The Lost Journals

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Viktal, Tepest, June 30, 741 BC)
Research into my "condition" has stalled as I've exhausted all known records from the Core and even a few domains lost in the Mists. What scant few references I could find to beings who had any sort of effect on reality as I and Maxine do turned out to be tall tales, ascended beings of pure heart, or even hags in at least two cases. Granted there are collections of knowledge even I can't access for various reasons. But not even the storehouses the Fraternity of Shadows uses to hoard information and artifacts have been any real help. Reportedly there is one place that might have more. The only problem is it's inaccessible to everyone: the Shadow Rift. If the tales of Arak are true, there's an entire fey kingdom hidden under the roiling black fog. Certainly the existence of the so-called shadow fey does support this notion. Only I've no clue how they escape into the surface world if true. What few times I did encounter a shadow fey they weren't in the mood to answer my questions; two "redcaps" I had to "destroy" as much as anyone can destroy a fey creature, while the "carrot-tops" I met were simply too engrossed in maintaining a small grove since I didn't have any unique plant samples to give them.

I did come to an interesting conclusion while testing the stories of the Tepestani who tried scaling the walls of the Rift. In each they reported themselves and others becoming "less real" the further they descended; my own attempts using my armor to fly down showed no adverse effects on me. I surmise this is because the Rift is in reality a domain like Barovia or Mordent and there is a darklord at its heart that has "closed" its borders. If true, this means I can enter freely thanks to my reality disruption. Further testing this very day further confirmed my suspicions as I was able to fly over a mile downward and not once experience any side effects. Other than the realization the Rift is far, far deeper than anyone suspects. I suspect even with the ring on my left hand I could fall for hours and still not come close to the bottom. The black fog that blankets the surface is thick enough that even sunlight is completely blocked a couple hundred feet down. Whatever is at the bottom is completely cut off from the rest of the Core.

I'm not crazy enough to just jump in and hope for the best, so I've also spent some time gathering what Arakan legends I could to try and find out more. The only thing of note are tales of the "temporal dilation" that miners encountered the deeper they went. That's actually a good sign because identical features are found in faerie realms throughout the multiverse. It supports the idea that the shadow fey really do have an entire kingdom at the bottom. I know it's a long shot that they have any information I'm looking for, but I'm growing desperate to find answers. What is happening to me and what might happen terrifies me on a level no creature or individual could. Especially when I've had objects slip through my flesh in four different instances in the past month. Each time it happened, I seemed to have lost corporeality momentarily. Just like when I begin seeing beyond the Near Ethereal, I had to "flex" something to bring myself back to reality. Not-so-strangely, objects I've anointed with my blood to protect them from my reality disruption I could still touch and handle even while I was immaterial. Perhaps these things are related?

Again, so many questions, no real answers.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Malachite Palace, Shadow Rift, ??, ??)
It's been a crazy few weeks (?) since I last wrote. When I exhausted all possible sources of information, I finally made the decision to take the leap--so to speak--and enter the Shadow Rift. Which was literally me flying out far from the walls and letting myself fall inside. According to my enchanted watch I fell for a little over eight hours before the ground appeared in the distance. Immediately I noticed what looked like a perfectly straight divide between grassy green land and barren stony terrain. Literally you could step over an invisible line separating the two, the divide was that abrupt. As soon as I touched the ground I took stock of the rest of my surroundings, spotting what looked like a tomb cut into the rock wall of the Rift. I didn't have much time to take things in before I was accosted by the undead, mainly zombies but a few I recognized as the worm-infested spawn of Kyuss. It didn't even take me a few seconds to slaughter them all and then be attacked by massive nightcrawler, something that required more strategic thinking but still wasn't too difficult for me to face alone.

Within moments of slaying the creature, I was approached by a being with the body of a man and the head of a donkey. He introduced himself as Alrax and asked what I was doing there. When I said I'd come from the surface he seemed surprised and said I clearly wasn't a lee-due, or mortal, but I clearly wasn't Arak, either. Given my "history" with a nymph when I first began adventuring, fey creatures have ever since seen me as fey as well. But the way he said Arak ("shadow fey") made it clear that I was something different in his experience. My prior experiences in fey etiquette proved useful here as I immediately knew how not to respond and simply asked where I could find the nearest library. He agreed to aid me if I beat him in a drinking contest or a wrestling match. Given my allergy to alcohol, I had to wrestle him. This creature was far stronger than he looked but was still outmatched and was as good as his word when he directed me to the Malachite Palace. To that I just nodded and left, knowing better than to say "thank you."

In truth the Palace was several miles away and I had to fly there. Immediately upon arrival I was swarmed by fey who were equal parts curious and cautious. The fact I was literally glowing with light made a few uncomfortable, though Alrax hadn't seemed put off by it. As I was answering questions from what I took to be guards, a tall woman with silvery hair and wearing white silk clothes came out from the Palace. The rest immediately stopped everything and bowed courteously, something I quickly did as well. When she came up to me and began talking, I realized this must be their ruler. She introduced herself as Maeve and asked me who I was and what I was doing there. My answers seemed to intrigue her because she asked me to come with her inside the Malachite Palace so we could talk in more comfortable surroundings. I just obeyed and what followed was several hours of conversation, mainly her asking me all about who and what I was even as she explained to me what she and her people were. What I learned in that time was equal parts enlightening and terrifying because I'd heard parts of it before.

Before coming to this world, even before my durance in the Abyss, there were rumors of a horrifically powerful fiend in the Plane of Shadows who'd kidnapped a race of fey beings to use as slaves to build an army before its sudden disappearance. By all accounts this creature was equal to a god in power and had already begun attracting a powerful coalition of entities determined to stop it when it did disappear. This caused all sorts of questions and concerns before an expedition to the Plane of Shadows found evidence of an abandoned settlement and traces of a magical rift that was completely sealed. Beyond that, no one could find out more and soon enough the matter was forgotten about. It was always assumed the creature had taken its slaves to some unknown world and was either destroyed or had accomplished what it set out to do.

Now I know what really happened. The Twilight, as the Arak call it, had indeed opened a portal to another world but its slaves fled into it while one, Arak the Erlking, fought it to a standstill in the dimensional corridor. When Maeve herself sealed the rift, the creature was trapped inside and became imprisoned in this plane thanks to its own power. She seemed genuinely surprised I knew anything about it and was intrigued enough to invite me to stay with her at the Malachite Palace. Knowing how mercurial the fey are, I know I'll be dismissed as soon as I stop being "entertaining" to her. But this is the perfect opportunity for me to find out what the Arak have collected about this world and the creatures within. And I can be quite entertaining when I put my mind to it, as Maeve found out when she invited me to her bedchambers. Given how clingy she's been since that first night, I guess I made quite an impression.

In the time since I've been poring over the Palace's library, transcribing a great deal of information I'd never known before, when I'm not being trotted out like a prize steed or entertaining Maeve in private. Two things still elude me: the calendar the Arak use and the original information I came here to find. I've not even scratched the surface of this collection so I'm not losing hope yet for the latter. Given the lack of seasons in the Rift by Maeve's own admission and the temporal dilation, learning how the Arak measure the date and time isn't a huge priority. The only thing that I'm all that concerned about is when Maeve's "Seelie Court" leaves for her winter palace and her brother Loht's "Unseelie Court" takes power. I've yet to meet him but what I have heard about him indicates our personalities would clash violently. Confusing and aggravating matters further is the unanswered question of whether or not I'm subject to the Law of Arak. To the Arak I fall into a gray area since I'm neither mortal nor shadow fey. Since I've never even harmed a shadow fey during my time in the Rift, and the few times I did on the surface were always in self-defense, there's arguments I should be subject to it out of simple courtesy and to protect other shadow fey.

I knew my coming here would have consequences and not just for me. But I seem to have grossly underestimated what they would be.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Malachite Palace, Shadow Rift, ??, ??)
It's been three weeks since I last wrote. I think. Without the usual cycle of day and night it's easy to lose track of time. And with most of my time spent buried in books and scrolls, things have been running together. But I did find what I was looking for when a portune showed me how the Arak organize their bookshelves. I just wish the information was comforting.

A journal written by Eudemius, a planetar (one of the greater angels), had been stored and all but forgotten about. What he writes about is identical to everything I've noticed happening with me. The reality disruption eroding reality itself, the need to suppress that aspect, seeing beyond normal reality and into the underlying workings of the plane, all of it. He also wrote in time how he began losing cohesion with objects and people not anointed by a drop of his blood, becoming more and more incorporeal until such time that the planar barrier was like gelatin or gum during the last years. Nothing he tried would reverse or even slow it down. Since the journal ends before his final fate is known I can only surmise he was forced out and able to return to the Upper Planes. Given the stories of the Unspoken Pact, it's easy to figure out why I've never heard of Eudemius before. The powers (gods) do not let their servants talk about this world.

