Excerpts from the journal of one Father Chains
427 IE, 36th day of Sun's Rest
On this day I have finally been accepted into the Imperial Academy. Seven years in the Legion with all the horror there entailed, and nearly three decades of begging, theft, and every sort of graft imaginable before that, and I am now a citizen of the Empire, with all the rights and privileges entailed. Tentative inquiries with the clergy have been made. The expected offer from the Girraesen Brotherhood was made, but I think we all understood it as a mere formality, a nod to my term of service. No, the Brothers of the Warlord don't want me any more than I want them. On the other hand, the Begging Brothers of Barenthis made overtures as well, and those, at least seemed sincere. I'll probably take them up. The duties are simple enough, and it still gives me access to the Great Library and that's all I really need ...
...431 IE, 19th day of the Harvest
...some strange texts in the Library. Evidence of the Damned, perhaps? Hard to say yet, but I'll keep looking. Dangerous, though. Any remote link to sorcery is sufficient for charges of blasphemy. But if they're here, in the Academy, then there's something important here. If they're willing to risk their lives for it, can I do less? Well. I could, I suppose. ...
433 IE, 1st day of Sun's Birth
More and more cryptic signs. Found some of the so-called "forbidden texts" buried in a shelf devoted to thousand year old inventories. Several mention a "Gral". Going by the number of smudged thumb-prints on the pages that mention it, I'd guess that's what they're looking for. Careful research tells me that Gral is an Eidallic word meaning "cup of life". Amazing that these tomes survived, nearly every hint of the Eidar was eliminated in the Purges, especially anything related to their heretical cult practices. Must proceed cautiously.
436 IE, 34th day of Sun's Rest
Have managed to track down the majority of the heretical texts secreted in the Academy. Most are now hidden behind the loose stone beneath my sleeping pallet. Knew the theft wouldn't go unnoticed, have been contacted by man who claims to represent the Damned. Not sure if I will survive this meeting. If they kill me, at the least I will have the satisfaction, pathetic as it may be, that they will read this and find out that I am not an Imperial spy.
-Later-
Still alive. Unnerving, seeing a man and knowing that he is a sorcerer. The only sorcerer I've ever seen before tonight is the Emperor's Shadow, the poor wretch. Blinded, chained, bound utterly to the will of his Emperor. No surprise that so many prefer death, or at least the promise of it. Confirmed my suspicions, though, they are looking for the Gral. According to [a name has been scratched out] it's not a myth. Lost texts from the Scholastic Wars mention it. Absurdly enough, they indicate that our pantheon was produced by this Gral! [name removed] believes that it's an exaggeration, that the balance of power between mere men and sorcerers is simply so skewed that to those without sorcery, a sorcerer appeared to be god-like. Can't help but wonder, though. If that's the case, why are he and his peers hiding in a rough cavern in the sewers, terrified of exposure?
440 IE, Feast of Anware
While the multitudes celebrate the festival for Anware, Fate, I celebrate something of my own. Nearly four years of intense study are starting to pay off. The throat-wrenching incantation finally produced a light in the cup of my hand! Not the god-like power I've been led to believe, but still. My will has altered reality. My word has shaped what IS. Unfortunately, I embark on a pilgramage to Vael with my Brothers, and won't return for at least two seasons. Not possible to continue study, let alone practice under these conditions. Take the bitter with the sweet, though. When I return I shall throw myself whole-heartedly into the study. Ah- nearly forgot,! It seems to have so little relevance now, but I have been promoted, finally. I've been given the name "Chains", to remind me and all those I come in contact with of the time the Carthoni were enslaved by the Eidar. Apparently it's meant to make the tithes more forthcoming.
445 IE, 13th day of Sun's Fire
My 50th birthday. Anware has given me a great gift, and a great curse all at once. Fickle bitch! Small wonder she's called the Whore, She screws us all in the end. I know where to find the Gral, but Jervais is getting suspicious. Had to move all my material in the dead of night. Hid a copy of one of the less-important heretical texts in his chambers, though. If that bastard brings charges, I'll accuse him in turn. Slinking little coward. Will take a week to finish preparations to join the Damned, I think it's best to have an exit in place. Just in case.
