The Lost Journals

Fiction about Ravenloft or Gothic Earth
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High Priest Mikhal
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Re: The Lost Journals v2

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Port d'Elhour, Souragne, April 12, 731 BC)
Our trip north was postponed a day after one of the older villagers died of tuberculosis ("consumption"). The traditional funeral is the opposite of the morose practices in many other cultures. The Souragniens embody the saying, "Weep for men at their birth. Rejoice for them at their death." It means that life is a series of pain and struggles while death is a release and a time to celebrate that life in spite of the pain. Oddly they don't bury their dead right away. They wait at least four days to see if the Lord of the Dead doesn't choose to claim them as one of his own. That night we waited and watched as the body stood up in its grave, already in advanced decomposition from the muggy climate, and walked away towards the swamp as a zombie. I think Misroi is a zombie lord, though I've no evidence to back that up besides the body that walked away, what I found in the land's only real library, and what we encountered on the road to Port d'Elhour later that night.

Two zombies, one of a man and the other a woman, attacked us under the light of the full moon. Rather than simply destroy them we subdued them with Maxine casting shackles. These two were not under Misroi's control but they did have a connection to him as I found out when I began to interrogate them.

::Transcription of the dialogue between Alexander Dreamfire and two zombies::
Alexander Dreamfire: Who are you?

Nicole Misroi: I am Nicole Misroi.

Francois Roix: I am Francois Roix.

AD: Nicole Misroi? Are you related to Anton Misroi?

NM: ::hisses threateningly:: Do not speak his name in front of me! He made us what we are.

AD: How did he make you like this?

FR: He murdered us, believing we were having an affair. He and the thugs of a voodan, Nanaea.

NM: He had her thugs throw us into quicksand and watched as we sank, saying he would pull us out if we admitted to having "relations."

AD: But you two weren't having an affair, correct?

NM: Oui! I was terrified of him. He had thrown many others into the swamp to drown simply because he could. He enjoyed watching them.

FR: He watched us under the full moon and taunted us with talk of life and death. I had Nicole climb on my shoulders to save her. But he pushed her in with a pole.

NM: It must have been that harlot Nanaea who made him think we were lovers. I was a faithful wife! I cursed him before I sank and he laughed in my face. But we had the last laugh, pulling him in and listening as he begged not to die.

AD: You pulled him under?

NM: We did, but something brought him back after he drowned. We are here because of him and can never die until he does.

AD: You mentioned someone named Nanaea. Who was that?

NM: A powerful voodan and woman of color who was one of my husband's mistresses. She wanted him for herself or to become one of the elite. Maybe both. Her grandchildren still exist.

AD: One last question. What is he? A sorcerer? Necromancer? And what is this ban on magic? I guess that's two questions.

NM: He was a sorcerer of small skill, but he excelled at spellsinging. Since becoming lord of this land he has control over the powers of life and death. But he fears all other types of magic. He does not understand them. His spies, living and dead alike, tell him about anyone using forbidden magic as he cannot leave the swamp.

AD: Thank you. This information is invaluable to us. Now when we release you, you have two choices. The first is to flee into the darkness. The second is to be destroyed.

FR: ::laughs:: Destroy us, if you can. We will return in a year and a day under the full moon so long as he still exists.

AD: So be it.
::End dialogue::

I spent my psionic focus and channeled the power of the sun into my mind blade, cutting both of the tragic figures down. But I'd learned more than I'd hoped. Anton Misroi's necromancy is tied to his position as darklord. If he were caught within my reality warp he would lose much of his power and be forced to rely on his skills prior to death. Which don't sound like much. And his ban on all magic but healing and necromancy speaks of a critical weakness. He's a coward, like many of those who are the true rulers of these lands. His ignorance informs his cowardice as well and if we don't draw attention to our powers near the living--and the dead--we can be relatively safe from attracting his attention. "Relatively" being the operative word here.

Something does bother me, though. Nicole Misroi said Anton can't leave the swamp. But just what is the swamp? The area delineated as the swamp? Or any ground so boggy it's an extension of the swamp during inclement weather? I'm assuming the worst case scenario here and that means the latter. Such has been proven true too often before.

Our arrival in Port d'Elhour was met with some suspicious glares, but once word got around I was considering opening a trade route to the region the locals warmed notably. Under that guise I was able to ask about any libraries to better acquaint myself with the geography. Everyone directed me to a Sentire Lefebvre and the local Church of Ezra. This surprised me somewhat as I'd not seen any outward expressions of faith beyond that in voodan. It didn't take me long to realize that Ezra is the faith of the nobles while the poor cleave more to voodan. Lefebvre was amiable enough if a little zealous in his beliefs. He seems to be obsessed with the heresies and schisms of the faith as well as its more mystical side demonstrated by the Dementlieu See.

The library wasn't extensive, but the books had been treated with wax and resins to resist the humidity and represented a treasure trove of knowledge in a land where scholarship is being all but replaced by folklore and myth. Literacy likewise turned out to be shrinking; the local climate is so hard on books that the expense of preservation isn't worth it. Many are taught through oral methods and that's how much of the history has been preserved where it hasn't been written. The Ezran temple's library proved to have less than I'd hoped, though. Crude maps without precise or even matching measures of distance, spotty histories of the land, and little on the nature of the Lord of the Dead. Save only that he claims the dead as zombie servitors and is the patron of the land's necromancers.

There was no mention of undead besides zombies and similar creatures serving him. Always some type of zombie. That's what makes me pretty sure he's a zombie lord. What I know of them is not reassuring. The ability to turn others into zombies, total mastery over zombies, to animate the dead as zombies, and to speak with them at will much as I can. Perhaps the only ones he doesn't have control over are those of his wife and Francois Roix. And accounts limit them to the road that connects Marais d'Tarascon and Port d'Elhour on the nights of the full moon.

Even all that isn't much. I have a fair idea of what he is but not who he is. The latter is always what tells me the most about any given foe.

As I write this I realize I'm being watched by some sort of spirit being. It's a zombie-like thing in the dress of an aristocrat. He, as it's clearly a man, seems most off-put by my ability to perceive him. Even more is his visible consternation at not being able to approach me any closer than five feet. If this is Anton Misroi then he has an ability I would have never guessed. The ability to project his spirit. Yet at the same time he seems afraid of me, an unknown entity that has usurped his total control over this land. This isn't the first time I've encountered darklords with no idea that I could cut them off from the land. But his reactions, really pantomimes, suggest fury and absolute terror. I can tell he would like to destroy me but knows even he has little chance of that.

To him I bow respectfully and display my own fear. He is still the dark heart of this land and I'd be a fool not to be afraid. All I want at this point is to figure out a way to setup trade and then get back to the Core. There doesn't seem to be any real reason I'm here other than the caprice of whatever entities truly rule this plane. Though as I think about it, the nobility here would be fertile soil for the Cult of Elisime. Plus the arcane secrets of the voodan would prove irresistible to one so obsessed with power. Tales of their ability to brew potions of spells beyond the third order would fit nicely with her usual tactics. Maybe that's why I was drawn here?

It's something to consider asking around about. The people here are mostly human and I've not even heard of non-humans beyond the rare caliban. Even if she's wise enough to hide her true nature it's hard not to remember her. Her pathological need to shock others through perversion of cultural norms is her signature. Just revealing herself as an elf would send many here into fits.

I'd hoped to leave this place behind tomorrow. But if she is here then I have an obligation to stop her. It may be my best chance.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Port d'Elhour, Souragne, April 13, 731 BC)
Curse that woman! If I ever get my hands on her I swear to every god of good that I will wring her neck!

As soon as the town woke up for the day I began asking around about anyone who looked like a willowy woman with pointed ears. To my shock they had seen three such women just a day prior to our arrival. They were interested in finding out about the voodan and caused such a furor with their flagrantly provocative appearance and less-than-modest attire that folks directed them to an older voodan nearby known simply as Le Gras ("The Fat"). He was best known for brewing potions that could achieve nothing less than miracles, though at an equally high price, often deferring the price for delicacies both local and exotic, especially high-end rum. Since most were better able to pay in such ways he had grown quite obese.

He had a shack not a mile outside of town and it didn't take long to head there. The townsfolk had not been exaggerating. Le Gras was more like a blob of flesh and folds sitting at the center of a pile of plates, bottles, and small fetishes called gris-gris. He had outgrown any clothing but his corpulence was such that he didn't really need any to protect his modesty. If not for his head I would have thought him a flesh ooze such was his shapeless mass. I can still smell his greasy flab.

Le Gras was welcoming enough, though his revolting appearance and odor--a ghastly mixture of sweat, stale urine, and feces--was off-putting. He admitted he had seen the three women, giving them a tome of spells he had written in exchange for "the most wonderful brandy he had ever tasted" and the recipe to make more. It was terran brandy, a magical liquor that boosted magical ability for roughly half an hour. It was also extremely addictive. After he gave them the tome they spoke a language he didn't understand but did recognize a name: Nanaea. Her grandchildren are the equivalent of a local crime syndicate. I should have known; Darkleaf would use this as another chance to expand her own burgeoning criminal empire. But it's what the tome contained that has me seeing red.

Normally potions are spells distilled into liquid form, though other forms of consumption exist. The normal limit for such spells is of the third order. Yet the voodan have learned how to go beyond that limit to the ninth order! Worse still are the spells scribed within, one which is called heart and soul that traps or dislodges the soul from a person and effectively creates a living zombie utterly and permanently under the caster's command. This control is so complete that even dominate spells can't compare. The other was a spell called touch of the doppelganger, which allows one to permanently shift appearances with someone down to the tiniest details. If one of the recipients dies than there's no way short of a wish to discern anything is wrong. It would seem she has found three new, potent tools in her crusade against good. A way to change her appearance so completely she can evade true seeing, to make slaves of others so total there would be no way of saving them, and a method to turn even the most potent spells into something anyone can use.

I quickly bid Le Gras good day and returned to Port d'Elhour. Tracking down the Children of Nanaea as they call themselves wasn't hard, they're sort of an open secret. Determining where Sonia Darkleaf and her two companions had gone was a bit tougher. Money, especially the idea of more money, can buy loyalty that cuts through ethical and moral considerations like a blade through air. I managed to track them down to a boat that was leaving for a Mistway back to the Core tonight. I had to cut down several thugs that attacked me as I forced my way to their boat. Most I'd simply knocked out but a few I'd no choice but to kill. My clothing was covered in blood but I was seeing red for altogether different reasons.

