The Lost Journals

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Wed Oct 13, 2010 8:02 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu, April 8, 728 BC)
Losing Kaylee is something the Hydra Club hasn't taken very well. There's a bounty of five-hundred solars on her head, and five-thousand on mine. I guess whoever scryed Kaylee's location did realize who I was. The major wrinkle in their plans, though, is that we can alter our appearances at will. In fact I hired a wizard to replace the spell on my hat of disguise to a more effective alter self. Now I don't have to duck whenever I enter a building or otherwise do things that might betray the illusion. For Kaylee it's fallen to me to use a psionic version of that same spell, one I created a long time ago for less dangerous purposes. Having the ability to alter my physicality and extremities, and not have it wear off too quickly, always did go over well in the bedroom.

Editor's Note: My sister almost struck that last line out of jealousy. But I insisted we keep it if only because it explains much, much later in the Journals. --Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Editor's Note: I am not jealous. I just feel that was unncessary information. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove

Research into the Hydra Club and its members has yielded that none of its members are part of the government proper. Probably because of Dominic d'Honaire. The last thing they seem to want is their illicit taxation--really extortion--to be discovered. It would be simple to tip off the Council of Brilliance about them, but I can't stomach the idea of leaving a group that has knowledge of Elisime's teachings to their hands. Especially since that jahi could easily leave its host and start all over again. That creature has got to be the one teaching them. I destroy it and the well of depraved knowledge dries up. My problem is actually getting at it; the creature has a very large entourage to protect it, including several adventurers of not inconsiderable power. Plus there's a question that's been nagging me for a while. How did this creature learn Elisime's teachings? For that matter, who is supplying them with luhix? That stuff can only be had in the Abyss; even magic requires a small sample to recreate it. The jahi itself may be a pawn to an even greater evil. If so, I'd like the chance to at least question it before I destroy it.

It's been twenty-eight years since I destroyed the greater succubus Vanatha and her fallen cherub lackey, Caeserus. Yet they still eluded me for several months before I was able to locate and destroy them utterly. If they found someone to teach the ways of Elisime to...I don't even want to think about that possibility. But it would fit that someone skilled in creating the undead--like a cleric--would summon the jahi and send it off to spread the corruption...

Never mind that now. I have to focus on finding a weakness. Something I can use!

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Port-a-Lucine, Dementlieu, April 9, 728 BC)
Today I learned that the Hydra herself will be leaving for Darkon in the morning. Without her cultists or even a bodyguard. Either the jahi is so full of itself it doesn't feel the need for bodyguards, or else this is a meeting no one else is supposed to know about. Possibly both. But I can't risk the creature reaching Darkon, lest it's a servant of Azalin. I doubt it, but that's a risk I'm not willing to take. This presents itself with an opportunity that I can't miss. Once the Hydra is sufficiently far from the city, I can tip off the authorities about the cult and let them clean up the mess. That will require a little conning to get the lot together where most, if not all, can be caught at once. That will actually be the easy part.

The hard part will be the jahi itself. Or rather, learning what I can from it before I destroy it. The creature is cowardly and conniving, yes. But if it does have a master, its fear of them could be far greater than any fear of me. Probing it telepathically will necessitate catching it off guard as the undead in this world have the most irritating ability to shield their minds otherwise. Plus that will put my mind dangerously close to the Hydra's, a woman who could be all but insane now and buoyed by the jahi's very presence. Ideally the creature would be seperated from its host when I probe it, but that isn't possible without alerting it to danger. I'll have to take my chances and go after it telepathically from surprise...and hope I don't go insane in the process.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Bloody Way Inn, Darkon, April 13, 728 BC)
Kaylee and I managed to catch up with the Hydra just before it reached the Darkonian border. It didn't even cross when it got there, something I'm thankful for since otherwise I'd be in his territory while dealing with an undead creature. Rather it waited at an old, rotting shack until and elven woman came from across the border. Though she was dressed in the robes of a wizard, I heard the distinct clink of metal on metal coming from her when she walked. Not that it was terribly easy to detect; whatever it is she has on is more finely made than mithral--elven--armor. Then there were the magical auras that emanated from her--everything she had on was enchanted in some way. And she was also giving off a discomforting aura of necromancy--an aura of desecration.

The jahi itself spoke to her, leaving the Hydra in a catatonic state. It spoke of the status of the cult but not that it lost Kaylee. I don't think her capture was something this woman knew about. The woman just told it to continue as it had and disappeared--literally, as if she'd teleported away. That's when I attacked mentally, probing the creature's mind mercilessly. I drew out a series of different names, but none of which were associated with the woman who had just left. Nor did I ever pick up Elisime's name in its thoughts; the jahi knew nothing of who or what it was working for or even why. I must admit that's an awfully clever precaution. My attempt to track how the creature had learned the teachings of the Queen of Perversion by probing its mind were a bust. All I had to go on was supposition that the woman it had just conversed with was linked, and I didn't even have her name. Or her face, really; she had obscured that with a simple black mask. Still, from all I'd seen and felt I would hazard a guess that the woman is the one in charge. Only true necromancers emanate desecration like that. Without anything else to go on, though, even attempts to use my crystal ball or psionic powers to scry on her will be easily thwarted. Even a metaconcert won't work without something else to help me sift through the mass of information to find her specifically.

By this point the Jahi was now aware of what was happening and on the defensive. So I did the only thing I could: I sent jolts of positive energy directly into the creature until it discorporated. The Hydra collapsed without it, a lost one drained completely of her personality. Given my past experiences with jahi hosts, I knew it would be better to be well away when her mind was restored. She would know what I'd done and likely wouldn't be happy about it. Plus there would be questions from the authorities and I'd as soon avoid getting involved any more than I was. So I took her to a temple of Ezra, where the anchorites could care for her. Kaylee and I pressed on into Darkon; the trip to meet with M. Coalbeard was ahead of us and I, for one, didn't care if I was weeks early. Though I'm protected from Darkon's...unique properties, I'd prefer to get travel arrangements done and leave the country as soon as possible. Being that close to Azalin and his Kargat agents makes me nervous at best.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Sat Apr 23, 2011 10:49 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Tempe Falls, Darkon, May 2, 728 BC)
Fourteen days on a boat. Fourteen days in cramped, claustrophobic conditions with dwarves that hadn't had a bath in weeks. Fourteen days of watching the crew eat hardtack infested with maggots and salted pork, washing it all down watery ale. Was I ever glad to arrive at the town of Essen! Another day and I would have probably killed someone just to relieve the mounting stress. This wasn't an ocean voyage, couldn't they have just stopped for a day to pick up fresh food and water? Oh, no, said the captain, time is money. Our only stops were for more coal to fuel a crude steam engine that put out enough black smoke that I didn't see the sun all that time.

But this was the fastest way through Darkon. After all that time among that odious and odiferous crew I didn't even hesitate to turn the nearest pond I found into a hot spring with a few energy balls of fire. It gave me and Kaylee both a chance to wash ourselves and our clothes, though her unabashed curiosity regarding my body made me uncomfortable. She couldn't be that naive, could she? As it turned out she could. At least she had the sense to keep any and all of her questions left unsaid until we were alone. Despite my clinically dry answers, she's still not very satisfied and is constantly trying to find words to express her feelings. I know what they are and I'm not sure it's wise to become intimate; we've weeks more journey ahead even after this leg is done. I've assured her answers in time, but like all eladrins patience is not her strong point.

From Mayvin we hired a coach to take us to Tempe Falls. Finally at Tempe Falls, I thought we could rest as we waited for Horis Coalbeard to respond to my summons. Things took an odd turn from the very first day we were there. One of the local women had some sort of large cyst that the local doctor couldn't do a thing about. Seeing the man's practice of applying leeches--which then promptly died after feeding a few moments--made me wonder. I've seen something similar before. A spellcaster willingly hosts a necrotic cyst that grants them new spells, a mother cyst. One of the spells they learn can create similar cysts in others that act as a scrying point and the focus for more potent and dangerous spells. It also acted as a very weak magnet for necromantic energies and the undead. She'd been cursed, in essence. The cyst was also toxic enough to kill leeches or other creatures that fed on the semisolid fluids inside and to cause weakness and pain in the host. Only a bloody, difficult operation could remove the cyst. I could do it easily enough, but this town doctor seemed more like a medicine man than a man of medicine--even to other Lamordians.

A man whom I took to be the host's husband was most distraught and argued loudly with the old doctor. He was willing to pay several gold coins--a fortune for most people--to anyone who was willing to find a real doctor. One that could save his wife from her pain. So of course I stepped forward and volunteered to operate. At no charge. That certainly struck the old man as "the mark of a poor physician." What happened to the creed of medicine being about saving lives? The idea of taking money for saving a life has always struck me as odd. Certainly even doctors need to eat and charging a little for services was expected. But a true doctor was willing to waive a fee for those truly in need. And this woman was truly in dire need.

After seeing the doctor's own operating theater I opted to create one from scratch. Stables full of dung are more sanitary than his place! Rusty, bloodstained tools, dusty shelves, piles of rotting body parts just outside, it was a disgrace by anyone's standards. In the dead of winter it might have been okay to leave body parts lying around; but come spring it was time to bury or burn them for health's sake. I ended up using the man's own front room, with plenty of linens on the floor and table and several pots of boiling water. My own kit had a long leather apron and a glass face shield to guard me against the inevitable flow of blood and other fluids. I must not have looked all that reassuring to the woman as she was put under with ether. But then she was spared both the sight and smell of a necrotic cyst. It was easily the size of both my fists put side to side, dark purple and globular, and connected to her body by unnaturally tough, fibrous sinews. Its smell was like rancid meat, sour milk, rotten eggs, and excrement rolled into one. The worst of a necromancer's lab. Fortunately I had on my crystal mask so I couldn't actually smell it, but the reactions of those assisting me said that some things never change.