An Old Man's Diary
-
*Ninefingers
- Posts: 58
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
445 IE, 23rd day of Sun's Fire
Jervais is dead. Ironically enough, I didn't have to act after all. He wasn't skulking around to spy. Someone else, Brother Nails, I believe, reported him for heresy. When they tore apart his chambers for evidence they found not only the text I hid there, but two other heretical texts, a folio filled with foulness I'll not mention, dreamdust, poppy tincture, an assortment of mushrooms and other intoxicants, fire nettles and another poison I didn't recognize. Which leaves two possibilities of our departed Jervais; that he was a sorcerer with a host of addictions who somehow managed to look normal in spite of what would have been an impressively stuporous state with unmentionable hungers and the disposition of an assassin, or that my Brothers all hated him, and have their own host of forbidden lusts that bear consideration. Regardless, he was quickly put before the Tribunal, who found him guilty of sedition, treason, blasphemy, use of forbidden intoxicants, and heresy. I only pen down what happened as a reminder of what I risk, that I never forget that what I do is dangerous. As it is written in the Book of Judgements, for his heresy he was taken to the wharf and taken to the center of the bay, to the Judicial Apparatus. There he was stripped and paraded around the isle, lashed with every step for his treason. When he stumbled, he was doused in vinegar. One he reached the center he was taken to the platform, suspended over a six foot hole through the isle and chained in place. For blasphemy, his tongue was torn out, his eyes removed, and his fingers severed. These were all dropped in the hole, to attract the sharks. He was then flayed, and lowered into the water, where the sharks rendered the rest of his judgement.
I feel ill. It wasn't my fault, not completely, yet I still regret my hand in it. I tried praying for forgiveness, but the silence failed to bring comfort.
449 IE, 47th day of Harvest
Spent the day engrossed in the expected chores. Sat on a corner wearing the Beggar's Mask. What a ridiculous conceit! The real beggars have crude masks of driftwood, tied with ragged strings of fishgut, in their filthy rags, and I sit in samite, on a stool of gilded oak, with a mask carved of ivory and bound with silk. My begging bowl is rich mahogany, polished to an eye-watering sheen. "Generosity is the gift of the God, and it's return will give further return, tenfold" my ass. I can feel the resentment of the beggars. Copper rattles in their crude bowls, while silver and even gold overflow in mine. I gave them half of my "earnings" when I left.
450 IE, 67th day of Sun's Rest
Finally. I'm ready to go. I've been given permission to make a pilgrimage to the Beggar's Shrine in Aerost. I'm not expected to return for two years. The caravans would take me all the way there, but I only need go halfway. The Eidar ruin of Ir'thayal lies but a few miles West of Verilsburg. I'll leave there, and rejoin at Varest. My station being what it is, I won't be questioned by the driver, at least not openly. The Damned need not know, at least not until I return.
451 IE, 24th day of Sun's Birth
The ruins are more extensive than I'd thought, and much, much harder than I'd anticipated to explore. It doesn't help that life in the Academy has softened me...well. That's not exactly true. It's turned me into a fat, lazy bastard. My girth prevents me from exploring, and if it weren't for my sorcery, I'd have collapsed a week ago. In spite of all the setbacks, though, I think I have found the way! Unfortunately, I think it's through an Elf-gate. At the center of the ruin is a great stone circle, with a second, smaller one enclosed. I've deciphered the runes, and I think I can open it, but what happens then? Will I ever be able to come back? No one has crossed such a thing and lived, but I've come too far to turn away now. I will leave this journal here, enclosed in a preserving Ward for any who follow. My translations, and a diagram for opening the Elf-gate are included, though I don't recommend that anyone follow me if they find it.
????
No idea how long it's been. Time seemed still in that place, though it feels I must have been there weeks, at least. That makes no sense, I know, but it's the only way I can express it. I can't do justice to what I saw, but I must at least try.
