Day 12, Month 11, AR157
It’s been four months since I left Athkatla. Four months since I last saw the Hounds, you’d think after this long the damned Cormyrians would leave me alone, I guess they take fugitives seriously. Arrived on a boat yesterday, at a port City called Cordor, on the Archipelago of Arelith, about as far from anywhere of importance as you can get and still be in Faerun.
The trip was rough, the Sea of Swords is brutal this time of the year, the crew were drenched, wet, miserable, a few were nearly lost overboard. The only reason I managed to even get passage was I paid a fortune to the captain to take me this late in the season, cost me every last cent I had, but I don’t think even the Hounds will think to find me here.
I’ve made enquiries into work since arriving, seems the Guard here is hiring, they are woefully understaffed, so will take anyone it seems. That should seem to back on my feet whilst I work out what my next move is.
Day 19, Month 11, AR157
The Guard here is worse off than I thought, criminally shorthanded, and seems they go through such rapid turnover and turmoil with each new Chancellor that they can’t truly grow and develop as an organisation. The Officers back in Cormyr would be spitting chips if they saw this. But, with turmoil there is opportunity, might be some good came of the officer training after all.
The citizens here are respectful, seeming to be happy to have a regular presence on the streets, and I’ve come to know most of them well enough. They always call greetings when they see me in the streets, it makes a nice change of pace.
I’ve been exploring the city more and more recently; they even have a Church to Helm in this backwater! The High Watcher there, girl by the name of Emma Young, pretty enough, but it’s her charisma that’s impressive, seems to have quite a following around her, and the respect of some important folks. I’ve made myself known to her, and offered he any aid she requires, as any true faithful would. She seemed grateful, but some of her aides were sceptical, two hin one called Telly, the other Peroim.
We had a lengthy discussion in the Church, precipitated by learning of an organisation the High Watcher is currently the leader of, the Order, they call it. Our musing centred around about how to best protect people within the reach of law; as with the Cormyrians, her flock were naive.
Negotiate with bandits, try and redeem them they argued. Soft hearted foolishness that only leads to more blood, and more innocent lives endangered; no, they will never convince me that unabashed delinquents deserve our aid, teach the rogue elements to fear the fate that awaits lawbreakers and peace will prevail.
For now they seem glad enough that another hand has joined the flock, and a guard at that, we’ll see how things progress over time. With enough innocent blood spilled I’m certain they will begin to understand.
A tattered leather journal
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A tattered leather journal
Last edited by Zan on Sat Feb 08, 2020 11:56 am, edited 1 time in total.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 9, Month 12, AR157
For all the commotion and gnashing of teeth the folks in these parts do, Cordor is a pretty quiet town.
No wars, no hordes at the gates, some minor gangs that cause a headache in the poorer part of town, but mercenaries and wandering adventurers take care of them; these folk really don’t know how well they have it. Spent the last few tendays sorting out minor things, directions to lost travellers, quietening the occasional raised voice in the town square, a bar fight that got a little too heated, all in all its like a holiday; and no sign of the Hounds. Might be the Vigilant One finally decided I deserved a break after all the work in his name on the Dragon Coast.
Day 15, Month 1, AR158
Note to self, never tempt fate by thinking you have a holiday from the scum and knee deep filth of the world. We’ve had a spate of murders lately, travellers, merchants, and even other guards attacked in the city, or on the trade roads heading north. All report the same thing, a lone goblin, calls himself Scabface and is a wicked combatant. All the guard have been warned to be aware of his presence, and ensure the alarm is sounded if he is spotted.
I’m resolved to go out and see this fella for myself, I refuse to believe that a lone goblin would be causing so many issues to so many seasoned individuals. There has to be some trick to it, maybe a lure into an ambush and he’s the only one seen?
I’ll find out soon enough, I’ll set out for the Bramble woods in the morning, apparently that’s his favourite hunting ground.
Day 18, Month 1, AR158
The little goblin snot stole my boots!
It’s true what they say, it is indeed a lone goblin, but this one is faster, more cunning, and far more dangerous than any I’ve ever encountered. The alert was sounded yesterday, Scabface was sighted on the Trade Route. I headed out of the city to the Bramble, if didn’t take long to encounter him and his overgrown Boar pet. They had slaughtered a band of Hobgoblins outside the Goblinoid Fortress.
He caught me by surprise, snuck out of the shadows to bar the path back to Cordor. He was cocky, sure of himself, and utterly unconcerned about the Guard. He wanted payment for being allowed to leave unharmed, I gave him my boots and needed to walk back barefoot, cut my feet up pretty bad on the fallen bramble thickets that dotted the Woodland floor.
I’m going to kill that little snot. I’m going to get my boots back.
Day 3, Month 2, AR158
Got everything I need, enough concentrated Strychnine to drop a dragon, let alone a goblin. Done my research on him, he’s got a few characteristics that can work in my favour.
Hoping that the little snot will be prideful enough to come under false pretences of negotiating a cessation of hostilities. Then I just need to get him to ingest the damned poison.
By Helm, this is a rubbish plan, but its worth a try.
*stuck into the Journal is a scrap of paper with the following details on it*
RACE: Goblin
SPECIALITY: Martial combat, Ambush attacks
KNOWN MELEE ARMAMENTS:
Dual Kama
KNOWN RANGED ARMAMENTS:
Shuriken imbued with Positive energy
OBSERVATIONS:
- Has a pet pig that can easily take down Hobgoblins, have not witnessed in battle with anything larger
- Expert in stealth
- Prideful, seemed offended that Cordor bounty is only 80,000 gold (Exploit ego in some fashion?)
- Has a basic knowledge of magic, has been observed using a variety of scrolls and wands in preparation for battle
- Is content to rob travellers and let them leave otherwise unharmed
- Exceptionally fast on his feet
HABITS:
- Frequently ambushes travellers on the Trade Route and Bramble Woods near Cordor
- Lets Pig feast on the bodies of fallen Hobgoblin foes (exploit habit by poisoning Hobgoblin tribes in the area?)
SPECULATIVE NOTES:
- Speed of movement, coupled with weapons choices assume some basic Monastic training
- Presence of an animal companion and the fact he does not leave tracks, assume some experience as a Ranger, thus grease, web, entangle spells will be ineffective
For all the commotion and gnashing of teeth the folks in these parts do, Cordor is a pretty quiet town.
No wars, no hordes at the gates, some minor gangs that cause a headache in the poorer part of town, but mercenaries and wandering adventurers take care of them; these folk really don’t know how well they have it. Spent the last few tendays sorting out minor things, directions to lost travellers, quietening the occasional raised voice in the town square, a bar fight that got a little too heated, all in all its like a holiday; and no sign of the Hounds. Might be the Vigilant One finally decided I deserved a break after all the work in his name on the Dragon Coast.
Day 15, Month 1, AR158
Note to self, never tempt fate by thinking you have a holiday from the scum and knee deep filth of the world. We’ve had a spate of murders lately, travellers, merchants, and even other guards attacked in the city, or on the trade roads heading north. All report the same thing, a lone goblin, calls himself Scabface and is a wicked combatant. All the guard have been warned to be aware of his presence, and ensure the alarm is sounded if he is spotted.
I’m resolved to go out and see this fella for myself, I refuse to believe that a lone goblin would be causing so many issues to so many seasoned individuals. There has to be some trick to it, maybe a lure into an ambush and he’s the only one seen?
I’ll find out soon enough, I’ll set out for the Bramble woods in the morning, apparently that’s his favourite hunting ground.
Day 18, Month 1, AR158
The little goblin snot stole my boots!
It’s true what they say, it is indeed a lone goblin, but this one is faster, more cunning, and far more dangerous than any I’ve ever encountered. The alert was sounded yesterday, Scabface was sighted on the Trade Route. I headed out of the city to the Bramble, if didn’t take long to encounter him and his overgrown Boar pet. They had slaughtered a band of Hobgoblins outside the Goblinoid Fortress.
He caught me by surprise, snuck out of the shadows to bar the path back to Cordor. He was cocky, sure of himself, and utterly unconcerned about the Guard. He wanted payment for being allowed to leave unharmed, I gave him my boots and needed to walk back barefoot, cut my feet up pretty bad on the fallen bramble thickets that dotted the Woodland floor.
I’m going to kill that little snot. I’m going to get my boots back.
Day 3, Month 2, AR158
Got everything I need, enough concentrated Strychnine to drop a dragon, let alone a goblin. Done my research on him, he’s got a few characteristics that can work in my favour.
Hoping that the little snot will be prideful enough to come under false pretences of negotiating a cessation of hostilities. Then I just need to get him to ingest the damned poison.
By Helm, this is a rubbish plan, but its worth a try.
*stuck into the Journal is a scrap of paper with the following details on it*
RACE: Goblin
SPECIALITY: Martial combat, Ambush attacks
KNOWN MELEE ARMAMENTS:
Dual Kama
KNOWN RANGED ARMAMENTS:
Shuriken imbued with Positive energy
OBSERVATIONS:
- Has a pet pig that can easily take down Hobgoblins, have not witnessed in battle with anything larger
- Expert in stealth
- Prideful, seemed offended that Cordor bounty is only 80,000 gold (Exploit ego in some fashion?)