Actually cutting out the cyst was only half the battle. Once it was out (and thrown into a large bonfire outside) I had to drain her body of any remaining vile fluids. Then I stitched the incision closed and applied Keoghtom's ointment to the wound, what to the others looked like some sort of salve. It healed her wound and I was removing the thread as she came back around. That was an excellent sign; her pain was gone and she felt like new again. While others helped air out the house and scrub everything with copious amounts of hot water and soap, I asked here when the cyst had first appeared. I was a little shocked to learn that it had manifested not long after the town drove out an elven woman after she was caught attempting to rob the grave of a little boy who'd died over the winter--her little boy. She'd managed to get away with his corpse while it was still mostly preserved from the cold and cast a spell on the mother, what I assumed to be necrotic cyst. That had been two weeks ago and in that time several people spotted what looked to be a ghostly, disembodied eye near her. This necromancer must have been watching in sadistic glee as the mother dealt not only with the pain of losing her child and having his body stolen, but then being struck with that thing inside her.

When she mentioned she'd managed to tag the woman with an iron pitchfork I got an idea. There was dried blood on the prongs, a tissue sample I could use to locate her via remote viewing. Back at the inn I did so, catching a glimpse of a shrine to the Queen of Perversion in all its horror. Worse than perhaps Elisime's purview of corrupting life and death as well as love and intimacy was her drive to pervert everything good and pure. Rag dolls held in tiny iron maidens, children's toys carved into sinister shapes that served to scare more than delight, even paintings of the worst things in the world made to look like high art--torture, humiliation, defilement. I had to cut the viewing short as painful memories flooded me. Vanatha and Caeserus had indeed managed to pass on their goddess' sick ethos before their destruction. And they'd found a very willing convert in some Darkonian elf woman. She was beautiful, a body that even a valkyrie couldn't match coupled with the face of an angel. But behind all that lay a heart as black as the leaves I'd seen her chewing. Black leaf, another Abyssal drug that led to euphoric hallucinations and heightened force of personality but sapped the will. Again I wondered how she had obtained such in this plane. But then black leaf wasn't hard to transplant, unlike luhix.

I now have a new enemy. One I will personally pursue into the Mists themselves to destroy. This world doesn't need her brand of evil perpetuating itself. A total abandonment of morals in a sick pursuit of pleasure and power, to cause others to succumb to their own weaknesses until they're little more than degenerate animals sating vice after vice "to prepare them to serve the Queen." It sounds like something out of the most tawdry, disgusting penny dreadfuls. But it's real. That's the most sickening part.
(End Transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Thu May 19, 2011 2:01 am

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Tempe Falls, Darkon, May 17, 728 BC)
A runner to the Coalbeard Mines in the Mountains of Misery reported back after two days either way that Horis Coalbeard would meet with me as soon as possible. But not a day after I got word that a mine shaft collapse in the Coalbeard Mines had delayed Horis' arrival as he helped save those trapped inside. Dwarven arcanists and priests were helping, but it would set our meeting back by several days. Until then I had little else to do except try to learn more about this woman who now ran a cult to Elisime. My own attempts to spy on her through psionics had to be cut short when she noticed the sensor. What I did learn was her name: Sonia Darkleaf.

That was enough for me to give the renowned detective Alanik Ray a start beyond the workings of a hidden cult. Knowing what to look for is one thing; having a name and a modus operandi would give him an excellent headstart. I don't trust myself to be completely neutral in this matter. Nor did I want to stay here longer than absolutely necessary. Despite my attempts to hide my presence, I couldn't hide from Azalin forever. After a week in Tempe Falls he had me summoned to Il Aluk; the messenger was a young woman who had been turned into a vampire, rich auburn hair done in curls, beautiful green eyes. She seemed to find me just as physically appealing. Yet from the start we absolutely hated one another.

She took shelter for the day in one of the Kargat's safehouses in Tempe Falls until the next night when she escorted me to a sealed carriage. Kaylee was not allowed to accompany us and she seemed glad to stay behind. In the carriage we just looked each other in the eye for two hours straight. Finally she broke the tense silence by grabbing my face and kissing me deeply. For an unknown time we came to know each other intimately. When the haze of passion faded I didn't feel soiled for being with an undead being, but strangely sated. This vampiress, Kazandra, seemed to feel the same way. We came to an understanding afterwards. She would not attack me since she feared me and my capabilities against the undead. I wouldn't attack her because doing so would only bring down the wrath of her ultimate master. In mutual physical attraction and loathing we'd come to a detente. Truly love and hate are just two sides of the same coin.

Finally the carriage came to a stop and the door was opened by fully human guards wearing the symbol of Darkon on their tabards and chains of office. It was still night and thus safe for Kazandra to leave. There, flanked by two more guards I knew weren't human, stood a wizened man with an iron crown on his head. The lich-king Azalin.

To my sight he appeared to be a skeleton garbed in finery with eyes glowing a fierce red with the guise of a human merely a transparent overlay. His bony fingers held a parchment that looked to be half an inch thick. I surmised that this was his overture of peace, or at least non-aggression. Once more there was mutual hatred. Only this time there was also mutual fear. He feared me for who and what I was, I feared him for the same reasons.

Without wasting any time he declared his intentions of having me sign a contract of mutual non-interference. So long we stayed out of each other's way, there would be peace of sorts between us. That's when he unfurled the parchment and had a servant extend the end to me. Coming too close to me would have severed his ties to the land--and many of his greater abilities. In such a situation it would be entirely possible for me to destroy his current body or sever his absolute control over the Kargat's undead members and, indeed, all other undead in Darkon. He seemed to understand the nature of extraplanar beings in this...place. Enough to at least know it was in his best interests not to get too close to me. Not that I would even let him. I'd faced demiliches that didn't terrify me to even a fraction of the same degree that he did. I found his very presence overwhelming and I could just barely summon the will to look him in the eye, so to speak.

Before I dared sign I read through the contract at a pace even he seemed unable to keep up with. This was a masterpiece that any being of law would have to acknowledge. He had covered every possible contingency I could think of and several I didn't even know about. At the end was the declaration this contract was to be sealed upon the Pact Primeval. The Pact Primeval! How did he even know about that!? He had been a prime in life and few of them knew about such an esoteric thing. If I signed I would literally be unable to break the letter of this agreement, as would he, without serious repercussions. But did he understand that the spirit was not covered? That I could already think of at least one way around this?

Maybe he did, maybe not. But either way he signed it first, his full True Name. That was a critical mistake on his part. By revealing his True Name he had left himself open to the power of the Words of Creation. I doubted I would ever need to use such, but it was oddly comforting to know I could. I signed his contract and felt the slightest tug on my very soul. Even the Realms of Dread couldn't block the very essence of Law. The ink was still wet on my signature when he had me escorted back to the carriage and taken back to Tempe Falls. Once there I immediately stripped and jumped into the water, bathing and scrubbing my body raw. Even then I could feel the stain of Azalin's presence on my being.

The next few days were a cycle of ritual bathing, anointment with holy water, and deep meditation within the consecrated and hallowed radius my staff emitted. Without even the simplest shrine to Detriana I couldn't truly cleanse myself. At best I could halt the taint from going any further.

Only today did Horis Coalbeard arrive. He looked pale and drained and apologized for being so late to this meeting. Efforts to rescue the trapped miners had proven especially difficult and he had worked himself literally to the point of collapse, hands and arms and legs bloody from hauling away jagged rocks one at a time just to save a single life. For me it was a reminder of humility and what it truly meant to serve the ideals of goodness. Here I was fretting over a spiritual taint that largely exists solely in my mind and he had been literally shedding his blood, sweat, and tears to save others. It was just the sort of proverbial slap I needed to get my thoughts straight and my priorities put back in proper place.

In the end, though, we didn't show one another mercy when it came to negotiating. From reports he had the mines were filled with enough iron ore to last centuries. Further the ore was purer in nature than most and there would be maybe two parts slag for ever eight parts iron once refined as opposed to the more common four parts slag and six parts iron. The slag was also rich in other elements that could be recycled into the refined iron to create stronger forms of steel than I had been receiving from Jurn Coalbeard's crew. This trip, for all its pitfalls, had been worth it. Even if it did raise prices, it would be worth it for the superior final product.

Tomorrow I teleport Kaylee and myself to my estate in Mordent. I have to cleanse myself of my contact with Azalin--and then get back to the basics I have forgotten about.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Thu May 19, 2011 8:15 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, June 22, 728 BC)
Another day, another silver. Many of the workers were skeptical when I first began to work along with them, given that I hadn't done so prior. But they quickly warmed when they saw I was just as willing to get grimy and haul back-breaking loads of peat, clay, and chunks of bog iron over to trailers. Okay, so we mainly use machines to haul it out, but the work is still hard and dirty. It's also honest. I've spent too much time among the merchants of the Core. I need to work alongside those who make business possible more. Even if I can't actually partake of a cold mug of ale at the end of the day. Sometimes I can't even join them at the inn because I still have the actual business end to deal with. Sometimes said "business" is bargained at the end of a blade or over a glass of poisoned wine; the Boritsi Trading Company has sent their Dilisnyan cousins three times already to assassinate me. Aside from the latest attempt, their failures could be attributed to dumb luck. The first poisoned glass "mysteriously" shattered for no apparent reason while the second was spilled by a "clumsy" waitress at the inn. But this last attempt was one that went straight for the throat in the literal sense. But the blade failed to pierce my skin and the poison, which should have been absorbed through such, didn't work at all. In the ensuing tussle the ex-assassin was killed; his spirit proved more talkative about his employer. For the time being this Belloci Boritisi character will be suffering severe financial setbacks as suppliers are ambushed by "bandits" and his debts are called in just when his business is too deep in the red to pay them off. Business is like war; the same tactics and strategies apply quite well.