If the dates he writes are accurate, he was here for roughly sixty or seventy years before he was ejected. I've been here for forty-one so my time is running out. I hate the idea of not being able to stay and continue fighting for the good in this world, and especially being forced to abandon my friends and allies. Also the one question this doesn't explain how Isolde is some sort of exception to these rules. Given how she lacks the usual powers of a Ghaele eladrin, something she says the powers of Arborea deliberately stripped her of before coming here, I'm left with the assumption that the Court of Stars had to "prepare" her before the was allowed to enter here. Eudemius made the mistake of investigating a portal opened by a cubic gate and I came here to retrieve a dangerous artifact stolen from Mt. Celestia with my only preparation being a weapon I've never used that was given to me by the leader of the Celestial Hebdomad. In short, we weren't subjected to the same sorts of limitations beforehand.

This just raises so many more questions that I know will never have answers. It also means if I want to keep my promise to aid people like Ren who want to escape, I'll have to redouble my efforts to find the quasi-mythical scroll of return. I've had the Shining Force investigate rumors about it before but it's always been a fairly low priority. Now it's going to be a top one. Especially if I stay in the Rift too long given the temporal dilation ("temporal fugue," that term makes no sense to me).

Since I don't want to offend my hosts and this is such a rare opportunity, I'll have to make more of an effort to engage in Arak society and see what I can learn. Especially since the library here is proving far less useful than I initially thought. There's a plethora of books but so much of what they contain is contradictory, factually incorrect, or just plain useless. What few gems I have gleaned relate mainly to the Rift itself and to some interesting insights into the natures of darklords in surrounding domains. Things that could be of use and in at least one case explains current events. The Force's members in Hazlan will certainly want to know what happened to Hazlik during that time.

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Esmerth, Shadow Rift, ??, ??)
The Courts changed rulership for the year a week ago. I was introduced to Loht and almost immediately we disliked each other. To him I'm an interloper that has no business associating with the Arak in general, much less his sister and ruler of the Seelie Court. To me, he's overbearing, elitist, and clearly projecting a sense of guilt about something. But in the politics of the Shadow Rift such things are never even acknowledged publicly. It was only in private that Maeve even told me she suspected it was him, and not the Unseelie Court's whip Jozell, that broke the Law of Arak by leaving Tristessa and her infant child to meet the sun. If that's true, he's committed a truly unforgivable act and by all rights should be cursed by the Dark Powers for it. Yet he doesn't seem to be suffering from such.

Speaking of the Law of Arak, a consensus was finally reached about my status under such. Since I'm not Arak, I'm not subject to its protections or its consequences. By this point I've proven I am both more than capable of defeating even the mightiest shadow fey and am not a threat to those who don't attack me first, so it's essentially a moot point. Aside from the saugh (undead) I've not had to defend myself against anything since my arrival here. But my ability to project an aura of light at will, even if it's only harmful to the saugh, still makes some Arak mistrustful of me. Thankfully I've had no reason to demonstrate my true abilities regarding light or their antipathy would undoubtedly turn into fear and hatred. That's something I wish to keep secret for now.

So far I'm finding Esmerth to be pleasant enough, if a little claustrophobic since it's inside a cavern. Every "night" Maeve has taken me to listen to shee bards singing and using the unique harmonics of the cavern as part of their performances so I must tip my hat at such cunning use of natural features. It actually reminds me of the crystal songs of my home world but without the prismatic shows by channeling light into said crystals. Not for the first time I regret not learning that skill; I'm certain even the Arak would appreciate the displays. My artistic skills are predominantly in the realm of martial arts displays and, ahem, the bedchamber.

One thing I've come to greatly appreciate is Maeve's private library in her "winter palace." Unlike the one at the Malachite Palace, this one is smaller but has far less superfluous content. She's even been helping me to better understand what I'm reading by engaging me in discussions of each book and showing she has a far greater understanding of the realities of this world than she lets on. For all the airs of a flighty courtier she puts on, it's a ruse to hide how keen her mind really is and how much she truly comprehends. It's an attitude I've seen countless times before because it works; her foes underestimate her and don't even notice when she's outplaying them at their own games. The breadth of knowledge in her library is naturally limited to those subjects most important to her but do include things not found elsewhere like dossiers on the leaders of surrounding lands, including their darklords. I always knew Azalin's name was really a bastardization of a term from a country on the world of Oerth, but I'd never had a chance to find out his true name until now. Other than the Words of Creation, though, it's not much use because I lack access to the historical records of that world.

Maeve seems delighted to have someone she can converse with on things like the nature of the Plane of Shadows and the hidden truths of "prominent people" like Ivana Boritsi and Vlad Drakov. More so someone who can teach her all new things about these subjects. I also admit it's a nice change from the idle entertainments of our time in the Malachite Palace. The one subject I was truly horrified to learn about was the Cult of the Spider-Queen, which I immediately recognized as a "corruption" of the already vile teachings of Lolth, the chief goddess of the drow--the dark elves of outlander worlds. While knowledge of this religion is public among the Arak, exact details have been all but expunged because of how hated it is. What the so-called zelldrow have turned it into is, if anything, even more heinous and repulsive because it lacks any of the usual restraints that keep the church in drow cities from becoming too excessive. In this world, there is nothing to stop it from degenerating into a murderous group of fanatics who will do literally anything to achieve power. It was that very attitude that caused Tristessa's destruction: she laid with a demon and birthed a cambion, a half-fiend. So she and her newborn child were staked to a rock to meet the sun.

If Loht was the true executioner, this makes his crime just that much more heinous. Cambions are usually completely evil, but there's always a chance they can be turned away from the darkness. And the murder of a child makes me physically sick. After learning all that my dislike for Loht turned into a smoldering hatred.

The one other subject I found most enlightening was something I didn't expect. There were passages from Eudemius' journal that had been torn out in Maeve's library recording his time in the Shadow Rift. Apparently the time spent there did not "count" towards his loss of cohesion as he spent years in the Rift without his condition advancing. I theorize this is because the effect is dependent on the passage of time on the surface as the true measure, which means it could take twenty-six years in the Rift before I noticed any change. This actually comes as a great relief because it means I'm not as pressed for time while I'm here as I previously thought. The opposite could be true, which means the Rift could act as a place I can perform lengthy work without worrying about my own loss of cohesion. What those could be I'm not sure of yet, but it's encouraging nonetheless.

Why Maeve allowed me to learn that last bit is mildly disheartening, though. I can read her like an open book and it's clear she did it for selfish purposes; my distraction prior meant I wasn't being the most attentive to her wants and needs. Very well, then. It wouldn't be the first time I've been forced into this sort of quid pro quo.

Editors' Note: Here M. Archer's journals begin detailing things during his time in the Shadow Rift we don't feel comfortable publishing due to its salaciousness and at times morbidity, gentle readers. Suffice to say that our author spent another five "years" in the Rift before returning to the surface. -- Geniffer Weathermay-Foxgrove
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Aug. 9, 741 BC)
I've returned home after a subjective five years in the Rift much refreshed and with some new ideas for the Shining Force. One of the things I discovered was a unique spell called egress, a short-range teleportation that can work on a dispersed group if they all have the proper spell focus on them and return them to a designated point. As a fifth-tier spell it does require a somewhat experienced caster but it's tactical uses are immense. The only major downsides are the spell foci are quite expensive and the return point itself requires a spell focus to act like a beacon. To justify the time to create them and the costs, it would be more practical to incorporate the spell foci used by targets into magic items.

Editor's Note: My sister and I believe we know what these foci are. M. Archer left us each a kind of badge with the Shining Force's emblem that can turn any melee weapon we wield into powerful holy weapons for a minute. Obviously this is more useful to my sister than myself. -- Geniffer Weathermay-Foxgrove

Another downside is if someone else takes a focus, they'll be teleported and not the person it was meant to. There are enchantments to prevent unauthorized people from using items, but that's going to add to the cost. That's something I gave a lot of thought to while in the Rift. The Archer Trading Company can't really make more money without new trade routes and partners. The Boritsi Trading Company already has deals with most of the groups I can think of and infringing on their claims will trigger a trade and shadow war I want to avoid. The only option right now is to establish contact with a land called Rokushima Táiyoo, a land whose culture and language are identical to ones I've encountered on different Material worlds and is eerily similar to my own people's ancient culture. Most cultures of the Core don't understand the unique etiquette Rokuman culture demands and this has severely hindered attempts at establishing trade relations. I have the unique advantages of not only knowing the language and culture, but of actually being a type of kami (spirit) worshipped by their religion, a heishin no yumemiru (lit., "dream spirit").

The biggest hurdle is dealing with the daimyo (warlords). Rokuma culture is highly stratified and militaristic, with strict castes of the nobles, warriors, heimin (half-people, like farmers and most tradesman), and eta (non-people like criminals, gamblers, and those in "unclean" professions like butchers and others who deal with dead bodies). Gaijin (foreigners) are barely a step above eta due to their perceived barbarity for not knowing proper etiquette. As I said, as someone who knows the culture and a kami I would have immense advantages in establishing relations. But the daimyo, from every report I've heard while in the Rift and since returning, are so materialistic and paranoid they would likely perceive me as a threat at worst, an exploitable resource at best. Especially if their fascination with firearms is any indication. I shudder at the thought of giving them guns; they're men who would reportedly sacrifice all of their subjects to destroy each other.