There I came face to face with Darkleaf and her two companions, the twin elves. Despite my cloak I doubted I could withstand all of their spells. Instead I fired off three mind arrows--only to see all three wink out just a foot before they reached their targets. A null psionics zone! How did she know that spell, much less to use it now? That was when Sonia turned and laughed, explaining that her "teachers" had warned her of me over thirty years ago. She had been expecting me, even watching me through scrying before I obtained my cloak. Since then she had kept more mundane tabs on me and the rumors of "a man with twin magic swords" had reached her ears not long after Brianna, Maxine, and I had arrived. Plus I had made quite a ruckus tearing my way through the "cannon fodder," as she put it. For all her bravado I sensed genuine fear and lies that hid beneath the façade. For all that her magical spying had gotten her it was about the best she'd gotten; since then she hadn't had even a fraction of the success in learning more about me. I was still very much a wild card. Knowing to use null psionics zone was a lucky guess at best.

Still her haughty attitude touched on nerves from my time as Elisime's slave. Only the threat of a full-on magical assault by her and her two minions stayed me from attempting to jump on their boat and kill all three then and there. All I could do was watch as they sailed away into the night and eluded the hand of justice.

My actions have stirred up things here and it may be a while before all three of us can return. Any real plans of expanding the Archer Trading Company here have to be shelved for now. The Children will not soon forget my actions, nor do I feel comfortable setting up trade in such a highly corrupt region. And, admittedly, it may take a while for my anger to fade. Our close encounter has clouded my mind with thoughts of revenge. If I can't focus on the real reasons she must be stopped I endanger any efforts made to stop her, to anyone that may aid me, to my very soul. As much as I hate to admit it, she won this battle. But this was just the first in many. She will learn it's entirely possible to win the battles but still lose the war itself.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 22, 731 BC)
Brianna and Maxine both have expressed deep concern over my brooding since we left Souragne. It seems I've never fully explained to them why I have such a deep, overwhelming hate for Elisime and her cult. It meant picking open old mental scars but they deserved to know the whole story. As much as I hate telling it. And the grisly details of which I won't write down here. I need no journals to remind me of that. Suffice to say both were as pale as ghosts before I had gotten past the first year's worth of experiences. That was actually the easiest year of one-hundred-forty-nine more. If I they hadn't asked me to stop I would have regaled them with far worse. Even the archons of Celestia agreed I had every right to be furious. I was violated mentally and physically in ways that other fiends actually balked at. And for what? To try and hurt her half-sister, the creator of my race. A divine sibling rivalry that has endured since before the planes were in their current form.

Yet my suffering was largely my own fault. I got arrogant and I paid a terrible price. I accept that on some level even if I still feel a hunger for revenge. What I should focus on is what others went through, those who had done nothing to invite Elisime's dread attentions as I had. Eza and Ada, the twin princesses of Lunia, once paragons of law and good broken in body and spirit until they were little more than slaves to desire. Triak, one of the greater guardinals, tortured for days and then vivisected while being kept alive by the goddess's magic. Sienna, a powerful ghaele eladrin and hated foe of Pale Night, her will broken by things too hideous to mention and made to act as a chair for Elisime to sit on. Countless mortals, either dumped into the "pleasure" pits or killed and then raised with their souls trapped in their undead bodies to break the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. If it was perverse, heinous, or corruptive it was encouraged. That is, after all, the essence of all worship of Elisime.

Seeing those others and knowing I couldn't help them was worse than what I went through in many ways. I tried, goddess knows I tried, but this was one of the most potent of all powers! Her mental domination over me was too great to resist most times. Those few times I could resist took every ounce of inner strength I had and she made my punishments all the more painful. When I escaped I swore I would never tolerate her cult wherever I found it. So this situation with Sonia Darkleaf and her cronies has my blood boiling. I must use the same methods and techniques that Rudolph taught me about locating weaknesses, of using knowledge over strength of arms to take down a foe. I can only imagine this is how he felt when he hunted down Baron Metus, looking for revenge for his wife and son.

Yet there has been some good news. With Malleus dead his spawn have betrayed the Cult in favor of their unnatural instincts, prompting the Cult to spend valuable time and resources to hunt down their former allies. Observers in the Shining Force noticed how this weakened the branches of the Cult. A more concerted, sustained campaign could weaken them enough that they would be prone to a final assault. For that, though, we need numbers we don't have and a support network that is nonexistent. I had hoped to keep things in a cellular structure so no one could trace things back to a central leadership and decapitate us. But we need just that sort of centralized organization if we want to affect lasting change. We'll need ways to communicate over long distances and across what are, metaphysically, planar boundaries that separate each country of the Core. I remember hearing about magic mirrors that could do just that. Making them will take time and coin.

There's also the eternal question of how to ensure our ranks are not infiltrated by those black of heart. Soul seeker medallions are really the only way, but they're so fragile it's risky to use them in the field. There is a way to make them more durable by using other materials, yet...that requires a trip to the Nightmare Lands. Dream crystal is the only viable substitute for the lens. For the primary structure we could use mithral, though it would have to be magically created given the rarity of the metal here. That in itself is expensive and taxing but less so if divided among many. Only I can gather dream crystal without upsetting the Abber Nomads, though. And those things in the Nightmare Court will not react kindly to my presence.

Then again, I'd sooner face the Court and their unnatural creations than spend another second letting the Cult grow. My course is set.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Ring of Dreams, Nightmare Lands, April ??, 731 BC)
It's hard to know how much time has passed since we came here. Time isn't linear in a land that's so utterly saturated by unreality. Though I am of a race native to the Region of Dreams, this isn't my native reality per se. The City of Detria is a place of stability amidst the chaos, and my people are able to project an aura of protection--an amnion--from the effects of the raw Region and even the worst of the Dreamheart. This place is so corrupted by the Nightmare Court that only by the powers of the Dream Staff, and Maxine's own affect on reality, do we move freely. Even then there are dangers I had forgotten to warn them about. Like not staring into a dreamscape, to never take anything at face value, and to avoid picking fights with the dream spawn. They took out dozens of gray and shadow morphs that, unwisely, thought us easy prey. Since Brianna and Maxine both bear my mark, and Priss is deathless, they had no power to draw from their minds. If any were in the employ of a Court member they haven't viewed the loss as important enough to investigate.

As for the dreamscapes, the only real danger there was to their minds. As my mark protects them from the Nightmare Court it also prevents them from being sucked into these unnatural creations. But it does nothing to prevent empty dreamscapes from conjuring the darkest images from their subconscious minds. At least now they know to give them a wide berth.

I told them this would be simplest if I went alone, but they still insist on being by my side. And I'll admit it's good experience for them. If our ultimate goals in the Shining Force are to be realized, to take away the knowledge the Fraternity of Shadows gathers and either use it for good or keep it out of everyone's hands, they must be prepared for things that will shatter unprepared minds. It pains me to say it but there is some knowledge that is inherently evil; what little I know of this world tells me that the underlying truths may largely be such. Ignorance of evil is the first key to its invasion; far better to face evil head-on and turn away so that one recognizes it later on.

This place is as good as any to start learning some of the ugly truths. Perhaps more so than others as it forces one to look inward to defeat those who rule. Perhaps I should do so as well. If I invite their fell attentions I exempt myself from the Dreaming Pact, but dreams are what my race was created for. I am far from helpless or inexperienced in oneiromachy. And, at last facing all the inner demons I've fooled myself into believing I conquered, is the only way I will at last know inner peace. The first lessons I learned so long ago finally put to the test.

It's something to consider.

For now, though, we have to gather what dream crystal we can. Much of it is in razor sharp shards that require gauntlets or thick skin to avoid slicing our hands on. It doesn't matter if it's in chunks, shards, or bits, much of it will be ground to dust for alchemical treatment so it can be melted like sand and made into glassy lenses for soul seeker medallions. If we can gather enough I can forge it into weapons and armor, but even here that's looking unlikely. So few of those captured by the Nightmare Court have the strength of will to break their control so completely as to shatter a dreamscape. Such would be fitting; by the rules of the Region of Dreams these permanent orbs are unnatural abominations that should be destroyed. Were that I wasn't bound by the Pact I'd go into them and free those trapped before destroying their prisons utterly.

Maybe I'd best stop thinking about it. It just makes exempting the Pact more enticing. Even I'm not powerful enough to face the Nightmare Court head on. Not unless I use "it."

Perhaps it's just the long "day" of hunting dream crystals amidst the madness of this place that I entertain such wild ideas. This place is getting under my skin and making me entertain thoughts I wouldn't otherwise. If I were to renounce the Dreaming Pact I would surely be set upon by every one of the Nightmare Court's minions, not to mention the Court members themselves. No weapon would protect me in that case. Not without greater skill in my newfound path as an illithid slayer, at least. To finally unlock the prowess necessary to use master manifestations--if they even work in this world--is tempting. But it's a fool's dream. I've expended so much energy that I doubt that I could take that next step any time soon.

Sleep is what I need now. Something to calm my mind after watching this nightmarish landscape all day. Something...to calm my racing thoughts...
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Ring of Dreams, Nightmare Lands, April ??, 731 BC)
I woke up this morning to discover that I had, quite unknowingly, crossed the threshold and taken the next step as an illithid slayer. This is at once good and bad, mostly bad. I've unlocked the secrets of master manifestations, but at the same time I no longer possess the strength to help in the creation of mithral purely by true creation. The latter would have been so much more of a benefit; master manifestations are costly, difficult, and worst of all, noisy. The materials for less fragile soul seeker medallions are what we need both short- and long-term. One psionicist of truly superhuman power is negligible to our goals. I could have taken this step sooner, but I held off in anticipation of the task ahead. Too long, in retrospect. This day has been long in coming and it finally hit a point that I could no longer hold it off. That must have been why my mind wandered so much and pondered things I'd never have considered prior.

Now I've reached a point that I must reconsider my tactics. Regarding the Shining Force and even my own personal enemies like the Nightmare Court. The latter was illustrated rather vividly to all of us today when a Night Horror, in the shape of Tyriana, appeared before us and tried to kill me. I thought the Dreaming Pact would prevent the Nightmare Man from sending one. It turns out that the Nightmare Man deliberately chose to break the Pact when he sensed my growth. I had to take a couple of hours to project my dream self to his Cathedral after dispatching the Night Horror. The breaking of the Pact left his little creation far weaker than others, as well as himself and the other four members of the Court that reside in this waking nightmare. As it's the Nightmare Court that broke the Pact, I am now free to oppose them at will yet they remain unable to act against those I have marked as being under my protection.

