Morning (Kythorn 14)
Set out on a grand hunt with Lord Bhaliir, a wererat, and a halfling named Sago. We downed many beasts, including badgers, foxes, bears, and scorpions the size of horses.
Once the festivities were complete. I was rewarded with digging holes and burying the damned carcasses. I should have known better than to sign up to join a hunt hosted by that ridiculous man. My career depends on him, and I know this, but I would give anything to see him fall face-first in the mud.
[The Epistles of Light - The Righteous Words of the Epistles of Light as given to us by the RIGHTEOUS ANGEL, SARIEL]
Bound by light and chains,
Lifted up high upon gentle slopes,
Ensuring only holy gains,
As the Holy Warrior holds off wicked Strokes.
Gaze to the east and the rising sun,
Remain vigilant facing west and the setting light,
The fight against evil is never done,
Nor is the conflict with everlasting night.
Mankind shall repent it's sin,
Bound by chains of service,
They shall find only light again,
Of this, all holy things are certain.
Crusade on, O'warrior
There shall be a just reward
The fight is never done.
[Continued from the last post]
Tears. She was always crying now. What was it with Arabel causing her to mourn so much? How could you lose so many things in such a specific place? In all her travels, she hadn’t felt this alone since her parents were taken from her. She hadn’t felt this empty.. This heart broken. She still had the love of her life, and yet.. Somehow, here she was. Again. Standing in front of a grave. Again. Wishing for the life of a loved one to come back.
Her memory flickered to the image of Esolen and her other friend, Angelo.. Standing next to Manzahar and the rest of the Clar Bandans. Beside her, Lord Bhaliir in full battle gear. On her right, Evander with his falchion, standing proudly. And in her hands, her scimitar and shield. Around them, their friends and fellow adventurers were warded and buffed to the teeth. In front of them, the opposing Clar Bandan faction menacingly stood quiet, already prepared for battle.
There was little time lost as the two sides clashed. She ran straight for them. She ran straight for Esolen and Angelo. As did her comerades. Greyhalo turned on the other Bandan’s and started pummeling Eso as Daxx and Val went after Angelo..
“I’M SORRY ANGELO! BUT FECK YOU!”
The tiefling was no match for them. They ended him quickly. Her heart turned cold as the tiefling’s body fell to the floor. Her eyes centered on Eso. He was on his knees.
“SORRY ESO! BUT GOTTA KILL YOU TO!” Greyhalo was yelling.
“FECK!” Esolen screamed in pain as Greyhalo held him on his knees, her hand on his throat. She stabbed him in the side.
No. He was hers to kill. It was her responsibility. Valeria’s vision blurred as she ran towards them. Her hands gripped her scimitar tightly and screamed as she jumped at the two, her scimitar poised for Eso’s neck..
“I’M NOT SORRY ESO!”
Her eyes opened as she ushered the memory away. Her hand gripped her scimitar as she looked down at the grave in front of her. She had a small, metal box. Inside, some of his blood, his old hat he used to always wear, and a few other items she managed to take from his corpse before the island sunk. Her hands shook gently as she stared down at what was left of him. What was left of Felkyr Esolen. Her eyebrows knit together as a soft sob escaped her lips,
“Why did you have to do this?.. You should have listened to me.” She slowly bent and dropped to her knees, her tear streaked face leaning to rest against the box. It even smelled like him. Her heart cracked, again. “Why didn’t you just listen to me..” Her voice trembled, “Do you remember, when we sat in Shylocks? When we murmured and whispered, and shared drinks? - Do you remember, picking my ass off the ground?.. Do you- you remember..”
Her voice died out as her shoulders dropped. The glade around her was silent. She’d found her way deep into the forest just outside of old town. No one would come here. No one would disturb the grave. She could almost hear his laugh. Or see the glint of his gem eye.
Valeria set the box on her lap.