Unless I go, I can't be sure of anything. The code of bushido (lit., "Way of the Warrior") is deeply ingrained into the culture and one of the core tenets is respect for those below you unless they do something to dishonor you. The daimyo almost assuredly don't care but those who work for them can't all be dishonorable monsters who disregard the peasantry. If I can find the right things to trade, I may not even need to supply them with guns. And I can't establish what that might be unless I go myself and find out. Which is going to require a sea voyage; I already feel seasick.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Sept. 27, 741 BC)
Something is wrong with the books for the ATC. While preparing for the trip mentioned earlier, I pulled all the reports from the various branches to determine what unique crops and products would sell best where and noticed some subtle discrepancies spread across each. Small enough to be chalked up to simple clerical mistakes at first glance but too widespread and consistent to be so when you look at it all together. Someone is skimming funds and changing the official records before they come into Mordent. Someone with knowledge of the company's inner workings. Too many things are being sold to add up to the amounts reported, even accounting for taxes and tariffs. That's not counting things that are reported "lost" but still arrive to customers. By my estimates, the ATC is losing almost thirty-four percent of all earnings. The amount missing would make this trip unnecessary since there would be more than enough to satisfy the investors and still leave enough of my share to funnel into the Shining Force.

So far there are two people that are always involved. Blaine Hammersmith, the head of accounting for our headquarters, and Emilia Greentree, his assistant and liaison to the branches. Emilia is a skilled wizard and versed in teleportation magic, hence her position, which means she has the perfect opportunities to change the records. Blaine rarely ever leaves Mordentshire but has contacts at each branch and is intimately familiar with our bookkeeping system. It doesn't look good for either one, though either or both may be completely innocent. All the evidence is circumstantial for now.

The trip is scheduled to take at least three months, including the time it takes to sail to Rokushima Táiyoo. So to test my hypothesis that one or both are responsible, I plan on taking them both as well to see if them being removed from any position to cook the books doesn't change what's reported. Even if they're both innocent, this is a good chance to teach them the intricacies of proper Rokuman etiquette and courtesy as well as the nuances of trading with the culture. My gut is telling me neither is at fault but they're still somehow responsible. We'll see what the trip turns up.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Sea of Sorrows, Oct. 14, 741 BC)
The preparations for this voyage were rushed and it shows. I've been forced to hand out meals from my everfull sack of food to account for a dangerous lack of provisions, when I'm not hanging over the side vomiting or laying down and too nauseated to move. A lot of the sailors are asking why I don't make such items standard issue on all ATC ships, given how it can provide quality food and allow for more cargo storage. They got their answer when we ran into an antimagic field today, one the sea charts listed but we should have been well clear of. Someone was changing the captain's measurements and it didn't take much effort to find out who.

When Blaine Hammersmith reported, his cousin, Natalie, came with him. She immediately raised red flags for me based on her behavior and words. She wasn't there to protect him but for her own, selfish reasons. Reasons she made abundantly clear as I lay in my cabin, asleep for the first time in days, when she tried to drive a dagger into my chest. The toughening of my flesh during my durance in the Abyss alone was enough to blunt her attack and prevent even a nicking of the skin, though she did damage a perfectly good shirt. I awoke immediately and reacted by grappling her to the ground as she tried to continue slashing at me. When the others arrived and found out she'd tried to kill me, she was locked in the brig and interrogated thoroughly. It seems she'd been the one skimming funds from each and every ATC shipment, stockpiling a massive amount of coin in a Borcan bank. She knew that if I asked Blaine or Emilia Greentree what was going on she'd be caught and decided to try and kill me instead. Even if she'd succeeded, I'd have reformed twenty-four hours later and simply teleported back to the ship while the crew tried to figure out what a sack of flesh and organs missing any and all bones, tendons, and muscles was doing in my cabin.

I convinced the captain to head back to port both to drop her off for trial and restock on supplies. We will be heading to Rokushima Táiyoo but not before we make proper preparations and ensure we're on the proper course.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, the Mists, Nov. 21, 741 BC)
The Mordentish authorities kept all of us on land while they interviewed us and investigated Natalie Hammersmith. What they found was even more disturbing than attempted murder and embezzlement. The grounds around her home in Waterford were filled with shallow graves containing human bodies I had to identify, all of them associates of hers who confronted her about what she was doing over the years. That was more than enough for a jury to convict her of serial murder and see her hanged in just two days. Given how dark her soul was, I stayed to watch over the body after it was cut down and was not disappointed when her ghost rose that night. The same noose that ended her life was enough to lay her to rest permanently, a lucky guess on my part. I must be far more jaded than I thought if the whole affair seems so blasé to me.

Given the harsh nature of the seas this time of year, a whole new ship and crew had to be located. We wound up sailing under Captain Amanda Waverly, a salty half-elf who loves to jab me for "not having sea legs." Despite her rough edges, she's easily the best sea captain I've sailed under and knows how to motivate her crew. We set sail just three days and are already passing through a Mistway. Whether it's the right one or not remains to be seen. There's land in the distance but the Mists are obscuring any details even with telescopes. Given no one has plotted the currents or mapped the lands of Rokushima Táiyoo, we're sailing blind.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Chuugoka, Rokushima Táiyoo, Nov. 23, 741 BC)
So much has happened in the past two days I've not had time to write them down. It began with Captain Waverly spotting rocky shoals a mile off the shore and wisely dropping anchor before we got too close. We were preparing to send a dinghy to shore despite the setting sun when I felt the mystic tug of a summoning spell, one too weak to compel obedience but strong enough that it could teleport me to the summoner. As I'd already changed into clothing more appropriate for the culture in preparation, including a daisho (matching swords) and dropping the transmutation that hid my true form, I allowed myself to be taken. In an instant I appeared inside a wooden shrine brightly lit by paper lanterns to find the resident miko (shrine maiden) being assaulted by one man and the temple's aged sohei (a monastic guardian) being stood over by another while a third hung back, trying to talk sense into his compatriots and failing miserably.

In Rokuman culture there's a concept called tatemae, roughly "public feelings." It's considered poor manners to become visibly emotional in public. So despite my rage, I kept a calm face as I cleared my throat and asked what the two men thought they were doing in my shrine. The miko took advantage of the distraction to free herself and hide behind me, fixing her kimono so rudely torn open. The one that had been assaulting her just clenched his teeth and drew his katana while the others backed away in fear at the sight of a heishin no yumemiru (lit., "dream spirit") appearing suddenly and obviously furious at their conduct. The one just growled at me to "stay out of it" to which I asked if he meant letting him have his way with a defenseless woman followed by a mind arrow that knocked him senseless when it struck his forehead. It was meant to stun, not kill, since losing a fight is a horrible disgrace for a samurai (warrior nobles). I followed up by picking up his slack body and tossing him out of the temple and into the mud, followed by breaking his blade in half, another horrible disgrace.

The other two just fled in terror. I then helped the sohei up and healed both his wounds and the miko's before asking what had happened. She, Ayaka, explained that the local daimyo ("warlord") was allowing his vassals to do as they wished but there was scant little that could be done about that. She had actually summoned me hoping to acquire the aid of a "dream-eater," another type of dream spirit that banishes bad dreams, to help a child in the village who was suffering enervating nightmares. While that's well within my power and even remit as one of the kami ("spirits" or "gods"), my kind are better known as defenders of the weak against those that would abuse their power, laws and social mores be damned. Ayaka actually joked it was a good thing she summoned me instead because the man who was attacking her was a powerful samurai who was within his legal rights to attack a heimin ("half-person"). As a shaman she is not looked upon well by the upper classes, despite the fact most peasants trust her over the haughty shugenja.

I wasted no time in asking her to show me to the child suffering and she took me to a hut in disrepair. The boy's father had been killed by soldiers a month ago and his mother could barely walk, much less do repairs. It didn't take me long to find and destroy the greater dream spawn haunting the little boy's dreams, nor to psionically restore his weakened body and mind. The look of joy and gratitude on his mother's face was more than enough reward for me. They put me up for the night and I insisted on helping them repair their home, even healing her lame leg afterwards. It didn't take long for word my presence, much less my deeds, to spread and attract the pleas of others in need of help. Unlike in Sri Raji, there weren't so many people I exhausted my reserves healing serious injuries Ayaka couldn't. But it was a painful reminder of how badly hinins ("non-people") often live; they don't even have proper names, instead calling themselves by their professions.

The part of town inhabited by heimins I never got a chance to visit. That would be where I would find traders and merchants I could make deals with. Assuming the daimyo didn't interfere. I have the horrible feeling I will be dealing with him before I finish what I came to do. Especially if the stories about his feud with his brothers and his interest in gaijin ("foreigner") weapons "that spit fire" is true. The people suffer enough without their oppressors having access to firearms but I know all too well how much worse things would be if they did. I've seen entire cultures destroyed by hostiles that had access to guns when they didn't.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Chuugoka, Rokushima Táiyoo, Nov. 24, 741 BC)
My meeting with the heimin traders didn't go as well as I'd hoped. The one thing most of them want is the one thing I refuse to supply to them and the daiymos: guns. I am not going to supply the four warlords with weapons that can puncture steel armor or mow down entire towns with barely a sweat being broken. The people here suffer enough under the weapons they do possess. So my choices were immediately limited in whom I could even do business with.

