The Lost Journals

Fiction about Ravenloft or Gothic Earth
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High Priest Mikhal
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 18, 736 BC)
I finally got back to Rudolph about his Guide to Ghosts. He was actually holding off the final publication before I gave my review. Were the Shining Force not pulling me in several directions at once I could have gotten back to him much earlier. Communications and travel seem to have been solved in one stroke but at a severe cost of time and money to implement. Both are things we don't have much of. Despite setting up methods of earning money at each base to fund things, we're constantly walking a razor's edge when it comes to funding. Besides the basic costs of living and additional "fees" required to avoid hassles by the "proper authorities" in several countries, our activities themselves require vast amounts of money. War is costly, but a shadow war is doubly so.

The idea is to use full-length mirrors as both a means of transmitting messages across all of our bases as well as acting as gates that can teleport people and goods over vast distances. Only the cost is astronomic! Some countries don't have enough in their treasuries to cover what it's going to cost in the end. And with spare money tight as it is, it's not viable right now. Not unless there's a way for the Archer Trading Company to start turning two or three times its current profit margin quickly. Which is where a new Mistway comes in. It's keyed to a particular item and provides one of the most reliable two-way travel between the Core and the lands of Sri Raji. Rajian goods and spices are worth their weight in gold in the Core--literally. Only there's always been two problems to trade. The first and most obvious is getting there; it's isolated in the Mists. This new Mistway leads straight into Lake Veda, near the city of Muladi, and the lake is just big enough for a cargo ship about fifty-feet in length to hold. One voyage could make ten or twenty times back what the cost this way.

The other, trickier obstacle that few traders in the Core care to overcome is the culture. Reading accounts of the Boritsi Trading Company's efforts I'm appalled at the egregious insults they made in their trading. Not that I like the caste system, or believe in the same tenets of physical and spiritual purity, but I respect such views. Even after establishing communication many of the traders ignored simple protocols until they were driven out. Subsequent attempts went better as far more diplomatic types made the trip, but trade remains sporadic at best and the Rajians feel no real qualms about gouging them on prices for their perceived lack of decorum. Hopefully I can help smooth things over for my own traders and obtain better prices by showing them that not all outlanders are uncouth brutes. But that necessitates traveling there myself--over water. Travel by barge or riverboat makes me seasick, let alone being on the open seas. I just pray it's not too far to reach the Mistway.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muladi, Sri Raji, Nov. 12, 736 BC)
A new admiral of the small trade fleet of the ATC, a half-elf woman named Melanie Pritchard, took on the task of piloting the ship and leading the crew. If it weren't for the fact she's an old salt and kept the ship together I might have strangled her after all the "landlubber" jokes she made while I was bent over the side. So I'm not cut out for the water. That doesn't give her carte blanche to rib me about it. Especially since I'm the one who supplies her salary. But the crew of her personal ship are the only ones crazy enough to sail while the Relentless and other ghost ships are prowling about with such frequency.

That's the kind of motley crew that agreed to sail on this fool's journey. Luckily the voyage over water was quite calm and mostly uneventful. The only real item of note is when a lone sea hag got onboard in the night. She made the fatal mistake of choosing my quarters first. I was too sick to sleep but not to react by throwing a lit oil lamp at her and manifesting control flames. When the flames failed to damage the ship and instead stuck to her she ran out screaming. The ship hit a swell and I was knocked down, losing sight of her but not control of the conflagration. It wasn't until I saw her charred corpse still burning even in the water that I quit concentrating. Scared the crew seeing a fire that walked but didn't set anything else alight and that still burned even after it was overboard. Thank the goddess I trained to use fire-based powers even underwater.

After that the crew was more than a little leery of me. Not that I could blame them. No one told them I had powers like that.

Arrival was a welcome sight for me. We had to berth in the middle of Lake Veda and send dinghies to shore, much to the astonishment of the guards of Muladi who had come out to investigate. For an additional shock I spoke to them in Rajian and removed my hat of alteration to show my true form. Immediately they knelt down, calling me a deva. The word literally means "god," but is looser in meaning and really refers to any benevolent supernatural being. I'd forgotten that my people are considered devas thanks to regular contact with cultures like the Rajians on other worlds.

Getting off the water and on to solid ground never felt so good. The captain was willing to take in the hospitality of the people but the rest of the crew didn't feel comfortable. It was just as well; it was hard enough convincing the locals to instruct Melanie on the nuances of the culture without at least two-dozen more who possessed far less skill at adapting to new places. And of course there is the problem of the caste system. As a deva I'm considered Varnatita ("beyond all Varnas") but she is mortal and therefore technically outside the caste, an untouchable. By virtue of her association with me, though, she was accorded honorary rank of Kshatriya (the caste of cattle herders, farmers, merchants, and artisans). It's fitting, given that she's a bard as well as a trader.

Within the walls of the city, however, I reeled at both the sight and smell. Buffalo and cow dung was piled in the streets alongside beggars who pleaded for the simplest kindness. I couldn't ignore them and used much of my psionic energy healing the injured and curing the sick as well as using coin to buy food and clothing. The people began to call me mahatma ("Great Soul," or saint) for it. It's an honorary I don't feel comfortable accepting. Giving what I can to help those in need is simply who I am. There are others far more worthy of being called a "saint." Besides, I couldn't help everyone.

For tonight the priests and priestesses of Shiva are housing us in their temple. Shiva's benevolent aspects as omniscient yogi and counter to Kali, goddess of death, destruction, and time, are what predominate here. I suspect this is because of who--really, what--they call Maharaja Arijani. If it's the same Arijani I've heard of, then housing us here is a good idea. A Rakshasa ("demon"), even one not of divine blood, is a fearsome foe. Most appear as humanoids with the heads of tigers and palms that are upside-down. They're also powerful sorcerers without formal training. If this is the son of their god, Ravana, I have put Melanie and the crew in greater danger than I anticipated.

Such will have to wait until tomorrow. It's been a long voyage and even longer day. My work with the poor caused me to miss meeting with the merchants today to setup trade. Oh well, better to aid those in need then to enrich oneself.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Wed Sep 15, 2021 3:15 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muladi, Sri Raji, Nov. 13, 736 BC)
Rain was falling outside when I woke up this morning. I forgot this is the monsoon season in Sri Raji. Roads inside and outside of the cities would be sucking mud unless the sun came out long enough to dry things out. That meant not much could be done unless that happens or we brave a disgusting slog of mud, dung, and other waste. For a society as advanced as Sri Raji, they haven't really bothered with sewers or even waste pits. Perhaps they can't keep up, given how populated all the cities are.

In the main area one of the priestesses was already up, engaging in a form of yoga (exercise of body, mind, and spirit) traditionally done as a form of spiritual cleansing. What struck me is that this form could take hours to complete and was usually reserved for the most sacred rituals, holidays, or other events. As far as I knew this wasn't a holy day on the Rajian calendar, nor was the temple planning any kind of major ritual. Plus it seemed familiar but I couldn't put my finger on it. So I left her be and sat cross-legged, arms extended on my knees (lotus position) to begin my psychic meditations.

The temple's chief cleric, a man simply called Rao, came in after about an hour. Though I was still deep in meditation I heard him approaching. He just watched me for a while before calling out to me. With a nod of his head he led me away and explained that the priestess, Amaya, was to be given as a sacrifice to Kali. At once that struck me as outlandish even for the practices of a goddess as bloodthirsty as her. Not so much because her clergy demanded blood sacrifice--as vile as that is--but because the sacrifice was ordained of Shiva! That was a blatant disruption of the balance of the cosmos the gods enforced.

As Rao explained it, Maharaja Arijani demanded the sacrifice of one person daily to Kali. Those so chosen would be mounted on a white elephant and led to the Maharaja's palace where no one knew what really happened. No one even saw him without full costume. Keeping his appearance a total secret seemed to be of the utmost importance. What's worse is that he confirmed he fears: this was the son of Ravana, a half-human half-Rakshasa demigod. According to the lore I'd studied he was cursed for killing his father with a blessed silver bolt, cast into the deepest hell. So this is where he ended up.

Only Rao didn't want Amaya to be sacrificed. He wouldn't say why but I did gather that there was more to his feelings than he admitted even to himself. In fact I would dare say he loved her. While her time was still a week away she seemed resigned to her fate. He wanted my help to save her. If she felt the same way about him then I would be bound by religious oaths to aid them. That was the wrinkle in his plan; in order for me to help, he had to overcome his own fears and admit his feelings. Without knowing she loved him back I wouldn't risk crossing a being that was both a demigod and a darklord. It was terrifying and I freely admitted that. Plus my purpose there wasn't go around causing trouble. If Arijani was denied what he wanted his tantrums could be truly destructive. Not to mention the long-term consequences for others.

All I could really do at that point was wait for him to do his part and see where it led. Until then I still had to establish trade relations. So that's what I spent most of my day doing. Even as a deva it still took every trick I'd learned to get the best prices for trade contracts. By the end of the day it was a bidding war pitting who could reliably provide what they offered at the best price. When the merchants I selected deliver the promised goods I'll freely trade what I offered in return and see how it goes. Hopefully I won't have to come back here any time soon.

At the temple I had a talk with Rao and Amaya. He had worked up the courage to confess and she had--not surprisingly--reciprocated. Truthfully it wasn't hard to see. They were obviously in love with each other but had tried to deny their feelings. Now I had to protect that love under the oath I took to my own deity. And it meant opposing the son of the Rakshasa god. I wish I knew more about Arijani than mere legends and rumors. More to the point, opposing him means opposing the church of Kali itself. A very powerful, ruthless group. And one that threatens anyone that deals with me, especially the two lovers.

