Nisah 21st, IY 7789
I arrived in the Well yesterday from beyond the Wastes. The verdance of the Edutu is like a distant memory now. I can barely feel its foliage upon my skin, yet I still carry with me the song in my heart. The Twins brought me here, ushered forward by the sounds of weeping souls. It is my sacred duty to guide those through this mourning.
Yet I too am carried away in this storm. I can feel the absence of warmth here. I mourn, I sing my dirge for those to hear. A prayer upon the wind to be carried forth across the banks. We will heal this pain. The Scales will righten again.
[A few teardrops stain the page.]
~~~
On this day, the holiest of days, it was the Calibration. I was able to meet a brother in faith, Tariq Salah. He and I are going to be working together these coming days. He will be my mentor, my teacher, my guide, and my friend whilst I find my foothold in the Well.
It was an honor to call forth the holy pyres of the Calibration. To sweep the steps of the Pyramid. To burn away the old to make way for the new. A part of me always believed that in sacred places to the Twins, there should be two speakers to represent the Twins. We will be that. Though, I confess, we are much the same in our forms of worship. Leaning towards Kalim, he who holds the scales of death. We will make it work.
~~~
Already I have met some wonderful people in the Well. Ritz, a woman holding on to grief, pain, suffering. She states that she has lost a light, a warmth. Of what exactly, I know not.
I've overheard people distraught and upset at the loss of an individual. It pains me, and I mourn the loss of life. May they find rest as their soul is ferried down the Edutu. Perhaps they will be the first work in my book.
I was able to work alongside a Stonefolk. His name is Gor. I felt transfixed by his energy, bringing peace to the world through war, fighting, and violence. An interesting notion, but he led me to a place where I could perform my work. I have no idea what it is about him, but I wish to see more of him.
Necromancy most foul-filled the air, when we entered the ghouls created by these works surged forth. I was able to sing and let loose my prayers of light and life. Gamil would have been proud of me. My laments were a requiem to the dead, and they drifted off to eternal sleep, as they should be. I thanked Gor for the honor of letting me bring them to rest. I will be watching this man, and soon he will become my dear friend. He always held out his arm to protect me from the ghouls' claws. I will remember him, and look for him in the coming days.
For now, though, I should rest. On this day of Calibrations, I will try to leave my past behind me, I move forward and make my way on. The spirits of the past cry out to me, whisper, speak, and scream for my attention. I will lull them with a song. Though, I will need to find the paper to begin my 'Book of the Dead.' Death seems a common thing in this place. Thus, my work shall soon begin recording the souls that pass.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 22nd, IY 7789
Another day was completed. I am thankful for the bed within the Maq'bara. Though to some it may be odd to sleep so close to the dead, I find it comforting. I am able to hum and sing to them whenever I wish. The stone walls of the chambers here provide excellent acoustics. I can bring comfort to the other side as they make their way towards the banks of the Edutu.
I nearly found my way there this morning. Joining a group of adventurers on their works to the Vaults. I believe it was with a man named Jan, a woman named Melody, and an Acolyte by the name of Narwen. I find it oddly fitting that I merely met my end at the hands of the undead. Struck with countless arrows in a hallway by skeletal archers, then stomped upon by some strange amalgamation of war.
There was a strange reverence in them though. They weren't entirely like all other undead, they seemed to have purpose and retain it even without a master around. It was like they had some duty, and I wonder if the grounds we walked upon were sacred. A part of me hopes it wasn't, for then I would have broken a tenet of the Twindari.
Tonight, I will pray hard before bed. Sing louder so the Twins can hear me and feel my remorse.
~~~
It brought joy to my heart to see Gor again. His talents with his weapon is unmatched, and I've never seen someone cleave through enemies as fast as he does. I feel safe with him, like the two of us can take on any foe. I stand in his shadow and wield the hand of Gamil. Tending his wounds, and should they get too close, my other hand, that of Kalim will bring them closer to their demise.
After our works were completed, and we brought rest to some of the 'dead that walk'. We joined up with some new allies, Dandrik and Anilia. It was nice to work with more people, yet I found myself gravitating towards Gor at all times. He is quite a man.
~~~
[Teardrops stain the page here.]
I began my sacred task, the recording of those who have passed. The most recent loss was a well-known Priest of the Warrior, a Dwarven man by the name of Grenth Flamebringer. The Book of the Dead begins, a task that I am bound to do, but one that still fills me with sadness. At least those within it will be remembered. Loved. Cherished.
I will mourn for the harpies, I will mourn for the brigands, I will mourn for the dwarves, but most of all I will mourn for the Warrior. He who lost a faithful servant. Tonight, my song will echo in these halls for them. For the lost.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 23rd, IY 7789
More death, more mourning.
