliments or insults - I awakened many memories of my former lives. They are scattered and difficult to organizel rarely can I connect two memories as having certainly come from the same incarnation, much less sort them into such chronological order. I know this, though: I have lived hundreds, and perhaps thousands of lives. Some have lasted many years, and some mere minutes. So far, this incarnation has held - I have died and arisen several times now while retaining my memories. What triggers my amnesia, I am not sure. But as if unconsciously adhering to Sensate dogma, I am exploring the infinite paths of life one at a time. The more I remember, the more I realize that I have been practically everything once. Perhaps that is why I do not forget. Perhaps I have reached the end of this experiment.
At the urging of the lovely Grace (for whom Annah seems to have developed an unreasonable dislike) I called upon the Sensates' guildhall to partake of their sensorium archives. Catalogued like so many reference texts are thousands of sensory stones, each holding an experience in stasis for all time. Some experiences are fleeting - a flush of heat in the face and a flutter in the stomach as a desired one flashes a smile, or the cold freefalling fear of running for your life. Some are quite detailed, recordings of vivid remembrances from various lives, played out through one's own senses as if it were happening for the first time. For ten days and nights I lived in the public sensorium, experiencing anything and everything. Grace helped convince the archivists to waive the visiting hours restrictions in my case, for which I am grateful. I was so enthralled by these experiences that I can't be sure I would have responded to eviction notices rationally. I don't know what my traveling companions did while I immersed myself in other lives; in truth I forgot they were waiting for me. This library of memories brought many of my own flickering back to life, and I learned much.
I finally emerged from the public sensorium only after consuming every last experience on display. I sought out Grace again, and asked her help in gaining access to the private archives, but she explained that only Sensates were allowed. With Grace as my sponsor I took the vows and joined the Sensates, gaining access to the inner sanctum. The experiences to be had here were fewer, but also stranger, more individually unique and exotic. Of these, three were of significant interest to me.
The first was a trap, set by a past incarnation I have come to call the Mad One - he who left the trapped tomb for me where I found the orb. His paranoia is shocking, and he seemed to believe that either past or future incarnations (unclear to me) would steal his life. In this, at least, he was not mistaken, for I have in fact come to exist. But he laid traps for himself, to catch any other incarnations that had taken his mind and body from him. This one was embedded inside a sensory stone, and would only be triggered by me. I found it by walking into it, but I escaped by forcing myself to realize that I was the one holding myself prisoner, and letting the shackles loosen. I have become more cautious since.
The second was a memory of deep and undying love, recorded by none other than Deionarra. I have experienced this sensory stones several times now, though it rends my heart each time. It is one thing to be told that you are loved by a specter in a stone cathedral to death; it is quite another to feel that love poisoning your own heart. In the memory, Deionarra speaks to the Cold One, and experiencing this revived my own memories of the conversation. But where Deionarra sees noble torment in her beloved, I remember dispassionate calculation and manipulation of her feelings. She meant nothing to me. Him. But he used her nonetheless. Can I condemn him for crimes I find myself committing, if in smaller measure? I use people to get what I want - to pretend otherwise is to lie to myself. Am I different? Perhaps my innumerable incarnations are not so varied as I would like to think. Perhaps they are merely different expressions, with different emphasis, of the same black soul.
The last was a recording of the last living moments of some poor bastard being tortured to death by a witch. Her means were numerous and inventive, truly like nothing else in the archives. I expect this was purposeful. For as the darkness closed in on this man, the witch forced him to memorize a message. And without knowing why, I am sure this message is for me. How this witch could know that I would one day come to this very sensory stone and receive her words, I cannot know. But she invited me to come to her cage - a maze-prison fashioned for her by the Lady of Pain - and learn the nature of my immortality.
I located my friends in the places they had ended up since I left them, and they did not ask what I had been doing, or where we were going now. They follow without question now, and although it unnerves me how complacent they are, I am grateful that I do not need to explain myself. Grace decided to come with me. Or perhaps she had no choice at all. I think nothing is coincidence.
In seeking out the key to the witch's cage, I decided it would also be prudent to take out some insurance against betrayal. For this witch was Ravel, well-known to the denizens of Sigil. She was banished for trying to tear the City of Doors open to all other planes, and is known to be a monster too evil to comprehend. I have been told several times by wise men that I am a fool to even consider trying to deal with this creature. They say that she will trick me and trap me and make my eternity more hellish than I can possibly imagine. They may be right, but they are whole. They cannot understand why this is so important. They cannot feel the pain that is my existence. I would risk anything for a chance to be whole once more.
But in the interest of preparedness, I sought out a particular artifact which would alleviate some of the suffering of Mr. Ignus, the mage on prominent display in the Smoldering Corpse Bar. The small headway this granted him in his fight against the overpowering force of elemental fire streaming through him brought Ignus back to awareness. He went to embrace his lover, the barmaid, and incinerated her. She did look happy right up until the end, though.