In essence, I am now free to fight them openly and not worry about leaving those I put under my protection in harm's way.

Unfortunately they are just one of countless evils in this world. One of the most insidious and far-reaching, yes, but one amongst many. When I was projecting to his Cathedral I gave him an ultimatum: Cause me enough trouble and I would return to wreak full havoc, starting by destroying the altar that ties him to the Dreamweb. Without his physical connection to it he is mortal and able to truly die. I don't know why I wrote that, it's not as though anyone will ever be so brave--and foolish--to tempt the Nightmare Court that such information would be useful.

Editor's Note: At the time of this writing Alexander must not have known that Dr. Gregorian Illhousen was already learning about, and fighting, this Nightmare Court. Copies of the Doctor's journals are still floating around for those with the desire to learn more. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove

Yet this new development has created new opportunities. No longer bound by the Dreaming Pact I could use a weapon I once swore I would never use. It's gone by many names over the centuries. Psion's Blade, Illithid's Bane, Psychic Destroyer, but the one I found bears a name as simple as it is apropos, "Slayer." It's not a unique weapon and, as ashamed as I am to say it, my people were the first to create them. In anyone's hands these greatswords have the ability to fell the strongest of psionic beings, but it's only in the hands of an illithid slayer such as myself that it's truly abilities manifest. Made of infused ferroplasm that glows violet like a torch and sparkles in even the dimmest light, a shape like a mind flayer's head for a guard, with a blade sharper than anything else in the multiverse. It was once owned by a psychotic ranger who took up the mantle of illithid slayer not to slay the dread mind flayers, but all psionicists in a foolhardy quest of revenge against a psion lover who jilted him.

Just holding this weapon makes me nauseous. But it's power is the only thing that can destroy these unnaturally created dreamscapes and allow us to gather the quantity of dream crystal we need. But first I must ritually cleanse the blade of the evil it was used to commit before I dare wield it. That requires a vial of holy water, which I don't have. Brianna could easily create one but has not prayed for a bless water spell today. Our work will have to continue until tomorrow, when I can perform what I've put off for too long.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Ring of Dreams, Nightmare Lands, April ??, 731 BC)
I didn't sleep well last night. Thoughts of what I was going to do made it hard to gain any rest. It's not even the hardest thing I've ever done. But to re-consecrate a weapon with as bloody a history as Slayer is hardly a small thing. In more appropriate settings the ritual would involve a tub of holy water, hallowed ground, and hours of prayer. It's not as involved as redeeming evil magic items but, if only for my own peace of mind, it has to be done. Especially when it's a blade I felt the sting of once before. I'd hoped mine would the last blood it ever tasted. Now I pray I don't fall prey to the lingering psychic traces left by it's last owner. Hence the ritual.

Editor's Note: At this point the text changes handwriting to a more flowing, feminine hand. This ritual seemed to be worth preserving to one of the ladies M. Dreamfire was travelling with. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Transcription of the ritual
"By the blood of the innocent were you stained, Slayer, so by water do I cleanse you of the taint. I give you now a new purpose. To defend against those who would abuse psionics for evil ends. To only know the blood of the wicked. To become that which you were originally meant to be. Pours holy water over the blade. In the name of Detriana, goddess of light and dreams, I name you anew as Vindicator. By the power of the Celestial Hebdomad, the Companions, and the Court of Stars, I purge you of evil and give you the blessing of all that is good. Never again will you be a tool of destruction but one of righteousness! By my blood you once tasted do you now expel all that has gone before to walk the virtuous path!

"Vindicator!"
The blade is struck against a crystalline sphere as a dark brown crust forms on its surface. The blade bites into the sphere and the crust shatters, revealing a weapon that now shines as bright as the sun.
End

With the (literal) purging of past blood the blade took on the name I had given it. The darkness it had once harbored was gone as its light now shone brightly. And its first strike as Vindicator was a dreamscape that had no doubt been host to countless nightmares. A second, more focused strike cleaved far deeper into the crystal. A final blow caught the light on the edge as it swung and cut a clear path through. With that the dreamscape cracked like an egg before crumbling into chunks of solid dream crystal. At the same time came a hideous screech from the Forest of Everchange as a piece of one of the Nightmare Court, no doubt Morpheus, was snuffed out.

From this one blow we were able to gather ten times as much as we had scavenged. We now had enough to form the viewing glasses of countless soul seeker medallions, as well as entire suits of armor and weapons stronger and lighter than steel. With my recent growth as an illithid slayer I, too, would need to use alchemical methods of refining. It will take weeks of boiling in rare herbs to remake it into something pliable enough to work. What makes me sick is how the best sources of the necessary plants are Borca and Falkovnia. Even once we have the herbs it will take very precise work or the dream crystal will not soften and the brew wasted. I pray that there are enough skilled alchemists to do this. My instincts tell me we're running out of time and need to get this done as soon as possible.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 23, 731 BC)
Fortuitously or not, time didn't pass for the outside world as much as it had for us. Such is the nature of dreams, though. Time is non-linear. Instead we returned mere hours after we'd set out. Now the task of acquiring the herbs for the refining. The quantities are such that it will take some time to gather enough. Time that I can use to teach the methods necessary. That's assuming that there are no problems with the Borcans or Falkovnians. Especially the Talons. Just the thought of dealing with them makes me cringe. And yet Drakov is likely to see even the simple gathering of herbs as reason enough to demand tribute, or for a soldier to use as an excuse to start a fight if it suits them.

From the time it takes the herbs to be gathered in sufficient quantities to the actual length of the refining it may be August before this stuff is ready. Had I been able to hold off my own growth it would take me just a few days to refine the hundreds of pounds we have. Now it will take time I'd as soon use on work against the Fraternity of Shadows and the Cult of Elisime. Maybe it's for the best. I'm still worked up about our encounter in Souragne; I'd likely get people killed at this point.

Plus there's a hit on a Fraternity outpost in Darkon we can't afford to not to take. Security will be lightened as all but a couple of custodians are off to Dementlieu for some conclave. Aside from the usual magical protections and mundane traps this is the their most vulnerable time. And this place in particular holds some of their most valued, and most dangerous, collections. The Guardians are particularly keen on several items stored there. This is as much a favor to them as it is for us.

Goddess watch over us.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, April 30, 731 BC)
I love it when things go to plan. Our hit on the Fraternity's outpost in Darkon went off without a single hitch. Better still, we avoided the trap that their conclave turned out to be. In their extreme arrogance they didn't figure on someone vetting the truth of the situation out; while they were all off in Dementlieu we took practically everything that wasn't nailed down. There's a lot to go over in terms of written notes and books. The Guardians have claimed several magical items and are in the process of destroying them as well. All in all the Fraternity took a major hit, the Shining Force has gained access to new information, and the Guardians are taking care of things that verily reek of evil.

So far what we've found looks to be tentative works on the Mists, "pocket" domains isolated in the Mists, notes on the "darklords" of the Core and other places, and yet more dark magic spells that will be destroyed if they can't be reversed into something beneficent. What little I've read so far is enlightening, to say the least, but there's so much more still and I haven't time to go over it all. In response to my call for skilled alchemists over forty members of the Force from all over the Core appeared. Most are clerics or wizards, though some druids and sorcerers are among them. That's just as well since they'll be the ones ultimately responsible for creating the soul seeker medallions that we're using the dream crystal for. Plus they're perhaps the best equipped to make a rapid escape from Borca and Falkovnia if needed. A small trickle of the necessary herbs is already in place, just enough to show them what they need and how to properly refine the crystal.

Plus they'll need slivers of mithral as material components for true creation. What little I've got will suffice for that but is otherwise miniscule. We need to make those medallions fast. It may just be nerves but I think I feel an undercurrent of tension in the fabric of reality. Especially in Borca. Stranger still is the familiarity of it. It's something I haven't felt since I first came here. Unfortunately I wasn't paying enough attention back then to determine what it was. Getting the Sword of Darkness back from Vanatha and Caesarus occupied my thoughts more than getting a feel for this place.

Were it possible to determine a person's true status with other means this wouldn't be such a big deal. Yet something clouds divination powers as strong as true seeing, hiding both the moral half of a person's soul as well as the true nature of natural shapechangers like therianthropes and other creatures. Yet it is and we must adapt to the arcane rules of this world. This isn't even going into how we'll handle recruitment once all is said and done. So far the others have done their best to determine the true intentions of those who would join us, but that's a lengthy process and if my encounter with Madame Eva about Hyskosa's Hexad is true, we'll need to build up our numbers and soon.

The thought of a Grand Conjunction here...no, I'd best put such thoughts out of my head. They'll only cause me trouble.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, June 17, 731 BC)
The process for refining dream crystal has been successfully emulated by the others. There is still a great deal left but for now we have enough to focus on the medallions. It's just as well that the process has been passed on. Rudolph has contacted me about a ghost problem in the Forest of Shadows that sounds pretty bad. Something even Azalin can't--or likely, won't--handle. This is an area that borders with G'Henna and there has always been a stream of mongrelmen from there to the Forest, fleeing the oppression of the G'Hennan theocracy. For years they maintained a quiet and secluded refuge there and never bothered anyone. Yet the locals in Darkon raised enough of a ruckus about their presence that the Lich-King finally sent in soldiers to root them out.

What little I know is they captured one and brutally tortured him to find out where the others were. They must have been watching because they began picking off soldiers and returning all of the same kindness their own was shown. Now this "Phantom Army" has returned and is terrorizing anyone and anything that passes through the Forest of Shadows. For a lich, Azalin makes some really stupid decisions. He had to have foreseen his general's brutality and the resulting act of vengeance it would bring. Or maybe he did and just didn't care. I wouldn't put it past him. This failure on his part to deal with things speaks of a desire to keep his own bony hands clean or that there's something else occupying his time. Personally, I feel it's a bit of both.

Much to my frustration, though, I can't join him on this hunt. There's something going on closer to home that I need to take care of. A large mansion north of Mordentshire is being built. Reports of a pair of elven sisters overseeing things matches the description of the two twin sisters that act as Sonia's chief lieutenants. According to the local constable they're there to oversee construction of a mansion that will then double as a kind of apothecary. Given the local mistrust of non-humans as well as arcane magic they're necessarily building further away from the town than normal. The reach of the local law doesn't extend that far and for good reason. The site they've chosen is also haunted. Not by any powerful spirit but still an area the locals avoid.