Beyond the gate, I found myself in a fog-ridden place. All was grey and quiet, almost a void, if not for the rock-like structures floating around. The gateway behind me was gone, only a floating silver disk in it's place. With no other choice, I walked. Eventually my wandering took me to a cavern nestled in a valley between two hills. Inside, the tunnel opened up into a chamber surrounded by sarcophagi of the same stone as made up the cavern itself. Each had a face carved on it...very, very familiar faces. These faces adorned the temples, were embossed on several books. They were the faces of the Gods. I immediately recognized the morose features of Barenthis, and the rest followed. Curious, I pushed open the tomb bearing his features...but it was empty. Not even bone-dust and spiders inside, just...nothing. The rest were similarly empty. I went deeper, through a narrow opening, into yet another chamber. In the center, the Gral! Not as I imagined it. Not a cup at all, save in a metaphorical sense. A pool of radiant liquid gold at the heart. Oddly enough, stacks of weapons, armor, and other possessions against the walls. Bronze swords and axes, armor and shield. All in antique styles not seen in the Empire in thousands of years, but curiously new-looking. Un-ravaged by age. Around the pool, deep marks, like knee-prints. I confess, I was frightened. I didn't understand what it had all meant. But again, I'd come too far to walk away now. My own knees marked the earth beside those who had come before, and I dipped my hand in the pool...
Here, I fear, is where things stop making sense. As my fingers graced the surface, my vision flashed pure white...then I could see myself, floating in a void. Empty, save for brilliantly colored spheres strung like lanterns in the void. I heard nothing. Not just silence, but an absolute, profound emptiness of noise. And then there came a sussuruss of whispers in the void, formless sound that didn't so much break the silence as give it a frame. Everything faded again, and I saw the Gral Chamber once more. Empty. The gear piled against the walls was gone, the divots in the earth were gone. Pristine. Then men and women piled in, a score of them. Fierce in their blood-smeared armor. As they laid eyes on the pool, they erupted in a silent cheer. They stripped off armor, piled their arms next to it. I heard nothing, even though there must have been a great clatter. Then they turned to the pool again, and I saw their faces. The Gods! Only now, they were flesh. Human. Scarred, uglier than the faces I've known all my life, marred by lives hard-lived. But the same, under that. As one, they knelt before the pool, and one after the other ducked their heads in, drinking deep. In the next instant there was another figure in the room, one I couldn't see clearly, and then things went black. When the vision returned, the room was as I had first seen it.
I awoke from the vision then, gripped by terror. Though I'd seen nothing, I knew none of the men and women I'd seen had walked out of the room. That shadowy figure...I knew it had killed them for their transgression. Their theft. I realized, with horror, that my fingers were in my mouth, mindlessly sucking the golden liquid from them, and I bolted in terror, returning to that silver disk. Thoughtlessly I ran to it, tripped, and found myself sprawled on the grass in the middle of the stone circle.
Jervais is dead. Ironically enough, I didn't have to act after all. He wasn't skulking around to spy. Someone else, Brother Nails, I believe, reported him for heresy. When they tore apart his chambers for evidence they found not only the text I hid there, but two other heretical texts, a folio filled with foulness I'll not mention, dreamdust, poppy tincture, an assortment of mushrooms and other intoxicants, fire nettles and another poison I didn't recognize. Which leaves two possibilities of our departed Jervais; that he was a sorcerer with a host of addictions who somehow managed to look normal in spite of what would have been an impressively stuporous state with unmentionable hungers and the disposition of an assassin, or that my Brothers all hated him, and have their own host of forbidden lusts that bear consideration. Regardless, he was quickly put before the Tribunal, who found him guilty of sedition, treason, blasphemy, use of forbidden intoxicants, and heresy. I only pen down what happened as a reminder of what I risk, that I never forget that what I do is dangerous. As it is written in the Book of Judgements, for his heresy he was taken to the wharf and taken to the center of the bay, to the Judicial Apparatus. There he was stripped and paraded around the isle, lashed with every step for his treason. When he stumbled, he was doused in vinegar. One he reached the center he was taken to the platform, suspended over a six foot hole through the isle and chained in place. For blasphemy, his tongue was torn out, his eyes removed, and his fingers severed. These were all dropped in the hole, to attract the sharks. He was then flayed, and lowered into the water, where the sharks rendered the rest of his judgement.
I feel ill. It wasn't my fault, not completely, yet I still regret my hand in it. I tried praying for forgiveness, but the silence failed to bring comfort.
449 IE, 47th day of Harvest
Spent the day engrossed in the expected chores. Sat on a corner wearing the Beggar's Mask. What a ridiculous conceit! The real beggars have crude masks of driftwood, tied with ragged strings of fishgut, in their filthy rags, and I sit in samite, on a stool of gilded oak, with a mask carved of ivory and bound with silk. My begging bowl is rich mahogany, polished to an eye-watering sheen. "Generosity is the gift of the God, and it's return will give further return, tenfold" my ass. I can feel the resentment of the beggars. Copper rattles in their crude bowls, while silver and even gold overflow in mine. I gave them half of my "earnings" when I left.