What traders I could reach agreements with are mostly agricultural traders and eager to trade foodstuffs and seeds for raw materials that are hard to come by. Mostly iron and steel, as well as coal and types of stone lacking on the islands. The sample of pink granite I brought from the Lieben Farms proved especially popular with the few artisans willing to cut a deal. There's actually a major demand among the Core's aristocracy for scroll art from these lands, as well as fine porcelain goods and most especially silk products, all of which they could supply in limited amounts given they don't have access to the same resources their rivals do. The same rivals that want muskets. It's better than nothing and one of the key crops being offered is ginger. I have tried eating ginger-laced foods from the ever-full sack of food but it doesn't do a thing to prevent seasickness for me. Not even ginger root from it works. Knowing the magic used to create it, I guess I'm not surprised. Just as magically created materials can't be used as spell components short of those from true creation, which exacts a toll on the caster or manifester, created foods wouldn't help outside of providing nutrition. Or maybe I just can't form the mental image necessary to create such because it's been so long since I tasted the real thing?

I will say this: the restaurants here served food I've not had since I left home. Kelp salad, kome rice, miso, dashi, soy sauce, wasabi, even sashimi made from skipjack tuna. These are the foods of my childhood and it was a joyous experience to eat them again. Not even those times I've encountered identical cultures on other worlds did I have a chance to eat these things. If anything on this trip, I was going to ensure a healthy supply of those foods and other things just for personal consumption. Mordentish food is fine if a little bland when it's not an experience. But sometimes I just want a taste of home. The only thing that could have made this perfect would be mochi stuffed with adzuki beans for dessert.

I was letting my dinner digest and even singing with some of the local barflies when that same man who almost assaulted Ayaka came in and began screaming at me. He was clearly drunk and just looking for a fight with me to salve his dishonor, even if he slurred half of his words. So I obliged him and led him outside where we at least wouldn't damage the restaurant. Only he was barely able to hold his katana, much less himself, up. This wouldn't be a fair fight even if he was sober but his condition made it impossible for me to lose. So much so I didn't even have to draw a blade. He just retched all over the ground and passed out before I could. It was hard even for the stoic Rokumans not to laugh at his display. I just turned his head so he didn't suffocate in his own sick and went back to the shack I was renting for my visit.

There are still three other islands to visit and hopefully more merchants willing to trade for something besides guns. I have the entire Core and even some Islands of Terror to trade goods from. I brought samples of every good and ware I thought would appeal to the Rokumans. There has to be something.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Chuugoka, Rokushima Táiyoo, Nov. 28, 741 BC)
It's been four days since I last wrote and I've been to each of the other islands and their major cities since. This trip wasn't a total waste, but it has been disappointing from a business standpoint. In Reshiya on the western island a group of bandits known as yakuza control all trade through protection rackets, extortion, brutal violence, and outright murder in some cases. They can call themselves "noble protectors of the common people" but the reality remains that they're criminals I will not deal with. Worse, the people tolerate and even pay them because they're less trouble than the local daimyo's people. If I had a low opinion of the warlords before, then it could be called abyssal now.

Beikoku on the northwestern island proved to be a far less troublesome. The island is very mountainous towards the western half but that means the people have a wealth of resources from them as well. Most notably the clay used to create porcelain, something the artisans of Borca and Dementlieu would go crazy for. The merchants selling it are more than willing to trade it for "exotic" foodstuffs like sugar, bananas, melons, and even coffee. I've been cultivating all those crops at Lieben Farms' underground areas for the past year but they're also in high demand in the Core so what I can supply will be limited until the underground is expanded to accommodate more plants. Not to mention goats for the last one, given how coffee "beans" are actually processed.

Editor's Note: I asked M. Archer about that last line. You don't want to know if you like coffee. -- GWF

Actual craftsman are likewise willing to sell their finished goods for simple gold just to pay the exorbitant taxes levied on them. The sparse land available for agriculture means the daimyo can't gain much revenue from farmers so it falls to the crafters to pay. Given the quality of their goods, that won't be a problem. Actually shipping the goods will be a problem given the city is several miles in from the coast of the Poison Sea. The Archer Trading Company is going to have to build an outpost miles to the north and far from the main road given the coastal geography. That meant dealing with the nobles who technically own the land on behalf of their daimyo.

If the common people respect and revere kami like me, the nobles seem to hold us in contempt as "lesser spirits" compared to the elemental lords spoken of by the shugenja. I wasn't about to cause a scene because I wasn't given the "respect" the Rokuman religion says I deserve, but I couldn't let the blatant insults go without losing face among them and the common people. I had to play the part of the insulted spirit and make my displeasure well known verbally and even physically by destroying an heirloom tea set. That's when the shugenja in attendance attacked me with a brace of spells that failed to actually harm me, forcing me to knock him out with my mind blade. I think the sight of a blade of pure force I could call up at will did more to impress on the bunch of them how bad an idea it would be to insult me further. Especially since I was apparently unarmed when I visited. That meeting pretty much ended any plans to build the outpost on that island.

That night I teleported back to Chuugoka intending to visit Eikoku, the city on the northeastern island, the next day. Only for that same samurai from before to appear with his two subordinates in tow. If he was itching for a fight that second night, this time he wasn't going to settle for anything less than a duel to the death. Specifically a quick draw duel called iaijustu. My daisho is a greatly enhanced sun blade and an equally enhanced luck blade, enhanced beyond the capabilities of even master wizards like Azalin to create. His blade was high quality but mundane. Like I wrote before, it was an unfair fight even when he was sober and would be even if I had the same blade he did. We just stood and stared at each other for several seconds before I saw him tensing to draw his sword. Instead my superior reflexes bisected him in stroke faster than the onlookers could see. One moment he's fine, the next he's split in two and one of the most unclean fluids in the Rokuman religion of Shinto was spilling on the ground.

One of the two that followed him fled in the direction they'd come from. The other just knelt and asked to be killed "like his master." It's a grievous dishonor for a samurai to be without a master or clan, ronin. But even on our first encounter I could tell he was a noble soul, horrified by what his superior did but aware he couldn't do a thing if the other two ganged up on him. It hurts to be in that kind of situation and I felt like he didn't need to die. Instead I told him to stand up and pledge himself to my cause. Despite what the code of Bushido might say, it's actually common and accepted for samurai to switch sides when their chosen lord is defeated in battle or proves dishonorable. It's a greater dishonor to serve a lord that violates the code. Besides, I had a feeling he was closer to a paladin in heart.

This man, Asahiko, and I talked in my rented hut well into the night about Bushido, what honor really means, and what his gut was telling him. By the next day he agreed to serve me and help protect the town as well as the eventual outpost the ATC would be building just a couple of miles to the south if the local nobility agreed. He seemed relieved and even revitalized by his decision. I also got the feeling he and Ayaka had met long before what happened, happened. It turns out they were childhood friends before he was adopted into the nobility and she felt the spirits' call. His shame at not stopping his superior led to him begging her for forgiveness, which she gladly gave him. Had he tried to stop it, he would have died.

My trip to Eikoku was somewhat more productive than the one to Beikoku. There were more merchants willing to trade for goods and gold rather than just for guns, but still not as many as I'd hoped. More silk farmers and weavers were willing to do business than in Chuugoka, as were farmers of adzuki beans near the mountains. I was very willing to pay them just for a private supply of such. But the greatest find was a roaming clan of artisans and ordinary soldiers looking for permanent employment on one of the other islands. They'd upset the local nobility needed some place else to stay. If nothing else I could set them up in Chuugoka and retain their services to craft Rokuman goods to trade back in the Core. If I can negotiate a deal with the nobility for some land to setup an outpost, they'll be the first local employees of the ATC. I paid for them to be taken by boat across the Great Mirror Lake to the town where I would hopefully be able to find them existing homes and workshops. Otherwise I would have to pay for such to be built. That half of the artisans are smiths or ceramicists means I likely will have to pay for some buildings since they require stone for their forges and kilns and that's not used in most buildings outside of the hearth or ovens for bakers.

Upon my return to Chuugoka I was told the nobles want to speak with me the next day. By now word of my actions, both in helping the people, looking to cut mercantile deals, and in slaying one of their vassals had no doubt reached them. I hope they're more respectful than the ones from before. I really want to start trade with Rokushima Táiyoo. Not just for the ATC but for my own personal edification. Even if it's in limited quantities, I want regular access to the food. I can't just go without anymore. It would drive me insane.

