Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

[Written in a shaking, unsure hand.] .

I am poison… I'm bad, and I don't want to be alone…

Today after having done my usual chores… I’d thought to visit the fire once again, in hopes that Alex would seek me out there. Before I’d leave the keep, I would encounter the Aegisess of Coronal, Miss Silias. She seemed in no rush to be to her tasks, and was of mind for us to get to know each other better… The Storm Lord seemed to be out in force early in the morning however, creating a vast torrent atop of us before Lathander’s light could come out to drive him away. I’d invited Miss Silias to the Seeker’s Quarters, where we could at least chat in a comfortable environment.

[Her writing slowly returns to some level of normalcy as she delves further into her memories]

It was just small talk… I’d pour her some of the tea Laitae made but a few hours ago before she took off, and she seemed to truly enjoy it. I was glad… Laitae seems to constantly convince herself of her lack of worth, I’m afraid more praise from me simply goes unnoticed these days. Perhaps she would listen to an outside party?

Silias had become a citizen of Doron Amar and I was happy for her… She was a serious sort, but kindly. They do well to have her in their service. She’d not been assigned to slaying paper dragons with Miss Boots yet… but she had been busied with work nonetheless. She was organizing an event to commemorate the Corellon, and upon my wishings had invited me to attend when the time came.

Desperation and curiosity made me ask… I had not seen my Alex for the entire night, and so in a lull I had asked the priestess if she’d come by the fire.

“I had passed it on the way, yes.” I asked if she’d seen Alexander, and gave her a description should she be unfamiliar with the tall, brooding knight. “Your knight is there.” She said.

I’m afraid I left in a bit of a rush…

When I’d arrive, dear Alex was indeed there… and did not seem overly happy of seeing me. I wanted to give him an embrace, but he kept me away. “I’d ask you not to touch me, mi’lady.” What was wrong, my guardian angel? He asked if we could talk alone… and led me away from the people of the fire.

“I spoke to the Order, and I am no longer your assigned guardian. That duty falls onto Taron once again.” That is good news… right? He could take me with him again, and we could travel the world together... I told him this.

“We won’t be travelling together anymore. My refusal to perform my assigned duty has removed my abilities as a paladin. I am no longer held in favor of my God.”

…

What? But you never refused! You sought my permission, and I gave it!

“You put me in the position to travel with someone who steps from shadow to shadow, who wears the color of Shar. My mouth asked, my heart refused from the moment I saw her.”

You think Varia follows Shar?!

“It matters little what she is or not. It is the Thayan that I cannot abide.”

[Her writing becomes sloppy once again]

Dear Gods Alex, why? Why you too? Were you not the one who stated that a person should be judged by their actions, not their blood? I tell you that Kadri means well, how could you just assume a red wizard instantly means they precipitate evil?! Why… why would you hate me for caring for her… for trying to convert her, for trying to bring the promising young woman to light?

“Your friend is part of an organization that it is my duty to oppose. Would you have me further slight my God?”

…Everyone had asked me to renounce her… everyone. But if it was his will…

“No. I only ask that you leave me alone. You and Laitae both.”

--

It was then I realized that I’ve never known pain. The slow torturous boredom that came with living with being furniture. The realization I was furniture. Almost drowning in the sea… the months spent adventuring… Marros’ knives in my back…

I’d never known pain until my Alex tore my heart out my chest…

The next place I’d find myself would be back in this very room… the women’s quarters in Candlekeep. My tears refused to dry, my throat was sore and I could feel myself dehydrating and I did not care. The fireplace flickered lazily until it died… and I was left with nothing but the pain and the cold.

My friends sought me out. Laitae… Silias… Varia. There I was crying ever so pathetically, lost in the darkness I was assigned to keep bay. And still they came to me… the worthless and purposeless candle, and gave me warmth. [Words smudged by a droplet] Where do they find it in their souls to care for pathetic wretches like me…? Even with love having gone and past my friends still found it in them to be friends… to show me the path of hope to track it down once again…

I’d spill apple juice on my robes… It was well intended of Laitae, to rehydrate my tortured body… but I could not hold any objects reliably well and I’d needed to change to my acolyte robes afterwards. She’d offered to wash it for me still while I went to face the man who would no longer care about me… How much more burdens would my friends have to bear?

When I’d arrived at the fire, Alex had been there still… listening to those who spoke. I took my place at the other side, and when he did not ask me to leave, I ventured risking his attention.

“Yes?” He would ask me, and I’d feared he’d smite me with his very eyes but when I’d look up, he was calm.

I told him of our plan… that if there was any way for him to regain Torm’s favor, I would be more than willing to help. To do anything… it was my fault it was lost, and hate me if he must but let me live with the comfort of doing something for you… I love you…

“I love you, too.” He would tell me. He tried to mask his emotions but they were there… truthful, loving pain. He loves me still… there was hope, a flickering ember on my wick…

--

I’d somehow wake up later in the day within the haunted mansion, with Buurk, Alex, Juez, Elycia and several other people. We’d been slain… and before we’d be overwhelmed once again, we made haste to leave, with Alex leading the way out.

Eventually, he would return to the fire, his patrols over…

Elycia had been examining his armor, and I found it a curious activity. When Alex deemed to notice her, she had assumed a funny mood and joked with her hands of visions of removing his head. We’d grown comfortable with each other’s presence again… I thought… and my stupid wicked vile tongue assumed ourselves too familiar.

“If you merely wished to examine Alex, you’ve naught but to ask… he is well versed at being a good examination subject…”

He turned his head and gazed at me sternly, those ocean blue eyes a quiet fury threatening, to slay me where I stood. “…Louise, it sounds like you’ve just called me a *****. You know that, right?”

I could barely choke out an apology before I’d flee… stupid stupid stupid!

Why? Why would I do that? How could I even think like that? If I was blessed like Mumbles… just snip off my tongue why don’t I? Maybe I should wear a gag? And still he heard this… and I’ve hurt him yet again!

Perhaps it’s best if I simply never spoke again.

I’d been a child, a fool and why he puts up with me I cannot even know… and yet he does. He loves me. Me!

…I do not know how long I had been crying. Perhaps the entire night… I’d tried sleep but every time my vision darkened his face would appear and it would hurt all over again… I could not even bear the thought of seeking console with my sisters of the book – they had their own thoughts to deal with and it felt somehow wrong to seek them… I know, I’d been a fool. If I were to come across myself in their eyes, would it not have gladdened my heart to provide what aid I can? Who was I to deny them their compassion, their willingness to comfort? Needlessly... recklessly, I’d bore my own burden blindly and yet, caught up in my own greed and self-pity, Mercy still found His way.

I thought I had myself under control that morning, when I would next see my Alex. Well… obviously I still had not been thinking straight (When am I ever?) for there I sat, him wishing to apologize to me… me confusing him further by not speaking… I was only trying not to hurt him further and yet again I did, over and over again. He tried to reason with me, and then become stern with me, and nothing worked. I was still disappointing him and there was naught I could do but cry even more. Thinking of it now... it was funny, really. There was this delirious, exhausted halfway dead girl who only wanted to make him happy and there was an emotionally detached man who tried to reason with her that he can only be happy when she was happy. It was an ugly downward spiral…

In the end, probably frustrated that thoughtful reasoned words had ill effect he had done what was probably completely senseless to him and showed me that even paladins can truly feel… He’d taken me into his arms and refused to let go, and it was then I passed out. When I’d come to, I was back in the Seeker’s Quarters in Candlekeep. Laitae had been heating water for a bath, and Alexander was leaning on the table, terribly exhausted. I could not help but smile at the scene. “I’m sorry.” I would choke out. “Am I really that heavy?”

“No, it was not you - being wracked with a sudden burst of divine energy is draining. It seems Torm saw fit to favor me to aid you." Not even a smile then, now that I’ve thought about it. Given the situation though, it did not matter.

By saving me, he had regained his favor. He’d made his peace with Laitae as well, as with Varia earlier… it felt as if he’d forgiven, well, me. If I had a better handle of my emotions, would things have turned out less perfectly? If I’d never driven myself to exhaustion and dehydration, how different things might have been... I am thankful for Ilmater, for bearing with my silliness, and still finding it in His heart to reward His disruptive little daughter… Thank you so much.

--

My talk with Elycia tonight had put that past into perspective. Who am I indeed to hold someone so highly when I am expected to care for all? …But, even as logically as I think now I still cannot face the thought of being alone… it is horrible, is it not? I would rather be miserable with Alex than feel nothing without him… After all, how best to appreciate the heights of pleasure than know the depths of despair? The joy he brings me is so vast that just the very threat of losing it made me nearly lose my mind. My mother had once told me that love was stupid, that it is a thing one should not do because it had no guarantees. But it was her that was stupid. Love needs no guarantees.

Dean Sonlite wrote:Stay here with me tonight, I can't be all alone. I want to feel you hold me tight - I don't want to be on my own...

All I ever said to you… Is still so true… I want to be the one you'll love, who'll fly with you dear Dove...

I'm quite sure it's meant to be.... I love...you...

But there is only one thing I know... You want to take it slow... I know these wounds still bleed... But I'll be there whenever you're in need...

Stay here with me tonight... I can't be all ...alone...

Dean is gone now. I would have written my thoughts last night but this is more fitting, with Lathander’s light outside maybe he can watch me if he wanted. Dean, if you’re reading this, I would like to give you my thanks, and my apologies.

Sometimes you are stoic and somber, but what I remember you best for is when you brought warmth . . . happiness, out on a cold, lonely night. Tyressen had suggested a party out of a joke, he said it was your idea. And then you turned it right around, and it was your idea after all, and it was one of the most wonderful nights I could ever remember. It was even the first time I’d drunk alcohol – not something I thought I would ever do and yet . . . somehow you made it feel like no big thing. That it was just friends sharing an experience together . . . I will not lie, I did not enjoy my first drink as it went down. But the memories . . . the experiences . . . Tyressen and Patch dancing . . . the paladins out of their shells . . . the singing, the dancing. You created all of that, and that celebration is what I would remember you for, and give thanks.