A spirit came to me last night, whispering of regrets, wants, and desires they could not complete before their life had ebbed away. It struck me hard, and I mourned for them. Singing songs of comfort, trying to appease their wants. They were simple things such as feeling loved, singing to, and running their hands across the waters. Simple, yet profoundly beautiful.
I helped them cross to the other side, learning of things only the dead could know.
~~~
A trial, one for the vigilantes of the Well who struck out at an Assassin. The man who killed the Priest of Agaslakku, Grenth Flamebringer. Afterwards, I felt odd. It seemed that the laws were...used to further the agenda of the legates. Is that right? Is that wrong? Gamil will have to guide me. Though, one other question did arise that I must ask my mentor about.
Is an assassin of a priest worthy of being remembered in the Book of the Dead?
~~~
I was able to Witness some board work with some of the veterans of the Well. I seem to enjoy when jobs are relaxed, it allows conversations and the opportunity for me to get to know people of the Well. I learned a bit about them, who they were, things that mattered to them. It was nice. Nice to witness life. Though, my feelings were hurt.
I was told that my singing, my lamenting, my prayers of song are...off putting. That they discomfort the living. I'm not sure how to feel about that. Appreciative for the honesty? What do I do, simply cease the song because the living don't like it? What about the dead? Those lost, beyond the curtain who are lost and need guidance to the banks? They deserve to hear it, and to find it, granting them rest.
Maybe, I could sing a slightly happier tune. One day. That day isn't for a while. It seems sadness is all around the Well.
~~~
I went to the War. Witnessed it. So much death, pain, and hurting. It was as though I were a silent reaper. Flowing past corpses scattered all around, witnessing their deaths, singing the lullabies for them as their souls faded off to the other bank. My other hand, the one blessed my Gamil tended the wounds of the living, whilst the hand of Kalim closed the eyes of the Orcs who passed.
[You guessed it, more tears stain the page.]
I stood next to my companion, the man who had begun to mean much to me. Gor. A tall Stonefolk man, he was injured rushing forth in the final chambers. I was able to staunch the bleeding, but he will likely be feeling that wound for a time. He was mere steps away from the banks of the Edutu, pulled into Kalim's domain. And so few return from those shores.
Is it wrong to mourn their deaths too? I hope not, for I will. Again these halls will echo with my pain. I'll pray for them. They find the place they are destined for at the end of the Edutu.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 24th, IY 7789
Today was a busy day. I was able to meet a pair of elves, Inanna and Vellyn. Inanna seems to study omens, and we discussed for a time things that could mean and be. I know that not all omens are bad, just that most think they are.
I learned that if a butterfly enters your home, then you shall receive good news from an important guest.
Or if the earth shakes in Ephia's Well, the Tormented monsters are on the prowl beneath it. What are the Tormented?
I told her an omen I knew, that when a pure white animal crosses your path, it means that you are on your path and that the divine is protecting you.
~~~
From there, I was invited to go on an archaeological expedition, which was a wonderful adventure to witness. I learned of Bel and Bor, the children of Erugi. Perhaps the Colossi's forms of Kalim and Gamil? I'd like to learn more of these figures.
I met with my mentor, my guide, Preparator Tariq Salah. He gave me a few tasks, to study the obelisk within the Maq'bara. In addition, I am to write a letter to the Sepulchre in Baz'eel. Inform them of my arrival to Ephia's Well for an official title, and to build a connection to the representatives of the Twindari, the Elders.
[Tears begins to dot the page.]
I aided and witnessed war. It still fills me with pain to watch life ebb and fade away from the Orcs, but I understand it is necessary. Marcellus, the running up Purple Legate aided in outfitting me with better equipment for my time in the Scald. I am most appreciative of him, and he learned of my service to the Martyrs.
Then, it was the toil of board work, where I grew the bonds of friendship with those I worked with. We went to a place of shadow and mirage. Bringing rest to the shadows that haunted that place, a sad melancholic song to bring them peace.
~~~
As we toiled, tensions boiled over in the Well it seems. The Accord is at each other's throats. Seems that there is a disagreement, a fight, that is only growing between the Rose and the Fourth.
I was allowed to bear witness to their attempts at reparations. The Fourth and Rose lashing out at each other with words, all the while the Legates, Dante Moretti and Achaeus Komemnos, were trying to find ways to righten the scales. They try to find things that they can agree on, making small progress. We shall see what comes of this in the days to come.
~~~
I think I'll rest now. I have sent a letter to the Sepulchre. Worked upon the board. Brought rest to the spirits. Now, I sing my songs to the Maqam, in hopes that the spirits here find rest to this night. For tomorrow is yet another day.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 26th, IY 7789
Today is a day I will never forget.
I witnessed the Dwarves of the Duunthall carry their beloved Priest to the gates of Got Valdhazr. To lay him before its doors, perform his desired Agasian funeral rites, and return him to ash. However, it wasn't just the Dwarves that went; it was many of the Accords, many of the faithful Speakers, many of those un-affiliated. It is clear that this soul was loved by many.