- Has a basic knowledge of magic, has been observed using a variety of scrolls and wands in preparation for battle
- Is content to rob travellers and let them leave otherwise unharmed
- Exceptionally fast on his feet
HABITS:
- Frequently ambushes travellers on the Trade Route and Bramble Woods near Cordor
- Lets Pig feast on the bodies of fallen Hobgoblin foes (exploit habit by poisoning Hobgoblin tribes in the area?)
SPECULATIVE NOTES:
- Speed of movement, coupled with weapons choices assume some basic Monastic training
- Presence of an animal companion and the fact he does not leave tracks, assume some experience as a Ranger, thus grease, web, entangle spells will be ineffective
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 20, Month 3, AR158
It took some time to return to the Nomad and recover you dear Journal, so you’ll forgive the gap in entries. It’s a difficult thing to climb from the Underdark and return to the City when you find yourself in chains.
Yes, that is quite correct, I sit here, penning this journal in the rat-infested warren beneath the Slave-pits of Andunor. My attempted assassination of Scabface was a failure, a spectacular failure, and it landed me here. I have been sold to a drow house, V’zaanir, some minor House that is only beginning its climb to power. I’ve struck a simple enough bargain with their Matron, a drowess of no small ambition called Mir’za. The deal is simple, I’ll cause her no true grief in my servitude if she helps me gut that goblin filth, Scabface, one day.
She has accepted, and I’ve fallen into my role as guard of the Household easily enough. Her daughters and retainers have tried to elicit responses from me with either taunts, suggestive words, or violence, the Vigilant One helped me endure through all and they grew bored. Now they mostly ignore my presence, save when they need another sword on their outings. The constant fear of death, and brutal combat is sharpening my reflexes, but I worry at the long-term cost proximity to such beasts will bring.
The saving grace is that I have met another Slave, Maalafess Enkephalon, a mouthful to be sure, thankfully she is happy simply being called ‘Keph’. She is a strange thing, at times timid, other times frightful in her magical prowess; her master, an oddly jovial fellow who I suspect might be quite insane, Cyril, have treated me well enough, and I find I am forming an odd friendship with them both.
Perhaps it is the shared bond of slavery, or the fact we’ve spilled blood together I cannot rightly say.
Day 27, Month 3, AR158
A day of choices it would seem, I received an unmarked package at the House, odd as I was under the impression, I was unremarkable in this city. The contents were odder still, a scroll, wrapped with a black ribbon, unmarked save for a single line of text “The path continues in Cordor’s Shadow…”.
I have no inkling of what it might mean, nor whom is the sender, however I will ask Keph, she is a Seer I have learnt, and I suspect that is the source of her peculiarities. I will ask her for her insights.
Day 28, Month 3, AR158
The Plane of Shadows, that is what Keph told me; and across the veil, in that dark place is a twisted reflection of our own world.
It took me little time at all to find what she said I needed to venture to that place, a so-called ‘Potion of Attunement’. One really can procure anything in Andunor, the merchant who sold it to me even seemed insulted when I queried if he had heard of such an item.
I am uncertain what I will find on the other side, in this ominous sounding ‘Shadow Cordor’, but my curiosity always did outweigh common sense. I write this journal entry on the chance this is a trap, and I go to my doom.
If I do not reclaim you, and these pages are found by another remember these last words.
A pair of stolen boots is never worth it…
It took some time to return to the Nomad and recover you dear Journal, so you’ll forgive the gap in entries. It’s a difficult thing to climb from the Underdark and return to the City when you find yourself in chains.
Yes, that is quite correct, I sit here, penning this journal in the rat-infested warren beneath the Slave-pits of Andunor. My attempted assassination of Scabface was a failure, a spectacular failure, and it landed me here. I have been sold to a drow house, V’zaanir, some minor House that is only beginning its climb to power. I’ve struck a simple enough bargain with their Matron, a drowess of no small ambition called Mir’za. The deal is simple, I’ll cause her no true grief in my servitude if she helps me gut that goblin filth, Scabface, one day.
She has accepted, and I’ve fallen into my role as guard of the Household easily enough. Her daughters and retainers have tried to elicit responses from me with either taunts, suggestive words, or violence, the Vigilant One helped me endure through all and they grew bored. Now they mostly ignore my presence, save when they need another sword on their outings. The constant fear of death, and brutal combat is sharpening my reflexes, but I worry at the long-term cost proximity to such beasts will bring.
The saving grace is that I have met another Slave, Maalafess Enkephalon, a mouthful to be sure, thankfully she is happy simply being called ‘Keph’. She is a strange thing, at times timid, other times frightful in her magical prowess; her master, an oddly jovial fellow who I suspect might be quite insane, Cyril, have treated me well enough, and I find I am forming an odd friendship with them both.
Perhaps it is the shared bond of slavery, or the fact we’ve spilled blood together I cannot rightly say.
Day 27, Month 3, AR158
A day of choices it would seem, I received an unmarked package at the House, odd as I was under the impression, I was unremarkable in this city. The contents were odder still, a scroll, wrapped with a black ribbon, unmarked save for a single line of text “The path continues in Cordor’s Shadow…”.
I have no inkling of what it might mean, nor whom is the sender, however I will ask Keph, she is a Seer I have learnt, and I suspect that is the source of her peculiarities. I will ask her for her insights.
Day 28, Month 3, AR158
The Plane of Shadows, that is what Keph told me; and across the veil, in that dark place is a twisted reflection of our own world.
It took me little time at all to find what she said I needed to venture to that place, a so-called ‘Potion of Attunement’. One really can procure anything in Andunor, the merchant who sold it to me even seemed insulted when I queried if he had heard of such an item.
I am uncertain what I will find on the other side, in this ominous sounding ‘Shadow Cordor’, but my curiosity always did outweigh common sense. I write this journal entry on the chance this is a trap, and I go to my doom.
If I do not reclaim you, and these pages are found by another remember these last words.
A pair of stolen boots is never worth it…
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 3, Month 4, AR158
I’ve taken to laying traps on you now Journal, an obvious one, a small needle spring loaded into the locking mechanism of your clasp, dipped in a neurotoxin of the most interesting species of what appears to be an Aloe plant I have ever seen. A single drop seems enough to paralyze a baby rothe, it should take care of any careless snoops who which to plunder your depth. The less obvious one is a contact poison of my own design dusted onto your latch. The inconvenience of wearing gloves whenever I open you, and the tiresome process of reapplication whenever I set you aside is worth it however, for there are secrets that should not be known to the idly curious.
I am certain you have deduced by now that I am not, in fact, dead. My trip to Shadow Cordor proved to be quite lucrative, even if it did have me heaving up everything I have eaten in the last month, and feeling as though my head were host to a family of woodpeckers, beating against my skull incessantly trying to drive me mad! But I digress.
I arrived at a place referred to as ‘The Trading Post’ a rather plain name for a hub filled with Shadovar, Drow, Slavers, Shadows, and all other manner of oddity. After reclaiming some of my dignity, having said a fond farewell to the Pie I had consumed prior to my trip, I was given directions to this reflection of Cordor. When one thinks of the Plane of Shadows, I can tell you that my mind did not conjure up images of the banality of a ferry ride between places, however that does seem the preferred mode of transport.
The Ferryman left me on the Docks of Shadow Cordor, a place that could not have appeared grimmer and more depressing if it were described by a teenage girl for a penchant for reading trite romance novels betwixt Sharran’s and Vampires. I was unclear as to where to begin when the Scroll that had started the fateful trip grew chill in my pocket; and by chill I do not mean ‘Brr it’s a little cold I may need to through a duvet on the bed’. I mean chill as in ‘Oh look, my arm has frozen solid, snapped off and SHATTERED on the floor’. Retrieving the offending parchment it now read simply ‘Follow the Lights’.
Side note dear Journal before I finish this tale: I did have a chat with the heavy-handed dramatization inherent in this form of communication and was told to ‘Take it up with the Committee’. I am uncertain who the Committee is, or how I can take it up with them, however it seems bureaucracy is alive and well even in the darkest depths of the planes.
I will skip over the maddeningly cryptic clues that made my headache worse, and drew out this entire ordeal and skip to the big reveal. It would seem my absolute failure in killing Scabface was not unremarked. ‘Creative’, ‘Untapped and Untrained Potential’, a certain ‘Scruffy Charm’, are apparently all the Assassins Guild is looking for when they look for new recruits. Well… that and an understanding that some folks really should just die. Mostly the last part, but their compliments were nice.
It’s been a rough few months! Don’t judge me!
Day 8, Month 4, AR158
It’s been two months now since my capture and subsequent enslavement, and the V’zaanir has grown lax in curtailing my wandering. Whether because they are watching me in secret, trust my word that I will not cause problems, or simply do not care; I do not know.
In that time I’ve met an array of, unusual individuals who have tested my preconceptions. A Sunite Ilythiiri whose name I won’t write here for fear of it being uncovered; and a wizard, well a Seer specifically, Aun’rae, who though she takes the role of master over an itinerant slave, seems perfectly reasonable. If I closed my eyes, I would also think I am speaking with a Sun Elf, slightly haughty, a note of superiority to her voice as though I am an imbecile, but not all together unpleasant. She even sent a message to High Watcher Emma to let her know I yet lived, she did not have to do that, I wonder what game she is playing? But I digress… the world is not as black and white as I had once believed. I actually met a gnoll the other day who spoke better common than I did, and claimed to be a vegetarian. I will admit, I was uncertain how to react. The point here however Journal, is that my preconceptions have shifted, this is a strange world down here that I do not fully understand, but that I believe might be worth exploring further. Who knows, perhaps there is a reason the Vigilant One sent me down here.
