Serra knew nothing of her origins.
She had had a difficult childhood. She had no parents, only a
self-proclaimed guardian who had found her stumbling lost in the forest.
She had no memory of the time before he had found her. He had seen her
strength and size even as a young child and had taken her in, but as soon as
he realized how much she needed to eat he put her to work. Her earliest
memories were of fetching buckets from the village well and carrying bundles
of firewood, which stung her hands till they bled. When she told her
guardian of the rashes on her palms, he scoffed and said she was pretending
to be better than her station. So she learned to wrap them in rags and say
nothing.
She was taller and broader (and uglier, so they said) than all of the other
village children. Instead of a healthy pinkish hue, her skin tended to be
ashen, and her face was freckled with dark blue flecks as if someone had
spattered paint at her face. Wan, ungainly, and uncomfortable in their
gawking presence, Serra sought comfort only in books she borrowed from the
school. Imagined herself as a pretty girl, a heroine, a dragon slayer, a
sorceress... But alas, upon each book's end she returned to her plain,
scorned reality.
Then the circus came to town.
Such lights! Such sounds! Clowns cavorting and flame-eaters captured her
gaze. Each tent was more fantastic than the next. Serra begged her
guardian to buy her admission ticket, but he refused. "Waste my hard-earned
money on that nonsense? Get back to work!" So she continued with her
manual labor, cooking and cleaning and fetching the wood and water - but
each trip outside she would make a detour to walk about the circus perimeter
just to see, and dream about the wild adventures the performers must live.
It was on one of her walks, carrying two heavy logs on her shoulders, that
she was hailed by a stout mustachioed man. "You there! Young lady!"
Serra looked around, but saw no others he might be referring to. She had
never been called a lady before, and startled a bit. "Yessir?"
"Come here, I wish to take a look at you."
Serra winced. Her encounters with other people were always less than
pleasant, but she did not know how to refuse a request politely, so
acquiesced. As she approached she realized he was (like most other folk)
only up to her shoulder in height, and was nearly as round as he was tall.
His fat fingers clamped a cigar between them and he wore a black jacket with
tails, a red waist-coat with nearly exploding buttons, and a top hat with a
red satin band, marking him as somebody probably important. She carefully
set the logs down where they wouldn't topple and squash him.
He whistled appreciatively. "Good golly, look at the size of you. What's
your name? And where did you come from?"
"My name is Serra, sir, and I am from... This village." She gestured
vaguely behind her.
His eyebrow raised. "Is that so? A giant among humans?"
Serra frowned. "I know I'm taller and uglier than everybody. If that's all
you have to say, then--" She grabbed her logs and made to leave.
"No, wait, wait! You mistook my meaning, dear child. You don't belong
here. Maybe you belong with us." He waved his cigar magnanimously back
toward the circus, where the lights and carnival music cheerfully played,
happy people wandered, and laughter roared out from the tents. "The circus
is full of misfits and special people. I can tell just by looking at you
that you're special, so you belong."
Serra considered the prospect: carrying logs till the end of her days, or
embarking on the wild adventure she had always dreamed of.
"I accept."
Circus Life
Life as a circus performer was not what Serra had expected. She had not
really had much knowledge of them before she had joined them. The
mustachioed man she had met was in fact the ringmaster and owner. As it
turned out, he often scouted for new performers as the troupe travelled -
people joined and left often, and to Serra it seemed as though suddenly she
was inundated with a veritable whirlwind of faces.
The only staples of the group appeared to be a dwarf (the Bearded Lady), an
incredibly tiny halfling no larger than a footstool, a pair of conjoined
twins, and a hunchback with a club foot. It seemed that the "special" folk
that the ringmaster had referred to were rather the ones her village
considered "freaks of nature" - and now, she was at last resigned to being
one of them. The normal folk - the jugglers, tightrope walkers, trapeze
artists and such - were hired only as temporary extras. The skills she
would have loved to watch and admire were only flashy footnotes to the main
attractions - the audience drawn like moths to the strange accidents that
flesh could become.
Serra's role in the circus was "the Lady Giant" and she simply tasked to
pick up heavy things. Logs, beds with a member of the audience sitting on
it, once a piano. The towns and countryside varied as they traveled, but it
was not nearly as adventurous as she had imagined. She complained about
this one day to the troupe while they gathered for a meal after one of their
performances. "If I wanted to just pick up things, I might as well have
stayed home. I wish I could learn something new."
"I could teach you how to juggle," offered Mibs, the halfling.
Serra sighed. "I don't have the coordination for that."
"How about card tricks?" One of the conjoined twins suggested.
"I can see the billboard now... The Giant Hustler? No thanks."
"I could use an apprentice," said one of the temporary hires. He was a
lean, weasel-faced man who had brought a cart laden with bottles of "holy
water" and other such trinkets. "And, you could punch the daylights out of
someone and we could cure them with my heal-all elixir!"
Serra raised an eyebrow. "You mean that stuff actually works?"
The man laughed. "I wouldn't sell it if it didn't. Marvelous Markus'
Miracle Cure - can heal any aches, pains, bumps, scrapes, and put a good
word in with your god to boot."
Serra leaned forward, intrigued. "Do you make it yourself?"
"I do indeed! Trade secrets, of course." He tapped the side of his nose
and winked. "As my apprentice, I'll teach you how to sell it to the masses.
But if you're really good, maybe you can pick up the trade. We have six
weeks on the road together, that can be your trial period."
"Very well. At least it'll be a change from hauling logs."
So Serra began to learn the trade of the traveling elixir vendor. She was
not particularly interested in selling the stuff, but her height allowed her
to scan over the crowd and draw attention to the stand with a shout here and
there, and Markus would take over with a smooth, practiced spiel that
inevitably resulted in sales. What interested her more was watching the
demonstrations. Someone afflicted by coughs, arthritis, disease, even a
broken leg, would be invited up to the stand and after quaffing a vial they
would mysteriously be healed. For the skeptical in the audience, Serra
would give them a good whack and then offer them a sip, to which they would
always cry in amazement that the pain was gone.
"Markus," Serra asked one day, "why do you always close your eyes when they
drink your elixir? Are you praying that it'll work? I thought you believe
in the stuff."
Markus's eyes twinkled suddenly. "You are advancing, my dear." He burst
into laughter. "I am praying, but it is not to pray that it will work. It
is the praying that does the work." He rolled up a sleeve, revealing a
marking of a cross tattooed to his inner forearm. "I am a healer, formerly
of the Order of Light. And you are ready to be my student."
Inception
Serra's training in the healing arts thus began in the most unorthodox of
ways. She was dumbfounded to learn that there was a whole world of magic
and spellcasting, some of which required vocal utterances, others which
simply required a fervent prayer. Of these, Markus deftly wielded the
latter and his smokescreen of words to spread healing among the towns while
neatly filling his pockets. He never kept the money long, however, as he
was also an avid gambler with a poor relation with Lady Luck. He joked one
day at the table that the Goddess of Luck had probably forsaken him when he
left his pristine Order for the road. Serra felt a bit of a backwards fool
for not knowing who the Gods and Goddesses were (or that there even were
any), and kept silent.
In truth, Serra had never known the feeling of devotion. She had gleaned
there was an Overlord from the various curses and damnation visited upon the
folk that frequented their stand, but she had never read any religious
texts. Furthermore, neither her guardian nor her fellow circus compatriots
- at least, until Markus had arrived - were particularly religious. This
became somewhat of a problem when Markus decided he would teach her some of
his (actual) trade.
"Surely you have heard of the Gods and Goddesses of Light, Serra!" Markus
threw his hands up in frustration.
"Well... The Lady Luck you mentioned during poker... And... And..."
Her mentor threw several scrolls at her which bounced off of her head.
"Read these! I can't believe you folk in your little towns..." He trailed
off, muttering.
Serra sat down to read, delighted at last at the touch of the fine vellum
scrolls under her fingers. She learned that of all the Gods, only the
Overlord was omnipresent; all of the other Immortals had once walked the
earth in mortal form. One after another, she devoured the stories of the
mortal lives of the Gods and their ascent to the heavens. The more she
read, the more she was entranced by the otherworldly (super-worldly?)
Beings and their domains, their natural rivalries, and squabbles for power.
It seemed a most tumultuous pantheon... As if they had not left their
mortal coil, only lost the ability to die...
When she mentioned her thoughts on the subject to Markus, he blanched and
shushed her. "Don't say such things! You might be smited, you never know
when they might be listening!"
Serra pondered this. "Surely they would have better things to do than
listen to little old me."
"You're not little nor old, and of course they do!" Still, she stored away
the knowledge that the Gods (at least some) were perhaps not merely nebulous
concepts or distant, unapproachable beings.
The next set of lessons revolved around the understanding of Elements and
Celestials. Of all the elements, Serra had always felt a particular,
indescribable pull toward Water, even as a child. She was not sure why.
She knew next to nothing about the God who oversaw its domain, but something
felt right when she held her hands over the barrel of water that Markus
blessed each morning, and Serra had always felt more whole when she stood
outside in a warm summer rain. Besides, when she swam, she didn't feel
ridiculously enormous any longer, only powerful and right as she moved
through the water. Learning that the Element of Water was intertwined so
deeply with the art of healing was a revelation to Serra. This path she had
begun was so different from her humble beginnings, and she could see no
clear future for herself amongst these people who throughout her life wanted
only to take what she could give. But she could trust Water to guide her.
The thought of no longer being simply adrift and alone in the world brought
her comfort.
When Serra told Markus of her affinity to water, he made a face. "The God
of Water is also quite a stickler for the law. Oh! No, we are not breaking
any laws," he hastily added when Serra gave him a look. "Only, this is not
something he would likely approve."
"Why DO you sell these vials when you could simply heal them without
pretense?" Serra asked, but Markus dodged the question as he always did.
"That, my dear, is a story for another time..."
Arrival
The six weeks of training with Markus came swiftly to a close. During
this time, Serra learned a great deal about her mentor, but also herself,
due to the frequent meditation sessions she had to endure. Along the way
she realized that she was in fact quite a stubborn thing. The art of prayer
and communion did not come easily to her at all. Often she found her
thoughts wandering about assorted oddities instead of earnestly calling upon
the Gods for their assistance, as she should. Markus complained that she
spent more time questioning why or how things happened than simply doing
what she was told.
By the end of six weeks, as hard as she tried, she had learned all of one
spell, the weakest of the curative spells, and even that taxed her greatly.
Any other person might have thrown in the towel at this realization, for
certainly she had no demonstrable talent. And yet, this opportunity had
come to her out of pure natural chance, a fortunate moment in the midst of
her otherwise largely unfortunate life, and she refused to discard it.
Thus, when Markus departed the troupe, Serra likewise took her leave. He
continued to teach her for the next few months until she had at least
adequately learned to cure a wounded rabbit, and also taught her how to
wield a mace, with which at least she could somewhat protect herself on her
travels. At one point, however, he told her gently that he needed to travel
to a particular faraway land, as he had been invited by the Queen of the
Pixies to perform, and she could not follow. He led her to the nearest
large city of the land they were in and suggested she enroll in the academy
to teach herself further. And then he was gone, leaving her only with a
handful of scrolls and a pocket full of holy water vials as souvenirs of
their time together.
The academy was a strange, cold place carved underground as if by giant
moles. Serra's new instructors were not particularly keen on face-to-face
teaching, and rather sent her to fight nasty creatures in the depths of a
cavern. Not a fan of underground structures (particularly ones where she
needed to tilt her head at all times so as not to hit the ceiling), she
hurried through the tasks assigned to her and emerged, diploma in hand,
blinking in the sudden sunlight of Serin. In that moment, Serra decided she
must seek her own answers, and she would not stop until she had found them.
An Interlude
Interspersed with the biographical materials, you find this note written
in a slightly shaky hand.
"I made a new friend in this land. His name is Kreighnfe, and is very
courageous and serious. We have traveled together on several trips now,
fighting strange forest creatures and later exploring a large haunted
mansion in the northwest region.
During our last travel, he asked me in some offhand manner something about
my being 'of the storm race'. When I asked, he said I was most obviously a
Storm Giant, and not as I have always been led to believe, a Human. Could
this be true? I have no reason to believe he would create a falsehood, not
such a trustworthy man. But why would no one have ever told me?
Who am I? Who were my parents? What have I been, in other people's eyes,
all my life? Who are Storm Giants supposed to be? I feel as though there
is an entire culture that I am expected to belong to that I do not
understand.
I must learn more.
I must find out who I am..."
Entering the Consortium
Serra's search for her true lineage was interrupted when she decided to
join the Consortium. The ultimate reason for this decision was the hope
that the Consortium Scholars' and Mystics' bright minds might think of a
connection, or perhaps the Heralds would have heard of a hint of something
that might push her onto the right track. Or possibly, she herself might
attain the knowledge on her own through their guidance and training.
Though the members she met treated her with kindness and patience, they did
not seem to linger long. Two of the Heralds she spoke with even took their
own lives after she had spoken with them. Serra began to wonder if perhaps
the question she was pursuing was cursed, but of course, she did not really
believe in such superstitious nonsense. Shaking her doubts free of her
mind, she focused on the tasks each Consortium member set to her:
meticulously pacing the streets of Valour, writing about the embarrassing
trouncing of her first ever fight, interviewing (with much trepidation)
several formidable strangers, and unearthing secrets in the High Towers of
Sorcery. These tasks at first seemed random and completely disconnected
with each other and Serra wondered what was the purpose of it all. Would
chasing such information lead her to what she sought most dearly?
Perhaps, she mused, it wasn't the written product but the journey that was
the key. Through just these early tasks she had begun to pay closer
attention to the world around her, was more alert in the face of danger, and
was slightly less awkward at initiating a conversation with a stranger.
Honing these skills could certainly help her quest.
By some miracle the Conservator of the Codex, Ethaac, inducted her into the
halls and instructed her to read about "Pillars". At last, her training had
begun! The knowledge of all Serin, distilled into nine pathways. Each an
avenue that had the potential to lead her to the answers she needed. Serra
found new resolve to explore each Pillar closely, while keeping an eye and
an ear out for any signs of a trail.
Journal #1: A fresh start
Day of the Dark Ages, 19th Renewal of the Celestial of Piety
I have bought myself this beautiful book, leather-bound with crisp new
parchment, from Rathin's shop in the Traveller's Rest. How luxurious to
write on these blank, cream-colored pages instead of the margins of
newspapers and backs of pamphlets! I have decided I will begin to chronicle
my days, at least the days when I have been inspired by something. In this
manner, even if I miss a thread on that day, perhaps I can find it when I
revisit it later.
It has been only a few renewals since I joined the Consortium, yet I have
already felt invigorated by the deep wells of knowledge all around me.
Ethaac seems to be a wonderful mentor, even if I see him only briefly. With
a nudge here, a hint there, he opens my eyes to whole new areas of magic and
the physical realm.
I have also met another applicant, now a sister Scholar, by the name of
Ilromie. Originally I reached out to her to commend her for her immensely
creative writing. It seems she is not only a wonderful writer but has an
interesting and richly historical past, as well. I only wish I knew my past
as she does. She is a Noble of Valour, and her family history is entwined
with that of Valour reaching back centuries... I cannot believe I am in
such company today. Imagine humble old Serra, the awkward odd village girl,
now hob-nobbing with the rich...
Beyond our brief greeting, I was through her introduced to some more
powerful people - a Justice by and a Druid named Jiyuva, whom I saw with my
very own eyes walk to someone far away using their dreams! I had no idea
such feats of magic were even possible.
It is clear from these interactions that I have much still to explore. Only
a year ago I knew nothing of magic; only a celestial ago, I knew only a
spell or two that could heal a small cut or gash. Now, I have seen and even
tried magic that can transport a person from one end of the world to the
other. I must learn more. This world is too fascinating.
Journal #2: Enlightenment
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 23rd Renewal of the Celestial of Piety
This day is given such an unfortunate name. Yet my own day was nothing
short of miraculous. I experienced visits with not one but TWO immortals!
The first was my own guiding paragon, Lord Kedaleam, who appeared as I was
journeying with the young monk Sevrin. As my new friend was showing me his
bottomless sack full of kittens, Lord Kedaleam appeared from the sky. As
one could expect, it left me in a completely flustered state.
It seems a running trend that I am destined to meet important people in my
life in the most awkward of manners!
Thankfully, he was very gracious about it. He did not even take offense
when I admitted I was rather behind in my knowledge about religions...
Indeed, Lord Kedaleam was very kind, though he let me know he had a stern
eye for rule-breakers, as he also presides over the Order of Law.
This was important to keep in mind for my next encounter, with the dark Lord
Vhrael. This time, I was first traveling with another new monk friend by
the name of Fya. Lord Vhrael has quite a dark sense of humor, although it
seems he is not one full of malice. He tasked the two of us to "whack a
mullet" just hard enough to mangle it - no more, no less. While I did not
have the discipline over my body to accomplish his task, Fya persisted until
she did.
As Fya was working on the task, Sister Ilromie came about to watch. She and
Vhrael seemed to share a mutual disdain for each other, and the dark god at
one point knocked her unconscious. This must have been fate's version of a
joke, for shortly after Ilromie awoke, a halfling thief by the name of
Yenila popped out of the shadows, knocked her unconscious, and attempted to
steal her things. After Ilromie had woken and run off to recover, Vhrael
also knocked Yenila unconscious, seemingly to give her a taste of her own
medicine. Yenila flew into a rage at this action and began to complain
furiously, which only drove Vhrael to egg on Ilromie further.
It is beyond a doubt that Lord Vhrael is a God of Chaos. This is curious
indeed, for Ilromie told me once upon a time Vhrael had been the Commander
of Justice. When I asked him what had changed, he said after he left his
watch the city of Seringale had been consumed by corruption. In fact,
Vhrael said, even to this day Justices and criminals consort to bribes
behind the prying eyes of the public. He said this just as Justice Tordrak
awoke and set about to apprehend both parties for fighting in town.
But how could this be? My Lord Kedaleam governs with a strict hand. Surely
he would not allow corruption under his watch.
Perhaps... Perhaps I cannot trust the word of a God...?
Journal #3: Untitled
Day of the Dragon Wars, 25th Renewal of the Celestial of Piety
This time, perhaps an apt name for the day.
I hardly know what to write. I feel as though my faith is shaken. And yet,
I go through the motions of the prayers, and the blessings of my Lord still
fall upon me. What does it mean? Is it simply the action of prayer that
enacts the spell, rather than any belief behind it? This sounds like
blasphemy, but how can I believe otherwise with this evidence?
When we met, Kedaleam himself said he would not be offended if I chose
another religion. Now, two more Immortals cast doubt upon my Lord. I
barely knew his name when I joined the Order of Water, and was only taught
to worship him by the fervent priest in his temple...
In the books I read, Gods demand fervent worship, and sacrifice, and
loyalty. But I do not fervently worship; I sacrifice mere trinkets; and he
does not seem to value my loyalty! Is this because I am not worthy of him?
Or is it... it is nearly impossible for me to write this... as the unseen
Immortal said, that he is unworthy of me?
What have I done, falling into a path such as this?
Markus, where are you?
Journal #4: New resolve
Day of the Alliances, 28th Renewal of the Celestial of Piety
It has been several days since my last, sadly disturbed writing. I am happy
to report that the event that shook my faith has been made clear, and my
doubts erased. This is wholly the work of my friends Sevrin and Ilromie,
without whom I fear I would still be quite lost.
But! Despite my own shortcomings, in the depths of my despair I discovered
the clue that led me to the light. That is, Vhrael took on a shroud
pretending to be a Scholar, to attempt to trick me. Fortunately, the
Consortium provided all members with a magical scroll detailing who
purported to be within the halls. And Vhrael, in all his devious trickery,
missed erasing his name from the books!
Since this discovery, I have met yet another Immortal, the Lord Groq, and
again with my own deity Lord Kedaleam. I have decided that I must support
Ilromie in her research on Lord Vhrael, both out of professional interest
and in order to be informed and prepared to act in the case that we discover
more dispersion of misinformation. While Lord Kedaleam will not retaliate
without concrete proof of the lies against him, I cannot sit idly by and let
his name become besmirched.
Thus, another quest lies before me...
Journal #5: On loss, and truth
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 13th Renewal of the Celestial of Malice
Last renewal, I hurt a friend thoughtlessly in the pursuit of knowledge. I
thought she knew her love had passed away, and I asked about some memories
of him to store in the Mystique.
I thought she knew, but she didn't! My words... My callous words truck her
terribly, the way even a blade could not. I saw her slip into madness and
despair and could not take them back. If only I could silence myself. If
only I could turn back time.
