The Lost Journals

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Muhar, Har'Akir, Jan. 7, 738 BC)
Today's visit into the deeper halls of the ruins proved largely uneventful, thank the goddess. It seems the place is a temple to Thoth, the Akiri god of writing and scholarship, and deeper in we found more information about Ankhtepot and others. The most valuable wasn't carved into the walls but was found in a shattered vase containing shards of granite used as notes by the scribes. The real story of Senmet is that he wasn't a martyr but a traitor, a priest who planned to usurp Ankhtepot. The pharaoh found out before anything could happen and had him executed and mummified, then spread the story about the rogue priest's martyrdom to cover up the truth.

Could Senmet be "the knave" of the prophecy? It's possible but there are still many more candidates. Including those killed by Ankhtepot's cursed touch. The shards included several accounts of the pharaoh interacting with people just fine during the day but avoiding physical contact after sunset. Ra's curse might only have affected him at night given that he's a sun god. Those who were killed by this curse could easily number among those who wish to usurp him. Even if they're under his control.

Further details on the pharaoh's final days were also found among the shards. Including how he was able to command those killed by his touch. He didn't realize this at first since the first of those to return to him was Nephyr, whom he commanded to leave him and never return out of sheer terror. This would mean she's still out there somewhere but because he only ever gave her one command, she would retain a dangerous degree of free will. Others were not so lucky since he began to use his curse to his advantage, turning priests into his undead slaves. Some were found destroyed, apparently burned from the inside out, with speculation that it was Nephyr's doing.

In the end the still-living priests rebelled and killed him in his sleep. Being pharaoh he was mummified with all the honors due to his station. Not long after the "Walls of Ra" appeared and cut off the area from the rest of Har'Akir. The date puts it a little under two centuries ago, which fits with the accounts of the villagers of Muhar. This confirms that Ankhtepot is the darklord and thus the ultimate ruler and prisoner of this land. As for his activities since, there's nothing verified. Just stories of villagers seeing his mummified form wandering the desert from time to time.

As useful as this information is in itself, none of it really answers the question we came here seeking an answer to. In fact, it just muddles everything further. Senmet could easily be the one spoken of in Hyskosa's Hexad, but so could Nephyr or any of the priests Ankhtepot murdered. I'm not even sure what I planned to do if we did get a definitive answer. The preserved are not to be trifled with, especially not one that ruled an entire kingdom in life. Maybe I just wanted to know what to be on the lookout for in the coming months?

It doesn't matter in the end. Isu Rekhotep has begun to stir the people of Muhar against us, forcing us to end our visit earlier than I'd thought. I felt such a sense of defeat that I decided we'd return to Mordent in the morning. There's not much else we can do here. It feels like this trip was just one big waste of time.
(End transcript)

Editor's Note: I remember how listless M. Archer was around this time, even though I was still a small child then. It seemed like an eternity before he regained the vigor my sister and I associate with him, even though in reality it was closer to seven months. Even his journal entries until then are terse and perfunctory. We'll decline to reprint them both because they lack any interesting details and because they represent an intimate look into his mind at a time of profound vulnerability. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 9, 738 BC)
I feel like I've just woken up from some long sleep. Only to find the waking world more of a nightmare. I've only just returned from a trip to Martira Bay in Darkon to investigate stories of strange disappearances among the indigent reported to allies of the Shining Force. Those who went before me reported the strangest sensations, like the world around them had shifted in some imperceptible way or that there was a faint shimmer in the air. One person could chalk it up to a trick of the mind, but ten? And across multiple visits? What's worse is that these things are not unique; whenever I don't suppress whatever effect I have on this world, people tell me they experience similar things. My effect cause things to begin degrading before they collapse into mist and living things can't heal naturally. Yet the phenomenon in Martira Bay was ongoing and nothing ill was happening.

Upon arrival I experienced the same things, along with a profound nausea similar to sulfur exposure. Since I'd gone alone I had to look to the natives to see if anyone else felt the same. A few reported feeling something similar a week prior but nothing so powerful as what I was feeling. The sensation was so overwhelming my concentration slipped and I let the full force of my effect on reality go. For a split moment I felt something pressing against it before the resistance was overwhelmed and the nausea left me. At the same time, the strange shifts in perception disappeared.

That proved it beyond a doubt. A fiend was here.

My efforts must have attracted its--her--attention. Because I was soon faced by a woman with skin the color of a bruise, stringy black hair, and wicked talons hiding behind the illusion of a fair maiden. A night hag! My mind blade was in my hand instantly as I moved to attack but she stopped me with an offer for "civil discourse," reminding me that even if I destroyed her physical form she would return within a day. Damn this world!

She introduced herself as Styrix and explained she'd been summoned here by Azalin to find a way of escaping this world. For months he'd sponsored her research until he grew bored and cast her out. In that short time she'd learned much about this place, far more than the Lich-King. It wasn't hard to trick her into revealing a great deal of what she knew by catering to her ego, though most of what she knew was already known to me and the Shining Force. The only real unique piece of information she knew was of a way to pierce the planar boundaries. The problem is it requires the energy of souls to do so. That's a price anyone but the most vile of beings would consider too high. For a night hag, beings who turn evil souls into larvae as a form of food and currency in the Lower Planes, that would be business as usual.

The thought so disgusted me I slew her and spent the next twenty-four hours searching for her phylactery. My efforts were thwarted when I tried to use metafaculty and instead came in direct contact with the mind of Azalin. My mind reeled at the touch of something so profoundly evil and forced me to abandon the search to flee back to Mordent. I've used my powers to restore the damage done but I still failed in discovering what Styrix's phylactery is. She's no doubt hidden it well and protected it from supernatural detection, the same as Elsepeth did. Unlike the succubus, I can't even begin to guess at what form hers took.

For now I've ordered the Shining Force to keep an eye on Martira Bay and to interfere with anything Styrix does when possible. I might have slain her in one blow, but I was fighting dreaded myrmixicus--fiends that terrify even balors--alone before I escaped the Abyss. To those of lesser power, Styrix is still a mighty foe and she could crush them easily. Until we discover her phylactery, it's too dangerous to try and fight her head on. Even I can only temporarily inconvenience her.

Worse, I've confirmed that metafaculty puts one in direct contact with a domain's darklord. It is, for all intents and purposes, useless here. The one power that could pierce even a mind blank is too dangerous to use.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 27, 738 BC)
Rudolph has published his Guide to Werebeasts and while therianthropes are not my usual prey, it certainly makes for an informative read. Copies are already being made readily available all members of the Shining Force, along with notes from members' personal experiences to correct any mistaken theories or highlight pertinent points. Honestly I can't say much about it because shapechangers are beings I don't have that much experience with. Nor do I have the same fascination (obsession?) with them as I do the undead and psionic creatures of all kinds.

I've also been distracted by regular correspondence with one Agatha Clairmont, a cleric and monk from Paridon. We met while helping Rudolph research golems for another guide. After that one that shattered every one of my vertebrae years ago and took an entire day for my amulet to regenerate, I've been wary of them. Maxine aside, and she's unique in that she's actually a living construct and has none of the abilities or weaknesses of flesh golems. There is a type she reminds me of but I've never brought it up for fear of what that knowledge would do to her mind.

While I dislike the theology of the Divinity of Mankind, Agatha herself has proven amiable and quite well versed in the lore of alchemy and golems. I wish I could say I shared her fascination with "philosophical alchemy" but most of what those like her are discovering has been known to my people for millennia. It's also incomplete in its understanding of more mundane sciences that make up half the total equation. The only person who's come close to cracking those mysteries is Victor Mordenheim and I can't bring myself to respect him for his role in the events that created Lamordia. It also seems like part of his curse that no one else takes anything he publishes seriously, despite the fact his work is rock solid and betrays a greater understanding of scientific realities than I've seen on most other worlds.

Clairmont has been most vocal in her opposition to anyone making knowledge of how constructs are created widely known. I can't say I disagree with her but at the same time that knowledge would help others realize when someone is going down a dark path. I'm ambivalent about Rudolph's plans to publish a guide to the "created" as he calls them as a result. Yet from what I've seen and heard, such knowledge is not as rarefied as she would like to believe. The case of Emil Bollenbach comes to mind, a medical student who proved to be a mad genius in their creation, along with a talent at biomancy I've rarely seen outside of mind flayers, silthilar, and the dying race of obyriths known as sibriex. He discovered the ability without anyone else helping him.

None of this really answers the question of how people can animate constructs with obsession alone. Clairmont just starts on some treatise from the Divinity's teachings while Rudolph keeps a more open mind but neither offers any definitive answers. I have my suspicions but they're baseless without any hard evidence. In the end it's academic, anyway. There's no point in knowing the answer if nothing can be done with it.

