April Vignette

[Lye]

An entry in your character's journal, diary, bibliography, or internal recollection. Must be written in first person about a memorable event.

Vignette ends April 30th at 11:59 PM Mountain Standard.

[Logan]

"I still don't even really remember how I escaped Pode's illusion trap. That mist was something else, but somehow I escaped. I mean, I was there, and I vaguely remember seeing something I thought was Lily. It wasn't Lily, though. It was a mind shadow or something. I'm still not entirely sure.

I think there was some connection between the shadow thing and Pode, but I don't remember what. At least, I don't think I do. My mind has been pretty foggy since it happened, and it kind of scares me a little bit to think I'm missing a chunk of my memory. Especially when I was under Pode's spell. Anything could have happened right?

And if that wasn't bad enough, I came to and that fucker Max had a gun to my head. Even now I'm not sure how the gun got away from him, but I'm glad it did. I'd be nothing more than splattered brain bits all over Pode's secret grove.

Oh, and I can't forget the treants. Those things were massive. Both Max and I went into this insane ultra-mode where we both just were completely in sync. We ran through those bastards like they were standing still. He won't admit it to me, but I think Max's swords are Prevalida because he wants to be like me. I mean, who wouldn't, right?

I'll admit I have a bit of a jealous streak when it comes to his Barettas, though. Those things are bad ass, and even though I'm not really a shoot'em up type, I could definitely see the benefit of having a firearm or two handy. Especially against something like the Kargoosh and that damned doppleganger.

Dru told me there was a doppleganger of me when I was in Pode's illusion dream fog, and apparently I was a powerful as fuck electromancer or some such. She kept mentioning these lightning bolts and energy streaks. I had to apologize. I used to, a long time ago, fiddle around with some electromancy shit, but man, it has been forever. I don't even know if I could pull that same shit again if I really tried. It's just insane. And then I felt bad because she had this huge slash on her thigh.

I could tell she was trying to hide the pain from it, but that thing was easily a hand length across and a good 2-3 inches deep. Of course, if I'm being really honest -- and since nobody else is going to read this why wouldn't I be -- those thighs are something else. I might have been focused on the task at hand -- fending off Pode's army of minions and shit so Dru and the other heroes could nullify her attacks -- but I'm a guy. I'm always going to take a look, and I'm always going to enjoy the view. Oh well, who really wants a drow anyways?

Maybe me, a little bit. Eh, whatever. It wouldn't ever work. She's too caught up in her whole being a bad ass and destroying Pode's army. I still have my dreams, though.

Oh, and I can't forget the Kargoosh's illusions. Is Pode really that fucked up that she'd use Lily against me? I mean, I get it, Lily is the easiest way to cut me down, but damn. That's just sick and twisted into mind fuck levels even I would never dare venture. It's just wrong. Pulling that kind of shit leads to a really bad place, and I don't know, maybe I'd have to face those fucking voices again. And maybe that demonic son of a bitch.

Nah. I'm stronger now. Mentally, I'm a brick wall. It takes a seriously fucked up bitch to break into my mind. Even before Pode's little attempt I was stronger than ever. So yeah, it wasn't going to work.

I just wish I could remember what it was that pulled me out of it, though. That must've been one hell of a something, because damn. Shit was real, and then it wasn't, and then it was again? Like, does that even make sense? I don't know if it does. It still doesn't to me, but I guess that's why I write stuff out. It helps me process and figure stuff out without people thinking I'm batshit crazy. Am I though?

I have a great thing with Lily, but here I am thinking about Dru, and I won't list out the whole host of other ladies my mind wanders to throughout the day. It's just hard sometimes to focus on just Lily. She's awesome and all, but I'm not really the settling type. I've seen people like Tshael get ripped to shreds over having a baby, not to mention good ol' Sei and what the fuck he went through with Anita.

I wish I could meet up with Anita. That girl still owes me a hug from the last time we met. Maybe soon. I heard a rumor floating around Sei Orlouge might be looking for me again for some big plan or something. I guess I'll know soon enough, right? Haha.

Oh well. It is what it is, I suppose.

--Logan"

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Dear Diary,

I killed a man today.

Big surprise, right? Over the past three decades, I've killed dozens--hundreds, even. If we want to include incidental deaths, then thousands, perhaps. But I'm getting off track here, pandering to petty details like that.

Let me try this again.

I killed a man today.

A man who I had spent much time hunting down. I spent months scrounging for any trace of him. I had very little information to go off of. I had brief glimpses of his face that flickered in my memory like a firefly's light, a first name (that I have now forgotten once I picked up the pen to write this entry), and a general location. But after picking up every whisper on the wind, every possible lead, and searching every gods-damned inch of those frozen Eiskalt foothills, I found the bastard. He had waited his turn like a good little wretch, and now his number was up.

He wasn't alone, of course. Cult leaders never are.

Once I cornered him and his miserable little group in a dark mountainside cave, he made a play for time by going on one of those villainous monologues. You know; like one you expect to read in a piece of fiction once the hero finally confronts the antagonist that has given them hell throughout the preceding two-hundred pages.

The cult leader gave me this spiel about me being a "chosen one", hand-picked by his master (whose name I've also forgotten, since I find myself becoming more and more intolerant to bullshit) to spread death and misery throughout the world and hasten his return to the physical plane. This cult supposedly had kept tabs on me ever since I started up with the Order of the Crimson Hand, specializing in the numerous diseases and plagues I engineered to further Lichensith's goals. Once I had arrived in this backwater wasteland, they took the opportunity to kidnap me and... well, you know.

Apparently these assholes were content to watch me as I grew as a Briarheart and developed in my abilities and confidence. They reveled as I spread the plague throughout the lands and people of Eiskalt, hoping that by doing so I would come into the destiny they had lined up for me as the avatar of their god of pestilence or disease or whatever it was.

This doomed man then attempted to persuade me to take my place as the head of their little cult, after so many of their experimental surgery victims--excuse me, chosen ones--failed them in one way or another.

I responded as I only knew how to those who have done me wrong.