450 IE, 67th day of Sun's Rest
Finally. I'm ready to go. I've been given permission to make a pilgrimage to the Beggar's Shrine in Aerost. I'm not expected to return for two years. The caravans would take me all the way there, but I only need go halfway. The Eidar ruin of Ir'thayal lies but a few miles West of Verilsburg. I'll leave there, and rejoin at Varest. My station being what it is, I won't be questioned by the driver, at least not openly. The Damned need not know, at least not until I return.
451 IE, 24th day of Sun's Birth
The ruins are more extensive than I'd thought, and much, much harder than I'd anticipated to explore. It doesn't help that life in the Academy has softened me...well. That's not exactly true. It's turned me into a fat, lazy bastard. My girth prevents me from exploring, and if it weren't for my sorcery, I'd have collapsed a week ago. In spite of all the setbacks, though, I think I have found the way! Unfortunately, I think it's through an Elf-gate. At the center of the ruin is a great stone circle, with a second, smaller one enclosed. I've deciphered the runes, and I think I can open it, but what happens then? Will I ever be able to come back? No one has crossed such a thing and lived, but I've come too far to turn away now. I will leave this journal here, enclosed in a preserving Ward for any who follow. My translations, and a diagram for opening the Elf-gate are included, though I don't recommend that anyone follow me if they find it.
????
No idea how long it's been. Time seemed still in that place, though it feels I must have been there weeks, at least. That makes no sense, I know, but it's the only way I can express it. I can't do justice to what I saw, but I must at least try.
Beyond the gate, I found myself in a fog-ridden place. All was grey and quiet, almost a void, if not for the rock-like structures floating around. The gateway behind me was gone, only a floating silver disk in it's place. With no other choice, I walked. Eventually my wandering took me to a cavern nestled in a valley between two hills. Inside, the tunnel opened up into a chamber surrounded by sarcophagi of the same stone as made up the cavern itself. Each had a face carved on it...very, very familiar faces. These faces adorned the temples, were embossed on several books. They were the faces of the Gods. I immediately recognized the morose features of Barenthis, and the rest followed. Curious, I pushed open the tomb bearing his features...but it was empty. Not even bone-dust and spiders inside, just...nothing. The rest were similarly empty. I went deeper, through a narrow opening, into yet another chamber. In the center, the Gral! Not as I imagined it. Not a cup at all, save in a metaphorical sense. A pool of radiant liquid gold at the heart. Oddly enough, stacks of weapons, armor, and other possessions against the walls. Bronze swords and axes, armor and shield. All in antique styles not seen in the Empire in thousands of years, but curiously new-looking. Un-ravaged by age. Around the pool, deep marks, like knee-prints. I confess, I was frightened. I didn't understand what it had all meant. But again, I'd come too far to walk away now. My own knees marked the earth beside those who had come before, and I dipped my hand in the pool...
Here, I fear, is where things stop making sense. As my fingers graced the surface, my vision flashed pure white...then I could see myself, floating in a void. Empty, save for brilliantly colored spheres strung like lanterns in the void. I heard nothing. Not just silence, but an absolute, profound emptiness of noise. And then there came a sussuruss of whispers in the void, formless sound that didn't so much break the silence as give it a frame. Everything faded again, and I saw the Gral Chamber once more. Empty. The gear piled against the walls was gone, the divots in the earth were gone. Pristine. Then men and women piled in, a score of them. Fierce in their blood-smeared armor. As they laid eyes on the pool, they erupted in a silent cheer. They stripped off armor, piled their arms next to it. I heard nothing, even though there must have been a great clatter. Then they turned to the pool again, and I saw their faces. The Gods! Only now, they were flesh. Human. Scarred, uglier than the faces I've known all my life, marred by lives hard-lived. But the same, under that. As one, they knelt before the pool, and one after the other ducked their heads in, drinking deep. In the next instant there was another figure in the room, one I couldn't see clearly, and then things went black. When the vision returned, the room was as I had first seen it.