Editor's Note: My sister and I once had the chance to sample these foods in a ceremony M. Archer referred to as "kaiseki." It was no less ritualized than the multiple course meals we were used to and the food was exquisite. Steamed vegetables, grilled fish, various teas, fresh and pickled fruits, rice with that broth he called dashi, and the soup called miso. The only awkward part was that the utensils we're used to weren't used. Instead the Rokumans use wooden sticks to pick up the food or sip from the bowl. We had a hard time with it but he was a patient teacher showing us how to hold and use them and with the mess we caused. Also, mochi is apparently a dumpling of rice dough stuffed with various things. The adzuki beans are red in color but delightfully sweet. It was a truly pleasurable evening. - LWM
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Chuugoka, Rokushima Táiyoo, Nov. 30, 741 BC)
Things could have gone worse with the nobility. When I arrived at the chosen estate I was immediately surrounded by guards and escorted to a room where several people in fine kimonos sat on an elevated floor while I was told to sit on a mat on the floor, still surrounded. As much as they were trying to appear superior and unperturbed, their body language made it clear they were terrified of me. In the time I'd spent on the island I'd given the hinins reason to hope for a better life and protection from their "betters," handily killed one of the nobility's best and most skilled vassals, and worst of all, I'd made their daimyo afraid and he was taking it out on them. They absolutely refused to name him so I still have no clue who he is. As much as the shugenja want to portray the kami as weak local spirits and nobility of every island wants to believe that, I'd made it clear we are anything but weak.

I let them posture and bluff for half an hour before they finally let me speak. As tactfully as I could I confirmed I didn't care about their sovereignty when it came to harming those they ruled or the "rights" they gave their vassals to do so. There was a time in their history when the castes were not set in stone and even the most destitute peasant could rise to become the shogun, the absolute political leader of the land with more day to day power than even the emperor of the world they originally came from, and I reminded them of that. The Celestial Bureaucracy would be appalled at what they and their daimyos have done to the land and even the people. That humbled them save three who were quick to accuse me of being a false idol, with one actually charging me with his wakizashi drawn. The guards immediately backed away and let him. I quickly impaled him on my mind blade to the utter shock and horror of everyone else in the room.

To attack me like that was the height of rudeness and callous disrespect for any kami. By their beliefs I would have been within my rights to slay them all and burn the entire town to the ground. Instead I asked them why I shouldn't do just that if they were going to violate the rules of etiquette so and even the other two who accused me bowed down, begging me not to unleash my wrath. I dismissed the blade and sat back down, telling them I would not punish the town for their actions but I would be demanding tribute in the form of land on the coast and leading into the town, as well as a proper dock for large ships. All of it was to be agreed to in a written contract with each of their seals included. Finally, they were to stop demanding the local merchants trade me only for guns because I would not be supplying them.

They quickly agreed and had a scribe write up the contract, thankful I wasn't asking them to commit seppuku (lit., "belly-cutting," a form of ritual suicide to restore lost honor) for what they had done. But I have to admit that cowardice lowered my opinions of them even further. Their culture demanded they be ready to face death with stoicism at any time. Instead they demonstrated hypocrisy and clear weakness of character. When the last one pressed their seal on the scroll I personally rolled it up and took possession of it, ensuring they couldn't destroy it later and claim they'd made no such deal. Something I fully expected them to do given everything they'd said and done so far. They were easily the most dishonorable people I'd met in my time there.

News of the agreement was met with a great degree of joy by both the heimins and hinins. The southern island wasn't that prosperous compared to their neighbors so this was a chance for everyone to benefit. The artisans and merchants were also more than happy to strike deals not involving the trade of firearms and I easily tripled the agreements I'd been able to get from the two northern islands. That alone made this trip more than worth the time and expense. Many also began plans to build the dock needed to handle ATC ships, planning to use the quiet winter months to shape the wood and stone to begin assembly as soon as they could once spring came. That was fine since it would take a full season to grow the crops they wanted and even some magical storage to preserve them once they did ship.

Asahiko and Ayaka have agreed to be my arms, eyes, and voice while I'm away. I've also decided to give Asahiko a gift on the first return ship, a manual to train as a kensai ("sword saint"). The only copy I have is not in Rokuman and will need to be translated for him. He possesses the honorable streak and abilities necessary to become such and I fear he will need the abilities of such to act as a protector of the outpost and possibly the town as well. Once their fear is forgotten, the nobles will no doubt try and cause problems using hired thugs and samurai under their control. In the same vein, I gave Ayaka a strand of my hair so she could use her magic to contact me instantly if necessary. Now that I've been to this land and know where to go, I can teleport here at will.

One last thing. During the night I was contacted by a geist calling itself Shinpi Haki, a being so evil it had to be this land's true ruler. He commended me on improving "his lands" when his sons seemed so intent on destroying it. I made it clear I didn't do any of this for him or his sons but he didn't seem to care. I could have easily driven him away by unleashing my reality wrinkle but I decided to let him stay and brag and posture. There was something rather amusing in seeing a being who had clearly been an absolutely vile individual in life reduced to a state as impotent as that of a geist. Especially when he ranted against his condition and its inability to stop his own progeny from trying to kill each other and undo everything he'd spent his life building. Apparently the rumor that there were originally six island and two had sunk once their daimyos had died was true before the remaining four were pulled into the Land of Mists. Now? It would be a fitting curse for Shinpi and his sons both that it remain true here. Even if one came out on top, what good would it do? His island would be the only one left and all his efforts would be for nothing. Or maybe his island would also sink and Shinpi would remain as the ruler of an empty expanse of water?

Just from listening to him, I got a better idea of the character of his sons. As he abused the code of Bushido in life to attain six islands, so would his spawn do the same in their efforts to best each other. No wonder the nobility here was so pathetic; they were mirrors of their lord.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Dec. 9, 741 BC)
I've finally returned to Archer Estate and look forward to a quiet winter. I did stop at the Lieben Farms and help organize additional boxes for the growth of banana trees and coffee cherry bushes, as well as melon plots. With the aid of druidic magic and some magical boxes to preserve freshness, we should have everything ready for the first shipment to Rokushima Táiyoo ready before spring. Before I can begin growing soybeans to make my own miso, however, crops of rice need to be cultivated and stored before being inoculated with koji (a fungus used to ferment foods). That's going to take a few months all told even with magic, so I'm rationing what I've brought back.

The estate's staff have also taken quite readily to Rokuman food once I showed them how to prepare it using more local ingredients. Almost as much as the Rajian foods I showed them after that trip. The one dish they absolutely love is tempura, rice flour battered deep-fried vegetables, seafood, and even meats. The problem is you have to serve it fast or it gets greasy. I know of ways to lengthen how long it can go but those involve making the batter with a neutrally-flavored spirit and I have a severe reaction to such. The alcohol never fully cooks off. They can eat that all they want so long as they warn me about it.

Also just today I received a letter from Brianna and Maxine who are off adventuring in the eastern Core, particularly in Nova Vaasa and Darkon. It's good that they're doing what they can to help others and help themselves grow, but I worry about them attracting the wrong kind of attention in those particular countries. Namely that of Azalin or the amorous attentions of Sir Tristen Hiregaard. The former for obvious reasons but the latter because all of his romantic interests wind up killed by the criminal Malken. What time I did spend in Nova Vaasa was in Egertus and the Clinic for the Mentally Distressed, seeing little else as I helped Dr. Illhousen with his patients and the depredations of the Nightmare Court. But even there I heard stories of the sadistic ways Malken likes to kill his victims. That was sixteen years ago but Malken has apparently never been caught. If my suspicions are correct, he can't be caught. To even confirm those I would need to return to the land and speak with Sir Hiregaard, something I'm loathe to do just yet.

All told they're doing fine and have begun to better understand things about this world I wish I personally didn't. They're almost ready for the highest echelon of the Shining Force, an achievement that unfortunately strains the aspirant's sanity depending on how much about this world they've learned. I wish that wasn't the case but knowledge that dire exacts a toll. Said knowledge is also our greatest, and sometimes only, weapon against the very forces we fight against.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Lieben Farms, Borca, Dec. 22, 741 BC)
This was just supposed to be a quick trip to check on the underground farms' progress and help harvest some of the ripe crops. Instead it turned into a fiasco with Ivan Dilisnya's "tax collectors." I was helping haul up a crate of sweet potatoes when they appeared outside the walls, demanding to be let in to "investigate" and "make sure we were paying what we owed." We're indentured to Ivana Boritsi directly, not these hired thugs or their foppish employer. Even by the loose standards of Borcan law what they were doing was illegal.

When I went out to meet them I realized they weren't going to leave peacefully. They were kitted out in heavy armor and even had a cannon with them, already loaded and primed. I gave them one chance to leave, and did manage to scare off a couple of them, but that left fifteen men with murder in their eyes. Before the rest of them could even react I had drawn my mind blade and sliced the barrel of their cannon off mere inches from the breach, ruining it. Their response was to gang up on me, leaving themselves open to a whirlwind of slashes that cut them all down instantly. Their apparent leader, who had stayed back, just turned tail and ran. I just borrowed a cart, loaded up the bodies, and hauled them several miles by hand to Levkarest to register a formal complaint with Ivana's officials. Even she can't ignore this kind of blatant attempt at undermining her authority. By the time I returned it was well after sunset and a snowstorm had come in. The workers were shocked to see me at the gates, apparently unfazed by the bitter cold or the mass slaughter I'd inflicted, until I went inside and collapsed to my knees.