[Teardrops find the page.]
I mourned. I mourned harder than I have in a long time. To see all who came out, all who knew this Dwarf...this hero of the Well. It touched my very soul to witness it all. We ferried him from the Duunthall's Hall to the Rampart Nusrum. There we knew we would have to face off against the Orc'ah. Carving a path through them towards a Titan, then to the gates of Got Valdhazr themselves. The Priest was taken away in flame, and the orcs came. Slain were they as the pyre was defended by many of the Well.
It has me thinking of the fragility of life. How precious it is. To go about, walking this Disc and touching the lives of those we speak to. To bring a gentle warmth on these cold nights. It is something I will aspire to do. To offer comfort to those in need. I will do what I can to walk in the footsteps of the Flamebringer. I want to bring about love, compassion, and care to this Disc.
[Noxieos Adalsteinn's Talent to Perform is Above Average.]
[There is a drawing of a hooded figure standing before a large flame at the gates of a keep. Musical notes can be seen floating around the figure as their arms are outstretched up towards the flame. The image appears mournful, but also very respectful to the funeral rites of an Agasian.]
~~~
I witnessed the kindness of some of the souls within the Well. A man named Ramez donated coin to bring me close enough to obtain the Visage of the Martyrs. It is a shame that I will not be able to wield the Knucklebones of a Martyr, but perhaps I'll find a way.
I'm overwhelmed by the mourning, the joy, the sadness, the care of some here. I look forward to my time in the Well. My next goal now, is to save for my Voice. So that I may contribute and help those of this Citadel. And, to meet the citizens of the Well and bring comfort to them on their daily tasks.
Kalim. Gamil. I don the mask of our slain Champion. I will witness this world in your name.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 27th, IY 7789
I thought I saw him. It's been so long since his visage has haunted me.
I know it wasn't him, but...for just a moment I thought I saw that same look in his eyes that he used to give me. A glimmer. Though, it's impossible. I know in my heart it isn't him. Still, his face looked so similar. I gave him, Grungar is his name, a jewel. One to protect him from the dark, negative energies of this world.
If I had found something similar years ago, maybe he would still be around? If I was stronger, I could have fought the Vanavoi.
[Teardrops stain the page.]
Would you want me to find love again? I wish I could step briefly across the reeds, and speak to you one last time. Hear your voice. Know your thoughts. Tell you;
"I miss you. I need you. I love you."
~~~
I worked upon the jobs of the board. Aiding and meeting the Janissary of the Well, working with faithful folk from the Well. It is good to know people and their names. Often the beginning of a friendship starts with knowing who someone is. I look forward to knowing many people, many names, and hopefully having many friends.
There are a lot of things occurring in these election times. Busy is an apt description for what the Well has become. Politics are aplenty. Even now I witness fueds and hurtful words being spewed upon others over whom they choose to vote over. It's a lot to see.
Faith, a close ally of mine, seems to have a desire to lead as Champion for the Well. Not an easy task mind you. She would be the face of the war effort and perhaps even stand before Iakmes himself in duel.
I got to work with Ritz again. It always brings a shred of joy to witness her up and about. She has seen so much grief. Aurora, is an interesting woman, seemingly divulging paths of fate to better her own? That seems dangerous, toying with such forces of death. To have a different you die in place of you...confusing. Yet she seems to grasp it well.
My mentor; Tariq Salah seems proud of me. I told him I wrote to the Sepulchre and that I was able to translate the pillar he asked me to. Its meaning still eludes me, I know what it says, but not exactly what it points to or means.
~~~
The role of Witness can be a burden at times. I see things. I hear things. The spirits call out to me, do I let people know I can hear them? Will they think I am some necromancer? Ever since the incident with the Vanavoi, I can hear them. They call my name. They call out for...something.
Tonight, I will sing the songs of mourning, of loss. For what? I do not know, but I feel something dire has occurred this night. The scales tip towards Kalim. The spirits are restless, and I too am uneasy from hearing a scream inside of the Krak. What does that mean?
And through the reeds I walk. Witnessing as the dead whisper in my ears. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 28th, IY 7789
The well is alive with the talks of elections. It seems a great deal of import here. It fascinates me that this 'experiment' of sorts goes on. The Sultan watches on, witnessing, as those of the Well appoint their own leaders. I read the edicts upon the board within the Pyramid.
It can be frightening to see how much power the Legates wield over others, but I suppose that is why many choose them carefully, why their votes matter, why my vote mattered.
I suppose now I am of dual citizenship. Born within the proud walls of Frostport. Citizen of the frozen north, but now also a citizen of Ephia's Well.
Congratulations, to the League of White.
~~~
I bore witness to new arrivals.
I bore witness to the war.
I bore witness to the election.
[More teardrops line the page.]