“You were my friend, from the moment I first met you.” She started softly, talking to the box, “You acted so offstandish. You put up a wall. You did your best to push me away.. But I think you knew it too. That I was t-too damn stubborn. Too stubborn to take your moody no.” She chuckled bittersweetly as she rubs her tears away, “You didn’t want me to be close to you. Because I was a ‘good two-shoes do gooder.’” The woman pauses, “This is one hell of a eulogy.”
She blinks her eyes quickly a few times and glances up at the sky. Light was starting to fill it, signalling the rise of the morning sun. She’d been here all night, hadn’t she?”
“Remember when we fought, like it was some sort of silly game? Throwing spells in old town’s streets at each other? And then Lord Bhaliir j-just showed up and kicked yer sorry arse?” She breaks into something between laughter and crying, seemingly okay to show her feelings in the solitude of the forest.
“Why couldn’t you drop this? Why couldn’t we go back to that?..” Letting out a sigh she leans forward and gently sets the box down in the hole. To her left, a bottle of half-drunk vodka and a shot glass. To which she reached for now. Pouring herself a shot, and drinking.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Her eyes peeled away from the grave and looked into the gloomy darkness of the forest, “You’re not coming back...” Glancing down at the glass, she sighed.
“I never thought I’d have to bury anyone after Mom and Dad. So.. Feck you, for being the first to make me do this, Eso. How could you not see? That bitch that you call your god used you. Those visions you received were nothing more than signs to get you to harm everyone that loved you. And in the end, she took you away from us.. And made herself stronger. She was never going to bring your family back. And I told you as much.” The warrior inhaled sharply as she poured herself another shot, her hand shaking, “You could have lived.. You could have been redeemed... You could have still been here. But now she’s got you. And there is nothing I can do, to save you, you stupid idiot.”
“You dumb, no good idiot..” The glass and the bottle were set to the side as she moved to bury the box. The grave was shallow. It needed to be deep. No animal would come looking for a nice meal, “I loved you. We all loved you. It should have been enough..”
“You ended up breaking out hearts. You became her. How are you the demon when you did nothing but mimic Clar Banda herself?”
Gently, she stood. From her holster, she withdraws an angel wing scimitar. The very same weapon Eso used to threaten her. She settled her gaze on it for a few quiet minutes before stepping forward and plunging it deep into the ground in front of the gravestone she’d carved.
“What was it all for, Felkyr?.. It was for nothing. Because now you’re gone. And I’m burying your sorry hide in secret. Because you’re a criminal of the king.” Her lips pursed tightly,
“You can’t blame me for scolding you like this. You never gave me the chance to do it before.. .” She places her hand over her heart and closes her eyes.
“I lied that day. I was sorry... I miss you.”
“ And maybe it’s foolish to want you back...”
“Maybe this was fated... Maybe you were supposed to be the demon that dies... I just wish it had ended another way.”
“Rest in peace, Eso.”
A lot happened in the last month. I have neglected these logs. Where to begin?
The Spark... that was a hot mess. It became so simply because I was not quick enough to grab it. The tiefling did, gave it to the wench, and she ran with it instead of doing her duty to the Crown. She is gone now. The Spark was recovered, although it was taken by the Arael Tree which turned out to be a parasite fey who was enthralling the High Priestess Rethil that was destroyed when the spark was recovered from it, which freed the elf. At least he War Wizards have it and were able to use it against the phaerimms. The hive was destroyed. Still... a bloody mess. That may not be entirely over. As it was recovered from the Lich King and Jon had to trap himself with it in a tree to seal it. War Wizard Galin said it was a stupid move to break the crystal and that hte Lich could just get out of that tree if it wanted. So, unless we find the means to seal that thing for good or destroy it, there could be much trouble coming. More blood and death.
The Lizards... They are willing to negotiate still. That is a start. But the crazy angel zealots are going to make a mess of that of course. They think the lizards evil. They are idiots. They are at worst a primitive people seeking to survive. Like mankind used to be. They would see them all put to the sword. By their own logic, should we kill all humans as well? Hopefully they will not make a mess of this. These lizards only want to live in peace. Perhaps in time, they can become civilized and contribute to society. We will not know unless we try. Perhaps I am naive in this. I should not keep my hopes up here, I feel they will be put to the sword no matter what in the end... humanity is not ready to guide another race to the greater good and civilization. Anyhow, the Ancient One needs to be hunted down and taken out. That wont be simple I bet. That thing looked powerful.