I'm not made of stone and don't enjoy killing even when it's necessary. I know those men would have done far worse to the people here if we'd let them in. They weren't here in any official capacity; they were just looking to pillage, rape, and take over what would make a fine fortress for them. I've encountered too many others with those same looks in their eyes and lived to regret sparing them. There are still more crops underground that need harvesting and I fully expect Ivana Boritsi to send someone here to investigate what happened, so I can't just go back to Mordent and forget about all this. I doubt I'll make it back before the new year starts.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Lieben Farms, Borca, Jan. 3, 742 BC)
Ivana's representative just showed up today, a full week after we'd harvested the last of the crops underground and shipped them off for sale. In that time I've been planning how to compensate for the Black Widow's clear lack of interest in securing these lands against her cousin's depredations. Shining Force members are always here, if hidden away to avoid the tax collectors raising our dues. The problem is there are no easy egresses from the underground base to the immediate exterior, just one several hundred yards away. That's clearly an oversight that needs correcting and we've already begun excavating one to handle the next such incident. Since, as I expected, the feckless bureaucrat sent has no power to do anything or even any idea of what needs doing. I just sent him on his way with a report that we would be hiring "mercenaries" to act as guards and thus our taxable income would drop as we pay their wages ourselves. She won't like it but only insofar as it impacts the money she can extract.

I have to admit that I'm tired and frustrated with everything right now. A long-planned expedition that pays off in unexpected ways gives way to what could have been a disaster for the people at Lieben Farms and the ATC as a whole had I not been here. As the only Force base with any sort of public front, I should have planned for things like this. It's such a simple thing but those are often the ones that get lost in the details. I know I'm beating myself up but I can't stop.

About the only positive thing from all this is I was there when the first crops of rice were ready to harvest thanks to druidic magic. Crops set aside to foster koji alone. Now we've got soybean crops to grow and those are insanely harsh on the soil they grow in, requiring extensive fertilization after harvesting to be useful. We'll need volcanic ash or rock to easily replenish what's depleted, meaning we can't use magic this time. There are several vents that could supply what we need but they're dangerous to get near in the best of times, much less winter where snow hides what could be dangerously thin crusts of earth. I actually fell into a scalding pool while harvesting some rock just two days ago, protected by my rings from any actual harm but I dread to think about what would happen to someone not protected. What I got still needs to be broken up before it can be spread around the growing trays, anyway.

I'll stick around long enough to help finish the tunnels and then I'm returning home to Archer Estate for the winter. I've had enough of Borca for a while.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Rivalis, Darkon, Jan. 26, 741 BC)
Brianna and Maxine have returned and I admit that seeing them again has lifted my mood. I've been letting my responsibilities overwhelm me lately and it's really hurting my physical and mental health. Not to mention the dread I felt at what initiating the two ladies into the final rank of the Shining Force would mean. We did just that yesterday and, surprisingly, neither succumbed to the madness that comes with lifting away the scales. I should have guessed as much but I still feel that gnawing dread in my stomach whenever we do that. Even if magic and my psionics can cure them in an instant, the experience can still be quite harrowing. The Council of Heroes is set to meet in a week where they will begin taking on more official duties, though their vows of obedience to me mean they will be placed under my command directly and we will work as a team from now on.

Beginning with a visit to Darkon to help Valerie. She returned home before I left for Rokushima Táiyoo and three days ago I received a letter from her asking me to help her with a renewed investigation into her brother's murder. Five years ago we lost the trail after it was obscured by powerful magic and accomplices both. Now she's certain she's found out who the killer is but refuses to say anything more in writing. Knowing her, she must fear who or what she suspects is the killer if she won't tell me except in person. That's not easy to accomplish given her skill level. Even the undead don't phase her now that she's learned tricks to harm them like she would most living beings.

When we arrived here her family's home was ransacked. Her parents had been out of town and she'd been staying at a hideaway in the surrounding forest, so no one was hurt. Her family's comfortably middle class but not wealthy and doesn't own anything terribly valuable, everyone in the town knows that. The intruder didn't even damage anything or steal a set of silverware with their family crest. More likely they were looking for someone, likely Valerie herself. They did fail to realize they'd left something behind, a tuft of fur caught on the window they'd entered through. It didn't take long to find the one who left it behind with remote viewing, a local ranger suspected of being a Kargat agent.

We didn't even have time to ask him a question before he attacked with his blades, transforming into a wolf hybrid when Valerie tagged him with a nasty cut. He was good, I admit, but we outclassed him and were able to knock him out without trouble. While he was locked in silver manacles, I brought him out of it with smelling salts and began questioning him. In his state he was too impaired to lie and told us he'd been ordered to find Valerie and make sure she was silenced. By his superior in the Kargat. Then he begged that we kill him, saying what they would do to him would be far worse. I found myself hesitating, despite knowing he was a monster that couldn't be redeemed and that he wanted death. Valerie took the initiative and slit his throat with a silver short sword she carried.

She was the one to ask if something was wrong with me. I just manifested aura sight and looked at myself, only then realizing someone had put a curse on me. Not a powerful one but enough to cause problems. Brianna, thankfully, had prepared a spell that broke it and I felt my mind clear for the first time in weeks. So this curse was responsible for my lingering malaise. There was only one person I knew of who had sufficient skill at magic to bypass the resistance the mantle integrated into my cloak: Sonia Darkleaf. But I haven't seen or heard from her in years and I've not tried to find her, either. Then I remembered an incident at the market just after returning from Rokushima Táiyoo, a woman in heavy clothes had bumped into me. I dismissed it at the time but now I'm certain it was Sonia and she was back in Mordent somewhere.

We'd have to deal with that later. Right now we had to figure out why the Kargat wanted Valerie dead and all we had was a name: Venrith Chole.

I teleported us all to the local branch of the Shining Force and began looking through their records. Chole is something a rising star in the Kargat, just recently promoted to a leadership position. He was also a skilled assassin and a natural werewolf. Included was a sketch of him which made Valerie blanch. This was the man she suspected of killing her brother five years ago, though why is something she can't figure out. It's very likely her brother was just a target someone hired Chole to kill, and most assassins avoid learning anything about their clients they don't need to. Even if we could find and confront him without drawing down a veritable army of Kargat agents on us, it's doubtful he would know who ordered the hit and why. But this did give a new lead given Chole was known to associate with someone associated with Rivalis and who had reason to want Valerie's brother killed. Jurgen Coalfoot, a failed merchant who sold his chymist shop to Valerie's family who then revived it and made it successful. Especially her brother, William. But he'd moved to Il Aluk seven years ago, right after the sale. Unless he'd returned or had friends or family writing him about what happened, he wouldn't have known about the shop's success.

Valerie seemed to know how and insisted we return to Rivalis immediately. Upon arrival she ran to her neighbor's house and confronted Heinrich Coalfoot, Jurgen's brother. The man didn't know what had happened with William and certainly didn't know anything about the break-in. What he did know was his brother had stopped writing back a year ago and a trip to Il Aluk found he'd abandoned his home. Just packed some necessities and left everything else. The only clue Heinrich had was a rambling, scrawled note his brother left saying he was going to "go after the source of his suffering." His previous letters were all written with a steady hand and in a terse manner. But this note's handwriting and grammar both indicated Jurgen was suffering a mental breakdown if his style had changed so drastically.

My attempts at locating Jurgen failed. He must have been using magic to hide himself. Valerie told me not to bother trying. I could tell she was emotionally exhausted and unwilling to pursue this further. Jurgen, even in his state, was still a serious danger with his connections. He did get a leader of the Kargat to send a lackey to try and kill her, after all. She knew who most likely killed her brother and why and that's all she wanted in the end. If Jurgen Coalfoot was ever found, we could see that he faced justice. But her continued presence in Rivalis was just putting her parents in danger and she couldn't stand the thought of losing them as well.

Tonight we're staying at Valerie's family's house before returning to Mordent in the morning. This whole affair is a giant mess and has pushed her to the brink, causing her to sob uncontrollably as I held her before she fell asleep. I hate leaving affairs unresolved like this but there's not much we can do to find Jurgen. Plus I have my own issues with Sonia's return to deal with. She won't be any easier to locate magically or psionically but she does leave behind plenty of clues with her antics. Just like her patron.

Before I end this, I just realized I still don't know Valerie's family name. She's never mentioned it and I didn't see it anywhere. I'll have to ask in the morning.
(end transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

Editor's Note: Most of the entries for the first half of 742 BC are quite dry and boring and we didn't want to just jump ahead. So we've included a transcription of our second interview with M. Dreamfire to help fill the gap. This interview was conducted July 9, 759 BC -- Gennifer and Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove

Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove: Are you sure you want to do this?

Alexander Dreamfire: These are things I need to say, if only to vent my feelings and clear the record.

Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove: We understand and will stop this interview any time you wish.