I bore witness to poems of grief.
I mourned, I wept, I grieved for the lost. Grenth Flamebringer. Even now your flame still burns brightly to those that knew you. They remember you. Then, I picked myself up, and continued on. More tears will surely flow for the dead. And the living.
~~~
I had another nightmare last night.
The cold was endless, biting deep into my flesh as I stumbled through those icy caves. I should have been use to it by now...I saw him there, his hammer raised, the fire of his spirit shining in the dark. But then they came. The Vanavoi, their ghostly forms gliding out of the shadows.
They were so silent, so relentless, so angry? - and I could do nothing but watch. I tried to scream, to move, to stop them as they tore into him, their claws and spectral blades ripping flesh and armor as if they were nothing.
I fell, the ice beneath me refusing to let me stand. His cries of pain echoed, then quieted, his blood staining the snow like spilled wine. He looked at me in his last moments. Those eyes, full of love and sorrow, haunt me even now.
I woke gasping, my body drenched in sweat but still freezing, his voice a whisper in my ears: "Noxieos..." How am I to face this fear, this helplessness? Even in dreams, I cannot protect him.
The cold. The frost. The ice. They know...they know...they scream. They're coming for me next.
I awoke to find a harp from Frostport by my bed. It is of Vanavoi make. They know. The spirits leave me gifts...or warnings.
I...need to be stronger. To protect others, to protect me. I must walk closer to the Twins, the Martyrs, my Gods.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 29th, IY 7789
Iyar is soon upon us, the time in which blossoms announce themselves.
I have always pondered upon the meaning of such words. In Frostport there are rarely any flowers, save for the one frost flower that grows atop the frigid peaks. I think it more of a thoughtful phrase, such as that the things we work towards will bear fruits. We will see the rewards of our labor from the toils of new beginnings, Nisah, as we move into Iyar.
It's a nice thought at least.
~~~
I worked upon the board with some friends of mine. I think I can confidently call them that. Being able to wield the life-giving hand of Gamil is an honor. To protect life, so that many can lead their full, whole, and healthy lives.
We cleared out a Temple of the Jackal. I believe this animal bears some form of importance to the Martyrs. Perhaps I can ask the Preparator about this. Then to the Monolith Caves, it was just Jan and I for that. He acts like he is not a good warrior, but every time I witness him fight, he just has...this strength. It's hard to explain. We dealt with Scorpioids. I never knew they could grow that big. I do know.
[Teardrops stain the page.]
It is not easy though keeping people alive, especially in these times of war. It leads me to believe the Martyrs are guiding me towards those that I must keep alive. I worry, mostly for the Dwarves of the Well. I should try to do something for them. Show my appreciation. I think he would have wanted me to be close to them. It is just, they all remind me of him. The beards. The strength. The Kinship.
[An ink stain hovers over the 'I' as if the writer took time to process before continuing writing.]
I have heard there is a donation bin in the Hovel. Perhaps I will give to them anonymously. So they know, they are not forgotten. It is my duty, my honor, to remember them.
~~~
As per Ritz recommendation, I have begun to complete some small goals.
I have improved upon my connection to the Martyrs and have received stronger blessings from the Twins.
I have written a flyer that advertises my service as record keeper for the departed.
In doing so, I met another good-looking Dwarf by the name of Kazadun. He is a 'warriah'. I enjoy the way he speaks, and he helped me in posting my advertisement on the newly constructed board. I gave him my thanks. Is that bad to write? Though...someone must have paid for the allowance of my advertisement... I am not sure who did. I give them my thanks, wherever they are.
I wonder now, how soon it will be until I write another name into the Book of the Dead?
~~~
Now, I find my rest. I practice strumming this harp of Vanavoi make. The strings are eternally cold. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of you. Perhaps, to face ones fears is the key in defeating it. As the Martyrs would state, we move towards death with bravery as it comes for us all in the end.
I miss your voice in tandem with mine...
Tomorrow is another day of new beginnings, and soon, the flowers shall blossom.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 30th, IY 7789
Today was the day of three victories.
At least, that is what Marcellus is calling it. The man has some serious muscles. People say he is old, but he is what? Is he in his late forties or early fifties, perhaps? I am surprised at how well his body has aged. Perhaps it is a blessing from Agaslakku himself bestowed upon a faithful Agasian? I shouldn't stare too long though. Either way, he and most of the Rose led us to defeat a Titan.
It was my second time facing down one, the first was during the funeral rites of the Priest of Flame, Grenth Flamebringer. The many that we were had no issue taking down the giant being. From the Giant's Road we moved to the Scald. The heat is still so intense, even with my humming it only brings with it a slight chill. I witnessed the siege of the Sharpspike clans fall. Then, to the defence and aid of the War Camp.
~~~
[Teardrops find their way to the page.]
