Tarsakh 16, 153 The ciity is in a stir. Between Michael Bresley's return, those rumours that there are thralls in the Watch, and everything else that's going on lately, Marge has been chattering nonstop for for hours about all and sundry to everyone who'd listen, quite a few who wouldn't, and alarmingly often not to anybody at all. I don't understand her very well, but I suppose everyone has their own way of coping with the problems here. ---

Tarsakh 17, 153 So many watchmen have disappeared. The streets are nearly barren, and Marge seems even more convinced than usual that the end is near for us all. I confess, I'm starting to believe it too. Sanctuary has always pulled through to relative security, and has even grown strong lately, under the guidance of Sheriff Azzam. Deep down, I know him to be a good man, fiercely loyal in everything he does. Some disapprove of him, but they are too often the ex-slaves who are particularly sensitive to what they call tyranny, and not sensitive enough to the plight of the city. Sanctuary has to have a strong leader to survive. ---

Tarsakh 18, 153 One of Azzam's Lieutenants has been missing for a day and Marge says he knew all about the Thralls in the Watch, amd that the Spellguard were in on it too. That they're actually executing everyone who isn't a thrall in an attempt to to... I don't even know, I thought it was all ridiculous, and I told her so. She scoffed as usual, and wandered off to harass somebody else. The Spellguard have always creeped me out, but her idea makes no sense at all. Why would whatever Mind Flayer is behind it all kill off half the Watchmen rather than enthrall them? What would it have to gain, and how could they possibly expect to keep a secret like that? ---

Tarsakh 19, 153 Gods below, it can't be true! Azzam, a thrall? I wouldn't believe it, if I didn't see it all happen myself. The evidence is so damning, but I'm still shocked... Gods, and I wasn't the only one. The city is in havoic, I heard an explosion near the estates just a little while ago..The Watch is in shambles, without leadership, and half its number culled like dogs. I still don't know what to believe about the Spellguard, but I fear they can't be trusted in the least. Maybe they have the power to defend the city, but like Marge says, it seems like they're too fond of their machines to even let them get scratched, much less fight off drow.

Speaking of Marge, she never did make it back.

I'm getting worried now. - It's been a few hours now, since this all started, and things have quieted down. the Watch have ordered everyone into their homes, but I still haven't seen any sign of Marge, andI can't go out to look. It's getting late now. I need to sleep. ---

Tarsakh 20, 153 Something has happened. I can't begin to explain it, but I have retched out the contents of my stomach several times today. I don't feel ill, much of the time but perhaps I am feverish with stress. I even had the most bizarre of dreams when I went to sleep last Dark. It wasn't a bad one though... it was... I don't know how to explain it.

I dreamt of light. A bright white light, brighter than the white-hot center of the burning flame, it grew and grew, until it encompassed everything. It was irrevocable and absolute. Yet I was, for the first time in days, at peace. The light was comforting, and when I grew used to the brightness, it ceased to hurt my eyes. I heard a voice, it spoke to me from both an intimate closeness and from an eternity away. I cannot remember the words that were said, they have since become utterly jumbled in my mind. I remember only that the voice made an offer... one which I accepted.

When I awoke, I put it out of mind, the memory of the dream already gone, like grains of dust through the splayed fingers of my hands as I tried to hold on. I left the home, to see the streets, still littered with the bodies of Watchmen and rioters slain during the chaos. No men in the streets cleaning up the mess, the hearts of all in the city still wrought with grief, terror, and shock. It wasn't then that I began to feel ill, however. Soon, I met others in the streets. Usual faces, like, and unlike all those faces I've ever seen in my life, and yet, there was something else. A blight beneath the surface, tugging ceaselessly at the edge of my consciousness at first. Throughout the dark, it grew and grew, a migraine on the fabric of my own existence, grating at me just beneath the surface of my flesh, the blight that I saw everywhere, it made me ill. At last, I could stand no more. I returned to the home, emptied my insides, and here I am now. The pain seems lessened now, the blight less prevalent, but I can still feel it, just too far away, just out of reach.

There has still been no sign of Marge, were I less weary and in need of rest, I think I would begin to fear the worst.