AD: Thank you. To begin with, my time in the Abyss. When I say I was a gladiator, I don't mean I always had access to my abilities. Often I would be forced to fight with cold iron or silver gauntlets and boots, unarmed and unarmored, against creatures who had a distinct advantage because of such. I learned how to properly throw a punch or a kick before my enslavement, but I'm no monk and often I would be badly beaten during a match while my foes would have a few scratches at worst. Kyra would have to use her magic to heal the worst of my wounds and treat those that remained after she exhausted her spells.

In time the blows still landed but did less damage even as I learned how to make unarmed strikes as devastating as any weapon. It was also during that time I unlocked my abilities as a soulbow, giving me the ability to stay at range when I was allowed to use my abilities. Elisime also made me study various magical tomes and manuals in an effort to make me last longer in the arena...and outside of it. It wasn't enough for her to have me beaten and bloodied, she had to humiliate me in...carnal ways. She is the Succubus Goddess, after all.

GWF: Please, don't go into detail.

AD: I won't. Suffice to say that was worse than being in the arena.

LWF: How did you escape? Last time you mentioned Tyriana dispelled the domination?

AD: That allowed my attempt. But the real reason is more that Elisime lived up to her derogatory titles of "the Lady of Afterthought" and "She-Who-Never-Learns." She has a reputation for never learning from her mistakes and repeating them over and over again. As she was making me stronger and smarter to be better at what she wanted, she also gave me the advantages I needed to escape once my mind was my own again. As well, she stopped paying attention to me and what I did when she grew bored with me. By the time she even responded to my escape, Kyra and I had escaped to Celestia and Tyriana had already fled to a random world--this one, it turns out. With all three of us beyond her reach, she reportedly stewed for thirty years before sending two of her minions...well, I've already told that story.

LWF: Do you regret coming to this world?

AD: At first, yes. But since then I've realized I needed to come here and experience what I have so far. To finally reconcile my feelings about Tyriana and resolve things with her, to see how those who've suffered just as much if not more than me still find the will to fight against the darkness, and to realize I still know nothing about the true nature of evil. Fiends are nothing more or less than absolute evil shaped by an ethos of law, chaos, or ethical neutrality and can't act against their natures. Those beings that choose evil, however, are far less predictable.

GWF: Wait, "ethical neutrality?"

AD: ::sighs:: Yes, that's one reason I wish Rudolph hadn't distanced himself while researching his Guide to Fiends. Fiends aren't just lawful or chaotic. Some of the absolute worst are neither, notably yugoloths like Inajira. Not being bound to either ethos makes them far more mercenary in nature and capable of using the tactics of both. It also means mystic cages for lawful or chaotic fiends wouldn't be of greater use against them. Other than the one I mentioned by name, I've never even heard of other neutral fiends in this world.

LWF: This is more a personal question, but in some of your journal entries you mention a religious vow regarding...uh, "marital relations." I'm curious about what that means.

GWF: Laurie!

AD: ::chuckles:: It's fine, I don't mind. My people's religion teaches that healthy relations are vital to both physical and mental health and that desires that are healthy should be explored. Often that simply means educating people on how to give and receive pleasure without exploitation as well as how to protect themselves from unwanted consequences, both physical and emotional. Provided they ask and are receptive to such information. I took a sacred vow to be more...ah, direct in my teachings when specific criteria and conditions are met. It's not required by my religion and I'm certainly not a hierodule.

GWF: Hierodule?

AD: ::whispers into Gennifer's ear::

GWF: ::blushing brightly:: Oh! Ah...changing topics, your journals mention how you're "fading from this world?"

AD: You two must have noticed by now. Those flashes where I seem to turn transparent like a ghost? This world doesn't tolerate celestials like me and eventually we begin to lose the ability to see and interact with the physical world as we're ejected from it like a sliver under the skin. I'm becoming more and more incorporeal each year. I surmise that by New Year's Day 770 I'll have to leave this world because I won't actually exist in it anymore.

LWF: My sister and I thought you were exaggerating.

AD: I wish I was. With every passing year I see more and more into the liminal spaces between the reality we know and the one that exists just outside perception. When you two were researching your Guide to the Mists, you witnessed some of the things I can't stop seeing. Not just Mist creatures but...things even they don't seem to perceive. During the worst such "drifts" of perceptions I can see tiny, misshapen forms scurrying around in what looks like the Mists themselves. They never attack but seem to be working, fixing beams made of translucent material, grinding and replacing gears that have been worn down, even continually turning valves like they're regulating a flow.

I once thought it was just my mind trying to interpret what my senses were picking up on. But in the past year I've found sometimes I can actually reach out and touch what I see once in a great while. But my touch seems corrosive to the objects and entities alike and each time I've done so there's been some odd occurrence. The first time I touched one of those valves and a nearby plate of food rapidly decayed into dust. Another time I touched a beam and a sinkhole leading to the Mists themselves suddenly appeared in the nearby ground. The other two times I stood perfectly still until it passed because I was too afraid of what might happen.

I know it sounds crazy, but I firmly believe I'm seeing the very fabric of reality itself and my mere presence even sans reality wrinkle will destroy it.

GWF: There was a time we would have agreed it sounded crazy. But after our research into the Mists it makes a grim sort of sense. Is it always destructive?

AD: No. Sometimes it can actually be beneficial. Just last month I came across a young man who had been unjustly cursed with a lame leg by a woman whose romantic advances he spurned. I could actually see the curse on his leg as some sort of imp. When I reached for it I found I could actually grasp it before it dissolved away, albeit writhing like it was in pain. Immediately after his leg worked properly again. Another time I came across a young woman afflicted with lycanthropy whose curse looked like her hybrid form. That one I couldn't defeat because it lashed out at me and actually slashed my clothing before my ability to interact with it faded.

::Alex visibly winces and crumples to the floor from his chair before pulling himself back up::

This is the price I'm paying. Focusing on the material world and those in it requires concerted effort and it's physically exhausting for me. The only exceptions are those people, places, and things I've anointed with my blood. Which is why I now ask you both to let me do that to you. If we're to continue these interviews, or just interact as friends, it's become necessary.

LWF: Then do so, please! You too, Gennifer. ::Laurie extends her hand as does Gennifer::

::Alex pricks his finger with the tip of his dagger and dabs both ladies' hands::

GWF: It burns a bit.

LWF: Does it? It didn't for me.

AD: I think I know why. But that's a discussion for another time. Right now I'm too exhausted to continue this interview.

Editor's Note: At this point we concluded things and left M. Dreamfire to rest. What he told us about that last incident was both disturbing and, in hindsight, enlightening as it explained some odd interactions we've had with otherworldly creatures. But we'll get to that in due time, dear readers. -- Gennifer and Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove, 766 BC
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 5, 742 BC)
The past six months have been thankfully quiet. That's time I've needed to handle everything that recovering what Natalie Hammersmith embezzled meant for the Archer Trading Company, the minutiae of running a business. As well as a chance to take care of some problems the workers ran into at our primary clay pit, a barrow wraith uncovered when we pierced past twenty feet last fall. Since those things and their barrows are incorporeal during the day it wasn't an issue as long as work was stopped by dusk. But the knowledge it was there was scaring people and I wanted to be sure it was destroyed permanently. The creature was hoarding quite a valuable stash of items and thus it was more powerful than others any of us had faced. Mostly jewelry from before Mordent was drawn into this world but also a quarterstaff shaped like a golden dragon. I recognized it as a rod of the golden wyrm, an ideal weapon for Maxine. But it raises the question of where this creature found such an item; it takes truly monumental skill at crafting magic items to make it and is almost unique in its rarity.

The jewelry bears insignias I don't recognize aside from some bearing an early version of one by House Weathermay. Those I returned to Lord Jules as they properly belong to him and his family. The rest I really don't want to keep because they're a part of Mordentish history, regardless of origin, and deserve to be displayed as such. Unfortunately the town doesn't have a museum and the people aren't interested in building one. So I've been forced to display it in the reception room of Archer Estate. Up until recently I've been so busy with other things I haven't had time to properly research which, if any, of the other noble houses the pieces belong to. Barrow wraiths are always undead thieves too greedy to let go of their stolen goods so these items might not even be Mordentish per se.

Then there's been an issue with both the Mistway we use to reach Rokushima Táiyoo and our dock near Chuugoka. The Rokuma didn't realize how big the ships we use really are and the dock needs to be greatly expanded. That's eaten up almost everything we would have made on the first trip and forced me to juggle the finances to cover it. Also the Mistway must have drifted when we first used it because it now leads to the eastern island on both return trips since, not the southern. It's not a huge issue but it does raise concerns about its reliability and about some Rokuma pirates that were spotted during the second trip. Their own vessels were too small and lacked any weapons to even try and attack our ships but that could change. The docks are also not as thoroughly protected as I'd like given we still haven't found enough workers or guards for them.

The one good thing is how much demand there is for Rokuma food and goods in the Core among the nobility and the middle classes. The Darkonese alone have bought up half of everything imported, even getting into bidding wars over things.

I've since turned my attention to other matters with all of that squared away. Rudolph is off researching another of his guides and left me to handle his duties as the town doctor. Brianna has been quite the help in that regard, acting as both nurse and assistant doctor when necessary, given her skills in the healing arts and even her abilities as a paladin. Most of the cases have been nothing out of the ordinary.