Nothing will ever get the scent of melting flesh and blood out of that cave, of that I can assure you.

I saved the leader for last, of course. As he stood there, a quivering, convulsing, hysterical mess, I politely explained to him that I am nobody's tool, nobody's chosen one. I am the master of my own destiny, and no false gods would lead me from my own path. It was a lesson that Pode learned, one that Maladim learned, and now one that he and his own god would learn as well.

He did not put up much of a fight once I wrapped the vines he "gifted" me around his throat. Perhaps he was still traumatized that I murdered all of his followers before his very eyes. Once I had him properly restrained, I melted the flesh of his chest until the bones of his ribcage were exposed. Several impactful punches cracked them, and the bits and pieces were easily removed with by a few more briar tendrils. Reaching in with my bare hands, I parted his still-breathing lungs and grabbed a hold of his heart. After four playful little tugs, I ripped the organ free from his body as he did with my own almost a year ago. Except, whereas he replaced mine with the mystical construct that keeps me going strong, I held his in front of his face until the light of life faded from his horror-stricken eyes.

His pained screams were cathartic to me. It felt... so good to do this to this guy. A simple act of revenge; a joy that I have not felt in ages. A little comeuppance for ruining my life in order to fulfill some sort of fabricated destiny that had twisted his mind.

And now, he was nothing more than another checked box on my rapidly-growing To Do List.

I must be going, diary. I would've loved to have gone into further detail about this event, but I have caught wind of a group of bounty hunters who learned that I was in Eiskalt. The Icebreakers probably put a bounty on my head for war crimes. I cannot, must not be caught. Not here, not ever.

[Tobias Stalt]

I still remember every one.

Every pair of eyes judges me with the same vicious scrutiny, and every voice whispers of the same callous indifference. Stalt the slayer, Tobias the heartless; even the name "Untapped" has become seeped with venom. My reality has shifted so much in the past year, even my closest friends are little better than enemies.

They cannot see into my mind or pierce the depths of my struggle, so they are blind to the pain. It is a torment they mistake for apathy. Every single life I ended with my youthful ignorance was a link in the chain that dragged me down. Here I am, chain tightly gripped, and I remember all of them.

Most men would harden themselves to this hell. Humanity preaches a doctrine of self-preservation through disassociation, grief, and ultimately finding a way to move forward. I have learned the fallacy in that, though the path is admirable and most walk it for all their lives.

The Book of Denebriel is a religious text, but everything penned by mortal hands is riddled with an ounce of truth. The Sway's most blessed saint elaborates in a chapter entitled "suffering and salvation" about the true face of mankind and their sins laid bare. The reality is thought provoking.

"The man who lives his life in the dark remains there in death."

There was a boy once, a merchant from the east who came to Salvar seeking fortune. His words were poison, and his hands were fast to take, but slow to give. As he fumbled through the Salvic snows, he struggled alongside honest men and watched as they toiled to keep him alive. Mathes, Togan, I know your hate for the Church was deeper than the seas, but I burn candles for you both on my own hearth. There are no ritual salts or smells, just fires and wax that burn slow and hot, like your unyielding spirits.

I still have your blade, Tog, unbroken and unfettered by the elements of Salvar, as though the steel itself rejected the evil winter. Your devotion was to coin, perhaps, but it ran deep. I lament that Jak and I never spoke of your reasons. "Faith that the sun will one day rise anew." The faith preaches to press through one's own darkness and come into the light once more, every step an exercise in devotion.

I tell others that I am faithless, a pagan Witch Hunter, but the truth is that no one could bear this burden alone. The night is dark, and with no candle, it would swallow me. I do not hate as the Church does, and there is no fear in me. My faith is that one day, if I remain strong, I will see the end of this long night.

"The true state of man is emptiness." We seek to fill ourselves with things that comfort us. For me, there were many names and faces. Camille and Erica. I wonder now if either of you would forgive me if you had lived. I wonder that in passing, because no answer would give me solace.

Your forgiveness might blossom into another fleeting lie. The feelings we shared for a blink in the eye of eternity gave me no more fullness than a skin of ale. I pissed them away with these hands and left myself empty once more. Camille, there had been a time when I wanted to wed you. The child you carried, who died with you when Lye ended your life- I wonder, was he mine? I don't hold it against you, in any case. I never had a taste for good natured women. You knew that, though. No pure-hearted wench would have had me.

I still would have loved you, then. Part of me doubtless will continue. Humanity does not wash away like filth. The raiment we wear for all our lives is emotion and thought. What purifies us is faith. That is what Denebriel says, at least.

Erica, when you died, I wonder if you remained true to this. I wonder if you went to the sky-heavens and looked down on me. I wonder if your smile became a constellation, and if it shines brightly down on my ever-night. I do look for it, sometimes. It is a hope that sustains me when all else has failed.

We would have been close friends, I think. I apologize for that last, brutal lie. I think you appreciated it, but it still festers deep in my soul.

Like twin daggers thrust into my gut.

So many have died in my pursuit of a life I never sought. The Sway preaches a rebirth through flames: a new, empty vessel to be filled with faith. I wonder, though. Is faith synonymous with pain? Is that what they meant? There is still so much of this faith I have not come to grips with, Erica. I pray that I can learn it all, and that it will give me comfort.

The rage and the endless sea of blood flow around me, now. Every life scatters like petals to the wind. Death is beautiful for an instant, then gone thereafter. They are nothing to me- I understand that, now. As I am empty, so are all other things.

It is hardly a simple concept to swallow.

Alyssa, most of all. Not dead, yet in my heart, I failed you long ago. My words seek to comfort you, but my eyes have learned to see suffering. My return has brought you no comfort, and the disdain you hold me with in your eyes is heartbreaking. Better that I had never returned, perhaps, than for you to see the beast that I became.

I am sorry.

Apologies never make anything better, do they?

[Artifex Felicis]

It’s been a long time since I saw Corone proper.