I awoke from the vision then, gripped by terror. Though I'd seen nothing, I knew none of the men and women I'd seen had walked out of the room. That shadowy figure...I knew it had killed them for their transgression. Their theft. I realized, with horror, that my fingers were in my mouth, mindlessly sucking the golden liquid from them, and I bolted in terror, returning to that silver disk. Thoughtlessly I ran to it, tripped, and found myself sprawled on the grass in the middle of the stone circle.
-
*Ninefingers
- Posts: 58
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
451 IE, 75th day of Sun's Birth
Made it to Varest, fully expecting to have missed the caravan by months only to learn that I'd arrived three days ahead of it. By my calculation, the only way that is even remotely possible is for my time in the cave to have accounted for less than an hour. But that makes no sense, it took me at least a few hours to find the cavern, and it seems like I spent days, weeks, or a small eternity in the Gral cave. Don't really know what to make of what I saw yet. I'll have most of a year to consider the implications before I can discuss them with the Damned. As an aside, all this walking around has paid off, in a way. Finally starting to shed some of the fat I've packed on.
452 IE, 56th day of Sun's Rest
Meeting shortly with the Eldest, the frail glue that binds the Damned together. Was helping Annaik copy some sorcerous texts and cut my palm. Without thinking I Healed it. I hadn't even know I could do that, or didn't know I knew. Sorcery can't heal, that's a given. The tongue of the Gods flies imperfectly from mortal mouths and can only destroy. In my mind's eye, I saw myself, kneeling in that cavern, greedily sucking golden water from my fingers. What have I done?
-Later-
Met with the Eldest. She's the quintessential witch, in physical aspect at least. Hunched, old, with a twisted back and her face skewed in a perpetual grimace. She's more than a hundred years old, at least. I told her everything. That's not true. I told her everything, except where to find the Gral. Demonstrated the healing spell for her. She couldn't do it. Several of the Damned pressed me to learn it themselves. All failed. Discussion followed, about the Gral, about me. Annaik demanded that I immediately arrange an expedition, lead them all to the Gral. My vision returns to me, along with the certainty that all those whose arms and armor lay in the cavern never left it. I tell them my misgivings, and am called selfish. Annaik in particular was enraged, enough that he tried to strike me. So often, they see the soft man I am now, and forget the soldier I was. My reflexes may not be what they once were, but Annaik was a high-born clerk who bought a commission doing clerical work. I marched to the ends of the Empire and back, and fought during the Mareshi Rebellion. I did not offer to heal his broken arm, and he had the sense not to demand I do so. I looked back at the Damned before returning to my chamber. I saw hate in some...and fear in others.
460 IE, Feast of Girrais, Feast of War
I have been besieged these years since finding the Gral. The Eldest, though, agrees with me. I have changed, not just in the scope of sorcery, but in other, more subtle ways. I don't feel any older, for one. My back pains me, but it has since that Mareshi spearman nearly gored me. None of the infirmities of age have yet laid claim to me. The Eldest agrees that we need to see out what changes have been made before risking anyone else. She believes my misgivings are grounded. The Gral, she believes, is what made that motley batch of men and women into Gods. The shadowy presence, she says, was likely their shed mortality. Her theory is that tasting of the Gral has given me a link to them, that I am now a true priest, in the way the Eidar were said to be in legends. Wielder of divine gifts. To the rest, she says that it's a dangerous road to walk, that we need to understand the rules, the effects. Privately, she fears that some among them, Annaik in particular, would attempt to use the Gral to propel themselves to Godhood. A fool with the power of sorcery is one thing. A fool with the power of a God is terrifying.
Reason, however, does not prevail here. A schism is forming among the Damned, and both the Eldest and I fear that there will be something akin to civil war among us if we don't act to placate them. So it has been decided that on my next pilgrimage, I will return to the Gral cave and bring back a bottle of the water within. I'm not certain of this plan, but conflict is surely inevitable if I don't.
465 IE, 23rd day of Sun's Birth
Back in Ir'thayal. Annaik insisted on accompanying me. He doesn't trust me. Why is it that small men always project their own weakness on others? Had he been the first to find it, he would not have shared. I know this. I also know that, given opportunity, he will leave my body for the scavengers. I don't want to have to kill him. I had my fill of bloodshed and more in the Rebellion. I don't think he'll give me any option, though.
