9
Nov

Mauril’s Journal, Entry 9

   Posted by: Mauril   in Campaign Logs, Fantasy, Pathfinder, RPG

It has been months since I have had the courage to take up my quill and put my thoughts to words.  My mind roils between rage and despair.  The mother that I once loved has become nothing but hate to me.  Her delusion and insanity has burned itself into my mind’s eye; sleeping or awake, I see nothing but her sobs and screams.  It has drained my soul.  If it were not for Crebain and Daidra, I am sure my soul would have already been won over to my tormentor.  It is only the wit of my feathered friend and the kind understanding of my lover that have kept my hold on this last shred of sanity.

I have been on an adventure or two since Bors fell asleep, but no longer do they hold any joy for me.  They do, however, occasionally remind me that I am alive and this is why I go.  The constant barrage of bizarre creatures keeps my mind distracted enough to forget my pain, if only for a few moments.  Also, the threat of death is near enough that one can hope to shuffling off this mortal coil but not so close that I fear the pain it would cause my beloved Daidra.  There has even been an experience or two that has piqued my interest.

Some months back on one of these adventures, we were summoned by the Newholmite Braden to aid him.  Things, as they are everywhere else, were awry in his kingdom.  The oni who had marched through Rothgorod and into Barloz had stopped and were besieging the gateway city to the floating island of Newholm.  The city was impossibly gorgeous in its immense cavern.  Built on an outcropping in an underground lake, this city was embroiled in magic-fueled combat.  Drakes and oni filled the air, their fire and spells casting eerie shadows on the cavern walls, while the lichen covered walls cast a sinister green glow on the macabre dance of battle on the cavern floor.  The flames that were consuming the city crackled as an undertone to the song of steel that was being performed below us.

Later, when we had freed the floating island from its forced migration, I saw my first Draconis.  Astride her silver dragon, her red and blue armor glinting in the sunlight, she was grinding her blade, honing its edge.  It was no mystery that she was preparing herself mind and body for the wave of full war that was about to crash on her shores.  She was magnificent and beautiful and I hated her.  She was connected to a great power and it brought her freedom and tremendous honor, while I was connected to an even greater power and it has brought me nothing but slavery and intense sorrow.

There was, however, a single window of clarity in my continual madness.  Several months past, while aiding my companion’s kingdom in the transport of a secret item, fate diverted me.  My tormentor was struck powerless in this realm when the domain of Kern brought us to a place known as the Pale.  It was as marvelous as it was vexing.  Nothing worked as we had intended and we were hounded by great horrors, but for the first time in nearly a year it was quiet.  Visvatman had no words; he couldn’t even speak and even his visions had left me.  There my eyes were as they should be, sightless and cold.  I was at peace there and I had no desire to leave.  If only my sweet Daidra had accompanied me, I would not have left.  Amongst the bebilith and the primordial elements, we would have made our home.

I was forced to return to the land of mortals.  I find what little solace I can in my two friends and our small home in Eregant.  It is not much but it supports a small private library for the three of us and there is enough noise that I am never left alone with my thoughts.  I spend most of my days in the prince’s library, often accompanied by either Daidra or Crebain.  I have taken up time as a scribe and translator for the current prince.  He finds me useful and lets me have full access to his library.  I have taken something of an interest of late in a small nation on the west coast of the former Murmanityed Empire.

They are surrounded on three sides by the once powerful nation, where once they had been slaves.  Constantly tormented fromt he east by the bronze elf generals and minotaur tribes.  The refugees have managed to establish themselves a sanctuary.  Occasionally merchant-mercenaries arrive in the city with news or people from this liberated nation known as Lindur.  The prince has given me leave to journey there and explore the lands.  I know that he will ask me to do something for him while I am there, for the prince is no fool.  I care not what is is, but I desire to know what it is that keeps this beleaguered nation from buckling and being overwhelmed.

I dare not believe that hope has once again taken residence in my heart, or my torturer might surely double his efforts.  But I cannot deny the fire in my heart that many hard months had extinguished.  Maybe my salvation lies across the broken sea.

-M.E.
X——-  (Crebain’s mark)

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