Side Note: Drow refer to themselves as Ilythiiri, some long lost civilisation that was the height of their power before being, well to be honest I stopped listening, the lesson is, they prefer that to being called Drow, which apparently means traitor? Who knew?
Day 10, Month 4, AR158
I have used my newfound independence to head back to the Surface, making the Journey up to at least let folk know I am alive and for the most part unharmed. Though the fleas in the rags comprising my sleeping pile (I refuse to call it a bed) are odious in the extreme.
The trip was more successful than I could have hoped, not only was every person I had interacted with as a Guard relieved to see me alive, they all offered aid with neither hesitation nor fear. It was good to feel like a person again, if only for a few hours.
The three folk however that proved the biggest boon were High Watcher Emma Young, Captain Duster, and Commander Riza Black. Who promised me aid, supplies, whatever I needed to survive and one day find freedom. I say one day, because I refused their offer to buy my freedom, I got myself into this mess I will not become indebted to get myself out.
Well, that, and information about the surface fetches a high price in the Underdark I have found, and news on the Underdark fetches a fine price on the surface. What is that hin expression about when life gives you Lemons, bake them into a pie? I cannot remember. But the point remains the same, I smell an opportunity here to make some serious coin.
Unexpected allies also came in the form of Aika, who swore she would see me free, and Kross. A follower of Bane, who I had previously spoken to months prior, his forthright manner in dealing with threats to the city was refreshing, even if he is an agent of an unspeakable monster of a God.
I’ve returned to the Dark with a direction now, a path on how to break the shackles of my servitude. It offers some hope that I need not rely on fortune and luck to slip my bindings and gives me a target to aim for. Now all I need to do is grow my value to the Andunorians as I work towards freedom, it will be rather difficult to continue to profit on information if I am chased from the city, or worse, end up on the Altars in the Temple of Lloth.
Perhaps continuing to grow my relationship with Aun’rae will open up avenues, she uses me constantly for errands, along with a fellow called Renaut, and she is now a Retainer to the Xun’viir, third House of the city.
I’m certain I can do something with her…
I’ve taken to laying traps on you now Journal, an obvious one, a small needle spring loaded into the locking mechanism of your clasp, dipped in a neurotoxin of the most interesting species of what appears to be an Aloe plant I have ever seen. A single drop seems enough to paralyze a baby rothe, it should take care of any careless snoops who which to plunder your depth. The less obvious one is a contact poison of my own design dusted onto your latch. The inconvenience of wearing gloves whenever I open you, and the tiresome process of reapplication whenever I set you aside is worth it however, for there are secrets that should not be known to the idly curious.
I am certain you have deduced by now that I am not, in fact, dead. My trip to Shadow Cordor proved to be quite lucrative, even if it did have me heaving up everything I have eaten in the last month, and feeling as though my head were host to a family of woodpeckers, beating against my skull incessantly trying to drive me mad! But I digress.
I arrived at a place referred to as ‘The Trading Post’ a rather plain name for a hub filled with Shadovar, Drow, Slavers, Shadows, and all other manner of oddity. After reclaiming some of my dignity, having said a fond farewell to the Pie I had consumed prior to my trip, I was given directions to this reflection of Cordor. When one thinks of the Plane of Shadows, I can tell you that my mind did not conjure up images of the banality of a ferry ride between places, however that does seem the preferred mode of transport.
The Ferryman left me on the Docks of Shadow Cordor, a place that could not have appeared grimmer and more depressing if it were described by a teenage girl for a penchant for reading trite romance novels betwixt Sharran’s and Vampires. I was unclear as to where to begin when the Scroll that had started the fateful trip grew chill in my pocket; and by chill I do not mean ‘Brr it’s a little cold I may need to through a duvet on the bed’. I mean chill as in ‘Oh look, my arm has frozen solid, snapped off and SHATTERED on the floor’. Retrieving the offending parchment it now read simply ‘Follow the Lights’.
Side note dear Journal before I finish this tale: I did have a chat with the heavy-handed dramatization inherent in this form of communication and was told to ‘Take it up with the Committee’. I am uncertain who the Committee is, or how I can take it up with them, however it seems bureaucracy is alive and well even in the darkest depths of the planes.
I will skip over the maddeningly cryptic clues that made my headache worse, and drew out this entire ordeal and skip to the big reveal. It would seem my absolute failure in killing Scabface was not unremarked. ‘Creative’, ‘Untapped and Untrained Potential’, a certain ‘Scruffy Charm’, are apparently all the Assassins Guild is looking for when they look for new recruits. Well… that and an understanding that some folks really should just die. Mostly the last part, but their compliments were nice.
It’s been a rough few months! Don’t judge me!
Day 8, Month 4, AR158
It’s been two months now since my capture and subsequent enslavement, and the V’zaanir has grown lax in curtailing my wandering. Whether because they are watching me in secret, trust my word that I will not cause problems, or simply do not care; I do not know.
In that time I’ve met an array of, unusual individuals who have tested my preconceptions. A Sunite Ilythiiri whose name I won’t write here for fear of it being uncovered; and a wizard, well a Seer specifically, Aun’rae, who though she takes the role of master over an itinerant slave, seems perfectly reasonable. If I closed my eyes, I would also think I am speaking with a Sun Elf, slightly haughty, a note of superiority to her voice as though I am an imbecile, but not all together unpleasant. She even sent a message to High Watcher Emma to let her know I yet lived, she did not have to do that, I wonder what game she is playing? But I digress… the world is not as black and white as I had once believed. I actually met a gnoll the other day who spoke better common than I did, and claimed to be a vegetarian. I will admit, I was uncertain how to react. The point here however Journal, is that my preconceptions have shifted, this is a strange world down here that I do not fully understand, but that I believe might be worth exploring further. Who knows, perhaps there is a reason the Vigilant One sent me down here.
Side Note: Drow refer to themselves as Ilythiiri, some long lost civilisation that was the height of their power before being, well to be honest I stopped listening, the lesson is, they prefer that to being called Drow, which apparently means traitor? Who knew?
Day 10, Month 4, AR158
I have used my newfound independence to head back to the Surface, making the Journey up to at least let folk know I am alive and for the most part unharmed. Though the fleas in the rags comprising my sleeping pile (I refuse to call it a bed) are odious in the extreme.
The trip was more successful than I could have hoped, not only was every person I had interacted with as a Guard relieved to see me alive, they all offered aid with neither hesitation nor fear. It was good to feel like a person again, if only for a few hours.
The three folk however that proved the biggest boon were High Watcher Emma Young, Captain Duster, and Commander Riza Black. Who promised me aid, supplies, whatever I needed to survive and one day find freedom. I say one day, because I refused their offer to buy my freedom, I got myself into this mess I will not become indebted to get myself out.
Well, that, and information about the surface fetches a high price in the Underdark I have found, and news on the Underdark fetches a fine price on the surface. What is that hin expression about when life gives you Lemons, bake them into a pie? I cannot remember. But the point remains the same, I smell an opportunity here to make some serious coin.
Unexpected allies also came in the form of Aika, who swore she would see me free, and Kross. A follower of Bane, who I had previously spoken to months prior, his forthright manner in dealing with threats to the city was refreshing, even if he is an agent of an unspeakable monster of a God.
I’ve returned to the Dark with a direction now, a path on how to break the shackles of my servitude. It offers some hope that I need not rely on fortune and luck to slip my bindings and gives me a target to aim for. Now all I need to do is grow my value to the Andunorians as I work towards freedom, it will be rather difficult to continue to profit on information if I am chased from the city, or worse, end up on the Altars in the Temple of Lloth.
Perhaps continuing to grow my relationship with Aun’rae will open up avenues, she uses me constantly for errands, along with a fellow called Renaut, and she is now a Retainer to the Xun’viir, third House of the city.
I’m certain I can do something with her…
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 20, Month 4, AR158
Aun’rae has continued to expose me to House Xun’viir, my own inquiries have corroborated her claims, that the third House of the City is a force to be reckoned with; perhaps they will be adequate coverage for when I get this blasted collar off? Alternatively, the Erudite also demands respect in the City. Perhaps I should seek to curry the favour of both?
Our odd little relationship continues to develop, as does my friendship with both Keph and Renaut. Aun’rae treats me like a person, not a piece of property, my guard is slowly lowering that she intends anything untoward from me, she’s left herself in vulnerable positions with me, wandering the tunnels alone, or aiding her in her lab; she is aware I could snap her neck with little effort and yet seems unconcerned, even comfortable that I am trustworthy.
Based on her behaviour I decided to take a risk. I confided in Aun’rae that I seek to be free from this weight around my neck, hand less than an inch from my blade in case she turned treacherous. Her reaction was… unexpected. She vowed to help me however she could, including introducing me to her Matron since I had proven myself a useful servant, perhaps she would be able to help.
I am not certain what to think based on this development.
On the other hand, my dealings with those on the Surface continues to be strained. The Church, and High Watcher particularly, provide me with necessary supplies and aid, but I get a sense I am not fully trusted in their presence, as though they suspect my growing kinship with the dwellers below. I suppose ultimately tht does not matter, I’ll do my duty, as I always have, and in time their concerns with be disproven by actions. I never understood the need to profusely try and explain ones self in order to be ‘liked’ be what you say you are going to do, and follow the Law, anyone who does not respect you after enough evidence of that is not worth your time, everything else will take care of itself.