I remember the last things we talked about. Do you remember that oddly-clad adventurer? We’d been milling about as usual, when suddenly a funny looking man approached the camp and with as much tact as one can expect from those people, he brazenly asked for assistance. To gather hill giant dung. You started laughing at him, then. “That is the most inviting invitation, ever.” You told him. And then when he confirmed his seriousness, you laughed even harder. I was worried of you before, you can bet I became terrified then. I’d thought you’d gone insane to be honest, but before I could reach my worried peak, you stopped yourself – and found it in yourself to give the silly man a present. A gift, payment for the laughter.

I wanted to know what was on your mind then, why your gaze stared off so. But no, you would not have it. Instead of letting me worry about you, you worried about me . . . asking how I was, how I was doing. I wanted to talk about you, but you were insistent I worry about others. Why Dean? Why should I not worry for my friends as well? I am tired of being compared to Saint Merielle . . . I am not a saint, I do not want to be a saint – I am far too selfish to even be considered as such. I love my friends . . . I do hold them in higher esteem . . . I do not want to choose between them and duty, for I would choose my friends . . . I am weak, Dean. Truly, very weak. I wished you’d stayed, for without you, the levees protecting the weak such as myself are that much weaker. I am sorry . . .

But I will not disappoint you; I would make you proud, Dean. You told me you would never truly be gone – that if I should miss you, then I should look to the rising sun. I will Dean, I will remember you, always. You said once, “Life’s too short to look at others having fun!” And so I shall. When I next fear a task out of some cowardly fear of embarrassment or failure, I will remember your words. And have fun.

If you are watching me, I hold in my hand a blackwater stout. The very same thing you purchased for me that wonderful night. It is strong, but also surprisingly sweet. It reminds me of you. Serve The Morninglord well, Dean, and . . . goodbye.

The Guide had wished us well, and expressed his utmost confidence in Reader Valqis to lead the mission, and to return us all safely. It was another rainy midday in Candlekeep, but it was not a gloomy rain. Nurturing perhaps, a soft drizzle to feed the flowers and enough to keep our thoughts from wandering into lulled dreamscapes. This was it – we did not even know if the woman Chantalas scryed was what she appeared, but she was all we had to go on.

We’d waited at the entrance to the keep for who knows how long for the paladins. I do not question their devotion to duty, but many in our circle were beginning to suspect their devotion to schedules. It had become a bit of an inside joke actually diary, that we’ve found the reason for their consistent tardiness. There are very many evil kittens on the way, and there are only so few paladins to deal with the growing furcopalyse. In any case, the first outsider to arrive was not an Order member, but Valqis’s friend, a tall dark man named Vladimire. I admit . . . I was a little terrified of his rather large weapon but Valqis trusted him so I was glad he was on our side. We’d waited a bit longer, and yet no paladins came. The rain pat patted on our heads ever so lightly, the constant rhythm of a God tapping their fingers impatiently on the desks made of us. Valqis made the most conversation she could, introducing us to Vlad, enlightening everyone of Elycia’s new Reader rank. Still, she mostly grew upset at the absent paladins while we stared on longingly at the gate. Eventually, Brother Juez arrived.

Reader Robert said what was probably in most of our heads, “So the Prelate sent us an initiate. Fine, here’s your chance to show the Order what you’re made of.” I admit some doubts lately of Lance’s decisions diary . . . especially when some of them had almost driven Alexander away from me. And then a second time. It was not that I thought Brother Juez to be incapable, but if we were to encounter resistance it would have been merely two shields to stand in front of what was frankly a large smattering of librarians. Powerful librarians to be sure, but when wards fail cloth deflects blades not.

When we’d all pretty much gathered, we finally headed down the cliff to the druid circle where Reader Valqis would activate her device. It was a curious little thing, made whirring and clicking noises as we went. If I were to guess, the gnomes built it. Regardless, this was our party. I had the odd feeling of eyes watching the back of our heads, but I wrote it off due to nervousness. Nervous not only for our safety, but for seeing the slim possibility of the God’s dice gone wrong . . . Valqis activated her device.

It was only my second time being teleported, and I can’t say I was ever more prepared. It’s . . . difficult to describe diary, of what I feel when I’m suddenly in a completely new place entirely. It felt a lot like falling, maybe. To my credit, at least I did not fall over this time.

We’d arrived at an area in the Cloudpeak Mountains next to a small lake, or a very large pond where Chantalas and Robert first scryed the dancing drow. If the old Reader were reading my diary, he would probably have liked to add ‘half-naked.’ In any case there were no signs of life when we’d arrived, but as a precaution we’d put up our wards. Ever since Master Rhys commented on the possibility, I became increasingly worried at the presence of so many other spell casters warding up in such close proximity to each other that we might rip a tear in the Weave with so many being cast at once . . . so I chanted mine a little later. If I had known better, I should have saved mine for much later, for exploring would be a long, arduous process that left us, in the end, virtually helpless.

Valqis, probably still slightly agitated at being made to wait, began to promptly walk in one direction with everyone trailing behind sheepishly, finishing up their various castings and conversations. After several hundred paces, Robert finally spoke up.

“Hmm . . . I do not remember this area.” Well, he did ask Valqis to lead on, so it was not her fault she just began to walk in a random direction. She pointed this out to him before the entire group backtracked all the way back to the tiny lake, and we took the higher road this time. It was probably cool, but thankfully I was blissfully lukewarm in the ethereal plane. Eventually after much arguing (which I imagine happens frequently when you gather together a group of scholars) we’d found a cave . . . It was the cave confirmed by Robert, but it was block off by boulders.

Well, they were real enough rocks, so the men went to work to removing it. Well, Aearion did at least. It was a rather funny scene watching the elven man try to pry boulders out of the way with a long sword. Fulcrums can only go so far, after all. At this point my Alex and another Knight, Thiago Juez called him, had been teleported to us. Alex had apologized for the tardiness, but I was just happy he had come, and that Lance had not totally written us off. Still, it was odd that no one had been helping Aearion this entire time, but before anyone could notice this obvious oversight a shrill female voice screamed at us from above. “No!” it said, very dramatically and for an extended period of time.

“Fools! What are you doing! Fools, crazy!”

We’d tried to pinpoint the voice, until it showed itself finally a few feet beyond us, higher on the cliff. “Do not move those rocks! A great evil lies behind it! Demons! Black demons!” She had an unfocused view of the world . . . as some of the party had pointed out, she looked quite mad.

The group pointed out that we were aware of the dangers inside, and we would seek to confront it. After all, this was a rescue mission . . . albeit comprised of mostly of (very powerful!) librarians. Still, she continued arguing about . . . well, something, and we tried to come to a compromise, but it is often fruitless trying to argue with gnome the insane. Something I’m coming to regret finding out within Celasorsan . . . No amount of talking helps, for either of those two . . . so instead of spending even more precious minutes arguing, we finally decided to continue moving the rocks anyway, despite her objections. Well . . . one person moved the rocks anyway, Valqis’ friend, Vladimire. We mostly eyed the gnome suspiciously.

Eventually the rocks had been cleared, and we descended within. Our lack of field training showed here as we immediately became split up – one group moving onwards, the other trying to prod our old Reader to remove his attention from his mushrooms and follow the rest of us. Eventually, after much bickering, they joined us, minus Robert. Someone had spotted something in the maze, and Kestral had lamented when I’d casted a light spell to see better that we were alerting the entire cave to our presence. This confused me because from our enormous commotion just getting to where we were, I would think that such underground adepts as the drow would have known what we’d had for lunch by the time we encountered them. But encountered them we did.

Only one showed himself – a Death Knight. He did not seem to like the light we shown with – which was my intent at least. Still, he held his ground convincingly enough. “As we speak, our priestess is aware of your presence here.” He said with a sneer. We’d tried diplomacy briefly . . . But it soon became apparent he was merely there to waste our time. The Knights attacked, and within moments he was dead . . . only to be replaced by slime mere moments after we’d continued onto the path.

Our warriors hacked and slashed and our collection of lore masters assisted with their art and arrows, and eventually, despite the most inefficient slime fighting techniques available, the slimes themselves were rendered mere puddles. Such was the force of our heroes. At one point a cube-shaped slime ate Alex, and then Elycia who tried to get him out, but Alexander hacked from within and with our combined efforts we’d freed them both. It was a sight to behold . . . Everyone sticky with slime juice, except me, who continued to heal as I barely existed on the same dimension plane.

Then Robert screamed.

We had lost the tracks anyway, prodding along hopelessly without a skilled tracker (Buurk, you have got to join us!) so diary you can bet we got split up again trying to find the Reader. He was fine . . . thankfully. Though missing his ‘Adventuring Hat.’ Elycia had been in a funny mood earlier about leaving her fellow Reader behind to his mushrooms but she was at least, genuinely relieved that he was not hurt. We’d all gathered up again and found new sets of tracks . . . and a clue. A small white piece of cloth . . . perhaps once worn by the one we sought. Seeker Lillith asked Robert if this could be true, and he replied thusly:

“Hmm, well, she wasn’t wearing much, but yes, her clothes were white.” Vladimire added that if she were not wearing much then, she would certainly be naked now. Perhaps to keep our dear Reader’s mind somewhat on the correct track . . . I am grateful for his wisdom.

We’d continued onward, and by some miracle we stumbled along the right path. As we readied to turn a corner, we heard the sounds of two making conversation. When we’d come around they immediately descended into the lower levels . . . Kestral (Who’s faithful cat kept watch of the entrance for any gnome trickery) went to investigate despite none giving orders and I thought it was safe as well, so I’d also looked down below.