If it comes down to it, I will have to side with Rudolph on this matter. Knowledge is the best weapon a monster hunter can have in a fight. Ignorance only serves the forces of darkness. And to willfully deny those who would fight against the darkness critical knowledge goes against everything I and the Shining Force stand for.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 1, 738 BC)
There's some irony in the fact I referred to Emil Bollenbach in my last entry. The twisted little man kidnapped Rudolph with the intention of transplanting his brain into a "super golem." Others managed to rescue him while I sacrificed myself--bodily, at least--to give them time. I literally allowed myself to be captured and subjected to a vivisection by Emil. In doing so I also learned something rather odd. The silthilar grafts I received during my time in the Abyss are still with me, despite my body reforming thanks to my phylactery. I can only guess that it's because they were literally a part of my body before I came here and it explains why I'm in such pain after a "death." My body is literally healing from the surgery all over again. Only this time my amulet helps shorten the recovery to mere hours instead of weeks.

I'm not sure what happened with Emil specifically because that damned monster injected me with a potent toxin after he learned he was under attack. Since my amulet and every other piece of gear had already been teleported to safety, I was no more immune to it than anyone else. My body died and I reformed twenty-four hours later. By then Rudolph had been rescued and Emil had fled his attackers. The last I heard he was fleeing east from Lamordia and was seen in Gundarak's eastern region. If he enters Barovia then there's nothing I can do; my Pact with Strahd forbids me from even entering his land.

For now there's something else on my agenda. Sightings of the "Red Manor," a phantasmagorical estate build of blood-red stone that appears out of nowhere, have been on the rise for the past two months. I don't deny that some of the abandoned houses in Mordent do seem to move about in the mists (or Mists?) but the stories I've heard about this one are just plain lurid. Walls that run like blood? Statues that weep quicksilver and react to visitors' dark fates with horror? Windows that follow you like eyes? In my experiences it's rare for the supernatural to be so blatant. Add to that the fact that no one has seen any of it firsthand and it's hard to take any of it seriously. The only thing that remains constant even in eyewitness reports is the stone that it's built of and the palpable sense of the otherworldly the place exudes.

In collating the reports I noticed a pattern to the sightings. They all happen across a trail in eastern Mordent and on nights of the half-moon. Also each of those who could truthfully report seeing it were those atoning for past sins, even if those sins were imaginary. The Red Manor seems to be triggered by feelings of past guilt. I actually know the specific area quite well because there's a graveyard there that is lousy with wraithroot and I've spent many nights of the full moon harvesting the herb. I must have missed the place by a single week each time. Assuming it would appear for me, that is.

Maxine, Brianna, and Valerie are insisting on accompanying me on this investigation. As is Xanos, who's actually seen the place himself. His description is different in one important regard: the stone isn't red but the rosy color of the sky at dawn. He said it reminded him of a temple to Lathander Morninglord he once visited. That more than anything piqued my interest. If this place is somehow linked to Lathander I want to find out. The next half-moon is in five days.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 7, 738 BC)
As I write this I'm still somewhat in shock. The Red Manor appeared to us and I confirmed what Xanos said about it. The color isn't red but rose. Other than that the style is nothing like any temple to Lathander I've seen. There were statues of cherubs in the front garden but they were utterly inanimate limestone. As for the windows, they were in a quarter-circle style that resembled eyes. The place did feel strangely "energetic" for lack of a better term, like the active home of a socialite who was preparing for a massive celebration. I can see how that would be strange to the normally taciturn Mordentish.

It was in the Near Ethereal that Xanos's description made more sense. Lathander's symbol--a sunrise made of gems--was clearly present and the statues showed clear resemblances to the Commander of Creativity. The resonance was strong but not overwhelmingly so and was tinged with feelings of guilt and hope at once. Even on the physical plane the inside resembled more of a temple than a more traditional foyer, complete with an altar and a banner emblazoned with Lathander's symbol. There was even a set of vestments in pink, red, and yellow; the colors associated with Lathander. They looked like they'd been used within the last few years and then left behind respectfully.

Our explorations revealed rooms that resembled the cells of Dawnbringers, the term for Lathander's clerics. Simple but comfortable with room for artistic endeavors. One of which had clearly been used and was filled with watercolors done in a style I'm intimately familiar with. I wanted to deny what I was seeing but I couldn't. This was Tyriana's work! The same woman who betrayed Lathander and lured me into the Abyss so Elisime could enslave me, the same woman I loved for centuries, was here in the Land of Mists!

On a hunch I checked the altar again and found a hidden niche, a trick Tyriana favored heavily for the passing of messages and even paintings she meant no one but me to see. Inside was a journal in her handwriting, detailing her flight from the Abyss to "a world where no god could reach her in retaliation for her betrayals." For years this very mansion acted as an oubliette that reminded her of her former allegiance to the Morninglord. She was unable to leave but found her needs cared for despite her lack of magic. Others could even visit her, though the number could be counted on one hand. Her last visitor was a young priest of the Cult of the Morninglord, attracted to the place by its clear association with his patron god. He apparently stayed for over a month, talking with her at length and rekindling her faith and her desire to atone. After he left she stayed for several more months, reflecting on everything he'd said and everything she'd done.

The last page was addressed to me specifically, using a pet name too embarrassing to write down. She came to realize how deeply she had betrayed not only Lathander but everyone she cared about as well. On that day the doors opened and she was finally allowed to leave. But she came back weeks later, writing her final message and detailing a plan to strip away her abilities to command the incorporeal undead, even if they were dormant because she had no divine patron and had turned away from the path of evil. Her plan was as audacious and foolhardy as ever: let the undead drain her energy until she lost the knowledge. I found that eerily comforting because it reminded me of the past; she was never one to take half-steps and she couldn't be dissuaded from something once she'd decided on it. Still, without her magic she would be vulnerable and forced to rely on her rather mediocre skills in mundane combat. Even so, she still had possession of Dawn's Vengeance, a powerfully enchanted mace which shone like the sun and that could destroy the undead at a stroke, and the same adamantine armor and shield I forged for her three centuries ago. I had thought she'd cast those aside after she converted to Elisime's worship but apparently she couldn't part with them. They were the last reminders of what we once shared.

The dates used in her journal were all in Dale Reckoning, the calendar of Toril, but I'm more than familiar with it and determined she'd left this message some six years ago. Either it's one hell of a coincidence I'd never even heard of the Red Mansion before this or something was actively hiding it from me. If this was a true oubliette for Tyriana until she freed herself from her guilt, that would explain it.

Editor's Note: Amazing that M. Archer knew about oubliettes at this time! While researching our own aborted Guide to the Mists my sister and I asked him for any information he could give us. All he did was blanch and warn us not to continue our search, the same as Uncle Rudolph. We'll be sure to talk to him about it again when have a chance. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Without its resident, the place was beginning to fall apart and returning to the Mists. Other than the journal and the watercolors, we've left everything as we found it. Although I did carve the symbol of my goddess into the altar, a sign that I was there. If Tyriana returns and sees it, she should understand it's meaning: "I forgive you."
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 28, 738 BC)
As I write this there's an unseasonable storm raging outside. The past four weeks have been largely spent working on the last of the fall harvest and making sure everyone has enough to get through the winter. This weather would seem to indicate that we got it done just in time, too. I hope things calm down before the harvest festival at the end of the month, though. It's been too long since anyone had a chance to relax and actually celebrate something for a change.

I just hope Mme. Ports doesn't let her cider ferment this year. Last year was embarrassing when I took a sip and became violently sick because it was mildly alcoholic.

ADDITIONAL: It's a little after midnight right now but an hour ago I heard what sounded like a massive explosion from the direction of the farms outside Mordentshire. The storm is still going and making it impossible for anyone to see or use the roads now that they're so much sucking mud. Even I had to struggle to make it to Sheriff Owen's place to make a report. Everyone in town heard it but for now we can't investigate. I tried to fly out but the winds kept blowing me back and the rain made it impossible to see anything. I hope no one's been hurt by whatever it was.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 29, 738 BC)
Last night's explosion was the result of something striking a fallow field in the middle of the night with enough force to create a crater nearly twenty-feet in diameter and four feet deep at the center. It's impossible to know for sure what it was since the rains did an excellent job of obscuring everything but the size. I still took some soil samples as well as some of the rain still pooled in the center to run tests for anything that would indicate a comet. I still remember that doppelganger plant that hit the Hospice of the Doe last year. None of them have turned up anything so far but the most in-depth are still not done.