In truth, I do not know how to handle loss. I lost my parents, but so long
ago I cannot even remember their faces. And there is not even a single clue
left for me to seek them. I have never fallen in love, or let anyone close
enough that I could feel anything like she did. So the little words I
wrote, which I had meant kindly, were like poison... I did not know words
could be so hurtful.
Since I entered Serin, I have only known the pursuit of truth. This pursuit
has only brought me good things - friendship, clarity, confidence. But it
seems that there are some truths that are better - or kinder - left unknown.
Perhaps such is true of my own origins. I have often imagined the
possibilities since I was a girl. My parents loved me and accidentally lost
me in the woods, and have been frantically looking for me ever since. Or
they were great nobles whose only child was kidnapped for a ransom they
could not pay. The truth? The truth is likely much more humble. Perhaps
they had too many children and were relieved to be rid of me. Perhaps they
died and somehow I was the only survivor of an attack, like Fya.
Perhaps if I unlock the truth in my mind, like my friend, I will find
terrors there I cannot face.
Journal #6: Another loss
Day of the Dark Ages, 11th Renewal of the Celestial of Death
The names of the days are taunting me.
I was in the Chapel this eve, reading the age-worn journal of a healer who
fell from the light. As I began to write an analysis of it, a familiar
friendly voice broke through the silence from afar: that of my friend, the
Warlord and Slith Prince, Sylac.
I had learned of him from reading his background scroll, and since learning
of his beautiful story had always been a staunch supporter of his efforts to
redeem his honor and return to his people. He told me that battle was the
way he earned honor. As I told him about my new dedication to the Physical
world, he suggested that we might fight as another way for me to learn, and
as it was his realm of expertise, I agreed.
I should not have done this! I knew, have known, in every fiber of my
being, that violence never results in a happy ending.
The fight we agreed upon was a friendly duel to the stun, and he selected
the arena of Gnome Village, in which I stumbled from house to tiny house,
trying not to be squashed. After a moment I stumbled my way into the
maze-like dungeons beneath the village, which neither of us was familiar
with, and proceeded to do the things I am apparently best at: napping and
sitting on my bottom while praying furiously.
For some reason, once he found me, Sylac kept throwing himself at me, even
as my healing miraculously outpaced his attacks. And then, somehow, out of
sheer luck, the divine retribution my Lord Kedaleam wrapped around me landed
but a scratch on Sylac's skin and he was kneeling, defeated.
I have never wanted to defeat a friend!
As soon as I saw him kneeling I rushed to heal him, and tried to help him as
best I could. But he kept saying the words... "depressing"... I saw the
slump in his shoulders and noticed how he would not look me in the eye. I
should have done something, anything - but my healing had done all I could,
and then he was simply walking away. I thought he was angry and so I didn't
want to run after him. And then...
And then, the bell tolled.
For my friend.
He took his life because I had hurt him - not his physical body as much as
his honor.
I think, if Nara knew, she would be laughing at how I feel. But I cannot
think as she does, not with her disdain for emotions and love and
friendship. I do not know what to write. I do not know what to write! My
friend... Prince Sylac... I am so sorry.
[The last line on this page is scratched out and illegible.]
Adventures in Acadia I
It was a surprising day when I received the news. My old mentor, Markus,
finally contacted me for the first time in eleven years! He wrote briefly
of the things he had learned, and then ended the missive with a curious
statement - I need your help, Serra. Come with me to Acadia.
I could hardly say no to such a request. After all, my life's duty is
devoted to helping others, as well as exploring and learning about the
unknown - this was an opportunity too good to pass up. Without much
hesitation, I wrapped up what few earthly belongings I might need on such a
long trip, stowed the rest of my acquisitions beneath a large rock, and
headed to Emerald Forest to meet him.
It is said that the Emerald Forest is a gateway between worlds. As I have
researched previously, it enables one to traverse both our and the Ethereal
planes with a curious ease. It so happens that this forest also enables one
to pass through to Acadia, given a few caveats: one must pass through one of
the rare Wisp Portals that open up at random, and one must be guided by a
Pixie who is taught in the ways of magical transport. As Markus told me
later, he had been appointed one such guide by the Queen of the Fey to lead
me to their land. And so it was that I watched our small, brilliant guide
conjure a window to Acadia through which he flitted, Markus stepped, and I
squeezed into the most wondrous land I have ever seen.
Acadia! A landscape of dizzying colors and scents and sounds, with exotic
flora of various shapes and sizes including mushrooms larger than the
Seringale bell tower, and earth a rich and surprising purple color that
sparkles and winks when you let it slip through your fingers. The very air
there hums and giggles with pure energy, for this land is so enriched with
magic that every creature is positively infused with it. The portal from
whence we stepped dropped us at the base of an enormous vine which twisted
up an even larger tree whose crown was adorned with glinting webs of some
kind, and clouds of flitting creatures.
As we climbed up and up the vine, the webs and creatures became clearer. It
was no spider's nest, nor was it a cloud of midges - indeed, the gossamer
threads held aloft an entire village of pixies who were congregating in the
air outside, listening to one of their elders telling a story through song.
The music that flowed forth from his lips and the harp that he strummed with
his fingers somehow interacted with the air in such a way that images formed
in the clouds behind him.
Though I understood not a word, it seemed he was telling the tale of a great
darkness that had broken through to their world, which was very troubling.
This rupture had been caused at the edge of the forest in which we stood,
but already tendrils of darkness and dark creatures were beginning to creep
in. As Markus explained to me, when he was first called to Acadia it had
been but a mysterious smudge in the sky, but it had darkened over the years
and finally, a celestial before, had torn open.
Despite their best efforts, the native mages could only attempt to keep the
rupture from tearing open quickly, while their warriors were exhausted by
the constant onslaught of invading creatures. Markus discovered that he
could soothe the rupture to some extent, with a combination of calming and
cleansing spells, but this was only a temporary balm. The Queen had begged
him to seek aid, and so he had returned to Serin, calling for assistance
from his former brethren from the Order of Light, several other healers of
his circle, and myself, as the only student of his who had persisted in the
guild. However, due to the growing pressures of darkness and the rise of
Legion within Serin, none of the others had heeded his call, finding it more
critical to defend their own home front rather than assist a foreign land
they had never even seen.
It was up to us, then, to try to do something about it.
Adventures in Acadia II
My first visit to Acadia, however, was a brief whirlwind of events.
Within half a celestial, Markus swept me along to visit a number of villages
populated by spriggans, brownies, satyrs, fuzzars, sprites, and other fey
creatures I had seen flickering in and around enchanted forests in Serin.
Our primary task, set by the Queen of the pixies herself, was to recruit an
army to defend Acadia at the site of the rupture, for the pixies were
becoming overwhelmed at the battlefield.
Markus had obtained a scroll from the Queen of the pixies, which he showed
to the guards of each village to allow us to meet the elders. Many of the
Acadians were outright hostile at the sight of us foreigners, and there was
more than one incident that made me feel quite uncomfortable as they felt
such unmagical beings were beneath them. Still, the Queen's scroll carried
its own gravity, so they begrudgingly listened to us, though generally they
were quite cold and condescending in their response. Some of the more
social tribes, such as the brownies and satyrs, held public hearings for
Markus to speak. Thus, while the leaders themselves did not order their
subjects to join us, a good number of individuals from these clans later
offered their aid, which we gratefully accepted. We left maps with them
pinpointing the location of the rupture so that they could perhaps gather
their own allies and meet us there.
The only creatures we were initially unable to approach at all were the
fuzzars, who blinked into thin air as we approached and petulantly refused
to appear. In the extra-magical atmosphere of Acadia, I found even my
ability to detect invisible bodies could not discern them when they chose to
hide from view. Feeling somewhat silly, Markus stood in what looked like an
empty clearing and read the Queen's scroll aloud, then waited. Several rude
noises and high pitched giggles punctuated the silence after his speech, and
his shoulders slumped. Just before we turned to leave, a small group of
bunnies materialized from thin air and one of them piped up in lilting,
accented Common tongue without moving its lips: "We will join too." So they
also received a map and our gratitude.
Having traversed these many regions of Acadia and gathered all the help we
could muster, Markus then sent me home.
"You have much to do, young Serra, and it is up to the Acadians to defend
their own home. You should return to yours now, and resume your duties in
the Consortium."
"Are you sure, sir? I'm glad to help here, if I am needed."
"Yes, yes. I can handle it." He waved me off with a flap of his hand.
Despite his carefree demeanor, I knew he was worried for me, for my training
was still far from complete and he had seen me losing concentration too many
times in his presence. Perhaps he was protecting me from the dangers, or he
felt I was not ready to partake in the battle. I nodded, but privately my
determination was renewed.
"I've been working hard on my practicing, sir. I just need a bit more time.
When next you call, I promise I'll be ready."
He took my hand in his, gripping it firmly in farewell. "I will be counting
on that. Be well, my student."
"Stay safe, sir!"
With that, I called upon Kedaleam to send me home, and returned to my temple
in Seringale.
Adventures in Acadia III
My second journey to Acadia occurred half a dozen celestials later. This
time, the scroll I received was hastily written upon a blood-stained
parchment, the sight of which filled me with foreboding. I quickly gathered
my things and, after sending a few quick notes to my friends in Serin,
headed again to meet Markus at the portal to Acadia. I soon found I was not
the only one he had called upon: a small crowd of humans and elves in
shining armor emblazoned with a golden sun clustered near a copse of
impossibly tall trees. As I approached, I realized that the trees were in
fact a group of treants. They rustled, deep in conversation in their own
language, generally ignoring the rest of us.
Markus' beard and hair were both unkempt, and his robes were patched and
scorched in places. Still, his large hand shook mine in its warm, strong,
familiar greeting and he smiled his same old roguish smile.
"Serra! You came."
"Of course, sir - I could not refuse to lend my aid." I adjusted my pack on
my shoulder as I looked toward the portal. "How have you been? How is the
battle faring?"
His smile faded quickly as his brow furrowed. "It's been a challenge. Our
numbers were strong at first, and more Acadians have joined the cause, but
the demons seem to be endless. It is wearing them down terribly. I am
hoping with you here, and some of my old brethren from the Order of Light,
we will be able to turn the tide."
"I will do all I can, as Lord Kedaleam wills it."
He grinned broadly. "You finally chose a God, did you? You didn't mention
that tidbit last time we met."
"Aye, sir. My Lord has been nothing but kind to me. I feel I have been
fortunate in my faith."
"I am glad to hear it! My own Lady Vevier enjoys a prank or two." He
chuckled to himself and called to the others gathered there. "Come,
everyone, let us make our way through the portal before it closes."
This time as we stepped into the world of Acadia, it was clear the realm was
under strain. While the brilliant colors of the land still regaled our
gaze, the usual music and birdsong were silent, and even the winds seemed
still. In the distance, we could see the edges of the rupture peeking over
the tops of the giant trees and mushrooms. The treants shuddered
collectively as they stepped forth from the portal and their roots touched
the purple earth. One of them remarked slowly, "There is great sorrow
here."
We ventured down the path solemnly, bracing ourselves for the coming fight.
Before long we encountered a pair of brownie scouts, who had been sent from
the main battle to watch for our arrival. They spoke quietly with Markus,
who evidently had picked up some of the Acadian languages during his long
stay. I could not hear them, but the expressions on their faces were very
grave, and I could see Markus was trying to bolster their morale with his
words. When they were finished, he turned to me and said simply, "We must
make haste."
We turned off the main road soon and pushed east through a dense forest
which the treants cajoled into parting for us. As the branches yielded,
more and more of the sky became visible. At last, we broke into a clearing,
and could finally see the rupture in its entirety. The sight of it raised
the hairs on my neck.
Before us, the rupture gaped like an obscene mouth. The edges of it
lingered like a dark, spidery fog in the golden sky; its center was deep
black with fingers of violet magic arcing across it like lightning. Every
so often a sharp crack and burst of light would occur, and from within the
rupture hordes of evil creatures would emerge: large muscular warriors and
dark-knights with glowing eyes and twisted faces daubed in white war-paint,
slender mages shrouded in darkness slinging great arrows of fire, and small
winged demons I recognized from my Serin travels to be quasits. Until our
arrival, the defenders of Acadia had kept them at bay. It seemed as though
the last wave had just been defeated, for only a sorry-looking band of
defenders remained beneath the rupture, binding their wounds and recovering
the bodies of the dead.
The members of the Order of the Light, well-versed in warfare, immediately
formed a battle phalanx and moved forward in unison, meeting with the ragged
defenders at the front lines. The treants and I followed Markus, who took
us to a camp at the south-east corner of the clearing where reinforcements
were preparing themselves for the next battle. I pitched my own tent on the
edge of the camp for some of them to rest in, then joined Markus and an
assortment of reinforcements at the fire pit.
"We will be sending shifts to the front," he was saying as I approached.
"We need to make sure clerics are there with each shift, to heal the wounded
- we cannot afford more casualties." Several of the treants, whom I guessed
to be druids, nodded with me. "The Order of Light are fresh and
battle-hardened, so I have asked them to lead the current charge. Some of
you druids will come with me for the next one, and Serra, you and the
remaining treants will shore up the third. There will be bards with you, so
you will not bear all the healing on your shoulders."
I nodded firmly. "I am ready, sir."
"Good. Then rest while you can. We will begin soon enough."
Just as he spoke, the rupture flashed fiercely, and warcries echoed across the
field. The battle for Acadia was on.
Adventures in Acadia IV
Time passes strangely in Acadia compared to Serin, and even moreso when
one is preoccupied with fighting. By now, it seemed as though we had been
there fighting there for many celestials, and countless bodies had been
sacrificed which must have appeased the Gods in Acadia and Serin twice over;
yet our enemies still poured forth from the rupture, fresh and eager for
blood.
I must admit, my many travels across the lands of Serin were invaluable to
the time I spent during my Acadian sojourn. The green, wavering novice I
once was had been replaced by an older, wiser, more determined version of
myself who was used to long hours of healing without respite, and taking
blows when those around me needed to rest. Markus remarked upon the changes
with a twinkling in his eye as I relieved his shift for the umpteenth time
at the front lines.
"You have grown from a sapling into a tree," he laughed, as he loosened the
buckles of his helmet gratefully. I snorted as I encased myself in a
protective shield, quietly thanking Lord Kedaleam that he still granted his
blessings to me in such a distant place.
"I know I've grown in girth since I was a girl, but you don't need to rub it
in, Markus!" But he had already disappeared, flying back to the safety of
the defensive camp behind us. A few of the Acadian fighters nearby turned
towards the sound of my voice and offered puzzled smiles without
comprehension.
The field before us was now littered with bodies from both sides - invaders,
defenders, and trampled vegetation. Nearby me stood a few of the treants
who had been recruited from Serin. With myself, they formed the
reinforcements and stood tensed, weapons at the ready. One of them, an
elder dryad, was conjuring rainclouds to heal the others while they rooted
themselves during the brief respite. Her rumbling, deep chants reverberated
through the nearby earth as well, causing small plants to sprout within her
consecrated circle.
I began my patrol by casting cleanse room, followed by an aura of calm. For
some reason, this combination of spells appeared to not only influence the
living creatures in the area, but also the material fabric of Acadia -
perhaps due to the enhanced concentration of magic in this curious realm.
The sky brightened and the edges of the fog began to shrink back, while the
scorched, broken earth sprouted new tendrils of greenery in response. Next
to me, pixie, brownie, and spriggan rangers busied themselves restringing
their bows and replenishing their quivers using makeshift arrows carved from
the weapons of the fallen. Beside them, pixie and fuzzar illusionists
floated in cute little sleeping bags as they rested their weary minds. I
tended to the wounds of my companions with the more efficient method of
continual curing I had recently learned from Korvoduin, supplementing the
restorative duets of pixie and satyr bards. I was surprised to discover
that while the lyrics they sang were in their unfamiliar tongue, the
melodies were identical to the ones I had heard in Serin, such that I could
even hum along. The nearest bard beamed at me and cheerfully raised his
voice.
We were interrupted in our preparations by another, stronger, wave
descending upon us. I can only describe what happened as the world
*shuddering*: a great, soul-shaking roar was heard, and the trees and giant
mushrooms nearest to the rupture bent away from the sound as if in fear. A
huge, obsidian, skeletal dragon wrenched itself through the rupture, ripping
it wider while spewing a stream of glowing green acid across the field
toward us. Where the acid landed it bubbled horribly before carving a deep
chasm into the earth - the vegetation there blackened and shriveled
instantly. In the dragon's wake, pouring forth from the torn open rupture,
a new legion of invaders leapt upon the battlefield.
To be continued...
Adventures in Acadia V
The Acadians emitted horrified gasps and cries as they rushed to meet
them. The rangers ran to create two flanks while unleashing their arrows,
the illusionists quickened them with haste and prepared their own illusory
fighters, and the bards sang their battle hymns, then began calling upon the
four seasons and arachnids to lend aid. The treant warriors broke free of
the soil just in time to avoid the corrosive streams and lumbered towards
their enemies. Above the shriller cries of the smaller races I heard their
fervent warcries to Lords Phostan, Olyn, and Lorne. I prayed their gods
heard and protected them as well as my own. The druid brandished her staff,
calling upon the primal fury of earth to entangle the invaders with a mass
of roots and tendrils. Several of our enemies were entrapped by the vines,
slowing them sufficiently that they lost formation.
Still, the quickest of them were soon upon us. Shards of metal, flaming
arrows, hellstreams and meteors rained from the sky while the dark-knights'
malevolent auras filled us with dread. The bards shifted into defensive
mode, their soothing melodies only audible between the explosive
bombardments. I called upon Sedgwick for his favor, then focused my healing
upon them as they sang for our troops. Between frantic heals and quick naps
to recover my energies, I managed to take a glance at the battlefield.
The dragon's attention was focused on the druid now, who was slicing ribbons
from its wings with the freezing winds of winter's wrath. This had grounded
the terrible beast, and it was now beset on all sides by a swarm of pixie
thieves who were stabbing furiously with their daggers and dodging its
anguished swipes with ease. A lash of its tail sent several of them flying,
but they quickly righted themselves mid-air and launched themselves back
toward their foe. An unlucky one was met with a flame arrow and fell
smoking to the ground, motionless. The invoker that had cast it licked his
lips with satisfaction and approached with a dagger of his own to slit the
pixie's throat, but was blinded by a colour spray, forcing him to flee.
Several bards were by now exhausted and trying to rest behind rocks or
stumps, wherever they could find temporary shelter. Many of the rangers had
been forced to take up sword and shield, for the dark-knights had quickly
charged into close combat and were alternating between fireballs and
spreading plague and blindness, which I attempted to cure as quickly as I
could. Despite my best efforts, I could see the sickness spreading among
our ranks and was greatly relieved when Markus and several human and elven
healers appeared beside me, using their holy beacons to hasten their return
to the front. A cadre of elven paladins rode in on steeds, a few moments
behind them.
Taking advantage of the reinforcements, I dove into my tent to rest. It was
not long before I was roused by a terrible bloodcurdling scream and
awkwardly scrambled back out, rubbing my eyes. When I opened them finally
my heart leapt into my throat, as I could barely believe what lay before me.
Utter carnage! I was surrounded by corpses. The brave bards along with
many rangers and thieves lay mangled and dismembered among the bodies of the
invaders, though I guessed most of the illusionists had gated themselves and
the comrades they could manage to transport to safety. The dragon also lay
slain, viscous black blood leaking from thousands of dagger-cuts in its
thick hide, a thief crushed in the death-throes of its terrible jaws. The
great treants had at the end formed a protective circle with the druid at
their core. Using the ritual of trees and the energies of her brethren, she
had conjured an entire forest which had ensnared the rampaging dark-knights
and invokers with roots, vines, and thorns. Their limp bodies hung
lifelessly in the brambles, which had grown denser still with their blood.
Still, this had not gone without sacrifice; every treant had been fully
exhausted by the effort and they were now rooted, dormant, and vulnerable,
unable to be woken.
But who or what had issued the scream? The rupture was wider, to be sure,
but I could only see the bodies of the fallen. I scoured the terrible
landscape before my eye alighted upon the source. It was an elf - one of
the paladins - standing over Markus, who lay gravely injured near the bards.
But there was something wrong with the elf. His eyes, once a tranquil grey,
were now glowing crimson, similar to the eyes of the dark-knights we had
fought. Behind him a hulking dark form stood, with webbed wings arched up,
blocking the sun, and bloodied claws resting on his shoulders. Shrouded in
shadow, I could not make out the demon's face. But the elf's pale visage
was twisted in a terrible leer, and he gripped his sword in both hands,
raising it high.
"NO!" I rushed towards them, closing my eyes and praying against all hope
for Kedaleam to take Markus home, wherever his home was, where he would be
safe. For a brief, horrible moment, I thought I was too late. But the
sound of the blow struck stone, not flesh, and when I opened my eyes, only a
patch of bloodied grass remained where he had lain.