Unless I somehow strike the fear the gods into them. Arijani might not be so easily cowed, but his mortal servants can be. If they truly believe the wrath of the gods will strike them down for trying to harm anyone just to spite me, it might work. I don't look forward to what I must do both before and after I face Arijani. But it wouldn't be the first time I've had to stain my hands with blood.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muladi, Sri Raji, Nov. 16, 736 BC)
It feels like a lifetime since I last wrote, but in reality it's only been three days. At this point I've lost track of everything I've done in that brief time. One thing I haven't done is sleep. That's a pretty obvious reason for feeling like this. But it's hardly the only one.

One of my first targets were the Thuggee. Simply put, they're professional assassins who claim an origin from Kali's sweat in a battle against the god Raktabija. What little I know of them from other worlds indicates their stories deviate from traditional lore enough to mean they were not part of the original religion. Particularly the point about created from "sweat," a fluid considered impure in Rajian beliefs. They are a distinctly criminal underclass using religion to justify what they do. Unfortunately this also means they're servants of Arijani because they're taught to believe they do the goddess's work. Namely, they espouse the idea they're saving human lives by killing merchants, travelers, and particularly those they feel are a threat to their homeland and its culture, lest Kali destroy everything.

My own experiences have revealed just as many simply hide behind such beliefs to justify cold-blooded murder, plunder, and worse.

It sickens me that local authorities refuse to act against them, even when they are clearly guilty of heinous crimes. Fear is their most effective weapon and prevents retaliation since those who try to punish them for their crimes would have their families and friends killed before they were killed as well. Perhaps more disgusting is that many of Kali's clergy know of and condone their activities behind closed doors. Many even brazenly take a portion of their stolen items or, and I've seen it no less than six times now, take pleasure from unwilling captives brought to them. That isn't part of Kali's rituals, it's for themselves.

Under the effects of planar apotheosis I hunted both the Thugs and priests, revealed their actions, and let the people decide their punishments. And it's always been death. Most of the time the community carried out the punishments, but some of the more powerful villains have required me to execute them personally when they couldn't be subdued. Every time I was forced to take a life like that I felt sick to my stomach. Yet compared to some of the punishments suggested by those they'd victimized, it was a merciful way to die. I had to persuade them to make the deaths as quick and painless as possible. A lingering, painful execution isn't justice, it's revenge.

Bringing down the "wrath of the heavens" on the unhallowed temples of Kali, in contrast, was like a catharsis. Fire, lightning, sounds strong enough to shatter stone, few witnesses doubted that the worshippers of Kali had angered something powerful, if not divine.

Perhaps more important, and more influential, was the healing. Under the caste system one of a higher caste can mistreat those of a lower caste. Even denying them such important things as healing of the sick and injured or food for the hungry. Unlike when I first came here I showed the people how to use common plants and herbs to treat various illnesses and wounds, knowledge that certain Kshatriya and Brahmins had hoarded away. These individuals were not happy to lose some of their power, but public philosophical debates quickly convinced most that they had a duty to ensure those of lower castes had what they needed to survive. Doing otherwise was to accrue a karmic debt.

There were a few, hearts as black as coal, that grew angry and ordered enforcers to attack those I had aided. Once more I had to force the issue by showing everyone that, no matter their caste, no one was exempt from the wrath of an angered deva. A few were cowed by simple intimidation, but one was revealed to be a Rakshasa servant of Arijani. I don't think the creature was prepared for a foe that could see past its illusions. It created mirror images of itself in an attempt to confuse me about which one was real, but I still felled the real thing in seconds. The only thing left behind was a small jeweled amulet, it's phylactery.

Destroying the phylactery created what could only be described as a funnel of clouds in the sky as real lightning came down struck the ground three times before clearing up in seconds. At the same time we all heard a roar like a tiger echo. Deep in my heart I knew that Arijani had taken a notice of my actions. He himself couldn't detect me through any supernatural agent because of what I am, nor could his most powerful followers do so because of my cloak. However, he knew where I was just then.

From the crowd came someone dressed as a monk in black and dark gray clothes, covered in tattoos that marked his allegiance to Kali. All he did was hand me a scroll and point to Mount Yamatali, bow, and walk away. The scroll was a formal invitation to see Arijani in Bahru, the Accursed City. It indicated the Maharaja wished to discuss what it was I wanted in a civilized manner. It took all my self-control not to laugh; this was a trick I had fallen for once before and it wasn't about to work a second time. Certainly I plan on answering it, but not by going to the gate of Mahakala and announcing myself openly. That would be suicide. Rather, I will finish what it is I came here for, ensure Rao and Amaya are safely out of Sri Raji, and answer this summons when I can face my foe from an advantageous position.

The first step being to cleanse myself of illusions to face a being that thrives on deception.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muladi, Sri Raji, Nov. 20, 736 BC)
From the moment I stepped inside Bahru things felt unclean. It's hard to describe precisely, a greasy, acrid tang in the air, architecture that induced headaches to look at, air that was cold but still made one sweat, I can't put it down to any particular. The place made me queasy just by being inside it. But I still had to head into Mahakala and determine what Arijani wanted. For all his claims of Brahmin honor and protocol, he's still a rakshasa and I couldn't bring myself to trust his intentions of an honorable passage. Not completely. So instead of announcing myself I infiltrated the temple and observed.

Few places outside the Lower Planes radiate the same kind of darkness I felt there. Flashes of the sometimes-frenzied worship, bloody sacrifices, the faces of those chosen to die, and other things too horrid to put down on paper assailed my senses until I figured out how to filter them out. Overshadowing it all, though, was anger. A feeling of such intense fury that it was easy to begin seething myself. There was also another pair of sensations warring for dominance. Lust for power and...fear? Doubt? It's hard to say. So much evil has been perpetrated there it was hard to make clear sense of anything.

From the shadows I watched as three women, World Breakers of Kali, danced madly. One of them was referred to Mahiji, the name of Arijani's mother. At first I chalked it up to a coincidence but then a rakshasa covered in absolutely hideous illusions spoke to her. Called her mother! It honestly took a minute for me to comprehend that bit of strangeness. Why would she be imprisoned with her son? Unless those rumors of him slaying Ravana, his father and god of the rakshasa, were at least partially true. Honestly I hadn't thought about it much. Children usurping their parents seems to be an accepted and expected path to power among the denizens of the Lower Planes. In this case I'd be willing to bet that Mahiji played a role in things and so earned imprisonment along with her son. Or his tie to her brought her here against her will. Without knowing the truth I wasn't willing to gamble on her loyalty. Plus she was the leader of this little trio and as implicit in the crimes committed against the Rajian people as he was.

Eventually their conversation turned to me and where I was. Her "divinations" had said I would be there. At that I threw the scroll down from where I was hiding and moved to a different spot unseen. I even used sound control to throw my voice to the opposite side of the room, confusing them as to where I was. He was put out by my refusal to show myself, acting petulant like a spoiled child. I didn't need psionic power to tell he had every intention of killing me if I'd appeared as he expected. This resistance to his supposed sovereignty really seemed to rub him the wrong way and his mother had to talk him down. Despite how lethal and dangerous to my soul he was, it was still enough to make me laugh. It never ceases to amaze me how those who commit the greatest evils are themselves often the pettiest, most pathetic beings in existence when you get past the surface.

At hearing my laughter, still projected across the room, Arijani unleashed several spells at the same spot. Further I could sense him trying to detect my thoughts. My cloak was blocking him from even doing that and it seemed to infuriate him even further. By that point I was growing tired of fooling around and jumped down to face him and his cohorts. My measure of his abilities told me he was not to be taken lightly, but he could still be tripped up by playing on certain things. For one, his view of himself as a superior being. I immediately began to question how he ever thought he could oppose his father, Ravana. He was nothing, a spoiled child.

That hit a nerve. He began unleashing spells all over again and didn't stop until he realized I was nowhere in the vicinity of where was casting them. A portion of the temple had been scorched, shattered, and even melted by acid, though. As he was throwing a fit, though, I used psychic strikes to render the Mahiji insensate by winnowing away their resolve, including his mother. Without her he seemed unsure and nervous for the first time in this encounter. Still he came at me with a maddened look that betrayed a certain mania. It was actually rather simple to step aside and strike him with another psychic strike, shattering his force of personality and thus his ability to cast spells. He must have realized it because he actually stepped back from me in fear.

In warning him what I would do if I ever felt the need to return I minced no words. Deep down I wanted to destroy him then and there, but two things stopped me. First was that I honestly didn't know if I could. Weakened as he was, he was still partially divine and one of the darklords this world contained in prisons of their own making. Just destroying his physical body probably wouldn't stop his evil. Second was that if he died, Sri Raji might cease to exist and those within...it's something I try not to think about. Perhaps another would simply take his place, even more vicious to the people. Could I condemn the Rajian people to an even worse fate?

No.

Promising him his soul would return to his father's talons if I had to return, I left Mahakala and returned to Muladi to wait and see what would happen. It's been three days since our encounter and a messenger came today to say Amaya was not going to be sacrificed. I wish I could have stopped them all, but I have to pick my battles. Rao and Amaya were wed earlier and have asked to join us when we leave for the Core. That would be for the best. I've spotted several Thugs trying to hide among the people and spying on the temple. I wouldn't put it past Arijani to attack them simply for having sheltered me. Still, their decision to leave requires I do my best to prepare them for the changes they'll encounter. As much as those of us foreign to Sri Raji find its culture exotic and alien, they'll find the cultures of the Core to be the same.