Would that that was the only thing worth noting. Today three faces I hadn't seen in four years turned up at the same time. Neither one knew the others were coming. If this is just a coincidence then it's a big one. Dratha, Orwin Lakewave, and Niela came to me looking like they hadn't slept in all that time since our raid on the Fraternity of Shadows. There was also another look, like fire in their eyes. They had not been able to forget what we'd learned. In fact they had collected more from various sources; Orwin in particular had undertaken a daring series of thefts on Castle Avernus and used innumerable scrolls of amanuensis along with several blank books to copy much of Azalin's own library. The sum total was so large he had to have it carried in a large wagon. Yet he says he still has much, much more to gather.

But before that we just had to get reaquainted. Orwin had taken to spying on the Kargat as much as copying Azalin's library. But his abilities as a rogue are not nearly so useful against the undead members of Darkon's secret police. At least not until a kindly priest had made him a set of bracers that helped. Dratha had come to question the ways of the Tepestani so much she had been chased out of her village. She migrated to Barovia and fell in with the Cult of the Morninglord. Their teachings, albeit flawed, are much the same as those of Lathander on Toril! It was a good omen, I thought.

Niela, on the other hand, became disillusioned with her people after accepting that Hazlan was not nearly so old as it seems. She, herself, was either torn from some other world or merely the fever dream of some unknowable force. If her history was false, she declared, she would make her future as true as possible. She stopped shaving her head and had her tattoos removed with magic. She has all but disavowed any ties with Hazlan and spent her time in Darkon, studying the arcane arts in depth. Had she not acquired an enchanted spellbook she would have had two or three completely filled by now. But more than her studying spells, she had worked to understand the very nature of magic in this world. She had much to tell us and I led them to the estate's own sprawling library.

Kaylee and Ren, now familiar and master, were not allowed into the library as we pored over all of the texts each had brought. It was just like what happened fours years ago, only so much worse since we now had a far clearer picture. Not just of the world we inhabited but also about many of the most notorious personalities and leaders. Each country is ultimately ruled by one person at its black heart, a "darklord." These darklords earned their place through unmitigated evil to the point that something in this world took notice and gave them what they asked for--but not what they actually wanted. Why only some were chosen, while others weren't, is a question that even Azalin seems to have no answer to. Many seemed to have the ability to close the borders of their "domains" through some sort of supernatural means. Godefroy could turn the borders of Mordent in on themselves so no one could actually leave; Strahd could envelope the borders of Barovia with the same poison mist that surround the village of Barovia. But extraplanar beings with strong ties to the cosmic forces of Good or Evil could override their control. In effect a kind of mobile "pocket domain" that could override even the darklords' control. And as I've learned, also sever a darklord from any powers granted to them by their positions as warden and ultimate prison of the lands they inhabited. One that traveled with such a being could potentially be free of their imprisonment. But there was a twist; the pocket domains of good beings eventually began to disrupt the very fabric of reality, causing living things to be unable to heal naturally and eventually eroding inanimate objects into raw Mist. But I've discovered that anointment with my blood can render beings and items immune to this effect. Maybe the same principle applies to other celestial beings?

Fiends, on the other hand, didn't have such effects. In fact they seemed able to gain powers from the land by performing rites. If the rite succeeded, they were granted an additional power based on the land in question. At the same time they increasingly tied themselves to this world until a critical mass was reached and they no longer had their pocket domains. I can hazard the guess that at such a point they would also be unable to leave even if they did find a way out. A kind of irony that seemed to be a running theme in this world. Wicked deeds were "rewarded" with poison gifts, while righteous ones didn't exactly receive any consideration. Other than being free of corruption of the soul.

Editor's Note: We've decided to cut this entry short simply because many other theories become increasingly difficult to believe. At least to those not privy to some of the unprinted works of Uncle Rudolph. Future entries do detail certain things, though, and give even the most stout reader chills when they consider the evidence. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Mon May 30, 2011 8:18 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 28, 728 BC)

Editor's Note: We decided to skip several entries prior to these as they merely elaborate on things Alexander and his compatriots "learned" while many more were magically erased. Things pick back up with the idea that these four had been raiding the Fraternity of Shadows. Maybe it is still too dangerous to let specifics out? -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Construction on our stronghold is proceeding well. Both Dratha and Niela have been using wall of stone and wall of iron spells to speed up construction, especially since this is going to be entirely underground and kept secret. Orwin has gone abroad to track rumors of our existence that have leaked. I can't really say how it happened for sure, but I've got my guesses. Some of our hits on the Fraternity have been more than a little spectacular when spells and psionics start being exchanged. Then there's the fact that the Fraternity doesn't have the best kept secrets in the world; it's been thanks to rumors that we found all the places we did and those same loose lips have undoubtedly spread word about us. From what we've heard so far the tales are just getting more and more exaggerated. "A force of dozens," "entire legions dedicated to fighting the darkness," I could go on. The most persistent rumors are that we're "a group dedicated to the Light and fighting back darkness, a shining force for good." Hence the name I once considered, the Shining Force, has more or less become official. Goddess, I hope no one tracks us down too soon.

Meanwhile I've found more than enough money coming in from the Archer Trading Company that I can divert into this little venture. Enough to help pay for supplies and certain other goods, but not enough for anything much larger than this without massive trade expansions. I'm already at a standstill with the Boritsi Trading Company and their Dilisnyan cousins, I don't have the time or manpower to take on them and other major merchant families. Unless something happens to bring in more gold we'll be on a shoestring budget. I'd prefer not to bring the ATC and Shining Force any closer together, but it looks like that may have to happen.

Just focus on the stronghold for now. Just think about that.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 9, 728 BC)
Orwin has returned. Rumors of our existence remain just that. But already there have been folks asking about us, from known Kargat agents to lone adventurers to simple peasants. Interest in our mission, however it's been described, is growing faster than I expected. We'll have to begin to recruiting, but our money troubles still aren't solved. Orwin suggested I use the Archer Trading Company as both a pipeline for information and potential recruits as well as a way to send those who need experience wherever they may be most helpful. I can see a thousand ways that could backfire, but we have no choice left. Our need for money just barely outweighs our need for bodies.

Our stronghold is done, but it's turned into more of a storehouse for what we have more than anything else. Piles upon piles of documents accounting phenomena of the Mists, the darklords, and theses so insane they speak of the unabridged, unvarnished truths of the Land of Mists. It's made me feel like something crawled into my stomach and died, reading what I have. Truly there are Things No One Was Meant To Know. In particular is the history of Mordent, how an alchemist called Strahd von Zarovich and his Apparatus were responsible for both the vampire Strahd and the formation of Mordent in this world. What's worse still is that it has too much evidence in support of it to not be true on some level. The Alchemist could even be alive to this day, using potions of longevity and elixirs of youth to their maximum without snapping his life force.

That's something I have no choice but to put aside. The current realities are a little more urgent.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Sept. 17, 728 BC)
Our raids have led us to a particularly large score in Port-a-Lucine. We had a showdown with one of the Umbra--the highest ranking members of the Fraternity of Shadows--but still managed to grab a large number of goods. Among them are some magical items with enchantments I've never seen before. But the real prize was in taking the entirety of their library and the exposure of their operations to the authorities. The Umbra we faced was killed in the fight and already we've been getting signs that the Fraternity is moving large numbers of goods and people to another location in the city. I thought that odd at first since the exposure and loss of items was bad but not too bad for a group as big and diverse as them.

Then we began reading some of what we'd stolen. Among other, more dangerous lore was a list of members in Dementlieu, Mordent, Borca, Richemulot, Lamordia, and even Darkon. Most of them we'd already targeted. But this represented a major chink in their armor that would spell their total downfall...if we had the numbers. As is we've just the four of us still and not even one other seeking entrance. Such information was still put to good use once we detailed what each of these individuals had done in their respective locations. A severe backlash ensued that caught many off guard and did much of our work for us. Among those most outraged have been Ivana Boritsi, Jacqueline Renier, and Dominic d'Honaire. This will make our jobs harder when it comes time to root out the Fraternity again, but for now it's made our lives easier. We can't risk letting the darklords know of our existence, yet word of our deeds has reached more than a few ears of the proper type.

News of adventurers seeking to join us in our cause has reached me through the same trade routes the Archer Trading Company uses. Proper interviews and assessments of their motives and true nature are required before we even think of recruiting them. But it's a start.

Looks like I owe Orwin a few pints now.
(End Transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Wed Jun 08, 2011 7:59 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 3, 729 BC)
For the past four months I've been tempting fate by teleporting to meet with individuals and groups interested in joining the Shining Force or at least helping. Peasant farmers in Barovia, Dementlieuese aristocrats, Darkonese merchants, and scores of adventurers I'd never known were around before. Some I found to be vile at heart, perhaps hoping to use us for their own ends. Twice now I met individuals who were spies for the Fraternity of Shadows under heavy illusions; their knowledge of this world is as much a weakness as a strength, since they have no idea of what truly is and isn't impossible. Whatever force that obscures personal morals from being detected supernaturally fails before my crystal eye, as does the ability to hide one's true form using any means. With a little word play I sussed out both spies by catching them in an outright lie or inconsistency in their story. I didn't even bother warning them; better that they not know what I would do. It foments so much more fear.

Of those I would accept, most are unable or unwilling to fight directly, nor would I dare allow them. Farmers and peasants might not be the best warriors but they can act as an intelligence network and support group without arousing any suspicions. Likewise many of the wealthier folks have no real training in martial matters or other capabilities useful in the field. But even they can act as spies and support, and many are willing to funnel money towards our cause. That's about the best I can hope for with most of the people I've met so far.

For those who do have what it takes, the skills and abilities to fight on whatever front we face, I gave them each a task to complete. Things that would test their abilities but not put them in any overwhelming danger. So far only one group has failed, a rather cocky bunch who got it in their heads to try and take on a pack of werewolves in Arkandale rather than simply spy on them as I requested. Of the four of them, two survived and had to be turned down; they failed to follow orders and showed extraordinary recklessness. Maybe in time we'll have the time and resources to drill such idiotic notions out of hopefuls' heads. But right now we need as many able bodies as possible who know their own limits.