Then the demon and the demon-elf turned as one, and came for me. The demon
uttered something in its sibilant, guttural tongue, and every muscle in my
body suddenly froze. My mind panicked, fluttered, beat within my skull like
a frightened bird searching for freedom against the iron bars of a cage.
Then an unbearable, burning pain engulfed my body, as if every cell of it
was warring with itself, and I heard the bloodcurdling scream again - only
it was coming, I realized detachedly, from my own lips...
I remembered nothing after that.
I was nothing, for a long time, until I woke again in my guild in Seringale,
feeling as though it had all been but a terrible dream...
Journal #7: Returning to Serin
Day of the Dark Ages, 20th Renewal of the Celestial of Vanity
I have had many thoughts and emotions swirling in me since my return from
Acadia.
First, and foremost, I have sent a missive to the last known address I have
of Markus in Serin, which is the healer's guild in Timaran. He was not
there, nor at the enclave of the Order of Light, though I left messages at
both locations hoping they would make their way to him. I sense (or
perhaps, hopelessly believe) that he is alive, somewhere. Perhaps he has
gone underground to recover. I pray that this is so, and that my Lord
Kedaleam and his Lady Vevier keep him safe.
I was also hit with a rush of nostalgia and happiness from seeing old faces
and places again. One of my oldest friends, Ilromie, greeted me shortly
after my return. She has grown much since I last saw her - she has at last
chosen her path in the Consortium, and created quite a name for herself with
her poetry recitations, as well as at last reclaiming her family manor in
Valour! I am very glad to see her development, for she had seemed a little
lost before, beneath her confident exterior.
Of my other friends, however, many seem to have vanished. The Lady Rhoa
told me that there have been several losses, including Executor Trovo, who
was always very kind to me and knowledgeable. It was he who taught me of
augmenting and engraving, and who showed me the Fireforge. I will never
forget the sight of him riding his steed across the plains of Winter,
which filled my young heart with excitement and awe.
My good friends Darvaz and Sevrin have also not been seen for some time,
which fills me with sorrow. Darvaz was a wonderful companion for
adventures, and as I have begun to shift my research focus towards writing
the lores of Serin, his absence is missed even more. Sevrin was always a
centering force for me, an external voice of reason and balance when I grew
too emotional in my youth. I still have the spare key to his home, but I
spy cobwebs in the corners, and the bed has not been slept in for some time
from the layer of dust upon it. I have also not seen Llloyied or Kali, the
two who were the last I saw before my departure to Acadia. So many things
have happened, and I fear I may never learn the stories of my friends who
are missing.
Good things have happened as well. Warmaster Thoom now holds a tournament
for the young, which appears to be quite exciting. I have been invited to
observe it later this renewal, and am honored he extended such an invitation
to me. I have also had the blessed fortune to see my Lord Kedaleam again,
as he visited myself and Ilromie during one of our reunions. Every time I
stand in his presence I feel bolstered and strengthened to continue my
research against the darkness and chaos.
However, it cannot be denied that the darkness in Serin has spread in my
absence. Not only has the influence of Vhrael and the Legion grown, there
has been an influx of elven paladins who are afflicted with weakness to
demon taint. Indeed, just today I observed one such paladin lose his way
and consumed by the demons, becoming a Demon-Elf... Just like the one that
nearly slew Markus and myself. This paladin said his circumstance was
caused by being untethered from the gods. What horrors! Should I lose my
connection to my Lord, I should find my life meaningless... I remember the
foul shaman Dogran was able to sever my Lord from me before, and no doubt
shall attempt to do so again. The sight of him recently filled me with such
untold dread, but even moreso, a cold, careless anger which I have never
known inside me before... The force of this emotion disturbed me so much
that I fled before he could look at me. I have never felt such a thing
towards a living being before. It reminds me of the strange light the
paladin had in his eyes as he stood over Markus...
But no! I shall not fill my mind with doubts and fears. The Light stands
strong, and I have old and new friends who will fight against the dark.
Journal #8: Renewal
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 11th Renewal of the Celestial of Mercy
I have found new friends among the Serinfolk, many with strong hearts and
bright minds. Young women and men with glowing futures ahead of them, and
eyes shining with youthful ideals. I must admit as I grow older I grow
fonder of seeing and aiding them, for it is upon their strong shoulders that
rests the fate of Serin.
Amongst them, I can count crow-feathered Andahlin, a quiet and dreamy
illusionist, the brave and humorous dwarven priestess-Knight Lumubella, the
stalwart young dwarf paladin Gwevym, the avian druidess and star-gazer
Lunaia, our newest Scholar and excitable invoker Varrun, and most recently a
tiny brilliant gnome known as Hogglecinth. Traveling with these young
bright faces I feel stirrings of excitement again, as I see the world
through their eyes.
Recently, a few of them have treated me with more... Expressiveness than I
have ever encountered in my days. I keep my response simple, for sometimes
I wonder if I might hurt them or be misconstrued if I held them too tightly
in return. One called me pretty, and for the first time in my life this was
not in jest. I was flustered by it and did not know what to say, for I know
beauty and grace are not traits I possess nor ever strove to achieve.
Still, I think of her as a dear friend, and she never fails to make me
smile.
Ah, Serin. The more I wander it, the more fond I grow of its twisting
paths, quiet vistas, secluded beaches, and of the beautiful and colorful
people that inhabit it. Even the blizzards on the plains of Winter's Tundra
have grown familiar now, and generations of the Elder Dragons have been
defeated with my friends at my side. The trails of Drkshtyre Forest and the
jungles teeming with Lamias and even the foul fogged streets of Shadun
Dalghul echo with our footsteps, our laughter and chatter, and the ringing
of our blades.
I realize now that it was not necessarily my biological family that I needed
to seek as a child. It was the sense of belonging and kinship that I
craved. And thus, the dizzying, mysterious, magical realm of Acadia tempts
my scholar's mind, but my heart belongs to Serin and the people within it.
Someday, when I reach the end of my days, I hope I shall look back fondly on
this journal and relive these memories once again.
Return to Acadia I: The Quest Begins
Serra let the door of her lodge shut behind her and dropped, exhausted,
onto her scruffy scrounged couch, which exhaled a cloud of dust in protest.
The clutter in her house was growing at an alarming rate, but she had no
energy to deal with it now. Her owl familiar hooted disapprovingly and she
beckoned a tired hand at it.
"I am sorry, my friend." She pulled out the sad corpse of a mouse from her
knapsack and offered it to the owl, who swooped over, swallowed it greedily
and then huffed away back to its perch in the corner. As her eyes drifted
around the room, Serra noticed a tiny scroll on her writing desk, looking
quite battered although its wax seal was not yet broken. "Did a messenger
come while I was out adventuring?"
The owl looked pointedly at it and then back at Serra with an expression of
"Obviously." Serra groaned as she levered herself back to her feet, picked
it up and cracked open the seal.
It was a tattered scroll, no bigger than a halfling's palm when expanded,
and with tiny spider-like foreign script all over it that re-formed before
her very eyes into letters she could understand. It read:
"Comrade,
We have dire need. The fell have spread; the demonic forces have pushed
forth and set up camps. All of Rifnir Forest has been lost. The Alliance
is almost broken. Only pockets of resistance remain, hiding in caves and in
clouds, hidden from plain view. The forests are no longer safe. Treants
have been turned and can sense us there.
We need aid. Any aid. Will you come?"
The scroll was signed with a tiny, bloodied thumbprint.
Lost deep in thought, Serra dropped it from her fingers and it curled up
again upon the desk like a small wounded animal. She would go where she was
needed, of course, that was her life's duty, but she did not think it would
be use for her to venture to Acadia on her own. She was neither fighter nor
tactician, but merely a medic. And a single medic could only do so much in
an all out war.
While she knew several good friends in Serin who were excellently skilled in
battle, there was tension rising between the Knights and Justices and the
Legion continued to plot. She could not justify weakening the defensive
front here for a world her friends had never seen and put their lives at
unfathomable risk. She needed to find Markus, or at least contact his
extended network and see if they might again be willing to offer aid.
Spurred into action, Serra upended her bag all over the couch, sending spare
armor, herbs, books and trinkets scattering every which way, and began
carefully packing only the bare essentials. She would need to travel light.
"You'll need to stay here as well," she said to her familiar, who rolled its
eyes at her. "I'm certain you will be a most effective guardian. Please
avail yourself of any and all house mice. I do not know when I will be able
to return. The kitchen window is unlocked, so you are free to enter or
leave as you need." The owl hooted a bit more softly in concern.
"Please do not worry. I will be fine." She smiled gently at it as she
jotted two quick notes, one to the Knights, and one to the Consortium,
alerting them to her absence. She deftly rolled up and tied the scrolls to
the owl's leg with a small ribbon. "Would you please take these to my
friends?" It bobbed its head, then took off silently and disappeared.
Through the window, Serra watched her feathered companion's form sail off
over the windswept meadow. A soft expression spread across her face as she
whispered a quiet prayer for her loved ones. Then her eyes narrowed in
determination as she stood, refreshed her protective spells, and set off for
Timaran.
Return to Acadia II: Finding Markus
Ilenda, Timaran's healer guildmistress, shook her head. "I'm sorry,
Serra. I received your missive, but as I wrote before, I have not seen
Markus for many moons."
Serra frowned. "He resides in Timaran, and my Lord Kedaleam sent him home
from Acadia. I know he must have come through here."
Ilenda put a comforting hand on Serra's shoulder and felt the muscles of her
arm tense under her touch. "If I hear from him, I shall inform you
directly." Trainees were beginning to filter in for their next lecture, and
she glanced at them briefly. "Now, is there anything else I can do for you?
Otherwise, I must attend to my students."
"Where could he have gone? Please, miss, I would be grateful for any
information at all."
"I am sorry. Perhaps the temple priests may have seen something."
Serra nodded and dropped into a deep, swift bow before she turned away. "Of
course, miss. I am sorry to have taken your time."
"It is no bother..." Ilenda was mid-sentence but Serra's long strides had
already taken her down the hallway and out of earshot. The aging elven
priestess looked sadly down at her gnarled hands. They were clean now, but
she imagined she could still see the bloodstains upon them. She wished she
could help her worried young colleague. Yet, Markus had been so insistent
and would not listen to reason. She recalled the frightful, wild look in
his eye as he had gripped her hands so hard she felt her bones crunching,
and the horror in his voice as he had rasped his last words to her before he
disappeared.
"Do not, by any means, let Serra know where I am. Ilenda, you must swear
your life upon it!"
---
Days passed. Despite her best efforts, Serra could not find a single soul
in Timaran who had seen Markus since they had set off for Acadia. The
priests who attended the Temple of Light were fresh new faces, evidently
recently appointed to their posts, and knew nothing of their predecessors'
whereabouts. The priest of Light who waited by the donation chest rattled
off a list of bruised adventurers who had come to claim their belongings,
but none of them matched Markus's description. The High Priestess of Light
was even more useless, for she kept her door shut and only paid attention to
the stack of temple business reports piling up on her desk. Neither day nor
night watchmen had seen him, and he had not been observed entering any of
the shops.
At a loss, she sat forlornly on a bench at the city center, tossing pebbles
into the fountain and listening to the Town Crier shouting the latest news.
The stumpy, grubby form of Viggs ventured into view.
"Greetings, sir."
Viggs sniggered and pulled a funny little bow. "Sir Viggs, that's me." He
ambled off around the square, following a strange, meandering pattern only
he could see on the paving stones. She watched him skipping and hopping
about. Viggs was eccentric at the best of times, but there was something a
little springier about his step. As he held his hands out for balance, she
saw a few rings on his hands glint in the sun. Serra peered closer. They
looked familiar. Furthermore, Viggs was not the type to wear jewelry,
especially not expensive rings.
Viggs hummed to himself, "Thiefy hellstream, heeheehee!" As he hopscotched
over the cobblestones. Suddenly his face slammed into a thick metal plate
and he sat down hard on the floor, eyes watering. He looked up and saw two
large feet, then sturdy legs, and finally a frowning, armor-clad giant
looking down at him with hands upon her hips.
"Where did you get those rings?"
"I found em!" He folded his arms defensively, tucking his hands in his
armpits. "Finders keepers, yes?" One of the huge feet began to tap
impatiently. He added sourly, "Donation chest on Windchime Lane. Few
celestials ago. They're pretty! And mine! There were others... But
couldn't carry em... Too shiny for Viggs."
"What did you do with the rest?"
"Some youngun lookin for things got em."
"Was there an Order of Light amulet among the items?"
Viggs squinted his beady little eyes and thought about it. "Maybe. What's
in it for Viggs?"
A fistful of gold coins plinked down upon his head, accompanied by an
exasperated sigh. "Ow ow!" He scrabbled around stuffing the coins into his
pockets and muttered, "Yeah, yeah, amulet o' light. Nothin special. Lots
o' them fallin into the chests lately."
Serra shivered. The bodies of the fallen, returning from Acadia... Perhaps
she had been too late to save Markus, after all.
Return to Acadia III: Allies Anonymous
The canyon of Tainted Valley rang with the shouts of men and clashes of
blades. The Order of Light had been bogged down here for years. Once a
mighty military force with many divisions, the decreasing number of recruits
had thinned their ranks until this band of brothers was the only one which
remained. Still, the greatest threat emanated from the western crevice in
this valley, where the Essence of Evil lurked. Thus, here they made their
stand, until one or the other side drew their last breath.
Serra made her way through the valley to General Fredrick's tent. He was
deep in conversation with several of his men and barely looked up as she
approached.
"Excuse me, sir..." He held up a finger as the battlemage he was speaking
to frowned.
"We must shore up the western flank, near the obelisk. And increase the
scouts at the valley entrance! We must not give our enemies the advantage
of surprise." Fredrick scowled. "Those young Legion hopefuls keep joining
forces with the tainted. Storm Hill can only send so many trainees at a
time. We must hold them off until our reinforcements arrive."
The battlemage nodded and withdrew from the tent. Fredrick turned to Serra.
"Yes? Make it quick, I have not much time."
"Sir, forgive me. We have not personally met. I am a student of Markus..."
Fredrick glared at her. "What does that slick-tongued scoundrel want now?
I sent him with a team of my best men several celestials ago and none of
them have returned."
Serra winced. "We were drawn into a great battle in Acadia. And... I am
sorry, sir... Our line could not hold..."
Their physical bodies had returned, but not a single soul. Serra shuddered.
She still remembered their shining faces and the light of conviction in
their eyes... And how they had looked at the terrible end, empty and
extinguished. The words of confirmation did not need to be said, but rang
in the air between them as if she had screamed.
Fredrick turned his back to her. She could see by his tensed form and
clenched jaw that he was holding back great emotion, though whether it was
rage, or sorrow, she could not tell. In a flat voice, he said, "Then there
is nothing more I can do for you."
"I understand, sir." Heat rose in her cheeks and she felt utterly ashamed
for even thinking of asking him for more aid. More sacrifice. Yet she must
continue; she could not live with leaving the Acadians' call unheeded.
"... I know it is little consolation, sir, but they were truly brilliant,
skilled and brave. I could not have served with a better company." He made
no response. She bowed quietly, sadly, and made her exit.
---
Serra turned next to the Sanctuary of Armageddon. She could not be sure,
for they had not spoken of their origins, but she believed the druids and
treants who had joined Markus's forces might have come from there. Perhaps
they might be willing to lend some aid.
The sanctuary druids and sentries seemed to whisper to each other as she
passed them in the hallway, and she thought she saw the same angelic
caretaker discreetly following her at a distance as she made her way up to
Govannan's chamber.
He greeted her as she entered. "Lore Keeper Serra."
"Greetings, sir. I am a Doyenne now, though only recently."
"Ah, I stand corrected. What can I do for the Scholars?" He steepled his
fingers and gazed at her impassively.
"I come to seek aid for our comrades in Acadia. There is a great war raging
there, and the balance of Nature is being tipped. I thought... I hoped you
might be willing to send some warriors or druids to aid in the battle."
"That is an ongoing struggle we face in Serin. Why should we concern
ourselves with Acadia?"
So, the treants had not come from Armageddon, after all.
"The evil that permeates there is beginning to taint Serin as well. The
reports of demon-elves, here, match the corruption I saw in Acadia with my
own eyes. If we allow Acadia to fall, it will certainly spread in Serin,
and it will be too powerful for us to stop."
"And do you, Scholar, seek to restore the balance?" He spat her title with
peculiar vitriol.
Serra paused and considered her words carefully. "My duty in Serin is to my
research to the Consortium. But as a healer, I must preserve life where I
am needed. And Acadia has called for my aid."
"Your aid, certainly, but not ours." Govannan clenched his hands into fists
at his sides. "Your foolish attempts at research nearly unleashed the
Essence of Annihilation upon Serin."
Serra flushed. It was true; she had led Ilromie here in pursuit of scribing
lores, disregarding all of the warnings of the sanctuary's residents and
brute forcing their way through their protective seals. All in pursuit of
knowledge and a few simple scrolls. Had the risk been worth it?
"We shall not be sending anything to Acadia." His tone was final and
dismissive.
"Very well, sir."
Return to Acadia IV: The Portal Opens
That was it, then. Half a celestial of wandering through Serin begging
and scraping with nothing to show for it. Serra would have to return to
Acadia on her own.
Serra knelt in the circle of blue-capped mushrooms and carefully laid out
the contents of a small pouch, trying to remember how their pixie guide had
done it the last time Markus had taken her to Acadia. From the pouch she
withdrew a bundle of wisp essences, two wisp sparks and a portal catalyst.
She brushed the wisp essences fondly with a fingertip, which swirled about
and shimmered at her touch.
"Dearest Lumubella, you do not know the importance of what you have done for
me. May our gods keep us safe, that I might return to you someday."
She carefully placed one essence upon each of the mushrooms, and formed a
small pyramid with the remaining items at the center of the circle. Then
she took out the battered scroll, touched the bloodied thumbprint to the
portal catalyst, and began to vocalize a curious, dissonant melody.
Serra was not a bard, nor could she remember the words their pixie guide had
sung, but she remembered the melody at least. She also keenly remembered
how Ilromie had been struck by her description of the common music between
Acadian and Serin bards. If their hypothesis was correct, the melody, not
the lyrics, were what truly contained the magic. Serra hoped that, even
without words, even shakily sung by her untrained voice, the melody would be
sufficient to open the portal.
For a split second after she finished the song, the Emerald Forest fell eerily
quiet. The birds, insects, even the leaves stopped stirring as if they had
all paused to listen. Then a static charge rippled through the area and a
fizzling, glowing portal opened.
Without so much as a backwards glance, Serra stepped through.
Return to Acadia V: Lost
It had been a long time since Serra had truly felt lost. Over the four
decades she had spent in Serin, building up friendships and acquaintances,
she had slowly shed her fear of strangers and the unknown as she had
dedicated her life to peering into the shadows, clearing cobwebs from the
farthest corners of the lands. Even the murmuring mists north of Valour,
the endless Void of Silent Grove, and the maze of Shadow Grove barely
perturbed her any longer.
But this... Was different.
She held her hands before her, fingers outstretched, cautiously reaching out
into the darkness. She felt nothing. The utter stillness of it all spooked
her. Not even the slightest eddy of wind, even if she shook her hand about
and waved. It was if she was in a vacuum, although she could still breathe.
The air, if that was what it was, was completely scentless. There was an
unnatural, utter absence of response from all of her senses.
"Is anyone there?"
Her words flowed seamlessly into the dark, with no echo in return. Behind
her, the warm sunlight of Serin suddenly disappeared as the portal snapped
shut. The loss of it, of her window back to familiarity and comfort and
life, suddenly felt as physical as a wound of the flesh. Her aura of
sanctuary faded as it closed. She tried to refresh it several times but it
simply flickered and faded on every attempt.
Frowning, Serra closed her eyes and prayed to Lord Kedaleam to release her
from her spells. Something was very strange here. As she slowly drifted to
the ground, she felt rather than heard something brittle crunching beneath
her weight. Perhaps it was grass. Not a single sound, though. Nothing but
her own racing heartbeat, which thundered in her ears.
At least my Lord can still hear me, she thought. There was some small
comfort to be found in that.
Serra carefully knelt and ran her hands along the ground. The crunching
stuff did seem to be grass - coarse dry blades that were so fragile that
they fell to dust as she touched them. The last time she had visited
Acadia, the ground had been springy with moss and grass and flowers and rich
soil. Now it seemed as if every vestige of moisture had been sapped away.
She shuddered. Were the demons who came through the rupture responsible for
this?