Made it to Varest, fully expecting to have missed the caravan by months only to learn that I'd arrived three days ahead of it. By my calculation, the only way that is even remotely possible is for my time in the cave to have accounted for less than an hour. But that makes no sense, it took me at least a few hours to find the cavern, and it seems like I spent days, weeks, or a small eternity in the Gral cave. Don't really know what to make of what I saw yet. I'll have most of a year to consider the implications before I can discuss them with the Damned. As an aside, all this walking around has paid off, in a way. Finally starting to shed some of the fat I've packed on.
452 IE, 56th day of Sun's Rest
Meeting shortly with the Eldest, the frail glue that binds the Damned together. Was helping Annaik copy some sorcerous texts and cut my palm. Without thinking I Healed it. I hadn't even know I could do that, or didn't know I knew. Sorcery can't heal, that's a given. The tongue of the Gods flies imperfectly from mortal mouths and can only destroy. In my mind's eye, I saw myself, kneeling in that cavern, greedily sucking golden water from my fingers. What have I done?
-Later-
Met with the Eldest. She's the quintessential witch, in physical aspect at least. Hunched, old, with a twisted back and her face skewed in a perpetual grimace. She's more than a hundred years old, at least. I told her everything. That's not true. I told her everything, except where to find the Gral. Demonstrated the healing spell for her. She couldn't do it. Several of the Damned pressed me to learn it themselves. All failed. Discussion followed, about the Gral, about me. Annaik demanded that I immediately arrange an expedition, lead them all to the Gral. My vision returns to me, along with the certainty that all those whose arms and armor lay in the cavern never left it. I tell them my misgivings, and am called selfish. Annaik in particular was enraged, enough that he tried to strike me. So often, they see the soft man I am now, and forget the soldier I was. My reflexes may not be what they once were, but Annaik was a high-born clerk who bought a commission doing clerical work. I marched to the ends of the Empire and back, and fought during the Mareshi Rebellion. I did not offer to heal his broken arm, and he had the sense not to demand I do so. I looked back at the Damned before returning to my chamber. I saw hate in some...and fear in others.
460 IE, Feast of Girrais, Feast of War
I have been besieged these years since finding the Gral. The Eldest, though, agrees with me. I have changed, not just in the scope of sorcery, but in other, more subtle ways. I don't feel any older, for one. My back pains me, but it has since that Mareshi spearman nearly gored me. None of the infirmities of age have yet laid claim to me. The Eldest agrees that we need to see out what changes have been made before risking anyone else. She believes my misgivings are grounded. The Gral, she believes, is what made that motley batch of men and women into Gods. The shadowy presence, she says, was likely their shed mortality. Her theory is that tasting of the Gral has given me a link to them, that I am now a true priest, in the way the Eidar were said to be in legends. Wielder of divine gifts. To the rest, she says that it's a dangerous road to walk, that we need to understand the rules, the effects. Privately, she fears that some among them, Annaik in particular, would attempt to use the Gral to propel themselves to Godhood. A fool with the power of sorcery is one thing. A fool with the power of a God is terrifying.
Reason, however, does not prevail here. A schism is forming among the Damned, and both the Eldest and I fear that there will be something akin to civil war among us if we don't act to placate them. So it has been decided that on my next pilgrimage, I will return to the Gral cave and bring back a bottle of the water within. I'm not certain of this plan, but conflict is surely inevitable if I don't.
465 IE, 23rd day of Sun's Birth
Back in Ir'thayal. Annaik insisted on accompanying me. He doesn't trust me. Why is it that small men always project their own weakness on others? Had he been the first to find it, he would not have shared. I know this. I also know that, given opportunity, he will leave my body for the scavengers. I don't want to have to kill him. I had my fill of bloodshed and more in the Rebellion. I don't think he'll give me any option, though.
-
*Ninefingers
- Posts: 58
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
465 IE, 26th day of Sun's Birth
I live yet, and my assassin lies dead in the Gral cave. Assassin, not just an envious man who attempted to kill me. The Eldest sent him to cut my throat! I can't return, now. The Damned will set me up for execution if I do, or kill me themselves. I had thought to send a message to the Eldest, let her know that I know, that I still live...but what would that do? Give her the same unease I have? As far as vengeance goes, it's barely even petty. But at the same time, I can't return anywhere in the Carthoni empire. No. There's a stream running through the ruins. There's game, there's fruit. Shelter. I'll just stay here, until I can think of a better idea.
