Ifion Witseeker: The Peregrination

[SquareKnot]

I took my first journey to Rilara today. I sailed from Port Hampshire to Point Harbor. The voyage went smoothly. I was good to be on a ship again, after all these years. Though I never really mastered sailing during my time in the Roldem Navy, I did enjoy my time under the sails. And I was able to learn a sea shanty that will hopefully be popular at coastal inns.

I have some apprehension about going to Rilara. It was always the enemy of Calishan, my home. Though I've cut most ties to Tibum, the old prejudices fade slowly.

While on Rilara, I journeyed along the west coast. This place is a wild land. So is Mistone, but at least I enjoy an element of familiarity there. There, I've compiled maps of most of the populated areas. And I've learned to avoid the standing camps of thieves and mercenaries. I have no such comforts here. I wandered off the path to rest in the barn of a farmer. After sleeping there, I passed through his fields, only to be attacked by some hideous form of undead. They appeared to be scarecrows, but yet had some type of most unnatural life to them. I was forced to flee in horror. Luckly, they were slow and plodding and I escaped. Someday I need to return and repay the farmer's kindness by ridding his fields of these dangers. Or by persuading a real adventurer to do so.

Eventually, I made my way to Casterly Castle. Almost out of habit, I went straight to Aragen's temple there. I wanted to mention my father's name, Lólindir Taralóm, and trade on his influence among Aragenites to get the supplies I need. But I don't dare. Our parting was a bitter one. He thought I should follow his path into the priesthood of Aragen. I thought I wanted to live my life, not just study.  His elven life has already been four times longer than mine will ever be. Death will take me, one way or the other, long before he ever feels the ravages of time.

My mother, Yoshikuni Kumiko, understood this, being a human. It was she who encouraged my to join the Navy. Perhaps it was also her desire to adhere to the traditions of our land that guided her, more than her human nature. No matter, in the end both my parents agreed that a little time in the Navy would be in my best interest.

After my years of freedom, I couldn't return to the libraries of Aragen. So why am I so quick to run to Aragen's temple now?

[SquareKnot]

Though I didn't reveal my identity, one of the priests of Aragen here in Casterly Castle, Hogan Majan, has taken me in. Though I've attempted to hide behind the guise of a simple itinerant bard looking for material for stories, I sense that this priest, blessed with the aid of the Wise One himself, sees through my deception. It's hard to conceal 30 years of scholarship behind a hastily assembled story.

Hogan has suggested that I become a follower of Aragen. He's asked me to "think about it." Think about it. I barely surpressed a laugh. Wise as he is, he has no idea how many hours of discussion have passed between me and my father on this very subject. Discussion, debate, argument. Call it what you will. And yet I could never see my way clear to agree with father. If Aragen wants to gather knowledge, he can be my guest. The first thing he can put down in his precious book is that I would never be his priest. I had a life to live. Or so I thought then.

But now I wonder, if not a priest, then perhaps something else? Something that would give me my freedom, yet fill a yearning within me? Something that would allow me to return home, to a loving mother and a proud father. There must be a way, and if anyone would know, would it not be Aragen, the All Knowing?

[SquareKnot]

I've begun discussions with Hogan about ways I can serve Aragen in non-traditional roles. We've been discussing the gathering of knowledge, more so than the storing and cataloging of it. I've had my fill of books upon books, and then some. There are the monks, the Bearers of Knowledge. But a monk's life isn't quite what I had in mind.

One thing I always thought was odd was how one-sided the books always seemed. Whoever wins the battle gets to write the story. But what about the defeated? Don't they have knowledge to share? And for every tale of royalty, aren't there one thousand more stories to be told about thieves? For every vignette of court life, another tale of tavern drunkards? Maybe it's just the bard in me, but I believe that if Aragen is to know all and posses all knowledge, all knowledge, he needs to collect it from places stuffy librarians in priestly robes would not be welcome.

And these are the very places I, a salty bard, would be welcome with open arms and flowing ale.

[SquareKnot]

Hogan Majan and I continue to discuss my role in Aragen's eyes. He believes that I can become a full priest, while I lean toward merely being a devoted lay follower. But undeterred, Hogan continues to teach me the ways of Aragen. Or so he thinks. He has said little I didn't once know long ago. Though sand clogs the channels where knowledge once flowed, I was able to relearn what I had forgotten easily. It is the constant pretense that wearies me, not the study. I am an Aragenite by birthright, but to Hogan I am a reformed bard. And soon, I may be a priest, but must conceal it from the whole world. Why must the pursuit of truth lead to so many lies? Among the many facts I gather for Aragen, will I find the truth of who I really am?