To date we've gathered thirty-nine new members, ranging from green as a leaf to those who have a few years of experience under their belts. Old plans to find a suitable stronghold with the space to hold us all had to be rushed. A few miles south of Mordentshire we came across a large mansion from centuries past. Though there are real ghosts there, the only group we had to really concern ourselves with was a band of thugs using the place as a hideout. The ghosts weren't powerful enough to drive them off, not with their fallen anchorite keeping the undead in line. So with the spirits' blessings we got rid of the thugs and set up shop. Our ethereal hosts rather like what we've been doing, especially the restoration and reinforcements, so for now we don't have to concern ourselves with laying them to rest. It will have to be done, eventually, but since their anchor appears to be the old mansion we may be doing just that by bringing it back to splendor.

Quarters have been tight so we've had to expand on the place quite a bit. In doing so some of the workers stumbled on the site of a barrow wraith. Unlike other wraiths, the barrow wraith is the spirit of a miser who can't let go of earthly possessions. They also have the ability to suck the life out of those nearby, often claiming any treasure the unfortunates had. Exterminating the creature was good experience for some of the veteran adventurers and yielded up some rather nice goodies, including a Flame Tongue for their fighter to use. That was a reminder that for us to succeed we needed a way to equip and reward members. Magic in the Land of Mists is rare and those who can make anything truly potent are few and far between. I've accumulated quite a few bags of holding chock full of items I'd accumulated. Most of them could be donated to the Shining Force's vaults, while others I'm leary of letting get out into the world at large. An enchanted weapon is worth killing for to many, but one that can grant wishes or strike down the undead more effectively than any disruption weapon could cause much more harm if word of its existence got out.

Even as I write this I receive messages daily in anonymous drop points that there are more who wish to join. At first I'd been afraid we'd grow too slowly to effective face the Fraternity if it came to that. Now I worry we're growing too fast and will attract the attention of beings far, far worse.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Thu Nov 03, 2011 10:52 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Mar. 28, 729 BC)
I got a package from Alanik Ray today. I've been so busy with the Shining Force that I'd all but forgotten about Sonia Darkleaf. The old mansion we adopted has been restored to its previous glory and the ghosts that haunted it have seemingly disappeared. Our additions are finished and a trickle of magic items--some of them in need of redemption--has begun to come in, among the other treasures members have been kicking back. All in all this little group isn't so little anymore. It's been hard to keep things from becoming known to the outside, especially the Fraternity of Shadows, but since our flow of new members has slowed to a trickle I feel that we can focus our time on actual organization and work. Especially with chapters in Dementlieu, Lamordia, and even western Darkon already up and running.

Secluded at my own manor I finally began reading the notes in the package. M. Ray has done a remarkable job of piecing together Mlle. Darkleaf's history. She's not old for an elf, being born just forty years ago in a hamlet in northern Mordent. Apparently she was quite the troublemaker and was one of the first new students of Felix Wachter after the First Schism. Not so much out of any faith but because she wanted to learn magic. That she was able to even become a cleric is a testament to her devotion or to the bizarre nature of divine magic in this world. But it was at the cloister that things went truly awry. It's not clear what happened, and the historical records of the local Church are incomplete for the turn of the century, but apparently she was humiliated by the other acolytes on some deep, emotional level. What I can confirm is that, at that time, at least fifteen acolytes were excommunicated for "heinous acts against another." At this point she disappears from the historical record until 705 BC, when she was admitted to the University of Il Aluk with a full scholarship to learn arcane magic. Exactly who provided that scholarship is unknown; apparently they wished to remain anonymous. But it is noted that she already had an acute grasp of divine magic at that time.

Four years later she graduated at the top of her class before she began to adventure for a good fifteen years. In that time she somehow came across the art of the true necromancer and had gathered a small but devoted group of followers that has since formed the nucleus of a cult that venerates Elisime. Already she has trained a few other clerics who embody other aspects of the Succubus Goddess, but the running theme seems to be her tenet of perversion. Of life, of love, of magic, and especially the natural order of death. While the main cult is based out of Darkon, it appears that it has spread its tendrils into Dementlieu, Lamordia, and even Nova Vaasa. Places with wealthy, bored upper classes who are susceptible to their teachings and able to provide the cult with large sums of money. Strangely the cult hasn't tapped into Borca, though reports say they've tried. I guess Ivana Boritsi doesn't want the competition.

By now Sonia Darkleaf is a powerful arcanist and cleric and is surrounded by others of power in addition to a menagerie of undead creatures. Her goal seems to be to contract the nosferatu strain of vampirism, given her immense ego and lust for power. Working in Darkon means any true nosferatu would be under Azalin's thumb. But recently she's begun showing signs of just that: a thirst for living blood, increased healing under the light of the moon, and an aversion to holy objects. Strangely she's also shown an aversion to roses and anything made from them. It's the same reaction I'd expect other vampires to have towards garlic. I'm assuming this is some sort of symbolic irony brought about by the dark "gifts" she's earned for her truly vile actions.

I have names, dates, precise locations, but there's nothing I can do about it! The Cult of Elisime has grown too strong and is too widespread for me take on alone. While I'm sure the Shining Force would be up to the task, it already has its hands full. We're already engaged in a shadow war with the Fraternity of Shadows, one area that Orwin has shown remarkable aptitude in. Not surprising for a rogue, I guess. And as the most "visible" member of the Force, if such a term can be applied, it would be best if I went abroad for a little while to divert attention.

A few months or so on the road should be enough time to draw fire away from my allies. At the least it's an excuse to forget about running a secret society.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Mon Jan 23, 2012 9:02 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Unknown, Mordent, April 15, 729 BC)
It's taken me over two weeks to travel a scant fifty miles. Between dodging graveyards I've never seen before, sucking boglands, and numerous encounters with the Fraternity's hired thugs, I've barely managed three miles a day. I don't know what's worse: the whispers of the dead, the mist--and Mist--filled bogs, or the mercenaries. Perhaps the last one, since there's a bounty on my head rich enough to motivate even farmers and merchants to take a chance. I'm not about to kill innocent people, even if they are attacking me, but it's still a pain to have to deal with them. They aren't using magic to track me, my cloak prevents that, and I'm covering my trail well enough to throw off even the most puissant ranger. I think it's just terms of sheer numbers; in disguise, I've visited a few villages and hamlets and found posters with my sketching on them and a bounty of one-hundred-thousand gold pieces! Covert communiques with the Shining Force show they've kept a low enough profile that the Fraternity of Shadows has no real line on them. Instead they seem to be going after me in a symbolic gesture. Were it not for the fact I can't go a day without running into at least five or more bands of so-called bounty hunters I'd almost be flattered that they think so much of me. I guess leaving when I did was a wiser move than I'd thought.

So much for forgetting about running a secret society, though.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Northrup, Mordent, April 17, 729 BC)
I was sure I'd been heading south when I set out, and yet somehow I'm north. Not that I'm one to complain, considering where I am. Almost four years ago I helped out Eileen Weathermay and now she's returning the favor by offering me sanctuary as I work on redirecting the efforts of the Fraternity of Shadows away from me specifically. I've already learned they don't consider the Shining Force a threat, thanks to a ball held just over the border by one M. Balfour de Casteele. It took a great deal of willpower not to show my disgust at this man. His soul is already blackened with evil, but there was more to it than that. Besides being one of the Umbra--the leaders of the Fraternity--he seems to have had a brush with those eldritch powers that rule this land. It's left a mark on his soul only my crystal eye could have picked out.

It wasn't easy dancing around the subject of the Fraternity or the bounty on my head, but after he'd consumed a couple glasses of wine his tongue loosened enough that I could learn what I did. To the Umbra, at least, the Shining Force is just a thorn in their sides. One more group of do-gooders that they'll get around to belling by offering assistance using shells, informants, and other methods of subterfuge. I, however, was of much more interest because of what I am. The Fraternity's local blackguard, Juli Foxgrove, had tagged me as "a being that verily reeked of pure goodness." Apparently my effects on reality are not rendered undetectable by my cloak. Their lore on fiends--their own term--is considerable given the isolated nature of this world. They are aware of the ethical differentiations between the fiendish races, the Blood War, and even what the names are of fiends known to exist in the Realms of Dread. But they're lore on "angels" is not nearly as comprehensive. Up until Mlle. Foxgrove told them of her findings there was debate on whether celestials even existed. Apparently only blackguards can detect us supernaturally.

Their interest in me goes only so far as the rack and the vivisection table can take them. Such is their lust for knowledge they're willing to pay more than some nobles have stashed away to learn whatever they can. It's rather sickening. Their own knowledge of fiends hasn't given them the idea that we, too, possess phylacteries and that we don't leave behind physical remains in this world, though. And given my own experiences with torture, I highly doubt they could do a thing I haven't experienced a hundred times worse before. Not that I'm eager to revisit such agony.

With that bit of information I realized it was my own safety I had to worry about more than that of the Shining Force. Worse, for de Casteele and his colleagues at least, was how he mentioned his association with several universities in and out of Dementlieu. While we'd suspected them of affiliation with or infiltration by the Fraternity of Shadows, this just clinched it. They're much too valuable to simply write off, but now any sort of information or members drawn from them will be put under a much finer inspection than before.