Things have been more quiet on the waters. With Undead Island gone, its foul presence destroyed once and for all. Still plenty a pirate out there that needs to be brought to justice though. Still, it is not currently a priority, unfortunately. Lord Wyvernspur will have to get the job done on her own, with the Blues' aid of course.
No trace or sighting of the Illithid Ghost. Perhaps with the phaerimms gone, it went back to the dark hole it crawled out of. We'll have to keep an eye out just in case.
Dark War. Little word from the front lately. The rogue lizards might be working for shadovars or they just saw a good business oportunity. They are disrupting trade routes. At least he phaerimms are gone, our brothers and sister in purple only have to focus on the shade now. Lord of Water, bring them your gift to refresh themselves, they need it out there in that gods forsaken land.
Tilverton is secure, and a small village now. Akadian are gone. Why am I not surprised? A shame... Anyhow, it is back in Crown hands and a council will be formed to rule it. Wonder how that is going? Little news from Suzail on the matter. Something tells me Christoph will represent the major faith, Zuzana the town, and maybe Valeria for the Crown, as she is a retainer of Dauntinghorn and a resident, and Evander has his hands full with the militia.
Have to keep an eye on the zealots. Their attack on the Banda shine unleashed a wave of undead. That could have gone very wrong. And might affect the trade routes. Lets hope not. Their action will cause a catastrophe sooner or later. Their commitment to fight evil is commendable, but their methods need work. You cannot fight every problem head on and directly. Not without dire consequences. Is ending an evil a good act, if you end up causing the death of a hundred innocents? Especially if other means, less direct, to end this evil was possible? And what if you are being deceived? Having a bit of patience to make sure you arent about to release a demon pretending to be an angel isnt going to kill you. They are reckless. And it will bring the death of innocent people. If that ever happens, I pray the gods will punish them severely for their stupidity.
Enough writting. There is work to do.
Rose passed the whetstone down her sword again, listening to the sound that it made against the chilly metal. Steel needed sharpening, she thought morosely, but enchanted blades should not need their edges cared for. Particularly, swords that chilled to the touch should not need a living hand to tend them, and even wearing a glove she could feel the icy bite and see her breath in the air despite the claustrophobic warmth of the cheap, dirty lodgings. That might have been an unkind estimation of her living situation, but something about sharpening Grasp always put her in a foul mood.
No, not just something; memories put Rose in a foul mood. She looked up at the rickety door of another bunkroom that might as well have been the sister of any of the other various barracks and stay-houses she had graced with her presence before, and tried to put the smell of blood out of her nostrils. Old blood, new blood, and fresh death which smelled like shit. Death was an unkind mistress to the body after the spirit had gone. Initially, they would excrete. Then the bacteria in their guts would start eating them from the inside, the gas would build up, and the corpses would bloat. Further than that, and things got uglier.
And she had chosen to stay in the heart of it. At least the screaming had stopped a while ago. Undead constructs had already set about cleaning up the mess. Rose assumed that they must have been dragged out of the sewers because it seemed to her like the runny flesh and pale expressions had been those of drowned men. After rising to see what the scraping sounds had been, Rose had shut the door on them and let them continue their work. They weren't hers. She didn't command them. And someone needed to clean up the blood, since that someone was not, under any circumstances, going to be the Dread Inquisitor Renarde, last of the Forgotten House, and probably - if she could manage it - the faith's new leader. So she had gone back to her room without comment and shut the door and sat down and drew out Grasp, because Grasp helped her think. Something about the touch of the freezing iron cleared her thoughts, like jumping into ice water.
She looked down at the sword. She drew the stone against the edge, again.