Purportedly they've settled the haunting and made it habitable. That's cold comfort to the locals who still remember the nasty little odem that used to be there. Then there's the letter I received from Sonia herself. She knows I live near Mordentshire, albeit to the south, and is using this both as a way to make money and to try and goad me into doing something. She doesn't realize this is on top of the Shining Force's main headquarters, that my standing among the Mordentish could all but cripple her business plans with a few words, and that I'm not about to fall for something quite so juvenile. Yes, I hate her, her patron deity, and her Cult, but if there's anything that I've learned over the centuries it's how to wage a shadow war.

Attacking her directly is the last thing I plan on doing. Far more effective is lulling her into a sense of false security before undermining her own network of allies and her power base. It's hard to go after a target that strikes from the darkness and fades away just as swiftly. And this mansion is a nuisance at worst. If I know anything about the Cult it's that its excesses won't remain a secret for long. Once the Mordentish realize what's going on the local clientele will dry up and leave that place a money sink. Even if it garners a reputation beyond Mordent's borders it wouldn't be hard to run off customers or waylay shipments. If her visit to Souragne is any indication she plans to use the place to brew greater magical potions, something that itself is costly to do. Imagine, then, the losses that such advanced magical work will accrue? Or the outcry if some of the more sinister potions were made known? Or who would be after her for the knowledge of how to brew stronger spells than is normally thought possible? She may have inadvertently dug her own grave.

Age and treachery, little girl. Age and treachery.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 2, 731 BC)
Things have been quiet lately. Several of the stronger soul seeker medallions are done and in the hands of recruiters in several domains. Our membership has once again begun to grow and expand in terms of both numbers and diversity. More than a few civilians and nobles alike share our ideals and have agreed to help however they can. The Force's emergency coffers are full and we have the resources necessary to begin creating magical items on a larger scale. Perhaps the most useful was the donation of a magical forge by the dwarves of Darkon's Mountains of Misery. One that, despite weighing several tons, was somehow moved here to Mordent and installed in the armory of our main base. Now we won't need people actually versed in how to create magic arms and armor, just those with the proper spells.

If only it was all good news.

Sonia's mansion up north has established itself as a legitimate, if unsavory, place to buy potions and other, more rarified alchemical items. Not many of the locals visit the place, save a few of the more unscrupulous merchant class who already have shady reputations. Visitors from outside of Mordent make up the majority of the clientele. Including more than a few known members of the Fraternity of Shadows. It seems they've learned of Sonia's skills at brewing greater potions and are keenly interested in learning how. Naturally that's not an advantage she's willing to give up. It remains to be seen how the Fraternity will respond.

Then there's the issue of barrow wraiths again. As our base expands underground we've begun to hit chambers that serve as the territory for these greedy undead. Their ability to literally sap the life of those not protected by a death ward or similar effect is bad enough; the fact that their power is commensurate with their hoards means Brianna, Maxine, and I have been forced to deal with these creatures personally. We've been unable to continue our own works due to the number of them we've found. Certainly the hauls in terms of valuables and magical items is what we need to accommodate our growing numbers, but the ones we keep running into are too powerful for our less seasoned members to handle. To date I've ordered a halt on further expansion until we build up the strength of our members. This has meant sending them to investigate and settle hauntings in the surrounding countryside.

So far it seems to be working. Even Brianna has joined in on a few, needing to build up her own experience as an adventurer. Recently she hit a milestone and I gifted her with the holy avenger found so long ago. There's something else. I assumed the reason she didn't have a paladin's mount was because of their warped nature in this world. Instead she gave up that ability for those of an "Underdark knight." I've met a few before; their abilities focus more on functioning indoors and underground, even being able to see in total darkness and burrow through the earth. It's a far more practical choice given the nature of what we do.

One thing that both she and Maxine have been asking about are some sort of ranged attacks. I've been holding on to a sling that Maxine can make excellent use of, one that creates obsidian priest's bullets and enchants them with a greatly empowered magic stone effect, perfect for the undead. Brianna, however, requires something else. Decades ago I designed and built a heavy compound crossbow--something I've not seen in this world--out of adamantine. Even the string is adamantine cable. I further had it enchanted to create its own bolts as the sheer power proved far too great for traditional wooden ones, which shattered upon being fired. Instead it fires steel bolts infused with truesilver and enchanted to explode in a massive conflagration. The heart seeker enchantment I had applied when I learned of it makes it especially dangerous to vampires. For Brianna it's perfect, especially deadly to the vampires she loathes heart and soul.

As much as both would like to go out hunting and test their new toys I've been unable to join in. A group that's growing as large and as fast as ours needs to be organized far better than the looser hierarchy we were using before. Not to mention hidden, fortified strongholds to house members as far away as Nova Vaasa. I've been able to delegate the latter to those who know the areas while I rewrite the very charter of the Shining Force to determine who is in charge of what and where. To that end I've organized things along the lines of cells acting independently of our Mordent base. It is almost necessary that we remain decentralized for the most part. Reliable communications don't exist everywhere, and where they do it can take far too long if the window of opportunity is small. Even aspect mirrors are severely hampered by the nature of this world. Since each domain is essentially a plane unto itself they're unable to function if trying to communicate across the more metaphysical borders. I'm sure there's something that could be created but all I can do is ask our more powerful spellcasters to research something.

Finally there's that bizarre feeling I encountered in Borca. It's as once alien and strangely familiar. I know I've encountered something like it before but why can't I remember?!
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 12, 731 BC)
The new charter has been written up with several key changes made to expand our network of spies and informants, new recruitment techniques, new protocols for members travelling to new domains, and most importantly, renewed efforts to earn the hearts of the people. That last one was always part of our mission but became more important when our chapter in Nova Vaasa had a run-in with the nobles. Our efforts to get at Malken, the local crime lord, hit a serious snag when we found several Riftoffs engaging in vices even I cringe to think about. Not that secular laws are exactly a big hindrance but it's raised some questions about whether or not to pursue these people for participating. There's no legal body we can present the evidence to since they are the legal body in their lands. For now I've sent a message to leave them be until we've dealt with Malken. In a place so politically corrupt it's suicide to go after the people in charge. At least at our current strength.

Then there's that issue in Borca. I think I've finally remembered when I last felt it. Given what was going on at the time I didn't pay much attention, but it feels exactly like when I first came here and faced off against Vanatha and Caesarus. There's a fiend in Borca. What kind I'm not sure about. But if I could feel its effects on reality then it must have felt mine. Since I repressed mine I had to have been very, very close. I wish I could take the girls with me but a true fiend in this world is an entity even I fear. From sources like the Madrigorian, which I'm convinced is the work of a fiend of some kind, they emit an effect on reality much like my own and mentions "honey-coated traps" that grant fiends greater power but ties them to the Land itself. If I understand it correctly they can perform some sort of ritual to gain powers based on the domain they're in, but in turn they become more and more tied to the demiplane itself until they lose their ability to walk freely between domains or even leave the plane itself.

If true, then this creature could be even more powerful than I can anticipate.

Goddess grant me strength.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Levkarest, Borca, Aug. 29, 731 BC)
Stalking a fiend from the shadows is not my usual style. Normally I prefer to face them out in the open and slay them where they stand. But this world...the rules are different here. Just as my life force has been separated into a phylactery, I can only guess that this is true for fiends as well. All the rules for hunting liches must be applied. Only with additional steps to ensure what kind I'm on the trail of. To that end I've been using my role as a merchant to spy on one Madame Elsa, whom I've identified as a succubus. Old hatreds die hard, it seems, as it's taken every ounce of willpower I have not to literally tear her apart whenever I see her. Without knowing what her phylactery is I can't risk tipping my hand.

In my research, though, I've turned up a disturbing pattern. Every year two or three women just disappear and their husbands are then seen with another woman. Eventually they're also killed. It seems that this Madame Elsa hasn't abandoned her old ways, stealing the souls of women before devouring those of their husbands as well. Only I can't figure out what she does with the souls of the women. Such jink--money, in planar cant--would be traded in the Lower Planes for favors and magic items. But here she has no way of accessing usual channels. Is she hoarding them? That's a likely scenario as she's been seen visiting the local doll maker, Levis Dreyev. Dolls make for rather innocuous receptacles of a trap the soul spell. After my durance in the Abyss I've seen what many succubi do to souls they have yet to trade away; thinking about it makes the gorge rise in my throat.

At the abandoned house of one of her past victims I found the burned remains of a contract. With that I was able to use postcognition to read what it had once read. The name "Elsepeth" was written on it, her true name. I can't really give her credit for originality in her mortal name. That's the kind of unoriginality I'd expect of a baatezu. But I digress. Knowing her true name makes her a lot more vulnerable. If only I could figure out what her phylactery is. Something is blocking my powers from locating it. I have no problems spying on her with remote viewing or even my crystal ball but if I try to focus on her phylactery both fail. She may be protecting it with an extremely potent nondetection spell or something else that foils scrying. There's always metaconcert, but...no. The risk is just too great. What little I've discovered about the changes on this world makes me feel the risk is too high. At least until I've exhausted all other avenues of discovery.

This is proving quite taxing to my nerves. I thought Sonia Darkleaf inspired repressed feelings of helplessness and hatred. But a genuine succubus like Elsepeth clouds my thoughts with an uncontrolled rage. Every day I find myself more and more reckless in my pursuit and it won't be long before someone--Ivana Boritsi, the BTC, Dilisnya assassins, the Fraternity, or even Elsepeth herself--realize I'm here. I fear one of them has already found me; the drink with my evening meal was spiked with wine when I specifically said no alcohol. Luckily I could smell it before I had a drink. Tomorrow I'm leaving Borca and returning to Mordent. I'll have to continue this from afar.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Sept. 3, 731 BC)
My hands are cramping as I write this. My new body is still being broken in after what happened the night of my last entry. Death for an extraplanar being like myself in this world is not the end. But it still hurts!