Day 21, Month 4, AR158
It grows easier to be on the Shadow Plane; I suppose I have the Guild training to thank for that. The abilities they have taught me to tap into, harnessing the very fabric of this Plane to give myself an edge in battle, it’s exhilarating, but I wonder if there will be lasting costs. Power such as this never comes without a price.
My newfound tolerance for this place allows to wander farther, to explore reaches I could not before, I came across the Shadowed reflection of Wharftown, whose material version was destroyed long before I arrived on Arelith. Amongst the leaning houses, and darkened streets, I came across an invitation, an opening that I might exploit, I will endeavour to try it at my earliest opportunity.
Day 22, Month 4, AR158
I was officially introduced to Matron Xun’viir today, her reputation does not do her justice, she has a keener mind than most I have met; though I will say I do think Aun’rae thought I had lost my mind when I started negotiating blatantly with an Illythiiri Matron! Perhaps it was a risk dear journal, however I have nothing truly to lose, and the Matron seems one to recognise opportunity rather than take offense over something as petty as a slave with a mind of their own.
The negotiations were, surprisingly, enjoyable. My interactions with V’zaanir were not nearly this rigorous, I had to think about my choice of wording, and she adroitly covered potential loopholes in her position with grace and aplomb. HAH! And to top is all off, after we had concluded and she was sauntering from the chambers, she casually adds in a conditions to not only keep our dealings and arrangement secret from V’zaanir, but that I was also not to leak the information in any way that may find itself to the other House. Very few people are so thoughtful and careful that they include specific safeguards about leaking intel by proxy.
I might have a slight crush dear Journal, or that might simply still be the adrenaline high from having an agreement in principle that gives me a path to freedom whilst continuing life in this City. I’ll let you know, if I don’t die from a heart attack first!
Side note dear Journal, as I was leaving the Xun’viir house, Keeper Harrow was paying a visit, till this point I had not had the opportunity to pursue the opportunity revealed in the Shadow. Her reaction was a nod, and a look of surprised so profound one would have thought I had grown the head of a fairie dragon from my chest and started singing the National Anthem of Thay. We shall see how it progresses. 2 for 2. I wonder how long my luck will hold.
Aun’rae has continued to expose me to House Xun’viir, my own inquiries have corroborated her claims, that the third House of the City is a force to be reckoned with; perhaps they will be adequate coverage for when I get this blasted collar off? Alternatively, the Erudite also demands respect in the City. Perhaps I should seek to curry the favour of both?
Our odd little relationship continues to develop, as does my friendship with both Keph and Renaut. Aun’rae treats me like a person, not a piece of property, my guard is slowly lowering that she intends anything untoward from me, she’s left herself in vulnerable positions with me, wandering the tunnels alone, or aiding her in her lab; she is aware I could snap her neck with little effort and yet seems unconcerned, even comfortable that I am trustworthy.
Based on her behaviour I decided to take a risk. I confided in Aun’rae that I seek to be free from this weight around my neck, hand less than an inch from my blade in case she turned treacherous. Her reaction was… unexpected. She vowed to help me however she could, including introducing me to her Matron since I had proven myself a useful servant, perhaps she would be able to help.
I am not certain what to think based on this development.
On the other hand, my dealings with those on the Surface continues to be strained. The Church, and High Watcher particularly, provide me with necessary supplies and aid, but I get a sense I am not fully trusted in their presence, as though they suspect my growing kinship with the dwellers below. I suppose ultimately tht does not matter, I’ll do my duty, as I always have, and in time their concerns with be disproven by actions. I never understood the need to profusely try and explain ones self in order to be ‘liked’ be what you say you are going to do, and follow the Law, anyone who does not respect you after enough evidence of that is not worth your time, everything else will take care of itself.
Day 21, Month 4, AR158
It grows easier to be on the Shadow Plane; I suppose I have the Guild training to thank for that. The abilities they have taught me to tap into, harnessing the very fabric of this Plane to give myself an edge in battle, it’s exhilarating, but I wonder if there will be lasting costs. Power such as this never comes without a price.
My newfound tolerance for this place allows to wander farther, to explore reaches I could not before, I came across the Shadowed reflection of Wharftown, whose material version was destroyed long before I arrived on Arelith. Amongst the leaning houses, and darkened streets, I came across an invitation, an opening that I might exploit, I will endeavour to try it at my earliest opportunity.
Day 22, Month 4, AR158
I was officially introduced to Matron Xun’viir today, her reputation does not do her justice, she has a keener mind than most I have met; though I will say I do think Aun’rae thought I had lost my mind when I started negotiating blatantly with an Illythiiri Matron! Perhaps it was a risk dear journal, however I have nothing truly to lose, and the Matron seems one to recognise opportunity rather than take offense over something as petty as a slave with a mind of their own.
The negotiations were, surprisingly, enjoyable. My interactions with V’zaanir were not nearly this rigorous, I had to think about my choice of wording, and she adroitly covered potential loopholes in her position with grace and aplomb. HAH! And to top is all off, after we had concluded and she was sauntering from the chambers, she casually adds in a conditions to not only keep our dealings and arrangement secret from V’zaanir, but that I was also not to leak the information in any way that may find itself to the other House. Very few people are so thoughtful and careful that they include specific safeguards about leaking intel by proxy.
I might have a slight crush dear Journal, or that might simply still be the adrenaline high from having an agreement in principle that gives me a path to freedom whilst continuing life in this City. I’ll let you know, if I don’t die from a heart attack first!
Side note dear Journal, as I was leaving the Xun’viir house, Keeper Harrow was paying a visit, till this point I had not had the opportunity to pursue the opportunity revealed in the Shadow. Her reaction was a nod, and a look of surprised so profound one would have thought I had grown the head of a fairie dragon from my chest and started singing the National Anthem of Thay. We shall see how it progresses. 2 for 2. I wonder how long my luck will hold.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 26, Month 4, AR158
Keph approached me today, an unexpected and rather stressful experience truth be told. We secluded ourselves in an unused and abandoned section of the Hub, and Keph informs me that Cyril has gone missing for some time, leaving her effectively ownerless, and subject to the whim of any degenerate Ogre, Gnoll, Ilythiiri, or Human that decides he wants a slave for some purpose.
She came looking to me for some answers, looking for an escape, I’m not entirely certain how she found out about the intel Duster had given me, but she is my friend, so rather than gutting her and letting the rats have a buffet for a month I agreed to help; passing along the first steps on the road to freedom.
Now that the summary is out of the way dear Journal, I can related the rest of the story, because there is something wrong with my dear friend Keph, very wrong. We arrived in the derelict part of the city, a homeless man decided it was a smart decision to attack us, his head stared blankly at his body for the rest of our discussion. Keph seemed unusually agitated, more so than usual, murmuring and muttering to herself, her words barely lucid.
She was making no sense, rambling about mistreatment, and in my growing frustration I asked her to speak plainly as I could not decipher the meaning of her haunted babbling. A swift clarity spell later and she was as a new person, lucid, articulate, and scared. Trying not to waste time she outlined her situation, the unwanted advances, the menial labour, the constant terror; I thought the timing too coincidental, so I questioned her, longer than I ought to have, as eventually the spell wore off.
Her mental clarity evaporated, and she went into a near frenzy, starting to beat her head against the wall, cracking her skull mask, and crying about how the teeth in the dark were chasing her, nipping at her heels, hungering for her flesh.
I forced a clarity potion down her throat, after restraining her slim form, and told her what she needed to know, promising that I would aid her however I could.
There are times dear journal when I worry that my oaths to Helm, to protect folks and watch over them might be the death of me, but I know no other way. Keph has been a friend to me when I needed one, a comrade in arms, and oddly adorable in some of her mannerisms, I could not plead ignorance and turn her away.
I will need to keep an eye on her though, I had no idea her madness was such an uncontrolled and wild thing, she may eventually become a danger to herself and others around her. It will be a sad day indeed if I need to slip a blade through her, but duty comes before friendship, even as much as I wished it did not.
Day 1, Month 5, AR158
I met someone dear Journal, against all odds, and in as unseemly and unlikely a place as this, I have found someone that I have started to care for. In the interests of both out safety I will not put their name to parchment, but I needed to note this down, as it raises certain complications.
On a purely pragmatic level I have already been testing their resolved, trying to understand whether they are playing some ruse, or whether they really do feel affection for me. I’ve also clearly stated that I will not change my mind on some of the horrors that occur down here, I can condone warfare if both sides are of equal strength, and that she accepts my desire to keep the innocent folk of both sides out of the conflict, but I will not tolerate whole sale genocide of any form.
I wonder at times Journal that my time in the dark has twisted me sense of morality, has turned me into a monster, but then I find myself arguing over the sanctity of life, and that children of any race, human, elven, ilythiiri, goblin, all are usually without malice or guile and know not the ways of the world. A strange juxtaposition when you consider that so often I will argue for the side to have a threat to civilisation, law, and order be put down swiftly with the sword; but there is an imutable difference in my mind between an adult making the choice to break the law and do ill against civilisation, and a child who only wants to play with their fellows.
I do not know what this development means dear Journal, nor will I expect any on the surface to fully understand or accept my feelings, but so be it.
It wouldn’t be the first time I was cast out for being strong-willed, and I expect it wont be the last.
