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Journal of Stygian Achnuman

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Ravemore:
*Stygian is riding his black horse along the old worn road, deep in the Gloomwood. Mesgard is nearby. Perhaps another hour of travel*

For the third time in the last hour I have caught a glimpse of an undead creature in the brush watching me. Assessing me. I ignore them because I have no fear. I am sure they can sense who I am. It is possible I may have even created some of them. *dry chuckle and wry grin* They can recognize the taint of the Mortis Mentis marking me as an Oraculis of the Veneficus. The Oraculum Mortis took my measure and did not find me lacking, and now I am bound to him and growing in power. The font of his knowledge and resources has no end or depth. It is truly endless in all sense of the word… and I drink from it like a man stranded in the desert with no water walking into an oasis. *Stygian unconsciously rubs his side where he cut his own rib from his body. The lingering pain that will likely never leave is a constant reminder of his allegiance*

*Stygian has been in Arnax for several months training with the Priests and Priestesses. Learning the formal dogmas and rites of the clergy. They are suspicious of him because he is Veneficus, but they recognize that he has been blessed by the Dark Lord and chosen to walk this path. They will never accept him, but they will tolerate him for the time being. He reports regularly to the Oraculum Mortis on the inner working of the temple and the rumors and whispers uttered in the shadowy depths of its halls.

As Stygian approaches the first outbuildings of Mesgard he can see the cloaked figure of the Mayor waiting. He bows to Stygian in deep respect, “Stipatio, welcome back. As always, your presence is delightful.” *There is no joy or excitement in his voice* *Stygian nods, nudges his heels into the side of his horse, and continues in the direction of the Maligare’s headquarters.

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