None saw or heard anything prior to the apparent impact and my powers turned up nothing about the impact save that it happened suddenly and violently. Even postcognition just showed the field being struck but not what struck it. Which either means this was some sort of atmospheric burst and there's literally nothing to see or something is obscuring whatever caused it. I'm not so sure it isn't the latter since clouds tend to hinder the natural phenomena that could cause something like this. I also haven't had a chance to explore the surrounding wilderness for potential clues since those tests require tending. A few rangers of the Shining Force did but they turned up nothing.

I'll wait and see what the test reveal in the morning.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 30, 738 BC)
Mystery solved, apparently. When I checked the water I drew from the crater I found tiny flakes of iron oxide in the bottom attracted to the steel stand the beaker was sitting on. As well, the field's owner came over with a chunk of black ore the size of a child's fist he'd pulled from the now-dry crater. A quick test with a steel striker confirmed it was mildly magnetic. A chunk of magnetized iron ore. We'd had a minor meteorite strike, the explosion the sonic boom of it entering the atmosphere and the sound being amplified by bouncing off the storm clouds.

Other than meteoric iron's rarity and potential use as a spell component or focus, it isn't all that special. Properly smelted it would be equivalent to cold iron but there wasn't enough to make much besides a couple of arrowheads. I bought it off of him for its value as such--around thirty gold pieces--and put in a glass jar. No wonder my powers didn't see it; the strike was so fast I didn't even register the chunk. It's anticlimactic, to say the least, but it also could have been much worse. I don't even know if I'm going to try and do anything with it.

Editor's Note: We included this just for our own edification. M. Archer still has that chunk in a glass jar and told us the story of where it came from when we were still quite young. We hope you'll pardon us for this tangent. -- Gennifer and Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 8, 739 BC)
Reports from the Shining Force bases in both Kartakass and Hazlan about "strange, emaciated beings with faces like squids with four tentacles" arrived within a day of each other. That close to Bluetspur the odd encounter with illithids is unavoidable. But these creatures were not intelligent, instead attacking recklessly in melee and bearing a life draining touch like that of vampires. Similarly to vampires, they fled the light of the sun and one of them caught in it smoldered to ash in seconds. Mind flayers hate the sunlight but they're not inherently harmed by it. This sounds like something new and my requests for more information didn't turn up much beyond confused eyewitness accounts.

One thing that stands out is the consistent description of their heads. Unlike other illithids, these things have distinctly shrunken craniums. Their behavior is likewise consistent with the idea that these things are lacking the ruthless intellects of others of their kind. That they were turned away by a cleric in one encounter supports the idea that these things are, in fact, some new strain of vampire. If that's true, then this is a phenomenon I've never even heard of before. Common wisdom among those who study mind flayers states that they can't be turned into vampires because they're literally parasites inhabiting a humanoid body. There's nothing for "vampirism" to really take hold of. Common wisdom also fails to account for things like necromancy, biomancy, and countless other factors. If anyone or anything is truly determined and deranged enough to do something, chances are very good they've found a way of doing it. Even if the results are not what they were hoping for.

Thinking on it, one of the reasons I've likely never heard of vampire illithids before is their disdain for magic in favor of psionics. There are certainly liches among their numbers but that seems to be the extent of deliberate undeath. I can think of half a dozen times I've seen vampires feed on mind flayers but never has one been successfully turned. They always die. If there's something extra required to create a vampiric illithid, that could also explain their apparent loss of mental ability. Not once did the creatures reported use the infamous "mind blast" that stuns the victims of mind flayers. They may well lack that ability altogether, which would actually make them less dangerous their living kin. For that matter, the creatures didn't eat the brains of their victims. It's possible they can subsist on blood alone but a part of me doubts that. Vampires are perversions of the beings they were in life so it would be fitting that a vampire illithid would need brains as well as blood to survive. Maybe the can only subsist on the brains of other illithids?

I don't like this. Not just because this is some new threat but because proper research will necessitate a trip into Bluetspur itself. If there's one place in the Land of Mists I loathe more than the Nightmare Lands, it's Bluetspur.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Unknown, Bluetspur, Jan. 14(?), 739 BC)
Five days--I think--of searching and I've only encountered two of these illithid vampires. It's hard to tell the passage of time in a land where the sun never rises and that same fact means those creatures never really "sleep." The sheer rarity of them when I've attracted the attentions of dozens of living mind flayers tells me that their population is severely limited. More than once a patrol that attacked me had orders written in Qual'ith to search out and destroy the vampiric creatures. That could explain what the vampire illithids were doing so far from Bluetspur; they're being driven out.

My first encounter with one was when it was feeding from the desiccated remains of a living illithid. The corpse was completely exsanguinated and the vampire illithid was extracting its victim's brain. That confirms the idea they do feed on brains as well as blood. I also confirmed that they lack the potent psionic powers of their living brethren as well as much in the way of mental capacity. Theirs is a low cunning that's still dangerous but not as much as the genius of living mind flayers. The creature was too crazed to capture and interrogate so I didn't get a chance to learn much more.

I've only just finished my second encounter, this time successfully binding the creature and getting some dialogue from it. It's hard to parse what it said because I couldn't use any sort of telepathy and its spoken words were extremely simplistic. What I did get from it was that it was created by the "High Master Illithid" and a human woman who sounds like a vampire herself. No name and no description, though. Not that illithids can really tell the differences between humanoids. The creature did know enough to say that it was a "reject" and escaped from certain destruction. Unlike the others, this one could feed on the brains of humanoids as well as other illithids. That says to me that these creatures are experiments being refined and changed.

At this point the creature became agitated and refused to cooperate. I was forced to destroy it. I don't know if the creature's failure to turn to mist or vapor upon destruction was due to my own unique ability or because these creatures don't follow the same rules as other vampires. Given how far these creatures range, it's likely they don't have coffins and thus don't return to them upon their destruction. I highly doubt they have the brain power to think of taking along a coffin with grave dirt, for that matter.

I wish I could stay and find out more but the attacks by illithids are getting more and more frequent and more powerful. An hour ago I was set upon by a large brain golem leading a trio of what might have been humans once but had their brains mostly devoured and replaced by illithid slime--mind-void creatures. I've had to use Vindicator practically since I entered this land and that last encounter left me particularly drained of psionic power. The only upside is I've grown noticeably stronger as a result. As I write this I'm just waiting for my amulet to regenerate some of my wounds and the philosopher's stone set into my battle crown to recover some of my psionic power. I don't even have the power to teleport out of here right now.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 3, 739 BC)
As soon as I woke up I knew this would be "one of those days." Where nothing seems to go right. It started out with my feeling like I was hungover, only more so. I haven't felt this enervated in years. And for no discernable reason. To make matters worse, I couldn't lie in bed and recover from whatever it was that afflicted me. Workers extracting clay from one of the nearby marshes came across another body yesterday, only this one wasn't spiritually inert like all the others. It was the body of one of the original people of Mordent, long before the Reniers came. Putting it to rest meant giving it funerary rights far removed from the Ezran doctrine.

It really didn't help matters that one of the women from the town followed and watched me chant in a language even older than Low Mordentish and then incinerate the mummified remains. I returned to a small mob claiming I was some sort of necromancer or warlock, despite Sherriff Finn's protestations, my explanation, and even the anchorites coming to my defense. It wasn't until one of them collapsed that I noticed their hands were black from ergotism. No wonder these people believed their insane charges; they were literally poisoned with a psychotropic fungus.

By the time someone's hands and feet start turning black, however, there's no way to save the extremities. Gangrene has set in and often amputation is required to save the victim. Sadly three people were too far gone even for that to save them and died there on the street after suffering convulsive fits. The others will have to rely on charity for a while as clean grain is shipped since their own stores have been contaminated. One man became violent when we seized his own stores and attacked me with a pitchfork. Thankfully the chainmail under my clothing stopped his attack but he's been arrested, pending a trial. I'm not going to press charges; his pride is already wounded and that's punishment enough.

By the time I was able to return home it was well after sunset and I was feeling worse than I'd felt earlier. A Toller from Dementlieu was waiting, though. The man had been sent with fraudulent bills from some minor noble, things easily disproved by my own records and the testimony of my house staff. Though it was excruciating to deal with when all I wanted was to return to bed. I was soaked in sweat by the time I simply collapsed into a fevered sleep, waking up barely an hour later if my watch is correct.

My dreams did offer some insight into what's wrong with me, though. I was watching the horizon during the sunset, somehow simply knowing the land below me was this world. Then as I watched, the ground opened up even as fires began appearing from nowhere. Torrential rains did nothing to stop the blazes but instead flooded the land. Soon the land itself began to stir and convulse, rearranging itself into new shapes even as the disasters subsided. Things were changed, drastically so, but the land and its inhabitants survived. And throughout it all I could only stand there and watch. Nothing I did could stop what was going on. Worst of all, a skull wearing an iron crown hung in the sky before the crown was knocked off and the skull's jaw opened as if it was screaming.