Keph approached me today, an unexpected and rather stressful experience truth be told. We secluded ourselves in an unused and abandoned section of the Hub, and Keph informs me that Cyril has gone missing for some time, leaving her effectively ownerless, and subject to the whim of any degenerate Ogre, Gnoll, Ilythiiri, or Human that decides he wants a slave for some purpose.
She came looking to me for some answers, looking for an escape, I’m not entirely certain how she found out about the intel Duster had given me, but she is my friend, so rather than gutting her and letting the rats have a buffet for a month I agreed to help; passing along the first steps on the road to freedom.
Now that the summary is out of the way dear Journal, I can related the rest of the story, because there is something wrong with my dear friend Keph, very wrong. We arrived in the derelict part of the city, a homeless man decided it was a smart decision to attack us, his head stared blankly at his body for the rest of our discussion. Keph seemed unusually agitated, more so than usual, murmuring and muttering to herself, her words barely lucid.
She was making no sense, rambling about mistreatment, and in my growing frustration I asked her to speak plainly as I could not decipher the meaning of her haunted babbling. A swift clarity spell later and she was as a new person, lucid, articulate, and scared. Trying not to waste time she outlined her situation, the unwanted advances, the menial labour, the constant terror; I thought the timing too coincidental, so I questioned her, longer than I ought to have, as eventually the spell wore off.
Her mental clarity evaporated, and she went into a near frenzy, starting to beat her head against the wall, cracking her skull mask, and crying about how the teeth in the dark were chasing her, nipping at her heels, hungering for her flesh.
I forced a clarity potion down her throat, after restraining her slim form, and told her what she needed to know, promising that I would aid her however I could.
There are times dear journal when I worry that my oaths to Helm, to protect folks and watch over them might be the death of me, but I know no other way. Keph has been a friend to me when I needed one, a comrade in arms, and oddly adorable in some of her mannerisms, I could not plead ignorance and turn her away.
I will need to keep an eye on her though, I had no idea her madness was such an uncontrolled and wild thing, she may eventually become a danger to herself and others around her. It will be a sad day indeed if I need to slip a blade through her, but duty comes before friendship, even as much as I wished it did not.
Day 1, Month 5, AR158
I met someone dear Journal, against all odds, and in as unseemly and unlikely a place as this, I have found someone that I have started to care for. In the interests of both out safety I will not put their name to parchment, but I needed to note this down, as it raises certain complications.
On a purely pragmatic level I have already been testing their resolved, trying to understand whether they are playing some ruse, or whether they really do feel affection for me. I’ve also clearly stated that I will not change my mind on some of the horrors that occur down here, I can condone warfare if both sides are of equal strength, and that she accepts my desire to keep the innocent folk of both sides out of the conflict, but I will not tolerate whole sale genocide of any form.
I wonder at times Journal that my time in the dark has twisted me sense of morality, has turned me into a monster, but then I find myself arguing over the sanctity of life, and that children of any race, human, elven, ilythiiri, goblin, all are usually without malice or guile and know not the ways of the world. A strange juxtaposition when you consider that so often I will argue for the side to have a threat to civilisation, law, and order be put down swiftly with the sword; but there is an imutable difference in my mind between an adult making the choice to break the law and do ill against civilisation, and a child who only wants to play with their fellows.
I do not know what this development means dear Journal, nor will I expect any on the surface to fully understand or accept my feelings, but so be it.
It wouldn’t be the first time I was cast out for being strong-willed, and I expect it wont be the last.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 7, Month 5, AR158
I finally met with Sydney Harrow, it would seem the information I found and the audacity of a slave reaching out to the Keeper of the Erudite, with a plan on how to establish himself and build a life in Andunor post-slavedom was intriguing enough for her to listen.
We spoke on my capture, my learnings whilst living in the City, my nascent arrangement with the Xun’viir. She interrogated my skills, my thought process, and laid out the path of entry into the Erudite, which would include writing an entry paper. A rather mundane task I think dear Journal, I think instead I will properly formulate some of my research and present a proper treatise. Why do the bare minimum when you can set the bar higher and begin establishing a reputation?
I also ventured back to the Surface this week, to Bendir Dale for some provisions, and Cordor to see the local news. I got a few sideways glances from folks who did not know me, and a lot of warm greetings from old acquaintances; everyone worries over the collar, everyone worries for my safety, but other than that it’s as if I had never left, there is some measure of comfort in that.
I bumped into the girl that runs the Nomad, Arihalys Lyonsen, Ari for short. It would seem I left quite the impression during my time as a guard, as she was exceptionally happy to see me again. She introduced me to a few of her friends, and asked how I was surviving down below. I’m not entirely certain how dear Journal, but the conversation ended with me taking a job as the new Chef for the Nomad. I believe it might have been a thread that started with missing the normality and camaraderie of the Surface, and needing something to tether me to it, or it may have simply been my complaining at the water thin ale and slop I was served for dinner, which was barely better than the gruel from the slave pit. For the sake of the narrative lets say it was the former and not the latter, sa that makes me sound far more altruistic, even if it is true that the Cordorian lager is little better than horse urine in terms of flavour and consistency.
I’m not sure where I was going with this point dear Journal, so I think I will cut my loses and close this entry here. The short version, I now have a job topside.
Day 20, Month 5, AR158
It has been several tendays since I wrote in your Journal, and the simple fact of the matter is not a great deal is occurring. I rise, I serve Aun’rae’s needs in terms of a pack mule or a swordarm, I earn some coin, then I journey to the Surface to tend bar, cook, and listen to folk. It has become a routine, and there is something comforting in that. I would almost say it was a good life, aside from the ache in my neck from the Collar, the chaffing it causes, and the somewhat disconcerting looks I endure from the locals of Andunor due to my current position at the bottom of the pecking order. I will say I have it better than most, I am never beaten, Aun’rae shares the profits of our ventures equally, and no one has tried to eat me yet.
I’m not certain what has given me the relative freedom of the city, but I’ll just assume it is Helm watching over me.
Day 4, Month 6, AR158
Keph’s collar is off, clearly, she has had more time to pursue the path to freedom than I have, and she seems a different person for it. She’s even started gathering a coterie of allies around her and building quite the name for herself as a tailor. I’m happy for her, and it gives me some motivation to push back on some of the small distractions that invariably take up my time.
She was even so happy she gave me a hug! Awkward as it was (Side Note: I get the distinct impression she does not hug people very often).
My budding relationship goes through ups and downs, it is difficult, I’ve never been involved in anything that lasted longer than an evening, maybe a morning if it was particularly agreeable; and the dynamic of being a slave does not make it easier. We will see how it plays out, worst case scenario I end it when the collar is off and I can potentially return to the surface, presuming my plans to remain to not play out as intended.
I finally met with Sydney Harrow, it would seem the information I found and the audacity of a slave reaching out to the Keeper of the Erudite, with a plan on how to establish himself and build a life in Andunor post-slavedom was intriguing enough for her to listen.
We spoke on my capture, my learnings whilst living in the City, my nascent arrangement with the Xun’viir. She interrogated my skills, my thought process, and laid out the path of entry into the Erudite, which would include writing an entry paper. A rather mundane task I think dear Journal, I think instead I will properly formulate some of my research and present a proper treatise. Why do the bare minimum when you can set the bar higher and begin establishing a reputation?
I also ventured back to the Surface this week, to Bendir Dale for some provisions, and Cordor to see the local news. I got a few sideways glances from folks who did not know me, and a lot of warm greetings from old acquaintances; everyone worries over the collar, everyone worries for my safety, but other than that it’s as if I had never left, there is some measure of comfort in that.
I bumped into the girl that runs the Nomad, Arihalys Lyonsen, Ari for short. It would seem I left quite the impression during my time as a guard, as she was exceptionally happy to see me again. She introduced me to a few of her friends, and asked how I was surviving down below. I’m not entirely certain how dear Journal, but the conversation ended with me taking a job as the new Chef for the Nomad. I believe it might have been a thread that started with missing the normality and camaraderie of the Surface, and needing something to tether me to it, or it may have simply been my complaining at the water thin ale and slop I was served for dinner, which was barely better than the gruel from the slave pit. For the sake of the narrative lets say it was the former and not the latter, sa that makes me sound far more altruistic, even if it is true that the Cordorian lager is little better than horse urine in terms of flavour and consistency.
I’m not sure where I was going with this point dear Journal, so I think I will cut my loses and close this entry here. The short version, I now have a job topside.
Day 20, Month 5, AR158
It has been several tendays since I wrote in your Journal, and the simple fact of the matter is not a great deal is occurring. I rise, I serve Aun’rae’s needs in terms of a pack mule or a swordarm, I earn some coin, then I journey to the Surface to tend bar, cook, and listen to folk. It has become a routine, and there is something comforting in that. I would almost say it was a good life, aside from the ache in my neck from the Collar, the chaffing it causes, and the somewhat disconcerting looks I endure from the locals of Andunor due to my current position at the bottom of the pecking order. I will say I have it better than most, I am never beaten, Aun’rae shares the profits of our ventures equally, and no one has tried to eat me yet.
I’m not certain what has given me the relative freedom of the city, but I’ll just assume it is Helm watching over me.
Day 4, Month 6, AR158
Keph’s collar is off, clearly, she has had more time to pursue the path to freedom than I have, and she seems a different person for it. She’s even started gathering a coterie of allies around her and building quite the name for herself as a tailor. I’m happy for her, and it gives me some motivation to push back on some of the small distractions that invariably take up my time.