The ship from Salvar in the north had left nearly three weeks ago, the weather fair and for maybe the first time ever uneventful. The spring breeze made the journey simple and easy. Though if you watched the sailors as they washed and polished and fretted over their ship you’d be easily mistaken. We docked two days ahead of schedule on Scara Brae. I half expected a sea serpent to attack, or pirates, or something exciting to happen. Though I suppose breaking one of the more rowdy sailor’s noses after the rum keg had been out too long would count. That would have ended worse if the Captain wasn’t particularly annoyed at the knife the beaten sailor was attempting to brandish. The captain did not take kindly to nicks in her ship’s deck.

I don’t know if I actually missed much. A lot of the old haunts were still around. There were a few new scars and stretch marks on the buildings from mother nature. The road was a little less bumpy in places and more so in others. The old bootleg trails were more traveled, the old hoodoo marks to guide the way carved into the old scars of the trees. Everything was a little bit different, and everything was a little bit the same.

I don’t think too many people recognized me. they did change the handle on the Peaceful Promenade. Some new metal designed for the people of the town and not for an old friend with a paw like a frying pan. The smells in the bar were the same though, and the beer was as watered down as ever. It was almost refreshing to see that the beer still tasted like moldy, watered down boots. Didn’t miss the stares though, that was something that never really went away, though at least while I had been in Salvar the people were too wrapped up in their own lives to care so much. Don’t miss the air though. I hate growing out my fur and getting a chance to shed it.

Still, it’d been years since I had been down here. There was an easy way of losing time. It was a little disturbing how easy it was to come back to an old life though. The drinks stayed the same, most of the shops were still around. I missed Lionel’s place by a few years apparently. He probably ended up selling the last of his junk and moved back home, and another little armory was in its place. I kept getting reminded of old names as I walked the tiny streets back to the ship, half expecting them to pop out with a cake and yelling surprise.

Might be a good time to see my old home in the Pagoda. I had left a couple of things there. I should probably pick it up. Maybe get in a good spar before I leave for the mainland.

(It's unlikely this will stay here for long without a heavily changed editing.)

[Alydia Ettermire]

I don't often commit my thoughts to paper in so concrete a form as words. I'm not entirely certain what compels me to do so this night. When dawn breaks, years of work, worry, planning and sacrifice will move to their climax. I am eager and anxious; I cannot take even meager rest.

On my request, every piece is in place. Dex, Vim and Hyanda have secreted into Alerar and even now hide in the home of Zezen Silinrul. Zhaunus, too, has reluctantly returned home, called back from Dheathain to bring a grand distraction and serve as our mechanical expert. Bron Retla's men quietly prowl Ettermire and the border lands, seeking out precious cargo.

Sintta Ilya's cure for the Plaguelands is nearly ready, and initial tests look promising. If all goes as hoped, a month's time might see Kelvar's family able to return to the lands he loved and tended. They could start anew.

They could start home.

I've been tying up some loose ends in the Lindequalme, but dawn will see me back in the well-ordered streets of my home city. Each minute, each breath draws us closer to the appointed hour.

Can we succeed? For the sakes of those who will come after us?

[hoytti]

Dear Journal,

I guess I should tell you that I'm upset with the way things have turned out. Just last night, I had to complete the mating ritual with my girlfriend Korra. The reason for this was because a woman by the name of Astarelle initiated the ritual while intoxicated. Now because of it, my girlfriend and child will have to suffer the consequences.

When my child is born, my girlfriend and I will only have a year to teach him how to survive before we have to leave him. The reason for this is because of Coralian law dictates "Any child born out of wedlock has to leave their parents after the first year, just like it was before the family unit was formed. Also, no interaction may happen between parents and child before the child reaches the age of 40." I am upset that my child and girlfriend will have to go through this all because I couldn't stop a woman from initiating the ritual. When I find Astarelle I will be giving her a piece of my mind. Oh, and now I have to leave my girlfriend while she is in this state. I'll lock the doors and windows until I come back. I'll return to her as soon as I can.


Sincerely,
Sorish Mon Larsh

[Philomel]

OOC note: inspired by this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHNJPsCDSqo).

Captain's Log: In the Year of the Common Era of 1815, Summer, the middle of. Faun year 2915, Helhel'gn 15.

The wind has not blown for three solid days.

No breeze, no waving of a flag, not even the peek of a cloud over the horizon. The heat of the summer sun is burning the backs of the crew as they go about their duties - or what duties they can do as we make no move across the surface of the water.

The sails are full. We made sure of that the first day of no wind, to firmly rig every single one just in case a small breeze at some point picked us up. So far, it has been to no avail, but I thank my goddess that at least we are alive and not running out of provisions - at least not yet. The sails cast shadows enough on the deck for the crew to have shade, though still some of them are going about topless. With a crew of purely all women it is acceptable for us in the heat of such things, and it also gives our single passenger some form of distraction.

Other than that, he is entirely moaning.

He violently threw open the door of my cabin this morning, with coat billowing out behind him (why he still is determined to wear it in this heat, I have no idea) and a voice like a raging volcano.

"Captain!" he screeched, "This is intolerable."

You are intolerable, I thought. I looked down at my charts and the paperwork I had to do - which was highly important and he had interrupted it. Underneath the desk I heard a small growl as Veridian, my darling, peeked up at this disturbance from where he lay on his velvet cushion. With a gentle push of a hoof I stilled my fox friend, then rose to standing, putting away my much needed work for now to deal with this bastard.

"Duke Harvald," I said, in the most sickly sweet voice I could muster, lined with as many secret, 'I hate yous,' as possible. "How can I help you?"

"We have not moved in three whole days!" he yelled, coming right up to my desk. He slammed his grimy hands, black from fiddling with too much tobacco, on the topmost chart, and then leaned forwards to shove his arrogant, aristocratic face in mine. "Three whole days and I am losing my patience."

There was so much temptation there to pull out a dagger and stab him in the throat, but our ship has a reputation to uphold. I simply leaned away from the spit, and gave a hateful and fake smile.

"Your Lordship," I said, "We have not moved as their has not been any wind. When you came onto this ship I firmly explained that the length of our journey will be subject to weather. Now," I tugged on the chart underneath his dirty hands, "We will try to get you to Salvar as soon as possible so that you might get your refugee status there, and build up the defence to claim your lands back. But I cannot rule nature, and none of us can."