Suddenly, twin blades came flying out of the depths and despite my etherealness being gone, the Death Knight had gone straight for Kestral. I’d followed immediately after them, Kestral almost getting killed as he was cought surprised and unawares, but the drow underestimated our warriors and fell quickly. I tended to my fellow acolyte’s wounds with a quick prayer, and Alexander yelled at me for coming so close to death myself.

I’d apologized, not wishing to argue the point that it was not me the drow went after, for our group cohesion was loose enough as it was. Still, with Ilmater’s blessings running low I had then decided to strictly adhered to the wisdom of staying in the back, despite being probably the only scholar wearing some sort of steel armor. I’ve little doubt I’d survive long with or without it if it came to blows . . .

Regardless, one had escaped us and was no doubt reporting to his fellows about our composition. We’d prepared to descend when we were once again held up by our cloistered Reader, who’d been scooping vials of the slime we’d left behind earlier to study for later. I suppose he does not notice people much, or he would have seen we’d collected a fine sample amongst each other already, but nevertheless we pushed on.

Into an ambush.

They were five to eight, I was not really counting, but they were vanquished quickly enough. It seemed they made the wrong choice somewhere in becoming Death Knights, for we’d brought divine power to combat them. After making sure everyone was okay, we’d pushed on. There were the remains of a megaraptor spread atop a rock in a ritualistic manner . . . and above it, purple sparkles. Without waiting to see what it was for or what would happen if we did anything else, Aearion shot at it. Not knowing what else to do, people followed suit, with spell, sword, and bow. Eventually we did learn it was a part of the ward that that guarded the priestess’s main chamber . . . but I was rather shocked at Aearion’s initial action. I suppose he was agitated because of who we were supposed to meet . . . if Councilor Vanira’s reaction to Nate and myself was any small indication of how elves feel about drow . . . Aearion must have been at the epitome of control. Thank you Julie, for enlightening me . . .

We did indeed find the solid ward later, looking powerful enough to withstand even a Mordenkainen’s Disjunction. The drow behind it were clearly plotting . . . something, and so with Aearion leading the charge, we’d destroyed the other two energies giving power to the barrier. When we’d return . . . their Captain tried diplomacy.

“You. Who are you. What do you want.” It did not seem like he truly much cared. Alex responded.

“We want the woman in white.” He said.

“If you fight us, you will die.”

Threats flew on either side . . . until Alexander had had enough. “Well, I tried.” He said, and charged. It all became a blur. One moment I see Alexander standing, the next, he was on the ground . . . Aearion stood frozen in time, and it was all I could do to utter a single prayer . . . It was answered, and an Angel appeared. More of my friends were being cut down to size . . . except from what I could see, the drow who moved faster than we could blink had been taking care not to slay us outright . . . Laitae was put out with the hilt of a blade . . . my Angel was overwhelmed, Vladimire put up his own effort and similarly fallen . . . If only I could cast a . . . just one Mass Heal . . . I’ll revive everyone, and the Death Knights would fall . . .

My wrists were then casually pulled together by a single hand, breaking my concentration before the drow made me see darkness.

When I’d come to, I awoke to the sight of drow completely annihilated. My friends . . . My Alex, they were all alive . . . But what happened? I’d look around . . . and there was Nathaniel Collins . . . Krueger . . . and a man I barely knew, Charraj.

“ . . . The drow must have been well-prepared?” Asked Krueger to no one in particular while I tried to get my bearings.

“I really did not want to come anywhere near the drow.” Said the black-clad Charraj. “But when I saw you all in trouble through the scry . . .” So those were the eyes I felt earlier! Oh Charraj, I would have kissed you! I’d helped revive the fallen, contemplating all the while what could have happened. Our wards had long been lost, so even if they did not employ their terrible time magics it would have been a very difficult fight indeed . . . But while we were able to take down the Captain and four of his guards, the drow had easily overwhelmed us with such a powerful spell.

Robert had run away, we did not know then where. So how were these three able to defeat the other dozen or so Death Knights?

When the others had regained their bearings, we all went in, together. Well, most of us did anyway. We had to drag along Charraj through sheer peer pressure as he called us lunatics and crazies while we searched for our quarry. We found her not too far in. We also found her mother, standing right behind her holding a dagger to her daughter’s throat.

Charraj kept saying we should leave, we should teleport away. Elycia was . . . agreeing with him. “The idea is to get Robert’s drowess of seductive dancing.” Said Aearion.

“News flash. She’s a DROW.” . . . Okay, maybe I won’t kiss you, but you at least deserve a little hug. We tried to tell him this was the entire point, but he was having none of it. “Oh Gods, you’re insane. I saved crazy people.” . . . . . . No hugs either.

The mother did indeed know what we came for, and tried to bargain with absolutely nothing. There was nowhere to go . . . But still, she tried. The daughter tried to give us the go ahead, to let her die, as long as her mother’s plots don’t succeed. Charraj kept trying to convince us to teleport away. The negotiations were going nowhere. Charraj was trying to convince Aearion to take the shot, to play upon his natural elven tendencies. “Stop tempting me.” He replied. Kestral then casted his final remaining haste spell, and flew to attack the mother.

As her final action, she slit her daughter’s throat as she was utterly obliterated by a combination of blade, arrow, and fire. “Dies! Dies you all!” were her final words.

“Useless.” Kestral said as it ended. Nate stabilized the daughter, and it kept her alive long enough for me to pray for her wounds to close, her throat regenerating and her lungs forcing out the blood within.

“Circle around me” Valqis said as it all ended.

“Nate! What in the Hells!” Charraj yelled. He still seemed to be having difficulty accepting that we needed this one alive. Later on I would learn that he was an acolyte of Candlekeep, though judging from the fact that I never see him actually around to help, it came to no surprise he did not actually understand why we came here in the first place. As Reader Elycia said, why were you not at the meetings?

As her wounds regenerated, Alexander mentioned a point. “She would have selflessly sacrificed herself to rid the realm of her mother.” She really would have . . . if she was not a true follower of Eilistraee, then this mission would have been pointless. But here she was, and then came the question of what to do.

There had been some arguing on how to get my ring to react, to take in her positive essence. Some wanted to bring her to the Keep itself, but others were firmly adamant against that. Aearion even pointed out that drow were not allowed within the walls. We tried to get her to tell the ring the name of her Goddess . . . wondering if words were the trigger. It did not work, and she was disappointed. The argument of what to do and where we should do it continued, and this left a bitter taste in the Acolyte Charraj’s mind as he teleported away long before he even learned what we were doing. Eventually, in the middle of an argument and having come to a decision of what to try . . . to lick the ring, Valqis activated her device and we were suddenly within the Druid Circle once again.

This brought about many complaints. Aearion said coldly, “Just wonderful. We didn’t charge the ring, and I let a dhaerow live.” I was terribly worried an adventurer might come by our group and spot Leliendel and get the wrong idea . . . There was no helping it, after all. We were on the surface now, let us not get spotted, please? More bickering . . . This is why I suppose, the battlefield should be left clear of scholars.

“I can lick the ring, if you wish.” She seemed oblivious to our problems, merely content to look upon Selune once again. As they continued to argue, I’d given her my ring as to do what she must. She clasped it around her hand tenderly, lovingly, and uttered quiet words that cut through the cacophony.

“Thank you my maiden, to have let me find these surfacers . . . Now I know there is hope . . . “

Then, a soft glow surrounded her, and the ring’s second gem glowed with light. She did not know what it was for, but innocently she asked, “Now . . . I need to lick it?” No dear . . . no! It worked! Emotions were the key!

Knowing it would be unseemly for us to take her in, Leliendel bid us farewell and assured us that she would be safe enough within the Cloakwood. Laitae had suggested her to find Waterdeep, that there was a place for her there, but she insisted she would be fine. She would remain there for if we have need of her. I hope that my Lord would keep her safe . . . she truly was a good drow! Who knew it to be possible? I shall pray for mercy, and hope her Goddess keeps her well. Robert teleported in suddenly as well . . . as with the crazy gnome we'd met on the Peak. "It worked!" She said, and for reasons we did not ask, Robert owed her a kiss. He gave it to her. He asked us not to ask.

. . . Much later on, as our friends scoured much needed rest, we’d made our report to Guide Wendel. He was pleased that the mission went well . . . and our moods were then dampened by the leaving of Charraj. “Thank you for having me, but I don’t think I can ever take the vows of the avowed.”

“If you feel so inclined. I am sure the laundry shall get done.” Wendel replied.

“I disagree with a lot of things that Guide thinks. One of the good things about being an Avowed, one can express the differences of opinion . . . and change things. Guide is not the be all end all of Candlekeep!” Elycia said, trying to persuade him to stay.

“No but . . . It’s just not safe here for me anymore.” He then proceeded to leave. And then returned. “Don’t worry; I won’t take this log with me. That would be heinous.” He then dragged the logs back to where he found them – supporting the flowers.

“Where is safe then?” I asked him.

“Somewhere where people don’t tolerate the drow. Well, thanks again, Guide. It was great being here. And I learned a lot. You’re all great.” He then motioned to leave once again.

“Farewell, man who left all the laundry to Laitae and I.”

“Hey, I did my share of laundry! And manure shoveling!”

“Charraj.” Said Wendel.

“Yes?”

“You may go.”

He nodded, and left. Before he was out of earshot, he yelled, “You don’t even want to know what I washed your breechcloths with!” . . . What an evil man.

It was then Wendel told us of who he was, and it made sense now why I am still here, able to write my thoughts freely. He was a man of equal power to even Wendel himself . . . perhaps more, which was why he was not even allowed to cast spells within Candlekeep. He was apparently the leader of the Istari until he’d accidentally opened a Gate to the Hells in the middle of Baldur’s Gate. Which promptly left him banished and now . . . homeless. I wish him well.