She was even so happy she gave me a hug! Awkward as it was (Side Note: I get the distinct impression she does not hug people very often).
My budding relationship goes through ups and downs, it is difficult, I’ve never been involved in anything that lasted longer than an evening, maybe a morning if it was particularly agreeable; and the dynamic of being a slave does not make it easier. We will see how it plays out, worst case scenario I end it when the collar is off and I can potentially return to the surface, presuming my plans to remain to not play out as intended.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 19, Month 6, AR158
My travels to the Surface grow more frequent, every time I return to the open skies and the fresh air I am reminded on my how I miss it. Andunor, for all of its brutality, its intrigue, its dark passages, and slave pits is beginning to feel familiar, and in another life I could even call it home, however I do not think I will ever grow use to the sill air, nor the oppressive feel of millions of tonnes of rock above my head. I miss the Surface.
My constant wandering to the surface is beginning to cause tension with my bed mate, I have more than a passing affection for her, though we fight often. She expects me to know things and behave a certain way, and grows irritated with me when I am away from the Dark too long, it is suffocating. To compound matters I find that I am growing closer to Ari. Why is it that the heart is such a fickle thing? To have found someone who in many aspects is a perfect match for me, in the Dark below, but who’s existence is so utterly foreign to my own. I have not mentioned any details on my mate before dear journal, but I will share one thing now, so you may understand my quandary.
She is Ilythiiri. A dark elf.
Even penning that much means I’ll need to ensure that more potent poisons are used, and more intricate traps set. Perhaps I will even need to use the minor talents of magic I have begun to cultivate to further ensure your secrets remain between us; these words are dangerous, but I need to put them down. I need you to help me work through my own feelings and thoughts on the matter.
In many regards she, yes I am aware this is the first entry in which I have identified the gender and the race of my mate, but at this point in for a penny in for a pound I suppose. She, in many regards is a better person than I. Her immediate solution to a problem or threat is not to simply eliminate it, as too often I find my own is. She has a curiosity about the world, where I have jaded scepticism. She seeks to protect the slaves under her care, ensuring they have some semblance of safety and security in the dark, she does not need to do this but yes does. Yet I am able to walk the Surface and she is not.
I who have flayed men alive to extract information from them. I who have honoured every contract and word I have given, yet when the circumstances are not favourable have adhered to the letter of the contract and not the spirit of the contract. I who started this relationship with her as a manipulation, as a way of ensuring I had the protection of a mistress here in the dark so I would not need to fear the random attention and machinations that seem to commonplace here below. I am not a /good/ man, yet because of circumstance of birth, am allowed to walk free where she is not; and to make it worse, I am beginning to resent the restriction her birth places on us. If nothing else were so telling of the depth of my self-absorption dear journal there it is. I resent /her/ for her persecution.
The Church asks me to join them on excursions more and more, I find myself drawn to the Nomad to spend time enjoying simply cooking or serving folk, I wander the markets of Sibayad, tasting exotic foods and spices, and wish she was with me; and because she is not I feel guilt. Guilt that I should be at her side, guilt she is stuck in the dark, so I return to her, and then resent her for my choice to do so, because I feel I /need/ to. That it is my duty, and I always do my duty.
I am uncertain what to do, I know it is this resentment and the desire to walk freely where I please and keep her by my side that is the cause of many of our arguments. Perhaps I should speak with her about it? Perhaps I should simply tear off the bandage and though it would pain us both abandon her to the dark? I do not know.
In my indecision, my self-absorption Ari and I kissed. I broke my word to /her/ to be faithful, I’ve never broken my word before, and I feel shame; which makes the resentment worse.
I do not know what to do Journal, I know I will tell her of the kiss with Ari, but my motivations… Are they the motivation of a man hoping to do the right thing, and follow through with his word and make amends, to seek atonement in the truth, or are they the motivations of a many hoping that his infidelity will be the final crack in the dam wall, and end a relationship that I am too afraid to speak of earnestly on my own?
I do not know, and I am ashamed.
Day 29. Month 6, AR158
I locked myself away for several days dear journal and wrote my treatise, a primer for anyone who might wish to continue my own research into Synaptic Infestation, focusing on a particular species of fungus that infests and then takes over the actions of its host. I wonder what the implications could be if this fungi were able to be conditioned to have its infested subjects perform more useful tasks than to replicate and spread the fungal colony. But I think that is a topic for another time.
In short dear journal, I am now an initiate of the Erudite Arcanum. Not a bad achievement for a slave, wouldn’t you say?
Day 4, Month 7, AR158
I write this entry dear journal, in the spare room of the Nomad. It would seem the added precautions I placed on you were warranted. I do not know who the fellow works for, if indeed he works for anyone at all. All I know is that he /was/ a professional. Yes Journal, you are mine, for it would seem carrying the burden of my secrets and being in such close proximity to me has turned you yourself into a killer. The unfortunate fellow was smart enough to evade the needle trap, disarming it most handily, even cunning enough to avoid the contact poison, I do not think he expected the magic however. So I sit here now, scribbling my rambled thoughts in you after having dumped his withered husk of a corpse in the sewers for some rat, ooze, monster, or even just overly hungry homeless person to eat; though I think even a starving man would balk at the thought of consuming blackened, desiccated flesh, but you never know.
I write this entry journal after a particularly trying series of tendays, not because of any arduous task set before me, nor even having suffered the slings and insults of folk for being a slave. No, trying because despite all of the evidence to the contrary I have done what I thought I could not. I have spoken earnestly, and honestly with my mate. My mate. Those words seem to resonate more an more each time I write them, and though we still have many issues to still resolve and work through, we have reached a point where I no longer feel that I need to spend every moment possible at her side. She has cultivated her own interests and networks in the dark, something that was missing hitherto this point, and part of my perceived need to be at her side; and has given me the freedom to wander the surface whenever I need to. In all, we seem to have found a balance and I am content.
Additionally, I am settling in to my duties at the Erudite. Now that I am officially an initiate, Aun’rae has expanded my duties aiding her from simply the Xun’viir Mansion, to her laboratory in the Erudite. I’ve provided her with several species of fungus that display the most interesting behaviours and abilities, and her own activities into the nature of elves, or Darthiir as the Ilythiiri call them is fascinating. I’m not entirely certain if the House fully trusts my presence, due to my frequent excursions to the Surface, or my connections with the Church of Helm, but let them have their paranoia. Let them set their scriers on me, I feel sorry for the folk who will watch my mundane existence looking for something of note. Perhaps they will get lucky and observe me working a Guild Contract one day, though I doubt it, I tend to be cautious when working those and hide myself from prying eyes.
But I digress, the Erudite.
In these halls, filled with Warlocks, Necromancers, Artificers, and other folk too nefarious to normally be accepted in polit company, I feel quite at home. Noone looks at me oddly or decries me as a monster when a particularly interesting plant catches my attention, and I plumb its depths, seeking to understand how exactly it is capable of digesting flesh. Nor do they seem perturbed when I offer an insight into more effective ways of extracting information from a prisoner. I do feel some latent hostility from Vordeddu, an Adept here that has some truly interesting experiments, but that might just be her nature, I am not aware of anything I’ve done to offend her?
Amazingly however, the most interesting person I’ve met thus far is the First Keeper, Bella Isley. A name reviled on the surface, and murmered with fear and respect in the Dark, she is amazingly a very approachable person. With a keen mind, sharp sensibilities, and, rather altogether unexpectedly a dry sense of humour. Our first encounter resulted in a rather candid discussion and agreement that I will never be overly worried about her time, and will let her be forthright in determining whether she has time for me or not. It seems her station has caused folk to become so keenly aware of the value of her time they all scurry off like whipped goblins, leaving her with an over-abundance of free time. I think she and I will grow to be friends in time, I’ve reached the determination that I like her.
But, back to my original musing and why I am spending time in the Nomad. I near the end of my journey in having my collar removed, I have one of two more steps to complete and it is gone, and I am staring down the barrel of a decision, to flee to underdark or remain. I’ve sought council from the High Watcher, Aun’rae, Keph, and others I consider friends.
Remarkably, the High Watcher begs me stay in the dark and keep an eye on them, Aun’rae and a few others below bid my remain in the dark because my company will be missed, and others still (who shall remain nameless) desire me to spy on the Surface. To that end I asked Ari her thoughts, I still feel an attraction to the girl, despite having progressed and moved my relationship with another to a different level. Her perspective was the same as the High Watchers, remain in the dark and keep an eye on things, citing that I could do much good. I revealed to her I was of the Guild, and the things I had done below to survive, trying to have her understand I am not some altruistic hero. She laughed at me, saying that those who do not think of themselves as good, citing terrible things done, and worrying over their actions are usually more good in the grand scheme of things than those who purport to work towards the common good.
We spoke long into the night, I find I take comfort in the way she views me, it was too late to make the trip below and she bid me stay and take a spare room in the inn. I feel she is as torn about our relationship as I am, and would have preferred I stayed longer, and far closer than the public rooms down the hall. But I gave my word, and whilst I faltered once before I shall not do so again.
So now I sit here in a bedroom in the Nomad. Having disposed of a corpse not less than an hour before, rambling once again. A multitude of options and divergent paths lay before me, the very fundamental truth of my existence on the line; and I am thinking about women.
I am a fool.
