Sion Fereir - Journey in a New World

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Journal Entry Forty

""

Sunra, Decilar 8, 1439...

I've kept count.. Now:

Satari, Jular 7, 1440...

*there is a plethora of marking for the days, and drawings of the cell he is in, or sketched pictures of guards and priests*

~Sion

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Journal Entry Forty One

"practice practice practice"

I've been contemplating Tod's ability in my time here... and I have been trying to do what he described... I spend every waking hour concentrating and trying to do what he describes as "touching the water"... I just can't wrap my mind around it... maybe he stills his body so much that you seemingly forget he's there? Is it magical? I must go back and contemplate this more...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Forty Two

"Silence"

*as with the past few entries, the ink is a strange color, and not smooth like the ink bought from merchants. Even the handwriting has changed, as if written by a thin, nervous hand*

Silence... It's been silent for what? A year? I've lost count of time, and have given up hope on keeping track... I've wasted seven pages keeping track. I've used my ink up long ago. I've improvised, seeing that writing is the only thing keeping me sane... even then... it's not working. I've found nothing else to draw, or write about. I'm rarely fed, and I've resorted to eating the few rats that pass by in times where I feel like I'd die of hunger. the scant amounts of bread and water they provide have done little to nourish me, but I suppose-

*a ragged line is drawn across the page, as if the journal was dropped, or the hand went slack, and dragged across the page.*

I need to stop writing.. my hand is feeling weak...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Forty Three

""

*there seems to be incoherent writing on the next few pages, as if the hand hold the quill simply gave up trying to make it's thought's legible. the odd colored ink spills across the page on some areas, and the journal itself has a slight stench to it, like that of rotted wood*

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Journal Entry Forty Four

"contempt"

It's been a year... longer... I don't know... I don't care... All I care about is seeing the friendly face of one I trust. After spending so long in isolation, seeing that distant, and familiar face. hearing a voice speaking not with hatred and foul words, but of compassion. I almost refused to recognize the voice, so distant it seemed. I felt as if I had gone mad. No one spoke kindly to a dark elf. yet here, now, I heard that voice.

I looked up to see Ayana, the dark silhouette of a time long past. I never expected to see someone again, not even her, yet there she was. My voice failed me at first. I didn't remember the last time I spoke audible words, the last time I felt anything but contempt. There was explicit joy in seeing her. I could smell the scent of the outside air lingering over the stench that I had became accustomed to. The rush of nostalgia, memories of open space, flooded over me. The guard's voice broke the spell, making reality rush head on into me. I wasn't outside. I wasn't free.

an exchange of words, or rather, the banter between her and the guard was awkward. I was still shocked from seeing her, that when the guard whacked her with his maul, I stood in silence. She had been passing me something through the gate when he wasn't occupied speaking to her. I realized that she really was there. the tangible blood on the floor, it's coppery scent meshed with the foul stench was what truly brought me back to my senses. I trembled in rage. I never felt such anger. To develop such loyalty and love for one often had it's counter. there was an object that received the exact opposite. while it was the guards doing, I easily shifted it to the next best thing. Aesthir Stargazer. He walked just after the incident, coolly glancing around. There was much mocking going on, and many threats. The guard threw Ayana in the next cell, hinting at taking liberties with her. despite whatever will happen to me, I am glad she was released, having no more damage done, and escaping without harm save the concussion.

Meanwhile, I exchanged words, more so insults with The man whom has became my object of hatred. After a quip about my giving up, going with out a struggle, I gave some meaningful words...

"If I'm to die, it will be with my hands around your neck..."

I will do what ever I can to fulfill this ill-fated prophecy that I have so declared, should my death become imminent. I am not going out with out causing as much trouble as I can. Perhaps I am making things worse for me, and I can't explain the course of my life in the pass... several years? as described by Aesthir, I have a tainted soul... yes, tainted with the change of heart and mind, malformed by jaded thoughts and hate. I cannot fathom why I diverged from my kin, why I choose to leave. I could be advancing in studies of magic, and I would have definitely lived longer, despite the oxymoronic correlation. The fact I passed the test of fealty was miraculous. I know I never wanted to approach the surface, knowing full well the terror that would lie in wait, and yet, here I am.