After the party, which had taken up much of mine and Eileen's time the day I arrived, we finally got a chance to talk and catch up. The Smythes had recognized her inheritance from her late husband and, two years ago, she'd married Joshua's younger brother, Milton. Unfortunately after only six months he suffered a kick from a rather skittish stallion and was rendered impotent. That Eileen was already pregnant meant an heir. To his dismay it was a daughter and he became quite irate, only backing off when Eileen left him with nasty scars on his face from a vicious scratch. The ensuing scandal left Milton in a precarious situation; technically it's her fortune and, as a man unable to consumate another marriage, he's left with two choices: remain and forever be a second-class citizen among his family and the local populous alike, or seek a divorce and be left destitute as well as unfit for marrying. A man prone to violent outbursts like him deserves whatever ill fate comes his way, especially one that would attack the mother of his own child. Their marriage has been rocky from the start, apparently. It seems I left Eileen with more than a sense of hope last time we met. She possesses an assertive streak now that is quite at odds with what Milton wanted in a wife.

Personally I find him most disagreeable, narrow-minded, and arrogant. As we talked tonight he barged in on her private budoir, reeking of cheap whiskey, and made wild accusations before breaking his empty bottle and attacking me with it. Not that he could hit me in his sodden state. The noise did attract the attention of the servants and they reported his behavior to the local constable. As I write this he's in the town jail sleeping off the booze. This was not the first time he'd been arrested, but this was the most violent episode to date. It's late and I'm too weary to fully contemplate his final destiny. Save to say this is going too far. The local laws, whatever they may be, are nothing compared to what his own family will do.

But I will admit this. His accusation of infidelity was not entirely inaccurate. Eileen had been acting in an amorous fashion all evening. Aside from their wedding night she hadn't let him touch her, such a repugnant partner he'd made himself. And after his accident he lost his interest and become utterly sanctimonious. Even the Church of Ezra recognizes that humanoids have needs. Yet he'd become determined that if he couldn't, no one could. I can only imagine the frustration she must feel. Especially tonight when her hopes were dashed by his drunken intrusion. If there is any justice then the local gossips won't make much of her having a brief affair. Especially with that swine who calls himself her husband made her life miserable for two long years.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Thu Apr 12, 2012 5:46 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Northrup, Mordent, April 21, 729 BC)
My plan to get the Fraternity of Shadows off my back was at once "audacious, brave, and yet also ludicrous and the height of stupidity," according to Eileen. I knew those people wouldn't let me go until they got what they wanted. So I decided to give it to them. All manner of magical items and valuables, save the clothes on my back and my amulet, I left in her care. I even took the arm of Nyr off and plucked out my crystal eye just so they wouldn't be tempted to take them. I must admit it's been a very long time since I was handicapped like that. To not see the unvarnished truths of life, much less have only one eye, and one arm, took a minute of getting used to before I set out to "blunder" into a trap that Juli Foxgrove and other members of the Fraternity were running.

My plan was to fight, lose, and let them capture me.

To help make things seem less suspicious I disguised myself as the victim of a ghostly attack that had left me badly enervated, my gear lost in the struggle. What I hadn't counted on was a rogue hiding in the trees when I stumbled onto their campsite "by accident." When I manifested my mind blade I suddenly felt a very heavy thud on the back of my head. For a moment I was stunned, long enough for two more such hits and then a shackles spell. They had me; all I could do was fall on my face before being rolled on my back. Juli took one look at my amulet and tried to remove it; all she got were some serious positive energy burns. For that she kicked me in the side--hard. Immobilized as I was her kick delivered far more force than I'd expected. I tasted blood and turned to face her just in time for the unseen rogue to pummel me again. That was the last thing I remembered before waking up.

They must not have taken me very far because I woke up in some sort of abbotoir, strapped to a bed of nails. I think they expected such an uncomfortable situation would distract me enough to prevent me from using any "otherworldly powers." In truth the bed was actually a magic item used by yogis in aescetic meditations to "realign their chakras." As a psionicist I was familiar with such an item and even able to benefit from its powers. Further, my skin is preternaturally tough thanks to my slavery in the Abyss; the nails couldn't puncture my flesh and I was in no pain. The only thing that really felt at all painful was the leather strap around my head acting as a gag. No doubt they thought my abilities relied on speech.

Balfour de Casteele was there, waiting for me to recover. He gloated how easily they'd caught me and how I'd fallen into their trap. Then he wheeled a metal tray over containing scalpels, flensing knives, even a bone saw. This was a vivisection!

The first few minutes were troublesome as they discovered my flesh would not yield easily to even razors. They had to use enchanted daggers instead. No anaesthesia was applied and I had a vivid return to my days in the torture chambers of Elisime. Compared to the truly sadistic and vile tortures of demons, though, this was within my tolerances. Tricks I'd learned to stave off the mental and emotional scars that torture inflicts in addition to the physical ones kicked in. My captors were taking care not to let me die, though. A cleric using cure spells was there as they looked at my insides. What they'd hoped to find I'm not sure, but they were visibly disappointed to learn my internal organs differ little from those of humanoids. They continued to search for whatever for another three hours. I should have rightly been in shock by then, but my amulet and the cleric's spells kept me awake and aware.

Finally de Casteele himself told them to stop. Their plan wasn't working as they'd hoped; instead of answers all they got were more questions. He casually ordered them to kill me to see what would happen. At that point I knew the charade was over; even in agonizing pain I snapped the leather strap holding my one arm in place and fired mind arrows at the cleric, the man doing the vivisection, Juli Foxgrove, and de Casteele himself. The latter two were seriously hurt while the former two died instantly. Juli ran from the room as de Casteele struggled to get to his feet. In my rage I also knocked various chemicals on a table onto the ground, causing a reaction that turned into a quickly-spreading fire.

I lifted de Casteele from the ground like a rag doll, choking him enough that he couldn't speak.

"You sought to understand what it is you face," I hissed in his face. "Then see a fraction of my power!"

With a telekinetic thrust he went from my hand into the air and then slammed hard into the stone floor. His reaction was to cast an invisibility spell, but the smoke made it obvious where he was. I tackled him to the ground and manifested my mind blade, ready to kill him with one stroke. Something stopped me, however. Maybe it was the abject terror in his eyes, or the realization the Fraternity would hunt me down again if I killed one of the Umbra. Whatever it was I dismissed my mind blade and let him up. Alive he would tell the rest of the Fraternity what had happened, how even without magic items I had bested one of the Umbra, how truly dangerous it would be to pursue me again or provoke my ire. And how their vivisection revealed nothing of any real use.

I manifested waves of positive energy into myself and him to heal both our wounds before I teleported back to Eileen's estate. My physical wounds were completely healed, but the mental ones took more of my power to heal as Eileen has nursed me back to health these past four days. In that time I've come to realize that a part of me died back there. If I have to put it into words, it would probably be apt to say my ethics died a little. Where laws may let wrongdoers go free, I can no longer sit back and accept it. Punishment, tempered by mercy, must be meted out. No longer will I hesitate to bring justice, no longer will I tolerate the evils I see every day without correcting them in some way. But neither will I forget the tenets of mercy and just balance. I've given de Casteele and the Fraternity of Shadows their only warning. If the society dares pull the proverbial tail, they'll see just how sharp my claws and fangs really are.

A part of me died. Another part of me has been reborn.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Fri Jun 15, 2012 9:24 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Northrup, Mordent, April 22, 729 BC)
My effort had the intended result. The bounty has been pulled and no one else is trying to collect on it. Yet I'm still not satisfied with the answer as to why they would go so far? Just to vivisect me? Surely there are those in their ranks who could call and bind another celestial being. Why go to all the trouble of putting out a bounty? The only thing that makes any sense is that it was supposed to be a scare tactic. To frighten me off of their trail. Instead I've shown them just how powerful I can be when push comes to shove and more likely caused a tactical retreat instead of anything truly lasting. I doubt next time they'll be so slipshod in their preparations. Whenever "next time" comes.

As for my standing among the people of Mordent, this whole episode has raised uncomfortable questions that I can't answer. A conspiracy of powerful men and women, headed by evil illusionists, trying to unlock the secrets of reality to obtain power is far-fetched even to me. And I know it's the truth! How this will affect future dealings with the populous I can't say. And at any rate I'm eager to continue my travels once more. Eileen has refused any monetary form of recompense for my putting her out like I have. Instead she's made it clear what she will accept. I doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Barovia Village, Barovia, April 25, 729 BC)
As I began my trek south from Northrup I again found myself Mist-led. I'm really beginning to hate these games the true rulers of this world are playing. I was deposited on the western edge of Gundarak two days ago. I despise this realm and its ruler; knowing what I do of this realm, the bizarre and disturbing rumors of Duke Gundar and his children don't necessarily ring false. Even the local religion of the Morninglord, as beneficient as it is, just reminds me that this world is a copy of so many others. Yet even the mad Gundars or the reminders of Lathander's church were preferable to the skeletal steed and rider that delivered a missive leading me here, to the rotten core of Realms of Dread.

It was a missive from Strahd von Zarovich himself, requesting--demanding, really--my presence at Castle Ravenloft within a fortnight. Whether or not the Zarovan I encountered that same night were part of Strahd's plan, or solely their own choice, is a matter I'm not seeking answers to. Something tells me I wouldn't get any. I didn't even try to broach the subject when Madame Eva herself asked to see me and gave me a Tarokka reading free of charge. That reading was itself something worthy of note. If only because of how it read.

"True righteousness stretches the bonds of reality. The Land's grip wanes as the tide of darkness waxes and the one from beyond is increasingly divorced from those whose blood he does not share."

What it's supposed to mean I didn't ask. Nor did Madame Eva feel the need to explain. When it comes to the Vistani, I feel it more prudent not to ask too many questions. Even if they do treat me as a giogorto--friend of the Vistani--and yet refer to me as giogarta. That word is strange, roughly translating as, "not giorgio, but not Vistani." Perhaps a better translation is, "outsider." Outside of what I don't know yet; likely it's related to my strange effect on the fabric of reality and the darklords it imprisons. "Answers will come in time," Madame Eva said as I left her vardo. I hadn't even asked any questions.

In the interim we must have moved without my knowing it, because when I left I was on the very outskirts of the Village of Barovia. A ring of fog surrounded the town but I didn't even have to enter it. A driverless coach awaited me and took me up the crumbling mountain path to Castle Ravenloft at a speed that threw me around in the cab rather violently. By the time it stopped and the door opened I was bruised all over the face and limbs. The sun hadn't even fully set yet. What was with the haste?