My travels to the Surface grow more frequent, every time I return to the open skies and the fresh air I am reminded on my how I miss it. Andunor, for all of its brutality, its intrigue, its dark passages, and slave pits is beginning to feel familiar, and in another life I could even call it home, however I do not think I will ever grow use to the sill air, nor the oppressive feel of millions of tonnes of rock above my head. I miss the Surface.
My constant wandering to the surface is beginning to cause tension with my bed mate, I have more than a passing affection for her, though we fight often. She expects me to know things and behave a certain way, and grows irritated with me when I am away from the Dark too long, it is suffocating. To compound matters I find that I am growing closer to Ari. Why is it that the heart is such a fickle thing? To have found someone who in many aspects is a perfect match for me, in the Dark below, but who’s existence is so utterly foreign to my own. I have not mentioned any details on my mate before dear journal, but I will share one thing now, so you may understand my quandary.
She is Ilythiiri. A dark elf.
Even penning that much means I’ll need to ensure that more potent poisons are used, and more intricate traps set. Perhaps I will even need to use the minor talents of magic I have begun to cultivate to further ensure your secrets remain between us; these words are dangerous, but I need to put them down. I need you to help me work through my own feelings and thoughts on the matter.
In many regards she, yes I am aware this is the first entry in which I have identified the gender and the race of my mate, but at this point in for a penny in for a pound I suppose. She, in many regards is a better person than I. Her immediate solution to a problem or threat is not to simply eliminate it, as too often I find my own is. She has a curiosity about the world, where I have jaded scepticism. She seeks to protect the slaves under her care, ensuring they have some semblance of safety and security in the dark, she does not need to do this but yes does. Yet I am able to walk the Surface and she is not.
I who have flayed men alive to extract information from them. I who have honoured every contract and word I have given, yet when the circumstances are not favourable have adhered to the letter of the contract and not the spirit of the contract. I who started this relationship with her as a manipulation, as a way of ensuring I had the protection of a mistress here in the dark so I would not need to fear the random attention and machinations that seem to commonplace here below. I am not a /good/ man, yet because of circumstance of birth, am allowed to walk free where she is not; and to make it worse, I am beginning to resent the restriction her birth places on us. If nothing else were so telling of the depth of my self-absorption dear journal there it is. I resent /her/ for her persecution.
The Church asks me to join them on excursions more and more, I find myself drawn to the Nomad to spend time enjoying simply cooking or serving folk, I wander the markets of Sibayad, tasting exotic foods and spices, and wish she was with me; and because she is not I feel guilt. Guilt that I should be at her side, guilt she is stuck in the dark, so I return to her, and then resent her for my choice to do so, because I feel I /need/ to. That it is my duty, and I always do my duty.
I am uncertain what to do, I know it is this resentment and the desire to walk freely where I please and keep her by my side that is the cause of many of our arguments. Perhaps I should speak with her about it? Perhaps I should simply tear off the bandage and though it would pain us both abandon her to the dark? I do not know.
In my indecision, my self-absorption Ari and I kissed. I broke my word to /her/ to be faithful, I’ve never broken my word before, and I feel shame; which makes the resentment worse.
I do not know what to do Journal, I know I will tell her of the kiss with Ari, but my motivations… Are they the motivation of a man hoping to do the right thing, and follow through with his word and make amends, to seek atonement in the truth, or are they the motivations of a many hoping that his infidelity will be the final crack in the dam wall, and end a relationship that I am too afraid to speak of earnestly on my own?
I do not know, and I am ashamed.
Day 29. Month 6, AR158
I locked myself away for several days dear journal and wrote my treatise, a primer for anyone who might wish to continue my own research into Synaptic Infestation, focusing on a particular species of fungus that infests and then takes over the actions of its host. I wonder what the implications could be if this fungi were able to be conditioned to have its infested subjects perform more useful tasks than to replicate and spread the fungal colony. But I think that is a topic for another time.
In short dear journal, I am now an initiate of the Erudite Arcanum. Not a bad achievement for a slave, wouldn’t you say?
Day 4, Month 7, AR158
I write this entry dear journal, in the spare room of the Nomad. It would seem the added precautions I placed on you were warranted. I do not know who the fellow works for, if indeed he works for anyone at all. All I know is that he /was/ a professional. Yes Journal, you are mine, for it would seem carrying the burden of my secrets and being in such close proximity to me has turned you yourself into a killer. The unfortunate fellow was smart enough to evade the needle trap, disarming it most handily, even cunning enough to avoid the contact poison, I do not think he expected the magic however. So I sit here now, scribbling my rambled thoughts in you after having dumped his withered husk of a corpse in the sewers for some rat, ooze, monster, or even just overly hungry homeless person to eat; though I think even a starving man would balk at the thought of consuming blackened, desiccated flesh, but you never know.
I write this entry journal after a particularly trying series of tendays, not because of any arduous task set before me, nor even having suffered the slings and insults of folk for being a slave. No, trying because despite all of the evidence to the contrary I have done what I thought I could not. I have spoken earnestly, and honestly with my mate. My mate. Those words seem to resonate more an more each time I write them, and though we still have many issues to still resolve and work through, we have reached a point where I no longer feel that I need to spend every moment possible at her side. She has cultivated her own interests and networks in the dark, something that was missing hitherto this point, and part of my perceived need to be at her side; and has given me the freedom to wander the surface whenever I need to. In all, we seem to have found a balance and I am content.
Additionally, I am settling in to my duties at the Erudite. Now that I am officially an initiate, Aun’rae has expanded my duties aiding her from simply the Xun’viir Mansion, to her laboratory in the Erudite. I’ve provided her with several species of fungus that display the most interesting behaviours and abilities, and her own activities into the nature of elves, or Darthiir as the Ilythiiri call them is fascinating. I’m not entirely certain if the House fully trusts my presence, due to my frequent excursions to the Surface, or my connections with the Church of Helm, but let them have their paranoia. Let them set their scriers on me, I feel sorry for the folk who will watch my mundane existence looking for something of note. Perhaps they will get lucky and observe me working a Guild Contract one day, though I doubt it, I tend to be cautious when working those and hide myself from prying eyes.
But I digress, the Erudite.
In these halls, filled with Warlocks, Necromancers, Artificers, and other folk too nefarious to normally be accepted in polit company, I feel quite at home. Noone looks at me oddly or decries me as a monster when a particularly interesting plant catches my attention, and I plumb its depths, seeking to understand how exactly it is capable of digesting flesh. Nor do they seem perturbed when I offer an insight into more effective ways of extracting information from a prisoner. I do feel some latent hostility from Vordeddu, an Adept here that has some truly interesting experiments, but that might just be her nature, I am not aware of anything I’ve done to offend her?
Amazingly however, the most interesting person I’ve met thus far is the First Keeper, Bella Isley. A name reviled on the surface, and murmered with fear and respect in the Dark, she is amazingly a very approachable person. With a keen mind, sharp sensibilities, and, rather altogether unexpectedly a dry sense of humour. Our first encounter resulted in a rather candid discussion and agreement that I will never be overly worried about her time, and will let her be forthright in determining whether she has time for me or not. It seems her station has caused folk to become so keenly aware of the value of her time they all scurry off like whipped goblins, leaving her with an over-abundance of free time. I think she and I will grow to be friends in time, I’ve reached the determination that I like her.
But, back to my original musing and why I am spending time in the Nomad. I near the end of my journey in having my collar removed, I have one of two more steps to complete and it is gone, and I am staring down the barrel of a decision, to flee to underdark or remain. I’ve sought council from the High Watcher, Aun’rae, Keph, and others I consider friends.
Remarkably, the High Watcher begs me stay in the dark and keep an eye on them, Aun’rae and a few others below bid my remain in the dark because my company will be missed, and others still (who shall remain nameless) desire me to spy on the Surface. To that end I asked Ari her thoughts, I still feel an attraction to the girl, despite having progressed and moved my relationship with another to a different level. Her perspective was the same as the High Watchers, remain in the dark and keep an eye on things, citing that I could do much good. I revealed to her I was of the Guild, and the things I had done below to survive, trying to have her understand I am not some altruistic hero. She laughed at me, saying that those who do not think of themselves as good, citing terrible things done, and worrying over their actions are usually more good in the grand scheme of things than those who purport to work towards the common good.
We spoke long into the night, I find I take comfort in the way she views me, it was too late to make the trip below and she bid me stay and take a spare room in the inn. I feel she is as torn about our relationship as I am, and would have preferred I stayed longer, and far closer than the public rooms down the hall. But I gave my word, and whilst I faltered once before I shall not do so again.
So now I sit here in a bedroom in the Nomad. Having disposed of a corpse not less than an hour before, rambling once again. A multitude of options and divergent paths lay before me, the very fundamental truth of my existence on the line; and I am thinking about women.
I am a fool.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
Re: A tattered leather journal
Day 15, Month 7, AR158
The final preparations are set, the Contract of Retainership is prepared and signed by Matron Xun’viir. As of the 1st of the 8th I’ll be one of her retainers for a period of a year. Now I just need to finish this last task to get this damnable collar off. I fear I will never fully get rid of the scarring the thing has left around my neck, but at least I’ll be free.
Aun’rae continues to be supportive and provides cover from other Ilythiiri and slavers who would cause grief. I owe her much, I’m not entirely certain how I will repay her when I’m free, but I will work it out.
Day 3, Month 8, AR158
I am free!
No more am I shackled to the yolk of that thrice-be-damned collar. I wandered into Cordor, and Andunor both a free man. Aun’rae helped me replace my colours with the Xun’viir household guard colour scheme, she took a measure of pride in her work, and was rather… well, pedantic about how I looked, I guess she takes great price in the house.