Ayana's appearance is not healthy for my sanity. To recover from such a depraved condition, only to enter it again for how ever long, would damage my stability. I can't tell now whether I'm glad I saw her, or if I loath the sole gift she gave me.

I imagine that this might as well be my last testament, my reflection on my life, knowing full well that my death will come eventually, and that what ever is written in this book will likely be burned with my body. Should the unlikely chance that I live past the trial and following execution, I would be lost. There is no doubt that I will continue running from my inner demons...

~ Sion



*following the passage are thousands of musings and thoughts of random events and fancies that come to mind. some things written might seem to be those of a mad man, others of dignified man, and some even of a hapless lover. There are "what if's" on different,and better choices he could have made, random notes are written to pass the time, and at the end there is a list of people to thank... it was rather small*




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Journal Entry Forty Five

"From one set of chains to the next"

Date of Sentence: Sunra, Junar 8, 1441

Date Released from servitude: Sunra, Junar 8, 1461


*The ink is a fresh black color of that you find from the general merchant, the stench has been purged from the journal, not to mention the worn binding has been replaced. there is plenty of angry scribbling about the page, then the passage begins. The writing has a repetitive slip in it, as if the write gave their hand a quick jerk every so often as they wrote.*

Twenty years of servitude to wretched Toranites... *there is a heavy ink blot here from the quill being jabbed at the page* I am to learn the "law" of the surface world, and do the churches every bidding... I am to receive more "orders" soon... so much fo- *The ink trails off the page, and more nervous scribbles are made.*

I haven't recovered from my time in the cell... I seem to have a nervous affliction, and I can't stop twitching and fidgeting. My voice is hoarse and cracked from having not spoken in so long... On the up note, I have never smelled such fresh air... I had almost forgotten what the outdoors smelled like, and how open things were... the light nearly blinded me, and the noise was deafening... I feel like the death sentence would have been far easier...

~ Sion

*there are more angry, nervous scribbles after this point, all of it illegible and frustrated*

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Journal Entry Forty Six

"Toranites"

I've been here for a while now... few months perhaps.. not really paying attention. One who calls himself Brandon Steele decided he would "befriend" me... Amusing... Still haven't seen any friendly faces, and I don't expect to. No point in expecting anything. My "duties" to attend to the passing peoples, filthy beggars and the such, amongst other things. degrading and menial... And I'll be doing that for a small portion of my life. I do hope for them that it does teach me something...

There was one rather unexpected incident, and probably the only excitement I've seen in a while. A man attacked the Temple. To bad he didn't get one of the Toranites, but I do fear this man, as I am told he was looking for me. If my suspicion is right, He is a Dark Elf, and can manipulate the shadows, like the man I met some years back. Fascinating, yet terrifying. Truth be told, I don't think the Toranites can do much to keep him from me. I am a bit apprehensive, but It could result in good things. Don't truthfully know... maybe you do? Maybe next time it happens, I can try to subdue him instead of hiding away, following that woman's orders. I really don't appreciate people looking for me. yes, you agree with me... it would be a good Idea. we should do that.

I am "forced" to attend prayer. I find it amusing that they would consider such a thing. I will not give my Fealty to any god, and it is their folly to expect such. I can at least meditate of the shadows... maybe I will learn to do as that man has done...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Forty Seven

"Idiot"

I swear there are more Dark Elves on the surface than I suspect... A man, Ni'haer Helvivirr, came in to buy bandages from the temple. A rather Charming idiot, don't you think? I knew what he was instantly, just by glancing under the hood. I quietly ushered him to the side... I almost began to choke another Dark Elf to death, because almost immediately, he started babbling in our tongue, not to mention he pulled his hood down. It is not safe REGARDLESS if your behind a pillar or not. At least I'm quick enough to pull the hood back up. He mentioned something about helping me escape, an idiotic notion I immediately swatted down. Why risk escape, only to be hunted down, and killed like an animal? He decided to make some biting remarks, which required me to maintain my composure, lest Marl have me punished for "talking down" to visitor, or what ever he would call it.