Thoughts of Elsepeth were making it hard for me to sleep so I took an alchemical sleeping draught to help, willing the Amulet to let it affect me. In hindsight that was a bad idea because I was well and truly out cold when I had a visitor in the form of Juli Foxgrove. She'd snuck into my room in Levkarest and stabbed me with her sword, what she calls an unholy reaver, coated in absinthe. That's what woke me up from my slumber. As did the violent retching when the strong liquor hit my bloodstream. She just stood back and watched until I was able to collect myself. This time the effects were devastating. My vitality was sapped to the point I could barely stand. Most of my gear inside my backpack, leaving me badly weakened. Yet I was still able to jump out of the window and run into the surrounding countryside.

I couldn't have made it more than a couple hundred feet before I collapsed from exhaustion. I knew I wasn't going to get away as I heard hooves coming fast on me. So I activated my psionic contingency and everything I was wearing save my clothes were teleported back to my phylactery. Only something fell out of my backpack when I fell, a small red pearl--a power stone of an augmented astral construct, namely an anathemic carapace. Unwilling to let Juli or anyone else get it I did the only thing I could: I swallowed it.

That's when I suddenly felt a tingling in my head and realized I'd lost my ability to use psionics of any kind. Someone had manifested brain lock on me and I'd failed to resist. That's when Juli and others of the Fraternity showed up, as did a hairless man of Thaani stock. Something struck my skull and that's all I remember until waking up in a dungeon. Only this time I was strapped to a flat wooden table. De Casteele was there, as was Juli Foxgrove, the Thaani man, and others that I didn't recognize. Next to me was a chiurgeon's kit laid out on a small table and a man in a leather apron with a cloth mask over his face.

This was a vivisection.

For what turned out to be three days they cut me open, tortured me, and interrogated me. Cure spells were used to keep me from dying and to prolong my agony. Compared to my durance in the Abyss this was child's play. Few beings can match the mastery of torture fiends possess. But it was still a fate I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. All the while they kept a null psionics field active to prevent me from using my powers in between sessions of brain lock and attacks with a mindcrusher mace to drain my power. They likewise kept me from sleeping or even passing out. By the second day all my psionic power was gone and they relaxed their methods of keeping me mentally subdued.

During one interrogation period I began pleading with the Thaani, speaking in his native tongue that I was a hunter of the "four-fingered masters" and that these people were little different. If he was the simple mercenary I took him for he'd have no real loyalty to these people and would also be appalled that he'd helped them hurt someone who shared his hatred of illithids. My faith was not misplaced as he began demanding that he be paid so he could leave. That led to an argument that finally ended in the Thaani man leaving without his pay.

With him gone I could play my final gambit. When de Casteele and Juli Foxgrove both were in the room for a final interrogation I told them they'd only succeed in killing my corporeal shell and that I'd be revived within a day, good as new. But it wasn't they who would strike the killing blow. That was going to be me, with the help of the power stone now making me violently sick.

I think I lost my tenuous grasp on sanity at that point as I began to laugh. Quietly, at first, before building into loud hysteria. Amidst the confusion I activated the power stone and a beetle-like thing with a red body and animal-like face appeared on my chest. I gave it two orders: use it's smite ability on me and then explode. I saw de Casteele and Juli Foxgrove step back...and that's all I remember.

When I came to I was in the basement of Archer Estate, naked next to my phylactery. Next to me was my backpack and everything magical I'd been wearing. My body was restored to full health but it was sore and cramped. That's when I realized I'd have to break this new one in again and if I ever "died" again it would be the same story. It took me a little time to get dressed again before I went back up to the shock of my serving staff and the girls. As I ate, famished by three days of no food or water, I told them about what I'd found and what had happened with the Fraternity of Shadows. I spared them the most grisly details but everyone was still horrified. I think they can finally see why I've gone to such lengths to oppose these people and others like them. A single light can drive back the darkness. But many lights combined can dispel the darkness completely.

Hmm...that may make a good motto for the Shining Force.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

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(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 2, 731 BC)
I've been watching the Cult's mansion for the past four weeks largely due to the fact my body was too sore to do much for half that time. What I've learned is both shocking and disgusting. And not because of anything the Cult does. Rather it's the clientele it attracts and hosts for lengths far too long to be mere alchemy purchases. Sonia has warded the area too well for remote viewing or my crystal ball to see in. So instead I've sent some of the more experienced members of the Shining Force in, posing as buyers, to get a better idea of what's going on. One of them, a rogue named Matthew Harker, noticed several glyphs of warding placed on doors, rooms, all manner of places. Unfortunately it takes magic to decipher such and he couldn't tell me anything beyond their existence. Employees were able to pass through them with some sort of password he couldn't understand. The man speaks five languages so it has to be something esoteric indeed.

Aside from a long list of oils and potions, some of which were highly questionable based on their described effects, he was able to learn the place offers...other services. That entails a membership that is astronomical in price and requires one to commit some deed chosen before they'll even be considered. If I know the Cult it's something that strains morality and is blackmail material as well so folks who do join don't talk. The other service is undoubtedly carnal in nature but goes beyond what streetwalkers or brothels offer. It would have to be for them to charge more than most see in a lifetime as well as force potential members to do something to dirty their hands first.

This kind of illicit service would match those who seem to visit regularly in nondescript carriages. I recognized some of the people who went in as minor local nobles, but most I didn't know. Going by their attire and accents I'd say most are Dementlieuese, Borcan, and Darkonese nobles and merchants. For all that she went out hiding what goes on inside the place, Sonia seems to have forgotten to prevent others from watching what goes on outside. My crystal ball did manage to catch some names spoken by the clients themselves as they waited to be escorted in. Using an alias is something they probably don't think about unless they're within. It's a simple enough mistake to not use them at all times but that's probably why they do it. When you're more concerned about hiding your activities it's all too easy to forget the minor steps in favor of major ones.

It's not as much as I'd like but it's a start. If we can find out who exactly goes there we can put pressure on them to talk. Or even scare them away from the place to cut off funds. There's not all that much that can be done when your finances come under indirect attack beyond protecting the source. When they start doing that it's easy to shift strategies and go after them another way. It's a basic distraction technique that can leave a foe badly overextended or vulnerable as they work to counter everything or completely focus on the new attack and leave the old front weak again. It all depends on the resources they can muster. Even if Sonia uses her powers of necromancy it's a win for us; the undead aren't exactly the most subtle defenses and she faces limitations based on how many she can control and how quickly they can be deployed as needed. Basic economy of force. Plus her public façade needs to be maintained.

As well I've been going over reports by recruiters in my quadrant of the Core. They have leave to offer membership to those who are pure of heart, or at least not stained by evil, but they're also responsible for helping us earn the goodwill of the people as well as earning the trust of the locals to build a network of intelligence and potential patrons within given domains. That intelligence has to be sent back to me or whoever is in charge of a given quadrant for analysis for now. Were our numbers not so spread out I would designate the highest-ranked member in a given domain to act as the local leader. Instead I have to call in members from neighboring domains to fill out ranks and act on what the intel says.

For now, at least, we're keeping an eye on the Fraternity of Shadows and local groups that are a threat to innocents. Then there are groups that have their hearts in the right place but fall prey to hidden traps. The Faith of the Overseer in Darkon is one of them. The Kargat controls the church as an experiment in social control and the Overseer itself doesn't exist. None of the clergy can use divine magic and none of its champions are granted divine powers. Worse still is that when groups affiliated with the Overseer get it in their heads to fight back against the darkness, the same monsters are already aware of their intentions. Even though it has no actual god, the Faith is still an excellent rallying point for those with the courage and mettle to truly make a difference. Or it would be if the Kargat didn't have it under constant surveillance. It's a case of belling the cat. Just as the Fraternity does.

A few of the more zealous members have been going around acting as amateur monster hunters. I will give them credit for actually taking down several threats, including an immature hag. But all of their targets so far presented threats or potential threats to Darkon and Azalin. They're pawns of the same beings they fight. They would make excellent additions to the Shining Force. But until they can escape the constant watch of the Kargat we don't dare approach them. There's also that nagging question of whether we tell them the truth about the Overseer or let them maintain their obliviousness. The former could shatter the faith that sustains them, but the latter goes against our precept of the light of knowledge burning away the darkness of ignorance. It also raises disturbing questions about how the Wolf God and Zhakata, two gods that don't exist but still grant divine powers, work. Are they just putting faces on cosmic ideals? Or is something else granting their clerics spells?

If what I hear is true, the lack of divine boons could be because none of the clergy beyond High Cleric Derakoth truly believes in the religion. He's also a lost one by all accounts, lucid but still not whole. All the rest are Kargat agents and thus wouldn't be granted any power because they follow evil. What would happen if a person of genuine faith and strength of spirit chose to pray to the Overseer for aid? I doubt this group would prove or disprove anything; none of them are trained in how to channel divine power. And until we could get them away from the Kargat it's a moot point anyway.

So much to think about. So little I can do.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 27, 731 BC)
Tonight is Nocturne in Mordent, a time when the locals believe the walls separating the Other Side from the physical become extremely thin. For the past couple of years I've patrolled the streets of Mordentshire on the night of Nocturne when I'm here. It's not glamorous or even necessary but it does earn the respect of the locals who have both supernatural and practical concerns. Their belief isn't entirely unfounded, for one thing. The Near Ethereal does press more tightly against the physical world. Whether the idea is the cause or an effect is a chicken-and-egg question. That this happens at all is what matters. More importantly is that not all the ethereal beings who cross over are the ghosts of friends and family. More than a few times there have been odems, wraiths, shadows, and even callers in darkness. Most don't come near the inhabited areas but there are those that do and need to be dealt with quickly.

Of more practical concern are thieves, bandits, and youthful troublemakers who use the night as a way to cause all sorts of mayhem. Normally the sheriff and his constables can handle them if they have enough people to patrol the whole town. This year they don't and so I had to pull double-duty watching for spirits and brigands. The girls were also out patrolling and between us we could, hopefully, handle anything that came along.

My first stop was to check in at the local pubs before the sun had fully set. Most proper Mordentish would be indoors before Nocturne night, so that always left the dockworkers, laborers, and others who didn't know about the belief or just didn't care. Between the dark, moonless night and a few too many drinks, there were invariably a few who got themselves into trouble of some sort. Most often it was hurting themselves in their blind walks back to their residences but at least a few had fallen prey to possessing ghosts and other entities in the past. Then there was always the threat of one of these belligerents causing other problems. Add to that the fact that the Cult of Elisime had been acting strangely agitated lately and obviously I was worried they'd do something.