I was entrusted with some dark and negative items to bring down into the Tampt Crypt. To purify them and lay them to rest. It was mostly bones and the dusted remains of someone in the past. I wonder who they were? What kinds of food did they like? Their favorite song? What outfits they wore? I sang a song to them, whoever they were, and buried them beneath the earth in the sands of the Maq'bara, the items are safely tucked away deep within.
~~~
I was able to sit with Rhuk and Nela. To witness a softer side to both of them and learn how they found Kula. Nela is a beautiful flower that I hope to see grow more and more with each passing day. Rhuk is...he is harder to describe. He is like a mesmerizing tree to witness. Though the tree oddly enough has thorns wrapped around it and many scars from lumberjacks attempting to cut it down. He's strong, attractive, and quite full of wisdom. The things he says sometimes are quite profound.
One thing is certain, their origins of the Wheel were birthed from tragedy. As was mine. I'll keep my eye on him and her. Mostly him.
~~~
I saw strange magic occur within the Krak. That of the accursed beings of the Courts. They stole a Balladeer, Aeronwy. I've rarely seen magic such as this, crimson and dark. Sister Selsi went along the dark threads to rescue the Balladeer.
It can mean only one thing, especially confirmed by the Sisters' words.
There is a brooker of Fire and Blood amongst the citizens of the Well. They walk amongst us, they wear our faces and know one of our names.
Death lurks closer now. May the Martyrs watch over us.
Fruit, bear my works.
Nisah 31st, IY 7789
[The page has some ash-stains smeared into it.]
The Ash.
A storm of Ash came upon the Well. The Shade, as it is named, protected the Well from the worst of it. Though, a cry came out from the storm. It sounded lamenting, mournful. Someone upon the bellows stated that there was 'something' out there. Many went to investigate. A monumental wall of Ash was residing in the Canyons, slowly making it's way towards the Well. Through the combined efforts of all who participated, we were able to cut down the Ash.
There is still so little we understand of the Ash. Is it alive? Is it dead? Worse, is it undead?
I tried humming to it. It did little to affect it, but it did put the Ash Revenants to rest. So at least the souls of the lost can find rest once more. There is a sense of peace found with that.
~~~
I got to speak to Grungar again. I learned some more about him. He is not of Kulkund. That's good, it would feel as though I am replacing you. Which I don't want to do, but eventually we must move on. Right?
He miraculously has respect for the Warrior. I believed that most Dwarves disliked Co'orduum. The Murderer. What an awful name. Agaslakku, the Warrior, has his place within the Wheel, but he has hurt the Dwarves in the past.
We went out into the Eastern Deserts together. Fighting against the beasts of name. 'Man Clawer Prowler'. It was wonderful to work alongside the Men of Stone, Dwarves. I am eager to spend more time with him, and he said he would try Skrol. He has no idea what he is in store for, it's even managed to knock Sigurd on his backside if I recall correctly. He also shielded me from harm, as I did for him. He even wields two axes and the way he fights. It reminded me of his hammer, just like...just like -
[The writing ceases here on this topic. Teardrops stain the page.]
~~~
I'm grateful so far for all those I've met within the Well. Ritz, Nela, Rhuk, Rand, Jan, Cort. I think back to sitting with some of them around the tables of the Krak and just joking and smiling about our work on the board. It feels nice to sit and laugh, a momentary distraction before I must return to my solemn duties.
I can't seem to understand the old tongues of Ancient Vanavi. The secrets of my hometown still manage to elude me. I have to believe that with dedication, persistence, and...throwing myself at the writing day after day. Eventually, my work will bear fruit.
I'll find out why they killed you. I'll find out why they spared me.
Ever in service to the Martyrs.
Fruit, bear my works.
Iyar 2nd, IY 7789
[Many teardrops dorn the page.]
The beginning of the blossoms has sprung forth with death.
The scales have tipped and death has claimed another this day.
A young Nadiri woman by the name of Antilia Antipode has met her end performing a task to further the war efforts. I will remember her sacrifice, her efforts, her smile, her voice. I will remember her like I remember you, my love.
She brought her aid to the Tower of Q'tolip who went on a mission into Lake Rayyan. To defeat some sort of beasts that dwelled at the bottom of the dry lake. Four brave souls joined the Tower. A handsome, rugged, self-proclaimed doomed dwarven man, Durgin. The stealthy elf interested in stories, Vellyn. A wandering warrior, Dariush. Jan, the silly and awkward fighter, who is a natural at swordplay.
The mission was a success, and the war efforts moved forward.
~~~
I returned to Frostport again. The old and ancient Vanavi words still escape me. Though, I have managed to understand one of the words. Mostly because the Vanir themselves told it to me. "Gruuz". I believe it resembles a guard, a warrior, or some kind of stalwart fighter. They called themselves as such when I walked over to the Emissary's hut.