I got the answer after the drawbridge lowered itself and the main doors opened. Inside stood a man in a regal red and black suit with slicked back hair, pale skin, and slightly pointed nails. This had to be the infamous Strahd von Zarovich. Certainly the palpable aura of evil was enough to tell me this was a darklord as described in the works stolen from the Fraternity of Shadows. One of the Land's ultimate wardens and prisoners in one. It took all my will not to run screaming in sheer terror. I knew evil all too well, but this...there was something far more malign to it. Much more menacing. Evil borne of free will. Of sins committed by one who wasn't compelled but by one who chose.

He greeted me graciously enough, though he did not extend his hand. That was a prudent move since I wouldn't have taken it had he offered it. Then he tersely explained why I was there. The same contract struck with Azalin, backed by the Pact Primeval, he wanted to sign with me. This version was much better thought out. The catches and loopholes the lich-king had in his were all well and truly covered here. So much so that there was no wiggle room for either of us. The scroll it was written on had to be over ten feet long and written in script so tiny I could barely make out the lettering. Once signed we would be powerless against the other. I would maintain the right to pass through Barovia, even combat beings not under Strahd's direction, but anyone and anything under his command or control was off-limits. He would be just as limited and there was no indication he even knew about the Shining Force. Not that it mattered; unless they were acting against my direct orders or performed operations without my direct knowledge they would be just as tightly restricted.

Being undead there weren't that many visual cues to pick up on, but I could see it all the same: fear. He was afraid of me. Perhaps more than I was afraid of him. Not that it mattered, since as soon as I signed he promptly told me I was no longer welcome in his castle and had to leave. In the courtyard was the same carriage to take me back to the village. Only the speed was greater than before, enough to knock me loose every time I thought I had some sort of stability by pressing up on the ceiling and down on the floor. Finally I just used psionic levitate to hold my form stable just inches above the benches and below the ceiling itself. Why I hadn't thought of that before I don't know.

When my ride came to a stop I was outside the door to the Blood 'o the Vine inn. The sun was gone save the rosy light of dusk and the inkeeper hadn't yet locked the door. I must have looked the sight to the patrons, battered and bruised as I was. Not that I cared. The Barovian fear of the night is well-justified in this land and I was grateful to be indoors. Less because of Strahd's spawn and more because of the creatures that weren't under his control. Seeing that the innkeeper wasn't wholly human through my crystal eye made me more uneasy. I'd heard of wereravens, but not much beyond rumor and speculation. The fact that my host and most of the staff were such made me uneasy. Despite seeing pure hearts under the transparent image of giant ravens.

In my room I used psionic lock on the door and window before collapsing on a heap on the bed. I'm not sure how long I was asleep before I became aware of the imminent danger. Vapor was pouring in through the gap under the door, coalescing into a human form dressed in black leather and wielding a wicked knife. This couldn't be one of Strahd's get; that would have broken the contract and invoked dire punishments. I played dumb until the form was nearly on top of me before slashing with Repose. The enchantment didn't hurt the creature as much as I would have thought. Only nosferatu vampires take diminished effects like that. Assassin's garb, the odd knife, a nosferatu, this was one of the Ba'al Verzi!

It lunged at me again but the blade just glanced off the armor under my clothes. When I stabbed it again the other enchantment kicked in, reducing the assassin to so much dust. It was true death this time. The ruckus we'd made had the innkeeper knocking frantically at the door as I was looking through the remains. He was worried about me and nearly fainted when he saw the knife and its hilt. As he put it, "lacquered black, gold, and red to represent the blood they spill, the shadows that hide them, and the gold that motivates them." That I'd not only survived but killed my attacker had him intrigued. It was then that he suggested I come into the back rooms to meet someone.

That "someone" turned out to be a large raven-like being called Pyoor. He explained that nature of ravenkin, wereravens, and a group known as the Keepers of the Black Feather. They worked to find the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind, an artifact they hoped would be able to destroy Strahd and free Barovia. I got the feeling they were chasing the sun. If it was to be found it would be in Strahd's possession. There was simply no way he would let something so anathema to himself be loose. My contract with Strahd meant I couldn't help them either way; they were in direct opposition to the vampire lord. Something could be worked out, but whatever it was I could no longer be a part of it in any direct fashion. That wasn't what Pyoor or his colleagues wanted to hear, but that's the breaks.

At any rate I was still wondering what the Ba'al Verzi were doing trying to kill me. How could they have even known I would be in Barovia? The answer, it turns out, was inside the pockets of the enchanted leather armor. Instructions to kill one Antoine Boritsi, another guest of the Blood 'o the Vine. It was a case of mistaken identity. Still, I could use that as leverage with the Boritsi Trading Company. Once word got to the leaders that a competitor had foiled a plot to kill one of their own they would have to honor an agreement or their reputation would suffer. And I already knew exactly what that agreement would be.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Thu Aug 02, 2012 10:05 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Barovia Village, Barovia, April 26, 729 BC)
As Boritsis go, Antoine was much easier to deal with than his relatives. The dagger and contract the assassin had carried were enough to convince him that I'd killed a Ba'al Verzi going for him. It turns out that another of their rivals, "someone from Darkon," was all he'd say, took offense to a little tryst he'd had with their daughter. I can't say I'm too surprised; Boritsi men have earned a bad reputation as lotharios. In exchange for saving his life he signed an indenture--his idea--to spread word to his family of how I'd saved his life and to back off for a while on the underhanded hits to Archer Trading for a little while. When I asked him what precisely had his family taking an underhanded approach towards me he mentioned it was his distant uncle, Anton Boritsi, who had taken offense to my own work.

I can't really imagine what I could have done, business-wise, to warrant attack. Not once have I muscled in on the Boritsi Trading Company's existing agreements, trade routes, or else used the more underhanded methods others use. In truth I'm more a broker than a trader, even if I do a little manufacturing of my own. So what had I done to get on this man's bad side? Or was it just his nature to go after anyone who might pose a threat to business? Regardless of why, he had to honor this agreement or face a serious stain on his family business's honor and reputation. Not something others would tolerate. If need be I'll even challenge him to a duel over this insult.

Tomorrow I head west to Borca to settle this matter once and for all.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Levkarest, Borca, May 7, 729 BC)
I'm still not sure how it happened, but it did. Anton Boritsi lays dead, along with several Dilisnya assassins, and not by my hand but by Ivana Bortsi's.

I arrived in Borca three days ago and immediately sought out Anton Boritsi. Tracking him down wasn't too hard. He was just as much a lothario as his kin and for a few coppers the peasantry was all too eager to point me right to him. At his mistress's house I announced who I was and why I was there. Almost immediately he began a tirade, focusing on himself almost to the point of excluding anyone else save to blame them for his troubles. I was dealing with a narcissist of the first water.

If only to shut him up I took a glove from my pocket and slapped him across the face with it. It was pretty clear why I did it and he didn't take it well. That I was the offended one and not him caused his whole face to turn a deep crimson even as a vein bulged out of his forehead. I left him there still ranting and hired a representative from Levkarest to act as my second and go-between as we waited the customary day for tempers to cool. Needless to say he hadn't let go of his grudge. If anything he was even angrier than before. His man and mine met to discuss the terms of the duel. Pistols at ten paces apart, located in a secluded glen outside the city, at the break of dawn.

Something about this bothered me. I felt it deep inside my stomach. A man with such a massive ego choosing a spot where few would see us? It didn't feel right and I made sure to take all the necessary precautions beforehand, including alerting the local militia. That was a violation of the unwritten rules, but I suspected it would be the least violation that would occur. It turns out I was right.

We met at his chosen locale and I reiterated the insult of attacking my trading company when I had gone out of my way to avoid interfering with his family's. Hells, I even gave him a chance to back down honorably. But that just made him angrier. Our respective seconds had acquired the weapons, flintlock pistols of equal make and caliber, and we took our places. Only in novels do duelists turn their backs to each other and walk ten paces opposite. No, we made sure the other was in their spot before the handkerchief was dropped to signal the start.

His shot went high and missed me. I doubt he even knew how to fire a gun. The fear in his eyes was clear, since this was a duel to the death. I raised mine, but turned and fired into a tree off to my left. A man in a dappled green and brown suit fell dead, a hand crossbow readied with a bolt tipped with nightshade extract. A writ in his pocket stipulated that he shoot me before I took my shot. My letting Anton shoot first must have caused confusion. This was an egregious violation that even his family wouldn't forgive. Yet before I had a chance to attack a carriage of all black followed by a wagon of militia thundered upon us. The militia members, armed with muskets, unleashed a volley into the canopy and brought down four more assassins. They were still alive even as the black carriage opened and out stepped Ivana Boritsi herself. The Black Widow of Levkarest.

I watched, dumbfounded, as she took each assassin's hand and kissed them. It was their flesh turning black and their tongues swelling into purple masses that brought me back around. She went to Anton after and kissed his cheek, causing the same agonizing death the others had. The sheer, cold malice of it all shook me to the core more than my encounter with Strahd had. Truly the greatest evil springs from the hearts of mortals alone.

"I thank you for handling my errant cousin for me. I was wondering how I would end his shameful actions without drawing undue attention."

When she approached I instinctively backed away, letting my affect on reality grow a bit. That didn't seem to agree with her and she fell to her knees until I was far enough away that she was not in its field of influence. Her eyes narrowed but a smile crossed her lips all the same. I got the impression she knew what I was. Or believed she knew. I've read the volumes of the Mandrigorian and recognized it was a work exalting fiends, even explaining some of the power they had in this world. Apparently as an extraplanar being myself I created a similar effect but in a much less benign manner. I disrupt reality here.

"Go. I will make sure my family's company stops harassing yours."