Our trip back will also turn a tidy profit that will allow the Shining Force to implement the idea of mirrors as communication and teleportation devices. I've no doubt that the Boritsi Trading Company will eventually find a route here and begin trade in due time, but for now we're the only source and the prices we can demand will be substantial. Especially if coffee is as popular in the Core as it is on other worlds.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Forest of Shadows, Darkon, Jan. 11, 737 BC)
The spice trade with Sri Raji has been a roaring success. So much so I haven't had time to write in this journal for two months. Rao and Amaya are settling in well, though they dislike the chill Mordentish climate. My attempts to prepare them for the culture of Mordent and other domains in the Core did help somewhat, but there was simply too much to go into in the short time our trip took. Of particular shock is the fact that people eat beef in these lands; cattle are considered sacred in Rajian spirituality, specifically to the god Brahma. Despite the initial hurdles they seem to be adapting pretty well and have even joined the Shining Force. Amaya in particular has found herself a niche training those who wish to learn the ascetic arts of the monk. Rao is also proving himself quite capable, showing the more...enthusiastic members ways to channel their zeal for destroying evil into actions beyond merely attacking foes without regard for their--or others--safety.

Merchants as far as Nova Vaasa, Darkon, Hazlan, and even Sithicus. Some places like Valachan are proving difficult to deal with, while Borca is just off limits; the Boritsi Trading Company can have the latter. One of the merchants I deal with regularly, Regis Tallfellow of Rivalis, was willing to pay double the standard rate if I helped with an issue he was having in his hometown. The man's network is extensive and would mean a great deal more money for the Shining Force. I teleported as far as Nartok before having to travel the rest of the distance the old fashioned way; having never been to Rivalis, I felt it too risky to try and use my powers to get there. I could have--should have written back for more details, but that could have taken weeks of precious time. The situation with the Force, as well as the tone in his letter, impressed upon me the idea that speed was required. In that regard I wasn't wrong, but I crossed the line between "speed" and "haste" in my efforts to get there and deal with whatever was going on.

I knew that Rivalis was a halfling town, but I wasn't wholly prepared for the scale. Aside from a couple of inns and homes sized for taller races, the whole place is built to the halflings' size. At seven feet tall I was also twice as tall as the average citizen and stuck out like a sore thumb. At this time of year there aren't that many visitors so the few others besides me were also quite obvious. Thankfully Regis has sized parts of his own home to accommodate larger visitors and we were able to discuss what was going on without worry of being overheard.

The town had been seeing odd murders for the past couple of weeks. The bodies were torn apart by an animal with large claws and partially devoured. Some thought it was a wild beast while others were sure it was a therianthrope. The two most recent victims hadn't been buried yet so I was able to perform examinations; the families refused to let me autopsy either. Certainly they had large, perpendicular marks on the bodies, but there was no blood around those wounds. They'd been inflicted postmortem. The only wounds that did show bleeding were around the carotid artery and arteries inside the thighs. There were also no defensive wounds. This wasn't an animal; they'd been ambushed and bled out the same way a hunter or butcher bleeds carcasses. But the marks on the bodies were too ragged to have been inflicted with a weapon. It was like someone or something had used claws. Whatever happened, they didn't even see it coming; their spirits were able to confirm only that they were throats were slit before they died, never even seeing who did it. Psychometry only revealed that something with a long muzzle began devouring them after they'd finished bleeding.

So definitely a therianthrope. But why go through the trouble of bleeding them before eating? Most werebeasts seem to prefer their meat bloody. For that matter, why attack people? There are plenty of wild animals in the surrounding woods and that would draw less attention. This whole mess felt more like the work of a serial killer than a mindless monster. Before I left the morgue I did check something: the claws were definitely from a creature larger than a halfling, much larger. Since a therianthrope's size in its alternate forms is informed by its natural size, the killer was human-sized. That ruled out most of the residents. But that didn't mean much at that point. Whoever it was could easily be hiding out in the woods or even be one of the larger residents or visitors.

Regis was most helpful in keeping a list of those killed and where they'd been killed on a map of the town. The first thing that stood out was that those killed had been out late at night when most others were in bed. The other was that they were known members of a local thieves guild or believed to be so. This guild wasn't like most of its type; they stole primarily from the rich who wouldn't miss what was stolen, from tax collectors who extorted more money than was legally owed, and they always gave the poor money to buy the necessities. It wasn't the first time I'd encountered a benevolent group of thieves but it did make them potential targets of rich, vengeful marks or even baronial guards who thought they were doing the right thing.

One night I was unable to sleep so I took to patrolling the town. Despite being able to look over the rooftops of most of the buildings I didn't see anything out of sorts. It wasn't until the wind changed that I smelled something. The overpowering odor of wolf musk. I immediately followed the wind, catching sight of a humanoid form with a wolfish head. Building rooftops obscured the creature below the chest so my mind arrows couldn't strike anything else. Two in the chest, one in the left shoulder, and one that grazed its cheek. It let out a lupine yelp and jumped away--fifty feet in the opposite direction. I barely had time to register how nimbly it avoided stepping on any buildings before it turned to look at me. In that instant I manifested energy lance, sending a lightning bolt that burned its flesh and seared away a large chunk of fur before it loped away into the distance.

The brief fracas drew the attention of the town guard who immediately converged on my position and where the creature had been before I attacked it the first time. There was a young lady that it had been stalking, unaware of anything until it apparently changed shape. That's when the same odor of wolf musk alerted her to the danger. If I hadn't shot it, it would have killed her. There was also something on the ground, a steel neck chain with a crest attached to it. Before I could do anything more than pocket it the town began to turn out to investigate. The first few times I was hailed as a hero for saving someone from imminent danger it was nice. By now it's just dull and at times irritating. I couldn't even get the time to look at the chain as people were making a fuss over me and the young lady. I had to resign myself to pursuing the matter in the morning.

When I actually got a chance to examine the chain, the attached crest was that of the duke of Martira Bay's house! This was bad. If the creature was a member of the ducal family, it would invite a lot of attention from Azalin and the Kargat if I killed it. As much as I hated it, I had to turn this evidence over to the royal guard. I couldn't risk the people of Rivalis getting into trouble because of my actions. But I also couldn't risk letting it killing anyone else. At least this way the authorities would know who was responsible if there was an issue.

It wasn't until the next night that I was contacted. By Kazandra, of all people. The tension of that meeting was made all the worse by our mutual ambivalence. One the one hand we loathed each other for what the other was, but we were still strongly attracted to each other. At least this time we kept it strictly business. Her superior, Tavelia, knew about the creature and had ordered his termination. Unfortunately he'd evaded all attempts at capture. Just who it was she wouldn't say. Only that he was a racist of the highest order and a murderous psychopath even before being infected. That certainly explained his odd habits and even why he'd chosen to lurk around here.

The one thing she did make clear was that this was a Kargat matter and I wasn't to kill...whomever. Even if it meant letting him get away. Her tone made it clear it would be wiser to do as she said. If not for me then for anyone I was associated with. That was fair enough. I had plenty of ways of capturing foes without killing them. And I'd as soon avoid the consequences of crossing Azalin's secret police.

For the rest of the night I stood watch, never once spotting the creature. Nor on the night after. Then one of the local rangers said he'd located the creature's lair and it looked like it had been abandoned quite recently. The bits of fur and singed flesh left behind by my attack greatly aided their efforts. Signs pointed to it heading southeast, well away from Rivalis. I wasn't completely sure it was over, but Regis certainly felt relieved enough to declare that I'd fulfilled our bargain. The whole thing felt quite anticlimactic and even rather odd. There was definitely more going on that I didn't know about. It was only his terrified reaction to my questions that convinced me to let it go.

I was not happy letting this go unresolved. Apparently, neither was someone else.

From the time I departed Rivalis, I noticed I was being shadowed by someone. Frankly it was only because of my crystal eye that I noticed. They were good at hiding and stalking. Very good. It was only when I doubled back during a pass through the Forest of Shadows, tracking the creature, that I was able to catch them. It turned out to be a young halfling lass, the elder sister of the young lady I'd saved. I feel rather bad about grabbing her like I did and pressing Repose into her back; I was a bit paranoid. Still, she took it in stride and introduced herself simply as Valerie. No last name. She also kept her face and head covered, even while talking.

She explained she had been studying "engineering" at the University of Il Aluk until she received a letter from her sister about what was happening. That's when she left for home, arriving a day ahead of me. She'd had no luck finding the creature and felt terrible that her sister was almost a victim. The way things had worked out didn't sit well with her and she'd resolved to follow me to find out what was going on. Unfortunately I didn't have any more answers than she'd gotten in town.

By then it was getting late and we agreed to make camp for the night. It was only after she removed her hood that I noticed her honey-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes, odd traits for a halfling. Certainly one that made her stand out. No wonder she'd kept her head concealed. Our campsite was near a pond, one that wasn't frozen over. I didn't mind bathing in it but my rings make me immune to cold. I had to use my powers on her so she could bathe. More than once I caught her stealing glances at me while I washed off the road grime. She also used the excuse of sharing heat to justify sleeping next to me, passing out next to me even as I write this. I won't deny a mutual attraction but that's not something I want to pursue while I'm trying to track a murderer.

We pick up the trail first thing in the morning.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 13, 737 BC)
Our attempts at tracking the therianthrope fell apart when we found five sets of its tracks leading off in different directions. Normally mundane attempts at such misdirection fail when one can see the subtle differences in the tracks themselves. Even the difference of an ounce or a quarter of an inch in length can leave telling discrepancies. It takes magic to perfectly replicate such things. Which this thing apparently had access to. Worse, each of the sets went roughly six feet before disappearing altogether. No signs of the creature climbing any of the trees to travel via brachiation, no scent trail, nothing. Even my attempts to use remote viewing using a hair I got from the rangers failed utterly. Whoever this is, they know how to disappear without a trace.