Tarsakh 21, 153 In the space of two days, my life is changed. I have sought out others with the Gift of Sight, and been met with some success. Three I have met, the name of another, and the assurance that there are still more out there who have been tapped as I have to wield the Light. I'm concerned though, because in coming to my revelation, I've both gained greater understanding of the Sunlord's expectations of me, the oaths I made to the Light in my Dream, and the realization that those of this calling are not well-liked, because of those oaths.

I am never to aid those who hold darkness in their hearts. This oath, which all holy warriors make is perhaps the most restricting. A woman pointed out to me that she has witnessed one so-called righteous turn away from defending he lives of innocents, because it would mean fighting alongside one of darkness.

This seems wrong to me, I believe the warrior in question must have been in error, there is no excuse for not protecting an innocent, regardless of who else is trying to help.

Things have changed for me in other ways as well. Already, I have been involved in more excitement than I've ever witnessed while tending the wounded. If even for five minutes, I stood in the presence of Lord Alexander Archibald as he addressed a group of individuals who would go on to do away with the malevolent power that held the Sheriff Azzam and his subordinates in thrall. I ultimately wasn't invited to join them in the effort, which I confess am just a bit relieved about. I require more time to truly understand what the Sunlord expects of me, I do not wish to rush off to my death. But there was another good that came from it all.

I spent the hour following my dismissal from the Archibald estate speaking with a darkhearted man. He had such a fury in him, and I came to understand better what drove him to that point. A half-blooded Orc, doubtless he's lived a life under the heels of prejudice. His rage stems, I think, from the sundry indignations he's experienced all his life. Always cast aside, despised for his birth, he learned the hard lessons of self-sufficiency. He cannot be blamed for it, as he had few choices in his life, except to do what he could to survive.

If there is anything I can do to cleanse him of that indignation and shame, I will do it. If he comes to desire absolution, he will be but the first, of hopefully many, to receive it.

Perhaps that is what the Sunlord desires of me.

Nevertheless, I should seek someone to teach me how to put on a proper suit of steel, and to carry a shield. If I am to bring Light to this place, I must first be able to survive in the face of the Black.

Tarsakh 23, 153 The leaps forward and back today have been enlightening at best, and distressing at worst. I wish I could say it was all positive, but even optimism has its limits. I've acquired a suit of Mail which enhances my healing prowess, and Ordinant Tal-Quin Makabi showed me through the process of equipping it. It's not a shiny suit of plate like fables talk about, but it is very good to my needs and purposes. Alas, not long after, we persued a task of great importance, which is not the part of great distress, but rather the outcome. It was going well. Very well, even, but we ran into something other than the mindless hordes of undead down there. Men. Men who've for inexplicable and malevolent cause aligned themselves with the undead. Perhaps they are the source of it all, in fact, but they brought us all low, but for one who escaped and brought help, bless her. It was too late for Tal-Quin, however, and his eyes were removed, for whatever transgression they felt he had perpetrated.

The tragedy of this is self-evident, but I suppose through all of the difficulty, there was a cause for optimism, now that I think. I recall it vividly. In a time of great need, when the battle was hot, and one of our companions had nearly fallen - I rushed into the fray, and got him onto his feet. I knew though if the crowd of foes weren't thinned, it would be for naught. A prayer of need, a flash of light, my weapon endowed with all the blazing glory of the Sun, I slew half the maligned bodies that shambled so restlessly, and we were able to continue on.

I have not managed to duplicate this feat, and my faith in the Sunlord is affirmed. He watches me, and I strive to do the very best in His name.

A further matter of concern, though: We were inevitably laid low, as I said, and men and women of the City summoned to our aid. When all was said and done, some were insufficiently pleased with the reward of good will and new friendship. One of those was a woman who harbored darkness as I've seen in so many others. A certain greed, an anger buried deep, but more than that, an ill-cunning which she showed later. In my hopes of appeasing the gathered volunteers, I made an oath of debt to them all, that they may call upon at any time. I would not be reluctant to give it, regardless, however the one woman, seemed more than eager to hold me to it. Troubling, for the darkness she bears.