With that she returned to her carriage and sped away. For a moment it felt like nothing was real. A sort of absurdity to everything. For much the rest of the day I felt "detached" from myself even as I went about finishing my business there and chartered a boat south. It was only this morning that I snapped back to my senses. That close encounter with Ivana Boritsi had affected me more than I realized. Honestly I hope I never see her again.

Tomorrow I head to Sithicus to try and setup some sort of trade agreement. Or that's the plan. I don't know why, but I just can't shake this feeling that something is going to happen to change things.
(End Transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Wed Aug 29, 2012 7:26 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Helbenik, Valachan, May 9, 729 BC)
So much for Sithicus. As soon as I stepped into a Misty Border upon leaving Borca I found myself stumbling along blindly until I ran into a tree. As the Mists receded I realized it was a redwood--a truly massive redwood that six men holding hands couldn't encircle. No part of the Core has trees that massive except Valachan. And especially redwood trees. If I had to estimate I'd say the tree was older than me. Claw marks on the bark indicated that something--a big cat, most likely--had used it as a scratching post. Only it was something bigger than a lion or tiger, maybe a dire animal.

Suddenly I heard the sounds of a scuffle nearby. Two men, dressed in chain shirts and wielding weapons that looked like maces on one end and bladed lashes on the other, were fighting with a third man in the dappled green and brown leather of a ranger. To his credit he was holding them off quite well with a sword, but my eye revealed the others were not fully human. When it became clear they weren't going to win they shifted into hybrid forms. This caught the other man off-guard and his sword didn't so much as scratch them. I didn't hesitate; I activated my bracers and fired off silvered mind arrows at both. One died right off the bat, but the other lived long enough to turn and see me before another volley slammed into him. He was back in his human form before he hit the ground.

It took a moment for the young ranger to realize what had happened. One minute he was facing two werepanthers, the next they were dead from arrow wounds but no actual arrows. Then the fact he'd been hit with bleeding wounds from those bladed lashes hit him as he fell to the ground holding a nasty slash at his belly. Fortunately the therianthropes hadn't hit him with their claws so he hadn't contracted the dread disease. But he was still in bad shape and losing blood rapidly. What else could I do? I healed him with my powers, only to get a short sword at my throat as he asked me what god I professed faith in. He must not have expected me to react so swiftly and disarm him. But I did answer his question that I worshipped and outlander god, then asked him why that was so important. Hearing that I wasn't one of the local priests made him relax enough to talk.

He introduced himself as Korick of Utgrad and explained how he'd been hunting the Black Panthers who kidnapped his younger sister for the "lottery." Apparently the ruler, Baron Urik von Kharkov, holds a bridal lottery every year. His brides invariably die or disappear within weeks. His fellow Utgradi weren't exactly upset by this, but Korick was. Enough to hunt the men down as far as Helbenik before he learned his sister had already been taken to Castle Pantara. She was already dead by then. Now he killed any and all Black Panthers he could find, usually by ambush with silver arrows. But they had gotten wise and ambushed him instead. Two he'd managed to kill earlier before the two he'd just been fighting shot him out of his perch. If I hadn't come along he'd have been killed. As it was he was badly wounded and didn't trust the local clergy, whom worship some moon god they call Yutow, not to turn him over to the authorities. Hence his blade at my throat when I healed him.

He knew better than to engage in melee with therianthropes, but to face them without silvered weapons just in case? That was just foolish. And those weird weapons they used; the blades in and of themselves shouldn't have left bleeding wounds. Scars, yes, but not wounds that seep as his did. Examining them I sensed they'd been enchanted with a wounding effect, and their blunt ends had a bane enchantment of some sort. Something specifically attuned to Korick. These Black Leopards were out to kill him specifically. He's good, but it's luck that seems to have carried him this far. Even he sees that now and has asked to join me when I leave Valachan. I'm not sure how he'll like Mordent's cold, damp climate, but he insists that he owes me an honor debt for saving his life. For now we're staying at an inn called the Crispy Pickle. Their menu is all pickled foods from Von Kharkov's own vats. That alone set off alarms in my mind and we found our meals elsewhere.

Throughout the day I also got the sensation of being watched. Most of the locals tried to act as if they weren't watching us, but I could tell they were. Throw in outbreaks of "White Fever" and I couldn't shake the horrible feeling these people were charmed through nosferatu feedings. If my theory that Von Kharkov was seeding the pickling vats with his own blood is true then that means even those who weren't fed upon could still be under his sway. Then there's this Yutow, a moon god. A religion venerating the moon, nosferatu, it wasn't hard to connect the two. There was a massive control and spy network in place using the clerics of Yutow and the charmed peasants. Just staying here overnight has me worried. It's times like this I'm glad I created psionic powers that mimic certain spells, like sacred item. If any undead touch the doors or windows to our rooms they'll get a nasty surprise.

Tomorrow we leave at first light. I want to put as much distance between us and this land as we can manage in a day's march. I'm still intent on setting up some sort of trade with Sithicus, Mists be damned.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Sun Dec 16, 2012 9:33 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Kel-Alan, Sithicus, May 16, 729 BC)
Korick has proven himself a capable companion, even if I can't neatly place his talents as those of a ranger or a scout. He's displayed both and the fact he doesn't have an animal companion is a bit odd. But he's more than capable of taking on the undead and shapeshifters, which harried us until we got to the southern borders of Sithicus. Nosferatu spawn and more of the Black Leopards seemed to be able to track us anywhere. It could have been me; my effects on reality are still detectable by the darklords even if I suppress them completely. But when I put Korick under a mind blank power the attacks stopped. Von Kharkov isn't a spellcaster as far as I know, but the clerics of Yutow would be able and willing to use scrying to please their master. I honestly hope I never have to go back there. Von Kharkov is simply too embedded in the social and political landscape.

Our journey took us to Hroth to begin with, but the elves made it clear they didn't to deal with us. So we headed west and found a village that was marginally more open about setting up some sort of trading deal, Kel-Alan. The problem was that the folks there looked like they were nearing twilight. They claim it to be some sort of disease called Ashen Fever. It causes advanced aging in those who succumb to it until they literally die of old age. I've never heard of a disease doing this. It sounds like something supernatural in origin. The only ones offering respite were a couple who were also clerics of Paladine and Mishakal (or as the elves call her, Quenesti-Pah). They had enough ability to keep the disease from advancing, but were at a loss to reverse the effects. If we could find a way to at least stop the disease before it got worse they'd agree to negotiate a trade route.

But as any physician will say, the first step in treatment is to understand what the problem is. In this case no one knew. It was unprecedented and seemed to lack any real origins. It couldn't be traced to vermin or toxins, nor to a curse or some other mystical origin. My best efforts would only reverse the effects temporarily since future infection is always possible; a true treatment to stop the infection was the only real solution. As an ageless being I was inherently immune, but that didn't mean I couldn't pass it to others. And Korick is just as vulnerable to this illness as the elves.

Without knowing where this illness came from I'm at a total loss to truly stop it or even hinder it. The clerics' magic has proven unable to effect it in any way besides fortifying the infected to resist it naturally. I can create some alchemical solutions to further aid this, but that's about it. I have to search beyond the boundaries of the village to see if this is happening elsewhere. Maybe there's a Patient Zero who first introduced this illness?

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Kel-Alan, Sithicus, May 18, 729 BC)
I've spent the past two days asking Kartakan merchants and even some lumberjacks about what, if anything, they knew about this disease. The lumberjacks, which I discovered to my horror were mostly wolfweres, didn't know anything. But the merchants had encountered it in other places. Again there was no point of origin and no explanation of what it was. The only real solution was for the infected to fight it off naturally as no magic could stop it. That didn't come as great news to the villagers, who have to drink a truly vile tasting mixture of local roots and herbs. But already some of the youngest have fully recovered and others are showing signs of remission.

Using some refined dream crystal and steel rings I was able to create a crude microscope to look at a drop of blood from one of the villagers. What I saw was something strangely amorphous for a disease accelerate the aging process of normal tissue. There was an aura of supernatural power to it that explained why magic didn't work, but not much else. From what I've heard it's an airborne disease, which explains how it spreads so rapidly. But as to where it's coming from I can't figure it out. Diseases, even magically created ones, don't just appear out of nowhere. But this one did. It's a true aberration.

What I can say is that the elderly are the most vulnerable since it causes rapid aging. The young and middle aged are less vulnerable, but affects those of weaker constitutions more readily than others, so children are just as prone as the elderly. Those who recover develop an immunity to it. Since it can't be traced to any source there is only one way to break it: quarantine. No one gets in, or out, until the villagers have recovered or succumbed. Corpses will have to be burned or magically destroyed. The elven funerary spell dust to dust works wonders for that.

All the wars across all the worlds across all times put together have killed far, far less than some parasite you can't even see with the naked eye.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, May 29, 729 BC)
The infection here is broken. Over the past eleven days we had less than five deaths, all elderly whose bodies couldn't resist this unnatural ravage of time. I've confirmed that everyone is now immune and the two clerics have vowed to take the tonic I created and use it to help break the plague in other places. I wish them luck; it could take years, maybe decades for this to run its course. But without knowing where it came from, it's impossible to say if it won't come back some day.

The villagers are grateful for my assistance and have agreed to open trade. Some of the more exotic foodstuffs will certainly go for a premium in other lands. But just as Corick and I turned to leave we heard the rumble of Azrael Dak's bone chariot. The dwarf is an even bigger parasite than whatever caused this "Ashen Fever." He wanted taxes due and a percentage of the trade when it was established. I would have given anything to be able to attack him without causing trouble for others, but as Lord Soth's seneschal that wasn't possible. I just bit my lip until it was bleeding and paid him on behalf of the village. They didn't have anything to pay taxes with. He had to know that and figured, rightly, that I'd pay for them. Thankfully he was long gone before my blood dripped off my chin and changed back into its natural purple color. Corick noticed it and had some very difficult questions. None of the villagers saw, though. Somehow I doubt even the two clerics would have known what I truly was, despite their patrons. The powers don't seem to be very communicative here, if it's even the true powers that grant divine magic.