Her teeth clicked together. She stopped to work the chill out of her hands again, and failing, she tucked them beneath her thick shirt. With Grasp leaning on the edge of the bench beside her and her hands safely freezing her armpits for her, she stared at the wall and tried to remember the last time she had been stuck in the center of a charnal house. Never, actually. A clinic? No. Perhaps the ritual that had brought her into the fold might have been the closest thing. There had been a lot of blood then, and a lot of dead people, though none more recently dead than she herself.
Rose blinked. She did not want to think on that overly long, so instead she pondered other things.
Tomorrow she would go east and look at the Hullack, tour the shrine, and end her evening in an Inn, to conclude it by meeting someone she thought might be entertaining. The Witch had been full of interesting ideas and Rose had listened, though in truth she didn't give much of a damn. If he were going to be the one, so be it. If someone else, that didn't bother her. But Rose liked knowing the faces of people who were liable to kill her.
Something about skulking in the shadows offended her, proving that Clarabella Banda had preserved a sense of humour when she ascended to godhood.
Prayer was how you got in contact with a god. Blood sacrifice worked better than prayers, and Rose's blood better than most. But Esolen had also had an interesting idea, and it had got Rose to thinking. That book sat on her bedside table, dog-eared by now with the intent study she had given it lately. The faith would need a new rally call, and she had the opportunity to find one, provided the Dread Queen could be cajoled to speak. With the Island sank, and the shrines weakened from the preparations demanded by Manzahar at the time, there were few enough places of power through which she could be reliably contacted, and they would need newer ones.
The plan she had begun to form on the shoreline when she had dragged her waterlogged, near-drowned arse out of the Wyvernwater had latched on to the things she had around her, what few things there were, and Rose trusted her gut instinct. It had rarely failed her before.
Rose knew what she needed. And she knew, if she weren't careful, it might come at a cost she might not be willing to pay.
The only way to know would be to try, and that thought left her colder than just her hands could account for.
Wow. Been awhile since I wrote in here. With the attack from Manzahar, I had not the time nor the inclination to even open this up. He is gone now, we defeated him. All the friends came together to end him. My Glade was untouched. More fey can now be Freed. Oh right. Since my last entry. I revived the glade. A lot of my blood is now in the glade. But it is healthy and well again. This time no evil tree stealing the freed souls.
Damion dumped me. broke my heart, but he was going crazy, so maybe for the best? Val is engaged now. Happy for her. Tom got her last name too. More happy times. Now if I can find someone, maybe one of the Satyrs? They are cute and have beautiful music. Wish I can see Poppy again, want to play with her. Maybe even teach me how to turn people into chickens.
The root on my Arm, it grew after I revived the Glade. Now bark is creeping up my arm. Not growing but its there now. Chris is trying to take over Tilverton. Don't really care. As long as I have my glade, maybe I will make a little hidden away home next to it? I need to do that.
Planning to save Jon from his tree. Also planing to take friends to meet my Queen. I want to meet her and pledge myself to her court.
The creation process of a singular Cold Iron Gauntlet meant to fit only Valeria on her left hand. Not show below but can be inferred via the yellow text is the creation of the Cold Iron Gauntlets via the forge.
First the blacksmith must get measurements and have a blueprint for what he is to refine.
Next the blacksmith compares the measurements to the raw Cold Iron Gauntlet.
With measurements and knowledge of how the gauntlet is to be shaped the blacksmith heads over to the anvil.
A quick prayer to Gond from the blacksmith is offered before the refinement process.
The refinement process requires the blacksmith to super heat the gauntlet, shape it, then temper it, and quench it. The blacksmith uses this process to reshape the gauntlet as if it were made of clay.
Finally the gauntlet is completed and our blacksmith must again be a Battlemage and shut down a certain Meat Market for lack of proper permits.
The Grey Area
Grafting is, by and far, what necromancers would call the pinnacle of achievement in their line of work. It is a grueling, brutal process that requires a higher understanding of the functions of the physical body - much more so if one is talking about the realm of incorpreal grafts.