I'd thought Valerie would want to return to Rivalis, but she asked to accompany me instead, explaining how she didn't leave for Il Aluk on good terms with her family. Her family was keen to put her proclivities for breaking and entering, especially in defeating traps and even the most complex locks, to "respectable use." Not because she stole anything but because it reflected poorly on them that she was such a skilled cat burglar. I can understand her decision. Filial pride can be a horrible burden.

Not that she was only skilled in thieving. During an attack by some ghasts she was able to take down two by slipping an elven fineblade into their backs before they knew she was there. Normally the undead are immune to precision attacks, but there is a technique for overcoming part of it. Plus her strikes left scorch marks on their necrotic flesh identical to strikes with holy water or other attacks with positive energy. Yet her weapon had no enchantment that would account for such. It's overly pragmatic of me to say so, but I must admit such skills would greatly aid the Shining Force. And, in all honesty, we share lot in common and find each other to be quite pleasing company.

So I teleported us back to Archer Estate after our encounter with the undead. We weren't going to get anywhere by staying in Darkon and the Kargat had already warned me to back off. Not that I fear for myself, but I couldn't put Valerie at risk. She also didn't want to return to the University and was delighted at the chance to get out of the country. She'd stolen quite a bit of money from the Eternal Order temple in Il Aluk to help some of the beggars there obtain food and clothing for the winter. A noble goal if not the wisest of ways to go about it when dealing with an institution as powerful and corrupt as them.

For now she's staying at the Estate. I wouldn't mind if she stuck around, actually. She's one of the few people I've met here who is so well versed in subjects as diverse as philosophy, biology, and planar theory. It's a refreshing change to have a conversation with someone who isn't blinded to the mysteries around us by fear or hatred.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 20, 737 BC)
The first few of the passage mirrors have been created and setup in the four main headquarters of the Shining Force in the Core. That much at least is going well.

What isn't going well is Valerie's rather unsubtle attempts at seducing me. At first it was "accidentally" exposing herself to me with doors left ajar or ignoring my knocks on the doors to the bath. Now she's walking around in very little and asking me to check certain areas of her body for something. I've tried to talk with her about her behavior but she feigns ignorance of any untoward motives. It's not that I don't find her attractive--I actually find her very beautiful and engaging--but after what happened with Priscilla and the Nidalan clergy who found her I'm wary of becoming intimate with anyone.

Valerie seems to have taken that knowledge as a challenge. One thing I've learned this past week is that she is not very reserved about her body or her sexuality. As a rule, at least on other worlds, halflings don't have the hangups about physical intimacy that humans and even dwarves do when it comes to people they know and trust. She is certainly living up to my own past experiences in that regard. Her charm and skill at setting people at ease with words alone has left me in some compromising situations when I let my guard down and she took the opportunity to express her intentions with actions. I'm not made of stone and it's getting harder to resist her efforts.

Did I just write some double entendres? I need to go cool off.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 26, 737 BC)
I failed. Valerie got the better of me and we consummated our relationship last night. It actually turns out that was her first time. Everything she had done to seduce me, everything she suggested, had come from various pillow books she'd read. Once the tension between us was broken she launched into a rambling confession of her feelings for me. I'm fairly sure a lot of it was purely hormonal but some was genuinely from her heart. I'm glad I could help her experience something so wonderful but I'm unsure of my own feelings. She's certainly willing to wait for an answer. Especially since she's admitted to her own ambivalence over this turn of events.

I doubt we'll have much time to explore our feelings for the next little while, though. I was asked to investigate a "rotting smell" coming from the root cellar of a farm halfway between Archer Estate and Mordentshire. My initial look revealed ghoul tunnels that had breached the cellar, along with a lone ghoul that I was able to interrogate to learn more. This isn't just a feral pack but one led by a ghoul lord. One that very deliberately commanded "her" minions to tunnel towards this specific farmstead. Ghouls are unpredictable enough, but a ghoul lord? My own experiences with such beings are severely limited. All I know for certain is that simply luring it out with some raw meat won't work. They retain too much control of their mind to fall for such simple tactics.

There's also why they would target that farm specifically. I talked to the family but the lady of the household, Linda, was unsure. The family had lived on a struggling patch of land in southern Mordent. Her husband had inherited their current farm when a relative died last October. Her husband flat out refused to talk to me and threatened me with a wooden pitchfork. There was fear in his eyes, abject dread. Not of me but something else. He did accept my offer to pay for the family to relocate to an inn in Mordentshire, though, and they were on the road before sunset. He just wouldn't speak to me.

Once they were gone I poked around his relative's old study and found an old journal. It was mostly annual records of the harvest but I did come across something thirty years earlier. An unnamed cousin was driven off the farm when she was found practicing "vile rites." No details, no further mention of who this person was. Just a family name: Dyer. That name sounds familiar to me but I can't place why. Fortunately one of the things I've collected at the Estate are copies of Mordentshire's town records. I did find birth and death records of the Dyer family but a name had been struck from them. I'll have to ask around tomorrow if I want to find out anything more.

I know I've heard the name "Dyer" before. I just can't remember where or what it was in reference to.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 27, 737 BC)
My search for information on the Dyer family took me to an old anchorite working at the Chapel of Pure Hearts, the only one who knew more than just rumors. He's asked to not be named here and the story he revealed was shocking. Ashley Dyer Hunter, the woman who's name was stricken from all records, had never "been right." She liked to torture animals and set fires as a child and moved on to acts that aren't quite taboo but are certainly shocking in Mordentish culture. Things like sneaking out of her family's house to wander graveyards at night, invoking the names of the dead, and damaging headstones. These behaviors started during her adolescence and quickly escalated as she got older to include defiling the burials themselves and doing...things with the corpses. I really didn't want to know.

The only other person she cared about was her younger brother, Anthony, whom she doted on. Unfortunately he was a sickly boy and in his fifteenth year he succumbed to consumption. She didn't take that well, wailing and cursing the divines, even going so far as to steal his body after it was interred. It was at this point that my unnamed source became involved, tracking her down to an abandoned inn a couple miles outside of Mordentshire. She'd laid his body out over a circle of symbols on the floor and was chanting something he didn't recognize. When he interrupted she lashed out at him with magic, possibly inflict spells by the description he gave. As well as a rather potent supernatural fear that left him fleeing. When he returned with reinforcements a few hours later they found Anthony's butchered body, minus the head and pieces of his torso removed by a sharp blade. The rest had been savaged by human teeth.

They never found her or her brother's remaining body parts. Anthony was then buried in hallowed ground. Weeks later someone dug it up but they were chased away by the groundskeeper. Whoever it was tried several more times until they just seemingly gave up. Ashley's name was struck from the records and people never again so much as talked about her. At least not until now.

I can theorize what happened, based on my own experiences with psychopathic people. Ashley was undoubtedly the one who butchered the body and tried to reclaim what she'd left behind. Her first attempt at returning Anthony from the dead failed but her possessiveness was such she decided to make him a part of her forever by eating him. If she succumbed to ghoul fever afterwards, that would explain why she waited so long to come back for the rest. A quick visit to his grave revealed why she may have quit trying. Someone cast sacred item on both the tombstone and the coffin underground. My source confirmed blessing both twice, once before the last attempt to dig up the grave and again after. One holy spell she could resist, but two at once and on sacred ground she couldn't overcome.

Tunneling under the farm must be a part of her mania. The extended family actually lived on the farm until she fled. Afterwards her own parents lost the will to live--losing both children at once--and died in their sleep a month later. Her cousins left after they grew up and married while her aunt died of pneumonia five years ago, leaving her uncle, Clint Hunter, the sole inhabitant. None of his children wanted the place after his own death so it fell to his distant nephew who likely doesn't know a thing about what happened. I don't see a reason to burden him with this ugly history, either.

Other than Ashley's apparent metamorphosis into a ghoul lord and her insanity, I'm at a dead end when it comes to information about her. Especially how she came to possess skill in using divine magic. It's entirely possible she forged a connection to the divine through sheer willpower and corrupted zeal. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it happen. How far she's progressed in her study over thirty years is another unknown. Since ghoul lords can control lesser ghouls to find food for them, she could have learned much without her hunger getting in the way. My instincts are telling me that's almost certainly the case. Gods only know what other unholy powers she's developed as well.

Unlike my encounter with Arijani, I'll be joined by another on this fight. Valerie has made it abundantly clear that she's joining me whether I want her to or not. We need to make certain preparations before we even think of trying to face this woman in her own domain. In a strange way this is actually rather exciting. It's been a long time since I did more than improvise my way to victory.

Editor's Note: Indeed. Monsieur Dreamfire is certainly far more powerful than he lets on here and elsewhere. But he's always espoused Uncle Rudolph's philosophy defeating a foe through superior knowledge, not superior force. Up until now I was beginning to wonder if he was being hypocritical? - LWF
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 29, 737 BC)
Brianna, Maxine, Valerie, and I descended into the tunnels of the ghoul warren today. We actually spent all of yesterday taking inventory of the items we could use against the undead. It shames me a little to say I've not kept my stores up; ten vials of holy water, an enchanted bottle of sunlight oil that refills itself once a week if it's kept capped, one vial of the positoxin grave dust, one chiurgeon's kit, and a dorje of psionic restoration with five charges left. In all, not as much as I would like. Digging through one of my bags of holding revealed five jars of restorative ointment, some old potions of cure serious wounds, and a lot of other things that would be useless for our current mission. Mementos and treasures from centuries of adventuring that were forgotten, things of potential use to the Shining Force but not much help now.

One item was a pair of goggles that grants its wearer darkvision, something Valerie could use. We were going to avoid light sources where possible. We didn't want to give our positions away early.