Seeker Lillith proposed that she would buy us drinks . . . and so we left for the Friendly Arm Inn. Where the Lion’s Way and the Trade Way intersect however, we came upon Nate, Julindra, Vanira and others. I suppose Nate had told Vanira what we did . . . and it was only after talking to Julindra did I realize the extent of our faux pas, pardon my Elvish. I wish I could have comforted her . . . to tell her that it was in the name of good, but if Julindra tells me correctly, she would have had none of it. I could not explain to her our reasoning for why we did what we did and it felt as if I’d stabbed her in the back . . . by her expression, she felt it too . . .

But if the Guide was not willing to explain the details of our venture to her, what right did an acolyte like I? It would be all I could do to beg her forgiveness in the future . . . I just hope Lance could at least talk to her, as well as the Priestess she had been travelling with. I’m sorry Vani . . . so sorry . . . But you are in the wrong. Someday . . . I hope you can forgive me.

It’s strange . . . I cannot say I hate you, Alex. I really can’t. I thought I’d loved you . . . but if I cannot bring myself to hate you for what you’ve done . . . had I really? Perhaps it was never love in the first place . . . It was a one-sided attraction, and you held my leash. I cannot fault you for what you’ve done, because after all, what did I have to offer? I guess I’m just a little girl . . . and what you wanted was a woman. My kindness is my ignorance; I know that is what is on everyone’s minds. And you hated me for that as well. But what else was I? Just a timid little girl in the drab grey robes . . . Compared to her, with the excitement you choose to live by, I suppose I’d been nothing. I’d tried to give you my everything . . . everything . . . and you refused to take me. I suppose I ought to thank you for the kindness . . . for letting me keep that little bit of me left . . .

I hope you’re happy.

Days pass by, and my mind is adrift. News currents push along and I follow them – but do I care? War here, demons there, tensions rise amongst the populace. Are these not the domains of heroes? The roads I walked are less safe to travel by – why can’t I care? Do the cloistered walls of Candlekeep shield me from the suffering outside, or have I simply stopped paying attention? Care, compassion, and love - these used to be my foundations. Where do I go when one is missing? If I were a chair, I suppose I’d fall down. .

And I can’t help these feelings and thoughts of weakness . . . After all, I’m only a woman. Of flesh and bone . . . and I’ve wept much, we all would – I thought I might die alone. But . . . I never will be. One person, one person will not dictate my life. Should not dictate it . . . I realize that now. If I should die here, now, for no good reason other than misery and loneliness, then that will be my fate. Alone. But my friends . . . I’ve nothing to offer them. Nothing at all by surviving, continuing on, preserving, I’ve got nothing to give them except . . . everything. Everything that I am, everything . . . all the good, the love, the compassion . . . and the bad.

I’ve got bad . . . and have been made unfair comparisons because of it. I’ve lied, withheld secrets, and been ungrateful for what I’ve had. Would people think I was comparable to the chosen of Mercy then? I am just not that person, and I never will be. Habits drive my waking life and I’m scared – how long was I going to be running in my sleep?

I’ve been created unwhole and unwell, my support brazenly torn asunder by one whom I admired, one who I thought cared . . . and yet, even when I look at her now I can feel nothing at all. Nothing – no hate, anger, love, pain . . . If she thought so little of me to do what she did then, how much worth does she hold left for me now? Am I cruel to close my heart to her? But I can’t open it . . . not to her, not anymore . . . I’d wish her happiness, of all the things I wanted to happen to me. A house on a hill . . . three children, a small dog . . . the green grass, the simple joy of life – a place that exists in naught but script and song. A storybook . . . a happily ever after . . . But I can’t . . . I can’t. These were the things that were supposed to happen to me.

And I can’t have that. No one cares when you’re crying, so what is left? To pick up the pieces and pretend nothing is broken . . . with enough practice, I might even trick myself to believe I am fixed.

Father Mercy, please forgive your selfish daughter.

Today is Julindra’s birthday. I would have had a present last night but a series of events had kept my attention the entire evening . . . As I write, I could feel the mental drain of trying to write, exhausted and atop a moving wagon. Maybe this was a bad idea . . .

My trouble began yesterday afternoon. I’ve been venturing outside the walls of Candlekeep again for the past few days now; perhaps if I gave aid to those that required it, I thought . . . it would help me deal with the emptiness I felt within. Continue to feel . . . at least for a little while. Would my Lord Who Endures approve, if I let something as small and selfish as loneliness take me from my tasks? No . . . I don’t think so. So I walk. Perhaps the road where I have learned so many things and made so many wonderful friends could help guide me once again – at the very least, lead me away from home.

I used to long for a home. Now, I am not so sure . . . I do not know if I want to remain at stasis.

Two nights before I had met a ranger named Da-an Fang, an intense man who rarely seemed act without at least a dual purpose. I questioned him on this, if he doesn’t act with only a singular reason. His reply was that it was a waste of energy otherwise. It is wisdom to live by, but I wonder if he would place emphasis of quantity over quality? Regardless, he is an interesting man, extremely interested in understanding the weapons once wielded, I gather, from his father. What was the personal quest he was forced to abandon, I wonder?

Last night, the ranger and I crossed paths once again. He was travelling to Candlekeep while I was making my way north from Beregost, where Laitae (who had just come back from Waterdeep) had an odd, if not disturbing story to tell. It appeared the Red Wizard Achmetalok had raised my elven friend after she had fallen somehow south of Beregost. He paid Kivas Ulbright himself – Candlekeep’s very priest of Oghma, to reunite Laitae’s soul with her body. Mercifully, it worked . . . but unfortunately, with what I know of the wizards, could there possibly be an ulterior motive behind the seemingly selfish act? Do I overanalyze a potentially truly generous action? With his departing words to my friend, I cannot help but think about it any other way. “Candlekeep has no lore we are interested in.” How is that a believable statement?

But I digress. Da-an Fang was travelling to Candlekeep, I assume for payment and for lore. Nevertheless, though I could think of no reason it would serve him, he offered to accompany me to the orc caves in the Sharp Teeth along with Laitae, for a rumor I had heard from a seemingly insane man. The orcs had had a gathering of sorts, of leadership. Several would-be chieftains were told to have been there, but before I could learn much further the man had run away.

Mister Fang led the way. As we travelled through the Sharp Teeth, we were greeted upon a familiar sight. Orcs, dire boars, none Mister Fang could not handle. Inside their lair, the orc caves, it was a similar story. There were no signs of a gathering, just simple mountain orcs who were unprepared for our sudden intrusion. We descended further down in the caves, and again, there was nothing. Nothing . . . but a familiar sight. Lotrik strewn across the cavern floor, left for dead after a vicious struggle. With my prayers we were able to get him to come to, and even restored to full health in quick time. He claimed he had been away for too long, that he could not believe he was brought down by ‘mere orcs.’ Regardless, seeing nothing else wrong within the caves, Laitae had decided to return home to Candlekeep, assured that all was in hand. She wished to tell me her story after she’d gotten her rest. After she teleported away, we continued to explore to the very depths of the caves.

. . . And came up with nothing. There was no indication whatsoever of any orcish planning. Satisfied, we prepared to depart.


Even now, my head hurts just thinking about it. True, the physical damage had been taken care of, a combination of spell, prayer, and what little sleep I had. But my memory can be painfully vivid at times, just picturing things in my head can evoke the same feelings I felt then . . .

A hail of arrows greeted us as we approached the cavern exit. Orcish arrows flooded the corridor, the sheer volume of such drove us back further in. Inside . . . it was no better. Warriors, wizards, archers, we were being overrun. Lotrik and Da-an fought like heroes, but the planning had been perfect. Eventually they fought one of the orcish spell casters, and it was no ordinary fighter. It kept the two at bay with a combination of spell and skill, and the weariness was beginning to show on my hero’s actions. Sluggish swings, legs that were late to respond . . . I’d rushed out from behind the wall I was hiding to pray them vigor – but Da-an had screamed at me to get back.

It was too late. I saw a column of flame, and that was when everything became dark.

When I awoke, I found myself tossed carelessly inside a crude cell carved within the very walls of the cave and shut behind iron bars. There was laughter all around – taunting and jeering in orcish. I called out to my companions and I heard Lotrik’s voice – he was alive, at least. I could only imagine in the same situation I was in. When I approached the bars to try to look out, a brown bear had come out of the shadows and took a swipe at me! I kicked it in the nose and backed away, admittedly, terrified. What did the orcs want? Why take us prisoner?

I heard more voices from the shadows – more orcs laughing in the background as I retreated further back in my cell. I could even make some out from what I’ve read over the stories - "Gnbat rrhak." One said. “Stupid human.”

I heard Lotrik in the background, after grunting in pain, had uttered to himself. “Well . . . ain’t much left to do.” There was a loud crash, and next thing I see is Lotrik fighting several orcs outside my cell as well as the bear. It was dazzling, and terrifying! There my friend fought valiantly, holding off three orcs and ursidae! And I couldn’t do anything! One orc . . . two . . . three, blood seeped through turning his once beautiful full plate crimson and still he fought on with fury! But it was not to last . . . wounded, tired, the ursus arctos eventually managed to take him down . . . and Lotrik had finally run out of fight. I tried to scream at him to get up – but . . . nothing. Was he dead?

The bear had paid its price too . . . however. After taking out my friend, it was all it could do to stop itself from collapsing – its heavy brown body crashing heavily against my cage. The crowd in the shadows was awash with disappointment, but soon died down to a hush as a large orcish cleric stepped into view outside my cell. “You! Come with me!” he roared at me . . . the poor dying animal in front of me got its head crushed under a boot as the orc opened my cell. I tried to bat him away but he was just so much stronger than me . . . one slap and I was down on the ground.