About the third pub in as many blocks in I noticed someone quietly eating the house's thin stew as the locals kept glaring at him. He was dressed in a voluminous hooded cloak, kept his head down, and didn't say much. My crystal eye revealed a potent aura of good coming from him but the locals couldn't perceive such. This was a stranger and so he was not to be trusted. Yet it was more than that; the air in the place felt...tense. The local men were just working up the courage to do more than just glare at him. That's when I noticed his jet-black skin and silver hair. Were it not for the fact I could see his inner being, and the symbol on his cloak's clasp, I might have felt the same as them. Instead I held the Dream Staff forward between them and him, telling the former, "Don't." That seemed to work as far defusing their intended violence went but not the hostility. Eventually they would drink one ale too many and start harassing this man.

In Elven I whispered to him, "Finish your meal and meet me outside, follower of Eilistraee," and left to wait. About a minute later he came out and looked straight at me, not hiding his face this time. He was a drow as I'd suspected, one that wasn't discomfited by the bright light of the Staff. The brand on his cheek marked him as one of a group of dark elves who had forsaken their people in the Underdark and their creator, Lolth. During my time on Toril I'd met a few clusters of such self-exiled outcasts. Generations of life on the surface had caused them to lose their natural spell-like abilities as well as their sensitivity to bright light. They had also forsworn the ways of their cousins and taken to worshiping Eilistraee, goddess of good drow, as their patron. Yet many still believed them little different from other dark elves and the drow of the Underdark hated them as traitors as well. Even so most were the greatest champions of good I had ever met.

He was no doubt used to suspicion and aggression from others. My remark about his worship of the Dark Maiden had clearly thrown him for a loop, though. He appeared confused more than anything else. That's when I willed my hat to stop disguising me and let him see me as I am. At that his white eyes widened before he knelt, saying he had been looking for me. Me, as in Alexander Dreamfire, the champion who had sacrificed freedom to return the Sword of Darkness to the armories of Celestia. Suddenly it was my turn to be confused. As he explained it I made a bit of a splash when I willingly came here to return one of the most dangerous artifacts in all the multiverse and was held as something of an example in the Upper Planes. Then there was Kyra, now fully redeemed and stripped of all but the faintest traces of her demonic heritage, who hadn't stopped searching for me.

Just mentioning her name made me panic. I had nearly lost hope our love still meant anything. It seems she has been pursuing greater knowledge and power to locate me even as she proved herself a true champion of righteousness through actions even many celestials felt were beneath them. But for all that the powers still wouldn't tell her where I was. And this world blocked even the most powerful divinations. At times I wonder if my own inability to contact her is a blessing in disguise. She would gladly follow me here and become trapped as well. As much as I wanted to see her again, I couldn't bear the thought of her being held here. A world so saturated by evil that the Lower Planes seemed like a paradise. At least fiends have the excuse of being born of Evil and thus not possessing true free will. Here the evil around me is made all the worse because the greatest evils here, the darklords, had free will and chose to pursue paths that led to their own damnation.

Anyway, he introduced himself as Xanos Lightweaver, an agent of the Court of Stars who chose to follow me here. In fact, he had only arrived a couple of days ago in the Mordentish woods. He was also an admitted warlock--not a priest of Hala but a user of eldritch magic--and redeemed soul. It was his self-appointed duty to find me and lend his magic to my cause. When I asked him why he thought I had a cause he mentioned the countless organizations I had aided in the past. It would only be common sense that if half the stories about the Realm of Dread were true I'd be unable to sit back and do nothing. At least to those who knew my history. I honestly hadn't thought about the implications of the mission that brought me here beyond the prevention of the destruction of reality itself. If he wasn't exaggerating I'd become something of a folk hero in the Upper Planes.

This is why I downplay my actions. I hate fame and celebrity. If my story is going to be told I would prefer that it contain everything--especially the flaws and failures. What lesson is learned by a story of an unblemished hero? The best examples are those that let us learn from both the glorious and ignoble sides of a figure.

Editor's Note: This seems to be the reason M. Dreamfire left us with his journals. By the time he disappeared he had become a living legend and was whispered about as highly as Uncle Rudolph. He seems to want to set the record straight and to highlight his fallibility and struggles as much as the heroism. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

As we walked I explained what I was doing with the Shining Force and why I was out here at all. I was concerned about the potential terrors that might break through but also anything the Cult got involved with. I make no secret of my undying hatred of them. Elisime herself did things to me that I may never recover from. Her cultists did things that I can't put into print, so vile and painful were their abuses. It's taken me this long to admit to myself that the feeling of powerlessness is what motivates me more than their evil ways or the ancient antipathy my people have for her and her followers. I want to hurt them as they hurt me gain revenge for what they did. It's a dark path, I admit, and if I let my anger control me I will do something I will regret for eternity. Faced with them, though, that anger boils hotter than hellfire. Even sixty years after my escape I struggle to resist the taint of evil. Think of the celestials, the most beautiful beings in the multiverse, reduced to the basest urges of the flesh in Elisime's harem, how I could become like them...

That's how my thoughts ran for hours as patrolled for anything unusual. Just as I began to think it was a bad idea to remain out there we were approached by a ghost--a geist, really--sent to find me. This wretched soul was bound in service to a cleric of Elisime who ghost signs to show me a message. The message was a taunt, an attempt to get me to go in blindly without thinking. In my state of mind I might have done so had Xanos not talked me down. Instead I began questioning the geist, able to communicate with it verbally thanks to my blood. From it I was able to piece the truth of the mansion's secret services. It was the Hydra Club all over again, only with a minion far more powerful and resilient than a jahi running things. This time Sonia was using one of her own cultists, a powerful cleric formerly of the Eternal Order, heading things up. As expected, given her misandry, the cleric was a woman. And she seemed to truly relish her role to the point she was on a drive to recruit--willingly or otherwise--more young men and women, especially non-humans and half-Vistani, as "workers" for those with tastes for the exotic. There wasn't much else it could tell me that I didn't already know; the entire mansion has thin lead plating in all the walls, floors, ceilings, and doors to keep ethereal intruders out.

When I was done it--he asked me for one favor: peace. He explained he had been brought back my powerful necromancy and found this new existence too much to bear. To return him to the grave for good I would need his remains, kept in the cleric's quarters, and bury them in hallowed ground. I couldn't sense any insincerity and agreed. He seemed to realize it wouldn't be easy to get in and warned me that the glyphs were attuned with unholy blight spells. As an extraplanar being I wouldn't just be hurt by such, I would be shunted somewhere else and then be unable to return to the mansion for twenty-four hours afterwards. He did tell me the password that could bypass all of them, but it's a crude bastardization of Dark Speech that turns my stomach at the thought of speaking it. I've known for years that Sonia is versed in the fell language, but it seems she isn't sharing the true form with others. Thank all that's holy for that small favor.

Regardless I made a promise to bring peace to a spirit and I must see it through. Tomorrow night I try. Going in without any prior knowledge of the layout is risky. But as I can't find out through any supernatural means I don't have much choice. There's also the risk that the geist is tricking me, knowingly or not, or that its controller will know what I'm doing. And the fact I'm going into a place dedicated to the Cult brings up all those feelings I try to suppress. Screwing this up won't just mean a soul is left to suffer, it will cause retribution against other innocents.
(End transcript)
Last edited by High Priest Mikhal on Wed Jun 04, 2014 11:40 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Oct. 28, 731 BC)
The geist, Joseph Archer, has been laid to rest. But not without cost. To myself and to one other after the cleric, Serena, discovered the theft. As well I've discovered the dark secret beyond potions of spells that are as vile as they are rare.

I found a hidden entrance to the mansion on one of the outer walls that led into the forest. It was disguised by potent illusion and only my crystal eye allowed me to spot it. This connected directly to halls hidden within the walls of the mansion itself. That in itself wasn't surprising; such things are actually pretty common in illicit organizations. What was surprising was that there were spyholes to each room but not openings. There were only two rooms that had paths in. One was in the room of the mistress, the other to a sparse, Spartan room with a single bed, nightstand, and table.

All the other rooms, at least on the first floor, were rooms where the mansion's alchemists worked and slept. On the second were rooms decorated in erotic artwork and fine silks and velvet with an attached washroom. These were the rooms where men and women, of both genders and varying ethnicities and races, lived and undoubtedly worked as high-class prostitutes. At this time most of them were unoccupied and those that were had an ethereal resonance of strong lust and powerful ambition. Strangely there was nothing negative about any of it. Rather it seems the people here chose to become what they are. For a place as sober and conservative as Mordent that idea had to be quirky, at best. In other countries it's common and accepted.

The second floor was also where Serena's room was. I had to bypass a rather nasty magical trap on a steamer trunk to get to the yellowed bones of the geist, held in a burlap bag and tossed in as if they were nothing. It was an indignity to the dead that, to a former Eternal Order sentinel, was a horrible blasphemy. That could also be precisely why she'd treated them as such. A holdover and a show of devotion to Elisime's doctrine of perversion. In this case a perversion other faiths' beliefs. I didn't want to think about what an anchorite so converted would do before I left without a trace and began heading back down.

At least until I heard a shriek of anger echo through the walls. I had to put my hands over my ears to bear the sound and still there was a ringing afterwards. Someone stormed out of Serena's room and I could follow the footsteps even inside the hidden passages as they ran down to the first floor and finally to a basement. Part of me wishes I hadn't done that. The rod of stalking let me leave the passages unseen and enter into the basement where a shrine lay. A crude stone altar was against the far wall, topped by a stone statue of a voluptuous, hermaphroditic woman with bat wings and long hair. An idol of Elisime. That alone would have made me physically ill but there was also a smell of strong alcohol there. All I could do not to wretch was hold my breath.

A woman stood before the assembled congregation who had been chanting prayers. She was older than the rest of them, a mature thirties with only faint lines around her eyes, a trim if seemingly malnourished figure, and pale blonde hair that seemed white. From her tone she was as upset at someone entering her room without permission as someone stealing the remains. The folks there tried to mollify her, addressing her as "Mistress Serena," by saying none of them had done it. For a moment it looked like she believed them before she drew a longsword and disemboweled one of the male congregants. That kind of wanton cruelty isn't exactly uncommon among Elisime's own but death is. She turned to the others and stated that the man she'd just killed had been seen snooping around her quarters before. The rest were to search his own room for clues as to where the stolen bones might be.