It was also cold. At first she had not noticed it, buoyed as she was by her
flight through the portal. As her pulse calmed, she felt the chill sink
through her armor and layers of garments. She rubbed her hands together and
stamped her feet, flattening some more of the dead grass, and tugged her
cloak close around her shoulders. Then she twiddled her thumbs.
A small ball of light the size of her palm was supposed to appear in the air
before her, this she knew from countless hours sat in front of Korvoduin's
patient gaze. Instead, she saw only a very faint pinprick in the darkness,
as if she was looking at a star in the night sky. She reached for it and
wrapped her palms around its glossy, glass-like exterior. It was the normal
size, but the light it emitted was so faint it was almost extinguished. As
she watched, even that tiny speck dimmed and snuffed out, and the sphere
crumbled in her hands to dust. It seemed almost as if something was
consuming it.
Serra attempted to detect the presence of magic. Where normally the
concentration of magic was almost overpowering, here there was not even the
slightest spark. She frowned. As she considered her next move, her skin
became softer as the stone skin spell wore off, and a vicious, pervasive
stinging attacked her exposed hands, neck, and face.
"Goodness gracious!" Serra immediately refreshed the spell, and the pain
ceased. What *was* that in the darkness? She created a healer's staff and
held it out before her to detect obstacles, then called upon the gift of
flight again that she might travel faster. But where was she going? She
had no sense of direction here. There was no telling where the portal had
opened, if it was even in the same area of Acadia she had originally
visited.
She recalled the times when she had experimented traveling in the Ethereal
Plane with her friends, Oakwarl and Ilromie, long ago. Then, though she had
been able to see, the landscape had been contorted into a haze of
indiscernible fog. She had simply left a trail behind her and picked a
direction until she could travel no more, then backtracked until she had
mapped out the area. Perhaps she could do something similar here.
Would the unseen entities eat... Pancakes?
She conjured a stack and waited. She could feel the weight of the plate
unchanging in her hands, ran a finger through the sticky syrup and counted
three fluffy disks in the stack. Whatever it was didn't seem to consume
food. Only magic. She bent and placed the plate on the ground.
One, two, three. Pancakes. One, two, three. Pancakes. Slowly, Serra made
her way across the landscape of Acadia. One, two, three --
There was no telling how long she had travelled. When she grew hungry, she
quickly took a bite as she went, but did not stop for long. At the back of
her mind she wondered if it was dangerous for her to leave the site of her
portal - although there was no way for her to reopen it without another set
of wisp components, and had little hope of finding more here. Her eyes,
desperate for something to focus on, caught upon something dim in the
distance. Could it be light? She adjusted her detections, adding infrared
and detection of the invisible, but whatever it was did not become clearer.
There was simply some orange-colored haze on the horizon. She continued.
Pancakes. One, two, three.
The haze spread, and continued to grow brighter. She started to be able to
make out jagged rocks, charred and broken stumps around her, as well as
shattered weapons and armor. And scattered among them, clean white bones of
all shapes and sizes, in piles as if whatever flesh they had once supported
had simply vanished. Some of the smaller skulls looked humanoid, while
larger ones lying among heavier bones were more elongated with filed teeth.
Clouds of black particles, tinier than gnats, clustered over each of them
but swirled towards her as she approached. She swatted them away with her
staff. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her trail of untouched
pancakes leading back into the darkness.
The clouds began to cluster together, forming small funnels and darkening
into an ominous mass. Serra hastened her pace and gave up on the pancakes,
rushing towards the light, which grew brighter and more golden and then she
could detect emerald greens as well, and the brilliant magenta of noontime
Acadian sky, and then out she tumbled from the darkness, surrounded by a
fizzle of black particles that sparked and flashed into nothingness as they
were eradicated by the Acadian sunlight.
Return to Acadia VI: Revelations
Flat on her back, halfway down a hill, Serra peered over her toes in the
direction she had come. There was what she could only call a black bubble
encasing the forest there. The black stuff pulsed within, bulging and
straining to reach her against the magical barrier that imprisoned it, but
ultimately subsided. It looked... As though it was digesting.
Serra rolled over and slowly got to her feet. Her hands, which had been
attacked by the particles in the darkness, were spotted with dark blue
flecks of blood where the things had broken through her skin. Likely she
had the same affliction on her face. She created a spring and carefully
washed herself clean. Then the exhaustion of her travels overwhelmed her.
She pulled her neatly rolled tent from her bag, pitched it, and curled up
for a much-needed nap.
An undeterminable amount of time passed as Acadia's strange suns circled
about overhead and the sky tinged from magenta to violet and back. When
Serra finally opened her eyes, stretched, and poked her head out of the tent
flaps, she noticed a small group of furry creatures sitting on the nearby
grass. From her explorations in Serin's Isles of Illusion, she recognized
them to be some type of fuzzar, although they had two extra pairs of limbs
(four arms, and four wings) than she remembered.
"Greetings, little ones," she tried in Common Serintongue. They did not
move or register any comprehension. She reached out to tap the nearest one
on its furry shoulder, but it simply disappeared into thin air. Then she
tried again, in her limited Acadian. "Greetings?" At this, the fuzzars
chattered excitedly amongst themselves, then shoved each other until one
drifted shyly to the front.
"Stranger, from where you come?" Their accent was different from the
fuzzars she had met on previous journeys. Even though her grasp of Acadian
was shaky, she was almost certain their grammatical structure was inverted.
Perhaps a local dialect she had not been aware of?
Serra pointed at the black bubble up the hill. "I come from Serin, but my
portal was back there."
They gasped and conferred among themselves in speech too fast for her to
decipher.
"Stranger, from Land of the Dead you come?" Serra wasn't quite sure if she
had translated the last bit correctly. It sounded something like Land of
the Dead, or Murdered Land. At any rate, death had obviously visited it,
and the name fit.
"I suppose, yes, I did."
"Stranger, dead should be."
"Well, I can't say I agree--"
"Dead Land, stranger come from. Stranger, dead should be." The fuzzars
started prodding her with tiny tridents, pushing her back up the hill.
"Oh dear. Little ones, I do not wish to hurt you, but I cannot go back
there." Serra recast sanctuary around herself, relieved to find it worked
again, and gripped her staff in both hands as she planted her feet in the
grass.
A golden being rippled into existence then, and the fuzzars shrank back in
awe. "Overlord!"
Serra squinted her eyes against its brightness. Was it another Immortal?
Were there immortals in Acadia?
It spoke then, but not aloud. Rather, she heard its voice, limpid and
resonant, in her mind. It did not speak words, either, only melodies and
images. Through its curious mode of communication, she came to understand.
Acadia was not simply a world with earth, plants, animals, people, and sky.
It was in fact a magical, living, complex organism. The creatures
inhabiting Acadia could be construed as components of the larger magical
entity. The "Overlord" (of which this being was simply one node) was
perhaps best equivalent to its consciousness; the societies of fuzzars,
satyrs, brownies, pixies, and so forth carried out its metabolism. The
rupture had been an infection, like a skin puncture left too long that had
festered. When the corruption had become too great for the lesser creatures
of Acadia to overcome on their own, greater Acadia had finally reacted. The
bubble was in fact Acadia's own doing, as it isolated the infected area and
was in the process of destroying it. The black particles were corrosive
magic conjured by Acadia: programmed, intentional destruction, focused
purely on consuming all matter of magical life and absorbing the forces so
that they could be reused to construct new lifeforms in Acadia.
Stranger was very lucky to be alive, it informed her. Had she allowed her
stone skin to lapse more than a minute, or spent more time conjuring balls
of light or casting sanctuary, she would have attracted all of the particles
in her vicinity and been consumed.
Serra shuddered, feeling the ghost prickles on her hands and face. "How did
you know which spells I cast in the Land of the Dead?"
Overlords can sense everything in Acadia. (This one didn't have a face, but
she could sense it smiling.)
"What about the demon's plane connected to the rupture?"
If the rupture had not closed, the being sang, the particles would have
entered their world. Given enough time, it would digest it too. She was
fortunate her own portal had been designed to close quickly, else Serin,
too, might have been at risk. Stranger was extremely lucky.
"I received a letter from an Acadian that summoned me here." She drew the
tattered scroll from her pocket and showed it to the group of fuzzars. They
passed it around themselves, chattering, but by the way they were turning
the scroll in every direction it seemed they could not read it.
The writing is unfamiliar to them, the being said. It belongs to the lost
civilizations.
"Lost civilizations?"
Yes. Our brethren. In the Land of the Dead. The young ones here are made
from those who could be recovered from the corruption. They tried to stay
intact, but the reconstruction was... Imperfect.
It exuded a wave of sorrow that washed over her. The fuzzars also chirped
with sadness, drooping their wings.
Serra was horrified as the realization slowly set in. "You mean there were
souls still alive when you started this? How could you sacrifice your own
people on purpose? You have so much power - you could have just stopped the
demons! You could have saved them!"
The corruption had to be destroyed. There was an agreement.
"An agreement?!"
Yes.
"An agreement among whom!"
It pointed a long, glowing finger at the thumbprint on the scroll.
They lost hope.
Return to Acadia VII: Reconstruction
There was nothing Serra could do about the past, but she decided that the
least she could do was teach the young Acadians what had happened and what
she had witnessed so that they could shape their own future. While the
Overlords did not seem to know how to effectively transfer knowledge from
one generation of Acadians to the next, they also did not seem to harbor any
reservations against her doing so. She spent the next several weeks
traveling around the lands, speaking with the various groups and re-learning
reconstructed Acadian. With the aid of the fuzzars and occasional
appearance from one of the Overlords, Serra managed to disseminate her
knowledge to a diverse assortment of new Acadian cultures.
They were instructed to be alert to the health of the trees, the soil, and
the sky, for Acadia's magics were highly sensitive and would change hues in
the presence of danger. They needed to be more cautious and wary; the
various cultures should communicate amongst themselves with a shared network
of communication, and place protective wards and magics in case of future
threats. Above all, they must not be taken by surprise and be careful not
to lapse in judgment. They could not rely heavily on external aid, that was
for certain, although Serra insisted that there would always be souls like
herself and Markus and her former comrades, beings from other planes, who
would be willing to help in times of need. By mitigating the effect of
intrusions on their world, they could prevent greater Acadia from unleashing
its terrible destruction upon them. Acadia, in turn, would be safer,
healthier, and overall happier for it. Some of the Acadians were reluctant
to listen, but the Overlords' presence lent Serra an air of authority, and
they eventually grumblingly complied.
Wherever she went, Serra refused any compensation or hospitality, save a
single wisp essence.
At long last, she gathered sufficient essences to return to Serin. She
gathered her newfound friends, including several young bards to whom she had
taught the portal song.
"I have done all I can here. I must return to my home now. I bid you all
farewell."
The fuzzars let out a collective "Awwwww" and several pixies pouted.
"Remember this: if you ever have need of me, simply send me a message, and I
will come."
She finished placing the essences in a circle and nodded at the pixie bards,
who began to strum their harps and sing. A pixie-sized fizzling portal
opened. Serra laughed and waved before squeezing back into the Mystic
Forest of Serin.
Journal #9: Yet another wheel's turn
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 19th Renewal of the Celestial of Tyranny
It has been only a few renewals since my return from Acadia.
A great many things have happened in these lands while I was gone, of which
I am still only piecing together scraps. Lumubella spoke to me briefly of a
great tension that arose between the Justices and the Knights, seeming to do
with my friend Ilromie and a conflict she had with a drow Justice by the
name of Chul. I do not recall seeing this fellow, although perhaps I was
simply too preoccupied before my journey. At any rate, something he did -
and something Commander Solmundi approved - inflamed the sensitivities of
Ilromie and along with them, her lover Kali, and the entire Castle.
I have not yet seen her since my return, though I sent her a missive of
greetings and I met Kali who spoke of meeting her recently. This news - the
descriptions Lumubella gave me, Kali's talk of repeatedly being broken on
the Justices' wheel, as well as the disapproval from Ocelia, a young pixie
illusionist who has progressed to Annotator of the Mystics in my absence,
leads me to worry greatly for her. Perhaps I should have brought Ilromie on
my journey and saved her from this fate.
I have also received the sorrowful news that my old friends, Darvaz and
Sevrin, have perished in my absence. There is something utterly inadequate
and almost offputting about reading a friend's obituary when it comes in the
form of a limerick. A brilliant life full of triumphs and dreams, all
dismissed in the span of five lines. I recall Ilromie writing them when I
was younger and having no feelings on the matter. Back then, I had not
known personal loss. But perhaps now I am being too harsh, and it is rather
a mode of coping with the loss: to laugh, rather than cry. There were so
many names mentioned in the latest obituaries that they flooded over into
the next issue. Taking on such a task must be monumental.
Again, I find myself between chapters. As I open a new leaf, so too does
life introduce me to new, bright faces. New faces I have met include
Valindra, a most talented poet, fortune-telling witch and goblin (such an
unlikely combination!); Mirtolda, a strangely polite and talkative
necromancer; Eowug, a fresh young freelancer who has found his path as a
Paladin; and Myrina, former accountant and excitable young Warlord with a
heart of fire and glory.
And, in the midst of it all, I have slowly begun pursuing my research in the
lands of Serin again. With more members in the Consortium, including
Ocelia, Valindra, and a new bard named Vallidan taking up work on the
Mystique, I feel released to pursue my own niche interests as they arise.
The first two threads I chase are the names of Equient and Nevahana - though
they are unlikely to cross, each has begun in a most fascinating way and I
am eager to follow them to their ends.
How I have missed you, Serin!
Journal #10: Breaking
Day of the Horizon, 21st Renewal of the Celestial of Tyranny
Everyone around me seems to view life with such polarity. With me or
against me; good or evil; valuable or worthless. Can a friend, who has
supposedly aided an enemy, still be called a friend? Can a paladin who has
inadvertently broken an oath be redeemed? Can I choose to be objective, or
is this simply a dream?
Again and again, I see how unseen forces in Serin drive us apart. It was no
chance that Ilromie fixated on the story of Thalandir for over half of the
event this past Renewal. With this fresh in her mind, for reasons unknown
to me, she decried the behavior of Gwevym with such intense disdain that he
took his life for it. The things she said to me directly were hurtful. I
do not know what she said to him. But words, from my oldest living friend,
such as this... Here, conflating her injured pride against the Warlord, a
curious thirst for blood, and her distaste for Gwevym and my choices of
companionship:
I: What justification can there be, Serra?
S: For peacefully traveling in pursuit of knowledge? Or for destroying that
peace on supposition of intents?
I: For abetting evil in the face of his [Gwevym's] holy oath? You are aware
that the vendetta permits him [Abellyith] to assault me without challenge or
warning?
S: You did such a thing yourself. It troubles me.
I: He issued the flag upon me, thusly requesting such action. I shall not
sit about and wait to be murdered.
I: Not when my attacker will be healed by my friend and a paladin prior to
his assault. (*)
S: That is not possible. I cannot cast upon him, only travel side by side.
And you are cruel to suggest it.
I: Shall I ignore his prior threats? In fact, it sickened me to see him in
such previously exalted company.
S: I suppose you see me sickening too, now.
I: I know your goal is the pursuit of knowledge. I was content to let you
go about with him alone until he placed the mark on me. (^)
(*) I see two interpretations of this statement. First, she knew exactly
where we were going and how dangerous it would be, and was expecting a
heavily wounded, easy target. (It is exactly where she found Abellyith.)
Second, she expected I would go out of my way to heal a duergar who would
come for her immediately. I knew that he would not go for her, because he
was with us - and therefore she was safe. Besides that, it is impossible
for me to heal a duergar!
(^) So she was willing to forgive me, but not Gwevym, who had the same
intent as me? Why are paladins held to higher expectations? Are we
followers not all bequeathed to our Gods?
Ilromie believes she holds no blame with Gwevym's death. Yet without her
finger-pointing and critique, he would not have taken his life. Kali
unquestioningly follows every word she says as if it was written in stone.
As I told him, later, as I tried to explain why I was upset... He said she
was wise, and that was why he followed her lead.
In this, I do not believe Ilromie was wise. As I said to him, wisdom is to
guide those who have made error, that they may correct their ways. Not
drive them to despair. But she was not there to hear it, having taken her
leave without farewell. And it was too late, anyway.
We spoke also of prejudice and the overt disdain she has for our members.
He said her past, being slain many times, led her to this state of belief.
I mentioned that I, too, have fallen to enemies but did not respond to
violence with violence. It is very evident, looking at our two lives, what
responding with violence does. Naught but an endless cycle of hurt and
destruction. I cannot support such a path, not after seeing what happened
to Acadia. I will not see Serin crumble.
A tree falls in the forest. Perhaps, to an outside eye, simply one among a
thousand trees. But to those connected to it - those who knew it, for which
it represented home, sanctuary, or familiarity, the loss is monumental.
Coming Home
It was a very strange sensation to have a home, Serra thought. Not just
a place to hang a hat, but one with meaning, and a sense of belonging.
Serra had never had one before in her life. For all her long years of
travel, she had ever only slept in her tent along the roadside, in caves,
forests, beaches, and even at the gates of Hell. The house she sat in now
had been simply another abode with a bed in it - more an exploration of
curiosity than a need. That was why the first room in the house she built
was simply full of clutter. And her only companion up till now had been an
owl who, despite its disapproving gaze, had no difficulty living in a house
full of unmatching scavenged furniture and various odds and ends.
She had chosen to build it at the outskirts of Valour - close enough to her
friend, Ilromie, to invite her over for tea, yet far enough that she did not
have to pay the exorbitant city taxes or listen to the bustle of urban
living. It was quiet there, the spot she'd picked - an expansive meadow to
the back of the house, and a wonderful view of Storm Hill. She remembered
one of the earliest conversations she had had with an adventurer in Serin,
who had first taught her she was in fact a storm giant. Through her
studies, she had come to learn that Storm Hill was where most of them
resided. This meant, perhaps, that some of them might be relations. The
idea brought her a slight bit of comfort, although in none of her travels
had she ever met anyone who showed her the slightest bit of recognition.
As she went, she had added a kitchen (for many failed attempts at baking
flans and lumpy breadcakes) and a small bedroom from which she could clear
her mind when she needed. And then she had gone away to Acadia and
forgotten all about the house for some time, until she returned. Then, a
goblin witch foretold a torrent of events which indeed came to pass.
The Eight of Wands, the witch had said. Events unfolding rapidly, the
arrows of love, travel... And conversely, dispute, conscience, and
quarrels... Serra had never had her fortune told by anyone other than the
Ask an Orb sold at Ming's shop which was, more often than not, vague or
incorrect. The comparative accuracy of the goblin's magic was undeniable
and it fascinated her scholar's mind immensely.
Serra wondered, sometimes, if the tarot had led her to actions she might
never have dared to take. For now, she was not on her own any longer.
--
Love was a strange thing. For a long time, it had been but a spark, a faint
hope, or perhaps simply a glimmer of imagination. The first time she had
met Lumubella was in their guildhall. The young Knight aspirant had
captivated Serra with her story. A home, family, lands, title, all lost -
rebuilding from ashes in the Dwarven Encampment. Finding hope, and her own
definition of miracles under the guidance of the Goddess Vanisse. Her
purpose was both simple and pure: defending those in need. But she bore a
fierceness to her, in her eyes, her voice, and courageous stance, which
radiated from her like a molten fire. She was unlike any Serra had ever
met.
They came to travel together, in time, after Lumubella had gained entrance
to the Castle. It was the first time Serra had ever truly traveled with
another full-fledged, openly practicing healer. (After all this time,
Markus still hid his true profession when he walked in Serin, for some
reason unknown to Serra.) She was astonished at how effortlessly they
worked together, admired the efficiency of her movement and the seemingly
endless depths of wisdom of the younger priestess. Usually on long
expeditions Serra often felt weary by the end, for she bore on her shoulders
the worry of keeping her friends safe from harm. With Lumubella by her
side, however, she had the strange experience of being taken care of,
instead. Without discussion, they fell into an easy, familiar synchrony
when they traveled. Serra would adapt herself to enhance their combined
effectiveness and kept a careful, protective watch over her dwarven
companion as she slept.
Then, one day, Lumubella had brought her a small gift - a pink ribbon.
Serra had never been gifted something of that nature before - usually it was
armor of the utilitarian variety. She did not know what to say. She
prepared a gift of her own, a helm from the Elder Dragons, a blue that
matched Lumubella's eyes. When she received the gift, Lumubella hugged
Serra, and her heart leaped. But how to react? Serra had never been close
to another before. All of a sudden, all of the awkwardness of her childhood
seemed to loom within her and she shied away, patting Lumubella's back
awkwardly and hiding her feelings.