Upon entering the tunnels we were struck by the cloying stench of rot. The tunnels themselves were littered with bits of rotting flesh and gnawed bone, something most ghouls wouldn't do. They would have consumed such scraps. This was definitely a way of throwing off any pursuers who might use scent to track the pack down. There was still the matter of tracks left in the dirt they hadn't cleared. Judging them, the lone one I'd caught days earlier was the only one who had entered the area within a week. It looked like once the pack had dug the tunnels they were pulled back. Out of the chaos I picked out five distinct sets of prints that differed from the most recent ones, so there were at least that many in the tunnels.

As we went deeper it became clear these tunnels were also deliberately laid out as well, with a central one kept on a fairly straight path heading east. Any connected to it ended abruptly in walls of solid earth. Ashley must have been having trouble keeping her pack focused on their task. This ended when we came to a large area that had been cleared out as a crude room. Awaiting us was no less than ten of the undead, all of which fled the moment Brianna drew Finaldeath. That was a bit of a letdown after several hours of searching. I think all of us wanted to let off some frustration by slaying the creatures.

We actually didn't need to wait long for them to come back. This time backed by some that were dressed in armor and wielding magical items, including a darkskull. Valerie was actually first to attack, sneaking behind the largest and burying her blade into its back. Normally the undead don't respond to pain like the living do, but this one wailed and reeled from the strike. It left itself open to an attack by Brianna and was disintegrated into dust with one hit, while three others were left with scorched flesh where her morning star hit. Maxine pummeled two of them into true death while I just stood back and unleashed a barrage of mind arrows at the lesser ghouls.

It took maybe twelve seconds for us to slaughter all fifteen of them. The greater ghouls all wore insignia from outlander organizations and bore the fiendish taint of Doresain, King of the Ghouls. Gravetouched ghouls. Since their creation requires the intervention of a demigod I doubt we'd encounter many more here or elsewhere. But it did speak of how powerful Ashley had to be to take control of them. She also was certain to be upset that we destroyed some of her most powerful minions. I was actually counting on that; her anger would cloud her ability to think. As for that darkskull, Brianna smashed it to pieces.

As we went deeper we encountered more and more ghouls, coming in waves of a dozen or more at once. Too many, really, for a single ghoul lord to have spawned alone. And none of them much of a challenge to us. I got the feeling we were being tested with mere cannon fodder before we encountered the first of a series of greater undead creatures: dread wights, lesser mummies, two morghs, even some vampire spawn that were trained in fighting. Again, all of them easily destroyed before they could do any real damage. Ashley was definitely in command of powerful divine magic to be able to create and control so many different and potent creatures.

Our first real sign that we had found her lair was the fact that the latest room we found was lined with walls of stone as reinforcement. I can only imagine how long it had taken her to create this. Other rooms connected to this central one held what could be called a stone throne and a minor cache of valuables--both trapped with magic spells. Another had an altar with a bleeding moon carved into it, an unholy symbol not dedicated to any specific god. Still another had a fairly luxurious bed and other furniture reminiscent of a woman's boudoir with a stone bathtub linking to an underground stream.

Even in undeath Ashley was vain enough to want luxury and the chance to bathe, as well as a desire for wealth. What she had put with her throne was all pretty cheap, though. Semiprecious gems, polished copper jewelry, nothing worth much. Yet her gravetouched minions had used moderately powerful magical gear and wielded an item that required fairly significant resources to create. She was certainly in command of superior wealth than what we saw here unless she'd scavenged everything.

It was only when Valerie checked the throne again that she discovered a mechanism built into the side, a well-hidden button among the carved artwork of the living being enslaved to serve the dead. That part was actually free of traps and it opened a hidden room that turned out to be a laboratory of sorts. In the center was a dwarven enchanted forge, one that could be used to create any type of magical weapon or armor if the smith or an assistant possessed the proper spells. There was also a shelf filled with books on demonology and necromancy. Several volumes of The Madrigorian looked like they'd been read repeatedly from the dog-eared pages.

An alchemy table--not enough to call a full lab--was set against the opposite wall of the bookshelf. I recognized several of the ingredients on accompanying shelves as being highly potent toxins--arsenic, belladonna extract, several forms of snake venom, even a preserved royal morel from Borca. But the mixtures laid out were odd, diluted with weak acids or alkaline substances and then mixed with bizarre ingredients I couldn't readily identify. Yet there was something familiar about them, like I'd seen them before but I couldn't quite remember where. After nearly five centuries of adventuring it was entirely possible I had. But without proper analysis I would never figure it out.

I pocketed samples of each in glass vials and returned to the central chamber. Brianna had spotted a secret door in the wall opposite the entrance to the tunnels. Beyond it lay a series of visible tripwires and glyphs. It was an escape tunnel designed to discourage pursuit and narrow enough that anything the size of a human would have to go through single file. It was too much of an ambush risk to go through. So I manifested energy wave and let the narrow walls channel a sonic blast down its length, collapsing the packed earth as it went. Even a ghoul hive would take weeks of constant work to dig it out.

I likewise collapsed the tunnels on our way back, doing so only when we were far enough away to outrun any cave-ins. When we got back to the farmhouse it was already nighttime. There wasn't a risk of ghouls burrowing into the place but the actual mastermind had eluded us. For our efforts we did acquire some magical gear that, once thoroughly washed with holy water, would be perfectly serviceable. And once I figured out how to remove it, I could teleport back and acquire that enchanted forge. It would be a huge boon to the Shining Force to be able to more readily create enchanted arms and armor.

Until then I have to analyze those mixtures I found. I'm not expecting to like the answers. As the saying goes, "He who increases knowledge, increases sorrow."
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 5, 737 BC)
I managed to piece together what those samples were for. Since the undead lack a metabolism, they're unable to gain anything from alcohol and other things mortals imbibe. A little knowledge of necromancy and alchemy can create things that do affect them in similar ways. Ashley was creating undead narcotics, essentially. Enough to last for quite a while given how potent they would be. The effects on the living would be a mixture of euphoria and quick death followed immediately by undeath with as little as a drop in a mug of ale or a glass of wine. I'm not sure she used them for that purpose, however. They would be too obvious to anyone with a sense of smell or taste when completed and they're horrendous to both. More than likely she was creating them for herself.

No wonder they were familiar. I've seen them consumed by greater undead like vampires in planar cities like Sigil and Union at taverns that served them. The more I learn about this ghoul lord, the more shallow she's turning out to be. Brilliant, but shallow.

The Dyer family returned to its farmstead. I use a psionic version of sacred item to supply them with some simple stones that would be useful in driving off or destroying any ghouls that tried to come back. I even used my right ring of para-elemental control to place two-inch thick stone walls around their root cellar, hindering any future attempts to dig a new tunnel. It was the least I could so since we failed to find and destroy the being responsible. And that doesn't sit well with me. I actually found myself punching the ground in frustration, screaming, before I knew I was doing it.

Looking over the past few months I realize I haven't taken any time to just unwind. The events in Sri Raji, Rivalis, my efforts on behalf of the Force, and now this fiasco with Ashley Dyer Hunter. Valerie's "attentions" aside, I haven't done anything recreational for too long and the mental strain is beginning to get to me. A part of me wants to just climb into bed and sleep for days just from sheer mental exhaustion. I need to take a break but I have no idea what I want to do.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 7, 737 BC)
I'm the first to admit I never expected what happened today. A messenger dropped off a leather-bound invitation to a "meeting" with a secret group of society's elite. It said I'd been under observation for a year and was determined "to fit with the independent spirit and appreciation for freedom of thought and action" that they embodied. Honestly I would have thrown it away if I didn't recognize the seal stamped at the end. The Order of Unseen Lovers.

Of all the groups I could have encountered, this is honestly the last one I ever expected. Especially in a sleepy and industrious country like Mordent. There aren't really any idle rich or adventurers of sufficient means to fill out their membership roster living here. Nor does the culture really support the idea of a group of people using greater invisibility spells to come together for a party of good food, good drink, and anonymous amorous encounters. That may be the whole idea; few people would ever think to look here. The order can operate unmolested by those who oppose its libertine ways or who would demand membership if they found out. It's actually a rather brilliant move.

This also wouldn't be the first time I was invited to join the Order. Before my durance in the Abyss, I was a member in good standing on another world. I even developed a psionic version of the proper spell simply to attend. Back then I lacked a magic item that could render me invisible. The rod of stalking I found years ago would work perfectly if I tied it to my upper arm. I also didn't have the crystal eye, which can pierce the invisibility and ruin the whole idea. I'd have to wear my eye patch to block it. As much as I'd like to invite the girls, the invitation was very specific that I go alone.

It couldn't hurt to check it out.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, (Unspecified), Mordent, Feb. 9, 737 BC)
The Order of Unseen Lovers has taken over one of the old estates that the Shining Force helped to cleanse. One where the ghostly Lady of the House was allowed to stay because she was genuinely good and just wanted to have living guests again in a mansion restored to its previous interior splendor. A society matron from centuries ago. It was almost too perfect, really. She got her wish and the Order had the protection of a fairly potent spirit. Come to think of it, no one outside the Force knew about this place.

Just as on other worlds, guests arrived and were sent to a side room to disrobe and store their belongings before casting the spell or activating the magic item to render them invisible. I'd almost forgotten about that part. Everyone at these parties was to go naked. Fitting since it's a group where people go to enjoy more carnal pleasures in utter anonymity.