When I awoke I realized it wasn't a dream. It was a vision. My body was trying to tell me to return to bed so whatever this was could be seen. Scarier still, I found a note on my bedside table written in Madame Eva's hand.

"The time draw close,
"We dance to it's tune.
"Do you still fight,
"That which cannot be stopped?"

Somehow I just know she sees everything I write. So I'll say it here: no, I'm not going to try and stop the signs of Hyskosa's Hexad. Whatever it is, it's beyond me. I could no more stop it than a child's dam could stop a flood. Worse, it feels like someone or something is actively stopping me from interfering. Even as I write this I still feel the need to rest further. It was the note that prompted me to put all this to paper now instead of later. I just pray I'm making the right decision in backing off.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 8, 739 BC)
I'm not sure what's been wrong with me for the past few days. I didn't respond to any sort of attempt to cure diseases or neutralize poisons. That leaves either a spell of some kind of a curse. A spell doesn't seem likely since it started when I was wearing my mantled cloak and that protects against magic from all but the most powerful of casters. A curse leaves open the question of who laid it? There's no way to know for certain. But Madame Eva leaving a message for me leads me to think it was her giving me a warning not to try and interfere with whatever's going on.

I can see why she would. When I first arrived in this world, I immediately felt off. As time went by I chalked it up to whatever effect I have on this reality. Or something in my head. But now I realize what it is: I don't belong in this world. I'm a rogue element, something that disrupts how things should work. At this point I'm still not convinced I'm not losing my sanity. More than once I've seen "things" in a misty lattice or web that weren't there when I blinked. Once or twice I could chalk up to stress or a trick of the light. But five times in different situations makes me worry I'm suffering some sort of hallucinations. The last time it happened those things seemed to realize I could see them because they looked back at me. I noticed their fingers had extra joints and were tipped with suckers. Other, far larger creatures without features to their faces were working what looked like valves and levers. But somehow I "knew" that wasn't what they were actually doing. The way you "know" something in a dream. That it was just mind mind trying to translate something it couldn't truly grasp into something more comprehensible.

Editor's Note: The first creatures sound identical to Mistlings. But the second neither my sister nor I have ever seen or heard of before this. M. Archer seems to have stumbled on truths we revealed in our aborted Guide to the Mists years before we ever put quill to paper. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

More terrifying is the idea I'm not insane. That what I keep seeing is real. Reinforcing that idea is the fact I've seen something similar before. Long before I ever came to the Realms of Dread I participated in a ritual to peer beyond the reality we see and into the deeper levels too rarefied for even the ninth order of spells and powers to perceive. It was supposed to show me and the others how the Dreamweb interacted with that reality. But it went deeper than that and showed us a network of energy pulses and microscopic entities that seemed to repair and control the very fabric of that reality.

If I'm not insane, why am I seeing these things now? What's changed to open my perceptions? There are experiments I can perform to test a hypothesis, but if I can't reliably see what's happening they're meaningless.

I'd seek out the Zarovan and Madame Eva for answers but I don't believe I'd get an answer. And that assumes she knows what's going on. This feels like something even the Vistani don't know about, something so outside their experiences they would be just as clueless as I am. If true, then I'm Madame Eva's source of finding out more. Much like how giorgio are often her unwitting agents when she needs something done but can't--or won't--do it herself.

As I write this I just remembered one of the mimirs in one of the bags of holding I brought with me to this world holds information about such planar mechanics. Things so esoteric they're of no practical use most times. The planes have always been a hobby of mine so I brought it as something more for my own edification. Looks like it's going to have some real use after all.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 17, 739 BC)
I've consulted the mimir extensively, even digging out a couple of others I brought that might shed more light on this situation. For all the analogs to microscopic lifeforms that the enchanted, talking encyclopedias can offer, I didn't learn much. The nature of the planes--of even one plane--beyond what is seen is not something very many cultures ponder. If I had access to my own people's libraries, I might be able to piece something together. But that's simply not possible. Even if I were in the Nightmare Lands and sent a message out, the sheer volume of information I would need would be too much to be sent in such a way.

At any rate, none of this answers a still deeper question: why is this happening to me now? In my hypothesis that it's something unique to this world and its rules, I began delving into everything the Shining Force has taken from the Fraternity of Shadows. While there are accounts and treatises of the effects that fiends have on this plane, there's nothing on what celestials do beyond what I've already seen for myself and those are limited to the few "ascended" ones who achieved mastery as monks. Apparently true celestials here are so rare as to be unheard of. Further, the observations are not extensive or lengthy enough for my purposes. The erosion of materials and even reality caused by those who embody metaphysical good is bad enough. But what happens if that erosion reaches a critical point? Or said erosion is held back by sheer will for years, even decades, at a time? What would that do to the being causing it? For that matter, what if there are differences between the effects caused by mortals who ascended and those who were born--or created--as such?

What takes hours to manifest for Maxine takes mere minutes for me; I let the full force of my effect go and anything not anointed with my blood begins to visibly transform into hideous caricatures of what it once was before turning into vapor completely. I've never let things go beyond that stage willingly except for the temple in the Shining Force's main base. And that involved me shedding my own blood as well, which alters how things work. Differences in terms of personal power could explain some of why things happen so much faster for me. But that alone doesn't explain something in the literature. The radius of effect for ascended mortals seems to cap out at a radius of twenty-thousand feet while an experiment the other day shows mine is twice that in size. And that's only a rough guess since I contained it again when the plant life in the swamp--such as it is--began to visibly wither and die. That kind of rapid environmental devastation is reason enough to contain things.

There is one thing. Before I restrained the effect fully, I saw one of those tiny humanoids with the suckers on their hands. Not in the physical world but in that strange place underneath (beside?) it. It was fleeing, running at a sprint to get out of the area, only to stop when I finally did restrain things. I lost sight of it soon after. Those things must be horribly vulnerable to the effect I have on reality.

Editor's Note: A recent experience with M. Archer confirms this, and it's not limited solely to Mistlings. My sister and I were receiving his aid on an investigation into a series of disappearances when a Mist Horror attacked us. He just stood there and unleashed what he called his "reality disruption." The creature seemed to be paralyzed even as its very form began to dissolve into nothingness. One of the greatest terrors in our world was destroyed in less than a minute without effort. Afterwards he looked quite peaked. He explained that ever since this started, he began to suffer whenever he did allow his reality disruption. The damage he inflicted was revisited on him as internal injuries. Bruises were emanating up into his neck from under his clothing. I don't want to imagine what the full extent of his injuries were. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 28, 739 BC)
Rudolph has asked me to accompany him to Nova Vaasa, specifically to Egertus and its Clinic for the Mentally Distressed. One of the doctors there, Gregorian Illhousen, has developed an approach to treating mental illness that echoes what I've said for years now. Unlike the conditioning treatments that most alienists still use, Dr. Illhousen has pioneered methods of therapy that truly are effective--and humane. Talk therapy, cognitive analysis, and recently something he's dubbed "oneirological theory." That more than anything piqued my interest because it sounded like the doctor had discovered the impact dreams have on the body.

I've agreed to head there on my own. Rudolph insists on taking a carriage there, a trip of nearly three weeks, and which would pass through Barovia. That last part alone makes such a method impossible for me. I will simply teleport to Nova Vaasa and hire local transportation instead, taking a letter of introduction with me. I'm most interested in learning what I can from Dr. Illhousen and especially how he's managed to contact others' dreams without any apparent magical or psionic ability.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Egertus, Nova Vaasa, March 5, 739 BC)
Dr. Illhousen--Gregorian--is a most gracious host and a dedicated healer. He was a bit surprised at my sudden appearance with a letter from Rudolph, but his eagerness to explain his theories with someone who understood and appreciated his efforts overcame any reticence on his part. I got the distinct feeling he was actually grateful for the opportunity. His compatriot, a rather unpleasant man named Dr. Harrod Tasker, did little but berate Gregorian's work and ignore the evidence before him. As much as he tried to claim it was purely in the name of science, it wasn't hard to tell he was equal parts jealous and scared of the fact that the methods of "psychology" were actually producing better results than what I would call torture. There is some science to the idea of electrical shocks as a way of "resetting" the brain after serious injury. But it doesn't help true mental illness at all.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Dr. Tasker's character and soul were stained with malevolence. Not merely a disregard for the welfare of others or a strong sense of selfishness. No, there is a distinct sense of sadism about him. He seems to enjoy torturing his patients and using medical treatment as a justification. More than once I had to sneak into the cells of those he put through the treatment room and heal their very real, very new physical wounds. He's not a healer; he's a psychopath. And the argument we had last night has only cemented our mutual dislike and distrust of the other. Unfortunately there's no way I can get him removed from his position. The town of Egertus refuses to even consider such a move and he holds too much respect from the other doctors--other than Gregorian, who quietly told me he agrees with my assessment of Tasker.