After much thought and prayer, I think I'm ready. In this act, Wise One, bless me with your wisdom. Guide me, that I might make the right choice in dedicating myself to you.

I now am what I once swore never to be -- a priest of Aragen. And if I am to succeed in my special calling, no one must ever know.

[SquareKnot]

Since my return to Mistone, I've had little success in my two main objectives. First, to ingratiate myself with some of the more interesting but less savory characters around the continent. And secondly, to conceal my affiliation with Aragen.

On the former point, it appears that many of those I seek will eventually pass through the Leilon Arms Inn. I've been spending some time there, trying to establish myself as a regular. Once my presence among the patrons becomes unremarkable, I'll be able to overhear more. And then I can take the bold step of making direct inquiries. When the moment is right, and the subject is drunk, that is. I've acquired bottles of the most powerful spirits available, to provide to those whose inebriation could be the gateway to valuable knowledge. This is a slow process, but inch by inch I move closer to my goal. Perhaps a performance there would grease the skids a bit? With a bit of polish, my bard tales and songs could be ready for an audience.

On the latter point, the cloak of secrecy that covers my devotion to Aragen needs to be pulled a bit more closely about me. On one occasion, when in the crypts below Hlint, my companions and I were overrun by a mob of undead. To save our lives, I called upon the Wise One's power, and he answered. The undead were awestruck, permitting those with me to quickly bring mercy to their unsettled souls. But one astute adventurer probed me afterwards, questioning how a bard could perform such a feat. I muttered something vague, and he, pleased with the results if not with my explanation, questioned me no more.

One another trip through the crypts, I found myself in a similar situation. Fortunately, the young man with me was so green, he knew little of the ways of bards. When I took a deep breath, focused my voice on that place within me where my soul is closest to the Weave, and released my shout for help, a celestial dog appeared. This novice seemed amazed that a bard's plea could carry across the planes and summon an animal. So confused was he, that he wondered if I were a druid. When I later appealed to Aragen to smite some undead, it was taken as just another strange bardic trick. Clearly he needed more knowledge of such doings, but I was obligated not to educate him in this matter.

I cannot rely on ignorance to hide my quest for knowledge.

[SquareKnot]

After having mapped most of Mistone, I've turned my attention to Rilara. Surely there are many reasons for this. Could it be that I feel closer to Aragen on Rilara, near Casterly Castle where I took my oaths to him? Or do I wander here because, away from the prying eyes of those who know me as a bard, I can more openly be a priest? Yes, but more than that. I yearn to map Rilara, not for the knowledge such a map would contain, but because this map can, and someday will, guide me to Karthy, the sea beyond, and home. Home. Death at the claws of a hideous creature composed of demonic flesh is a small price to pay for finding the route to Karthy. Perhaps if I joined with others during my mapping treks, I could avoid such deaths. But few have the patience for such things, and explaining my attention to detail could be awkward at best.

A mysterous man found me near Bone Hill, my death still bearing down on me. As I looked at the strange mirrors, statues, and monuments assembled there, he unfolded their meaning to me. While there is much I don't understand, it appears that the area is a canvas on which some powerful artist depicts the fate of Layonara. Each statue is an element in the broader work, with different possible meanings. Color seems to indicate where on the spectrum of good and evil each event in Layonara's recent history falls, with some events and players still waiting for their turn on the stage.

Aided by instructions from the unnamed scholar, I reached Karthy. There, I stood on the docks and watched as the wind filled freshly unfurled sails, pushing a ship gently towards Calishan. I struggled to capture my feelings in a song, but was not equal to the task. How can a few words and some notes from a mandolin encompass the whole of my emotions? I'll have to ask my first music instructor, she who instilled in me my love of song.

When that selfsame breeze carries me home, I'll ask my mother.

[SquareKnot]

It seems as though a priest of Aragen, even such as I am, would receive more guidance from the Wise One. I was there, in Karthy, feeling the westwardly breeze blow from Calishan. I had the papers necessary to board a cargo ship to Tibum. What stopped me? What unseen hand held me, paralyzed, while the winds changed and the ship set sail? I fervently pray to know, but my cries go unanswered.

For now it is too late. Roldem is fallen.