Ever since I was a child I wanted to see what was inside the Emissaries hut. I only ever caught glimpses. I dreamed of walking inside and seeing their art, their trophies, whatever they thought important. To understand more about the Vanavoi. My mother would warn me, and tell me stories to fear them. How their cold hands could freeze a man in place if they ever got their hands on them. Little did I know, she would be right.
Now, in my adulthood I still somehow manage to fail to translate the ancient Vanavi. Maybe it holds some answers to their hatred of man. Maybe...it will answer why their spirits are tormented so.
I'll find a way to give them rest. Especially after what they did to us. What they did to me. What they did to you. To us.
~~~
I witnessed more warring. The new location of the war camp is close to these towers. They supposedly cause madness or something of the sort. The 'Taffavogh' as they are called. I am used to madness. The moon gazing down on Frostport is said to cause a bit of lunacy. Perhaps I too am already mad?
Maybe. Maybe we all are a little crazy.
The attack went well, but it was the defence that the Orcs had a strong drive for retribution. The scales righten as they do. I witnessed both Marcellus and Theo take grievous wounds. I was tending the mourning Dwarf; Ulfgrim far afield at the time. When I had glanced back, they had already fallen victim to the 'Void Caller's' dark magics.
~~~
[Noxieos Adalsteinn's Talent to Perform is Above Average.]
[A graphite drawing of a dwarf, bald, bearded, and well-groomed. He has bushy eyebrows and strong features. He is adorned in what looks to be a combination of Frostport and High Kulkund armour. In the drawing, the Dwarf is gazing forward, a faint smile on his lips as his rather stoic-looking eyes have a glint of tenderness in them. Showing affection specifically for the viewer.]
Fruit, bear my works.
Iyar 3rd, IY 7789
I awoke again in a cold sweat in The Kraken's Craw, Halfdan had brought me inside and let me use one of his many bunks for the night. Yet, I could still feel the gaze of the moon upon me, pouring in from the window. The cries of the Vanavoi Wraiths haunt me. I swear, I could hear them valling out to me. They know me...they know my name.
~~~
I went on a walk with Donisthrope. We were on the hunt for a bounty but stumbled into a Den of Goblins. I found another of the Court's accursed relics. - It has been since turned into Inanna, the Tower. - We walked for a while, out in the Sands together.
He asked me if I was curious about the assassin. The one who murdered the Flamebringer. He told me the story of how they caught them and took them away from their board work group. He was questioned and admitted to killing the Priest of War. Threats were made, from both parties it seems. Then the axe fell.
I am still uncertain if a soul willing to kill another is worthy of mourning. Aren't all souls precious? Even those that kill another?
I hope that the letter receives a reply soon. The wisdom of the Sepulchre would be helpful at a time like this.
Murder...it is an awful thing.
~~~
I had a talk with Ritz. A session of guidance to aid and help the grieving. A moment of therapy. Her worry is not unfounded, much has shifted in the Well after the elections. Some struggle to find their footing again. At least while the ground still settles.
She inquired about the Spokes, particularly about how the Martyrs feel about murder. Again, more questions of murder. I worry, I still do not have such an answer. When can we no longer trust in the laws others impose upon us, and we must rely on the laws within our hearts to guide us? Do we follow this 'spirit' of law that we know to be true? Murder begets death?
I informed her about the Eighth. Perhaps she will find answers with the Lord of Vengeance that the gentler hands of the Martyrs do not follow.
~~~
I was able to visit the Valley of Black Ichor. I understand now why they call it that. The path up to the mount was oozing this black ooze-like substance. It is aptly named for such. Donisthrope, Inanna, Vellyn, Cort, Kazadun, and I made a short work of it. We ascended to the top.
At its peak was a beauty. A small sapling, a fragment of life. Iyar perhaps really is the time when the blossoms spring forth. It reminded me of the Martyrs. Death was all around the mount, but life was so close beside it. I sang to the dead that walk on our way down the mountain. Their souls are at rest and away from the horrid black ooze.
It allowed me a moment to speak with Kazadun. Another Dwarf of the Well of whom I hold great interest in. He seems to be of the Axe. He is rather closed off and confronted me about why I was staring at him. I told him he was interesting, but not exactly why he was interesting. Thankfully he did not ask me.
He kind of looks like you too. He has the face, but the hair color is all wrong. Red, like flame -
[There's a scratch in the writing, as if the writer was distracted by something.]
It seems we are going to deal with some 'Nazzaru'? Not sure what that is, Cort says they are of brookery. The dishonoured souls.
~~~
They were. I witnessed many horrors on that Plateau, but to me, the dead that walk are scarier.
Either way, Kazadun is now a man of interest to me. I seek to know more about him. Something weighs heavy upon him. I do not know if I can fully assist, but I'd like to try.
My work has finally borne fruit, literally. The Valley of Black Ichor has gifted me with a bucket of them. Perhaps I can squeeze them into the potions I make?