A few more instances stood out in Serra's memories. One, several days
tucked away by the Fireforge, alternately learning the secrets of augmenting
and training spells. Usually, such actions were mundane and tiresome to
Serra, for whom learning came reluctantly. Yet if it would help her friend,
she felt she would do anything. The second, a trip they took to Tyr Unguld.
Passing through the dungeons, Lumubella said, "Yer can be havin' my love,"
as she handed Serra one of the keys. Serra took it in jest as she accepted
it, but then blurted out, "As you have mine," before diving into her tent to
sleep. Embarrassed, she said nothing more of it and pretended nothing had
happened.
Time passed. As Serra's journeys took her between worlds, Lumubella
developed a reputation for being a formidable shieldmaiden. She gained the
rank of Archon, and even was chosen to be the hand of her Goddess. Serra
watched her seemingly exponential rise with wonder and felt rather foolish
for dreaming. Who was she, in comparison? Just a silly village girl, who
now spent far too much time with her nose in books, poking into things
almost no one else cared about save other eccentric scholars. She felt so
stupid for feeling as she did that she tried her best not to show anything.
And then that fateful day came, when the curse of the stone of wrath fell
upon them, and Serra had to deal with its aftermath. Serra confronted
Ilromie in her house, but it seemed they could only shout at each other in
circles. At a loss, she asked Lumubella to come - at least, perhaps she
might feel comforted having her there. But Serra wasn't comforted at all.
Apparently many things had happened in her absence that threw a completely
different light on the events Serra had experienced. Ilromie and Lumubella
took turns berating Serra about being easily manipulated while she sat at
her desk, feeling wretched and yet obstinate. She was near to giving up on
the both of them when suddenly Lumubella pulled her aside into the garden
and hugged her.
Serra was stupefied. Lumubella asked what she felt about Gwevym, her lost
friend. Asked, if she felt more for him than friendship. At this Serra
slightly lost her composure and couldn't help herself. "It has been *you* I
have loved all these years!" Now she'd done it. She'd said it aloud.
Lumubella had just been calling her a bit of an idiot and here she was,
being even more of one. She felt the pit of her stomach sink and sat down
on a bench, staring at her hands furiously. But to her amazement, the dwarf
maid took Serra's hands in hers. And Serra found she was alone no longer.
Journal #11: Three Threads
Day of the Dark Ages, 6th Renewal of the Celestial of Life
Too many things have happened since I last wrote. Just this Renewal alone
has been replete with strange events. I feel as though my mind is swimming
with too many threads... And so, as I do in these scenarios, I seek you,
dear journal.
I. I found Markus! Since my last fruitless search before my journey to
Acadia, I had lost hope in ever seeing him again. It was because of my love
that I pursued a line of inquiry - one I had imagined entirely unrelated -
to its end. We had imagined new pages to turn in the story of the cursed
lovers, Nara and Equient. But it seems they are eternally damned, and my
own teacher... We traced his journal from behind Nara's painting in her
crypt to the Tainted Valley, then to Valour and finally to Tyr Unguld.
Hiding in an empty cell there, he was fully unrecognizable as a poor
slavering creature, covered in hideous necrotic lesions.
By the grace of Lord Kedaleam and the power of his Esuna I was able to heal
Markus of his afflictions, albeit temporarily. He did not seem to recognize
me and only shrank away as I approached. Perhaps the curse had taken too
much toll upon him. Or perhaps the pain of my healing removing the demon's
curse from his flesh broke his mind... I shudder to think on the sounds
that poured from his lips. Yet Wylsin and Ilromie promised I had done the
right thing. When he was cured, he gave us a parchment with his story. It
said there was no way to undo the curse. But my colleagues are certain
there is a way. Perhaps... I might dare to hope.
II. I spoke with the Sinister Minister, Dogran. He agreed to set aside
threats of violence and share his story with me as long as I would pen it
for him. While some of his origin story is not terribly surprising, one
part drew my attention in detail. He has been receiving dreams since a
young boy from an unknown dark entity. He says it is a greater power than
even his own God, Lord Thorgoth - a larger, faceless force filling him with
purpose. He has not said the purpose aloud, but said that Legion is but a
means to an end... And not one he needs to accomplish it. He also
described one of his recurring dreams. In it he was engulfed in pure
darkness, and then burned by a dark flame. It made me think immediately of
the destructive particles in Acadia and their consumption of light, magic
and life. When I mentioned it, his eyes sparkled with interest, although
the Acadian force was used to regenerate life, and his... Merely to take.
III. A discussion of the nature of Good and Evil with Kali. It seems the
man I have considered a friend, and who is the love of my own oldest friend,
has quite some extreme and prejudiced beliefs. This perhaps should not
surprise me, if Elves are trained to think this way, for Ilromie has
expressed similar things. Only I remember when she was young that she was
not quite so extreme, and her distaste grew over time and many mishaps.
Kali I did not know as a youth. Perhaps he grew bitter in the same way.
There were three things he wrote that I found contained flawed logic. The
first: "Evil acts are carried out with the intention to strengthen oneself
at the detriment of another." He listed only the actions of drows in his
entry, but in this definition the removal of items from an enemy upon death
- which my own love has done before me - would be an act of evil. When I
pressed him on it, he admitted it was subjective to context, and did not
answer whether such an act was evil or not.
The second thing he wrote: he decried a drow as evil for taking pleasure in
watching torture. When I compared this to the large party Ocelia described
that hounded Chul until he died, and of the glee of the friends who partook
in it, again - he said, context was important. I asked him then: Can evil
acts be explained away and made good? For he had written that certain acts
are always despicable, but not others. Evidently he believes murder can be
explained away, and possibly torture as well... He has written an essay
that holds Elves up as the exemplar of piety when such disturbing things
come from his mind. He expressed that as long as he does not
*indiscriminately* murder (and here he cited an example of not murdering a
shaman on sight as if it was a great and brave act), the act of killing is
not evil...
As far as the third thing, he claimed that certain races in Serin are doomed
to a life of corruption by birth. To this, I refuted with the examples from
Serin's own history, of the fall of Gaelyn and Vella, and of the salvation
of Morgolta, which Ocelia told to me. In my eyes, these cases provide
irrefutable proof of the fluidity of the nature of Good and Evil and the
absence of predetermination. Predisposition, perhaps - but one is not
forever condemned simply by the accident of nature! When I described this
tale to him, he indeed relented and accepted this as a possibility. Perhaps
his views may be moderated, with time.
Discovery I: A Departure
Dearest,
I am called away on yet another journey. This time I am investigating
something I have found here in Serin. But I must venture it alone. There
are too many distractions - lovable, wonderful though they may be - for me
to pursue them in company, and so I will craft a disguise for myself for the
duration of my study and travel the world as Markus once did. If it reveals
what I hope it will...! I have not told anyone else where I am going, just
in case they worry. But I must tell you, so that you will not worry that I
am missing.
Ah, worries. I worried for you so much during your last battle, even though
in the end you had the fight well in hand. It seems we are always worrying
for each other even though we turn out unscathed. Such white hairs we two
shall develop in short time! I should have more faith in you. I will
contemplate this while I am gone. I have only grown more fond of you, yet
fear it may result in a weakness for us both. I will not allow myself to
become a weakness. On my journey I must try to face my fears and many
others. I shall pray to both our Gods to keep you safe.
I send all of my warmth and love, my dear, and a kiss when you awake.
Serra
--
Serra sighed and laid the quill upon her beloved's desk, tracing a heart
amid the swirling patterns in the blue marble surface. It seemed she was
ever leaving those she loved behind, yet this thread of inquiry she had
found was impossible to ignore.
Throughout her travels, she had researched many curses. Despite her best
efforts, and the efforts of her friends, no matter how often the curses were
purged they always returned. Sometimes she wondered if it was all an
endless cycle of futility that they were all trapped within, like flies in a
web. The curse plaguing her teacher, Markus, was no different from the
others in that sense. While the powerful curative of Esuna could
temporarily alleviate his suffering, it did nothing to restore his memories
and could not stop the demon's taint from returning within a few days.
Moreover, something seemed to have drained the very soul from him. Serra
wasn't sure if it was the curse itself, the long period of suffering he had
endured as a pitiful half-demonic chimera, or (worst of all) the pain she
had inflicted on him with Esuna when she had first attempted to cure him.
For the curing process had torn a horrible scream from his throat,
reminiscent of the same scream she had heard from others during their
initial turning, and also reminiscent of the same involuntary scream she had
released when the demon had attempted to turn her, at the end of the battle
in Acadia...
Since she had found him, Serra had spent many days changing Markus's
bandages, soothing his weeping wounds and telling him stories about her many
adventures. Lumubella had once taught her that in every darkness was the
light of hope. And so, every day, she sat with him in the dark dungeon cell
lit only by the encrypted power rune etched into the wall and the light of
her own lantern, hoping that with enough time, a word or a phrase or a touch
might rekindle some dormant recognition. But no matter how long she spent
with him, he never spoke her name or showed any sign of familiarity. It
shook her to her core.
She did not speak much of her troubles to her friends. They were all busy
with their own affairs. Whenever she had mentioned Markus they simply
humored her without showing any particular interest. She couldn't blame
them, really. Lumubella and Rhoa were constantly fighting Legionnaires and
other evils and dealing with more pressing matters; Ilromie and Valindra
were busy writing their own books; and Ocelia was entangled in her own quest
to find her family home in Acadia. The one person she might have consulted
was Alkas, who had always taken the time to guide her despite the many
duties he had to the Castle. However, he seemed to have gone on a long
meditation retreat in his monastery when Serra thought to speak with him.
Serra had always been mindful and appreciative of her friends' travails but
the dissonance between them and her private worries over the demon's curse
was too great. When she traveled with them, more and more she felt as if
she had to pretend to be working on something more benign. Being a scholar
of the physical realm gave her many excuses; she could claim to be writing
lores or updating the Codex in the farthest reaches of Serin. With such
guise, she revisited the curses of Sheundan, Vlad, Schwartzer, Xanthak, the
four Plagues of Braem Wood, Mashaldun, and even took Lumubella and Ocelia on
a hare-brained trip into the tunnels beneath Mudfall to see if the artifices
there could be at all connected - all without mentioning a thing to her
comrades.
While researching Braem Wood, Serra discovered that there had been an event
known as the Great Purge which occurred in a past age, which paralleled the
controlled destruction she had observed in Acadia. Had such a curse visited
Serin in the distant past? Had Serin also decided it needed to be cleansed?
If such a thing was to happen again, there would be nothing anyone in Serin
could do, save the Gods. And she might have brought that very curse back to
Serin by sending Markus home...
Serra quickly banished this horrifying thought before it gave her
nightmares.
Lumubella was the other worry that weighed heavily on her mind. Since she
had come to know the dwarven priestess, Serra had always admired how
fearless her beloved was, but had never seen the toll of it up close.
Recently, Serra had witnessed the heavy impact that the Castle's work had on
her love. Inevitably, when they were together, the Knight would be drawn
into battle against one or more formidable foes. The combatants would fight
for days or weeks endlessly, until one or the other exhausted themselves.
Every battle Serra had watched was a hard-fought stalemate, the only victor
the last to set down their weapons to rest. It seemed endlessly exhausting,
and while watching, Serra's thoughts continued to circle darkly back to the
futility of everything. Still, she was hopelessly drawn to watch over the
fights. She couldn't help herself; it was not as if she could focus on
writing or other business while she knew her love was in danger. So she
would sit curled up in a corner, heart pounding furiously, praying to her
Lord Kedaleam (as much good as it might do) and once or twice to the
perpetually invisible Lady Vanisse to keep her beloved from mortal danger.
So far it had seemed to be working. Yet her love always seemed so tired at
the end of the battles, and sometimes even in the middle of them.
Serra was not a fighter, and anyhow, she could sense that Lumubella was
proud of her self-sufficiency - and rightly so! - so she would not dream of
offering aid in the absence of overwhelming odds. The only thing Serra
could think of to do was try to be there for her afterwards, and attempt to
help Lumubella to relax by emulating the masseuses she had met in Grand
Thalos while secret- hunting. But Serra was a clumsy giant, not used to
fine motor movements. She was afraid someday she would press the wrong
pressure points and cause damage instead. She felt, all in all, rather
useless.
Discovery II: The First Clue
There came a day when she was finally distracted from her increasingly
morose thoughts by a message from Dogran. He wished a friendly duel, or so
he claimed. Serra thought this was highly unlikely (after all, he was a
Sinister Minister) and countered with an offer of her own, to listen to and
scribe his history. What she heard then was both enlightening and
disturbing. Serra had never known a great deal about duergars. From
Dogran, she learned that they lived in clans underground not too different
from any aboveground villages. He had also grown up in a small and mundane
village, and suffered abuse from other children. But unlike Serra, who had
simply put up with the suffering until she left her village, he had learned
from his abusers and retaliated to forcibly gain their respect. While she
did not agree with his methods, a small part of Serra admired the strength
and resilience of young Dogran.
He also told her of strange dreams he had had since leaving his village. He
said they were instilled by a dark force and imbued him with the power and
desire to conquer. Most intriguingly was his description of the dreams
themselves. In it, he was consumed by a dark flame, unable to make use of
any of his senses. It sounded hauntingly like what Serra had experienced in
her last trip to Acadia. The pinpricks of particles eating at her flesh
might well be mistaken for the licking of an invisible flame. When she
briefly mentioned the similarity, Dogran's eyes seemed to light up, although
he quickly said it must have been different when she mentioned Acadia used
it for regenerative purposes.
Serra narrowed her eyes as she contemplated this idea. The Overlord of
Acadia had not shown her how exactly the flesh and energies digested by the
particles were reformed into new Acadian life forms. In fact, she did not
truly know if those particles were intentionally produced by the Overlord or
if it had somehow learned to corral their destructive powers for good. Was
it possible that the two sources were one and the same? And if so, what did
it mean?
Serra gazed out the window at the windswept meadow from her writing-desk,
thinking. The grasses there swirled with mysterious invisible eddies, as if
a giant invisible finger was twirling them about. Their movement was
mesmerizing and curiously regular. She peered a little closer. Something
was flying about there, stirring the grasses in circles. A fuzzar? It
didn't seem quite the same shape as the fuzzars she had in her backyard. It
was certainly not a bird or a wisp or any known Serin creature. There
seemed to be some black smoke trailing behind it as it flew.
She stood up and made her way out to the garden. The sentient hedges she
had brought back from Acadia were trembling as if in fear. She ran her
hands over their leaves comfortingly, hearing them hum and rustle against
her touch as she peered out again at the fields behind her house. Some
strange being was certainly there.
She called out across the meadow, "Greetings?"
The wind suddenly swirled toward her. The creature - whatever it was -
seemed to blink in and out of the ethereal plane, but not completely; the
edges of its form were always hazy and blurry. It was impossible to truly
tell what it was as it refused to fully reveal itself. She heard an odd,
hiccuping laugh as she squinted, trying to focus it in view. The heavy,
acrid scent of sulfur and brimstone suddenly filled the air.
"This is just a test, dearie," she heard. The creature's voice was low,
rough and raspy.
Strange. She could have sworn something about the voice sounded familiar.
But the memory eluded her. The figure was certainly like nothing she had
ever seen.
"Anything I should be concerned about? After all, it is quite close to my
home!" Serra called back.
"Nothing you need to fret your head over. It will all be over soon..."
With that, the creature disappeared into the Ether.
Serra frowned and bid the hedges to part to allow her to pass, then walked
out into the meadow. The creature had not left anything behind except a mat
of flattened, smoldering wildgrasses, shaped into a perfect circle.
Fire... Brimstone... And a being who crossed planes? This was a lead she
could not ignore.
She headed up to Lumubella's room to leave her beloved a note.
Discovery III: The Reveal?
The next day, when Serra made her daily pilgrimage to Tyr Unguld, she
noticed another strange burnt marking in the Murmuring Mists. It was as if
something had been practicing. This one was not a simple circle, but a
wheel with curling spokes. Almost like a rune, she thought. After her
session with Markus, she decided to head north out of the keep instead of
back home, to see if she could find more clues.
Eventually, Serra did find more clues. The first she found just outside of
Tyr Unguld, in the swamp: a green troll's corpse, with an even more
elaborate circular brand charred into its belly along with an incredulous,
stupid look on its dead face. A week later, on the twisting path circling
Seringale's western walls, she stumbled upon an elven warrior face down, his
thin back burnt with yet another circle. Several days after that, on the
Plains of the North, she discovered a circle of wildflowers blasted into
ash. And again, almost a fortnight later in the forest of Unsiliel, she
discovered a tree whose leaves had been completely blown off. Its exposed
branches were woven into yet another curious, convoluted circle.
Whoever it was, whatever it was, seemed to avoid the cities and keep to the
wilderness. Serra noted this quietly. An aversion to law, perhaps? Or
simply a penchant for isolated places where it could carry out its
experiments?
She could only guess. Onward she traveled, sketching the various evolutions
of the runic circle in her journal. They were growing increasingly complex,
with lines running from their borders now like spikes or rays of the sun.
And then - the trail of charred runes abruptly ended at the gates of
Timaran. Serra could find no more of them. She retraced her route, first
searching the areas immediately surrounding Timaran and Valour and then
every area of Serin that she knew, in case she had been following the clues
in the wrong direction or somehow become confused. But no more circles
appeared; some of the ones that had been present even vanished as she went.
She was almost certain the path led toward Timaran rather than away from it
due to the development of the runic markings. So she returned to the
central city, frowning, pacing the cobblestones and idly ducking into the
various shops in case she had missed something.
The bell of the muffin shop jingled as Serra entered and Rildan looked up
from his counter.
"Hello Serra, you're just in time! I have a batch fresh out of the oven."
He gestured to the array of tantalizing baked goods he was just beginning to
set out for display.
"Greetings, sir. Have you any daily specials?"
Rildan gave her a curious look. "Indeed... I have one." He rummaged below
the counter and pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown paper. "This was left
for you by the Lady Vevier herself."
"For me?" Serra blinked, stunned.
"Well, she said for the one who asked for the daily special." The half-elf
baker shrugged his narrow shoulders and pushed it over the counter towards
her. Serra picked up the parcel and unwrapped it. Inside was a single
muffin speckled with mysterious bits. It was also extremely scorched.
"It's burnt, Rildan."
"It's what she gave me!"
Serra sighed. "How much do I owe you?"
"One thousand gold."
"For a burnt muffin?!"
"It's what she ordered!"
"Very well, sir..."
At least it wasn't completely burnt, only half, Serra mused. She left the
shop and sat on a bench by the town square, watching the passersby and
feeling rather cheated. Finally her stomach grumbled a bit, so she
carefully broke it in half, thinking to eat the unburnt interior. But...
What... Was this?
A limp, shrivelled, wrinkly piece of flesh and cartilage dropped out of the
muffin into her lap, along with a piece of paper. Serra bit back a shriek.
Was that... An ear? She grimaced and gingerly picked up the paper between
thumb and forefinger, holding it out like a dead rat. There was something
written upon the note in red. She turned it so she could read it.
"It would be dreadful to hear too much, dearie..."
Serra blanched, shoved the broken muffin, ear and note into her sack, and
jumped to her feet. This would have to be something she brought to Ilromie.
She could investigate no further alone.
Journal #12: A momentous day
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 19th Renewal of the Celestial of Life
I have returned and almost immediately been caught up in a whirlwind of
momentous events.
First, I met my love, who informed me of several who had fallen while I was
away. The most grievous loss is Sir Alkas, who shook her deeply. I do
believe that he was as much or even more of a mentor to my beloved than he
was to me, and I esteemed him very highly. We had not long to spend
refamiliarizing ourselves with each other's company, however, when the young
Warlord Josymba asked for assistance to reach her pinnacle. Of course,
thinking fondly of our old joint exercises in Shadun Dalghul, we agreed and
off we set.
The hunt itself was rather uneventful, and Josymba learned swiftly from the
cursed Captains, Knights and Archers beneath the city. Once the Warlord had
excitedly reached her pinnacle, we decided it was time to celebrate with a
grand adventure! And so, we began with slaying Mashaldun. I wish I could
say that the battle was swift and courageous, but I spent most of it in a
haze, for my mind slipped its moorings. Alas, on my return it was only a
few blows from death, and I came to find that dear Lumubella had fought the
terror all on her own!
From here, we continued on to Vlad, where shortly after his demise Ocelia
joined us. We continued onto Sheundan, where Chayvudd joined us, sadly
losing his life to a ferocious blast of frost in the process. It was just
after we had freed Sevokan, and my love was retrieving the brooch of truth,
that the Sinister Minister awakened and sent chills through all of us. Once
she had roused herself from her meditative state, my love set forth
valiantly to defend us from his ill intentions. Meanwhile, Veara awoke and
informed me of several souls she had found and wished to entrust to me. As
she handed them to me, I marveled in awe at the age of some of them - souls
of those who were even before my time. Moreover, three from my poor friend,
Llloyied, one of Dogran himself, and ancient names I had near forgotten...