Then he mentioned a "Horde". Some organization. I found that curious, but some internal alarm went off. He said something about the "Thinking" part of the group... Right. Probably a pawn. His relations with anyone are only mercantile, just as I have realized that mine were. He seemed like he was recruiting, but as far as I am concerned, I am not joining any group...

oh, this seems like something wonderful to taunt that woman with, especially after that attack.

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Forty Eight

"Prayer"

I was confronted by Lance for a small talk, as he said... I feel like more are coming. I don't do much.... so I can easily recall the conversation verbatim... but I don't feel like recording it. I tried toying with her about the Dark Elf, but it wasn't as fun and invigorating as I though it would be... But at least they'll terrorize him for a while. I find that quite amusing, don't you think?

As for the prayer, I'm "expected" to listen to every word of it, and "change", to be a better being. I think not running around with a raiding party and slaying villages to a man is quite a change, for surely I would have been the leader of the raids conducted by my house. I though I would toy with the though of listening, until she decidedly said this...

"Try doing something not for yourself. Do something for someone not for your own benefit. Do it because it is the right thing to do."

Did I not assist in looking for the Hand? Did I not assist from the side in some manner to those who occasionally needed it? I would not help someone whom I have not judged worthy of this fragile thing called trust, lest my survival depend on it... And even then, it seems that those are forgotten deeds.

Another amusing thing to be noted, is that they think they are helping me become "socialized" into the community. I think they're short-sightedness does not tell them that the world will not accept my existence. That is why I have lived in the forest during my time on the surface. I can never live in a community of people, I can never enter a city with out fear of being hunted and killed, or strung from a tree, or burned at a stake. the fear that has been endowed upon my heritage cannot be undone, and anyone to think so is a fool. I have plenty of difficulties when wounded travelers wander in, an flee in terror, or draw a blade upon seeing the midnight black skin that covers my body, or the stark white hair, or the wine red eyes. I dread that "chore" of mine, for that very fact. I am not a pleasant person, but one must maintain they're demeanor when around such people. One cannot expect them to act with reason, nor do I expect them too...

Surely I have been cursed by Ca'duz himself, the day I turned from my kin. My survival is of the utmost importance for me, though It seems that that very goal works against me.

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Forty Nine

"Lessons in Law: One"

*there are a bunch of notes to self, even things that sometimes make it seem like he is talking to the journal itself.

I'm writing these in here for Knowledge's sake only. My knowledge of the Surface laws is part of the "service" I am doing..... maybe it will steer me from "problems" later on... They started with "individual rights", an odd concept, but notable nonetheless...



Individuals

Individuals have the right to:

• Petition the Divine Courts for a hearing.
• Request trial by the Divine Courts when fair trial or punishment is believed to have not been given by local authorities.
• Petition the Divine Courts for a re-trial when new evidence directly related to the case is discovered.
• Petition a Justicer to apprehend a suspected criminal.
• Stand as a representative for an individual on trial during the proceedings.
• Appoint a representative to speak on their behalf at a trial.
• Attend the court as a witness.
• Receive fair and just judgement and punishment as directed by Rofirein and Toran.
• Be safe and secure within their home and owned lands.
• Defend themselves and their property with use of appropriate force.
• Be innocent until proven guilty.
• Be informed of any changes to the law made by the Churches of Rofirein and Toran.

Anything not covered by these rights will be left to the discretion of the representatives of Rofirein and Toran on a case by case basis.


*there is a line drawn in thought*

Amusing... as laid down by Toran and Rofirein... Har...



Crimes and their Punishment by Category

Crimes and their punishments are decided directly by the Judge who oversees the trial. However, the following are general guidelines to crime and punishment:

Major Crimes (Usually carry sentences of death or imprisonment)

• Murder

Intermediate Crimes (Do not carry sentences of death but usually prolonged periods of imprisonment or hard labor)

• Counterfeiting
• Impersonation of a law enforcement official
• Rape
• Theft of valuable items (repeat offenses)
• Manslaughter
• Adultery

Minor Crimes (Will never carry death sentences and rarely long term prison sentences. More likely, community service or rehabilitation at correctional institutes, time in the stocks, fines, flogging, etc)

• Minor theft (first offense)
• Assault
• Resisting arrest
• Slander
• Worship of unrecognized deities determined to be evil or directly threatening to the continent.
• Harboring criminals

This is meant only as a guide to the types of crime and the punishment likely to be given. Circumstance and presiding Judges may result in different punishments.