I spoke with her, and made clear the restrictions my oaths mandate, she seemed ignorant, or unconcerned with the blight on her spirit, and professed her worship of Ilmater. I hold her words with skepticism, but accept them... Nevertheless, I anticipate trouble from her, and worry over what it is she will require me for.

Above all, however, I hold the vows I've sworn to the Light. They will be first, always.

Tarsakh 24, 153 The greatest folly I've ever witnessed was a man of a deity touting protection for the weak, savaging a widow of a god he deemed too silly to save his life.

He is a man of great capability, and I believed he could play an important role in saving the city. A man like that though, will do nothing more than damn it.

The lesson: Pride is a vice that leads to the destruction of goodness, and the decay of morality in its own name. Any man who would strike a companion who saved his life, in the midst of a den of evil, over something as foolish and fleeting as pride is one I would never model myself after.

Modesty, humility, grace, charity: These are the virtues one ought practice, and in so doing gain both admiration from peers, and pride in oneself.

And when the darkness that grows in him, seizes his heart, will it be too late to stop him from perpetuating his cruelties?

---

Poor Vera.

That blackhearted wretch of a woman who I made an oath of debt to has demonstrated the depths of her cruelty as well. Wild accusations, libel, slander, defamation. She is a leech who preys on the good-natures and naiveties of others.

I will give her nothing.

Tarsakh 25, 153 My powers develop as the bond between myself and the Sunlord solidifies. I find myself more able to control the Sight, now - evil less potent to my eyes, and less grating on my subconscious. I believe the heightened sensitivity to the blight was symptomatic of my eyes being opened; the Sunlord showing to me what I must work against. The truest depths of the peril were revealed to me in my first days, and now I am resolved. Channeling His blessings becomes easier, but I still feel it must be a thing I do infrequently, lest I take it for granted, and devalue the worth of the might He's entrusted to me. ---

Tarsakh 26, 153 What horror!

The Chosen have made good on their threats of overtaking the Lower Ward. Overrun, entirely, only a scant few escaped to Upper. About twenty men, women, and children have barricaded themselves in the Bazaar Building. Numbers inside the Pissing Crone are uncertain, the Beacon is inhabited by a number of strong men, who were under the Guidance of Winston... However, Winston went missing in the din of battle, and no word has come out of the Beacon following the barricading of its door.

I don't know what to do. To lead the Refugees to Upper is an impossibility, most are exiles of the law, others are children, who refuse to leave their home, and still others are too weak to make any sort of trip to safety. They are unwilling to take refuge with the Shadow Tribe, which I cannot fault.. I would never propose that they do, and yet I fear that it may be the only option they have for survival at all.

The Council has been silent for weeks, and are doubtless apathetic to the troubles below, so no official help will be given from here.

And despite all this, the Drow are still out there, as are the Moanderites behind the destruction of New Dunwarren.

---

I did battle in the Streets of Lower, with the other volunteers, however I am afraid that all we did was of little use.

Still, I learned that I have the capability to be fierce in battle, as fierce as any Chosen.

I write this, bruised over every inch of my body, and only recently cleaned of my blood, and that of countless foes after having been overwhelmed with pain in the streets beneath the Stairs. There is nothing else I know to do. Lower needs a plan, and a leader. As much as I wish I knew how, that I could do Lathander proud in those respects, I don't know that I have what it takes.

It is hard now, even to maintain optimism in the face of such trouble.

Tarsakh 30, 153 The air in Sanctuary is tense beyond measure. Elections will be very soon, but I am all too aware of how little good it will truly bring my floundering city. I think it because few know what to do for our neighbors in Lower. Regardless of whether they've earned it with their disdain for Order and peace, to simply stand by and let them all be slaughtered is unconscionable. Some of the Councillors have stated an interest in seeing the Chosen driven out of Lower, but the question still remains: Who will do it? I fear the Watch is entirely too undermanned to aid, and adventurers are fickle, and slow to be organized. Time is of the essence, and the hourglass turns constantly. Doubtless the Chosen grow restless, as well.