I told him I'd explain when we got back to Mordentshire, which wasn't that long a trip. As much as I fear using Teleportation effects in the Land of Mists, I used a psionic teleportation circle to circumvent what would be weeks of travel otherwise. Home at Archer Estate at last. A hot bath, a warm meal, a soft bed. I was looking forward to such simple things ever since I set food in Kel-Alan. Nothing could have kept me from them.

At least until I got word to administrate a legal dispute that Lord Jules Weathermay and even the local sheriff and magistrate couldn't without familial bias. It never ends...
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Sat Jan 19, 2013 8:17 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, May 30, 729 BC)
This has not been one of my better days. I rose early to investigate the evidence of the crime I was judging. It was between a local merchant named William Hunter and a farmer, Nigel Cox, who also happened to be a cousin of Lord Jules. Cox claims that Hunter stole his sole horse after thugs killed the latter's prized stallion for unpaid gambling debts. But Cox is a known scoundrel as well with a shady past stealing from the wealthy elite in Dementlieu before returning home and starting a modest farm. Neither man is free from sin, but I'm well acquainted with both. Cox is as gentle as they come regarding animals; he couldn't bring himself to brand his horse. Hunter, on the other hand, sees animals as little more than tools and resources to be used and abused. For Corick this situation is especially nasty since he shares Cox's love of, and respect for, animals. In fact he proved invaluable in determining the truth before the trial even began.

The horse in question was being stabled at the sherrif's station. A raw scar from a branding of Hunter's stables was on the animal's rump. That was a mark against Hunter since his stallion was supposed to have been in his possession for three years now. Corick, using speak with animals, was able to determine the horse actually belonged to Cox. The jury wasn't going to buy the testimony of an animal gathered by magic, especially by a foreigner, so it was more a matter of tricking Hunter into contradicting himself or else getting him to admit outright. That proved to be far easier than I'd hoped.

Things began at nine in the morning with Hunter going on a filibuster to make himself appear the part of the wealthy, educated, honest man and Cox the poor, idiotic criminal for nearly an hour before I used the gavel to shut him up and began analyzing everything he said. Several times he tried to change what he'd said when I called him on some incongruities in his statements. Every time he tried to fix things he just made them worse. Finally I laid out the evidence I'd found, with Corick's help, and let the selected jury decide. No surprise, they ruled in favor of Cox. Hunter was also ordered to pay a damages fee to Cox as well as meet with an anchorite for counseling for a, "gross habit driving him to criminal actions." I can't say that last bit sits well with me; I'm a firm believer in the separation of religious and secular matters.

Had that been all that happened today I would have been happy. But there were problems in the Shining Force that called for my attentions. Four of the less experienced members had found another barrow wraith the night before and attempted to bring it down with brute force. I would hope the idea of forethought and planning would be drilled into their heads when they joined. But that may be asking too much of adolescents. For their troubles they escaped badly wounded and enervated by the wraith's touch. Frankly it's dumb luck that they even survived. Barrow wraiths are not to be trifled with. The avarice that ties them to the treasures they hoard strengthens them greatly. At the least they could have waited until sunrise; barrow wraiths are weaker when the sun is out, even on an overcast day.

Their wounds and battered pride served as punishment enough. Instead Corick and I headed out to the site they described. As we walked I told him about the Shining Force, about our mission to counter the efforts of the Fraternity of Shadows, about our efforts to learn the true nature of this world and those who truly ruled it, and about our goal of using that knowledge to stop them from harming the innocent. He liked what he was hearing, especially about going about all of it in the strictest stealth and undermining the power of those we targeted before striking. It was just what he had tried with Von Karkhov. I also knew he'd make for an excellent addition; he had the purity of spirit and the heart to keep up the fight even when things looked grim.

By the time we reached the barrow wraith it was dusk and hard for him to see without using his own magic. From a distance I studied the creature, determining it was more powerful than I had imagined. Hidden in the rocks I did see what looked like the luster of mithral. If only for the material it would be worth taking the creature down. Plus it would dissuade anyone else from trying to take it on once word got around among the members. I channeled my devotion to the cleansing light of the sun and charged even as Corick snuck around to flank it. The incorporeal form proved problematic for me as each strike failed to make contact for several seconds. The light my mind blade was shedding did weaken it, however.

Corick was luckier in striking it. His own blows managed to hurt it until I got lucky and struck it with a massive blow. Okay, so even I'm not immune to impulsively jumping into combat without preparations. When it dispersed we began to rummage through the barrow, finding some old gold and platinum coins, a solid gold goblet encrusted with gems, as well as a suit of mithral chainmail, a metal bow, and a bastard sword emblazoned on the hilt with a holy symbol I recognized as that of Andral. What was a sword created by Barovia's long-defunct religion doing out here? There was also a tattered and crumbling journal, the only pages still readable claiming it to be the property of one Yuri von Zarovich, a paladin who rejected his bloodline and set out to explore Mordent. The last page was also his last entry, a victim of the barrow wraith too weak to escape once the sun set. He went to his death without regret, saying only that whomever found his sword should give it to another holy knight, "to unlock its full potential."

The blade was encrusted in centuries worth of tarnish and grime until I struck it against a rock. All the accumulated garbage fell off and revealed a highly polished weapon that gleamed even in the rising moonlight. A holy avenger! Unfortunately we didn't have any paladins among our numbers, so the blade wasn't going to be too useful for what it really was. Meanwhile Corick had found that the bow was likewise enchanted, adjusting its pull to its wielder and creating arrows of bright energy when drawn. No wonder the creature was so powerful; the treasures it guarded were truly astounding.

We packed up everything and head back to my estate. The valuables would go into the vaults of the Shining Force, while I saw no reason not to let Corick keep the armor and bow. As for the sword, that would be stored until someone worthy of using it was found. Such a potent weapon would have to be earned. Not to mention the dark stories of paladins wielding such blades being hunted down by the darklords. The few I'd met here definitely had an effect on reality that such beings could pick up on. Using such a weapon probably made them easier to detect. That was a truly disturbing thought.

I also apparently had to teach the members of the Shining Force proper tactics for taking on the creatures they would face. The events that led us to such a find meant I would need to implement more stringent training. A search for anyone worthy of using the blade would have to wait.
(End transcript)

High Priest Mikhal · Post by **High Priest Mikhal** » Tue Feb 19, 2013 9:08 pm

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, June 3, 729 BC)
Between whipping the Shining Force into shape and managing some problems in the Archer Trading Company, I had all but forgotten about Sonia Darkleaf and the Cult of Elisime. Until I made a decision to start turning the Force into a cell-based organization. The first place a new cell was started was Dementlieu. Specifically I hoped to find out more about the Brain and its operations. Instead they uncovered a secret society among the aristocracy in the same vein as the Hydra Club. Only it wasn't just some place for the elite to indulge their darkest lusts, it was a cult. The members pay handsomely for the simplest magical potions and oils said to aid them in their lust for gold, power, prestige, whatever it was they wanted. Strangely all attempts to scry on them failed; the actual clergy, every one of them, is under the protection of mind blank. I think I know why and he's apparently been sending in his own agents to find out more without much success. Those found to be under the influence of any sort of magical charm are removed--with force, if necessary.

Going back over the notes Alanik Ray delivered weeks ago things began to fall into place. Men who would join the clergy are subjected to intense rites and tests to ensure they're self-control and capability. Women can be so id-driven it's crazy and the Goddess of Succubi doesn't care. If a male fails, they're castrated or killed. Those who choose to become eunuchs then become the guardians of the female clergy, focusing on combat magic and physical fighting, though the latter is still expected to be capable of some form of combat. In researching these men, those who knew them claimed they had put on a lot of weight recently--all muscle. It's not that the removal of a piece of anatomy suddenly causes an increase in muscle mass, but the sudden lack of carnal interests and hormonal changes do help in focusing on developing their physicality and even mentality.

Those who passed, however, were just as capable and deadly in predatory seduction. Especially in a domain as repressed as Dementlieu. The very names of clergy who passed the rigorous trials are even "incubi" and "succubi," respectively. Why only men had to undergo such trials to begin with is in part due to Elisime's own misandry. While not as much as Lolth, she hates men to truly terrifying degrees and only those who have proven themselves to the highest degrees are ever accepted. Women have an easier time joining, but even they must pass the same trials to attain an equal rank. Only they get to try again and don't suffer overmuch for failure.

That reminder helped shake loose some old knowledge that helped me see just how deeply the Cult was entrenched and how widespread it was in Dementlieu. To my horror it's an unofficial, unspoken second church next to the Dementlieu See of Ezra and the witches of Hala. They have their fingers in several pies and rake in more money than the Council of Brilliance does. Their own influence isn't as widespread or infallible as that of Dominic d'Honaire, though. In fact it seems the Dementlieu branch is nothing more than a money-making scheme with corruption and perversion of people and values a fringe benefit. Intercepted reports point to their main temple as being in Il-Aluk, though some sort of move is going on. Sonia herself seems to have had a dire vision of the city as a necropolis and is moving everything west to Martira Bay.

Finally is something I had not expected or even thought possible. During one rite one of the priests began chanting in a language that none of the Shining Force spies could understand. The words did fill them with dread and intense hatred towards the speaker. I can't be certain, but it sounds like Dark Speech! The very language of evil. Only the Words of Creation can counter the fell powers imparted by Dark Speech. But to learn them requires a pure heart and great strength of will and character. I have no idea what the effects of the very languages of good and evil will have on this plane, but it seems I have little choice but to try to teach others. My main concern is what this touch of the essence of goodness will have. Will those who learn become detectable by the darklords like paladins? Can anyone in this world even learn them?
(End transcript)

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