Ignus follows me now, for I control the artifact. Chained thus, I have an unimaginably powerful weapon to bring to bear should Ravel try anything. I suspect Ignus could destroy even me, or at least leave me in such a state that I would never again regain sentience. Somehow, this is comforting to me. If I am left with no other alternative, death is an avenue open to me for the very first time.
I have returned now to the halls of the Sensate compound, where I have discovered that I - or rather, the Mad One - own a suite of rooms reserved for my exclusive use. My motley crew is quartered here, with the exception of Ignus, whom I had to put in the boiler room to keep from cooking us all. Morte and Dak'kon seem to think nothing of my absence, though this is probably because both have been traveling with me for much longer than I have known them, so to speak. I imagine they are used to much more erratic behavior if my scattered memories are any metric. Annah speaks to me no more than absolutely necessary, though whether this is because of my time with the Sensates or Grace's presence is difficult to say. I suspect the latter, of course, though it's rather ridiculous of Annah - Grace is a reformed succubus, after all. More's the pity, too.
I have the weapons, and I think I know where I can get the keys. Soon, I will unlock Ravel's cage. Let the cards fall where they may.
Planescape: Torment Journal
Entry III: The sins of yesterday's selves
Many days have passed since my last entry, but until tonight I thought I had nothing more to write - or at least, nothing that I could bear. Now, as I sit at this desk, in chambers which have belonged to me longer than I have existed, I realize that there is a great deal to explain. If I am to be whole, I must remember everything, not only the pieces that are palatable to me. This has become increasingly clear as I have grown to know my former selves.
I have wandered much of Sigil since I awoke in the Mortuary three weeks ago. The Hive is *known* to me, as Dak'kon would say, and I am becoming quite familiar with the Lower and Clerks' Wards as well. I travel with my friend, Morte, who is a liar; my bodyguard, Dak'kon, who is a slave of the past; and Annah, who defies classification. I have also been joined in my quest by two additional companions, whom I will introduce later. I have come to understand some small part of why these tortured souls follow me, though the understanding grants me no relief. Torment binds us, cages us, and where I go, the cage goes with me. Dak'kon and Morte were trapped here with me long before my most recent awakening, but these others are my doing. I only hope that the conclusion of my quest frees them from these bonds. I carry enough sins already.
In my wanderings, I have tried to find links to my former lives which might jog new memories. I have had several such experiences, though rarely are they pleasant. Of my most recent incarnation, I have learned a great deal. From an old woman in the street, who recognized a face as unique as my own, I learned that my most recent self (whom I have come to think of as the Cold One) also gathered to him a party of followers. As I had suspected, Morte was one of these; so was Deionarra, the ghost I met the day of my awakening. Of Deionarra, I have learned a great deal. I found her father, an Advocate in the Clerks' Ward. He did not know me, but he knew of the Cold One by reputation. He knew who had taken his daughter from him, and never returned her.
My endeavors to ascertain the nature of the golden orb I recovered for Pharod, and subsequently took from his corpse, have come to nothing. No one can tell me what this thing is, or why a man such as he would want it so badly. Whatever it is, it must be important, for I had hidden it in my own tomb. Why would I do this?
During one of my periods of despair, I found my way to the Brothel for the Slating of Intellectual Lusts. I had heard strange things of the place, and decided that I needed to experience it myself. The proprietor is a succubus who calls herself Fall From Grace. She explained that the establishment is a training house for her students, aspiring Sensates. The Sensates seek enlightenment in experiencing as much of their realities as possible. There was no sex here, indeed no physical contact whatsoever. This was a place for intercourse of the minds. In interacting with the intellectual prostitutes here - debating, playing games of strategy, trading compliments or insults - I awakened many memories of my former lives. They are scattered and difficult to organizel rarely can I connect two memories as having certainly come from the same incarnation, much less sort them into such chronological order. I know this, though: I have lived hundreds, and perhaps thousands of lives. Some have lasted many years, and some mere minutes. So far, this incarnation has held - I have died and arisen several times now while retaining my memories. What triggers my amnesia, I am not sure. But as if unconsciously adhering to Sensate dogma, I am exploring the infinite paths of life one at a time. The more I remember, the more I realize that I have been practically everything once. Perhaps that is why I do not forget. Perhaps I have reached the end of this experiment.
At the urging of the lovely Grace (for whom Annah seems to have developed an unreasonable dislike) I called upon the Sensates' guildhall to partake of their sensorium archives. Catalogued like so many reference texts are thousands of sensory stones, each holding an experience in stasis for all time. Some experiences are fleeting - a flush of heat in the face and a flutter in the stomach as a desired one flashes a smile, or the cold freefalling fear of running for your life. Some are quite detailed, recordings of vivid remembrances from various lives, played out through one's own senses as if it were happening for the first time. For ten days and nights I lived in the public sensorium, experiencing anything and everything. Grace helped convince the archivists to waive the visiting hours restrictions in my case, for which I am grateful. I was so enthralled by these experiences that I can't be sure I would have responded to eviction notices rationally. I don't know what my traveling companions did while I immersed myself in other lives; in truth I forgot they were waiting for me. This library of memories brought many of my own flickering back to life, and I learned much.