A number more troubling things I've discovered:

Sheriff Sheps, while not obviously a bad man, seems to be a stooge of the Spellguard, and little more.

It seems that certain people are capable of concealing their natures, beyond normal means. Either it is some sort of shield, which blocks my sight, or a more potent power, which works to effectively mute the blight entirely. I'm unsure which, or if this power works entirely differently.

Illithid operate as closely to the City as within the mines, if not even closer. That one has been destroyed, however.

---

Poor Vera. She wishes nothing more in life than to see the Surface with her friend. While I am content to stay here and do my best to save the city I know as home, it's unfair that she has no choice in the matter, regardless. Perhaps she will see the surface, one day, regardless. And perhaps I will go with her then, when the city has either no recourse, or will be able to manage on its own.

Mirtul 2, 153 I recall having a conversation with a sad woman, who declared she was like a fire, and doomed only to flicker and burn out. I strived then, to cheer her, and tell her that it is not so. However, I fear that my approach was all wrong, and my arguments completely false, and transparent. It continuously bothers me, and I am increasingly convinced of the validity of the idea. We are all little more than fires. Some, the lights of candle flames, others the raging bonfires, and still more, those with the potential to burn as hot and bright as Lathander himself.

True, we all must burn out eventually, and we have an alarming ability to consume and destroy. Why is it, that it is so much easier to destroy, than it is to create, or change? Perhaps because fire can do neither. It will turn water to steam, at hazard to itself, and wood to ash, which cannot even be sculpted into a semblance of what it was.

So what is Right? I discussed this with Tal, at length. As a holy representative of the Sunlord, I am both capable, and often expected to kill. Just in today, how many have I killed? How many sentient lives have I taken? How many bones have I crushed under my flail, and hoe much pain have I inflicted?

It does not weigh too heavily upon my conscience, and I believe it is perhaps the connection with Lathander that keeps that weight from my shoulders. I know the creatures I killed were unquestionably evil, but irredeemably so? Their auras were faint, and their bodies frail enough that I was capable of slaying them without too much difficulty.

I suppose the answer to my dilemma may be as simple as I have always been told, however: Faith. Faith in Lathander, Faith in His judgment, His choice in endowing me thus. Faith in the abilities He's granted me, and Faith in the abilities I had before.

Still, I recognize that perhaps guilt is my guide. As it seems I no longer solely inhabit my body, that Lathander's spirit and presence is with me always, (both a comforting and worrying prospect), part of me shall judge what I do as for good or ill, regardless of whatever sensibilities, I once had.

Mirtul 5, 153 It's happened. The Spellguard made their move and have seized control of the city. The details themselves are not too important. Edward Raymus was making a speech, he threw down the burial shroud of Yorrick. An Agent executed him, and his Seeker companion. Michael Bresley called for those who would fight, and I was of the first who followed.

It's astounding. I woke up this morning, with the aim of trying to contact Dorn Reynolds, that I could decide for myself whether to help him, and now, becuase of the Spellguard's move, I've found myself not only in his presence, but so assured of his honesty and goodness, that I made a number of pledges, not least of which to fight the Spellguard injustice in every way I can.

Tal is with us too, and Indira escaped from the Tower, where she was being held after all. She even killed Symbaern, and got the Agent's body out.

As I sit here, I am both happier than I've ever been, and filled too with the greatest sense of loss.

Filled with Joy, because I know now why Lathander endowed me with His love and grace. This is the task that he's set for me, and my purpose is clear now. I've redoubled my efforts at training, and am making progres. My muscles are stronger, I recover more quickly, am able to go longer, and farther, and harder than before, and I continue to push myself, and discover that I have ways to go even still.

And yet, there is a bitterness to knowing that I may never walk openly in the Streets of my home again. Not until Reynolds is victorious, and only if I survive that long.

I will. I will give the Rebellion all I have, and I will have more to spare even then, when the city is in the hands of good and freedom-loving men.

The Spellguard and Watch eagerness to torture and kill those who op pose them is justification enough, for me to follow this path.

Stained in blood, the diary was lost in the ruins of Dunwarren.