Tomorrow is a new day. We shall see what it brings with it.
Tonight, I sing my laments for the dead, and mourn those who have passed.
[A single teardrop stains this page.]
Fruit, bear my works.
Iyar 4th, IY 7789
I feel myself slowing down. Getting more and more tired. I suppose the living need rest too.
[Some Ash seems to adorn the page.]
I walked with Donisthrope to Frostport. He wanted to bring a letter to the Jarl. Something about getting the aid of the Tundra Warriors in the Scald. I wonder if Jarl Sigurd will accept a proposal from him. The monsters of the North already plague my people. I think he will unlikely send what few forces we have away from the village. Already, some of my people have already joined up with the Wild Brothers and are fighting in the war.
Though, it was nice to wander around Frostport. It always is. To see home. To visit old friends. Roderick kept putting his hand on my shoulder and shaking me around, just like he always does. It is healing to be back home.
~~~
Some entity arrived in the Well today. A 'Toga Crone' as most were calling her. I think she is just a woman, an elder, full of wisdom. She stole the clothing right of Marcellus and Dante. They were left naked in the town square.
I witnessed some things. Marcellus may be older than most, but he is certainly in good shape. That man certainly has still got it.
Either way, this elder woman stated that she could fuse their togas together if the people were willing to purchase three 'Toga Tokens' or 'Togens' in front of her. She must possess some powerful and auld form of magic. I was informed that a Toga token is over 10 000 dinar. I've only held that much money once in my lifetime. It was to purchase a Voice.
Who even has that much money? To buy a token to merely dye the color of robes?
~~~
[Teardrops stain the page in various places.]
Some people returned from the Vaults today. A job posted upon the boards that has adventurers bringing rest to the Martyred Soldiers. They walk and patrol the halls endlessly, waiting for the living to come in and take from their masters. Necromancers, by the sounds of it.
I was tasked with removing the affliction, the curse, that was placed upon them. Curses. It is something I am capable of performing with the healing hand of life, the gifts bestowed to me from Gamil. Aurora was kind, and she came to me immediately for aid. I gladly helped her.
Though, another man called out to me on the bellows. A strange man by the name of Mazeed. He had many tattoos on his head. He said I shouldn't bow to those who are beneath me. Does he not think he is worthy of such? Does he think so little of himself? Besides, I can bow to whomever I wish. I felt uncomfortable by his presence. Regardless, he was amicable, paid a tithe to the Martyrs and was on his way. Healed.
~~~
I saw you again. In the Krak this time. Your face is constantly floating around my mind. Only, it wasn't you. You would never speak to me that way. Never...
"Watch your eyes, boy. Lest something take them for watching the wrong way."
I know it is not you.
The Dwarves hold a precious place in my heart, you hold a precious place. They haven't figured out what I do for them. The Dwarves of High Kulkund.
I feel a darkness sweltering. [The writing becomes slightly manic.] Too much kindness and the scales must find balance. I could easily fall to the dark. The echoes of the past haunt me. They whisper to me every night, The Vanavoi, calling out my name. Nox...Nox...Nox. To call upon the dead as servants. To have them enact my will. To grip the cold hand of death and dance together in harmony. To sing the requiems of the end times.
[The calligraphy becomes more stable, more steady.]
Yet I will not ever. He who knocks, Nox. He who knocks. The moon is beautiful tonight... reminds me of home. Frostport, the moon is so much brighter there.
To do so would be heretical. Instead, I will sing songs of fear tonight. To push away those who may wish to do me harm. In my mourning prayers may the Martyrs recalibrate me. My tears will expel the darkness within. To bring me to the place in between as they always do.
I will refresh the wards upon the Maqam against that of undeath. It seems the whispers have become more than just that to my sensitive ears, they have become a voice.
For the scales righten and I see your face. Your beautiful face, and my work continues.
Fruit, bear my works.
Iyar 5th, IY 7789
More works.
I helped many others with board work this day. Visiting the Monolith Caves to bring about balance. To remove the threat of danger to the wanderers on the roads and to allow Death to feed on those that would do harm. Then to an old Orentid Fort near the Canyons. It had been overrun with Bugbears. With the help of friends, we were able to bring about their demise, as fate demanded. Lastly, the caves of the Scorpioids. It took a bit of time to navigate their tunnels and hives, but in the end, we were able to bring about balance again.
The scales righten.
~~~
A Twindari Speaker from Baz'eel had arrived in the Well shortly after the work was finished. I had thought that it was the Sepulchre coming to deliver news of my letter to them. It however, was not, but it was still something worthy.
Eloqui, that is her name, she told me a tale of the Martyrs. How Kalim and Gamil tricked Death so that He would spare an entire village from His hunger. They of the Twins were so full of life that their sacrifice was all that was needed to sate Death for the night.