Generally, the process is extremely brutal on not only the person receiving the graft, but the person the graft is being taken from. In most cases of physical grafting (say, the transfer of an arm from one person to another), the person whom the arm is being removed to must be alive, because the body part must be kept as fresh and functioning as possible when attached to it's new body. This does not necessarily hold true for incorpreal grafts, but knowledge of them is slim as it is not commonly seen.
In our pursuit of the Meat Market, we have encountered some very unseemingly cominbations of grafting - below is a compendium of what we have seen, as well as theories on what other things are possible, and the strategies employed to destroy such abominations.
I've visited the ancient library with the help of Pathfinder Daxx and a sembian, probably a mobster.
Ini-Herit was not who I expected, but his presence and words were undoubtly powerful. He said eight suns will rise and then the false sun will fade. The first one to rise will be Caiphon the Violet.
In the end he told me what I seek is the Spark of Divinity. I've been told there are three of them and that Elodie, Hardcastle and Manzahar have them.
Doing a little research I came to the conclusion that Manzahar will be the best path, so I'll try to contact him.
This is the sort of thing that can drive someone nuts; the knowing. The wondering. The questioning. Keeping things quiet for fear that I’ll appear insane at best and visionary at worst. I risk diluting my own message with missteps and half-understood information, chancing risks of a future that may never come to being. My mind wanders the fog of an uncertain future with half-remembered truths and uneasy certainty in the pit of my stomach that says something is coming.
I see now why chronomancy was barred by the gods. The knowing is the worst. It racks the mind with concerns of what could be and what might never be-- our minds lead us deep into the fog only to abandon us as we wander the mists looking for shapes familiar and concrete. In our knowledge, we seek reason and the path to the outcome we’ve seen, but sharing it with others? Asking others to shoulder the burden we’ve had thrust upon us is to invite doubts of others- and ourselves- into our mental processes.
I know what I saw, I know who I met and I’ve met others that knew her too, and I remember what the future guard said to us: “It started in Old Town.”
The events seem to be unfolding now, I hear rumors from the city about undead wandering old town and I can’t help but think back on our meeting with Shyreesa and fighting through the necropolis of the future. Was it one possible future, or is this the events unfolding that she and her minions had set in motion possibly even before I was born?
The markings in the eastern grave yard send people her way, the well of souls we saw in the vault being overseen by her thralls and assistants was in full swing, and then Shyreesa herself. . . .could she be in league with Manhazar and that ilk? Does it truly matter?
It forces me to ask, though, who am I really?
Do I speak of what I think I know or do I do as I have been doing these last couple months and continue digging in and fortifying our position in preparation for a catastrophe that may never come? I ask no one to shoulder this burden, I thrust it upon no one since I don’t believe it necessarily to be as it appears. But neither do I have the sounding board of other’s reason and warmth.
To speak sincerely is to display the power of words, to let your fears or others’ speak through you is to diminish yourself and your power. I bide my time, quietly directing things to ensure the best outcomes can be had without giving voice to my concerns and fears. Building the walls that will keep us safe before the threats are visible and smiling privately instead of answering as the questions are asked. They would not understand my motives even if they could understand the language with which I convey them.
I speak the language of power, I sacrifice connection for the mask of capability.
Thus I am; powerful and alone.
Redemption Daxx seem to think people can go down this road. I wonder if I can be redeemed. I kill quite a few people before coming here. Yes they where are criminals but I tortutred them took there deaths slow. For the first time I feel like I am starting to make friends, and if the find out about my past I might lose them. Maybe I should take to Daxx some about redemption maybe even a monster like myself can be redeemed.
A note is tucked into his book. A paltry attempt at literature or record keeping. Perhaps a scene describes through the eyes of some imaginary observer. He seemed to like it enough to keep it. -
"In a bar in old town, Kingsmen glower at a group of Sembians over their ales. The Sembians stare back whilst crushing walnuts with their bare hands. Knee cappers and shivs run knife edges over stone, dimly illuminated from the shadows of the pub. A gater stands at the door with her hand on the pommel of her hammer. A noticeable absence of any Archprelates. In the center of them all, A sullen radiance is exuded by Lord Bhaliir. He takes center stage in this unholy supper. His apostles grim, only too eager for the lord to falter, so that the fighting can continue. The need for authority in old town seemingly met, however temporarily, by a council of reluctant peers."