... and that last one there would probably include some number of people then...


This rather seems like it will be a long twenty years...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty

"Postings on the walls"

They don't realize much do they, don't you think? The scheming and conniving of these simple people. They don't realize I am defenseless in here. They could easily drag my cold corpse out onto the roads for all to see. Ignorant... simple... The Toranites won't be able to keep me here for long, lest the one's whose faith empowers their deity will leave.

*A eerie crash of laughter comes from his sealed room, drawing the eyes of a few clergy. It subsides to a muttering and soon goes quite*

They simply don't understand our customs. Killing that Dark Elf was simply a matter of survival, even if we were both to die a horrible execution. They thought that they would defend the rights of another of my kind? They have doomed themselves with such a farce! Let them rot, I say. I don't look to harm surfacers. They could release me, and I would contain myself to the depths of the woods, content in the dark, away from the common filth. I care nothing for they're laws and ways, not now. They can teach me their ways, and it will merely empower me. To use they're teachings against them, it is quite simple. And don't you think that man preaching his sermons to the masses is quite dull, yes? He drones on and on, making this point and that. I have humored my self, and paid attention to them for a time, and I think I will continue. I would not doubt they would confuse the smirk for some smile of understanding and appreciation. I should ask you a question. Why do they try? Can they not see the heart as black as my skin, or the animal instinct lying behind the red eyes? Such folly and ignorance will destroy them.

Breathing is hard in such confined spaces, and the constant drone of voices fill my head as I attend to the endless list of chores assigned to me. I as told that all here do such, and I should keep complaints to my self, though I have not truely complained. The work is quiet soothing, the constant motion, the endless droning from the halls. It is almost eathereal, and I find myself easily blocking out the mundane thoughts, and drifting elsewhere in my mind. I occasionally come out of that state, for I find my self openly passing newcomers who enter the temple, relishing in the fright they experiance, though I am careful to not show such...

I don't understand why the Toranites bother... do they do it becuase they pity me? A disgraceful idea... I read the reply made by the church to that posting on the wall. A great leader, as some other's whom have recieved a chance? An interesting thought. Leader of what, I wonder... A very intriguing thought, though... This "Horde" the idiot spoke of... To subdue such power, would require manipulation unseen, and to pull the strings of the ambitious, as well as the domination of a few, through fear? yes, that seems it would work, considering some things...

*a rather large list of ravings follow in the journal, and the ink fades with the quick strokes of the hand. Following an eerie chuckle, the entry ends.*

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty One

"Fool"

I am beginning to doubt the stability of those who keep me. The cleric Brandon offered me a "trip" to the outside. I still have not been able to peer into the hearts of human, and understand where those few gather this "sympathy" for me. It is confusing, don't you think? Has it not been explained to them that I am one not to receive mercy? at least that other Toranite had some sense to show his hatred. as do all of the simple people that toil on this dry land. as did the few I trusted...

More or less, I have been offered to leave the temple under supervision for a short period of time, and I accepted... I miss the open air, and the quite surrounding of the woods and the plains. There were no peasants, no "noble" clergy". just silence... The irony is that the silence is what has driven me mad. I notice the nervous affliction I seem to carry. the constant twitching of my hand, and the shifting. Even when I am consciously aware of it, I can't stop...

As for the Toranites as a whole, I will not judge their actions, for keeping me in their midst will be their undoing. Their mistake, not mine. They can follow their orders, and The "Brandons" of the church can try at creating a farce with their offered "friendship", and I will care not for what happens to them... He confuses me. I do not understand his cause or ulterior motives...