Oh, my! This Order seems like quite the scandalous bunch! Especially if they engage in bedroom behavior openly. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove

Entering the main ballroom was almost nostalgic. Aside from brightly lit chandeliers and a central table filled with the finest food and drink, the room looked empty. It certainly didn't sound empty, though. The familiar scents and sounds of a party were all around me as the head butler announced the arrival of "the Dream Knight." Pseudonyms were used for all guests to avoid anyone's true identity becoming known. The last time I had attended such a party I hadn't learned techniques to properly determine if there was someone invisible in front of or around me besides using my senses of hearing and touch. This time I could practically see their outlines and avoid any collisions.

At the head of the room was an ornate padded chair with the depression of someone sitting on it. Judging by the perfume, I could tell it was a woman. I properly introduced myself and then felt a hand on my shoulders as I bowed. Whoever it was just giggled and blithely mentioned, "It's been centuries, Dream Knight," in Common! I knew that voice. An elven lass I'd met shortly before I left to find Tyriana in the Abyss who pleaded with me not to go. She was something a fan of my adventures as recounted by bards on an outlander world. Until I met Kyra, not a day went by that I wished I had listened to her while I was imprisoned.

We wound up chatting for several hours, touching each other's bodies to get a feel for body language as well as less innocuous reasons. She was horrified by what I'd gone through, but was also genuinely glad I'd survived. She regaled me with her adventures on Toril, learning the elven arts of the songblade as she worked her way across the Sword Coast to Waterdeep to the Spine of the World and Neverwinter Hold and even infiltrating Thay for a while. It was an encounter with an efreet in Calimshan that sent her here just a couple of years ago. Despite hearing tales of my efforts, she was never able to magically locate me due to my cloak. Even now I was using a personal mind blank as an added precaution against both detection and anyone who might try to contact me mentally. Instead she joined the Vaasan branch of the Shining Force and worked her way west before establishing the Order at this estate.

That made sense, actually. Even two centuries ago she had earned a reputation as something of a hedonist with a heart of gold.

Her time here had been a bit of an ordeal at first. She had the misfortune of arriving in Nova Vaasa and honestly thought she'd never left Toril. Until she saw nobles using muskets and who didn't speak a word of Common. The Church of Bane ordered her arrest and execution when they learned she was a wizard. It was only because of the Shining Force that she escaped; they raided the temple to free her and others who had been wrongly accused of crimes, causing enough chaos to allow her to escape from an antimagic field she'd been held in. It was a confusing, disorienting experience for her. But she still proclaimed her gratitude that it had led her to me in the end.

By then it was into the early morning and the party was winding down as folks retired to private rooms for sleep or time with someone they'd taken a shine to in more private circumstances. The hostess did the same, asking me to go with her simply to talk more and so we could actually see each other. Her face had the faint lines of age that elves acquire in their elder years but otherwise she looked like she hadn't aged a day. Since I wasn't using my hat of alteration she could see that my right arm was replaced with a magical metal one, as well as the scar over my left eye. Her expression was one of concern but I assured her they were old injuries that didn't hurt anymore. In truth I was rather grateful for the items used to compensate for those injuries in Elisime's twisted gladiatorial pits. They aided me in my escape and have been useful countless times since.

After talking we retired to bed. Not to enjoy each other's flesh but to literally sleep together in each other's arms. Sometimes that can be the most intimate form of interaction.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Fri May 15, 2020 5:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 11, 737 BC)
Star Breeze, as the Order's matron calls herself, held a sumptuous breakfast the next morning. Perhaps I've spent too long in Mordent but I had to fight the urge to go out and begin the day's work after eating. The other guests didn't seem to have that problem as many of them chatted, copulated, or did both at once. Others retired to rooms that had been converted into baths with hot and cold running water, an amazing feat given the lack of geothermal vents. I chose the latter, with Star Breeze joining me so we could talk further.

I asked her how she had even learned of the Order's existence in the first place and she told me about a chance encounter in the city of Amn on the Sword Coast. The place is notorious for strictly regulating the use of magic without a "license" outside of temples and she fell afoul of Athkatla's arcane regulators, the Cowled Wizards, by casting a simple cantrip. One of the wizards who arrested her offered her membership once she paid the outlandish cost to "register" as a licensed magic user. I wasn't that surprised to learn the Order of Unseen Lovers had infiltrated the City of Coin. Wealth attracts vice like honey does flies. Especially if the vice breaks laws and offers those who indulge an additional "edginess" to their activities.

After she got out of Nova Vaasa, she traveled through Darkon and learned a great deal about how magic works in this world and those who use it. It was there that she met enough people to form her own branch of the Order. Alongside the aid of the Force (I need to talk with Dratha about making these sorts of decisions on her own). Setting up in Darkon wasn't really an option since that land leaches the memories of non-natives. And there are too many spellcasters there who could unduly expose its existence. Other places were likewise out of the question for various reasons, with Dementlieu being especially dangerous after the Cult of Elisime setup shop there. Mordent turned out to be the perfect place: sedate, reserved, mistrustful of outsiders, filled with buildings the locals would never dream of getting close to, it was perfect. Especially after their chosen site was already cleansed of evil and the only resident spirit left was quite amicable to their purpose.

Last night's party, it turns out, was the first ever held. And judging by the accents I heard in the main ballroom the membership included folks as far away as Sithicus and Kartakass. Still, if I stopped to analyze the number of distinct voices I'd heard, the amount was less than twenty altogether. The Order is selective even on other worlds, but Star Breeze is being especially so. Listening to her explanation I could understand why; too many fell creatures could infiltrate a party and slaughter everyone or worse. She seemed to be particularly focused on therianthropes. Understandable since therianthropy can be spread sexually and there was no easy way to detect the true nature of non-supernatural shapechanging ability in this world. A single were-beast could spread the Dread Disease and gain several minions without once exposing its true nature.

It was then that she revealed her true purpose in inviting me besides her fan worship. I've been here far longer than her and developed the knowledge necessary to better detect and repel the various creatures she wished to keep out. Unfortunately the methods I use for detection can't be done by others without access to a soul seeker medallion or the aid of a powerful blessed anchorite. Even other methods useful on other worlds, like sacred item's ability to cause a shapechanger's true form to appear briefly, is unreliable here. As for repelling, there wasn't a lot more that could be done. The estate was already protected a greatly enlarged hallow spell to help protect against undead intruders besides its resident ghost. Serving foods that contained the chemical banes of therianthropes was possible if the bane wasn't toxic to begin with. But that relied on the target creature actually consuming said foodstuffs.

I could tell she was hoping for something that would ensure complete safety. But that was something I couldn't give. Her only option was to continue as she had been: properly vetting any potential members before they were invited. That wasn't what she wanted to hear and I feel a little bad I couldn't offer any better advice. Maybe some true dweomer or master manifestation could be of help but I'm not sure they would even work in this world. Or what kinds of attention they would get if they did. I'm not ashamed to say I'm afraid of trying the latter; I've seen the things lurk in, beyond, and even between the Mists. They would most assuredly respond to such things.

After that bath we spent most of the day simply talking about various things. Mostly about life outside the Realms of Dread. She was definitely nostalgic for her old life and a world where magic worked reliably. As for myself, I realized I was more resigned to my fate here. I've made some good friends and I can't just leave this world as long as I can continue fighting the evil I find. And if I'm being brutally honest, I have doubts that I'll ever escape.

I finally left the estate in the mid-afternoon. When I returned home Valerie was both glad I'd returned and angry with me. I was worried she'd start acting possessive and jealous after our intimate encounters. That's actually a natural reaction and I didn't blame her for feeling such. In fact, my own feelings towards her were what kept me from doing anything with Star Breeze. I don't know how long this love affair will last but I do know I don't want to ruin it or hurt her.

Tomorrow it's back to work as usual. I've been hearing stories from the sailors the Archer Trading Company employs of a rotten ship that, by all rights, shouldn't be able to float much less sail. In each case the ship's moniker, The Endurance, was covered over by another: Ship of Horror. Rudolph is also preparing to publish another of his guides, this one on liches, and he's eager to learn what I know of psiliches and demiliches. The former I'm confident I can give him some information about. But the latter I've only ever faced once. I'd sooner face a dozen atropals than fight even one demilich again.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 12, 737 BC)
Rudolph's Guide to Liches has been sent off for publication. I was able to help him sort out some of the more egregious myths about psiliches but there's still gaps in our collective understanding. Once more I'm stymied by the fact that this world plays by an unfamiliar set of rules. As for demiliches, we can be thankful no being in this world has that kind of power. Not even Azalin is capable of becoming such a potent creature.

The sailors for the ATC are becoming more and more antsy, though. Sightings of the Ship of Horrors is increasing and even old salts balk at the thought of making voyages to the islands, despite every incentive I can spare. Their unwillingness to ship food to Ghastria, one of the ATC's most generous clients, is rather telling. So I began to investigate the history of the Endurance, such as it is. Unfortunately there's not much, other than scant mentions of it as early as 724 BC when its current captain inherited the ship. The last notable entry was Captain Garvyn taking a job to deliver three corpses to "Todstein," wherever that is. Something must have happened because that's the last time he or his ship was seen before it's return as the Ship of Horrors.

Which leads me to another, very disturbing discovery. The title "Ship of Horrors" is not unique to one vessel but is apparently one that has been held by numerous ships in the past. The captains of the ships are invariably cursed to pilot their ships after they commit some sort of sin on the waters. In fact the ship is a kind of Mistway that can travel between bodies of water by going through the Mists. The captains themselves don't seem to be as tightly bound as the darklords are because each has been released from their curse.

