Eleint 5 Year 152 of Our Sanctuary

So, it is done then. The seed planted so long ago finally begins to take hold, and grow into something beautiful. I feel as if a weight that had pressed hard upon my shoulders has been lifted and now I am free, more or less, to act as I will. With such apprehension I have looked to this time, yet upon my arrival I feel a profound sense of hollowness, as if in pulling myself out of the lethargy of the abyss, I have in turn lost a part of myself which was vital to my very being. Nevertheless, such thoughts will be banished, at least until matters progress.

As I have wandered The Sanctuary Below, I look at the staid state of its people and ponder upon words I have tried to forget, to banish from my mind. And yet, like a grim specter at the edge of my consciousness, the Document remains embedded in my mind. What if our efforts were indeed for naught? Such questions are rarely visited in the Town amongst the grime, its folk unwilling to consider that a truth, cold and terrible may await us in the darkness. What if its word speaks true? For all blood run in the streets below, a lie, seductive and beautiful has captivated us all? Its words hold a grave weight behind them, which I cannot discount. I find myself compelled to seek out he who authored it, and set about discovering what stands for truth, in the dark realms below.

"..it shall arise, and we shall know that, despite our good intentions, we were betrayed."

-James Lysik

Eleint 25 Year 152 of Our Sanctuary

The hours of my waking lengthen, every facet of my attentions devoted to the unravelling of the alluring veil that has been set upon our City. And yet, I feel myself being drawn wholly into the void that claimed Jher, and Albert; clutching blindly at phantoms even as I fall towards a doom wrought by accursed hands centuries past. I sit amidst the ruin of Willoud’s Temple among the mortar and debris: the exile to which I again commit myself consumes my thoughts. I profess to lead us to the light; that the way to salvation lies with Frederick’s heir. Doubts plague my very soul like carrion birds circling a fallen predator, the words of the Document, ugly and terrible screaming that my path is folly, and yet, I hope that perhaps we will stumble upon some grain of truth out in the blackness, when our search amongst the tyrants who bear fineries has failed.

And so, my eyes are cast ahead of me, into the great unknown. It is in the habit of men to call out to the divine upon setting out upon a great odyssey, but I fear gods are no use when a man walks amongst nightmares. Even as I write my aged body fails me, and I question indeed whether I may fall by the wayside, a parched and haggard wanderer lost to memory. Holding me aloft as I prepare to embark is the thought that some time when my bones mingle with the sand, some traveler much like I will happen upon this account, and discover the heart of matters. And that, I think, should suffice.

Marpenoth 4 Year 152 of Our Sanctuary

I linger here, imprisoned and enchained by invisible captors, out of thought and mind of those I had thought would assume the parts anointed to them generations ago. Alas, complications and betrayals leave me limp and powerless to act as I choose. He has not yet contacted me, a concerning development. I would fear for his well being, did I not perceive his nature as I do. I am forced to conclude that my missive did not, in fact, arrive, or he chooses to ignore it. I am uncertain which would be the most troubling. Nevertheless, I remain resolute that the path I have embarked upon is true, even if others may have to face it in my stead.

-James Lysik

Clipped at the bottom of the pages are various notes, clippings and sketches, arrayed in no particular order.

"... .. Starvation ... Dhogur, that .... .. speak again, when the blood has run it's course. - Jher

"For the past fifty years our defenders have turned inward, and sought to defend us not from our enemies but from ourselves -- the Watch and the Spellguard work in consort to keep us in line, satisfied with a dismal existence in this prison beneath the world. With every man's speech are the whispers of discontent -- in every man's mind, the dream of freedom -- on every man's lips, the word "rebellion." - A.U