I received the souls and committed them immediately to my Lord Kedaleam's
care. Then, having performed this most holy work, Ocelia began to tell me
tales of strange observations she had recorded in Acadia.
It seems that after I left, the forests of Acadia have grown more quiet than
usual. I am uncertain whether it is because the population was greatly
reduced after their "purge," or if there is some other force at work, or
simply that neither Ocelia nor I are familiar with the area in which she
recently stayed. Despite this, Ocelia mentioned a curious sighting of a
bird of prey lofting a dead snake into the air. Whether this is an omen, or
simply a hungry falcon, is hard to know.
While Ocelia disclosed these sightings to me, my love took her leave and
Veara sallied forth to battle against the Minister. While his attention was
otherwise occupied, Ocelia and I ventured to the Battlezone where we
discovered, as Wylsin and Ilromie had suggested, a quest spearheaded by none
other than Selendriel, the Arch-Wizard of the Enclave of High Moons. We
uncovered what seemed to be several clues and directions to take. The most
curious of these was pursuing acts of charity to gain favor from someone
known as the Desert Fox, a name even Ocelia was unfamiliar with. One such
act, we have discovered is that of aiding the critically wounded elves in
the ruins of Lenrathil. As we were travelling there, aiding the fallen
warriors, Dogran suddenly appeared and summoned Ocelia away. Chayvudd and I
returned to town to seek shelter while Ocelia used her guild's tricks to
hide herself from view.
Dogran informed me that he did not wish violence upon anyone else, and as I
am a firm believer of Ocelia's ability to evade Dogran if she wishes not to
be found, I accompanied Chayvudd instead. However, it was not long before
he also took his leave, perhaps due to uneasiness from being close to the
Sinister Minister. Ocelia also took hers, citing no fear and yet no need to
be sitting there to be tortured. This left me alone in the realms with
Dogran, briefly.
Just then, Lord Varliv awoke and came to speak with me. I have had a
fondness for him since he entertained my attempt to imbue a cheese (and the
dreadful aftermath that followed). We exchanged some pleasantries and I
offered him copies of my works on Acadia. Then, Dogran requested to speak
with me again. It was a curious request. He awaited me in the Rest,
treating me quite civilly. He mentioned that his dreams had been changing
of late... Becoming stronger. And that...
[There is something written here, but it is heavily crossed out. ]
What does it all mean?
When he, too, departed, I returned to my home to write. Here, both Lord
Varliv and Lady Vevier appeared to me. I began to reflect with Lady Vevier
regarding the things I had discovered on my journey, but she claimed not to
know why the muffin Master Rildan sold to me was half-charred... Lord
Varliv expressed a great deal of favor with me, and even out competed my
Lord Kedaleam with his affections, although he seemed quite surprised when I
told him my heart belonged already to someone else.
Ah, such strange and colorful events I have partaken in this day!
Journal #13: Strife
Day of the Dragon Wars, 20th Renewal of the Celestial of Life
I told my love of the strange interaction I had with Dogran. I felt as
though I had to, even though - or perhaps expressly because - he had warned
me against speaking of it with anyone.
She had spoken just then of her anger overwhelming her due to her
frustrations in fighting him. I knew - I know - he is perhaps her greatest
nemesis. And I sense he wishes to become closer to me to hurt her. Yet
hiding it would have hurt us, for I would have been keeping secrets from
her. So I had to tell her.
It roused such anger in her, which she has rarely shown in my presence. I
saw her fighting it, the strain of it on her face. She has always been full
of fire, a fire that fueled her through the darkest days. But sometimes it
threatens to consume her. She is well aware of its dangers, for she is
wise, and she works to curb it. But I worry so much sometimes my heart
hurts. I wish that I could help her become calm. Sir Alkas would have been
able to guide her, but not I...
It is just as I feared, I am becoming her weakness...
I believe Dogran wishes to have me. Not because he has the capacity to care
for another living being, but because he wishes to possess me with whatever
dark force imbues him. Somehow he has sensed that there is a temptation
within me to understand what such power is, and how it feels; a temptation
smoldering dormant within me ever since I returned from the war in Acadia.
But I cannot - shall not! - sacrifice my love on his twisted altar! I must
stand strong, for the sake of my love, for the kindness of my Lord Kedaleam,
for the trust and care my friends have bestowed upon me. I must resist him.
My mentors have all fallen. Markus, Ethaac, Alkas, my Lord who has gone
silent... My love, enraged by my own words. I have no one to turn to now,
save myself. I must meditate upon their teachings and remember. May the
Gods have mercy upon us!
Journal #14: Tides
Day of the Dark Ages, 25th Renewal of the Celestial of Life
The counsel of my friends and mentors, and the return of my Lord Kedaleam
have bolstered my resolve against the temptations of the dark. As I told my
Lord, it is not the acts of evil that tempt me, but rather the desire to
understand their way of thinking in order to bridge our differences and
achieve peace. It seems even those who claim to seek balance do not seek
peace.
Indeed, very few live as I do. I have walked through Serin, offering my
support to those who only seek to continue the endless struggles and cycles
of violence. I believed it was a kindness to lift them from their early
toils and allow them to reach their full potential. But what if it is not a
kindness?
The Light stands firm, but many waves crash upon the Castle gates now.
While Legion lies dormant, evil rises through the ranks of Justice once
more, and the Keepers also battle them as the Minister hides. Their
youngest is hotheaded and impulsive, almost akin to Ilromie and Kali - I
wonder if such traits are inherent to Elves.
My Lord has honored me unexpectedly, anointing me as his Adept, even as I
feel the vigor in my body ebbing away. I cannot leave Serin without
performing a final task of gratitude. I have decided I will try to write a
thesis on the element of Water, if I can manage it before my strength is
gone. Perhaps, by instilling the wisdom I have accrued, it may lead a
future soul to enlightenment under his wing.
A blank page
[This journal page is blank. The paper is wrinkled and blotchy in
patches, as if it has gotten wet. Still, where it should be smooth, you see
marks where a quill has scratched hard upon the parchment. Rubbing a piece
of charcoal carefully over the surface, you make out the following letter.]
From: <SCHOLAR> Serra
To: Lumubella
Subject: The tide calls me home
Content:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
My love,
I have traveled these lands for so many years alone and never felt strangely
about it. But somehow, on this last trip, I feel unmoored. I cannot face
you to say farewell.
I have finished my offering to my Lord, made my peace with Ilromie. I have
told Wylsin of what afflicts me, that perhaps in the future it may inspire
him to aid another with my weakness. I have asked Ocelia to dream large and
spread her wings. But there are so many who have touched my heart that I
will never be able to say farewell to.
Have I found fulfillment, here, in Serin? I could not have asked for more.
From a desolate childhood I found a rich ecosystem of friends and colleagues
who have inspired me endlessly. I have filled my life with adventure. I
have met the most fearsome in the land, the cleverest, the wisest, the
kindest, the most courageous, and the most beautiful. I have learned oh so
many things across every pillar of knowledge.
You asked me if I leave Serin with any regrets. I have two regrets. One is
that I will never see it achieve true peace. The other is that I cannot
fully express how I feel, for I was never shown how to love. I can only
hope that you know how much you have meant to me.
My deepest desire is that I have left but a small imprint behind as I walk
into this Barren Wilderness. The snow already covers my tracks as I walk
here, and while the ice cracks beneath my feet these too will soon freeze
over once again. I do not wish to leave an everlasting trace, for I am
merely a mortal, a simple giant, a conduit for my Lord and for Serin. But I
hope that there will be young who follow me, and find themselves looking to
he waters for guidance, and feel the same joy and exhilaration at the
wonders of Serin as I did, once upon a time.
Yours,
Serra
A crumpled piece of parchment
[This sheet of paper is torn, crumpled and smudged with strangely spidery,
shaky text. Unlike the other pages, it is not bound into the journal but
merely stuffed between pages like an afterthought.]
this pen i hold feels familiar, and yet...
these letters, these words, the urge to let them flow comes to me, and yet...
who am i? who am i? i awoke in a frozen place, a corpse before me, a creature by my side.
it seemed to know me. perhaps the only one who could have told me who i am.
but hunger and thirst drove me forward into the arms of death.
now i have been transported someplace else, someplace familiar...
and the creature is gone.
--
that corpse carried a bag much like mine.
when i touched it, it hurt me.
--
i am lost. there is a man here. he says his name is niphos, and says my name is serra.
he says i am a healer, like him, a priest. a believer. a teacher.
how can this be true?
i know nothing!
--
there are some things i do reflexively, without thought. when i try to understand
how they happen i find only a blank.
sometimes i feel as though a voice is whispering to me, too quiet for me to hear.
even if i hold my breath i cannot hear it. i am living too loudly, my heart beating in my ears.
--
sometimes these reflexive things are strange. i walk to places without knowing why,
or hold a dying man's hand and he rises to his feet.
i met a man in the infirmary there, a priest. i did not remember his name but his face, his eyes, i knew.
i automatically called him teacher as soon as i saw him. he must have been mine.
for some reason i feel shame for this...interminable...forgetfulness.
for some reason i am afraid of letting him see i am lost.
--
as i wandered, a dusty sheaf of paper was sent to me by a messenger.
the story of a young man unfurled from within. a desperate young man, lost in a different way.
i read it and felt a pang of... jealousy? regret? something bittersweet.
yet hopeful for him to find his answers.
--
a being formed of shadows appeared before me as i lost my way upon a mountain.
it drank from a skull it said was mine.
as it stood, it was draped in black, yet its movement swathed its form in colors so bright they hurt my eyes.
this being said that it was a god... "the dastardly God of Death and Dismemberment."
it gave me food, and offered some form of direction. i meant (was meant?) to follow it, it said.
so follow i did. but before it could direct me anywhere, it vanished.
before departing, it said i was considering the path of Darkness.
is this true?
certainly when i awoke nothing but icy death was all around me.
perhaps i was seeking darkness there, in such eternal solitude.
--
i met a woman who told me that fire was the only reason to live.
having awoken in ice, it made me wonder whether i was meant to be here at all...
does one control one's fate or are we simply pawns of unseen hands?
passion, integrity, and purpose, she said; those were what made life worth living.
i do not think i know any of those things.
--
the fight with the woman reminded my body of some things. spells. i could move above the ground, and through solid objects.
floating so, ghostlike, my feet wandered of their own accord through lands now and then familiar: a forest, a stream, the worn cobblestones of a city.
and then, for some reason, i was drawn to a dungeon.
there is nothing inside save a rune. its humming i do not understand, but it drowns out the whispers i cannot make out. those maddening nearly-words, nearly-thoughts.
if silence i cannot have, at least this humming breathes with me.
--
there is one more thing the woman said.
the world is dangerous and one should not be quick to trust.
perhaps she is lying about the fire.
after all, ice is the source of my creation.
The back of the crumpled parchment
[On the other side of the crumpled parchment you notice the shaky text continue.
Dark crimson smears have been left upon the edges.]
the rune is in a dungeon. perhaps once i was a criminal. but what was my crime?
the others imprisoned are dangerous...and cruel.
--
my feet took me to another forested area with a clearing full of graves.
there was one that called to me. it says upon it "E___n".
someone had defiled it. bones gaped from its open mouth. and flower petals scented of blood trailed nearby.
i followed them beneath another tomb into the darkness.
to the altar of Death. i have been there before.
perhaps the god had not been lying to me.
is he the one who blesses me?
--
hidden nearby, i found some wretch's lair.
a journal lay within, unreadable save a few words... a demon's curse.
the mad will lash out seeking an excuse for their madness.
curse! pfah.
--
a stone giant whom i've never met called me serra.
this kinship, this familiarity, i do not understand.
he said i am a storm giant, without explanation: we are alike, but different.
he sought treasures locked in stone and saw no irony in it.
his longevity, he said, grants him the patience to find them.
perhaps with patience i will remember.
A fresh parchment
[Another looseleaf page has been slotted into the journal. The writing
on this one is a bit more firm, though still some of the strokes waver and
the thickness of lines fade in and out, as if the scribe was unsure whether
or not to press upon the parchment with their pen. This parchment is clean
and uncreased. ]
I feel a little stronger today. It has been a few weeks since I awakened at
the end of the icy river. Still, how I came to be there, and who I am, is
obscured by this incessant, infuriating fog. A sluggish lethargy fills my
body and my mind. Thus, I have spent most of these weeks sleeping. In the
sparse waking hours I seem to have collected some curious thoughts. Were
these memories I wrote, or dreams?
When I opened my eyes I found myself in a cramped little room. Filth,
torture devices and bloodied bandages are strewn about the floor. I do not
think they are mine, for no open wounds are upon me, though I see patterns
of bruises fading slowly from my skin. I must have been in a fight.
From these scrawled, delirious words I will distill the few things I seem to
have remembered.
Wait.
A woman's voice speaks to me from afar, claiming to know me.
--
I have seen this elven woman before. She came to me in my wretched state,
offered me a cup of tea. I remember finding a similar cup in my bag when I
was struck by thirst upon the icy river. She said I carried because it was
the first cup we had ever shared together.
Was I so sentimental?
She holds a book with the history of my life in it. The history and mystery
of it, in a glowing tome. She said it belonged to the Scholars, and I too
am a part of this organization, dedicated to research. She left me with
books to read. I saw my name in them, printed there upon the first page.
I suppose she is telling the truth.
--
I met another man. He introduced himself as Villidan, a student of
literature, tragedy and myth, and told me the elven woman's name is Ilromie.
He kindly answered my endless questions, to the best of his ability, though
he knew not all of what I sought. Together with Ilromie, he took me to the
altar of the Lord of Water. He said it was my Lord, and I am the chosen of
Water. Kedaleam is his name. When I hear this name, I taste sweetness upon
my tongue. But I cannot recall his face.
O Lord, which of us has forsaken the other?
Villidan also sings, with a voice so clear it parts clouds. Or so it seemed,
for the first song he sang for me was called Remembrance. The words that
surged forth from him silenced the whispers in my head. I heard nothing but
music... And then not only his melody, but other melodies that intertwined
with his and harmonized. And somehow, from that beautiful concord, I could
see... I could feel...
There, just out of reach, I can suddenly feel the truth, like a shipwreck
beneath the waves, glinting there, an anchor illuminated by a verse. A
name. A tiny, barely breathing ember.
What unfathomable magic is this?
But there was so much more of the ship submerged beneath the roiling waters.
--
I was mistaken, about the god of Death, and the path of Darkness. My newly
re-found friends have taught me this, using words written by the self I have
lost, and somehow transcribed into the glowing Tome that Ilromie has been
tasked to carry by the gods. It seems that my life, until now, has been
seeking truth. Truth in all things, including the mysterious Darkness. So
there was truth in what the dark God said, only it was not the whole truth.
What irony that I seek my own truth now, and find upon each new discovery an
endless sea of more knowledge still to re-discover.
--
The fighter I met did not lie, either. The battle she fought with me forced
me to recall some of my spells, but shed no light on memories. Yet when
Villidan and Ilromie brought me to battle the monstrous undead, I suddenly
remembered... Being there. With--
No! No... I cannot follow that memory. Something within me recoils...
//The light, the warmth, the laughter, the fierce yet gentle love, I see her
silhouette, a bright light burning back the darkness, her golden staff held
high like a beacon, her fiery tresses tossing like a horse's mane as she
flows effortlessly, parrying the undead creature's attacks with ease. I see
her there, clearer than any other memory I have now, the waves of my Lord's
blessings swirling around her body. She lifts our holy symbol to the sky
and holy fire strikes the foul creature into dust. She turns//
Wait!
Don't go...
Don't let me forget you again...
But suddenly I cannot remember her face.
Journal 2.1: Awareness
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 5th Renewal of the Celestial of Death
Here I begin anew. A fresh journal purchased from Rathin, for my old one
has been lost to me.
Slowly, slowly, I have been painstakingly working on the endless task of
recovering my memories. I have met several members of the Consortium -
Ilromie, Villidan, Valindra, Pauwyr. It is a testament to our friendship
that they still remembered me, not only as a name on a page, but who I was,
once upon a time. Steering me away from dangerous paths and sharp corners.
And as they might any elder with their clarity fading, slowly, kindly
reminding me in bite-sized pieces.
Poor Ilromie - my dear, devoted, oldest friend, who has been walking me
gingerly one step at a time back into myself. And to think I had nearly
lost her to this insufferable fog!
I have begun to remember more things. And, beyond things, emotions - the
exhilaration of discovering and solving new mysteries, and the irresistible
draw of knowledge and stories. In the first case, I discovered that the
Ancient Tome Ilromie carries seems to be shielded from the eyes of any who
do not carry the appointment of Polymath. In the second, I came to learn of
a new perspective of the Arcane, from the culture of the slith Warlord,
Szrevan. I have only begun to study the surface of it yet. I sense much
left to be discovered.
Journal 2.2: Horrors
Day of the Horizon, 9th Renewal of the Celestial of Death
I have met, horror of horrors, one of the demons who source the curse! It
claims to have escaped from Acadia in my wake as I traveled. If this is
true, I have committed a great evil unknowingly...
It assaulted me in Seringale after flinging some taunts in my direction.
The elf whose body it inhabits is not the strongest, which was perhaps my
only saving grace. I clung to Tir's watchful eye so that it would cease
casting fireballs upon us, although it was too late for my poor pet Wiggles.
Again and again it launched the elf's body at me. I saw in his eyes the
dull, terrified pain. Heard the sick sounds of my disciplining rod hitting
his exposed limbs with dull thuds. I defended myself and attempted to
exorcise the demon from his body, burning him with the fire of Lord
Kedaleam's divine retribution. But though his wounds were grievous he kept
galloping back in upon a nightmare... His mind seemed hopelessly lost...
Until, strangely, he stopped, and disappeared upon a river. Perhaps the
demon had had enough amusement for a time.
When I had asked it what it wished from us in Serin, it simply said, "Your
pain." I will need to consider and consult my colleagues to find the
correct counter against its powers of corruption.
My initial thoughts are:
- Acts of kindness
- Continued exorcism (this, on my first attempt, seemed to have little effect)
- Training ourselves not to feel pain
- Some way to immobilize it in order to safely remove the demon without hurting
Aelaldric
But these all seem, upon reflection, to be woefully inadequate.
Perhaps it is time to seek out my old mentor, Markus...
--
As I was writing this entry, the demon stole the pulsating heart from the
Warlords' Fortress and I sent them a swift message of warning. Shortly
thereafter, Standard Bearer Tearea awoke. I can only imagine that the
capture of their sacred item weakens them somehow, for she quickly fell to
the creature. I did not expect to see such happen, as she has been
fighting so victoriously in the arena. But perhaps it is insufficient
training for fighting demons who have no use for honor...
The sense of her falling filled me with more despair than the demon's own
presence. For if he spoke truth, it is my prior actions that are now leading
to deaths. I must find a way to stop it. I must!
Journal 2.3: Uncertainty
Day of the Great War, 14th Renewal of the Celestial of Death
Alas, the demon has begun taunting me.
Unable or unwilling to take my life, it is claiming the lives of more
innocents and laying them at my feet. Leitha, but a young Footwoman,
already filled with fear and uncertainty in herself with the absence of
comrades in arms to support her.
On this day I received first a message from the demon, gloating over the
life it had stolen from her, and then observed its impact on the Footwoman
herself. For I awoke first, finding the lands full of nothing but shadows.
Minor demons - quasits - and a necromancer. Even seeking the golden altar
of Aberdour I stumbled across a Vampire there. The night stalker and I
startled at the sight of each other and ran in opposite directions like
frantic deer. Only later did he venture to speak to me, making assurances
of peace between us.
Still, the sight of one such as he sleeping peacefully before Lord
Aberdour's altar signaled to me... Could it be? That the God of Storm
turns an eye to such a creature in his temple? Or has his acolyte's power
waned in his absence?
Shortly after our accidental path-crossing, Lady Leitha awoke. My spirits
briefly rose at her awakening, though I warned her of the potential dangers
around us. Instead of bravely standing her ground as my love might have
done, she quickly made her leave. It made me recall with a pang, first, the
courage Lady Rhoa had instilled in her generation of Knights. And then it
made me scold myself, for poor Leitha has not had an Executor's wise guiding
hand, not as Trovo had once had for Rhoa, or how Alkas and Lumubella had
their leader and each other to rely upon in their times of need. All she
has learned she has done by struggling through throngs of shadow-hearted
that surge to the surface. And then, pinnacled, to be taunted and slain by
a demon as an example to me... Is it a wonder that she flinched and fled at
the sight of overwhelming odds?