As for the surface "laws", I have noted all of the prominent ones as I was "taught". They are simple, and forward. They are not complex like those stingy policies of Prantz, or the riddled policies of the Houses and politics of my homeland, where your first mistake is your last one...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Two

"Silent Lucidity"

*Sion wakes from his reverie, and sits up. After a momentary pause, he reaches for the Journal tucked under the mattress and begins to write uneasy thoughts*

I don't see why she bothered coming to the temple. To warn me of what? To be wary of my actions? I have naught but sit in the temple for more than half a year now, and I don't even know where this "warning" came from. Besides that, she wanted to check on me. Funny, that it didn't matter before. I still haven't begun to understand the workings of the Human mind. So... Mercurial as a whole. She seemed a bit distant, and she should work on it more. Her associations with me only harms her. She mentioned something about not caring, but I wasn't really listening. Apparently, her lover, Dradnats I think his name is, ran off. she even told me about his disapproval of her association, so it is her own fault...

I need to push her and all others away. Once I am able to finish up my "service", Sion will be no more. I will assume a different identity, and those who wish to cling to a shade from the past can. I have little left to do with Sion, or is past... I have much to think about these next nineteen years...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Three

"Dapplegreen"

What is it that drives him so? Regardless of what I have done, he doesn't show the usual contempt or open hatred as the others do. I final got to exit the temple, Brandon leading the way. I never imagined I would miss that scorching ball of wrath that clearly marks the daytime skies. We headed to Dapplegreen, and oddly enough, at my request. Far more strange was the cleric's oath to keep what was spoken between me and him during this time...

I got to hunt again, not to mention I relished the outdoors... I have several more years to wait...

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Four

"Child"

The sheer difference in our worlds is drastic... families? loved ones? burials? I look at these, and I find myself distant and shut off from them. why would they love one so? why bury and revere the dead when there are those alive that stand as obstacles or even allies? the most significant is the families... Lance brought two children... my experience with them is of mixed emotions... I had a younger sibling that I have felt these "familial ties" with, but I was always wary of betrayal and the dread blade of a backstabber. And to see this child come forth to what is seen as a terrible fiend, whose kind has terrified the surface races for many eons, was truly significant... I cannot imagine that such a thing is possible, yet this little... "Argos" has came and presented me with pie, and I have yet to fully eat it... it is some symbol of hope, yes? these series of illogical thoughts drop as soon as I think of them. there is no hope of finding acceptance. I am, and always will be the monster I am seen as. maybe I am only different from my kin in actions... fate has lead me here to tell me that it is pointless, and I should merely face what I truly am. Maybe I will. I still feel the cold indifference that I was raised with, it is ever present. I sometimes wonder what would become of me, had I stayed in the Deep... Surely I would have filled my role and served my house, even come to lead it. I still hear the drums of war ringing in the back of my head. the very thing that lead to my people's banishment. Woe to those who stood before their might! but were they so mighty? they were easily enough banished from the surface...

Ha! I find myself going into random thought now. the time spent alone apparently has had some effect. definitely, I feel a maddening presence in me, the rush you get when hunting one's prey. predatory instinct? The night that man got into the temple... the vanisher. I remember my heart racing.. I remember seeing myself? it was odd, but I didn't feel the same... My movements were uncontrollable as I took stance and hide, ready to fight tooth and nail, should the man reach me. It was instinct... and it had manifested itself in me... it's own persona. I am truly a madman. It was like those "house-less" Turn-coats, back in my homeland. they served merely as mercenaries, and were expendable. Any true lost to their hands was soon recovered from their corpses. but they fought with such fury, hardened by instinct... I remember that many assassin's fell to one's hand. none could sneak up on him. he "smelled them", as my half brother told me before he died... he was sent to bring his head back, to gain favor with the other houses... but he was left half alive to relay that message. there was a reward for his head, seeing that he survived a previous battle he was hired for, and he still had the true... "His" payment. of course, the assassin who got the payment back and returned it would also die. This I knew, for why hire an assassin to kill a man you paid to get your "payment" back? the only way to "cure" that problem would be to assassinate the assassin... the the true would return to the original owner's hands.... but it is this man that is brought to mind... was he controlled by savage instinct? how else could one live outside in the chaotic darkness known to us as the Deep? he never lived within a city, that's for sure....

on a lighter note... Lance's oldest Son died. I have no clue as to why, or how, but I simply know he is dead. Maybe the youngest killed him, to gain a higher status in his family? Brandon and lance both told me that their "families" were different from the ones I know of. I will likely never know, seeing that I I shall never have such a thing... not in this world... never at all. Then again, why would I care? I have agreed to help bury his son... maybe I will learn more of this world through observation... not like I have much to do...