And then strong hands grabbed me by the hair and it was all I could do to hold on to stop myself from being scalped. He was so strong . . . I was dragged involuntarily across the floor, kicking and holding on, doing anything I could to stop the pain. I warned him to let me go when he finally stopped to give orders . . . and he ignored me. If this was not a time for self defense . . . I’d begun to cast the only offensive spell I remembered – earthquake.

The entire cavern shook as the walls and ceilings opened up all around me, crushing the mountain orcs where they stood, leaving destruction raging everywhere but where I stood. Most died or were knocked unconscious . . . but to my horror the orc cleric that had dragged me out climbed right back on his feet.

“Argh! Wench!” was all I heard before a forceful hand slammed me head-first into the ground.

The blow did not kill me or knock me out . . . but the pain was there all the same. My head screamed in agony and it was all I could do to catch my breath, to keep my eyes open, to keep myself from drowning from blood welling in my pharynx. The bitter iron behind my tongue eventually jostled me awake, and I found I could not spit it out. I’d been gagged, and bound. A smaller mountain orc had been carrying me over his shoulder, and I could make out Da-an Fang lying in his cell. Dead? No . . . there was definitely breathing.

“We take woman. Sacrifice her to Him.” Grunted the orc cleric in his broken common . . . He looked to Mister Fang, and grinned wickedly. I do not think he fell for the ruse . . . “Killz him,” he said, “take girl to circle . . .”

As soon as he heard those words, Mister Fang wasted no more time trying to be subtle. He quaffed his potion and his eyes went wide – and he was no longer of human shape. The orc shouldering me had dropped me to the ground as he prepared to combat the Frost Giant that suddenly smashed out of its cage – and was felled instantly. His companions and the alpha orc fared no better, and he rushed over to the fallen Lotrik with a shout.

After gathering up the unmoving genasi, he came back for me to undo my bindings. “Only way to break down door!” he yelled at me. I do not think he could speak softly in such a form . . . “Katanas are no good for steel bars!”

He would hew a path to the exit then. Archers, warlocks, warriors – the orcish numbers were uncountable. We tried to make out way out as quickly as possible, but a demon stood in our way.

In a panic, Giant Da-an Fang dropped Lotrik to the ground before locking combat with the demonic orc, and I uttered one of the last prayers I had left in memory. It was answered – and an angel came to our aid, stemming the massive tide of minions leaving us to deal with the demon. Several times it rend a wound on the transformed ranger I was only barely able to heal in time, and twice I thought myself dead were it not for an invisible force keeping my body going . . . Who was watching over me?

But the demon had cut a wound so deeply Mister Fang had reverted to his original shape – and I’d wasted my entire supply of salve, bandages, and extracts trying to keep the two of us alive. It was enough.

With one final, mighty slash, Da-an Fang had slain the demon, and we made our way outside.

We were greeted by a man dressed in spiky full plate, two masked men, and for a moment I had thought we were being robbed. We finally make it out of Nine, only to be left at the mercy of bandits? But no . . . the one in armor was a cleric. He put life back into Lotrik, and took care of our wounds through prayer. “Halstrom, you are too kind . . .” uttered the man in the masked blue hood. Da-an relayed as best he could of what was to be expected within . . . they took the news arrogantly. Not that they shouldn’t try . . . but it was an army in there. I do not know how long the angel would have stayed, especially since I had reached safety. The last I had seen of them was darting off into the tunnels . . . normally I would not hesitate to assist them, to offer my aid, but I’d none left. Nothing . . . and then arrows began to rain down upon us.

Orcish archers atop the cliff – an arrow struck me through the calf and it was all I could do to drag myself away. Da-an Fang shielded me with his own body, half pushing, half dragging me along as we made our way out the forest. Master Rhys had encountered us at the exit – no doubt on his way to Doron Amar, but I fear my wounded and battered self had given him pause. It was not the time to exchange pleasantries. Da-an Fang led me back to the safety of Candlekeep.

I do not know what happened to the adventurers who reveled in the chance for slaughter. I think Lotrik might have even joined them, an unjust need for vengeance in his eyes . . . All I could do was pray for their safety and let sleep overcome me, though Lathander had already begun to rise. I’ve slept perhaps an hour or two, and then ate what I could before catching a wagon headed for the large Chiontar Bridge of Baldur’s Gate. Today is Julindra’s birthday after all . . . Despite whatever pains I feel now . . . physical, emotional, mental, I am determined to not let this day be one of tragedy. If we could bring just that little bit of happiness . . . just inspire this little moment of peace, wouldn’t it be worth it?

21

Acquainted myself with the master arcanist and former acolyte known as Charraj. Met Miss Silias at Nashkel appreciating the weather, had intended to ascend the Cloud Peaks. Master Charraj and I accompanied, acting upon a rumour. Met harsh resistance – we were not going to break into the giant’s fortress easily. An elf named Ceres and an odd frost wizard named Rhiannon accompanied us in the attempt. Well, Ceres tried to help. Rhiannon mostly played in the snow. She would have been cute – if we were not being chased about by giants and wyrms at the same time. Ceres considers Silias a mother. Perhaps – she has that poise and patience. I am thankful for her friendship.

Trek ended when ambushed – someone made a fire in the camp. I was almost lost, fortunately, Silias tended to me.

21.1

Second attempt. Perhaps not wise. Bak Hazo and Nathaniel Collins were in the area, I selfishly asked their assistance. Julindra was, surprisingly, there as well. She apparently likes the weather, if not necessarily the sickness that visits her afterwards. Much like her drinking I suppose . . . Thankfully, she saw wisdom in not coming. Up we trekked again, and we were tracked down once more by Master Charraj. Very upset about his spellbook - has he fire warded the new one yet? May require a gentle reminder.

We… I failed. Were my prayers not answered, my story would have ended there. Fortunately, Father Mercy kept watch over His daughter, and though my friends had fallen, given me the strength and protection to pull them out. Gravity helped as well, so did the ice. No matter how much will I have – I simply cannot lift a half orc who weighs nine times the amount I do.

Had a talk with Master Charraj, learned the source of his fear. I hope he seeks me out - talk of the Tear was simply not possible in such a crowded tavern.

21.2

Learned what I feared – no evidence.

Well-bred man approached the fire, offered five thousand in gold to anyone who accompanied him south – and survived. Did not even consider his offer, there was too much danger in such a venture. Elves talked down to him – called him half breed. An orc? None volunteered aid . . . had Corellon no mercy for halves as well? The callousness of their treatment of this mercenary was not with sense – I offered my aid, with no need for payment. Warned by elves he’d intended to mate me. Such comments . . . such hatred.

We travelled south – he offered the same to any traveler met on the road. Most declined the most generous offer. We arrived in Beregost with a party of a hin woman named Blint, a shadowy lady named Mezora, myself, and the half-orc named Caliban. He offered to pay our stay in Beregost – most generously picked up the tab for my undying love for apple juice. Thank you Tyressen. Thank you.

Caliban drank heavy that night. Before sleep overtook him, he’d asked me to leave. That we would not survive the journey, it would have done no good for me to go on. Promised him I would never let him fall . . . If it was a legendary end he sought, he would have to seek it at a later date. I will not let him fall. If he cared not for his own life, then I would care for it.

Next day, he awoke us before Lathander’s light could touch the horizon. A soldier’s discipline I imagine . . . Halfway to the foothills, we picked up one more hin. Did not catch his name, mostly spoke hin, mostly spoke to Blint. Stout warrior nonetheless – not particularly strong or quick, but clever. His aid was most welcome. Again, confronted the Fortress Gate. Caliban tore through the defenders, and we rescued one intended to be a . . . sacrifice? Food? The woman named Laura joined us apparently out of debt to me – would have dismissed her if she told me she owed me. Once again, as with Bak and Nathaniel, I did not see evidence. But our discipline was sound – we made it to the chieftain. Not even a moment’s hesitation when confronted with humanoids – he attacked us.

My mind was immediately fogged, and when I could think clear again Caliban was going to fall. It was unavoidable . . . I just hoped his end would not be . . . messy. My prayers were answered, he had been knocked into a wall, and fell intact. Giants and wyrm focused attention on Laura. She put up a tremendous fight – but her legs tired as well and was forced to flee. She could not run quick enough. I gave my life force for her. Reinvigorated, she quit running and resumed her efforts, holding back spell, axe and dragon whilst I tried to recover. When I cought my legs once again, I ran for Caliban and prayed his soul was not yet taken. It worked – he rejoined the fray. Mezora and Blint did what they could, Blint’s friend assisting her whenever she was struck. We won the fight . . . and Caliban got the head he intended for. Stopped his abrasive speech then – perhaps that was hope I saw in his eyes? If I turned him from his madness, perhaps not all was lost.

No evidence of Amnish involvement. Time wasted? . . . Perhaps unnecessary danger, but would I take it back? No. If Caliban had gained new respect for his own life, then it was worth it.

When you gather together folks whose stores of knowledge and lore are so vast it becomes difficult to comprehend, you also look upon a group who would probably pay no heed to the ants stealing away their picnic. This is what we are – a group of intellectuals who are so focused in our respective thinker roles that we miss the most important, nonthinking solutions.

-

The day began, as oft it did, with rain. It snows sometimes in Candlekeep as well, but this day, it rained. The meeting was that day, and we gathered in the meeting room with sheep, or as Guide puts it, lamb soup, and began to catch up with one another. The meeting was light on attendance, though Guide Wendel explained that the other avowed were busy with the loading of provisions. Somehow, I cannot imagine that woman . . . miss Reader . . . doing any manual labor in her life. While I doubted she was helping, it was odd of her to miss a meeting. I do not know if I should have felt happy about that. Anyway, after we had talked a fair share and some had finished their meals, I volunteered to bring the plates down. I brought the food in after all - it was only fair that I cleaned up. When I came down to leave, in the library foyer stood a woman and in her arms, a wrapped little baby.