While reviewing Gregorian's note, however, I was alarmed to learn he's become aware of the existence of the Nightmare Court and their depredations. He knows their general natures and even descriptions but hasn't (yet) learned their names or anything else specific. The Court is already observing him and his efforts to oppose them if his notes are correct; at least one patient, acting under a posthypnotic suggestion, has already tried to kill him. Said patient had no contact with anyone capable of such feats in the waking world and later reported seeing a man in gentleman's attire sleeping in a glass coffin in his dreams--Hypnos. It's exactly how he operates in the waking world, too.

Since Gregorian has already been marked by the Nightmare Court, I can't place him under protection. If I tried, it would simply draw more of their attention to him. But I might be able to teach him a few tricks for controlling his own dreams. It won't stop the Court but it could save his life and sanity.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Egertus, Nova Vaasa, March 13, 739 BC)
Gregorian's progress learning to control his dreams is astounding. He was already somewhat skilled in lucid dreaming and thus capable of recognizing he was dreaming as well as exerting a very limited control. But in just a week he's already mastered some of the more complex feats, including the ability to leave his own dreams and find his way into those of others. I get the feeling he was trained in that last one before now, though. He made some odd comments comparing what I was teaching to the abilities of the Abber shamans. And true dreamwalking is not something one can simply "figure out" without aid from someone or something already capable of such. Since I'm the only one of my kind on this world and dream spawn lack the intelligence or willingness to teach such, that leaves the Abber nomads.

He insists he's never been to the Nightmare Lands and I believe him. It's possible--even probable--he was shown how through his dreams. That's precisely how I'm teaching him, after all.

But that's all secondary right now. Gregorian is insistent on traveling to the Nightmare Lands. I've tried to warn him away from such an endeavor but he refuses to listen. In fact, that's the very reason he asked Rudolph to come this time. Rudolph, for his part, was likely only indulging my intellectual curiosity in inviting me to visit his friend. If he knows about his friend's plans to travel to that horrific land, he never said anything to me about it. But now that I know, I'm torn on joining them or not. On the one hand, I know the place like no one besides the Abber Nomads and I'm well equipped to overcome the unique challenges of the place. But on the other hand, my presence would all too likely endanger them further as the Nightmare Court noticed my presence and rallied their forces against us.

I didn't bring it up as we sat in Gregorian's office tonight, the two of them sipping on fine Richemuloise brandy and me a drink my people created eons ago called cola from my enchanted flask. As the alcohol got to them, they began to wax philosophical and discuss the reasons they had taken up their paths in life. Rudolph, of course, because the Vistani stole his son. Gregorian because he had always been fascinated by the mind and wanted to know its secrets and help those afflicted. As for me, it's been a tradition among my people that the nobility take up the adventuring life for a time both to grow in power and to experience the wider worlds beyond our own. In my case in particular it was the only way I could really build enough of a nest egg for when I retire since my people's noble families are not that wealthy and I abdicated anyway. I never did feel comfortable with the responsibilities and perceived station of nobility and felt more comfortable with those who worked for a living. My tastes are decidedly "middle class" at best and I feel a greater sense of accomplishment from earning something on my own than from having it handed to me because of an accident of birth.

When it came to why I chose the path I currently walk, something I'd only mentioned to Rudolph during his work on the Guide to the Lich, I had to admit to a weakness of character. In that instant I became an illithid slayer, it was because I felt indescribable hatred. I've encountered mind flayers before and borne witness to their horrific goals. But until that day I'd never felt the need to learn specialized techniques of fighting them. I'm not afraid to admit that my hatred towards them has not dimmed, but neither do I take pride in it. I made a choice and I stand by it even if I don't like how it happened.

At this point we decided to retire for the night, though I was not feeling particularly tired thanks to my drink. As I made my way to the guest quarters I sensed something behind me and turned to see one of Gregorian's servants wielding a butcher's knife. His eyes were glossed over and it was clear he was not in control of himself--or even conscious. The faint outline of a gray morph was visible to me and I knew he'd been possessed as he slept. In Oneiros it told me to stay out of what Gregorian and Rudolph were planning unless I wanted to see them, and those close to them, destroyed. Honestly, this was not even a danger to me as I simply manifested dispel evil and sent the thing back to the dream world without having to harm him. He crumpled to the floor and woke up as a result, completely unaware of what had happened. As I explained he apologized and I told him it wasn't his fault; very few can resist being controlled as they sleep.

Since the Nightmare Court already knows what's going on, it seems my decision has been made for me. I won't be joining them in their expedition. I can only pray that I teach them about the place will be enough to see them through safely.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

Editor's Note: The remainder of the year is remarkably uneventful in M. Dreamfire's journals. At several points he actually expresses some gratitude for such since it left him with time to take care of business concerns. But we know our readers would be quite bored with such talk. Instead, we've chosen here to insert an interview we had with him while testing out a magical quill he gave us that automatically scribes whatever it hears. What he says here actually explains a number of things we had difficulty understanding in earlier entries. - Gennifer & Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove: So tell us a bit about your past. Especially your childhood.

Alexander Dreamfire: There's not much to say about my childhood. I was born to House Dreamfire seven-hundred-four years ago, the second and last child my parents had. My sister was already two-hundred years old when I was born and had begun her career as an ardent. Um...think of an ardent as a kind of psionic cleric, drawing power not from a god but from universal principles called "mantles." From an early age we both kind of knew she would be the one to inherit the title while I pursued my own path.

GWF: What do you mean by inheriting the title?

AD: Among my people, only one child inherits the title of nobility.

GWF: Would you explain that, please?

AD: Generations--as my people count them--ago we decided to consolidate the aristocracy into single families and, over time, do away with them completely through intermarriage and abdication of titles. When those who have inherited the title from their family married, they combined their houses into one. By the time I was born, the number had been reduced from four dozen to a mere five. It's mostly a formality anyway since the aristocracy holds no real power or influence beyond what the members themselves earn through action and deed. Which has given rise to the requirement that noble children undertake an adventuring career. Both to build the fortunes of the house should they be the inheritors and to grow their own abilities.

Those of us born after an inheritor is chosen, or who choose to give up our claims, are free to pursue whatever path we choose. And as I said, my sister and I knew early on that she would be the one to inherit the noble title and thus the rights and responsibilities that come with it. I had no interest in being what amounts to little more than a celebrity among my people nor in using my family name to pursue any sort of political career. In fact, it was rather liberating. It was still required that I undertake an adventuring career but I was not going to be saddled with any further expectations or even ceremonial responsibilities. And growing up as I had playing with children of the "common class," I felt more comfortable working to build my own fortunes than simply taking advantage of my inheritance.

No offense meant.

Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove: None taken. What was it like training to become an adventurer?

AD: Grueling is the best way I can describe it. Had I been only a soulknife or a wilder I would have had just one path to focus on. Instead, I was gifted--or cursed, really--with two simultaneously that required equal amounts of study. In the end it prepared me better for what I encountered as an adventurer. But going through it was a nightmare. Studying and practicing for sixteen hours a day, even for a race that only needs four hours of sleep a night, is miserable.

LWF: Sixteen hours? I can scarcely imagine such a regimen.

AD: It's water under the bridge at this point.

GWF: What about your career? What was that like?

AD: ::sits silently for a bit:: That would take a while to detail. Suffice to say there isn't much I haven't done. The first few decades of my career I actually spent working more as a mercenary and diplomat as I grew into my abilities and learned more about the world. I probably would have stayed as the kept lover a nymph for many more years had the hierophant of the druid circle I was allied with not died of old age and been replaced by his less-than-trustworthy daughter.

GWF: Kept lover...ah, what happened after?

AD: I moved on to a city called Waterdeep and met with Tyriana, a young elf priestess of a sun god named Lathander. It didn't take long for us to discover we worked well together. We spent over two centuries working together on her world and even among the planes, righting whatever wrongs we could and exploring places I could probably write whole books about. By the time we returned to her world we had fallen deeply in love with each other and made plans to eventually marry, something most elves rarely do. But upon our return we discovered her father had been accused of heresy against Lathander by a scheming member of a rival noble house. It took months to piece together what was really going on but the hierarchy of Lathander's church refused to help her, cowed by politics and, it turned out, threats to their own loved ones by the same noble.