I do how ever, spend my time training my reflexes... I plan on never being caught flat footed, and to constantly be aware. It wil take some time, maybe years, but eventually, I will tone my reflexes to suit my needs....

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Five

"Time"

I've been wondering when they will "evaluate" me..... It would be nice to walk in the open air again, albeit covered as always....

Some travelers were talking about a call for stealth specialists... something I could enjoy doing, not that I could.... I'm confined here, in this temple.... I still don't understand their illogical reasoning behind keeping me here..... They could end it all by locking me up instead of holding up this farce... besides... the temple constrains my training.....

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Six

"Brian"

*a tattered, off-white, feather quill scratches the pages with out ink for several moments, then Sion dips it into the black liquid and begins writing thoughts*

I met a man a while back. Another idiot it seems. At first I thought he was one of those men who came and infiltrated the temple with darkness, but he dismissed it, so I concerned myself with it no longer. Marl was apparently too busy to notice the sliver of a blade that materialized before my exposed neck... I almost ran through it. The man was able to shift between the shadows as some few I have seen do. I still have yet to even understand how they do it... It must be some sort of manipulation through the Al'noth.... *He grumbles at the mention of the Al'noth*

He said he was kin to Ayana... a person who is now distant from my scope of reality, and no longer of my concern... He acts like he was sent to "watch" over me... rather.. ignorant, don't you think? I am in a highly vigilant Toranite Temple... I don't think one could be watched more... I only recognized the tattoos on the man's face, a memory I would have surely forgot had he not been marked by such a thing. Such markings on one is rather reminiscent of a irailaniral lacilelafrom a past life... disgusting.

He seems like a promising individual though.... though the connection is null and void with Ayana, as far as I'm concerned.. I could use that to learn more of this "art"... flitting between shadows, concealing one's self.

He had this air of arrogance about him... a familiar thing, save that he acted like knowing my name would be.. intimidating? not sure if that is the right word... Common language is rather ambiguous... I don't think he know that everyone waiting for the order to burn me knows the name, in all likelihood.

Besides that, everything is just wonderful... *Sion's face expresses dry sarcasm as he writes. He snorts.* Marl has been whispering with the others in the temple about something.... something I'm curious about, but worth the risk of eavesdropping....

~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Seven

"Rhys"

*there are several notes of things Sion picks up around the temple, just out of boredom. A few sketches made, one or two of the temple's layout, others of random objects around the compound. One in particular is sketched heavily into one of the pages...*





~ Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Eight

"...."

*Fingers tap nervously on the desk, and maps of the temple are sketched on page after page of the journal. Most look like innocent drawings, others blatantly look like plans for something. After they are drawn, most are rubbed until they can no longer be recognized. The charcoal blends easily with his dull obsidian skin, and grumbling is heard here and there, but quickly ceases. Four words are written.*

Better now than never...



~Sion

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Journal Entry Fifty Nine

"Time is Coming"