I have lost count of the days...
One of the others went mad today from the waiting. He (or she? I cannot tell) began beating frantically against the sealed doors until they lost functionality. I confess I found the sight a wonderful break from staring at the floor. Stimulation. I lack it in this place. Now perhaps, I begin to realize the cost of my decision to serve the clan in this second life.
I have examined my body fully. It is marvellous work. The height has taken time to grow used to. I do not blink, nor does my sight change. I am flexible and strong, without fatigue. There is not any pain or comfort. A strange feeling, to not bear pain or pleasure.
From my 174 years as a fighting dwarf, I had accumulated numerous injuries, aches, and old wounds. These pains had been a part of me, though I knew most of them not, having bore the burdens so long. Only did I understand in the lifting of the burden of pain, how it had defined my experience. My drive to exist. My drive to lust after riches and womenfolk. My failed marriage and forsaken offspring. My 'death'.
I am free and yet...
I feel nothing now. Nothing at all.
I have nothing left of Tagor. My raven from the crypt. the one that saved me from a paladin but was killed doing so. They took my last feather of him. The one focus I had to stay calm and feel safe in the city. I already lost control and had to flee to outside the gate to decimate a tree with my dark magics. I will need to find something else that can act as a new focus. I do not want to cause an incident within the walls. They will arrest me for sure if that happened. The feather was not harming anyone, why did it be considered contraband? The gem she gave me in place was pretty, but its not the same. I can't use it as a focus. Especially no with this martial law. Not even allowed outside in the calming night. Is this even more punishment for me being cursed? It is becomeing worst than stoning. At least those wounds healed over time.
War wizards? Was talked to today by a herald of Lord Bahliir. Would they accept someone like me in their ranks? Someone of my dark magics? I hope so. I hate having no options.
It's a simple matter for us wizards to wield negative energy. I myself know how to manipulate it in a number of ways, though I tend not to use it for anything but research, of which I have been doing a great deal lately. I've become intimately familiar with the process of focusing negative energy into a ray, feeling that creeping death coalesce at my fingertips. It feels dangerous, exhilarating to control that power. No wonder so many of us become tempted by the dark arts.
Yet for a wizard to wield positive energy... It shouldn't be that strange. Both types of energy are normal, natural, exist in their respective planes and have for longer than humanoid society. But I was never able to harness positive energy until recently. It required an expensive alteration and a lot of searching to find the reagent. I think I understand why it works (the "how" wasn't an issue), but I can't fathom why positive energy is so elusive to arcane casters.
It's clearly possible. Some whose talent comes naturally rather than from study know how to harness positive energy. And really, so much the arcane arts tampers with life, death and undeath...so why can't we use life energy to help others the way divine casters can?
Stranger still is the idea of divine energy, another type of energy I recently learned how to somewhat control, tenuous though that control might be. And what a coincidence that I discovered this power so soon after beginning my training to represent the faith of Akadi. Yet this wasn't a power bestowed upon me by my patron--at least, it didn't seem like it, and I'm pretty sure I would know the difference.
Why does divine magic work at all, I wonder. I understand that the knowledge is gifted to divine casters by their gods. But what makes it so different from arcane magic? Both can be used to create wands and potions. Both can be scribed as scrolls. So why shouldn't a wizard be able to translate divine spells into something arcane? Divine magic isn't something unknowable; the knowledge might be imparted by the gods as part of an exchange, but it's still knowledge humanoids can hold.
I am completely baffled. I'm going to keep trying to figure out the fire elemental orb, which means blowing up more dummies. Should be relaxing.
You won’t believe it, dad.
I was getting invited into a gnome’s band of criminals - because you know how it is in every city: you got a sword, you’re a hin and no name to you and they’ll think you’re a goon right away... But as this gnome yapped on I spotted a group in the corner wearing gold.