-

It still glows . . . all three of the jewels. Sometimes when I am feeling down, when I think about it, it gives me comfort. For the longest time I’ve been adrift, not really knowing where I belonged. When my heart was given, then disregarded, I came upon that feeling once again. That lonely, empty void, devoid of purpose, happiness . . . it was nothingness. I thought I had nothing, but when I look at this ring . . . it is like a babe. It has the lifetime love of two soulmates, their years of purposeful fulfillment. It has the warmth of a mother’s love, and the simple joy of seeing the light. It is all here, pronounced or not, the emotions I should be feeling with my heart. And in a small part of me, I think I do. They tell me it is a holy artifact and I do not know if it is so . . . if it is a gift of The Broken One, then I owe it nothing more than to act upon my purpose. If there is a light needed to be shone . . .

-

Robert had scryed the mother and babe, and she had come from Ulgoth’s Beard. What made this child and her mother special was . . . other than the fact the mother had even survived the birth, was the love the two shared. This was very important to our purpose because they were the opposite of a ritual used to create the Tear – a union between a devil and a human, out of which there is borne love. The love of such so heartwarming it had even rendered cold and calculating Seeker Lillith into what could only be described as . . . emotive. Anger is different, anger is easy. These were real emotions that I had never seen one such as her express, and it was all I could do to restrain myself to just a smile to witness such an event. It was truly a beautiful thing, the mother and the baby, the love between them . . . the love they inspired. Everything the opposite of the blasphemy used to help create the Tear . . .

Little Pia was the final joy my ring needed to experience, and her help could turn the tide against the darkness, if it ever came to that. Her tiny little horns and wings and prosperity for smoking burps scared the poor reader Valqis off her chair right next to her, but we have no doubt she will be raised well, here in the Keep with her mother’s love and influence. A little cambion, with a living mother. Surrounded by those that would see her follow a path of good . . . If I could have seen her future, I think I would have been smiling.

Scribe Teo and Captain of the protectors Kald Blake had finished loading our yet unnamed ship with the final provisions, and Teo had finally cought up with the rest of us at the end of it to provide his report. We were ready to set sail at any time, and with our weapon against the Tear completed, we had decided the sooner the better. Robert assured us that he would not becoming this time, the taste of adventure thoroughly out of him and he was missing his adventurer’s hat. Nevertheless, I was glad Guide Wendel was coming this time, for we needed guidance on our journey. We packed what we could – I personally donned my rarely worn armor once again, and even packed a pair of gloves for once. Everyone collected their similar gear, weapons here and there. I believe the other acolyte Hoihe does not have any clothing other than his acolyte robes . . . which was funny to me. Kestral of course, was in the height of colourful fashion as always. Most everyone carried what they always had to the field however, with people such as Seeker Lillith handily having a handy haversack to keep her posessions held within.

Laitae’s friend Razzaband had passed as well, of old age, and she could not even say goodbye. She had received a sending and heard Knives, Misara and Mealir bury the self-martyring orc. Perhaps it was a sign though, of a finally budding maturity that she was able to put her emotions aside to focus on the mission. Mourn if she must, but death comes to us all. I hoped that she could be glad it was age which managed to take his soul, and not the various chaos and evils that sought to end him.

When we’d arrived on Vaqlis’s ship . . . it was the first time I’d ever been on a ship with the freedom to move about where I pleased. I did not. There was water all around me everywhere I looked – I did the wisest thing I could think of and made sure to grab ahold of something at all times. Perhaps yes, someday I should ask those who are willing to teach to help me with my . . . inability to escape drowning, but the most willing teacher I had seen so far was Scribe Teo and just no. Despite the deadly pit every which way one looked . . . the winds were fair for most of the journey, and as far as I could understand Valqis, we were making good time. Perhaps Hoihe’s offering of ten gold pieces appeased the God he prayed to, for three days at least. On the third . . . we came upon a storm. It was an eye-opening experience. Every single time we crescented a wave, it was immediately followed by another and as I was frozen in place, wrapped around the ship’s ladder. Everyone had been doing the same on various parts of the ship, and thankfully, Valqis’s skill and her crew’s and Selune’s blessing was enough to guide us through, and we escaped the storm unscathe.

The next couple of hours were not good for poor Lillith, or Teo, or surprisingly Hoihe. Perhaps the seas are not the natural habitats for invokers - I know from experience Lilith’s tendency to frequent more stable planes of existence – but a sailor getting sea sick was surprising, to at least Wendel and I. He found the close brush with the Queen of the Depths invigorating, perhaps a trace of youthful vigor still remained trace in the kindly bespeckled man? It was nice to see him in high spirits I suppose – I was just relieved that we did not tip over. I searched the stores all day for ginger for the poor seasick scholars, but unfortunately we did not anticipate this minor problem. Teo had to remove the mask to relieve his stomach – all had the sense not to look when he did so.

When we escaped the storm, Hoihe pointed out strange things in the distance – barrels, floating in the open ocean. Seagulls were about picking at the supplies, and when everyone was focused on the oddities, an even stranger one plooped out of the ocean. A dead fish – charred, well-cooked. Lillith suggested that she would not go into the water – most agreed with the sentiment. What emerged behind some floating wreckage though was even more surprising. The planetouched friend of Patch, miss Sigh. She waved her hand over for rescue, and so Scribe Teo immediately took action, “Quick! A rope!”

“Yes sir!” said Hoihe, and immediately went and fetched a rope. After fetching the rope, he then asked, “What am I to do with the rope Reader Teo? Throw it to her?” I wondered if he was taking the mission seriously then.

“Come on man hurry!” said Scribe Teo, and then added rather impatiently, “Give me the rope!” He threw it quite on target to Sigh, who did not seem all too troubled floating in the middle of the sea for only the Queen knows how long. We brought her aboard despite Kestral’s objections, and unsurprisingly, there was a bombardment of questions waiting for her.

It may not have helped her that she did sound like she was hiding something, but the relentlessness of Teo’s questions and Valqis’s fret over what is to her an unknown passenger could only best have been described as callous. She told us what we needed to know, and I tried to vouch for her character. I think scholars just have a natural tendency to want to know everything. It was easy to sense that we were getting on her nerves.

[The last period trails off a bit, thoughtfully.]

\\ To be continued. Yeah I know, I should have written this last year >_> Posting what I have now though, will continue tomorrow! \\

There were seagulls . . . did that not mean there was land nearby? Teo kept up his line of questioning, growing equally frustrated with Sigh’s cryptic answers. Valqis was just simply confused about who the woman was, and why she was on her ship. The captain is odd like that . . . Guide’s patience looked to be wearing thin as well, but thankfully for Sigh at least we came under attack.

Not that I was thankful for the attack diary, mind you! I just feared the scribe would have deemed her a danger and would have ordered her bound and confined to the boat!

Sigh was describing what had happened to the other ship she had aided in bringing to ruin – an effort to save us a rival, an action my fellow scholars seemed to take no note about. She did not know what happened – a monstrous sea beast grappled the ship? Valqis stated with a murmur what was on everybody’s mind – kraken? But didn’t the pirates defeat that, or was it mere rumour? “Can everyone swim?” asked the Guide. I merely looked at him fearfully – I think he got my message. Sigh was rather funny about it . . . adrift for days, she said thus:

“Actually I have taken a liking of the thing.”

My fears had taken an entirely new level of sharpness as a thing slammed into the side of our ship – and upon the waters giant tentacles began to rise from its depths. All I could do was stare, and cling onto the mast for dear life as all around me spell and spear clashed in a dramatic battle. The captain wielded her giant axe against the monstrosity, chopping away at tentacles looking greedily for opportunities to wrestle the ship to its doom. Invocations were being chanted, missiles were being flung, and Hoihe was spitting at the Sahuagin as well who were trying to board our ship. In the end, the fish people were felled and the kraken was driven away into the depths. Hoihe had somehow knocked himself unconscious, and after reviving went on to say how he would never use a bow aboard a ship again. Valqis uttered a prayer for the crewmen who were lost.

Still deciding whether or not to leave Sigh bound to the ship, we came closer to the shore. We had warily decided to allow her to accompany us to the island; after all, she had not done anything to warrant distrust. Valqis ordered the ship to flee if come under attack, and then set anchor and we boarded the rowboats. We approached shore on two long ones, mostly with the male acolytes rowing though the paladin Kald was able to row the other boat all by himself. We touched down upon the beach, and with Kald working to secure our sea crafts, we looked to scout on ahead. We should have waited. Shades and rotten undead quickly surrounded us, and I myself was quickly surrounded and put out by the massive horde. When I’d come to, I was greeted by the sight of everyone alive – they were more of a match for the evils that guarded the dimensional anchor.

Eventually Kald Blake joined us, and not knowing precisely where to begin looking for the Tear, we decided to confront this thing that limited our spell casting potential. The anchor was engraved with shapes where we determined keys went in, so assuming the draconic engraved on the stone was literal, we literally went to where they directed us. Under a lake, across an island, we were met with much resistance along the way. The lake was particularly troublesome – it reeked of rotted flesh and the inhabitants smelled no better. Sigh volunteered to go under herself to retrieve it, as she did not need to breathe, but Kald decided he was far too hardy to let a woman do all the work, I imagined. He, Teo, Wendel and eventually Sigh all swam to the bottom, trying their best to open the chest and hold in their lunches. When they came out . . . well, some things are best left forgotten, diary.