Truly, the older generation must look out for the younger. As Lord Ceridwel
has tasked me, I must endeavor to mentor the young that they do not give in
quickly to fear, and aid the other young Squire that neither need feel so
alone...
Not long after Leitha fled the realms, two more Paladins awoke, both bearing
the criminal flags of Justice. Do such displays distinguish the timid from
the determined? Should I teach Leitha to stand firm, knowing the Light's
return is as cyclical as the sun?
Yet, what right do I have to teach a Knight, a mere Scholar, who watches
from the far shores?
--
I sought my old mentor, Markus, to answer this question. By now he has
spent many years aiding elves tirelessly in the ruins of Lenrathil, watching
their bodies crumple and bleed beneath the relentless blows of the fell.
Yet some strength within them, and within him, keep them fighting onward
though it is clear the city has been lost.
Some might call it folly; others, hope.
//Even in the darkest hours... //
"Serra," he said to me, "Did I ever tell you how I came to be your teacher?"
In the shadow of Faedran's Column, I shook my head.
Markus handed the herbal brew he had been preparing to the wounded warrior
before him and patted the ground at his side. "Come, sit by me."
I carefully knelt beside him, as the warrior slowly drank the potion and
licked his chapped lips.
"I was of middling age, and only some experience, when I left the Order of
Light. I had met a woman - fallen in love with her - one who would never be
accepted by the Order. She was aware of it, but I could not believe so.
And it led me to parting with their company, while she never changed her
ways."
Markus coughed awkwardly. "There was much folly within my young self, then.
I lost faith in Soluminus, believed only in myself for a time... And lost
faith in myself, too, when she left me. I lost my way then. Became a
drunkard lolling on the streets of Timaran, sleeping in the empty jail cell
there."
"Good gracious, sir!"
Markus nodded. "Another few years of that and it would have been the end of
me, I am certain. But I was saved, one day... By none other than the
Collector of Secrets."
"Lady Vevier?"
"Indeed! Through her grace I was given a second chance. I worked in her
kitchen until I was sober and was pushed back onto the street, this time to
heal the homeless, who had been infected with a plague... But walking
around as a healer invites not only those who seek aid but those who seek
ill. I learned that it was best in certain places to disguise myself, and
hand out my services through potions instead. The Lady Vevier taught this
particular skill of disguise to me."
"And that was what you ended up selling with us in the circus."
"Indeed, Serra. When I took you under my wing I did not think I would
become a teacher. I knew very little of teaching, and was only learning to
regain my own faith. I only saw you seemed miserable and lost, in a way
much like myself."
"You were an excellent teacher, sir. Without you I would likely have spent
the rest of my life just lifting heavy things for money." I laughed,
rubbing the ancient scars on my palms ruefully.
"But that is what I wish to teach you now. The best wisdom we can pass on
is that which we have discovered through our own experience. I taught you
only what I learned and knew to be truth. You, too, have gathered wisdom
through your travels. Be sure in yourself and what you have learned. Pay
your respects to those who have taught you on your long journey by passing
their wisdom forth to the next generation."
I pressed my palms together and bowed before him, feeling humble and small,
as if I was that little lost girl I once was, and yet my mind suddenly
filled with the words and senses and visions of the rich life I had led.
And suddenly, I no longer felt so uncertain.
//My ears fill with the sound of muted waves rushing upon the shore. She is
a glowing warmth at my side, her fiery locks cast crimson in the light of
the setting sun, resting with her arms wrapped around her knees.
"Perhaps this is my purpose," I tell her. "To draw out the stories hidden
all over Serin so they are not forgotten."
"Would such a thing make you happy?" She asks.
"It has always done so," I reply.
"Then you are ne'er truly lost, aye?"
The memory of her fades again, with the last words lingering: "As we grow
older and wiser, our wisdom crystallizes and opens up the infinite
possibilities for our lives..." //
When I raised my head again, Markus had returned to aiding his wounded
warriors, only now, upon his tired features, there was a small smile gracing
his lips.
Journal 2.4: Efforts
Day of the Dark Ages, 21st Renewal of the Celestial of Death
This day I awoke to sense a full fledged Demon - not a demon-elf - walking
the lands. It did not show its face long, but its mere presence indicates
that we must close the portals.
Is it too late for Serin?
... No!
For several Renewals now I have been researching Demonkind with the aid of
my colleagues in the Consortium. Ilromie, Wylsin, and Valindra have all
been a great help in these efforts. The little Fortune-Teller has proved a
particular comfort, for she too has been to Acadia and can sense a greater
extent of the dangers that lie before us. Together we have begun to work on
amassing our knowledge of these invaders, in hopes of developing a means of
defense.
I was further blessed by the presence of my Lord Kedaleam last Renewal. He
was at first suspicious of Kali's intents, I think, for he has ever been at
odds with those who failed to follow the Law. Yet my Lord was also
sympathetic to his plight, and moreso due to Solmundi's betrayal. He agreed
to observe the trial proceedings if he is available. I spoke to him then of
the demon threat, which he found just as troubling as we. My Lord suggested
that I study the existing portals to determine which, or indeed if all, of
them might be a weak point between Serin and Acadia. An excellent
suggestion indeed.
I also beseeched him to help me unite the gods of Light against the threat.
For it will clearly not be enough for us mortals to stand alone. The
Knights of Serin are yet learning still, and already besieged by the native
evils, never mind invaders from another realm; and most others are still
unaware of the threat. Perhaps we must begin to sound the alert. With the
Gods banding their strength and their followers' together, more and more of
us will feel pulled to the common cause. In this way, I think, we may erect
Serin's defenses without setting off waves of terror and despair.
At least, this is what I hope.
Lastly, my Lord appointed me to advise the new generation of Justices. I am
tasked to ensure they remain true to their paths. I felt my own shock and
pain at Solmundi's betrayal, but until we spoke I did not truly understand
how deeply my Lord had been hurt by it, for he puts forth a brave face. I
must do my best to protect those he guides from wayward temptations. And
perhaps, I should find myself more students.
Journal 2.5: Truths
Day of the Taekir War, 3rd Renewal of the Celestial of Retribution
What is the meaning of water? What is a healer's true power?
These questions keep swirling about in my mind. For decades I have believed
staunchly that a healer's power, and the meaning of water, lie in
rejuvenation and restoration. To rejuvenate - to bring life back into a
flagging body. To restore - to bolster what life already exists to its
natural state. And thus, all my life, my role has been inexorably passive
through the combined objectivity of a researching Scholar and the restoring
efforts of a practicing Healer.
Yet some would tempt me to believe that Healers are not meant to be meek.
Ancestors of no longer traceable lineage once stood as warrior-priests. One
can easily imagine a Healer with the natural strengths of my kin, standing
at the front lines, side by side with Paladins, taking the brunt of force
upon his or her own resolute shoulders. Indeed, my love once did just that,
though more often than not she stood alone against an army of darkness. And
Lord Phostan, our Headmaster, himself once stood as a beacon against waves
of the dark.
Indeed, during his time, our guild trained those who were brave fighters as
well as pacifists. The pacifists rallied around the priestess Myria, who at
the time had not yet ascended to the heavens, and strove to create a New
World Order. Yet, from his tales, this Order was not the tolerant pacifism
I have learned, but an oddly militant one whose modus operandi was
haranguing others into peace. Naturally, this approach did not result in
success. Over time, the New World Order fell apart and was ridiculed. Now
the most prominent member, Polik, wanders Seringale as lost as a beggar,
searching for Nara Serptius... The very same I scribed about, so very long
ago.
Lord Phostan told me something strange then. He said I must in one way or
another be related to this Nara, for it seems she, too, was a storm giant.
Nara, who turned her back on the Light. Nevahana, who was consumed by a
greater power and became undead. There is precedent for weakness in my kind
in our mental fortitude... And also our faith. Lumubella was right to
instruct me to be cautious.
In recent days I have been testing the limits of my own physical body and my
faith. In doing so I have managed to singlehandedly defeat six of the seven
deadly Sinners - Vlad, Mashaldun, Xymeria, Xanthak, Khyrsaenderon, and
Sheundan. The last, Shycerusk, I am certain is out of my grasp for the
simple difficulty of reaching him deep within the bowels of Redhorne - and
yet, perhaps in this journey I too underestimate my strength. I have
additionally fended off assaults from multiple necromancers as well as the
best efforts of a Warlord berserker. Thus, it seems clear that given
sufficient time and space, a Healer may truly overcome any obstacles placed
before them.
Yet, fighting is not all that matters. For years now I have been given
increasing responsibilities not only for the physical safekeeping of others,
but of moral guidance and transference of knowledge. This is not only a
benefit for those who hear my words, but for my old, solitary heart. I
cannot begin to describe the pure happiness of seeing the light of
understanding in the eyes of those I mentor. And indeed, to come one step
closer to having a true student guided in the way of Water may bring me the
closure I need. For I was awakened for a purpose - a purity of purpose -
which I shall strive to complete with passion and integrity.
Journal 2.6: A dream... A nightmare
Day of the Horizon, 16th Renewal of the Celestial of Retribution
It is not often that I remember a dream, despite Valindra's best attempts at
coaching me into focus. Yet this one I wish I could forget.
---
The land around me was strange. The sky met the earth in a wash of muddy
orange light, not a feature in the landscape to be seen for miles but sand.
I could sense that I was dreaming, for there was no scent to the air and I
felt no choking from the dust that billowed about. I could see clouds of it
swirling all around me, yet I felt nothing. The only sound was the howling
of the wind and the flapping of my robes before it.
I stood upon the crumbled ruin of a wall, the remnant of a civilization that
had fallen. Broken furniture and forgotten furnishings lay scattered and
torn within. A home had stood here, now abandoned on these plains of sand.
Of its owner, there was no trace.
Though it was deathly quiet, I felt a sense of urgency within me, that
something - or someone - yet could be saved. Was it a fruitless hope? My
own hopeless rote response from decades of training to save lives?
The wind breathed, and some of the sand shifted to reveal dried, dead grass.
I began to recognize the rivulets and dips in the sands - the now dry bed of
the winding stream. This endless expanse had once been the Ford... I
called to my Lord Kedaleam for a spring, but I could no longer feel him with
me...
A wild, wicked, triumphant laugh suddenly rent the air. I looked around and
saw nothing. And then I realized the laugh came from my own mouth. Such a
foreign sound.
"Soon this shall come to pass," I said. *It* said. My hands traveled
without guidance to my throat, where I felt the pulse, thin muscles and
cartilage beneath the thin skin there. "Soon, you shall be mine," I/it
said.
I/it squeezed then, and squeezed, and squeezed.
---
I awoke gasping in my tent, a cloak wrapped around my neck. Had I simply
twisted and turned myself into such a predicament? Was something there,
lurking behind - or within - me?
I conjured a spring and knelt before it, staring at the crimson specks in my
eyes. Were they larger? I could not remember, for years had passed since I
had last truly looked at my own reflection. And then my gaze had been
distracted by love, and I had not paid attention to the details of my face
but hers peering over my shoulder...
Could I have been carrying my own secret passenger, all this time? Could it
sense my every thought? Was it learning as I learned? Was I endangering
Serin?
Gods, no! I must be able to sense another being... Mustn't I?
Journal 2.7: Spirits
Day of the Dark Ages, 18th Renewal of the Celestial of Retribution
More and more I feel the connection pulsing between myself and the others in
Serin. Young adventurers, old friends, new acquaintances... Those who are
either or both loved and hated... I see them, all the lives in Serin,
bright lights of possibility in the landscape, and wish only well for each
of them. If only others could see as I do!
In my younger years I studied the physical world, which gave me knowledge of
things, creatures, and places that do not change and others that do. And
through it I see how we (whether consciously or not) move through the
physical realm, leaving our transient imprints upon it. Yet the realm would
be as meaningless as the trinkets on my desk without its people and their
bright, distinct spirits.
It is this that I fear for most. Not the physical destruction of lands, for
they can always be rebuilt. The rubble of a Castle or a even City can be
replaced with sufficient dedication and intent. But it is their inhabitants
that must provide the intent.
What might a demon possessor desire, I wonder...? When the land is leveled
and turned to sand, and all lives snuffed out, what is left for them?
Perhaps some of them thirst for our lives and our connections for they have
none of their own. Perhaps they could be satisfied with something else that
fulfills the hollows they seek to fill.
Journal 2.8: Becoming Water
Day of the Fall of Thalos, 30th Renewal of the Celestial of Retribution
It feels as though eons have passed since I last could truly clear my mind
and sit in contemplation.
I have begun working on my second volume of the Book of Water. The first
volume was a work of the Physical nature. I now turn my gaze to the
Spiritual. Though I sense all too clearly the frailty of age, I yet feel
almost a child in the ways of Spirit. I did not gain my first student until
I was over seventy years old. I have been remiss in his teaching, I think.
But all must come with time.
Have we the time? Have I the time? Again my mortality presents itself. By
fate or fortune I have found a set from the depths of history itself that
slows time's inexorable passage. Perhaps this is what shall save me until I
can complete my work.
Some Renewals hence I wrote to Warmistress Tearea, who engaged me in what
she considered a duel of the pen. Over and over she has reiterated that a
purposeful life is driven by passion. She is very focused on the self and
one's own consciousness. Life being what one creates of oneself, and others
to be judged using one's own values, which are elevated over others'. She
claims this is the way of Fire, and perhaps this is unsurprising as it
opposes Water in some respects.
But then she wrote this. "Perhaps it is that we cannot find the middle
ground necessary to become more than passing acquaintances. It is truly a
shame that differences that we both find incomprehensible seem to make it
so." One must consciously, wilfully seek understanding, and willingly share
it, not simply expect another to offer it. Thus, till our writing, we knew
nearly nothing about each other with an impenetrable wall of silence between
us. But perhaps I have been expecting, not seeking, myself, for too many
threads swirled around me...
I cannot blame the silence upon fear, or awkwardness, for I have overcome
the silence with far more terrifying foes. Of brutality the Warlords are
but a pale shadow of what I have witnessed in my long life. What drove me
to respond in such a defiant manner?
Seeking the stories of others has been perhaps the one true passion of my
life. Why can I not bring myself to seek hers? Is it truly the simple
first act of our meeting, however brutal it was?
I sit and I write of the path of Water, and how one should flow around
challenges and not push fruitlessly against them. To me, and what I have
been teaching Kaelric, is that an integral part of our path is forgiveness
and understanding. Have I not fully learned the path of Water that I hope
to teach? Does a remnant resisting Water still linger within me?
I must be calm, and empty myself of all things...
Description (commended):
An extremely tall, broad-shouldered woman stands before you. Her face is
rather plain and square, with a wide, crooked nose which has been previously
broken, and pale white scars from what appear to be claw slashes on her left
cheek. Her large, oddly colored eyes are framed with long black lashes.
The irises are dark blue with minuscule specks of glowing crimson which
appear and disappear with every blink. Her head is shaven clean. Across
the bared skin on her cranium swirl blue patterns in the style of ancient
runes, which glow softly with her every breath. Her skin is the color of
rainclouds, with a smattering of dark blue freckles across the bridge of her
nose, and darker purplish shadows beneath her sunken eyes. Worry lines are
deeply etched on her forehead and at the set corners of her mouth. She is
emaciated, almost skeletal in appearance, yet her enormous frame belies her
Giant heritage. Old stretch marks are visible on her bared upper arms
belying her former weight. When she is quiet, she has a pensive air about
her. You notice that her stride is somewhat pigeon-toed, though she moves
with a determination that belies the strength within her. Fading calluses
and scars on her gnarled hands show evidence of past hard labor.
Absolutely amazing character. You raised everyone's RP around you, even if you brought them up kicking and screaming. Some very big shoes to fill, giant notwithstanding.
In fact, I stand by the words of my last farewell poem to you: I know not who I would have been without you, nor what I shall do now that you are gone. Rest well, old friend. You've earned it.
You truly brought out the best in all of us. Thank you for putting your heart and soul into everything you did. We are all lucky to have interacted with you.
Serra, you were nothing less than amazing. I loved every moment I was with you and everything about you. You were/are the quintessence of Roleplaying. Your memory will live on for a very long time.
Agree. Grouping/talking with Serra immersed me into my own character more and created a more enjoyable experience in AR as a whole. Incredibly positive influence to this game and community. HoE all the way.
But who is going to write about how awesome and fabulous I am now that you're gone? Ilromie seemed mildly aggressive towards me the last few times, I only trusted you to speak the truth about my greatness! Because of this, everyone has been deprived of something special today.
Sad to see this gravestone.. Thanks for your time.. Thanks for the support, I wouldn't be who I am now without your presence... May your soul find solace..and may the winds guide your ashes across the lands once.. to renew the cycle of life.
Serra was born as an experiment and initially not a very serious one, but over time evolved into something completely different. She was the first mortal I have really played in maybe ten years (hence I created her with a <NEW> flag as I had practically forgotten everything), and probably the first that I was able to fully immerse myself into since I was immed what feels like eons ago. To be honest, I didn't expect her to go so far. The fact that she did, that I could get so drawn into her, this world we've created, and all of the story arcs that have since blossomed, is entirely because of YOU: our players and community, both past and present. So thank you to each and every one of you who engaged with and inspired her. I loved every minute.
My initial goal with her was just to test the feel of the Consortium - whether the pillar-dedications concept felt fun in practice, and whether Scholars as Herald-Mystic hybrids worked in practice. When she hit 20th rank and was forced to pick an element, I decided to test what it was like to follow a religion that was hugely underrepresented and underexplored. For most of Serra's life she was the only Water follower, and Kedaleam didn't provide me with guidance on this element, so I interpreted it as I went. Those were her two driving concepts. The rest of her wove around inspirations such as Cyprian (the O.G. for background writing), and reacting to people and events around her. After those basic traits were established, I just let her flow, like water.
There were certain points along the way where I left her evolution fully open to other players' influence. This was hinted in the "crimson specks" in her eyes after she came back from Acadia, which meant there was a potential seed of evil dormant there if anyone wanted to awaken it. Dogran came the closest to it; he could have easily turned Serra evil that day in the Tavern if he'd gone just a tiny bit further. Later on, when Serra lost her memory, Resatimm could have absolutely turned her as well if he had kept up the pretense. In the end, though, no one did. The coalition of light (i.e. the "Holy Trinity") and Serra's friends in the Consortium exerted an extremely powerful influence and kept pulling her back on track. It was very interesting and also quite heart-warming to see so many people care about her well-being, especially when she had forgotten everything. Huge props to Aelaldric for coming up with a spinoff, and to a bunch of people (especially Valindra, Wylsin, and Ilromie) for playing along with it. There are more things coming related to this arc, it didn't end with Serra's passing. Sit tight...
Serra started out as a simple experiment but ultimately became an homage to AR and our community. She and I truly enjoyed spending time with every person that she met, learning all kinds of things, exploring all the areas, meeting new people, passing on knowledge, creating new books and lair stuff and crazy story arcs, and trying to tease out everyone's stories and share them so everybody could enjoy them like we did. Some of these stories were truly great. I have posted a few of the earlier ones that stood out to me, but there were - and are - SO many more. I was blown away and so happy to see this and I am sorry that I could not post them all. There are some amazing ones in progress right now and there are some other amazing ones I don't have time to post. I am so excited to see more people posting RP logs because it lets us all re-live some wonderful memories. For people who aren't actively playing, it showcases a whole other beautiful aspect of this game and allows them to follow along with the game lore as it's evolving, which you can't see from duels. I know from experience that it takes so much more effort to make these logs, but it is so worth it in the end. Just like Mystiques, I guess. I am truly grateful to have been able to play a little part in this trend (because RP logs can only exist if there are RP sessions) and I hope it continues.
So why did she have to go? Serra was too much fun and started to take over my life! Though she was created 17 months ago, I spent those 1100 hours over about 11-12 months, in reality, since I took a bunch of breaks for sanity/life reasons (each explained away with a book). Probably 15-20% of her living hours were spent sitting somewhere writing backgrounds and books, because I'm a huge dork. I could also add about 1-3 hours of curation time per RP log posted. Every time I came back, she was even more immersive, even more arcs popped up, and I kept getting carried away. You guys are too good. And Serra started teaching me, too. There were a couple times when I'd be cringing or banging my head into the wall about something in real life and then I would think, "What would Serra do?" By the end, I had invested Serra and myself into too many directions and I was painfully aware that I couldn't manage my time commitments between things I have planned here and in my actual life so I needed to stop. I'm sorry to those of you who planned on her being part of your stories for longer, but you are all so creative that I know you will find another path forward.