In the end he was acquitted, but the damage to his reputation was done. He took his own life less than a year later. The strain of proving her father's innocence and the lack of support from her peers had shaken Tyriana's faith before but that destroyed it. In the end she turned to another god out of a burning desire for vengeance and set into motion events that...I'm sorry, I'd rather not go into them. Suffice it to say she became everything she'd once opposed, using the incorporeal undead to exact bloody revenge and setting me on a course into the Abyss, a plane of ultimate chaos and evil, and into the waiting hands of a goddess who kept me mentally dominated to be used as a gladiator and a...a... ::Alexander becomes visibly shaken::

GWF: If this is too much for you, we can stop it here.

AD: Thank you, but I'd prefer to continue.

As I was saying, I was put under permanent mental domination and used. And when I was injured, when I lost an eye and my right arm, she replaced them with magical items. To give me a better chance in her arena, she had a creature known as a silithar replace my bones, muscles, and tendons. My keeper, a quote "failed" succubus named Kyra, tended to my wounds both physical and spiritual. She broke every rule I thought I knew about demons; she was neither chaotic nor evil and was far less powerful than her sisters. Up until then she had served as the goddess's lore keeper and studied the path of the archivist, a divine spellcaster who studies and learns spells like wizards do instead of praying for them, as a result. This gave her the ability to use healing magic but it also exposed her to things outside the goddess's purview. Things that made her question whether her existence was all she could look forward to or if there was a chance for something else.

I didn't trust her at first on simple principle and said things I now regret. But she never took anything I said personally and kept me going spiritually as much as physically. From me, she learned more about the worlds outside the Abyss and about the nature of good, of selflessness, of everything foreign to fiends. From her, I learned more about the goddess I had grown up hearing about, how to survive and even thrive after a fashion despite my enslavement, and...I learned to love again after my betrayal by Tyriana. I wasn't ready to accept anyone into my heart like I had before, but the potential was there.

GWF: You...loved this Kyra?

AD: In the sense I loved my friends and family, maybe more than that, but the environment we were in was not really conducive to romance or deepening a relationship. And when my domination was dispelled by Tyriana, who had come to regret what she'd done and even opened a gate for me to escape, I took Kyra with me to the plane of Celestia, as opposite the Abyss as possible in terms of metaphysics as possible. The natives--the archons--didn't take kindly to her presence but gave her the opportunity to prove her desire to rise above her origins. She had to travel the planes and excise her demonic essence and have it replaced with goodness. And she was to do it alone, allowed to return only one day every standard planar year.

Meanwhile, the physical and mental scars I'd suffered during my time in the Abyss began to haunt me. Every day for thirty years I bathed in the holy water of the Silver Sea and underwent a ritual my people call the "Return to Innocence," an atonement and cleansing of body, mind, and spirit. I know now that it was a coping technique for the trauma I'd suffered and I kept at it until an avatar of my people's literal mother goddess came to me to tell me I had nothing to atone for. What happened was not my fault and I had to stop beating myself up over it. She invited me back to the Dreaming Citadel on the neighboring plane of Elysium and I was able to begin truly healing.

But my peace was cut short. Elisime, the goddess I'd escaped from, sent her minions to Celestia to steal a potent artifact kept sealed away and neutralized with its counterpart. This was not a small affair, either. An entire host of fiends had attacked and two had succeeded in stealing away with their prize while the rest were slaughtered. Such incursions are rare but the theft was unheard of. I volunteered to help recover it and was joined by a solar, the highest order of angel, where we tracked down the two as they entered a...rip in the planar fabric, I guess, to this world. I wish I could say I understood why and how, but those who enter this world almost never leave. I'm sure you two have heard the tales.

LWF: We have. Though my sister and I are hesitant to believe them.

AD: Then I'll leave the matter be.

The two who had the artifact, a greater succubus named Vanatha and a fallen cherub called Caesarus, used the item to great effect in slaying my solar companion before I was able to slay them, permanently, with the item's own counterpart. The backlash was immense and I lost consciousness. When I came to, I was in eastern Darkon and...well, you've read my journals and know the rest.

GWF: This is a lot to take in and I have so many questions. But the one I would like answered most of all has to do with this Shining Force you created. Namely, what is it? You talk at length about its efforts but never really say what its ultimate goals are.

AD: At first, it was simply to counter the machinations of another secret society dedicated to unearthing the secrets of this world, the Fraternity of Shadows. But the more we learned, the more we realized how deep the darkness really is. We do what we can to help those who want it to overcome the evil around them even as we seek to learn more about this world and counter the greater evils that go unnoticed. I wish I could say more but we've attracted the attention of...things. Entities I've never once encountered before and have no frame of reference for. You've encountered them before, when you were researching your Guide to the Mists.

LWF: Mistlings? Mist Horrors? Those sorts of things?

AD: And worse. Much worse. Then there are the more earthly and mundane enemies of the Force. The absolute worst horrors that Rudolph and I faced together, things he never wrote about, even organizations neither of us knew about until we crossed them in the pursuit of knowledge. The last have resources and means to attack us that most creatures of darkness don't. It's one thing to defend ourselves against a marauding horde of creatures. But it's quite another to face a mob of people who's only sin is understandable fear.

At this point the discussion continues on into things we don't feel comfortable releasing just yet, dear readers. In time we'll release those notes but for now we hope you all have a better understanding of just who and what M. Dreamfire is. -- Gennifer and Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, March 30, 740 BC)
Rudolph has gifted me a copy of his Guide to the Ancient Dead and, as I feared, he's reached the same dangerously incorrect conclusions that countless generations of other scholars have. Namely claiming that the creatures he calls ancients are all powered by positive energy and by confusing two different creatures as the same thing. I can't fault him since it's a common mistake on countless other worlds as well. Still, I tried explaining the differences between deathless ancients and truly undead mummies countless times over the years. I've brought up my concerns but he acted quite distant and suspicious of me when I did. I get the feeling he doesn't trust me anymore.

I wish I could say why. But I suspect it has to do with the books he inherited from his friend recently. Most worrying, a complete collection of The Madrigorian. He may suspect I'm a fiend myself, given the fact I have an effect on reality not unlike them that he's witnessed more than once. If so, he's no doubt going to try and confront me about it at some point. That's a day I do not look forward to.

All this is on top of whatever will happen with Hyskosa's Hexad. I've seen what happens when planar conjunctions collapse and the results are never pretty even for minor ones. A grand conjunction collapsing terrifies me because the results are no doubt going to be quite catastrophic. To that end I have had the Shining Force begin stockpiling whatever goods we can, from preserved foods to medical supplies, in preparation for both our survival and to aid those in need. This world is so unlike any other I've been to I'm not sure what's going to happen or if the damage will be contained by the odd metaphysics of this place.

Then there's Azalin to consider. The lich-king is not going to take his plan's failure lightly. To that end I've had the Darkon branches of the Force effectively go to ground for the time being. Especially since I've received word he actually has Hyskosa there in Castle Avernus! I know the Vistani are after him and seek his destruction since he's a Dukkar, a harbinger of doom for the Vistani and a complete blind spot in their otherwise uncanny Sight. This may well be why Madame Eva wanted me to stay out of interfering with the Hexad. Hyskosa seems to be a matter she wants her people to handle on their own, especially his own tribe whom she's charged with destroying him and stopping the events.

As for warning others about the upcoming disaster, no one believes it's possible. Everyone dismisses it out of hand and my inability to say exactly what will happen doesn't help matters. A few individuals believe me but they're not the most trustworthy themselves. I hate feeling this helpless.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 22, 740 BC)
What I feared has come to pass. The Grand Conjunction did indeed collapse and the land has been forever altered. I'm still trying to piece together what happened where but the reports are already quite disturbing. More unsettling is that every time I've used my crystal ball to check on what happened I've received visions of worlds beyond this one and learned that this is a time of massive upheaval all over the multiverse.

One particular world is worth noting here. On Toril, the gods were stripped of their power by Ao, the Overgod, for one of them stealing a scroll in his possession. Some have reclaimed their divine status while others were destroyed or mortals took their place as new gods. Bane, the Lawgiver, was seemingly one of those destroyed. This could explain why his clerics in this world have lost all their powers. Though the Unspoken Pact would logically dictate that the god's fall wouldn't affect his clerics here since they don't receive their powers from him. Or that's the theory.

Merchants for the Archer Trading Company have informed me that Arkandale is gone and was absorbed into Verbrek. Likewise, Valachan has shifted ninety degrees so it now sits directly west of Verbrek and south of Mordent. Only yesterday I learned that several lands in the central Core have shifted places or just disappeared, being replaced with a massive, foggy rift that seems to have no bottom. This rift seems to occupy the space that was once G'henna and Markovia, though the map I was shown was still very rough and requires further refining.