475 IE, 33rd day of Harvest
Found me, finally. Knew it would happen eventually. At least a dozen of them, in the hills, coming this way. The breeze (and my magic!) carries their words to me. They've come for the Gral, and my head, but they will get neither. Ten long years I have been here. Do they imagine I've been idle? That I've not filled this ruin with wards? Do they really believe I'll let them have the Gral? I will not. I have listened to it's siren song through the Elf-gate, day after day. I resist, because I know, I know that I would be a terrible god, a murderous beast of a god. I would be a man with the power of a god. Is it any wonder that the Empire is so savage? The core is rotten. The heart of the Empire is a beast, corrupted by it's own power. What new attrocities would spring from the Damned, given that power? You can't drown bloodshed in shed blood, it makes no sense.
When they come, I will be gone. My wards will trigger, and Ir'thayal's heart will be destroyed. I should have destroyed the gate years ago, but I was weak. I hoped one day to balm my own fears...to go back through. Foolish! My weakness is the very reason I can't return to the Gral cave. I knew that the minute I cut Annaik down, but I feigned ignorance. My mistake, but I solve it now.
495 IE, 54th day of Sun's Rest
My birthday. A century old. By now, I should by rights be a stooped hunchback, toothless, muttering to himself. Mind and body reduced to a husk by time. But I am not. The taste of the Gral, it seems, preserves me. For now, at least. I don't think I am ageless. My hair has whitened since then, and my flesh sags here and there. My hands are spotted. It just seems to have slowed things. It's absurd, to look as I look, but feel as I feel.
Since gutting Ir'thayal, I have twice been recognized by the Damned, and thrice by Imperials. My own fault. I'm a poor hermit, I fear. I've stayed well clear of Carthon itself, but I keep sneaking into the libraries. I bluster my way in with vague references to the faith, and for the most part they accept it. I have been mapping the Eidar ruins. Not all have the elf-gates...but enough do to cause me concern. The Damned have been tracking the ruins themselves, and it's taken all my power and skill to remain a step ahead of them. According to my map, there is one last Eidar ruin. One last Elf-gate. I only found one reference to it's location, and though it pained me to do so, I burned the book it was in. If I destroy the Elf-gate in Hericymar, there will be no way to access the Gral. I don't know that it's the right thing to do, but leaving it for the Damned isn't an option. If anything, they've become more vicious over the years. Every time a sorcerer is killed, they retaliate and burn an outlying village, and all those within it to the ground. Every time they do that, the Inquisition redoubles their efforts to find and eliminate them. According to rumor, last year the Emperor bound a new sorcerer, so the Damned kidnapped a child. He was returned the next day, bound in foul imitation of the rituals to a mule. I can't fight them alone, and I can't trust anyone to join me. All I can do is deny them what they covet the most. It will have to be enough.
510? IE ???
Kept forgetting to write in this blasted thing. Finally remembered, but spent hours going through removing things best not recalled. Couldn't get out of Hericymar before they surrounded me. Bastards followed closer than I'd though. Had to jump through the Elf-gate even as the wards blew. Expected to be in that silver void once again, but found myself in a puddle of filth in a city instead. Sigil. City of Doors. Lower Ward. None of that meant anything at the time, of course. In retrospect, a stroke of luck. Had I arrived in the Hive, I'd have been robbed and possibly murdered. As it was, I was only robbed. Bastard that did it laughed in my face, said "Welcome to the Cage, berk!" and wandered off. Managed to sell what I'd had left for enough coin to rent a room for a few days, figure out what to do from there. A bath later, and here I sit, scribbling and wondering if I should burn this thing, or keep it. Part of me wants to keep it, because I'm forgetting things, lately. Old as I am, that's reasonable, I suppose. Unfortunately, I'm only forgetting the good things. The happy memories. "The caress fades, the cut scars". No trouble whatsoever recalling every bit of misery, rage, hate. It's the joy, love, and wonder that I'm losing. Perhaps if I were a better man, this wouldn't be the case. I'll keep it, for now, perhaps fill it with the things I know I'll forget...
I live yet, and my assassin lies dead in the Gral cave. Assassin, not just an envious man who attempted to kill me. The Eldest sent him to cut my throat! I can't return, now. The Damned will set me up for execution if I do, or kill me themselves. I had thought to send a message to the Eldest, let her know that I know, that I still live...but what would that do? Give her the same unease I have? As far as vengeance goes, it's barely even petty. But at the same time, I can't return anywhere in the Carthoni empire. No. There's a stream running through the ruins. There's game, there's fruit. Shelter. I'll just stay here, until I can think of a better idea.