Interviewing Tearea was a perfect end point for Serra due to the beautiful symmetry of it: Tearea was the first person Serra became conscious of during Awakening, embodied Serra's main "unknown", and represented the last fear she had left to face. Breaking down that wall of silence allowed Serra to ultimately overcome her last mental barrier, finish her book, and let go. So thank you, Tearea, for agreeing to do that; I wasn't sure if you would. With that last act I wanted to give people access to some of the lore and stories behind you and the new Warlords, because I feel your character and the Warlords in general are currently a bit misunderstood. (Plug to read her interview in the next Mystique!)
In the end, Wiggles the old alsatian was me - the sad puppy saying goodbye.
For now, I'll be going back to my usual hiding and meddling here and there behind scenes. Who knows? Someday, maybe you'll see us again. In the meanwhile, I have muddled my way back onto discord, so feel free to ping me there.
- Vanisse, the Myth Weaver
>>> Juicy stuff
Player deaths:
- Shoani (rank 23): The player behind this character had it out for me for a very misplaced reason and kept sending me threatening OOC tells. Poor form. I guess they felt vindicated after that and left me alone so it worked out in the end.
- Avraux (rank 31): Jumped in Mocker's Tavern while getting too immersed in a chat with Ilromie and forgetting all my spells including detect invis. I deserved that one.
- Dogran (rank 50? or 40something?): I can't remember this, as I can't find it in my logs, but Dogran remembered it and recounted it to Serra a long time later. Apparently I put my slow and useless butt as a speedbump between me and my ranking group, so, worth it! (temporarily, anyway!)
- I'm guessing Dogran got me a second time since he is marked as Serra's nemesis. I'm really sorry Dogran, I truly can't remember. I actually have the memory of a swiss cheese which is why I wrote so many backgrounds...
- Glorbag (rank 50): Ganked while listening to Vhrael and Kedaleam argue about Justice. Got a really cool story out of this one (showcased in his Oldies log). Absolutely worth it!
Mob deaths (not in a particular order):
- Zoruul the Oppressor
- The Blackmage
- Kaddar Lamia
- A scaly serpent (I caked down to 20 or 30 and tried to help a newbie. It turned out that serpents scale to the original rank, NOT your caked rank... this was a disaster but at least the newbie survived!)
- Iron Maiden
- Vlad, with Mohglin, thanks to spamming turn undead and heals and forgetting the clear command was a thing, herp derp
- The Essence of Annihilation (Dumb ways to die #1) - love you Ilromie, we are totally nuts
- The last hit were other mobs, but this was really due to the bears on Mount Omedan (x2), trying to duo our way to the top with Ilromie (I swear we could have done it...)
- Jotun berserker and soldiers (x3), trying to see if I could solo my way to Shycerusk after I soloed the other six summoning stones (dammit, Resatimm!). I really think this might be technically doable with sufficient patience. I just didn't have time/interest for 5 hours of solo adventuring. (for interest, the others generally took about ~40-60 minutes each.) Who knows, someone may do all seven someday...
- A sparring monk (Awakening), an intentional death for storytelling
- Akyua, while busy researching answers to a newbie question. Those were some long helpfiles!
- Ver'urn, the Baron of the Wilderness, due to forgetting fly and protective shield
- A cursed soul, due to Xanthak v2.0
- Xanthak, due to a crash
- A few more I can't find/remember
>>> Boring stuff
I hated practicing. It is so incredibly painful as a giant (even worse when it is spellcasting). In the very beginning I attempted to 1-prac and quickly found this made the character unplayable because the only reason people group with healers during lowbie ranking is that they can keep you alive, and you don't get enough mana/recovery to effectively train at low ranks. So I gave up on that. Later on, I was very glad that channeling was invented. For most of my really boring housebound summer/fall of 2020, I had training parties in the Infirmary with Fatma and Zersh where everybody else mastered everything and I was still struggling with the first few spells. (Fatma, I miss the breakfasts we used to make together.) Suffice it to say I got most spells to 90% and gave up at that point, except for what Serra needed to make sure she could keep other people alive. My favorite spells were detect magic and healing touch. Using them gave that sense of watching over and taking care of other people as a healer which was really immersive. co heal = hugs :)
I also found a bunch of healer bugs. And a lot of other bugs. I think Serra filed over 200 of them over her long and nosy lifetime (although we closed most of those). Now I have to go help fix the rest... After a short break, that is. I haven't slept for a week.
>>> Props
Too many people to list here. Too many memories to list here. I'd probably end up with an anecdote (or more) about every character I met. So I'll just say: All of you, old and new. You are what make me keep coming back.
Also, Lumubella, you rock. That last comment made me tear up a bit. <3
Resatimm
4 , 0 , 0 .
For what it is worth, I realized the opportunity I had to turn Serra, but I just couldn't. The arc would have been amazing, but Serra was far too wholesome and good for everyone.
I had interactions with Serra with a dozen characters and each one made me better and left me wanting more.
If the day was shitty, I lnew could log in and I knew that at somw point, Serra would show up like a cross between Mary Poppins and Mrs. Doubtfire and charm the socks off of Tegadol.
Or go on an epic quest for jingly cheese. /outtingmyself
You are the best of us.
Dogran
1 , 0 , 0 .
I totally recognized the possibility. I even consciously made the decision to at one point, but I wanted to drag it out, make a few things happen etc. In the end a combination of things stopped it from happening. One I have been busy with school/work/troubled child and two I couldn’t fully decide how I wanted to go about it. I saw a couple of ways to go about it both of which I thought would be really cool. Indecision got to me here. As for the second kill, It was related to healing/sancing the gank squads that were always after me. I don’t really remember it either haha.
Serra... I can't possibly say anything you haven't realized from these messages. You're amazing...
You're quite literally 99% of the reason i even bothered coming around this last year. "Apparently when a new game comes out I magically get 300 hours to play it", but i promise you, I tried my absolute best to be around for you. I quite literally wanted everything to do with what you're doing. I didn't deserve you.
A comment from the IC perspective: It was surprising to see you disappear, then come back later and have Dogran's soul in your possession after he had become an Immortal. I REALLY wanted that soul, but never could manage to raise an army while you were around to try and take it away from you. (I was too timid to ask for the soul directly) You also provided an alternative perspective which reminds everyone, even a necromancer, that life can be bright at times.
From the OOC perspective though, I totally understand and support your decision. Life isn't all about fun and games, unfortunately. Naturally, Serra will be missed, but clearly it's time to move on. Good luck with whatever you do next.
That's funny. Resatimm gave me that during Awakening (snipped out of the log). I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it. It would have been weird to sacrifice an immortal's soul to another immortal, and I didn't want to be rude to either Resatimm or Dogran, so I just carried it around.
Its refreshing to have a character that shows up to contribute something.
I think that character obviously showed what the upshot is of protecting the privacy of whose playing it, although at the same time it should be recognized that maybe some of the most memorable RP things only happen because of an offline conversation and that it isn't all bad, but I would say I am envious of people who got to experience Serra exclusively in-character.
Vanisse
5 , 0 , 0 .
I think every character that is created contributes something.
On immersion/privacy:
To me, one aspect was controlling how much knowledge I (as a player) learned about other people and their characters. I avoided IRC, discord, etc. for many years because of this, but being an imm that knowledge was unavoidable anyway, leading to my many years of not making mortals. With Serra I focused on being conscious of how much the character knew about other people's characters and adhered within those boundaries. Considering her <NEW> in my mind also helped. Serra did not know any areas or items or lore until she went and physically explored them one by one - thanks to Ethaac for putting her on that track with his Consortium applicant tasks. Obviously everyone doesn't have to go that far, but I liked it. Leverage the aspect you have control over.
Ilromie and Serra have done an awesome job running the Consortium while I've been lowkey avoiding in-game responsibility. Obviously other than doing all the leg work and admin she'd been doing, the character herself was excellent and was played out so very well, and made the Consortium look real good in the process. Side note, I was really sad you never starved out the Warlord in the duel in the Ford, I would have.
Congratz with HoE, Serra. You did a great job with this char. If all of us could even achieve half the quality of RP that you did, then AR would be a much, much better place. Well done.
[reply to Dwiggans]
[reply to Tonke]
[reply to Villidan]
[reply to Xerties]
[reply to Ashlyn]
[reply to Camadus]
[reply to twerpalina]
[reply to Mikoos]
[reply to Ilromie]
[reply to Kaelric]
How I mourn Serra the Paradigm
Of Water, how I wanted more time
To say this goodbye,
Dear friend. Now I cry
Water’s path down my cheeks. Vulgar rhyme.
[reply to Valindra]
[reply to Dogran]
[reply to Rhoa]
Dogran 
0 , 0 , 0 . Bronze trophy is for those that are nominated for HoE, nomination is still in progress. Dwiggans 2 , 0 , 0 . Agree. Grouping/talking with Serra immersed me into my own character more and created a more enjoyable experience in AR as a whole. Incredibly positive influence to this game and community. HoE all the way.
[reply to twerpalina][reply to Flinnegan]
[reply to Dogran]
Phostan 
1 , 1 , 0 . Why'd you have to make this GY thread sexual all of a sudden, geez. Davairus 0 , 0 , 0 . not your hole Phostan 
1 , 0 , 0 . You stay away from other people's holes in general you sexual deviant.
[reply to Davairus][reply to jaux]
[reply to Vargan]
Jeeeez. Try sticking with 1 char. Try to make a difference next time.
[reply to Resatimm]
[reply to Lumubella]
Goodbye, Serra. I'll miss you.
Serra was born as an experiment and initially not a very serious one, but over time evolved into something completely different. She was the first mortal I have really played in maybe ten years (hence I created her with a <NEW> flag as I had practically forgotten everything), and probably the first that I was able to fully immerse myself into since I was immed what feels like eons ago. To be honest, I didn't expect her to go so far. The fact that she did, that I could get so drawn into her, this world we've created, and all of the story arcs that have since blossomed, is entirely because of YOU: our players and community, both past and present. So thank you to each and every one of you who engaged with and inspired her. I loved every minute.
My initial goal with her was just to test the feel of the Consortium - whether the pillar-dedications concept felt fun in practice, and whether Scholars as Herald-Mystic hybrids worked in practice. When she hit 20th rank and was forced to pick an element, I decided to test what it was like to follow a religion that was hugely underrepresented and underexplored. For most of Serra's life she was the only Water follower, and Kedaleam didn't provide me with guidance on this element, so I interpreted it as I went. Those were her two driving concepts. The rest of her wove around inspirations such as Cyprian (the O.G. for background writing), and reacting to people and events around her. After those basic traits were established, I just let her flow, like water.
There were certain points along the way where I left her evolution fully open to other players' influence. This was hinted in the "crimson specks" in her eyes after she came back from Acadia, which meant there was a potential seed of evil dormant there if anyone wanted to awaken it. Dogran came the closest to it; he could have easily turned Serra evil that day in the Tavern if he'd gone just a tiny bit further. Later on, when Serra lost her memory, Resatimm could have absolutely turned her as well if he had kept up the pretense. In the end, though, no one did. The coalition of light (i.e. the "Holy Trinity") and Serra's friends in the Consortium exerted an extremely powerful influence and kept pulling her back on track. It was very interesting and also quite heart-warming to see so many people care about her well-being, especially when she had forgotten everything. Huge props to Aelaldric for coming up with a spinoff, and to a bunch of people (especially Valindra, Wylsin, and Ilromie) for playing along with it. There are more things coming related to this arc, it didn't end with Serra's passing. Sit tight...
Serra started out as a simple experiment but ultimately became an homage to AR and our community. She and I truly enjoyed spending time with every person that she met, learning all kinds of things, exploring all the areas, meeting new people, passing on knowledge, creating new books and lair stuff and crazy story arcs, and trying to tease out everyone's stories and share them so everybody could enjoy them like we did. Some of these stories were truly great. I have posted a few of the earlier ones that stood out to me, but there were - and are - SO many more. I was blown away and so happy to see this and I am sorry that I could not post them all. There are some amazing ones in progress right now and there are some other amazing ones I don't have time to post. I am so excited to see more people posting RP logs because it lets us all re-live some wonderful memories. For people who aren't actively playing, it showcases a whole other beautiful aspect of this game and allows them to follow along with the game lore as it's evolving, which you can't see from duels. I know from experience that it takes so much more effort to make these logs, but it is so worth it in the end. Just like Mystiques, I guess. I am truly grateful to have been able to play a little part in this trend (because RP logs can only exist if there are RP sessions) and I hope it continues.
So why did she have to go? Serra was too much fun and started to take over my life! Though she was created 17 months ago, I spent those 1100 hours over about 11-12 months, in reality, since I took a bunch of breaks for sanity/life reasons (each explained away with a book). Probably 15-20% of her living hours were spent sitting somewhere writing backgrounds and books, because I'm a huge dork. I could also add about 1-3 hours of curation time per RP log posted. Every time I came back, she was even more immersive, even more arcs popped up, and I kept getting carried away. You guys are too good. And Serra started teaching me, too. There were a couple times when I'd be cringing or banging my head into the wall about something in real life and then I would think, "What would Serra do?" By the end, I had invested Serra and myself into too many directions and I was painfully aware that I couldn't manage my time commitments between things I have planned here and in my actual life so I needed to stop. I'm sorry to those of you who planned on her being part of your stories for longer, but you are all so creative that I know you will find another path forward.
Interviewing Tearea was a perfect end point for Serra due to the beautiful symmetry of it: Tearea was the first person Serra became conscious of during Awakening, embodied Serra's main "unknown", and represented the last fear she had left to face. Breaking down that wall of silence allowed Serra to ultimately overcome her last mental barrier, finish her book, and let go. So thank you, Tearea, for agreeing to do that; I wasn't sure if you would. With that last act I wanted to give people access to some of the lore and stories behind you and the new Warlords, because I feel your character and the Warlords in general are currently a bit misunderstood. (Plug to read her interview in the next Mystique!)
In the end, Wiggles the old alsatian was me - the sad puppy saying goodbye.
For now, I'll be going back to my usual hiding and meddling here and there behind scenes. Who knows? Someday, maybe you'll see us again. In the meanwhile, I have muddled my way back onto discord, so feel free to ping me there.
- Vanisse, the Myth Weaver
>>> Juicy stuff
Player deaths:
- Shoani (rank 23): The player behind this character had it out for me for a very misplaced reason and kept sending me threatening OOC tells. Poor form. I guess they felt vindicated after that and left me alone so it worked out in the end.
- Avraux (rank 31): Jumped in Mocker's Tavern while getting too immersed in a chat with Ilromie and forgetting all my spells including detect invis. I deserved that one.
- Dogran (rank 50? or 40something?): I can't remember this, as I can't find it in my logs, but Dogran remembered it and recounted it to Serra a long time later. Apparently I put my slow and useless butt as a speedbump between me and my ranking group, so, worth it! (temporarily, anyway!)
- I'm guessing Dogran got me a second time since he is marked as Serra's nemesis. I'm really sorry Dogran, I truly can't remember. I actually have the memory of a swiss cheese which is why I wrote so many backgrounds...
- Glorbag (rank 50): Ganked while listening to Vhrael and Kedaleam argue about Justice. Got a really cool story out of this one (showcased in his Oldies log). Absolutely worth it!
Mob deaths (not in a particular order):
- Zoruul the Oppressor
- The Blackmage
- Kaddar Lamia
- A scaly serpent (I caked down to 20 or 30 and tried to help a newbie. It turned out that serpents scale to the original rank, NOT your caked rank... this was a disaster but at least the newbie survived!)
- Iron Maiden
- Vlad, with Mohglin, thanks to spamming turn undead and heals and forgetting the clear command was a thing, herp derp
- The Essence of Annihilation (Dumb ways to die #1) - love you Ilromie, we are totally nuts
- The last hit were other mobs, but this was really due to the bears on Mount Omedan (x2), trying to duo our way to the top with Ilromie (I swear we could have done it...)
- Jotun berserker and soldiers (x3), trying to see if I could solo my way to Shycerusk after I soloed the other six summoning stones (dammit, Resatimm!). I really think this might be technically doable with sufficient patience. I just didn't have time/interest for 5 hours of solo adventuring. (for interest, the others generally took about ~40-60 minutes each.) Who knows, someone may do all seven someday...
- A sparring monk (Awakening), an intentional death for storytelling
- Akyua, while busy researching answers to a newbie question. Those were some long helpfiles!
- Ver'urn, the Baron of the Wilderness, due to forgetting fly and protective shield
- A cursed soul, due to Xanthak v2.0
- Xanthak, due to a crash
- A few more I can't find/remember
>>> Boring stuff
I hated practicing. It is so incredibly painful as a giant (even worse when it is spellcasting). In the very beginning I attempted to 1-prac and quickly found this made the character unplayable because the only reason people group with healers during lowbie ranking is that they can keep you alive, and you don't get enough mana/recovery to effectively train at low ranks. So I gave up on that. Later on, I was very glad that channeling was invented. For most of my really boring housebound summer/fall of 2020, I had training parties in the Infirmary with Fatma and Zersh where everybody else mastered everything and I was still struggling with the first few spells. (Fatma, I miss the breakfasts we used to make together.) Suffice it to say I got most spells to 90% and gave up at that point, except for what Serra needed to make sure she could keep other people alive. My favorite spells were detect magic and healing touch. Using them gave that sense of watching over and taking care of other people as a healer which was really immersive. co heal = hugs :)
I also found a bunch of healer bugs. And a lot of other bugs. I think Serra filed over 200 of them over her long and nosy lifetime (although we closed most of those). Now I have to go help fix the rest... After a short break, that is. I haven't slept for a week.
>>> Props
Too many people to list here. Too many memories to list here. I'd probably end up with an anecdote (or more) about every character I met. So I'll just say: All of you, old and new. You are what make me keep coming back.
Also, Lumubella, you rock. That last comment made me tear up a bit. <3
Resatimm 
4 , 0 , 0 . For what it is worth, I realized the opportunity I had to turn Serra, but I just couldn't. The arc would have been amazing, but Serra was far too wholesome and good for everyone.
Dogran 
1 , 0 , 0 . I totally recognized the possibility. I even consciously made the decision to at one point, but I wanted to drag it out, make a few things happen etc. In the end a combination of things stopped it from happening. One I have been busy with school/work/troubled child and two I couldn’t fully decide how I wanted to go about it. I saw a couple of ways to go about it both of which I thought would be really cool. Indecision got to me here. As for the second kill, It was related to healing/sancing the gank squads that were always after me. I don’t really remember it either haha.
[reply to Vanisse]I had interactions with Serra with a dozen characters and each one made me better and left me wanting more.
If the day was shitty, I lnew could log in and I knew that at somw point, Serra would show up like a cross between Mary Poppins and Mrs. Doubtfire and charm the socks off of Tegadol.
Or go on an epic quest for jingly cheese. /outtingmyself
You are the best of us.
You're quite literally 99% of the reason i even bothered coming around this last year. "Apparently when a new game comes out I magically get 300 hours to play it", but i promise you, I tried my absolute best to be around for you. I quite literally wanted everything to do with what you're doing. I didn't deserve you.
Davairus 0 , 2 , 3 . Stop baiting
[reply to Kedaleam]From the OOC perspective though, I totally understand and support your decision. Life isn't all about fun and games, unfortunately. Naturally, Serra will be missed, but clearly it's time to move on. Good luck with whatever you do next.
Serra 0 , 0 , 0 . That's funny. Resatimm gave me that during Awakening (snipped out of the log). I didn't know what I was supposed to do with it. It would have been weird to sacrifice an immortal's soul to another immortal, and I didn't want to be rude to either Resatimm or Dogran, so I just carried it around.
[reply to Mirtolda]I think that character obviously showed what the upshot is of protecting the privacy of whose playing it, although at the same time it should be recognized that maybe some of the most memorable RP things only happen because of an offline conversation and that it isn't all bad, but I would say I am envious of people who got to experience Serra exclusively in-character.
Vanisse 
5 , 0 , 0 . I think every character that is created contributes something.
[reply to Davairus]On immersion/privacy:
To me, one aspect was controlling how much knowledge I (as a player) learned about other people and their characters. I avoided IRC, discord, etc. for many years because of this, but being an imm that knowledge was unavoidable anyway, leading to my many years of not making mortals. With Serra I focused on being conscious of how much the character knew about other people's characters and adhered within those boundaries. Considering her <NEW> in my mind also helped. Serra did not know any areas or items or lore until she went and physically explored them one by one - thanks to Ethaac for putting her on that track with his Consortium applicant tasks. Obviously everyone doesn't have to go that far, but I liked it. Leverage the aspect you have control over.
Serra 1 , 0 , 0 . I did starve out one Warlord and it made me feel so terrible I couldn’t do it again. Sorry Josymba. Phostan 
1 , 0 , 0 . You know my motto about fighting Warlords "Fuck 'em."
[reply to Phostan][reply to Xenyar]
[reply to Ashlyn]