At that point I quietly slipped out and escaped through the hidden passages. I should have known but it really hadn't occurred to me that a functioning temple to Elisime would be there. That's all I could think about even as I headed to the graveyard next to the temple to Ezra and dug a hole with the trench spade. Before I knew it I had placed the bones in and buried them. That was when the geist reappeared and thanked me, telling me his name and story.

Joseph Archer was a Mordentish émigré to Darkon who had been claimed by the land. Serena was his granddaughter, possessed of a dark streak since childhood. After losing her parents in the first Dead Man's War she made the decision to join the Eternal Order as a young child, both as a means to power and for a chance to turn the undead on the Falkovnians. She did so ten years ago, a full year before Drakov's fourth invasion attempt. A small group of Talons had crossed the border at the same time she was in Corvia. Before anyone--or anything--could alert Azalin she used a small horde of zombies to mob them. Though they destroyed them they were weakened enough that she was able to personally cut each down and then animate them. When she showed him what she'd done he was appalled, both at her use of the undead and that she would be so foolish as to kill Talons. In a fit of rage she killed him and allowed vermin to strip his body clean of flesh. Only later did she decide to use his spirit as a tool, unable to bring him back as anything more than a pitiful geist.

When she carried his remains into Mordent months ago he regained his old memories even in death. When Sonia contacted her to send me the taunt she used him. It was pure luck he found a person who could communicate with him and give him the peace he had been denied. Now, at last, he could pass on.

This Serena...no wonder Sonia had recruited her. She's a psychopath, willing to do anything in the pursuit of her ambitions. That kind of mercilessness would have been perceived to serve the Cult well on the doorstep of its biggest perceived enemy. And if she kept herself in check it would. But if what I witnessed is an indication, Serena won't even bother to hold back. She'll most likely end up powerless and rendered a mere piece of meat to be abused by the others. She violated one of the central tenets that lends the Cult stability by cutting down one of the faithful. It's common for torture to be used as punishment. Paradoxically, murder of another faithful is very much taboo. It disrupts the idea of the Cult being an extended family against the outside by reducing the lives of the "family" to a disposable level.

It's paradoxical for those of us outside the Cult but it makes perfect sense to them. That in itself is a reflection of Elisime who encompasses both law and chaos at once in a balanced neutrality. Her layer in the Abyss likewise coexists on Hades, making it neutral ground in the endless, eternal Blood War. She is also one of the few powers I know of that has followers among both the baatezu and tanar'ri at once. In her they find, or are forced to find, a common ground and work towards a common goal. They don't have to like it, they just have to do it. Paradoxes for a paradoxical power.

It's sick but I have to admit I'll enjoy watching the drama of Serena's fall from grace unfold.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Nov. 3, 731 BC)
Even as I've helped Xanos settle into Archer Estate I've kept an eye on the Cult's mansion. Up until today all was quiet. Then my crystal ball spied Serena being led out in manacles. They then secured her in a pillory and proceeded to lash her repeatedly with a heavy leather whip until the back of her dress was shredded and she was bleeding profusely. All that time she was gagged as well. They then hung a sign around her neck, "Betrayer," and left her. Not once did she use any magic. It seems she really has been stripped of her spells and abilities. I'm surprised they're using such a public punishment. But if they're following the Cult's edicts as I remember them this is merely a lead-up to the real punishment. After a full day and night outside she'll be taken back in for the real indignities to take place. It's a terrifyingly effective way of both breaking a person's mind and showcasing just how far they've fallen from grace.

It scares me that I find pleasure in this. Brianna and Maxine both say I have every right to feel the antipathy I do. But even I draw the line well short of torture, which is essentially what she'll face. I'm torn between freeing a woman so thoroughly evil and unrepentant that she killed her only real family, or leaving her to a punishment she earned under the tenets of her newfound faith?

My moral dilemma was quickly solved for me when Sonia herself appeared with her own twin lieutenants in tow. I couldn't get the sensor in close enough to hear what was said but Serena was taken inside early. Elisime demands sacrifices but not blood sacrifices. Her tastes lean more to the esoteric such as breaking mind and soul for the energy released when a person is made into little more than an id-driven shell. In some ways that fate is even worse. It's bad enough when a soul is immediately sacrificed, but this torment can last years, decades, even centuries before death.

I doubt the disciples of the Cult even realize the full gravity of what they're doing. Most scholars of the planes can't seem to comprehend the nature of death and the afterlife despite knowing about petitioners. When Serena dies her soul will endure torments best not put into words even after the horrors she faced in life. Even outside the Land of Mists such people are called "lost ones" and for much the same reasons those lost to madness are called such. Their inability to seek to atone, thanks to their broken minds leaving them lost, is a cruelty of the multiverse. They pledged their souls and even the vagaries of fate won't excuse them in death.

Such is just one cost of evil.

The Cult's presence is something I can't let stand now. I had hoped to give them more time to grow complacent but if they're recruiting new cultists that changes things. Most of the locals don't particularly like the place already but that isn't exactly hurting their wallet as I'd expected since business from the few who do go there, as well as Dementlieuese and Richemuloise clients, more than pick up the slack. Instead I've been trying to dissuade the local farmers and merchants from selling to them. Playing on their mistrust is easy enough to do and already I've seen members being openly rebuffed when they try to buy food and goods. That may have been a factor as to why Sonia showed up today; cutting off the supply of food and alchemical ingredients presents a problem that doesn't play into her strengths. A cleric of even middling power can cast create food and water but that's a strain that will cut into their ability to continue producing potions. Many magical items could also alleviate the problem but that means creating such, which is costly and time consuming. Importing food is another option and that could easily play into the Archer Trading Company by inflating prices for them as well as the power of rumor to paint them as not paying their bills among other traders. Either way it's not too hard to cut them off.

Even when--I don't doubt they'll work out a solution--they deal with that, there's always their clients to go after. The power of public humiliation will do much to shame them away. That in turn will hurt them financially. Since the place is more about making money for the Cult than anything else they won't have any choice but to shutdown if it turns into a financial sinkhole. It's not feasible to stop them from simply moving and starting up again in some other domain, but this is more about setting an example as well as protecting Mordent from their influence. This is the heart of the Shining Force and my home; they'll have to take it over my cold, dead body.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 29, 732 BC)
Undermining the Cult's local branch is working out quite well, even if it did take longer than I had anticipated. With the one-two strike of food now difficult to obtain and their once-steady clientele too ashamed to go back they've been struggling just to meet their own needs, much less produce potions or serve as a brothel and illicit club, much less a cult. I've even managed to secure their only real chain of supplies through the ATC, charging them half again what the goods actually cost. Even the Boritsi Trading Company won't work with them after the rumor mill started churning. Ironic that all that coin now goes to their greatest enemy. Since all of this only applies to their Mordent base, it's also been having the intended effect of driving them to leave. It's not a sure thing yet, if our spies are hearing things correctly, but it will become a serious issue if they continue to struggle as they have been.

This has occupied so much of my time and thoughts I forgot about the annual meeting of the High Council for the Shining Force. Thanks to the soul seeker medallions created last year we've seen a boost in overall membership. This has been tempered by the fact that a number of former members had to be purged when it was discovered they were infiltrators hiding behind some sort of illusion, transmutation, or natural ability to shapechange. Those of pure heart were allowed to stay while those stained by evil were confronted and often killed after attacking. Others managed to get away and alert others. This is something we'd anticipated long ago and even figured out how to use when it did happen. There's nothing people like more than rumors and bards tales of a doomed hero. So much more interesting is the idea of a group of such. Naturally stories will be greatly exaggerated and details altered to better fit the target audience. "Hiding out in the open" like that will actually be more effective than absolute secrecy.

Better still is that only those truly determined--for good or ill--will bother to look beyond the tales and seek out the truth. Those we wish to find us will be guided through a series of trials to prove their dedication to our ideals. Others can easily be misdirected or given the idea that we're just a rumor when nothing pans out. That doesn't mean we won't keep an eye out for prospects we will approach personally. Just that most will be filtered out without any effort on our part. It's also the perfect way to build up a reputation among non-adventurers that still seek to do good. So many of the people here wish to do something to effect change but believe they can't. We can offer them the chance. Others we've already been courting can act as one of the most widespread and, to the people in power, unnoticed spy networks. Simple kindness is one of the most effective weapons in a war for the hearts of the people. Curing or healing an ill or injured loved one, shielding those who can't fight back from their oppressors, even a simple meal and a warm place to stay. All are a far more effective way of earning loyalty than intimidation and violence.

Keeping the reality secret is still paramount. For both our own safety and those who would offer us support or we offer aid to. For all the horrors the Fraternity of Shadows visited upon me I've not betrayed our secrets and have actually planted the seeds of faulty information when they held me last. It's a rather extreme example of sending our foes off after red herrings but it's working. As well they don't seem to realize I'm not actually dead. Lord de Casteele escaped without injury or he was promptly healed before it could cause lasting marks. Juli Foxgrove, however, now has burn scars across the right half of her face. How they'll react to the revelation I'm still very much alive is something I'd sooner stave off as long as possible. In their eyes the Force was decapitated by my "death" and they're growing complacent. It's been easier for our spies to copy information they've collected and some of the more dangerous items are having harmless forgeries made. We will swap the fakes out and either store or destroy the real items, depending on if the knowledge is capable of being used for good. Personally, I'm not sure a lot of it can be used without severe consequences.

Apart from the purge and its consequences, there have been some advances. Orwin was able to establish a minor base in Teufeldorf in Gundarak. The local temple of the Morninglord was actually quite happy since it also serves as a base and training ground for the Heralds of the Dawn. This is also good for us since our primary activities there are hunting down vampires and the sharing of practical experiences has already saved lives and sent several parasites to a permanent grave. It's also been enlightening regarding someone I hadn't heard of: Daclaud Heinfroth, an alienist that is engaged in bizarre experiments. By all accounts he accidentally turned himself into a vampire by transfusing himself with the spinal fluid of one of Gundar's brides-to-be. What did he expect to gain from such a dangerous act? At best he could have expected paralysis or infection from the transfusion of foreign material. Now he has to feed on the spinal fluid of others instead of blood to survive. Something tells me he's going to be a person of interest.