I reached up, adjusting the tricorn hat that was snuggled between my horns.

"Now, that is the only thing my crew and ship promised you - to get you to your destination. And that is the only thing we can promise. Not when, and most definitely not how healthy."

He left then, in a huff.

....

Captain's Note: Must make my log less like a diary.

[Erirag the Poet]

Today all leaf on tree orange, human mans pick apples off trees, human peoples wear coats outside.

Tribe send message for Erirag. Erirag find work for okay gold. Apples need picked, Erirag tall. So Erirag pick apples and get gold. Get apples too. Not good like meat, but good in way it own. Erirag eat apple while picking, see Shakum walk up thru orchard. Erirag very pleased see Shakum. But Shakum not come to stay, to talk. Just message. That how Erirag know no good come of message. Shakum says his goodbyes and now Erirag is alone with message. Some orc in tribe learned how write. That okay. Erirag know how read now. Erirag wait, read message after sun sleep, when back in barn where stay.

Erirag open message just before dinner. Not want get rabbit blood on message. Erirag write better than orc that write message, but still can read. Five and three days past, Erirag's mother die in battle.

Erirag not know what feel. Mother kin but mother not friend, not fight together for many times. Erirag's mother strong and mean. Good orc. Human call that bitch, different than way orc see bitch. Erirag guess Erirag's mother good bitch in human way. Erirag better, but Erirag have good feel to mother. The tribe is good because orc so good. All orc must die. Mother die good death, just die when hunting. Very good death, the tribe say. Erirag have honor because of this. Maybe feel bad a little. Erirag not know how mother feel when Erirag leave. Erirag never write home. Erirag not think tribe can read. Maybe that okay. We not know everything. Not Erirag job to know everything. Just to be orc.

Erirag's mother name was Erimur. Erimur sleep forever in mountains now, strong as rock forever, great urukai forever. Erirag try paint mother now, so Erirag can remember forever the beauty of Erimur.


https://40.media.tumblr.com/295bea234ec773a8a77ffbe35d33f755/tumblr_nmhxyqvc2y1qkw6iao1_540.jpg

[The Mongrel]

... Fly from the Mountain, Mousie!
Fly like eagle, faster than lightning bolt!
Fly! Claim the sun!
Rise from dark night in glory!

I buried the other half of myself today.

He fought the poison as bravely and brutally as he'd fought anything else over the decade we were together, but everyone has a foe that's too much for them to conquer. That dose would have killed a normal man in less than a day. He suffered for a nearly ten through agony worse than breaking bones, through fever that left him delirious and drenched with sweat. He struggled to give us time to help him, for me to try any elven cures that came to memory, for our healer to procure medicines of various levels of legality and effectiveness, for the hope that he was strong enough to pull through it on his own.

He fought so that I wouldn't have to be alone right now.

We failed him. I failed him. And for all his valor, all his courage, all the strength in his arms and in his heart and in his spirit, his body lies deep beneath the ground, a magnificent feast for the worms. I don't know if there is anything for us after death. Neither did he. But if there is, I hope his afterlife is as beautiful as his soul was. I hope, if I don't keep him waiting too long, I can join him when someone thug's dagger or the executioner's noose snuffs out my own light. The life I lead is dangerous; it shouldn't take more than a century.

I would join him now, if I thought for a minute it was what he wanted.

Our little apartment is oppressively empty. The late afternoon sun pours into the window I have yet to shutter, bathing this hollow space with the brilliance of the day star. But there is no light. Our home has lost its soul. I thought that in the quiet curl of parchment - the same parchment he used to write his poetry on - I could find a haven from my heart. But I keep listening for his snorts and snores, and the silence tears at me like it would rip my lungs from my chest.

I need someone with me. I need to be alone.

Before I joined Unfounded, I was used to being alone. It was my destiny. Alone, I scrabbled for survival in the house of my birth, on the streets of Eluriand, and later on the streets of Radasanth. Anything I needed to do - hide, steal, cheat, whore - I did. I thought nothing of the deep loneliness that was my life, because it had been my reality from birth. It was not my tragedy.

My tragedy is that I loved and lost.

I have over a hundred people who hurt with me, grieve with me, who feel the loss sharply and who would not have me face the overwhelming emptiness and crushing darkness on my own. They are my friends, my family. I share not a drop of blood with any of them, but I have shed gallons with and for them. As have they for me. On this day of heartbreak and loss, I am less alone than ever I have been.

But in this well-lit apartment, devoid for all time of that which made it a home, I am more lonely than ever I have felt.

[Aliander]

Dear Diary.

I do not write often, even less so for myself but my emotions need to be sorted and they might do better on paper than rattling inside my head and I hope the distraction may also detract from the rolling of the cursed waves.
The last time I Ieft Salvar was five years ago. My eighteenth birthday. For it I recieved few gifts from my mother and my father but they granted me time that would not be hampered by tradtion or ties. It was a momentus occasion and I was given leave from my duties and training to travel, for a month and experience the warmer places in this land. From one full moon to another I had the freedom of which I dreamed during my rebelious days. Upon my return, the teachers claimed that I had excelled beyond all their expectations. I was, invigorated, energised. Knowing what was out there drove me harder at home. The outside world and my experiences with it gave me a sense of purpose. A space into which I fit that was more than Salvarian history and family pride.

That was five years ago.

All those years, I dreamed of the world outside. Sun blazing high above. Where heat has charred the stone to dust and nothing grows. Tastes, Sights, Sounds as of yet I have not discovered. What I am going to see, which I can not even imagine. And beneath all of that, as steady as a heartbeat is my duty. The reason for which I leave. I fear it.

My formative years ended last moon. My preperation to leave, indefinetly, from my home took their time and their toll. My friends waved me off, and my family escorted me to the very end of the pier. I'm traveling now to Scara Brae. I am free now to go as I please and fufill my task. My pilgrimage. A gift of knowledge for my father, which he will gift to the state as a mark of his status. When I have a son, I will do the same, the final gift will be my final act that would concearn the state. Afterwards, life is my own. It is all so distant. So out of focus from wheree I am now. Before I am a father, I must help my own to fufill his duty.