The most interesting thing about being free now if the number of folks on the Surface who look on me with different eyes, when I had the collar I was to be pitied, revilved, feared; now I am a free slave? It’s almost akin to being a folk hero, I’m not sure why, but I’m not going to complain about it.
Renaut and Aun’rae want me to take them on a tour of the Surface now I am out of my collar, because it will be less conspicuous wandering around now I guess than before. So we’ll make plans in the next few days.
I also need to find some way to thank the High Watcher, if not for her support I would not be free. I already provide her with intelligence and news of anything particularly dangerous that reaches my ears, but still…
I am not used to being indebted to folks, it’s is an odd feeling, but I’ll manage through it.
Day 23, Month 8, AR158
Well dear Journal, what an insane day today has been. A simple shopping expedition to Sibayad with Renaut & Aun’rae turned into nearly crossing blades with Jensen, somehow, someway he, Emma, and Ari learned that I was in Sibayad; and as Ari had only just learnt of my freedom decided that they needed to come and celebrate my new found freedom.
There I was, relaxed and enjoying myself in the bath, talking to Renaut about where he came from, what brought him from his far-off homeland in Kara-Tur, enjoying the hot water on my skin, the first bath in nearly half a year. Aun’rae was stealing everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor, and leaving us gifts of fruit to enjoy; and in their track. The sound of Emma’s armour preceding before them like some form of herald, a squeal of excitement and irritation from Ari that I hadn’t told her immediately that my collar was off, and an easy grin from Jensen. They had sought me out at Jen & Ari’s insistence that we celebrate my new found freedom, and that I should come to the Nomad at once!
I was up and out of that bath faster than I could think, I’m sure they were all thinking me modest, and didn’t think I was freaking out at the potential of them discovering my Ilythiiri compatriot. After the immediate greetings, and awkward glances as Renaut and I retrieved out clothes, she joined us, Aun’rae, disguised as a Pixie. My heart was in my throat, but I kept my calm. I cannot even remember the words that were spoken, but at some stage during the exchange Ari worked it out, that the Pixie was Aun’rae, the Ilythiiri I had mentioned had safe guarded me all those months, who had ensured I survived my captivity with little ill effect.
The lass dropped her spell, revealing her true form, damned if Jensen didn’t nearly hit the roof, his sword was in his hand, mine was in my own, and we squared off at each other. Calm words from Ari, and calming, though not exactly warm word from Emma had him sheathing his blade. I can’t exactly blame him, a few months ago I would have been doing the same, but having an Ilythiiri like Aun’rae keeping you safe, another Ilythiiri like Nendra making you armour, the Matron negotiating a more than fair contract, and having an Ilythiiri lover on top of all that, tends to shift ones perspective. Don’t get me wrong dear Journal, Matron Xun’viir is as devious as they come, and Lavok is a monster plain and simple, the tolerable Ilythiiri are definitely in the minority; but I guess I just expect evil and neutrality in equal measure from most folks now.
I’m getting sidetracked though, the point was, we narrowly avoided a brawl in the baths, which is a good thing because honestly, you never know what sort of accidents might happen when panicky, semi-naked folks start running around near folks with swords!
We decided to adjourn to a different location, the Inn in Minmir, the Silver Boughs. Ari seemed full of questions for Aun’rae, Emma was wary, but civil enough given this was the Ilythiiri that had safe-guarded me all those months, and Jensen was… well, I suppose the most accurate way to put it was uneasy; as was Renaut, who remained largely quiet during the entire exchange.
I do not think I have ever seen a more surreal exchange dear Journal. I’m not entirely certain what to expect, but I suddenly find myself straddling, two distinctly different, and openly antagonistic, worlds. The Dark, which has a brutal honesty and hidden beauty I never expected to find, and the Surface, with its open skies, boundless horizons, fresh air, and overly trusting naivete.
I’m not sure where I belong, above or below, or whether I have royally screwed myself and now that I have had my eyes opened, whether I will truly ever belong in either. I wonder at times Journal, if all of this is not some grand test from the Vigilant one, some way of preparing me for a trial greater, and more important than any I have faced before.
That sounds like hubris I know, but the alternative is that I have lost my mind, and will never truly belong anywhere again… and that thought frightens me more, than the possibility of being slightly conceited.
The final preparations are set, the Contract of Retainership is prepared and signed by Matron Xun’viir. As of the 1st of the 8th I’ll be one of her retainers for a period of a year. Now I just need to finish this last task to get this damnable collar off. I fear I will never fully get rid of the scarring the thing has left around my neck, but at least I’ll be free.
Aun’rae continues to be supportive and provides cover from other Ilythiiri and slavers who would cause grief. I owe her much, I’m not entirely certain how I will repay her when I’m free, but I will work it out.
Day 3, Month 8, AR158
I am free!
No more am I shackled to the yolk of that thrice-be-damned collar. I wandered into Cordor, and Andunor both a free man. Aun’rae helped me replace my colours with the Xun’viir household guard colour scheme, she took a measure of pride in her work, and was rather… well, pedantic about how I looked, I guess she takes great price in the house.
The most interesting thing about being free now if the number of folks on the Surface who look on me with different eyes, when I had the collar I was to be pitied, revilved, feared; now I am a free slave? It’s almost akin to being a folk hero, I’m not sure why, but I’m not going to complain about it.
Renaut and Aun’rae want me to take them on a tour of the Surface now I am out of my collar, because it will be less conspicuous wandering around now I guess than before. So we’ll make plans in the next few days.
I also need to find some way to thank the High Watcher, if not for her support I would not be free. I already provide her with intelligence and news of anything particularly dangerous that reaches my ears, but still…
I am not used to being indebted to folks, it’s is an odd feeling, but I’ll manage through it.
Day 23, Month 8, AR158
Well dear Journal, what an insane day today has been. A simple shopping expedition to Sibayad with Renaut & Aun’rae turned into nearly crossing blades with Jensen, somehow, someway he, Emma, and Ari learned that I was in Sibayad; and as Ari had only just learnt of my freedom decided that they needed to come and celebrate my new found freedom.
There I was, relaxed and enjoying myself in the bath, talking to Renaut about where he came from, what brought him from his far-off homeland in Kara-Tur, enjoying the hot water on my skin, the first bath in nearly half a year. Aun’rae was stealing everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor, and leaving us gifts of fruit to enjoy; and in their track. The sound of Emma’s armour preceding before them like some form of herald, a squeal of excitement and irritation from Ari that I hadn’t told her immediately that my collar was off, and an easy grin from Jensen. They had sought me out at Jen & Ari’s insistence that we celebrate my new found freedom, and that I should come to the Nomad at once!
I was up and out of that bath faster than I could think, I’m sure they were all thinking me modest, and didn’t think I was freaking out at the potential of them discovering my Ilythiiri compatriot. After the immediate greetings, and awkward glances as Renaut and I retrieved out clothes, she joined us, Aun’rae, disguised as a Pixie. My heart was in my throat, but I kept my calm. I cannot even remember the words that were spoken, but at some stage during the exchange Ari worked it out, that the Pixie was Aun’rae, the Ilythiiri I had mentioned had safe guarded me all those months, who had ensured I survived my captivity with little ill effect.
The lass dropped her spell, revealing her true form, damned if Jensen didn’t nearly hit the roof, his sword was in his hand, mine was in my own, and we squared off at each other. Calm words from Ari, and calming, though not exactly warm word from Emma had him sheathing his blade. I can’t exactly blame him, a few months ago I would have been doing the same, but having an Ilythiiri like Aun’rae keeping you safe, another Ilythiiri like Nendra making you armour, the Matron negotiating a more than fair contract, and having an Ilythiiri lover on top of all that, tends to shift ones perspective. Don’t get me wrong dear Journal, Matron Xun’viir is as devious as they come, and Lavok is a monster plain and simple, the tolerable Ilythiiri are definitely in the minority; but I guess I just expect evil and neutrality in equal measure from most folks now.
I’m getting sidetracked though, the point was, we narrowly avoided a brawl in the baths, which is a good thing because honestly, you never know what sort of accidents might happen when panicky, semi-naked folks start running around near folks with swords!
We decided to adjourn to a different location, the Inn in Minmir, the Silver Boughs. Ari seemed full of questions for Aun’rae, Emma was wary, but civil enough given this was the Ilythiiri that had safe-guarded me all those months, and Jensen was… well, I suppose the most accurate way to put it was uneasy; as was Renaut, who remained largely quiet during the entire exchange.
I do not think I have ever seen a more surreal exchange dear Journal. I’m not entirely certain what to expect, but I suddenly find myself straddling, two distinctly different, and openly antagonistic, worlds. The Dark, which has a brutal honesty and hidden beauty I never expected to find, and the Surface, with its open skies, boundless horizons, fresh air, and overly trusting naivete.
I’m not sure where I belong, above or below, or whether I have royally screwed myself and now that I have had my eyes opened, whether I will truly ever belong in either. I wonder at times Journal, if all of this is not some grand test from the Vigilant one, some way of preparing me for a trial greater, and more important than any I have faced before.
That sounds like hubris I know, but the alternative is that I have lost my mind, and will never truly belong anywhere again… and that thought frightens me more, than the possibility of being slightly conceited.
Current Char: Khael'dar
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"
"Understanding is a Three-Edged Sword"