Yep. I met the recruiter of the Golden Guard - this Raynor looker with a nice hat was talking to another no-name like me. I jumped in the wagon however I could and soon I was travelling with the big boys.
We fought -orcs- and even -undead- on the way to their keep, dad, but I pulled through. They’ll test me tomorrow for real with another job.
Their leader, Esolen, gave me a pair good boots to start... I can’t believe I’m doing this but I’m doing this!
If I make it, dad...
I got this!
The Crow, the Saranja and I wander the woods. There is a gnoll to hunt, you see - he was causing the Crow nightmares... And the birds of a black, black feather stand for each other’s dreams.
I wish the mangy cat was here to hunt with us like we did before. And I wish... No, I will find Magnus someday. It’s not the same without him at the table. Or without his rawr rawr angry Dingdeng battlecries of fire.
Moonsea Ride statue wasn't Dwarven, doubt it was even Jotun in make, what a shame. How the Mistral managed to think the two were similar is beyond me, but manlings are strange.
Perhaps I'll lead a hunt today.
Giantkin slain: 23
Orcs slain: 62
Traitors slain: 0
In the Dream... The voice beckoned silently
Reaching deep... Through our thoughts once violent, ill
Taking our hand, they said that everything was done
Follow their light, wait no more for peace to dawn!
Now the time has come! And we are a single form!
At last there are no senseless thoughts
And all of Toril's pain... Now a dark and muddled dream
At last, welcome to... Eternity
Prepare to head home! The Dream beckons, charming us
The wind... Is bringing us, our ancestors
So let us see their eyes! Let us dive deep like a child!
It is time to be reborn, to start...
So come on, goodbye! All is behind... And everything's alright
Enjoy the flight and gaze... Into the Stars
Now we're saved
I remember walking and hunting, but not really...thinking. Doing what my body needed, as I had no appetite. Dazed and broken. I couldn't get the carnage out of my head, or the loss. Not surprising, given how young I was...
Music pierced the fog. Oh, how beautiful it was. It dragged me from the murk of self-loathing. I stalled where I was, changing course to follow it. It called me, more than just beauty, but something threatening to swallow me and erase the darkness, as well as my sanity...
When I next came to, a masked woman was removing her hands from my face, where a wet cloth lay. An ethran. A healer. I couldn't read her face, though her posture seemed...hesistant to be treating me.
I called to her, in her tongue. I'm sure my pronunciation was terrible, between being half-delirious and being a foreigner. We were at the foot of a large tree, almost golden. Blood was spilled nearby...
Warned her. About the red mages and their destruction. She spoke in a lilting tongue - to the tree - before disappearing. I was too weak to do anything, my legs burning as feeling returned to them. Nauseous.
With my dreams I see
So beautiful and divine
A princess nay a goddess
So holy and sublime
I tried to take your hand
But then you fade away
I pray to the heavens
Beg for you to stay
Why is I only see you
Deep within my mind
My love my heart my soul
This day I hope to found.
If I thought the interview with Minerva was intense, I was not prepared for Grandark. He's just so overjoyed to stab evil with his halberd, but otherwise, he is a being of few words. He totally didn't want to answer questions and actually seemed upset that I summoned him outside of combat. Eventually I got him to open up. Took considerable strain but I managed to convince him to answer the few questions I had.
I sent copies of my first book out to the Librarian and some local adventurers that I made friends with. I'm still waiting on feedback, so here's hoping the best. I went to the tailor and updated my outfit. I wanted to feel more like the Celestial Summoner that I am. Cost me some coin but I think the outfit looks good, without restricting my movement while adventuring.
I'm meeting more and more people and learning fellow adventurers names on the regular basis. So much so, that when I travel with them, people are genuinely impressed with my abilities. In fact I met a Magus named Tharey that wanted my opinion on the nature of the planes and how they intersect within the town of Tilverton. He mentioned a Priest of Gond named Ampharen had used a device called a Dimensional Anchor there to keep it stable and the Plane of Shadow away. He's concerned that things aren't still quite right. So we'll be making the journey there some day soon to investigate. A man named Horace also has an interest in it's going on's.