There's an old soul--in the literal sense--in central Mordent who once held the dubious honor of being chosen to pilot the Mistway who shared his story with me in exchange for putting his cutlass with his corpse. He was a merchant sailor who killed his first mate over a game of cards one night and spent over a decade bound to his ship until his curse was broken. He helped fill in the gaps regarding what the Ship of Horrors really is and what happens to those cursed to pilot it. If his story is true, and I detected no falsehoods in his telling, then Captain Garvyn was already marked for his evil actions before the Endurance became the Ship of Horrors and it was something he did on that fateful voyage that drew the curse. I doubt it was merely a failure to deliver the three corpses he was transporting but something more malicious. Even something as simple as dumping the bodies overboard after taking his money would be worthy of a curse by whatever forces rule this world.

There is one last thing about this that makes my blood run cold. Of the three corpses to be delivered, one was that of a child and one of the corpses to be delivered was that of one Madeline Stern. The second verse of Hyskosa's Hexad reads, "The lifeless child of stern mother found. Heralds a time, night of evil unbound."

The Land of Mists is in for disastrous times in the near future. Especially if Azalin does what Madame Eva said he will and breaks the proper flow of events. Even I can't guess as to what will happen then.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 30, 737 BC)
Under the guise of a minor "noble" house in Borca, the Shining Force has established a base in its forested western regions. The ground is fertile but nearly half the trees are blighted by the blue-purple lichen that grows everywhere. That makes them easy to fell but useless for lumber to build the farm that will be our cover. Thankfully we're so close to the border with Richemulot that importing necessary materials will be easy. I've been planning this for years and I've included ways to tap into the geothermal activity of Borca to create hothouses to supplement the more traditional farming techniques. Also the area I've chosen is over a sizable chunk of solid bedrock, free of any subterranean hot spots, so our true base can be carved out underground. The stone quarried out will be of great use in building fortifications against both the wildlife and the bandits that roam Borca's interior.

We've already attracted a sizable number of workers thanks to the rather generous nature of the indentures. Other "nobles" scoff at the idea of paying their people "extra" for working more than eight hours a day or giving them a day off to rest every week, painting the ideas as lunacy and worse. Even the idea of paying for their medical care is foreign to them Then again, they do the same to discourage people from leaving for Richemulot. The people we attracted are already showing the motivation and loyalty I'd hoped to instill, though. As well as markedly improved health. In less than a week they've already cleared an acre of trees and plowed enough fields to help keep them all fed through the year once the crops come in. One of the overseers I assigned there, a druid, was not happy to see the forest cleared away. But she also understands the necessity of what we're doing. Especially since the seeds of the healthy trees are being saved to be planted later.

I plan on making a trip there in another month or two when things calm down around here. Right now it's the busy season for everyone. The brickworks has just received a massive shipment of clay from around the Core, just in time for orders to start coming in for literal tons of product. Winter's storms have left the coastal levees in bad shape so I'm trying a different formulation out, one better suited to coastal areas and as hard as iron. They're a bit more expensive but they're still cheaper than Mordentshire paying for new bricks and labor every year. As well, I've taken over some of Rudolph's duties as the town doctor thanks to his frequent trips and requests for my pharmacological skills. No good deed goes unpunished.
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Lieben Farms, Borca, June 4, 737 BC)
Things were going well for the first two months. The first crops planted yielded a bountiful harvest and game was plentiful. The workers were making amazing progress and realizing their lives will be better here, fostering true loyalty. Construction of a manor to act as both the house for the overseer and a commons for gatherings and even shelter in emergencies was well underway. Then Ivana Boritsi herself decided to pay a visit with her enforcers. Her very presence unnerved everyone and before she left, at least two families' only sons died of poison after she demanded they pay her a visit in the bedchamber.

There's a powerful sense of mourning and outrage running through the populace and I can't blame them. Legally we can't do a thing to stop her from visiting again in the future. But we can do things to discourage her from visiting personally. Her only real reason for visiting this time was to size up the place and how much money she could extort from it in the future. Which, I have to admit, I hadn't adequately planned for. So I made the trip here to help restore order and implement measures to help prevent such tragedies from happening again. In particular, making the place seem too unpleasant for her or her minions to visit.

Ivana is ruthless and cunning but she's also a sybarite who only cares about her own comfort. So making Lieben Farms look much more rugged and unrefined than it actually is is one way. That actually isn't too hard since we lack the resources for homes to be decorated elaborately or for the protective walls to be much more than functional. The other is to spread rumors about how insular and hostile to outsiders the place is. And finally, to keep the place from becoming larger than it needs to be. A hamlet or small town rarely develops a reputation for being a place wealthy elites want to visit.

Then there's the unstated purpose of this place. Simply providing food for certain Shining Force bases is proving to be painfully difficult. With fairly simple magic and the natural geothermal properties of Borca, it will be easy to create underground greenhouses that can provide as many as four or five harvests a year. For that we need outsiders we can trust to keep a secret and are sympathetic to our cause. That will require much the same degree of moral fortitude the Force already demands from its actual members.

Underground farms themselves are nothing new. Mushroom farms in underground tunnels can be found throughout the Core and that's already one of the official purposes of the Farms. The true extent of our subterranean agriculture will need to be kept a secret from everyone who isn't a part of the Farms, though. Ivana would seize the opportunity to extort more taxes and even the Boritsi Trading Company would want to horn in. Either would defeat the purpose of this place. The surface greenhouses are already slated for certain luxury crops like coffee from Har'Akir, a drink I'm sure will be quite popular among the nobility and the farms who will want the cherries from the trees to start their own crops. Enough to convince those in power not to interfere since the most flavorful breed of coffee bush is extremely temperamental and won't fruit, much less survive, unless conditions are kept just right.

But for now our efforts are on helping restore what we can. I had to pay an anchorite of the Borcan See an excessive amount of money to come and perform simple funeral rites for the two young men who were murdered because none of the ones I talked to are willing to come and act as shepherds for the faithful and we're too far away from any other settlement with any resident anchorites. I did make contact with a Mordentish emigre who is a trained anchorite and looking for a more tolerant place to live, especially now that his mortu Vistana wife has just given birth to their daughter. Building a temple would actually help take people's minds off of what happened and give them something to focus their energy on. This whole affair has been a painful reminder that it's not just the plants and wildlife that's poisonous in Borca.
(End transcription)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Lieben Farms, Borca, June 11, 737 BC)
Ivana's visit left more than shaken souls and two murdered boys. The room she used in the manor house birthed a minor Sinkhole of Evil that needed cleansing. It's been negated but true purification will take time and effort. Beginning with the demolition of the place so we can start over. This has forced the Shining Force to openly utilize magic to make up for lost time, something I'd hoped not to do in front of outsiders. Borcans aren't as violently mistrustful of magic as other cultures in the Core are but they still fear it and those who wield it. This is going to make Lieben Farms' reputation even more sinister than it already was. It's strange enough to clear land in the mostly untouched western forests but to openly use magic as well?

The site of the old manor house has been used to build a temple to Ezra, now that we have a resident anchorite. Mr. Thomas Norris and his wife, Katya, arrived three days ago. Some folks are already speaking of leaving simply because they now have a Vistana among them. But her skills as a healer herself have won over most. Especially when she helped save the life of a woman who would have bled to death in labor had she not been there. Both she and her husband are noble souls, I can literally see that much, and if people want to leave due to some petty bigotry, there's a clause in their indentures to allow that. This place can't afford to have those who are openly resentful of their lot staying around because of a contract. We need to know that those who aren't a part of the Force will be loyal because they trust us. And that's impossible to accomplish if they hate us.

Thankfully the new work being done is taking everyone's minds off of things. The stone being excavated from underground is, as expected, granite. What's remarkable is that it's actually a pink-hued variety, high in demand among the upper classes across the Core. We've quarried enough to cover our needs already and can export the majority of it. That means dealing with the Boritsi Trading Company, though. In all honesty, I'm fine with that as long as I'm not the one doing the actual dealing. There is so much bad blood between us that any deal made would likely fall through out of sheer mistrust on both sides.

Complicating matters is how deep the deposit is, nearly a quarter of a mile. This was always going to be an underground quarry but even with magic it will take nearly a year to remove enough material to build the planned base. That's not including any complications that inevitably arise. That's cutting it close to the time of Hyskosa's Prophecy for comfort. Well, onward and upward.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Lieben Farms, Borca, June 15, 737 BC)
My initial estimations on the time may have been overestimated. The natural grain of the granite deposits have made it surprisingly easy to cut blocks out while leaving a stable floor and ceiling. Those will still need reinforcing but we can move a lot more material than I'd originally thought. There's already enough space for the first of the mushroom gardens to be built, something I had thought wouldn't happen until next spring at the earliest. There's even talk of growing morchella--true morels that are highly prized by chefs and gastronomes alike--but I'm not a mycologist. I don't know if they can be cultivated and retain their unique flavor.

This leads us to something I'd thought we'd have more time for. Namely, a renewed need for lumber and large amounts of mulch. The latter is actually easy since many towns and cities will gladly give away their garbage. It just takes time to convert. The latter is where things will get tricky. The local woods don't provide enough usable material for this new demand. Nor would I authorize such because they're a part of the place's defenses. We're going to need to negotiate for it with the BTC. I hate to get this place involved with them more than is needed but there's not much else we can do right now.