Then there's Gundarak. Under the terms of our own pact, Strahd forbade me and the Shining Force from operating within the borders of Barovia. But after the chaos, his own forces began an invasion of neighboring Gundarak and attacked members of the Force in direct violation of the pact on his part. In doing so he's freed us to act with impunity in his lands and against him directly as well. He knows this as well since we both felt the breaking when it happened. We are free of our restraints while Strahd and his direct minions will now be crippled if we face each other. But as I learn more about what happened, the more convinced I am that the vampire is the lynchpin of this world. If he were to be destroyed, this world might well follow.

Finally, there's the appearance of Arijani, the same fiend whom Strahd signed his pact with almost four centuries ago. Apparently his Book of Keeping was destroyed by the holy symbol of ravenkind during the Hexad's events. I've never met him before but I'd heard the stories during my durance in the Abyss. An arcanoloth who loses their Book of Keeping, a list of all the contracts with mortals for their souls they've made, is lower than anything in the fierce politics of Gehenna. So the Pariah Fiend is the entity the vampire made a deal with almost four centuries ago? It would be grimly amusing if it didn't mean there's now another, horribly powerful fiend in this world.

The changes to the Land of Mists are still ongoing, as are my visions of events on other worlds. What's happened so far is only the beginning as the land adjusts to the metaphysical shock and literally reorganizes itself. Further, the Shining Force everywhere is dealing with the changes in their locations and I've been kept busy coordinating relief efforts and even moving needed goods from one location to another using my own powers. Earthquakes and other natural disasters have been reported from all corners and we're stretched thin providing aid where we can.

Then there are the social and political upheavals in places. Rumors are swirling that Ivana Boritsi and Ivan Dilisnya will merge their lands into one, something that terrifies me greatly. Ivana is a dangerous foe but she can be reasoned with; Ivan is erratic and unstable at the best of times, rivaling his late Aunt Camille in sheer misanthropy. Were the two of them to try and jointly rule one land, the country would be ground into dust. Lieben Farms would no doubt become a prize in whatever political games they would play against each other.

Then there are conflicting reports out of Hazlan, rumors of the Tepestani clergy going on some sort of crusade, the situation in former Gundarak, and whatever Azalin is up to now that his plans have failed. It's going to take quite a bit of time to sort out everything.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 4, 740 BC)
Things seem to have settled down across the land for the most part. The social and political fallout of the so-called Great Upheaval is still ongoing but the worst of the natural disasters seem to have passed. As well, cartographers I hired have begun submitting completed surveys and a new, fairly complete map of the Core is emerging. Bluetspur, thank the goddess, is gone. The Nocturnal Sea to the east of the Core has already jumpstarted new economic plans in Darkon and Nova Vaasa. The Shadow Rift has disrupted trade routes through the central Core and caused great concern among those lands bordering it. Dorvinia has been absorbed into Borca and already Ivan Dilisnya is consolidating the once independent guards of the nobility into his own group of "tax collectors." More like state-sponsored bandits and thugs.

Gundarak has been split roughly evenly between Barovia and Invidia, with the Shining Force being caught on the Barovian side. So far we've ordered members to avoid antagonizing the militia and especially the Order of the Ebon Gargoyle needlessly. We don't want Strahd using indirect methods of attacking us or threatening innocents in retaliation. Avoiding issues with the former was difficult as Gundarakite rebels are already organizing and attacking Strahd's forces. The Force is supposed to stay neutral in the politics of a given location, but many of the unaffiliated members there are native Gundarakites and support the rebels. Not to mention the militia attacked us more than once in the belief we're aiding them. I've directly ordered the complete relocation from Sturben to a hidden base in Invidia to avoid being dragged further into this. Nobody on either side is completely innocent of crimes against the other and this sort of partisanship is in direct violation of our charter and core beliefs.

In Tepest, members have been harassed by clerics as being allies of the fey despite repeated use of things like zone of truth to prove we're not. The Tepestani don't seem to care. Dratha refuses to abandon her home and has set about trying to better educate the people. Maybe it's just the benefit of years but I know this is only going to get worse and more organized in short order. There are already rumblings of an inquisition from Viktal as Wyan, the same priest I met years ago, has started to preach that the Great Upheaval was the work of the shadow fey and that it's the duty of Belenus's faithful to root them out. I'm not certain about the physiology of the shadow fey but his prescribed methods already sound dangerously misinformed and likely to get innocent people killed. I really wish I could talk to Rudolph about all this but he's been actively avoiding me for months now.

The Shadow Rift itself is a feature of the land that deserves some in-depth study. Reports of explorers becoming increasingly "unreal" as they try to descend its walls leads me to believe it's a domain in its own right, complete with a darklord at its metaphysical center. One whose borders are perpetually closed. If true, I can pass through unharmed and see what lies at the bottom if there is one. Old stories from Arak I've studied lead me to believe there really is a fey kingdom, one that shares features of many tales about the passage of time going more quickly inside than outside. Like a distorted reflection of the sub-plane called Faerie linked to the outer plane of Arcadia. It wouldn't even be the strangest thing I've encountered.

For now, however, I'm swamped with everything that needs to be done for both the Shining Force and the Archer Trading Company. The Force is literally demanding my guidance as we navigate the changes all over the Core and the ATC needs deals struck with new sources once we've figured out new trade routes. Xanos has risen to the occasion in helping manage things locally even as Orwin and Dratha have both done the same in their quadrants. Niela, however, has been facing a pair of unique issues no one expected. The Church of the Lawgiver has suffered a schism between those who believe the god died during the Great Upheaval and they now worship nothing but lies and those who think it was all a test. Muddying things further is Hazlik's abrupt change of heart about the study of arcane magic in Hazlan. Where once it was outlawed and a crime worthy of death, now it's encouraged and even supported. This is at once good because it offers us an excellent chance of recruiting more arcanists, especially from the oppressed Rashemi, but also bad because it's only heightening the tensions among the Lawgiver's faithful and encouraging a renewed Iron Inquisition. It's because of them we've not been able to establish any real presence in Nova Vaasa.

This isn't the first time I've had more on my plate than I expected and doubtless won't be the last. I've just got to tackle each issue as best I can before moving onto the next until I've worked through all of it. I'm just thankful things are slowing down as the year ends. It's going to be a busy winter.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 28, 741 BC)
Today marks the first day in months I've not had something demanding my attention. It also marks the day I finally found out what has been bothering Rudolph this past year. It seems I was half-right; it did involve his inheritance of a complete set of The Madrigorian. But for reasons I wish he had told me about first.

Earlier this evening he came by the estate, acting more than a little agitated and suspicious. As I was pouring him a cup of tea he splashed a vial of holy water in my face. When I asked him why he did that he said he "had to be sure." In studying fiends he noticed my effect my on the land--what he called a reality wrinkle. I guess it's a fitting name, but not entirely accurate when it comes to celestials. As he explained, fiends warp reality around themselves and can even choose to gain "land-based powers" depending on the domain they perform a ritual in. But at the cost of binding themselves to the land and shrinking their reality wrinkle by half each time.

I've only myself and Maxine to compare, but I'd posit that celestials create a reality disruption instead. Superficially similar to a wrinkle but it damages reality and hinders living things from healing. We can suppress the effects, and likely so can fiends but the latter have no reason to.

When I asked him how he'd found this out, he admitted to hunting down some of the fiends in this world. I couldn't suppress a wince at that. On other worlds fiends can be troublesome at best to hunt down and banish, since true destruction is only possible on their home planes. But in this world the deck is decidedly stacked against would-be hunters. Detecting them without the aid of a paladin is more a matter of luck and intensive investigation, the land itself seems to offset their usual weaknesses, and the powers they can gain likely only make them more formidable.

Rudolph showed me an early copy of his Guide to Fiends and I noticed some subtle but glaring errors. Fiends don't inherently have the ability to form bonds with cultists and not all can ensnare mortals with contracts. The former is a specialized path while the latter is mostly limited to the lawful fiends known as baatezu unless, again, a fiend pursues a specialized path. Worse, his classifications don't account for fiends who are neither lawful nor chaotic. I only know of one (Inajira) that fits that criteria in this land and it's easy to mistake him as lawful because arcanoloths are the only non-baatezu I know of that can inherently ensnare mortals with contracts. And from the description of Drigor, I'd guess he's a shator, one of the ghereleth breeds that are chaotic instead of neutral.