*The journal nears it's final pages, and the miserable creature residing in Fort Llast's Temple of Toran flips the book left and right in his twitching hands. Candlelight refracts off of dull, red eyes staring at the leather binding, and a soft murmur escapes a twisted mouth, whether a chuckle or a grumble, it matters not. The shuffling of Marl, Kashi, the stern halfling, the noble knight, the pious priest, all heard through the crack of the door. No road-wary wanders enter tonight, and torches breath their last for the day as a squire extinguishes them one by one. finally only a faint, dim light bleeds through the doors crack, and the slight tinkle of chain-mail marks the lone guard that night. the breeze that drifts done the hall stops short of the elf's door. Another late visitor, one like him from long past? Or an assassin sent to finish the job these spineless cowards couldn't do? Or what if it was just that. A breeze, and nothing more? Another twisted chuckle falls from his lips, and he turns to the small desk where the solitary candle stood, ever vigilant in the dark room. He drops the journal on its spine upon the desk with a light 'THUD' and watches it fall open the recent drawings, the name 'RHYS' glaring at him from the dead pages of the journal. The draft picks up ever slightly, and the falling page stops, and reverses, revealing drawings of the temple interiors, all it's halls and room, nooks and crannies which he knew so well. Finally the last, blank page watches him after the ethereal assassin, the calm of the storm, dies away. It invited him to write one last story, to forget, for just a moment, all the worries and anger, the mundane activities and the insanity locked under key and chain. Glassy, red eyes remove their gaze from the empty page to the charcoal lying beside the candle. His hand, dark as the shadow he cast, carefully lifts the charcoal of similar hue, and with out hesitation, the lithe elf slid into the chair, and fell into the dark depths of his mind...*

Where to begin... Rather, I shall say end, for what reason would I write of the mundane tasks assigned and the insignificant years that mark but a fraction of a lifetime? I would much rather end in such a way, that I see the years past and regret past actions. in such a way that I see my errors in a final epiphany before the dark grip of the Soul Mother sweeps me away with the rest of the damned. Only that ultimate knowledge of knowing where every little insignificant thing went awry, bringing about the cataclysm of one's life, would bring a final satisfaction. For only in knowledge is there fact, and in fact, truth. That is how I would want to end, and not with a bang, but a whisper, fading away instead of abruptly halting.

It is the ungodly lure of freedom that draws me. I know for fact that I can sit in this temple, and pass the years as if it were nothing more than an inconveinence, but the urge pulls me to this decision. The urge to roam where I please amongst the lowly surfacers, an unseen god among lessers. The urge to free my self from shackles and start anew, bringing myself to a honed perfection, and watch the world from an unseen perspective. Sion is a dying man, a husk of his former self and a detriment to his own survival. He lies just on the brink upon a crumbling foundation, ready to fall and be lost forever. For him, the end is nigh.

I will plan, and eventually meet what ever may come my way in this reckless fool's quest for escape and solitude. eventually, we'll see who fortune favors...

~ ----------


*The name is not signed with a name, but a thick line, and the charcoal finally reached the end of it's use, merely a stub now after the short entry and a few more diagrams. The elf turns his head to the ethereal ghost whispering at his door one last time. He stands, pushing the thick, tangled mane of white hair aside just before extinguishing the melting candle that stood it's vigil for the last time. As the darkness swallows the room, a soft murmur escapes a twisted mouth. whether a chuckle or a grumble, it matters not.*

[Link092]

Journal Entry Sixty

"plans and schemes"

*The following is summarized in the small journal, left unsigned. The handwriting now slants differently before, as if written in a different hand.*

*Red eyes scan their surroundings, careful to not cause any suspicion. They watch priests leaving their rooms, paladins preparing for their travels. Daily duties sit in the back of the elf's mind. Several dishes in hand, he takes a route slightly different from the last, a well practiced habit by the elf. Another corridor is noted in his mind, and tomorrow's route is planned. Bland walls eventually lead to the more elaborate commons, where the elf is greeted by indifferent glances, albeit some visitors and sight-seers giv in to a more expected reaction. He makes sure to pass close enough for one or two to look him eye to eye, simply for rare amusement.

A quick turn into the kitchens hides him from sight and his lips twitch into a knowing smirk. Patience was well rewarded, and so was silence. Much could be learned simply from watching and listening. Habit is an unfortunate disease that festered in the temple. One the elf tried to avoid unless necessary. Most actions were predictable: Where the guards patrol, when sermons were preached (many which the elf attended), what time one of the squires extinguished the lights, even some natural habits occurred within a general time. The small talk heard in the kitchens and among travelers passing through were plenty insightful, despite some lack of confirmation. All of this was useful.

the kitchens were empty at this time, save the few who were cleaning out pots and pans at the time. The elf left the few wooden bowls in a small tub of water, and quickly left to his next duty. Voices quickly stop him, and he slowly turns, waiting for the them to sound more assured that they are alone. The elf looks for other life in the dimly-lit corridor, then carefully slinks back to the other side of the portal, pressing himself against the wall behind the door.