Sigh was growing impatient at our efforts, for indeed, we seemed to not even be looking for the tear, rather we were busy trying to solve the draconic puzzle. She seems to have given me the title of Trollslayer – something I am not proud of I suppose, but I cannot deny. Kestral seemed intent on denouncing all of her ideas, and I admit perhaps we were probably far too cheery for such a task. Our captain did not seem to like our chatter much either, often wandering off too far by herself before Wendel had to call her back. Eventually we found the pieces we needed to break the anchor, and so we did. Almost losing our Guide in the process. Thankfully, he is a bit more agile than his age would have indicated, and managed to avoid a fatal end.

We looked to make camp, and Sigh walked off to scout by herself. She is confident of her abilities to stay in the shadows at least – even mentioning earlier that Kald himself could not spot her if she wanted to hide from him. I did not worry. Guide had transformed into an Iron Golem trying to clear some rocks that might have hidden a cave, but there were none. Eventually Sigh returned, and we continued to follow the philosophy of exploring where we had not gone before, and eventually saw the ruin of a building. Kald and the rest made quick work of the necromancer’s minions, and we entered. Greeted by more shadowy servants.

We went further down into the basement, and heard voices. Kald decided that we were to bargain with a strong hand, and rather than sneak in, he kicked open the door and confronted three terrified pirates hiding in a room. There was no communication between us – Kald and Teo began interrogating, then Valqis took over negotiations and pretended to be their friends. This angered the Mielikkian Paladin, his hatred for the action smoldered though thankfully, kept mostly under control. The only casualty suffered by the shift in diplomacy was a broken chair, before the tower of a paladin resumed his usual collected cool.

We finally knew where we were going, and so after binding the pirates so they would not flee, we went to where they described the sub-basement could be found, and it was there we saw our target. Lizardmen cultists were between us and a necromancer in the back – Captain Muck? Before we could get to him we had to deal with the soldiers in front of us – and he put up a tremendous fight. His zeal was not enough to ward his death, but it provided ample time for the cultist in the back to cast a teleportation spell . . . A spell he would not have been able to cast, had we left the alter intact. A fact Sigh was fuming about . . . and I myself was left in bitter disappointment. Why can’t our missions ever turn out right for once?

The Tear was gone . . . ready to be used wherever, whenever. We do not know where it is now . . . which is terrifying. The death it would bring . . . and all we have now is a slim hope, and a cryptic message told long ago:

To kill a living being in the dream plane who has no mortal body, you must use the essences of light when they are about to fall. If you do not use the essence of light, they will reappear. And . . . it will be the end of you . . .

I pray for the lights of Gwendelin, Leliendel, and Pia, and thank them for their aid. Without them, we would have had no hope.

[Written in a flowing script are the lyrics to what appears to be a song.]

I don’t remember his face, my father. When I try to think back to him, of the memories I have left, the first thing I think about is dust. There was dust just floating in the air, heavy and thick, the beams of moonlight illuminating the dust dancing in Athkalta’s night. I’d like to say it was quiet . . . but there was never a quiet moment in Athkalta. Peaceful is a better word then, because as I watched the swirls in the air framed by naught but shadows, a comforting sense of peace was that which I felt. It’s strange, is it not? To not fear the shadows, but instead be mesmerized by the beauty they painted? Shadows . . . night. These are not the realms of the goodly Gods and yet all that time, when I was a little girl, those shadows were a fascinating wonder.

If my father did not hold me in his sleep, if he did not return home for nights at a time, the shadows always seemed to close in around me, and all I could do was shut my eyes tight and prayed that the light would rise sooner. And then . . . he left us for good, and every night I had to live with the mind-numbing childish fear of monsters in the dark. Even now, even after all these years I still can’t stand to watch the shadow’s play, and now it does not help that I know the shadows watch back. My Lord Ilmater is all that I have as a barrier to the fear . . . to allow night’s sleep to overtake me, to guard me from my thoughts. And then Dean and the Morninglord appear over the horizon after every night . . . and I realize what a foolish fear I had. This goes on over and over and over again, every single day.

Meri had tasked me to be the light in the darkness, and every day I wonder if I’m failing in the task. . . . I just can’t do it alone. This loneliness . . . the night is just a constant reminder of what I’d lost . . . the shadows of memory blurring away and removing his face . . . and every night I’m tasked to face the darkness alone.

[Written during the Amn/Gate war, while she was somewhere else]

It’s been definitely a trying day . . . though by no means unenjoyable.

When Valqis mentioned she was going to visit her home islands of Qarnaq, I did not imagine I would be going with her. It was a passing fancy, a bit of remark, “Enjoy your trip,” was all I said.

“Do you want to go?”

I was definitely surprised. I’d never been on an island before . . . other than when we tracked down Captain Muck, but that was a mission. I’d never gone before just to visit. I still remembered it all – the vast sea horizons, the crystal-clear beaches. If it were not for the Tear, the place would have been an amazing place to visit, once. So why not, I thought? To visit such a place once again untainted by Talona’s evil . . . it could do a soul good. And so an hour later, we set sail towards Qarnaq. Laitae, me, Valqis, and her crew. We must really name the ship soon.

Our journey to this island was not fraught with peril. There were no remains of exploded ships, no Sahuagin boarding parties, and best of all, no Kraken to worry about. Just smooth sailing through warmer and warmer waters. I’d seen dolphins for the first time, and they even swam along and in front of our ship for over an hour . . . Valqis seemed pleased with this. It was a blessing. For once . . . I wished I could be in the water as well, to swim with them, be a part of a world not linked to my own . . . Let us move away from these negative thoughts, it is all I seem to have lately.

We’d arrived at one of the northernmost points of the group of islands called Amarna. If it were not for the people, I would have thought it to have been an untouched paradise. The buildings blended into the rocks, and the jungles had grown around them – not cut down, not put to the side. It was a beautiful relationship . . . and this described the people as well. When we’d landed, Valqis was giving orders left and right to her crew, yet never leaving Laitae and I out of the loop much. She was our only link between common and the Qarnaq language, and yet never made us feel like outsiders. It seemed to be a common trait amongst them; when we’d finally met the locals, they chatted on endlessly with us, despite not even barely comprehending what each other was saying. We probably communicated more with gestures than the words we used, although when the Reader was not too busy to be around us, she translated when she could. I was spared most of the questions however . . . they had a definite interest in my friend Laitae. Valqis explained that they had never seen an elf before, hence all the excitement. Hopefully she does not keep the children up too long, they seem to have a habit of all cultures to see if something is really true. As I write, they are still trying to see if Laitae is yet getting sleepy.

One thing I must comment on is the clothing. It is just so very different from what I am used to, and now I think I understand where Valqis gets her unique fashion inspired from.

In the afternoon, we went for a swim. Yes diary, I still cannot do it, but the locals were so nice about their offer it would have been just plain rude to refuse. They were masters of the skill . . . if I did not see for myself they fished as other people fished, some of the better swimmers might just hunt fish by diving in after them. The man who was with me the whole time was one of those swimmers. Tall, dark . . . short-cropped hair on top and a big, bushy beard upon his wide, manly jaw. It gave him an older appearance though I cannot imagine him to be more than twenty . . . not with that body, not with those easily distinguishable muscle groups . . . and those arms . . . so solid, so supporting. It was like a rock golem standing stoically in the shallows, keeping me afloat while I worked on trying to understand the mechanics of it all. If he was young in body, then his mind was definitely years and years more mature . . . For an entire hour, the only progress we’d made was me able to sink while going forward. Which I suppose is some improvement from my previous swimming skill of just plainly sinking . . . And yet he was so patient with me. He was even proud of me . . . and that makes me proud too. I really think I can learn this now . . . I wish we could communicate . . . I should have asked Valqis his name, so that somehow, perhaps we could have kept in touch.

No one even batted an eye with me wearing nothing but my small-clothes for over an hour, which was a definite shock at first. But everyone here is just so welcoming, so accepting that it makes me feel a bit guilty of what the Coast has to endure. No wonder the Reader visits so often. Surrounded by so much happiness . . . it does wonders for the mind, body, and soul. Or so I’d like to hope . . . I can already feel the knots forming in my arms and legs after that lengthy physical exertion!

We’d explored the island a bit on the way to a temple in the Saqqara. There were plenty of animals to spot along the way; the people do not hunt for more than they need. Few animals showed fear at our approach. For a while, I did not know we were following a path. Laitae and I were just following Valqis and a few others through what all I could tell was a thick jungle. Combined with the swim, this made me very tired. One of the locals made a joking remark on me, and Valqis translated amusingly. “It will make you strong!” he said. I’d felt myself becoming weaker in my days just hiding and doing chores inside Candlekeep, perhaps I do need to go out more. I’ve been trying to, anyway. It is difficult to take care of other people if I do not take care of myself, after all.

The Temple of Nut (Who I assume is what the natives call Selûne) was definitely a revered place . . . though the people were just as nice, they were also much more respectful. Few words were spoken, and from what I could tell, Valqis is a very important in Nut’s place of worship. We waited for awhile while Valqis conversed with the elders she called the Oracles, whom she spoke of in deep respect. When she finished her own visit, we traveled down here, to a local farming village just inside the island.

I sit here drinking a local wine and I wish it could last a bit longer. Valqis and Laitae planned on returning to Candlekeep as soon as possible, but I hunger now for new experiences. I asked Valqis if she could drop me off at the island-nation of Lantan, where she found the gnomish iron suits that allowed one to live under the water. I will return to the Coast in my own time, and hopefully by then reason can come between Amn and Baldur’s Gate before a war can truly happen.

I cannot believe myself . . . I thought I was over him. And yet to see her so happy . . . .

We've eliminated the Tear, freeing the Fist to defend their city. Ilmater blessed me with the tools to see it undone, and the courage to guide me through another realm. He watches over the girl . . . even younger than I, Tamara, steering her mind away from the horrors of the last six months in her sleep, offering the comfort the poor girl deserved. He had guided me through to offer what aid I can to those who fought their brief, meaningless war, and led me once again north to cook meals for those poor who cannot otherwise eat. He even touches the heart of the renowned trader named Delphinn . . . whose kindness now extends to a girl whom few can offer aid . . . though he did not think my brother and sister's care adequate. If perhaps her and I could meet?