This will be my only entry into this journal.

[Flames of Hyperion]

I died again last night.

How many times now have I awoken in a lake of my blood, wondering how I could possibly still live? How many times will I do so again? I am little more than an ill-crafted undead monstrosity, but this knowledge will alter nothing but to increase my odds of dying further deaths. It took me long enough to piece together these truths, even with the Necromancer himself whispering them into my ears.

At least there is nothing this far north but blinding blizzard, biting wind, and rock-strewn waste. No grand halls full of screaming, cowering children. No empty-eyed soldiers relying on an inexperienced spellweaver to cover their retreat. No gaunt refugees clinging to the last shred of hope that they might survive the devastation of their homeland. No other ears to bleed as the bells toll their discordant chimes. No collateral damage for the dooms that stalk me still.

This time at least, I might be spared the nightmares.

It is true what they say, that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I wonder if it has to do with the desperation of your subconscious mind in search of a way to stay alive. I wonder if it dredges up every pertinent memory from the deepest darkest recesses of your skull, and presents them to you in a last-ditch attempt to do something, anything, to keep on living. Not that I’ve ever been devoured by sentient snowdrifts before. I had no luck finding anything even remotely related to that.

And so when there exists nothing in your memories relevant to your current predicament, I wonder if your mind resorts instead to picking out the happy and the inspiring, the meaningful and the treasured. I wonder if it tries instead to fight for what you will miss when you no longer draw breath. All this without a prompt, without a single trigger from your conscious senses. All this in the blink of an eye, in the eternity before the end.

That would explain why I saw you again, amidst the kaleidoscopic hallucinations before the world went black.

I know not how long I lay there, in that weightless void beneath starless night. I felt my thoughts float through infinite oblivion as they grasped for something solid. My body would not move, burdened by guilt and grief and despair. I had failed again. Though I am granted the chance to return, what gives me the right to grasp at straws that are denied to others? But as always I remember your smile, your eyes unwavering beneath cascading silken hair, and I know the choice I make is the right one.

As usual, I had to make a sacrifice. The eldritch abominations tore away another portion of my unresisting soul, perhaps something valuable this time. I thought that I might wake up without sight, or without feeling in my left hand, or with blood trickling from my mouth from ravaged innards. I feared that I would wake up without my memories of you.

The day I forget you will be the day I choose to stay dead.

It is hard to find shelter in these unending blizzards, much less enough light to write by. The cold is capable of freezing a man’s extremities in a matter of seconds, necrotising them through lack of circulation until they rot and fall free. So I claw a hole in the ice and snow with raw and wretched fingers, and summon barely enough flame to keep my pen-hand warm and to see the pages of my grimoire. I can no longer taste the blood in my mouth, but I must jot these words down before I forget. Just in case I never get another chance. Just in case they may be my last.

I hope you are safe, and sound, and far removed from the dangers and dooms that assail me now.

I hope your memories never flash before your eyes, in those powerless heartbeats between life and death.

I hope you never travel that weightless void, that starless night, that infinite oblivion inhabited by eldritch abominations.

I hope you never feel my guilt, or grief, or despair.

And for all that I am unworthy, I miss you.

And for all that I am unworthy, I love you.


~ Entry in Nanashi’s Book of Travels

[Rayse Valentino]

Woke up. Checked watch once. Only time I'll need to check it. Scent of lavender in the air. Hibraslav's concerto in my head. Painting on the wall a vibrant display of red and yellow, clashing, drive, passion. Silk sheets displaced, bed made. Curtains raised, sun pours in, view of Ahyark. Have a smoke. 182 seconds.

Spotless dark wooden floor. Bright tiled washroom. 342 seconds. Glistening warm water. Shower. Cashmere bathrobe. Running low on shampoo. Look in mirror. Have a smoke. 953 seconds.

Light fire. Butter in pan. Non-stick. Cracked eggs in bowl. Porcelain. Stir, mix, beat. Pour eggs into pan. Set coffee. Have a smoke. 1178 seconds.

Flip omelet. Delyn table. Fallien imported chairs. Breakfast. Sprinkle chives. Check news. Have a smoke. 1592 seconds.

Walk-in closet. Dozens of suits, dozens of shirts, dozens of pants, finest quality. Pick one of each, attach cufflinks, straighten jacket. Look in mirror. Have a smoke. 1892 seconds.

Carriage meets me out front. I don't need it. I take it anyway. Product moving across borders. Reports of train attacks. Arrive at distribution center. Have a smoke. 4124 seconds.

Check product. Supervisor had to cull the herd. New shipment coming in on schedule. Problem at mercenary center. Have a smoke. 6012 seconds.

They killed the target they were supposed to interrogate. Burned them for their incompetence. Have a smoke. 8123 seconds.

Met with investors. Have a smoke. 10652 seconds.

Lunch. Have a smoke. 12902 seconds.

Met with investors. Have a smoke. 17753 seconds.

Thieves Guild robbed the shipment. I was in the area. Caught them, and hit them. Again. And again. And again. And again. Until nothing was left but a bloody pulp. Have a smoke. 23632 seconds.

Replaced bloody suit. Have a smoke. 25342 seconds.

Went over books with accountants. New Housing development in Knife's Edge. Train town development between Tirel and Knife's Edge. Shuffling money from fronts to real estate. Have a smoke. 31532 seconds.

Dinner. Have a smoke. 32946 seconds.

Checking over operations. Bribed council member. Bought off new guards at docks. Can't get scent of blood off my hands. Have a smoke. 36023 seconds.

Dinner. Have a smoke. 42252 seconds.

Read report from mining operations. Delores on the move again. Ducal lords supporting her. Replace coffee with scotch. Have a smoke. 45023 seconds.

Unwind. Get ready for bed. Have a smoke. 48124 seconds.

Look at other painting in my room. Blue and white, swirling together but never touching. Unfocused, but free. Scent of lavender in the air. Have a smoke. 53012 seconds.