There's also finally been some information about the Cat's Paw in Valachan. I wasn't surprised to learn that von Kharkov is using the nosferatu ability to charm bite victims as unwitting spies for the Black Leopards and the priests of Yutow. How we found that out was largely by accident. A relic known as the Tale of Ages held by the witches of the Hospice of the Healing Hands was read aloud on the vernal equinox. Doing so apparently emulates the effects of break enchantment and freed one of our newest member's minds. Observations since and looks at historical records have revealed a pattern of anti-government activities until a spate of white fever breaks out or a shipment of pickled foods from Castle Pantara arrive and things return to normal that occurs annually. Mystical studies of the pickled food have revealed the presence of vampire blood every single time. I'll admit it's a stroke of genius in attempting to charm as many of the people as possible. It's still a vile scheme that should be opposed but I find it cunning.

The only other item of note is that the Ashen Fever in Sithicus is spreading far and fast. The tonic I created is being rejected outright by the xenophobic elves who weren't there to see that it does help. You can't help those who won't help themselves. I admit it's hard to tell if one is cured since the disease only gets worse yearly, without magic or even a microscope to determine if it's still in the blood, but my own tests bore out that the tonic can force the disease into remission in as little as days. Orwin thinks the Sithicans will still have the gall to be haughty that no one helped them if and when it ends. Given my experiences with the Silvanesti of Krynn that's quite likely.

In the southeast the rumors of the Shining Force have spread fairly rapidly thanks to the bards of Kartakass. And already the truth is hopelessly muddled--just as anticipated. It has had an effect in Hazlan as the oppressed Rashemani latch onto the hope it provides. Niela has even appealed to an ancient tradition of the Rashemani berserkers to oppose the Mulan, even using herself to show that the Mulan are a "soft, weak people terrified of those they enslave." This blatant agitation has gotten her fellow Mulan upset, not to mention the Church, but Hazlik himself is notably apathetic to it. Not many of the Rashemani have actually done anything but the foundation for a network of spies has been laid.

Only Barovia has offered much else. The Thaani I encountered with the Fraternity has spread the word of my existence in the town. Some have even expressed interest in studying under me. This is actually a major boon as psionics are so rare here that few outside of the illithids of Bluetspur know anything substantial. Certainly the Fraternity is still ignorant of what psionic powers can and can't do. Plus psionics can easily be hidden with concentration. The end effects are quite often not subtle but the ability to hide the fact one is responsible for what happened has uses too vast to go into here.

As for the northeast, Dratha was unable to do as much as she would have liked after becoming pregnant and giving birth to a healthy baby daughter two months ago. Had she sent a message I could have gone to her personally instead of her travelling all the way here from Tepest. She took my concern well but insisted it was no trouble. She also wanted to ask me in person to be the godfather to her daughter. I was actually quite flattered and really couldn't refuse. She's planning on raising her daughter in the Shining Force itself, albeit without her knowledge until she's old enough to understand. Raising new members from birth is something I really hadn't thought of. It does bother me to put pressure on someone like that but it's also one of the best ways to ensure our own future.

As for the northwest, I admit I've been too preoccupied with the Cult of Elisime to do as much as I should have. The others are aware of its existence from past mentions but not the specifics. They feel it's something we should be actively opposing. As much as I would love that we don't have the numbers for any sort of sustained activity. Plus the Cult isn't the group using secrets about the world to gain power. That's why we formed the Shining Force in the first place. Opposing evil is a core goal, yes, but we have to prioritize. Right now the Cult doesn't warrant much attention aside from what I'm already doing. Our resources are spread thin as it is and something else has been bothering me.

Madame Eva's reading about Hyskosa's Hexad.

At this rate we won't acquire the numbers I had previously hoped for in time. Rather I've decided to shift focus to quality. Those who are active members as opposed to our support network should be trained and given the chance to gain real world experience and equipped with the best gear we can provide. When the time comes that the Signs pass, we should be ready to disrupt the events if we can. Since we don't know where or when each event will occur we need to prepare all of our bases. I doubt we'll be able to thwart all of it but it seems that Azalin is going to be the one to cause things to collapse at the eleventh hour. If Madame Eva's reading is correct, that is. All we can do is brace ourselves.

Editor's Note: From here the Journals grow increasingly cryptic and speak in codes that Alex M. Dreamfire alone would truly understand. My sister and I have read through countless entries and still not found where they start speaking plainly again. So far we've read as far along as 734 BC and are getting into entries in the beginning of 735. We'll resume publication as soon as we find where the code stops and provide a synopsis of events as well. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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High Priest Mikhal
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Re: The Lost Journals

Post by High Priest Mikhal »

Editor's Note: Our reading of M. Dreamfire's journals seems to have been largely in vain as we found the following note tucked into one book where the entries are no longer encoded.

"If you're reading this, it means that the time to release my journals has come. The previous three years' entries are likely to make no sense. That is due to the fact I detailed critical details of the Shining Force's growth and evolution that I could not allow to fall into the wrong hands. This is not a judgment of my fellow champions of light, but a precaution against others who will no doubt get their hands on copies. To those who would seek to break the cipher: understand that without a working knowledge of the Words of Creation it's impossible to understand them. But at this time it's safe to provide a brief synopsis of events.

For the intervening three years the Shining Force was the focus of most of my time. We weathered a few storms in Borca, Invidia, Richemulot, and Dementlieu but came out stronger for it. We began to grow large enough to establish permanent bases in various countries as far as Nova Vaasa and Valachan. Xanos became the fifth and final member of our High Council as well as managing the northwestern corner of the Core. I became able to travel around as a result and helped establish a system of travel routes, common customs of recognition, and other vital if dull tasks. There was also the reading by Madame Eva all those years ago haunting me. As well as the ominous words of the Dukkar, Hyskosa.

"In the house of Daegon the sorcerer born,
Though life, unlife, unliving shall scorn."

Even to this day I can't be sure exactly who was involved, but in brief a dread artifact known as the
Crown of Souls was brought into this world; its potent evil created a short-lived place called Daglan and made Daglan Daegon, the creator of the Crown, it's ruler. The item was spirited away to Dr. Heinfroth on orders of Duke Gundar by persons unknown, but was then stolen back and Daegon's descendent, and evil priestess known as Radaga, was killed by someone wearing the Crown, resulting in its own destruction. During these events Duke Gundar himself was also destroyed by those same people who destroyed the Crown. I wish I knew more, but I was not involved in the events. Where this picks up is just after word of these events reached me. At the same time I first noticed...something...going on in the planar fabric of the Land of Mists as you will read.

Oh, and as for that mansion built by the Cult of Elisime? It took me three years to evict them from Mordent. Sadly they just moved north to Dementlieu and have remained there since."

M. Dreamfire declined to comment on this note. It has been left to us, gentle readers, to solve the riddle.

--Gennifer and Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove


(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 14, 736 BC)
Bah! I've got to stop writing in code. It's bad enough that the Shining Force is using it as a secret language now. That I've begun to dream in that argot is worse. More than once I've found myself answering in it to others who aren't in the Force and had to correct myself. Best focus on putting my thoughts in order...

Had I not traveled to Gundarak myself I might not have believed it. Duke Gundar is dead! Yet his prison remains, at least for now. Heinfroth, now calling himself Dominiani, has assumed the crown after the apparent deaths of Duke Gundar's two children. After the horror stories I've heard about all of them I'm not sorry to see them go. Yet Dominiani remains an unknown and our base in the borders of Gundar is trying to feel out the situation. With Gundar at least we knew how to operate without causing any undue problems or attention. Now we have to figure out how this new ruler is going to operate.

Then there's that bizarre shift in the planar fabric I felt when Duke Gundar was killed. Having now been there I can state with some certainty that the place is unstable. Like a boat without an anchor but floating in calm water. Dominiani is the only force holding the domain where it is and his grasp it tenuous at best. I dare say he's more like a placeholder until somewhere more fitting for him can be found. This is at once amazing and terrifying. The land can be molded and shaped, that much we know. That it can be transferred to another is likewise established fact. But that the new ruler has so poor a grasp speaks of something more than the "Dark Powers" at work.

Given what I've heard of the events in Kartakass and Gundarak, the same ones that led to Duke Gundar's destruction, I returned to the prophecies of Hyskosa's Hexad. "House of Daegon" can only refer to this Daegon Daglan and the Crown of Souls. The First Sign has occurred. Given that this is supposed to lead to a Grand Conjunction makes me believe this world is beginning to fall apart. Gundarak is just the first and will not be the last.

The next three verses are so oblique that none of us can make sense of them. The last two, though, are interesting because they refer to things we do know about. Inajira, the arcanoloth whom Strahd signed his legendary pact with, is a being I know all too much about. His fortunes reversed seems to indicate someone going back in time to prevent said pact from being made. The "time before" where "happiness leads to hate" likewise seems to revolve around Strahd when his jealousy of his brother, Sergei, and love for Tatyana, drove him to damn Barovia to the Mists. If correct this means someone--I'd put my money on Azalin--traveling back in time to prevent the formation of the Land of Mists. This kind of mucking around with time is dangerous at best and is not easily done. Only the illithids, whose own efforts took the combined might of untold legions, have ever traveled back in time to my knowledge. Even the gods can't--or won't--do it. Not even Chronepsis, the Dragon God of Time.

But again the reading by Madame Eva indicates that the "dark king who is a puppet" would seem to indicate that Azalin will eventually cause the events to occur out of order and cause the Grand Conjunction to collapse. If Fate was written in stone I might be tempted to leave it alone and let the lich-king ruin his own plans. Yet time is fluid and what is to be is never certain until after it's happened. There's also that bit about "one who uses temptation to get what they want facing one who pursues good above all." That could easily be construed as Sonia Darkleaf and me. But I'm not one who pursues good above all. I fall prey to temptations, to vindictiveness, to petty agendas that benefit no one but myself. Above all else I'm more than a little self-centered. The writings in these journals is evidence of that.

Maybe it's a group that the reading refers to. Certainly the Shining Force pursues good above all other concerns in what and why it does what it does. That would make more sense since it's not just Sonia but her growing Cult that is being opposed as well.

There's just so much to take in and to do without concerning myself with this prophecy all I'm doing is going in circles. Besides, I told Rudolph I'd go through his latest draft of his Guide to Ghosts before it's published. What time I do have to myself is only at night before I go to bed. His Guide to Vampires presented so many new facts I couldn't add to it. But ghosts in this world I do have experience with. And they don't play by the same rules that outlander ones do.
(End transcript)
"Money is the root of all evil...I think I need more money."
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