Excerpt 1, Journal of San Benedo
Patrolman! It is a marvelous thing to say, the word rolls off the
tongue as if it were always meant to follow my name. San Benedo,
patrolman! I am forever in debt to Brother Ekios for his
recommendation -- I will have to find some trinket in the Ivory
Tower for him. Perhaps someday, Aberdour will grant me the power
to heal his awful scars. Our band is to venture north to Unsiliel,
and eventually to the thickets of Dankbark. There are reports of
goblin bandits, and the good folk of the village need us.
Excerpt 2, Journal of San Benedo
The night is dark, and the shadows have fangs. Each dusk the sun
sets in surrender, each morn it rises in blood. Our number is
smaller every day. The giants and goblins have taken most, but
fear has taken the rest. The darkness is so deep, and it closes
in. Aberdour has left us to die.
Manifesto of San Benedo
So many claim that the gods have abandoned us. It is we who have
abandoned them. Listen to the faithless throughout Serin and
you will hear the heresy, you will hear the excuses. Men justify
their own sins with blasphemous words, and you wonder why the gods
remain silent? I once chose to heed the wisdom of the Storm, to
listen to the quiet call of Aberdour's service. That hushed
summon has become a clarion roar, and now the way forward could
not be clearer. There was a time when words and hope were of use
against the shadows, but that time is long past. Now is the time
for action, now is the time of the mace and the blade and the
cleansing fire. The winds of Aberdour bear me aloft in the eye
of his storm. His Will has returned to the world, and its
might will purge every shadow. Fly with me, Sturm! Guide my arm,
Saint Drang! Sound the call of the storm, Donner! All glory to
the Thunderer!
Description:
This man is not tall, but his posture is excellent. Back straight,
shoulders square and set behind, it would take some effort to break his
balance. Under his exposed skin lie muscles that are hardly larger than a
lad's, yet they cord together, wiry and scrappy. He is not the most
handsome individual, or at least he does not strive for such - his amber
hair is wild and unkempt, covering his eyes one moment and whipping up in a
breeze the next. His slightly tapered ears and uncommonly-angular features
betray mixed heritage, though his face lacks the signs of makeup so common
put the sack one moment and faded cerulean the next, they glint with
unmistakable fanaticism.