Burned this page. Have a smo

[Hawl]

The diary of a young Hawl, selected at random

~~~~~

Today I found a mouth floating above my bed.

It was a very pretty mouth, with big sharp spiky looking teeth. They kinda drooled a little, tiny pools of slobber falling with a plop to the ground. It must have been there for a while, cuz I nearly slipped and bonked my head on my night table. It giggled a little.

I don’t think it can move much. It is hovering at almost eye level, a big wet tongue panting and resting on sharp teeth. They almost look like lemons, if lemons were bone and sharp and not that shape at all. They were a little yellow though.

Aunty Jess was working the shop, and she is always saying to me how I’m too skinny so getting some extra food was easy. She really hated the carrots and the pear, but loved the lettuce I gave her! Also the big sausage too. Which was weird, since it wasn’t that cooked cuz Jess was being way more careful than she normally is. Normally I can get away with two whole chickens!

She does like it though, I can recognize a smile on anything!

It was weird watching the jaws click and clack and the food just disappear as soon as it passes the teeth to… I don’t know. It doesn’t just fall out behind it, so I figure that the mouth is just fattening herself up. I think anyway. They’re aren’t any lips or anything, so it’s just the teeth that’re there. And they've barely grown!

I took one of the teeth out with a rock and it didn’t seem like it was much bigger than it was that morning. It was even weirder when I tried to compare it to one of mine with one of Aunty Jess’ mirror and it got stuck. I had to get a second so it wouldn’t look that out of place.

I don’t think she is able to move much from her floating spot over my bed. The mouth follows me with a big silly grin, turning around as I run quick circles around her. There are no sounds, aside from the occasional little plop, but it closes its mouth into a super small, satisfied smile whenever I poke and scratch the top of it.

She seems pretty happy! I don’t if I could be floating in the air like that for a while though. I think I’d get bored. Still, I’m glad she’s there. It’s like having a pet! I need to come up with a name for her though. I can figure that out later though, I have to watch the shop for a while. I'll finish this later after I see if she likes a live pigeon or maybe a rat! I bet she'll love those, being all wiggly and stuff!

[eXgTurbostar]

Mercenary's Log
Job: Crazy Party Entertainer - Lion Tamer



Dear Diary....wait that's not it, where the hell is a eraser when you need it. Well since nobody but me will be reading this I guess I'll leave it be. Where was I again? Oh yeah right, Dear diary... for the love of [censored]... [random cursings written in elvish followed by ale stains]

Okay lets try this again, today I had an interesting day. After a successful job in which I got paid handsomely, I was as always, slowly getting myself drunk with ale at the local tavern in Underwood, late in the night. Drinking most of my friends under the table when a shabby guy with turban wrapped around his head started asking me about Kimba. I was going to ignore him as the many before him who were trying to make a pass at me. That was before the little fucker referred to my childhood friend as 'IT'...as she were something that I was simply having as an accessory, a soulless thing. This was after overlooking the fact that he called me a 'lady'...but the guy didn't stop there he asked If 'IT' was tamed. The fact that my ale mug was empty didn't helped out much to stop what happened next.

With my left hand I grabbed the guy by his chest and lift him up a bit, while with the right one I unsheathed the short blade from the back-side of my waist and put it right next to his manhood. I'm sure that whatever he had there made themselves smaller from the Ice Coating on my blade, if not from the fright itself, as he let out a high pitched squeal when I grabbed him.

With a sigh I addressed the guy who was too shocked or scared to show any sign of resistance: "Listen up pal, first of all I'm no lady so that we make it clear. Second if you refer to my beloved Kimba by IT, I'll let her have her way with you. Understood?" He started to continuously nod while switching his gaze from my silver eyes to his crotch. With a smirk I let him go and sheathed my blade, next asking him with a mischievous smile: "You mentioned something about money, what were you referring to?" he continued to nod while pulling a piece of poorly wrapped paper out from an inner pocket of his jacket. I took it out and after reading it halfway I gestured for him him leave with my right hand. in the same time Kimba, who was probably sleeping until now, started approaching him while letting out low predator-like growls. The guy got the hint and went running through the front entrance.

With a satisfied smile and a short snort I neatly folded the paper and placed it somewhere safe. Next I direct my gaze towards Kimba: "You know what girl, tomorrow we're going to party!" she said with a enthusiastic voice while all the drunkards around them started shouting "Yeaaaaaa!!!" while holding up their drinks. I did the same but found my ale mug empty. "Bartender REFILL, NOW!"

[Zook Murnig]

Excerpts from the Book of Shadows, in regard to research on sample taken from the Fire Wand of Cohen Ephraim

Day thirteen of study on acquired sample marked "wand." As previously established, subject contains channeling conduits sensitized to tejas grade energy. Conduits appear directional in nature, running the length of sample. Direction is established by use of magnetism, provided from magnetized steel core.

Experimenter's note: Don't fuck with the magnet next time. Last time I made anything from this sample, it blew up in my hand because I turned the magnet around. Ten silver of materials, and a week of recovery, down the drain.

Terminus-end radiation established and focused by gemstone. Gem used in original construction previously noted to be a ruby, though I have to wonder what effect similar size and quality sapphire would have on results -- rubies and sapphires are confirmed by Aleran alchemy to be comprised of identical minerals. I will test this next construction phase.

---

Day sixteen of study on acquired sample marked "wand." Do NOT use sapphire in construction. Identical minerals my ass, a ruby is not the same as a sapphire. Energy flow ceased at terminus-end, blocked by the incompatible gemstone, and built into such an enormous tejas sink that I had to ground it in piled sand and pour water over it so it wouldn't blow.

Session not entirely unfruitful. Measured power in this construction exceeds previous estimates. Originally, I had thought this device a crutch for the source owner. However, the device clearly acts as a focus for intense fire magic. Unfortunately, this leads me to fear that a more meager talent cannot achieve sufficient power level to utilize the "wand" as intended. Further experimentation with design is required.

---