The whole reason Rudolph didn't ask for my help was that he feared I was a fiend as well. I can forgive that mistake, even if he can't answer when I ever gave him reason to doubt me. The revelation of fiends being real is enough to shake even the stoutest soul. The guide disturbs me further because it suggests that while fiends are so rare as to be unique, true celestials like me are unheard of because no others exist in the Realms of Dread. Not even legends. Mortals who ascend to becoming celestials don't share the same metaphysical and philosophical quandaries. Their origins are exactly that, mortal. And if Maxine is any indication, their souls aren't divided from their bodies and put into phylacteries in this world. Other than Kaylee the coure, who lacks a reality disruption (I theorize because she's a familiar to a wizard now and her essence is tied to Ren's), I'm alone in this world.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 15, 741 BC)
I may not be as alone as I thought weeks earlier. Posters about a Carnival appeared in town mysteriously last night and, perhaps spurred by morbid curiosity, I tracked them back to their apparent origin. I found a wagon caravan making its way slowly over the trails of Mordent, stuck in the muddy sinkholes created by a recent rainstorm. The Vistani travelling with them all had painted faces and referred to each other by nicknames or titles, the horses likewise painted and never called proper names. The caravan was encased in something akin to a reality wrinkle, albeit only a few hundred feet in diameter, that felt unlike anything I'd perceived before. It didn't register as fiendish but neither did it feel similar to the ones I, Kaylee, or Maxine exuded. Reflexively I let mine manifest and was met by a woman with lustrous black hair, snow-white skin, and a large sword.

Before I could stop myself I greeted her in Celestial and was answered with the same. No one but the rare outlander even speaks that tongue and I could see she was not an outlander, or mortal, at all.

She introduced herself as Isolde and asked me if I was...Alexander Dreamfire. I was taken aback that she knew my real name but she invited me into her wagon to talk privately. There she told me she was a ghaele--a greater eladrin from Arcadia. Another true celestial! She'd heard of me because the tale of my quest forty-one years ago had spread across the Upper Planes, albeit it more as a cautionary tale for those who thought of coming to the Land of Mists. Something she'd used to justify her decision to pursue an incubus into this world. One Rudolph wrote about in his Guide, the Gentleman Caller. They agreed but at a cost: she was stripped of most of her powers and banished to this realm until she caught the fiend. The Unspoken Pact, I'm guessing. Which just raises more questions about why I wasn't put under similar limitations. Or Manus, for that matter. The circumstances of our coming here could be one reason. Another possibility is too grim to contemplate.

Upon coming here she discovered Carnival and became its leader, still pursuing her target even as she protected the members of this ragtag bunch. However, she did note two curious things. The first is that her presence changes mortals in ways that she can't predict, though their always in line with traits that mortal possesses. She calls it the Twisting and that seems to be what I sensed. She believes it's a good thing and can apparently accelerate it by concentrating, though my presence seems to have suppressed it and she admitted to feeling a disconnect from the other troupers. I theorize that something has changed her reality disruption, as well as greatly reduced its radius, given that a greater eladrin should have one at least a mile wide. It's likely my own disruption has overridden whatever the Twisting is.

The second is what led me to her. Wherever Carnival goes, posters and fliers appear days before it arrives and without any control on her part. It immediately struck me that such would be ample warning for the Gentleman Caller or any other target to move on. That alone makes me think that the Dark Powers are tormenting Isolde as much as any darklord, which is a terrifying prospect and just raises more questions. Why would they do the same to an agent of ineffable good as they do to those who've forged their own damnation with their wickedness? It also plays into the possibility I mentioned earlier: that the powers-that-be in the Upper Planes know any agent they send to this world will be, if not destroyed, then contained or constrained. Which just raises further questions about why I haven't experienced anything similar beyond what I've done voluntarily.

Talking further with her I sense she's been affected by her time here. She honestly believes the Twisting is a good thing, despite the efforts the Skurra, the Vistani who travel with her, have taken to avoid it. The Twisting doesn't just affect humanoids but any normal animal, hence why the horses are painted. Countless minor animals like dogs and cats that travel with Carnival have succumbed to the Twisting and are definitely not what they once were. The Twisting is not immediate and unless Isolde focuses on someone or something, it can take upward of a month before it first manifests. Thus visitors are safe but anyone who travels with Carnival is at risk unless the Skurra teach them the secret of avoiding it. It's also possible that it fades outside of Isolde's influence, though how long that could take is unknown.

While I can't deny the good she's doing, Isolde increasingly came across as more than a little...mad? That's the only way to describe it. She's convinced her efforts will succeed eventually, which could happen with outside help. But I seriously doubt the Twisting is a good thing. It wreaks unwanted changes on its victims, sometimes crippling them in hideous ways. It's like a form of biomancy that doesn't need a chiurgeon to enact. She remains convinced it's a good thing despite all that and has no interest in even trying to learn to suppress it. At that point I excused myself and left. The questions about her entry into this world and the things that have manifested around her raised questions I fear finding answers to and despair of ever finding.

One last thing. On my way back I began to notice I was seeing beyond the Near Ethereal again and into fabric of this reality I started seeing a couple of years back. Usually I can shake my perceptions back to the "normal" world by blinking slowly or shaking my head. But this time it took some effort to stop seeing. Looking back into it whatever it is proved harder, albeit doable and at the cost of a severe headache. What's worrying is I didn't have my reality disruption loose like before. This time it happened without requiring it. Unleashing my reality disruption to further test things...hurt. Not terribly but enough that I could feel a dull ache begin to suffuse my body until I suppressed it again. Sufficiently different from the headache that I knew they weren't connected.

I'm tired. I'll wrap this entry up here.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, June 2, 741 BC)
I'd been out of the country for the past month helping the Force in Sturben after we began receiving refugees from Teufeldorf. The Barovians have completely annexed the area and displaced several Gundarakite families and orphans when they began to slaughter anyone suspected of aiding the resistance following the execution of said leaders. The last of Gundarak is now in foreign hands and its people are facing an ugly occupation. I wish there was more I could do but that would lead to a war with the Barovian militia and the Ebon Gargoyle both. The former has only just subdued the rebels and is still on high alert while the latter is watching too closely for us to move much. I had to personally escort a large caravan of food and medical supplies from Borca to defend it from brigands and talk it past paranoid Barovian militia members. For now we're going to have to go underground and wait things out.

Upon my return home, I was told how George introduced a woman he'd met, Natalia, and the subsequent revelation of her real nature as a werewolf when she tried to attack him during a family gathering and instead injured Geniffer. The anchorites declared her free of any lycanthropic infection but I'm not so sure and neither is he. He's since left to hunt her down out of a feeling of guilt for what happened. I wish he'd waited for me since I could have helped him. But without knowing anything about her beyond a description my abilities are useless. Even a single hair of hers would be enough. I'm grateful Geniffer is okay, though. I just hope this doesn't leave emotional scars on her or Laurie.

Also, Rudolph has been noticeably depressed lately over how many friends and allies he's lost during his hunts of the supernatural. What ones I've been with him on I did notice something odd in his aura whenever someone was injured or killed near him. Like time and space bent momentarily and an attack meant for him instead redirected towards someone else. Only that's not quite right because the attack was clearly not aimed at him. It's hard to put into words. Further confusing the matter is one incident where he was attacked and for a split second it seemed like it was going to miss and hit me instead, only for something like a flash of light and darkness both to appear in my peripheral vision and seemingly deflect the attack back at him instead. I put it out of my mind at the time but now I'm not sure it was just exhaustion or some other trick of my senses.

Speaking of senses, my ability to see into the fabric of this reality is becoming easier and easier to do. Sometimes happening involuntarily. At the same time the effort to stop is getting easier as well, like flexing a muscle I didn't know I had. Further experimentation with my reality disruption as well has shown I begin to bruise all over when I unleash its full strength. At best I figure I have two or three minutes of such before the injuries threaten to knock me unconscious. And I'm now convinced that and my newfound senses are related. Especially since once when I was looking beyond at the same time I unleashed it I saw my own flesh begin to...rot? Corrode? I'm not sure how to describe it. I just know that the pain I felt and the injuries I suffered correspond to what I saw happening.

This is all new territory and I have no other references to help my test my hypotheses. The only other true celestial I know of is Isolde and her reality disruption does not match mine or even Maxine's. My best guess is this is what happens when true celestials dwell in this world too long. Just as our metaphysical makeup rejects this land, the land in turn rejects us. What happens when the land rejects us completely I'm not sure about. But given what's happening to me I can theorize that we're slowly insulated from reality. Whether we're merely contained like a pearl or expelled like an overgrown cyst breaking the surface flesh and bursting I don't know. As disgusting as the analogy is, I hope it's the latter because the former would mean we're left powerless to affect any change while still being trapped here. I also haven't found any evidence to support the former theory. But absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
(End transcript)