As it stands right now, I have to return to Mordent. The sightings of the Relentless are becoming more commonplace and it's disrupting trade. I know sailors are a superstitious lot, and in this world they have every reason to be so, but this is getting out of hand. Something has to be done about it and if that means I have to go out on a ship myself--as much as I hate that--so be it.
(End transcript)

Editor's Note: Whatever happened during this time is not documented. The journals don't pick back up until four months later. By M. Archer's own admissions though, he never did take that ocean voyage. Instead he became involved in a hunt for a pack of reavers that were tormenting Mordentshire's bay at the time, followed by months of personal work with the trading company to offset the losses. Where things do pick back up makes for very interesting reading, indeed. - Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, (Undisclosed), Falkovnia, Oct. 23, 737 BC)
The Force responded to a desperate plea from our Halite allies at the Hospice of the Doe in Delmunster. A couple of weeks prior they had noticed a comet in the sky, soon followed by the people of the thorp behaving strangely. I became personally interested since the events described match historical accounts of the mysterious doppelganger plant, a creature I've not encountered myself before. By the time I arrived the overwhelming majority of the people in Delmunster had been turned into podlings, as had several of the witches and warlocks of the hospice. All we could do was help those not changed escape and destroy the doppelganger plant, easier said than done given its decentralized form. Something too few of us knew about; we tried attacking the pods instead of the whole of the plant.

In the end we did destroy the malevolent weed but not before the damage was done. All we can do is chalk it up to a lesson learned if and when we face another of these creatures. Still, this was a truly depressing encounter that left me wandering the forests in an attempt to clear my head. If I encountered any of the Talons or just soldiers, so be it. Right then I didn't care. What I hadn't counted on encountering was something far more disturbing.

At some point I came across the destroyed remains of a lumberjack camp. The Falkovnian wilderness is a hostile place and not even the infamous military could always protect the people. But while there was fresh blood and other signs of recent violence around, there were no bodies or even remains. No natural creature would take them all, neither would most supernatural ones. They could have been more victims of the doppelganger plant but that didn't seem too likely given how far away this place was. There was, however, the unmistakable stench of necrotic flesh. And in the scant seconds it took me to take all that in, I came face to face with something--or someone--I've never encountered before.

The bodies that came out shambled like zombies but each had the same wide eyes and rictus grin. And each spoke with the same voice at once. The "creature" introduced itself as Toben the Many and seemed far more interested in conversation than combat.

Editor's Note: If only we had known about M. Archer's encounter with Toben before we published our Guide to the Living Dead! He may have been able to help us better prepare for our own encounter with him. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove

I admit my own curiosity was piqued. I'd heard of undead creatures capable of inhabiting many bodies at once but never seen one myself. Much less had the chance to talk with such. Toben was more than willing to expound on its (his?) ability to use several corpses as shells at one time, on his ventures throughout the Core, and his rather perverse preference for using the bodies of loved ones to shock and horrify the living. The more he spoke, the more apparent it became that Toben is utterly psychotic. Whatever he did, why he did it, was dictated by the insane logic only he could follow. This was especially true when I asked him why he'd attacked this place and he just giggled madly and expounded on "saving the miserable people from their fleshly bonds."

As he talked I came to realize that I couldn't easily destroy him. If even one body of his remained, he could stand to lose every other and still "rebuild" himself anew. And the bodies around me were too few to account for every person who had been working in this camp. Tracking down the main mass would be a challenge but not terribly difficult. But making sure I had them all when I delivered true death was impossible without help.

When I finally asked him why he was talking to me, he laughed madly. All the bodies echoing that mad cackle at once like some insane chorus. I was about to destroy them to stop that horrific sound when he finally stopped and explained that he had heard of me and wanted to meet me. Apparently my name is becoming well known across the Core, among traders as well as those that hunt evil--and the evils they hunt. The latter mostly because of my association with Rudolph van Richten but also because of my less-than-covert attempts to root out and destroy groups like the Hydra Club and the cult of Elisime. He'd also heard of the Shining Force and tried to bluff that he knew more than the disinformation we'd deliberately spread and the scant few truths that did get out. Most of which were confused with other, better known groups like the Knights of Shadows and the Stygian Attendants.

Toben himself didn't seem too impressed with me, stating rather arrogantly that he could "squish me like a tiny bug." In fact he tried by sending the dozen or so bodies at me at once. In response I just unleashed a positive energy burst and reduced all but one to ash in an instant. The one that wasn't destroyed began giggling again as Toben revised his opinion of me, saying I would make a fine puppet some day. To which I just responded that he was welcome to try but I wouldn't bother with such a lowly gnat as him for now.

Despite his bravado, Toben's response came across as equally angered and afraid when he said we'd meet again and abandoned the body to fall as a lifeless corpse.

I guess I do owe Toben some thanks. Our little encountered gave me something to think about besides how badly we'd mishandled the doppelganger plant. As well as some vital information on how I needed to be much more subtle when I fought against the darkness.
(End transcript)
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Dec. 20, 737 BC)
Looking back at my own journals, I'm shocked to realize how little supernatural interference there is in my life. My own memories would have me saying that it's constant simply because that's what sticks out. I guess nearly seven centuries of life tends to smooth over less eventful times. Hence why I started keeping these journals: so I wouldn't forget. Even if I'm not always the best at keeping them updated. I guess that's also why I've taken this time to reflect on the past year and consider what it could mean for the next.

Things have been quiet with the Hunter family. Not once as a ghoul been seen near their farmstead in over ten months. I don't doubt Ashley Dyer will be back someday, though. Her psychosis won't let her leave it alone. As for her brother's remains, I fear that my source's final wish may make things worse. He died last month and asked that Anthony's bones be cremated. They were and now she has nothing but what she stole the first time. In her eyes, they destroyed part of her beloved brother.

Lieben Farms is doing well. This first year's harvest was a bounty and the quarry has provided enough material and money both to ensure that any predators--especially Ivana--stay away. The people working there are showing marked improvements compared to their countrymen, physically and spiritually, and a key few have even joined the Force as full members. They've sworn to help keep our existence a secret from the powers-that-be and to spread whatever light they can in their corner of this world. It's not much but it's something.

Then there's a note I found attached to my front door today, in the spidery handwriting of Madame Eva.

Two have passed, four more to come.
Who will be next to dance this world's doom?


I've spread my nets wide to try and uncover the next omen of Hyskosa's Hexad before it happens. But the metaphorical nature of prophecies make them nearly impossible to understand until things have happened or are currently happening. Other than the mention of Inajira, whom I've heard plenty about before ever coming to this world. I get the feeling the raunie is having a bit of a laugh at my expense because I've been unable to decipher the signs in time to do anything about them. Nor, in all honesty, would I want to stop the one that happened this year. Three people were laid to rest after being betrayed in death; that's something I would have done myself if necessary.

Still, the next sign rings a bell. The "son of suns" is a phrase I've heard before in reference to the Pharaonic Pantheon. Namely to the pharaohs, the mortal kings of of those who worship such gods because it's believed they descend from the sun god. What that god is called--Ra or Amun-Re--varies from world to world and seemingly over time in the same world. I've been trying to find the time to travel to Har'Akir again to double check but I always seem to get sidetracked by something else. Since there's nothing else going on for the first two months of the new year I fully plan on going then. Maybe I can find some information that will help put things into perspective?

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muhar, Har'Akir, Jan. 6, 738 BC)
Compared to the cold lands of Mordent, Har'Akir is pleasant during this time of the year. Even if the people are still as reticent and sorrowful as I remember. The only exception seems to be Isu Rekhotep, the priestess who rules over Muhar. I saw signs of her secretly worshiping Set the last time I was hear but nothing I could prove then. Even now she maintains the facade of being Osiris's faithful even as her soul is stained by evil and she retains her ability to cast spells. It could be that she's converted to Set completely but again I have no proof. Even if I did it's unlikely the majority of Akiri would move against against her. Both out of apathy and fear. The priests of this land hold an immense amount of sway. The other priests of Osiris would not suffer such corruption among their numbers, though.

This is the first time Brianna, Maxine, and Valerie have been here, too. Brianna, in particular, was not prepared for the heat. Even in the depths of winter it's dangerous to wear metal armor during the day but she refuses to remove it except in places that we've both warded. Both she and Valerie have to be protected by my powers while Maxine seems unperturbed by the heat. I wonder if that's because she's a monk or because she's a living construct? It's hard to say for certain.

The local temples have not been of any help in my quest for information. The priests confirmed that the "son of suns" did indeed refer to the pharaohs but had nothing else to offer. Their refusal to speak of Ankhtepot in any capacity would have hindered things but I got the feeling they genuinely didn't know anything about his life. Once more I've been forced to turn to the ruins that litter the desert for answers. Only this time I have help in my search.

We must have gotten lucky because the first place we hit--a temple buried under the sands--contained the story of Ankhtepot's life as told by the priesthood of Osiris. There was something off about one part, though. The wall looked as though the original hieroglyphs had been carved away and replaced because it was sunken into the wall. Something about a priest called Senmet who died a martyr under the pharaoh's rule. Other walls contained elements of a story that didn't line up with the narrative that the main wall told about this Senmet, painting him as a traitor rather than a martyr who was punished for rebelling against the pharaoh. What this punishment consisted of is unknown.

There were more passages we didn't explore but daylight was running out and the Akiri nights can be fatally cold. Plus none of us dared sleep in the ruins for fear of what might be lurking deeper in. Because the worst of the natural horrors come out at night to hunt, we'll be sleeping in shifts. I've taken the first half while Brianna will take the second after her meditation is over.

I find it immensely frustrating that there's little mention of Ankhtepot's children in what we've found so far. A pharaoh's line is of utmost importance and even the most villainous would have their children's names recorded. We even only found mention of one of his wives: Nephyr. Despite being the youngest, she apparently died before him and was mummified as is custom. The only clue was that she died of a disease that claimed the lives of many others in Ankhtepot's court at the time but nobody else.

I know that Ankhtepot was cursed by Ra for blasphemy and eventually killed and mummified for razing several of Ra's temples after his failure to acquire the secret of immortality. This "disease" could easily have been a curse. And I know that he still exists as one of the preserved, the true ruler of this land. So that begs a disturbing question about those who died of this supposed disease. Are any of them still around?
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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