Day twenty-three of study on acquired sample marked "wand." Constructed as source material indicates, the device indeed produces remarkable results. My fears were justified, however, and while it produces high-energy gouts of flame, I am unable to use the device as intended. With a full minute's charge of tejas, I can only sustain activation for a handful of seconds -- definitely not appropriate for self-defensive applications. The good news, however, is that the initial stage of research is complete, and now I can move on to redesign and personalization. A clear necessity.

---

Day seventy-four of study on acquired sample marked "wand." Breakthrough. Using less power-intensive materials, and modified construction, the device is now more attuned to my own power output. Side-benefit: the end result may be more versatile and capable of further modification to enchantment based on field performance. As it turns out, the originating design not only relied on unrealistic and unsustainable power output, it was crude and likely barely functional for its creator. A rush job leaning heavily on brute force and blind adherence to traditional elemental paradigms. No finesse or creativity. I hope I see this brute of a mage again. I'll show him a thing or two about fire.

---

Experimenter's note: Careful what you wish for, Alma.

[Blodwen]

Note found scrawled at the scene of a murder of an apothecary. Blood all over the note, though no discernable fingermarks. Note is to the family it seems, and a confession by the killer.

My name is Blodwen. And I am sorry for what I did.

First, I have to explain a few things. My father is dying, you see, and he is all I have left in the world. My mother and grandmother died when I was very young, and it is he who has raised me from a kid. Ever since hair poked from my head he has been around, caring for me, loving me, tending to me. Its - asides from our grumpy cat he is everything that I have.

He is ill. And I have been all over this world for him. To find a cure.

I have ventured into the Red Forest in search of a crimson leaf that supposedly could bring his heart back to speed. I have gone far north into Berevar freezelands to search for a hermit who might have answers. And I have gone to the edge of Dhethian to find a legendary waterfall whose waters might have healing properities. I am desperate, I am suffering. I need my father more than anything.

Believe these claims or not, but I have travelled to heal him, and I will travel further. But I came here, to this shop after following rumours of an apothecary who could give me a magical potion. Rumours I got from scamps on the street - I swear! They weren't tall or short, or bald or green-eyed or had any other distinguishable features I remember. I just heard it, followed it, and came here to seek your husband or father or lover's advice, and it was he who attacked me, not the other way around.

You can take this as a confession if you like, and use it to search for me, but you won't find me. I will leave this city likely before you read this, fearing my guilt. I swear the body is not what it looks like - I merely shot him out of self defense with my boom-bang. Its a simple wee device, I swear, not that exciting and I never expected him to have a weak heart but, but - please.

Look beyond the blood, look beyond the death. I asked him if he had a cure and if he could perform the magic necessary to save my father, and the man turned on me without warning. He threw a book at me, I raised the Aleran pistol I had. He thrust at me with a knife, I shot. That's it. That's all there is to it. I killed him, but it was not murder, it was not intentional.

I am sorry. I know likely that you won't ever forgive me, but I am sorry. I didn't mean to kill him.

[Whispers of Abyssion]

Don’t preach to me of ‘debt’ and ‘sacrifice’, daemon.

Have you ever seen your life poised on the edge of a precipice, peering into the depths of an infinite abyss?

I have.

Have you ever dashed your hopes and dreams against the unyielding rock of reality, and tried to piece them back together again as they swim through your open fingers?

I have.

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night, tears pouring down your face as you scream her name?

I have.

I spit on your ‘promises’. I spit on your ‘deals’. I spit on all of your ‘traditions’.

This is my path to walk.

My world to save.

Do you have it in you to follow me?


Touma Kamikaji, aged 13
The Night of Nefarious Flame
Inscribed in blood on the Academy gates

[Lightfoot]

Hmm... what about this?

Is your father a baker? Because you have nice buns.

No, no, no. Not subtle enough. Needs more finesse. That would never work.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Guards change shift every three hours. Two at the main gate, one on the side door, two on constant patrol. Top floor seems void of any guards. Might be for the Lord's privacy. Can get in through there.

There's a gap in the patrol towards the back of the manor, near the gardens entrance. Wall looks easy enough to climb. Timed right, I should have three minutes to scale.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Job was a bust. Ancient Salvic crown was counterfeit. A good one though, it even fooled me. Arcaf wasn't able to pay in full, understandably, but he spared an eighth since I helped him on the Raskian job. Not much, but better than nothing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally finished the wolf figurine. That bastard had stumped me for a whole month. If dad could see the way I worked the wood, I know he'd be proud. Might even pay me for it, the stubborn bastard...

Maybe I should go

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Contacted about a job in Corone. Some rich Lord Goldsacks wants an enchanted shortsword. Apparently it's being sold by a spectral auctioneer that passes through Concordia every so often. Sounds like the usual peasant superstitious nonsense. I have three days to get to the rendezvous. How the hell am I supposed to get to Corone from the middle of Alerar in three days? I'll figure it out. For five thousand gold, I better.

It'll be a slice of pie.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Went out on a limb and used the baker line. It actually worked. Her father was a baker.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

Day 8

I can’t reproduce the event that occurred a week ago. I’ve been working tirelessly on recreating it in a controlled, stress free environment, but there seems to be something about emotional and physical stress that pushes my magic to the limits of what it can do. I might have to put myself in mortal danger to see a repeat.

Day 10

More unsuccessful attempts. My power’s waning. I should probably get something to eat and maybe a strong drink or two to keep me from losing my cool. I almost snapped at one of the Knights today. He looked a bit scared, honestly, as if I’d actually go so far as to hurt someone out of my pride. What a pain.

Day 14