I could hardly believe the words when first I heard them. How is it possible? How could the Navy have failed to protect our homeland? As a Learner, so long ago, I swore an oath to my country, my Navy, and my ship. And now, my brothers have honored their oaths with their lives while I stood by, ignorant and idle. The Navy is in ruins, and Bloodstone's shock troops walk upon Roldem unchallenged.

Surely the All Knowing knew this would come to be. Why could he not have inspired me to rush home when I had the chance? Is it I, or he, who is at fault? Had I been there, could I have made a difference for the homeland? Would my meager skills have preserved the temple? Could my staff work, honed in battle, have kept Bloodstone's forces from my family? I don't know what happened. I don't know what would have been enough. Only confused and contradictory stories have reached Mistone. For a follower of the god of knowledge, I am left only with questions.

Perhaps there is an explanation. Perhaps the unseen hand that held me in Karthy was Aragen's. Perhaps he saved my life.

[SquareKnot]

I was sitting in Hlint today, quietly singing an old Elven song. I do this often, as it helps me improve my Elven. I want to speak his tongue perfectly when I address my father again. As I sang the words, a young man sitting nearby, more a boy, really, asked me about the song. I explained that it was a tale of battle between an elven paladin of Rofirein and two Corathite priests. Much to my surprise, he immediately told me, with alarming casualness, that he had been to a temple of Corath just the previous week. Hiding my surprise at his nonchalance, I sang a prayer to Aragen, blending my entreaty into the flow of my previous song. Aragen heard me, and told me that this man was not a follower of his enemies.

Now intrigued, I proffered the boy a drink, as is my customary method for gathering the knowledge Aragen has sent me to collect. The lad continued his tale, saying that he and some friends had been wandering about, looking for a particular cave or dungeon. Since they were largely without knowledge of its location, their journey was somewhat circumtuitous. At last they found what appeared to be the entrance they sought.

But they were very wrong. Upon entering, even these foolish boys could deduce it was in fact a shine of Corath. The stench of death filled the Mad One's halls, and evil permeated the air. They quickly retreated.

The boy could not tell me the exact location of this foul place, as he had been lost at the time. But a soothing voice and a few coins convinced him to take me to the general area. He retraced his steps and we found the entrance once again. I entered invisibly and confirmed the truth of the boy's words. The aura of the place was almost overwhelming, but with aid from Aragen, I endured.

I need to record the location, but do not dare do it openly. If those misguided souls around me who fancy themselves followers of Corath were to know of it, it could only serve to strengthen their warped and twisted resolve.

Kit 'um di sa. Kote ke temp-sa te ye, li tou pres gwo tou por moun ki gan tet chen-an. Li nan moun-yo ki rele gwo coutou ki pouri en ba dlo-a.

Let that suffice. The words will appear as gibberish to the uninitiated. There is a subtle annotation on my map of the area as well. I have sworn the young man to secrecy, for his protection as well as mine.

While the events at Roldem weigh upon me, knowing that I have, in this small way, done Aragen's work solaces my heart. I must deliver this information to Casterly Castle posthaste. Hogan, Bernard, Marisa and the others will know best how to disposition these findings.

[SquareKnot]

Should Ifion's body be recovered, the following will be found --

A waterproof case containing a well worn leather-bound volume. Those versed in such matters will recognize the case as a Courier's Keeper. On the inside cover of the book, written in Common and Elvish, are these words:

“If you posses this tome, then I am dead, for alive I would never surrender it. Please return this work to the temple of Aragen in the Western Gate of Corsain. Instruct the priests there that this, the Aragenite compendium of Ishimaru Kaito, should be placed on the shelf next to the final treatises of Lolindar Taralom, my deceased father. Your faithfulness in this act will be rewarded with several thousand gold Trues.”

The rest of the book is filled with charts, maps, poems, and stories in Elvish, Common, and another tongue unknown to any not of the Aragenite priesthood.
 
As the book is closed, a loose envelope may fall to the ground from its resting place just inside the cover. The envelope seems to be far newer than the book itself. Scrawled on the outside are these instructions, “To be posted on the gemcutting tables in the Craft Hall of Hempstead upon my death.” Should the envelope be opened, a simple parchment, bearing the cryptic words “My truest love, I am sorry I failed to keep my promise. With affection and sorrow, Ifion Witseeker,” will be found as the envelope’s sole contents.

No recipient is named.