475 IE, 33rd day of Harvest
Found me, finally. Knew it would happen eventually. At least a dozen of them, in the hills, coming this way. The breeze (and my magic!) carries their words to me. They've come for the Gral, and my head, but they will get neither. Ten long years I have been here. Do they imagine I've been idle? That I've not filled this ruin with wards? Do they really believe I'll let them have the Gral? I will not. I have listened to it's siren song through the Elf-gate, day after day. I resist, because I know, I know that I would be a terrible god, a murderous beast of a god. I would be a man with the power of a god. Is it any wonder that the Empire is so savage? The core is rotten. The heart of the Empire is a beast, corrupted by it's own power. What new attrocities would spring from the Damned, given that power? You can't drown bloodshed in shed blood, it makes no sense.
When they come, I will be gone. My wards will trigger, and Ir'thayal's heart will be destroyed. I should have destroyed the gate years ago, but I was weak. I hoped one day to balm my own fears...to go back through. Foolish! My weakness is the very reason I can't return to the Gral cave. I knew that the minute I cut Annaik down, but I feigned ignorance. My mistake, but I solve it now.
495 IE, 54th day of Sun's Rest
My birthday. A century old. By now, I should by rights be a stooped hunchback, toothless, muttering to himself. Mind and body reduced to a husk by time. But I am not. The taste of the Gral, it seems, preserves me. For now, at least. I don't think I am ageless. My hair has whitened since then, and my flesh sags here and there. My hands are spotted. It just seems to have slowed things. It's absurd, to look as I look, but feel as I feel.
Since gutting Ir'thayal, I have twice been recognized by the Damned, and thrice by Imperials. My own fault. I'm a poor hermit, I fear. I've stayed well clear of Carthon itself, but I keep sneaking into the libraries. I bluster my way in with vague references to the faith, and for the most part they accept it. I have been mapping the Eidar ruins. Not all have the elf-gates...but enough do to cause me concern. The Damned have been tracking the ruins themselves, and it's taken all my power and skill to remain a step ahead of them. According to my map, there is one last Eidar ruin. One last Elf-gate. I only found one reference to it's location, and though it pained me to do so, I burned the book it was in. If I destroy the Elf-gate in Hericymar, there will be no way to access the Gral. I don't know that it's the right thing to do, but leaving it for the Damned isn't an option. If anything, they've become more vicious over the years. Every time a sorcerer is killed, they retaliate and burn an outlying village, and all those within it to the ground. Every time they do that, the Inquisition redoubles their efforts to find and eliminate them. According to rumor, last year the Emperor bound a new sorcerer, so the Damned kidnapped a child. He was returned the next day, bound in foul imitation of the rituals to a mule. I can't fight them alone, and I can't trust anyone to join me. All I can do is deny them what they covet the most. It will have to be enough.
510? IE ???
Kept forgetting to write in this blasted thing. Finally remembered, but spent hours going through removing things best not recalled. Couldn't get out of Hericymar before they surrounded me. Bastards followed closer than I'd though. Had to jump through the Elf-gate even as the wards blew. Expected to be in that silver void once again, but found myself in a puddle of filth in a city instead. Sigil. City of Doors. Lower Ward. None of that meant anything at the time, of course. In retrospect, a stroke of luck. Had I arrived in the Hive, I'd have been robbed and possibly murdered. As it was, I was only robbed. Bastard that did it laughed in my face, said "Welcome to the Cage, berk!" and wandered off. Managed to sell what I'd had left for enough coin to rent a room for a few days, figure out what to do from there. A bath later, and here I sit, scribbling and wondering if I should burn this thing, or keep it. Part of me wants to keep it, because I'm forgetting things, lately. Old as I am, that's reasonable, I suppose. Unfortunately, I'm only forgetting the good things. The happy memories. "The caress fades, the cut scars". No trouble whatsoever recalling every bit of misery, rage, hate. It's the joy, love, and wonder that I'm losing. Perhaps if I were a better man, this wouldn't be the case. I'll keep it, for now, perhaps fill it with the things I know I'll forget...