I finally managed to call upon enough power to create a small wall of ice, roughly large enough to block a doorway. Based on my measurements, it requires a significant amount of my personal power to create even something this small, making it very unwieldy, even as a defensive maneuver to buy time. I’d come close to passing out, even with the full reserves of my magic available. Without someone to help me escape, it’d only buy a few moments before it would be broken or melted, and I’d be dead.

Day 31

It’s sad, but with my current level of power, there’s nothing I can do. I might as well head down to the bistro and pick up a few of those yeast rolls. Damn, I wish my father was here to help me. Should I ask him, or would that be considered admitting defeat in his eyes? Inscrutable old man.

Day 33

Alright, I’ve found out how to conserve energy to create a wall of ice with a significantly smaller amount of my power. I’ll have to remember to thank Uncle Sei for letting me use his library. None of these fundamental techniques for controlling output of energy is available in the few tomes I have access to. Perhaps the books I own believe that the reader already has these skills available. Throttling my magic isn’t very easy, at least not yet. As I learn, I’m sure I’ll learn to make what now takes me a considerable sum of power much easier to use, and then gain access to things that I can only dream of at this point.

Day 37

Someone read my notes. Did they think I’d actually publish my findings? All I use this thing for is to keep track of my thoughts while I experiment. Good luck finding my real notes!

Also, if you’re also the person who keeps eating all the granny smith apples… Stop. Please, just stop it. They’re my favorite fruit.

Butter, milk, eggs, dry yeast, flour, nightshade, roses, and three jars of lamp black. (Scribbled in the margins)

[Lye]

Closed. To be judged shortly.

[Lye]

Judging postponed until 5/11/2015. Unexpected roof leak.

[Lye]

1st: Flames of Hyperion (8570)
Very strong emotional voice and word choice. Excellent pacing. Felt like a journal writing and also touched on current setting/action. Very active. No grammar errors, but last two lines begged the question of intended repetition or involuntary? May have had more impact ending just on, "I love you..."

1,200 EXP
200 GP

2nd: BlackAndBlueEyes (3431)
Strong sense of persona and strong adherence to prompt. Madison's voice is apparent. Even though there are intentional violations to grammar, it flows naturally and remains engaging. Some brevity could be applied to the priest killing scene. Though the intention was to recall graphic detail, pacing faltered at that paragraph.

880 EXP
150 GP

3rd: Tobias Stalt
Tobias is a troubled man. This entry relays that strongly as a core theme while also entertaining his struggle to understand it all through religious teachings. Very strong emotional pull, yet upholds the character's detachment. The internal struggle is apparent. Some breaks could have been made at the quoted teachings for better flow. While some sentences & fragments were intentionally off subject for poetic imagery, they did jostle the read. Some care in how they are positioned or flow into the rest of the writing could be made to improve.

350 EXP
100 GP

Logan (51)
Strength: Strong personal feel and adherence to prompt. Hints of humor were refreshing.
Weakness: Excessive language and repetition made the writing less engaging.

300 EXP

Artifex Felicis (252)
Strength: Very casual and strong adherence to prompt. Gentle flow and warm tones.
Weakness: Pacing suffers in the continued mention of old/new and changed/unchanged. Could have omitted a few examples for improved flow/pacing.

350 EXP

Alydia Ettermire (8606)
Strength: Short, sweet, and to the point. Impactful & thought provoking.
Weaknesses: Many names and places mentioned with little detail to follow. Would make for a strong opener, but lacks the meat as a stand alone.

350 EXP

Hoytti (16188)
Strength: Strong adherence to prompt. Explains character's struggle.
Weakness: Delivery is flat. Less fact and more personal feel was needed. Show, not tell applies.

200 EXP

Philomel (17225)
Strength: Good pacing and balance of imagery versus action.
Weakness: Started out like a journal, then moved into a 1st person story. Summarized or paraphrased dialogue would have helped.

350 EXP

Close Contender: Erirag the Poet (2989)
Strength: In character use of voice and recollection. Strong use of prompt and personal event. Coveys emotion to the reader even with intentional grammatical error.
Weakness: Some grammatical sentences were far more jarring than others. Segment about her feelings toward her mother slowed pacing and could have improved with more brevity or impactful phrasing.

150 EXP


Close Contender: The Mongrel (17739)
Strength: Strong use of prompt toward devastating event. Poetry mixed with personal writings worked well.
Weakness: One run on and few grammar errors jarred the read. Phrase of needing someone, then needing to be alone was a confusing or thought provoking contradiction. More emotional impact would have helped especially since she buried him today of all days.

150 EXP


Aliander (18159)
Strength: Solid attempt. Good use of intentional grammar error to create impact. Read like a journal.
Weakness: The intentional grammar errors jarred the flow of the read. Line breaks may have helped to develop a stronger visual cadence.

100 EXP

Close Contender: Rayse Valentino (4242)
Strength: Witty, mechanical, creative, and entertaining.
Weaknesses: Fragmentation lead to a jarring read. Impact of the seconds and their implied meaning was lost in the excessive repetition and location at the end of the list. Would have worked better at the beginning or by identifying key entries (noon or ritual events like meals/tea/coffee) with the number of seconds since waking.

600 EXP

Hawl (18168)
Strength: Strong personality in the youthful read of events. Interesting focal point.
Weakness: Grammar and flow suffered with lack of punctuation or word placement. Unknown subject is harder for the reader to identify with.

100 EXP

eXgTurbostar (18182)
Strength: Lively sense of persona.
Weakness: Started as a journal entry, then turned into a 1st person story. Paraphrasing would have helped.

100 EXP

Zook Murnig (1938)
Strength: Creative use of prompt. Nice touch of humor.
Weakness: Could not tell if it was the main character or random scientist discussing the character's wand.

200 EXP

Blodwen (17700)
Strength: Creative use of prompt. Good attempt at emotional involvement.
Weakness: Quite elaborate for a note left at the crime scene. Innocent choice of words in the beginning though the crime was serious and writer knew she would be speaking to the loved ones of the deceased.

100 EXP

Close Contender: Whispers of Abyssion (15607)
Strength: Short, strong, powerful. Good usage of prompt.
Weakness: If any, it is that the 13 year old is very literate.

250 EXP

Lightfoot (13766)
Strength: Witty humor and strong adherence to prompt.
Weakness: The entries jump around. Unclear as to who the pick up line was intended for.

100 EXP

Rehtul Orlouge (14301)
Strength: Strong adherence to prompt. Creative end.
Weakness: Could have used more sense of frustration from the character. It was hinted, but weak/flat.

200 EXP

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added