I finally emerged from the public sensorium only after consuming every last experience on display. I sought out Grace again, and asked her help in gaining access to the private archives, but she explained that only Sensates were allowed. With Grace as my sponsor I took the vows and joined the Sensates, gaining access to the inner sanctum. The experiences to be had here were fewer, but also stranger, more individually unique and exotic. Of these, three were of significant interest to me.
The first was a trap, set by a past incarnation I have come to call the Mad One - he who left the trapped tomb for me where I found the orb. His paranoia is shocking, and he seemed to believe that either past or future incarnations (unclear to me) would steal his life. In this, at least, he was not mistaken, for I have in fact come to exist. But he laid traps for himself, to catch any other incarnations that had taken his mind and body from him. This one was embedded inside a sensory stone, and would only be triggered by me. I found it by walking into it, but I escaped by forcing myself to realize that I was the one holding myself prisoner, and letting the shackles loosen. I have become more cautious since.
The second was a memory of deep and undying love, recorded by none other than Deionarra. I have experienced this sensory stones several times now, though it rends my heart each time. It is one thing to be told that you are loved by a specter in a stone cathedral to death; it is quite another to feel that love poisoning your own heart. In the memory, Deionarra speaks to the Cold One, and experiencing this revived my own memories of the conversation. But where Deionarra sees noble torment in her beloved, I remember dispassionate calculation and manipulation of her feelings. She meant nothing to me. Him. But he used her nonetheless. Can I condemn him for crimes I find myself committing, if in smaller measure? I use people to get what I want - to pretend otherwise is to lie to myself. Am I different? Perhaps my innumerable incarnations are not so varied as I would like to think. Perhaps they are merely different expressions, with different emphasis, of the same black soul.
The last was a recording of the last living moments of some poor bastard being tortured to death by a witch. Her means were numerous and inventive, truly like nothing else in the archives. I expect this was purposeful. For as the darkness closed in on this man, the witch forced him to memorize a message. And without knowing why, I am sure this message is for me. How this witch could know that I would one day come to this very sensory stone and receive her words, I cannot know. But she invited me to come to her cage - a maze-prison fashioned for her by the Lady of Pain - and learn the nature of my immortality.
I located my friends in the places they had ended up since I left them, and they did not ask what I had been doing, or where we were going now. They follow without question now, and although it unnerves me how complacent they are, I am grateful that I do not need to explain myself. Grace decided to come with me. Or perhaps she had no choice at all. I think nothing is coincidence.
In seeking out the key to the witch's cage, I decided it would also be prudent to take out some insurance against betrayal. For this witch was Ravel, well-known to the denizens of Sigil. She was banished for trying to tear the City of Doors open to all other planes, and is known to be a monster too evil to comprehend. I have been told several times by wise men that I am a fool to even consider trying to deal with this creature. They say that she will trick me and trap me and make my eternity more hellish than I can possibly imagine. They may be right, but they are whole. They cannot understand why this is so important. They cannot feel the pain that is my existence. I would risk anything for a chance to be whole once more.
But in the interest of preparedness, I sought out a particular artifact which would alleviate some of the suffering of Mr. Ignus, the mage on prominent display in the Smoldering Corpse Bar. The small headway this granted him in his fight against the overpowering force of elemental fire streaming through him brought Ignus back to awareness. He went to embrace his lover, the barmaid, and incinerated her. She did look happy right up until the end, though.
Ignus follows me now, for I control the artifact. Chained thus, I have an unimaginably powerful weapon to bring to bear should Ravel try anything. I suspect Ignus could destroy even me, or at least leave me in such a state that I would never again regain sentience. Somehow, this is comforting to me. If I am left with no other alternative, death is an avenue open to me for the very first time.
I have returned now to the halls of the Sensate compound, where I have discovered that I - or rather, the Mad One - own a suite of rooms reserved for my exclusive use. My motley crew is quartered here, with the exception of Ignus, whom I had to put in the boiler room to keep from cooking us all. Morte and Dak'kon seem to think nothing of my absence, though this is probably because both have been traveling with me for much longer than I have known them, so to speak. I imagine they are used to much more erratic behavior if my scattered memories are any metric. Annah speaks to me no more than absolutely necessary, though whether this is because of my time with the Sensates or Grace's presence is difficult to say. I suspect the latter, of course, though it's rather ridiculous of Annah - Grace is a reformed succubus, after all. More's the pity, too.
I have the weapons, and I think I know where I can get the keys. Soon, I will unlock Ravel's cage. Let the cards fall where they may.