All I can do is busy myself further, and Juli points out that it is taxing on my mind. But I am not so sure work is what drives my thoughts . . . Work is just the tools I use to escape my thoughts . . . There is no prayer, sayings, or wisdom I could use to drive her smile away from my mind . . . The bitter and utter jealousy I felt when she squealed her announcement . . . that damned ring on her finger.

It is my second day here today attending to the wounded armies of the Amn Gate War, and I’m happy to write that things are looking better. There were a lot of lives lost, yes . . . and the men and women who will recover will have their own problems to deal with when they come back home, but hopefully they find some measure of Mercy in their hearts and recover mentally with love if not by faith, then family and friends who love them. I wish I could tend to them all individually . . . but I know my limits. I travel now no longer garbed in my long grey robes. With the Radiant Heart busy with their own fronts I cannot ask them to provide me with an escort any longer, so I’ve sought out Brother Meric Marshellow for a little help with defending myself. It was not easy . . . I cannot hope to match his own perfected technique but . . . his training in teaching me to focus my faith in self-defense will go a long way for not taxing the paladins to worry about one little priestess. The Fist had kindly provided me with a light mithral breastplate to wear under my tunic as well . . . they did not need to, but would it have been rude to deny a gift?

It’s been so long since I’ve last written . . . I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Love, perhaps? A day ago I was on the Whistling Wanderer where Mealir hosted his wedding to Misara . . . I’d almost missed the voyage had I not thought to directly ask him with a sending! It was a touching ceremony, the two united under the blessings of the Seldarine and Valkur, the priestly duties attended to by none other than the Lady Silias. Misara’s dress itself was so bright I had to squint to make out the details . . . It was lovely, however. It would have been apparent the dressmaker had the idea in mind that every bride deserved to shine on her wedding night. There was dancing . . . I do not know what drove Thedran away early in the ceremonies but I was a little regretful when he did, as I could find no partner. I must have looked silly hiding under the mast, not at all fitting into the jubilant mood of the crowd until Mealir spotted me and a rough spoken woman, and asked us to join the festivities . . . Hopefully I didn’t make too big a fool of myself dancing in place without a partner.

Whatever his reasons for leaving, Thedran left me his gift to give the new couple – a rare and beautiful blue diamond . . . Where had he gotten such a thing? Of course, it meant having to talk with the Captain and his newly-wed once again, and people just kept coming with gifts and words of praise. I did not know when the appropriate time to approach was . . . luckily, Breteas found the line, so I waited. I waited . . . long enough to figure out there was no line, when people approached the couple with no sense of order whatsoever. It was humorous, looking back. I could have just put on a smile and approached confidentially . . . but instead I took the route of the quiet Mousy as Scarlett has been prone to calling me these days and left standing awkwardly in place clutching an exceedingly valuable gem in my hands. Mealir was kind enough to rescue me from my total embarrassment . . . and I made sure to tell him it was a gift from Thedran. I do not know what he thinks of the bard . . . but I hope he values the gesture. When things had been dying down, I met Lord Baelather once again. He reminds me of speaking with Tyressen . . . he wishes to appear the evil no good scoundrel . . . but neither men I find do a very good job of hiding the glowing goodness their hearts just radiate . . . He is a good match for Silias, I think.

What else have I been up to lately? The last meeting we had at Candlekeep was the last one I’d attended as an acolyte . . . Guide Wendel suggested that I had served long enough in that position and that if I could pass my exam, then I would have been promoted to the ranks of the seekers. It was a bittersweet day . . . if I knew the words for the joy, the elation I felt and experienced when the meeting was in attendance I would have no more room in this little diary for another entry . . . In honor of Ilmater and the small part I played in bringing His aid, Guide Wendel had even asked me to perform the closing prayers, and so I did . . . I dedicated it to both the Lord of the Rack and the Lord of Knowledge, in honour of the roles each played in stopping the Tear’s harm. It is selfish of me to say . . . but my note was soured that day because of Elycia’s happiness . . . I try to not think about it, I mean, it is no longer my worry, is it not? But I feel an ache in my heart whenever I hear her laugh, whenever I hear her talk sweetly and when she tries to speak to me as if nothing had ever happened . . . Why would she mention of Alexander’s passions to me? To torture me? To remind me that which I never had? Perhaps Alexander find her more desirable as a woman, fine. I suppose there is nothing left to do but accept it . . . this is a thing I refuse to suffer any longer. So everyone has found a partner but I . . . it does not matter. I’ve no right to complain, none. Not compared to Tamara.

The girl we’ve rescued from the caves all those tendays ago to stop the Tear has been getting more and more better . . . stronger. In mind and body. In her first days at Candlekeep’s infirmary she was just a sobbing wreck . . . unable no, unwilling to fall asleep out of fear of reliving the six months of Hell she endured under Amarant and his father . . . I assume to be Captain Muck. But day by day, we make progress . . . when I’d last visited, we’d even taken a walk all the way to the Friendly Arm Inn. I’d given her my old staff to assist her navigate, but apparently she did not like people to view her with her disability . . . so I told her to just pretend she was a wise monkish staff fighter. She laughs readily once again and apart from a few relapses, she has been making steady progress of reclaiming her mind . . . The Mercy is strong in this one. She had been through horrors which I could barely imagine and she complains even less than I do . . . who am I kidding when I complain even to myself about my problems? She endured her trial beautifully . . . if her path had ever driven her to the Path of Perseverance, then it is without a doubt in my mind that my Crying God would have chosen her as one of his Favored. I envy her strength . . .

The candle is flickering low, but if I wanted to keep writing . . . I can see Dean Sonlite and his Lord approaching over the horizon. But no, I’d better stop for now. It’s time to catch up with the business to the north.

Buurk has returned to the Coast. Unfortunately he has suffered the same as Tyressen had suffered . . . his ship had sunk. As he told it, for months he was trapped on and island when the Fleeting Orc had sprung a leak, dooming the tiny ship to the bottom of the ocean while he himself swam for land. Any land. I cannot begin to imagine the long endurance he had to live through all alone until Someone smiled upon him, and bequeath mercy in the form of . . . well, pirates. They had treasure they wished to store, and he had a rare and valuable axe to trade. Why they did not merely take everything of him I am not sure, but that is why I call it a Mercy.

Buurk himself still had not found a God to believe in. I suggested perhaps he could follow the path of Ilmater. He will not be a priest, but he at least needs Someone to believe in. Why not Ilmater? Buurk has acted in the past with far more wisdom and and patience than even I could probably exhibit. With some guidance, perhaps he could be lead to curb his natural tendency towards anger . . . it is not something that he can ever be rid of, but I hope he becomes better as a person because he can be taught new ways to approach difficult situations, or individuals.

--

I have often wondered why, when people speak of the wizard Charraj, they often speak in jest, or disappointment. Perhaps burning his own spellbook should have been my clue, after all, how many other master wizards ever fall into that big of a blunder? Master Rhys once showed me early on a replica of Charraj's biggest blunder in his tower, and I am forced to wonder; does he really know what he is doing with his knowledge of the arcane?

Two yesterdays past he had bought an item, a little critter in a vial from the auctioneer. He was rather excited to show it to me, asking what it was. When I failed to provide an answer, rather than doing the obvious; ask someone who might actually know, study it in a controlled environment, something that makes sense he instead opted to examine it by opening the vial then and there, and stuck his hand in.

As if Lady Doom follows the man around the worst thing that could possibly happened, happened. The thing immediately sprung to life, and ate its way into Charraj's hand . . . Catam and I offered to help, but for some reason, he fled. Later on I asked Headmaster Rhys what it might have been based on what I saw, and he thought it could have been a nerve swimmer. Where the auctioneer got such an item is beyond me, but he continued on describing it as a mind flayer torture device. The next day I saw Charraj hovering next to a woman with a fancy mask . . . and I suppose he no longer needed help. If that thing becomes the end of him . . . I am sorry, but I can only help those who want my help.

--

Valqis still has not found the whereabouts of Captain Muck nor his son, Amarant. When I look at Tamara . . . I am sometimes amazed at the progress she has made. She laughs easily now, her wounds have healed nicely. The color has returned to her cheeks. But there is still so much that needs to be fixed . . . and a lot of it, only she can do herself. Vengeance is not the path I normally take to . . . but Thiago II had heard the calling. The two responsible would not go unpunished, he claimed. I should speak to Wendel soon about rekindling the sharing we planned to do with the Radiant Heart. Thiago did not wish to be excluded, should we find them . . .

When Thedran came with me one day to speak with Tamara, once again I was witnessed to see the man under the gruff. The man who the children consider their big brother - the man whose soul is so gentle I sometimes have to rub my eyes to dispel the illusions of birds singing and chirping around him. He often mentions Sir Jonas as the driver of his actions . . . if I am merely seeing the shadow of Jonas . . . it makes me wonder just how influential the man must be? Thedran has always been a rock - a foundation. If I find myself struggling with a moral decision . . . he would not. He would just know. And yet . . . he considers another to be his foundation.

I . . . wish I could meet Sir Jonas, diary. I really do. Saint Merielle is once again amongst us, but she has been overwhelmed with work once again at the temple. I haven't even gotten to meet her husband . . .

I am at a loss, diary. I do not know how to help Tamara any further, other than following Thedran's suggestion of giving her time. She still fears her own Voice, and like Buurk, is lost on a path to follow. I've still not told Tamara of her Randall . . . do I hesitate to protect her? Or am I merely prolonging her suffering? I wish I knew what to do!