"An'way... Neville, 'ave ya 'eard 'bou' da Cult?"

"Cult? That one that's moving in on Mistone?"

"Yeah, dat's da un. Ah 'ear thur's gonna be war frum some folk, an' udder's say thur'll be not pro'lems."

*chuckle* "Dan, I'm sure we'll be fine. Some of the finest are stationed here in Llast. Just don't go around causing a panic. that's the last thing we need to do."

*harumph* "Ah 'ope it'll blow o'er soon... It's got me jumpy o' late..."

It was more talk about this "war". It's not too uncommon, but it only reinforces the elf's plan. Chaos and turmoil could erupt anytime soon. The perfect chance for a silent whisper to escape a clanging din.

A dark grin turns to into an alert scowl as footsteps, heavier than the usual stock that tread the halls brought a silence. The elf, careful to hold his stark-white hair, pressed his head to the wall right behind the door's hinge, peering through the small opening into the hall right after looking to the pantry door across from him. One of the nightwatchman approached, and as he neared, the elf's breath stopped. He paused by the door, looking left and right with a curious look on his face, as if he felt someone... something, was watching. He shruged, and entered. The elf gave a moment's pause as he waited behind that door, and glanced to the pantry across the hallway.


"Hey, Neville? too Late to get a meal? don' want to stand watch on an empty stomach..."

"Oh, hey Lowen. You missed chow time?"

"Yeah. I had a briefing, an' this'll be my last month of watch here."

"Oh? Where to then?"

"Dunno. not yet anyways."

"... Well, we'll need to play one last game of cards then before you take off..."

*a stomach growls, followed by a grunt* "well, whadda ya say? got anythin' left?... hope it ain't too much trouble."

*the other two laugh* "It ain' us tha'll git miffed. migh' wanna ask Dreg fo' any left-o'ers fo' he feeds da dogs."

*the newcomer's muttering follows* "Shoulda been quicker... meh... I'll be fine with some rations. See ya fella's later."

"See ya, Lo'en. Keep warm, ya 'ear?"



The nightwatchman hurries through the door with a bit of rations in hand. He pauses once more, looking at the open door. he blinks at the crack near the hinges, then curiously approaches, slowly reaching for the door. He swings it quickly, and blinks at an empty space with confusion. He scratches his head, swearing he heard breathing, but left the mystery unsolved, and quickly left for his patrol.

Red eyes watch from the cracked pantry door, silently waiting. watching. listening. Soon, the dark figure slips out and leaves only a feint whisper of footsteps to mark his passing.*

[Link092]

Journal Entry Sixty One

"Ashes"

*The hearth blazes, feeding it's warmth to an empty room. A silent figure steps through the archway, quite and care-free. Stopping before the angry flame, it opens up a black, leather-bound journal to it's most recent entry*

Is the time right? Surely it will come in these next months. sure as the light that burns through the sky, the day will arrive. just a little more time, and I shall either be dead at the end of a blade... or free to roam this light-ridden world as I please. This will is the end of this journal's use. it is no longer necessary. With this, I shall cast of the shackles of memory, and slowly let the pasts trail fade from my mind...

Now only If I could locate an armory of sorts here...

~------- *No signature again*


*The elf tears a few maps he had drawn in the journal, some old notes on humans and creatures alike, and even the drawings of a few edible wild plants. He pauses over the last drawing of that foreboding name. It reads "Rhys." He flips the book into the hungry flames, and it lands open on that same page, burning as the now-inverted name reads "Sion." The pages blacken and curl, and the glowing embers quickly creep through the journal, consuming it though unable to sate their hunger. Red eyes watch, the painful fire reflecting in those pools of blood. A twisted smirk twists the elf's face as the fire quickly reduces the journal to ash. He turns without looking back for a last good-bye, exiting the room through the same archway in which he entered. For the rest of that night, an eerie silence marked that room save the crackling of the fire, the whispers of a ghost.*