The end of the story resonated with me. The Martyrs martyred themselves for others. Sacrificed and died to protect and save others from certain demise. When the time comes, will I be willing to do as such? When Frostport calls? When the Dwarves call?
~~~
Nela had a sermon, a speech to the Wyld of which I was able to bear witness to. It was beautiful, that of the garden tends itself well. It is incredible to watch her grow. It was only just a few days back it feels that she was a new arrival to the Well. Now, here she is giving sermons.
She allowed me to speak at this sermon. To read forth a poem that I have been working on. A new thing that I am willing to try. It just came to me after speaking and hearing more about the Martyrs from Eloqui. Her knowledge and tales of the Twins have taught me much. How special the moon is to my Gods.
I think of home, the moon gazing down at me in the cold winds of Frostport.
How beautiful it is to me, to sing to in the night, to echo the choirs of the children of the moon; wolves.
~~~
[Tears stain this passage.]
I saw him again, standing at the water's edge. The frost clung to his hair, stiff and brittle, and his breath rose in thin wisps, fading too quickly. He didn't move, didn't speak, only watched me with eyes I once knew, now hollowed by something colder than the ice beneath his feet. I called his name. He smiled. The same soft smile, but wrong. His lips cracked, teeth rimed with frost. Finally, he whispered to me, his voice carrying across the frozen water.
"Noxieos, my love."
I stepped forward towards him, but the Vanavoi came first. A tide of shadow, writhing and hungering, and before I could reach him, they took him. They stripped him away, piece by piece, his outstretched hand crumbling to dust. I woke shivering. The cold lingers long after a dream such as this, a nightmare, but worse is the silence beside me. It is a wound, and it does not heal.
I miss you.
I dedicate this song tonight to you, for the Moon looks upon all places, and I hope you can hear me where you are now, my love.
[A drawing of a dwarven rune, a crest of a family/clan of sorts. There is a motif of the Adalsteinn's and some relevance to a 'Frost' and 'Beard'. A union between Human and Dwarf.]
The spirits of the dead are quiet tonight...they know my pain, and tonight they give me a moments respite, as I give them.
Fruit, bear my works.
Iyar 6th, IY 7789
Another busy day. Work, work, work.
From the morning of my wanting to make some sort of mini-campaign for the Dunes and Doomgiants game that Cogsworth created, Genius. To then attack a fortress of the Orcs in the Scald, The Scortchclaw. To the midday working on the board and purchasing things from this 'Duunthall'. To then slay more of the brooker Goblins. To then deal with threats of the Courts. To then make numerous potions for those in need.
I am exhausted.
~~~
One good thing came of it though. On the Ash-sail ride back to the Well from the Scald. I was on the vessel with just another Dwarf. He turned to me, thanking him for some of the Martyrs' blessings of stone bestowed on him in the battle.
I was impressed with him, and of course very appreciative. I find that most warriors tend to look forward, and so seldom do they ever look behind them to notice what their allies are doing. This Dwarf did just that. He noticed what I did and thanked me just like you used to.
I wanted to greet him and even offered to exchange names, but he said that we should do it at a more formal time.
I hope we get to meet one another properly before it is too late. I think you would have liked him.
~~~
I look to the moon tonight through the hole in the Maqam, and I have an uneasy feeling. The dead are not at rest, they were all over the roads on my return to the Well. Something disturbs them.
They know. They whisper. They scream. My voice soothes the spirits at least. For now.
Death hungers for the souls of the living, and I can do nothing but watch as He will attempt to strike. Where will the maw close down upon? On who? When? I do not know for certain, but I can feel its cold eyes are looking. Hunting. Ready for prey to wander into its mouth.
The coming days will not be easy. Though, I shall see face it with the Martyrs at my back.
Fruit, bear my works.
[A page is tucked into the journal with great care.]
[Noxieos Adalsteinn's Talent to Perform is Above Average.]
[A carefully drawn graphite image of a Dwarven man is on a stained piece of paper after numerous days working on such. Warped in places from water damage, or tears, it still manages to hold together well. Great effort and time has been put into the face of the being to capture the likeness of someone.]
(https://i.imgur.com/7OvpSQm.jpeg)
'I drew him to remember, to hold onto something before it slipped away. But ink does not warm like his touch, nor does parchment carry his voice. He is not here. Only the memory of him, traced in quiet strokes.'
"A name, a lineage, a crown. They are nothing if the soul beneath them is empty. We are not our blood, nor the weight of our ancestors' deeds. We are what we choose to build with our own hands, Noxieos. I choose us, I love you." - Agdaur Frostbeard.
The first time you said those words to me.
[Death's hungry maw bit down upon the Priest at the battle of the Abulmahhu. A martyr through and through. The last entry in the journal is a loose page of the Priest's dead lover. United now in death again upon the shores of the Edutu.]