I'll be working on my next volume here and attach a copy when I can.
Miss you and Pa,
*A pale hand shifts through the many bones and tattered mantles of the Brotherhood of the Reborn Sun that covered this old, forgotten journal... And grasps it, jerking it free from the skeletal arm of a certain female. *
Elections create desperate men
Why in the Nine Pits of Hell did I ever sign up for this election? I do not wish to run a city, all work and no fun. No, all I wanted was to become Warden of the Militia, because by doing so, I could make a difference... Foolish girl, you should have known better. That serpent, disgusting, envious little she devil. There is no doubt that she is a politician, with everything that is wrong with such. I do not stand a chance, so why did I spent the last gold I had from father, trying to chase this silly thunder!
All I have learned from this, is that I have no appeal to the greedy mercenaries, calling themselves adventurers. Either they envy my name, or they hate me because of it. TSK! Even the Golden Company, would much rather vote on the snake than upon someone who actually gives a damn. Just goes to show that when the boat starts taking water, it is every man for himself.
Myron and his filthy mutt Jack, their lack of respect stunned me. Such language, such horrid dislike. I wonder what father would have done. Kicked in Myron's yellow teeth? I suppose I will find out, when I the only vote cast upon me is my own, and I stand there, humiliated, thinking a good heart and honesty can make a difference in this city. I guess by then, the harlot will be the most powerful mortal in the north, and once that happens, neither my sword work nor my noble papers can protect me.
Once this election is done with, I will have to kiss goodbye to the dream of becoming the next Lord Thundersword. Mr Fen will undoubtedly not look my way should he win, and when Foril intent on placing the powerhungry priest in charge of the Kings Militia... I guess I shall kiss good bye to my naive dreams, and start growing up...
LIST OF FACTIONS IN ARABEL
The militia. Of Arabel. The citizens seem to have very little faith in them. Not permitted in Old Town.
Goals: Be a militia
Known members: Lord Hawklin (warden), Sergeant Ricardo Snyden, Private Ysolt Argenta
Brotherhood of the Archprelates
Human supremacists, gods-haters, bloodstone dealers, possible bloodstone manufacturers.
Goals: Eliminate religious factions. Have bloodstones. Ban poetry?
Known members: Yuri Mharet (aka the Godless, the Chosen of Man, Piglet)
Suspected members: Daughter of Man (all but confirmed)
Worshipers of the Dread Queen. Based out of Old Town.
Goals: Rid Old Town of House Bhalir
Known members: Vorigan (aka the Arisen, the Disgraced Drunkard)
The Church of Akadi
Church of the goddess of air and freedom.
Goals: Rebuild and resettle Tilverton.
Known members: Mistral Ophirae Miavyre
The Gilded Gents
Thieves' guild? Leader signs their bulletins as King Cassiel (stylized this way).
Goals: Bring order to Old Town. Eliminate bloodstone traders. Likely motivated by morals.
Known members: Finn
Suspected members: Claeryss, Ben
The Golden Guard
Goals: Make money I guess
Known members: Vindo, Ibrahim, Gale, Merrick
Noble house residing in Old Town.
Goals: Bring order to Old Town under the banner of nobility. Likely not motivated by morals.
Known members: Lord Foril Bhalir, Priestess Elodie Ledoux
Suspected members: Bernard Huxley
The Mage's Guild
Led (I think) by a very fashionable half-dragon.
Known members: Atticus the half-dragon
Suspected members: Claeryss
Got possessed by an evil sword one time. I shot arrows at him afterward because 5000 lyons sounded pretty nice. I missed. I think he forgave me. Possibly is a member of House Bhalir. Definitely is at least on their payroll.
Uppity noble. Unknown whether she has any retainers. Heavily invested in the eradication of the bloodstone trade. Might hold a grudge against me for insulting her/speaking the damn truth. Oh well.
Werepanther. I've heard rumours there are other lycans in the city.
Note: Find out if Yurin knows him.
The Red Lady
Nothing is known.