Most of them.

This last one was bizarre and led to a new problem. A patient came in after claiming they were attacked by some creature that rose out of the moors outside town. The wound was consistent with the symptoms of mummy rot. If there was a preserved dead around then it fell to us to hunt it down and lay it to rest. Curing the patient was easy enough and they gladly showed us where the attack happened. It was a peat bog about two miles from Mordentshire, a place largely untouched because the ground was too soft to work in. It's also a prime place for spontaneous preserved dead to form because anything too heavy will sink right into the ground and be protected from the forces of decay. The site where the attack took place was near the edge and there was clear evidence that something had burst out of the ground within the last day.

As soon as I stepped onto the peat the ground erupted and a human body tanned by time in the bog burst out. As soon as I jumped back onto solid ground in response it stopped everything and just sank back in. It wasn't interested in pursuing those that weren't in its territory but would violently attack anyone who dared enter it. This called for some preparations before we tried to lay it to rest, beginning with how we planned to fight it when none of us, save Valerie, could step on the peat without immediately sinking into the soft ground while it could move freely. There might also be legends about it we could research.

My gut is telling me this isn't a random monster but something set there deliberately in the past. The question is, why?
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 10, 742 BC)
Research into the creature hasn't been as productive as I'd hoped. When I'm not treating various wounds that the farmers suffer in their daily work, the town's records are severely lacking while even the elders don't remember any tales of creatures in the moor. My own attempts at getting the creature to attack me long enough to have it magically held and then talk to it have failed as well. It seems to avoid me now even when I dig up other bog bodies and some artifacts that must be thousands of years old. The bodies are victims from Mordent's time in the Land of Mists and have nothing to add to what it is that attacked them while the artifacts I've found so far include crude stone and copper tools and some stellae I can't translate. It would help if I knew where to start but there aren't any records from the people that dwelled in Mordent prior to the arrival of Jaques Renier six centuries ago. The creature itself is also apparently immune to any sort of divinations. My own efforts to divine the history of the land just bring forward images of endless fog and mist.

As luck would have it, the Vistani passed through town yesterday and I availed myself to their seer, hoping she could at least help me figure out where to start on solving this mystery. What she revealed was that, before the land was settled by the ancestors of its current inhabitants, it was inhabited by tribes of primitive humans who worshipped the natural spirits. One of their beliefs was that sacred--or cursed--sites needed living sacrifices to act as guardians. Once a century a person would be chosen or volunteer, often a warrior nearing the end of their life, to become the new guardian and allow the old one to pass on. If no relief came in time, the guardian could become wrathful and corrupt. That particular moor was feared by the local tribes as the burial site of a cursed iron blade that drove their chieftain to madness and cursed them to years of famine afterwards as no one would wield it and fulfill its need to kill. Eventually the tribe left the area but still sent sacrifices to both make sure the blade was never discovered and to warn away anyone who got close. The last time anyone had been sent was two-thousand years ago. The tribe had forgotten about the legend and became the people who spoke Low Mordentish before Renier's arrival.

It's an interesting story but it doesn't explain why no one until now had been attacked. Then I remembered something the patient said, about investigating an ancient tree in the middle that "oozed sap as thick and red as blood." The seer paled when I told her that and said that tree grew on the site where the blade was thrown. Likely a druid did so to try and further contain the evil. If approaching the tree was what triggered the guardian, that would explain why it was so quick to attack that first day but been active since. It's likely gone back into hibernation--or, if my hunch is right and this is an ancient and not a mummy--back to its afterlife.

I thanked her and even bought an iron cauldron with a lid from her brethren as well as a length of chain. IThe culture of the ancient Mordentish is similar to others I've read about and even experienced firsthand. A cauldron is a potent symbol and potential tool for what I had to do. As a precaution, I lined the inside with holly and mistletoe, soil from a grove, and watered it all with holy water before carrying it out there.

It turns out I was right. As I waded into the moor and approached the tree, the creature rose up but didn't attack. Instead it wheezed in a dialect of Forfarian, the apparent precursor to Low Mordentish, asking me what I was doing there. It seemed to grow wroth at the idea I was there to take the blade and seal it inside the cauldron, but grew calm when I told it there was no one left to take its place. It--she--asked what happened to her people and I had to tell her the truth. That convinced her I was honorable because she apparently already knew, having watched over the eons. That someone who understood the old ways, who realized what had to be done, had come meant her vigil was over. Provided I could withstand the temptations of the "spirit inside the blade."

When she tore open the trunk of that tree, I nearly dropped the cauldron and gagged. The stench of rotting flesh and congealed blood was overwhelming, stronger than anything I've experienced before. Inside the very heart of it was a black iron shortsword, crudely fashioned and exuding a palpable aura of active malevolence. I felt it try and touch my mind, only for it to recoil in horror and try to break free of its prison. That's when I realized this wasn't just a cursed weapon, it was actively possessed by some fiendish spirit. Simply destroying it wasn't an option, that would just free the entity inside of it. When I touched it it burned my flesh, almost causing me to lose my grip before shoving it inside the cauldron. I had scant minutes to get back to the shore, put the lid on, and chain it shut before it broke free of the crude warding the contents created. Even after it was done I could hear the blade asking in my mind to be set free, promising me whatever I wished. I just looked at my hand and and mentally told it to stow it. Only pure, unadulterated evil would inflict wounds like I'd suffered and nothing capable using such was even worth entertaining.

The guardian thanked me one last time before her body melted into mud and returned to the moor one last time. I did my best to return to Archer Estate with one good hand carrying the cauldron, cursing myself for not donning my armor first; its enchantments would have protected me from the wound. By the time I made it back the blisters were already the color of gangrene, but immediately turned a normal yellow-white upon entering hallowed ground as my amulet regenerated the wound.

I've solved one mystery, but now I have to figure out how to destroy the fiend inside the blade. This is a weapon that can't be allowed to exist, even sealed away. The power it possesses is too potent and dangerous. Then there's those stellae I found. Now that I know to use Forfarian as a base, maybe I can decipher what they say.
(End transcript)

[High Priest Mikhal]

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, July 12, 742 BC)
The stellae I found turned out to be legends of the "Blade of Endless Woes." When their craftsmen first discovered how to smelt iron they began experimenting using it to bind spirits, noting how "some forms of the black metal act to nullify their powers." Except this blade isn't cold iron, just regular iron. So when they tried to bind a "loathsome spirit from a realm of twisted flesh," the creature wasn't hindered in any way. Not to make a weapon out of it but to stop it from rampaging across their lands. "Binding it stopped its ability to drive our tribe mad by its very presence but did nothing to stop its whispers from doing so to anyone who dared use the blade." The story ends with the druids of the tribe binding the blade inside an enchanted tree, one that "slow turned to flesh and gristle over years and drained the life of all things around it." Realizing this would attract the curious, they began the tradition of sacrificing warriors to act as guardians against anyone who might try and take the cursed weapon hidden inside.

A final entry, almost illegible given how crazed the author's carvings are, mentions the fiend's true name and how there was a ritual to try and banish it back to the world it came from. But the ritual was never undertaken and the tribe forgot about the legend. I'm paraphrasing but it ends with, "Wield not the blade lest it eat your mind like worms in an apple and trust not the holy and sacred to protect you from what dwells inside. Instead look to the orderly and stratified(?)."

Just making some educated guesses I'm assuming they bound an obyrith, one of the primordial denizens of the Abyss before the rise of the tanar'ri. That's actually a problem because my education about fiends is sorely lacking when it comes to the former since they're all but extinct. There was no reason to study the dead and what few still exist are all uniquely powerful and alien to reality as it exists now. Then there's the question of what this creature's phylactery is. I'm certain it's the blade itself, or a part of it. There was a sickly green jewel in the top of the hilt that didn't look like it was there originally; it looks like it grew into it from the inside given the odd bulges that no smith worth their salt would allow.

I could try cutting it free but that might well free the fiend inside. Worse, it wouldn't do a thing to deal with the rest of the blade which is no doubt thoroughly corrupted as well. I'm going to have to research a method to cleanse it, maybe by re-forging it since I'm going to have to heat it up to cut out the jewel anyway. I don't trust using my powers on it since I have no clue how they might react. So I've sent a letter to a contact of mine in a dwarven enclave in the Mountains of Misery, a noted runesmith who might have a better idea about how to handle this. If I could, I would have simply teleported there. But other tasks require me to stay in Mordentshire for the next few weeks. Including renewing contracts with some trading partners in person.

(Excerpts from the journals of Alexander Dreamfire, Mountains of Madness, Darkon, Aug. 4, 742 BC)
My contact, Dorgan Earthborn, wrote me back saying he knew of a way to cleanse the blade if I could provide knowledge of how to contain the fiend once the jewel was removed. Holding the creature in place long enough to destroy its corporeal form and then its phylactery is relatively easy, but obyriths can drive anyone that simply looks at them insane and that's where things get difficult. The safest bet was to cut the phylactery out inside an antimagic field to negate its aura and any abilities it might have to teleport away. Both Brianna and Maxine have cold iron weapons, and my powers would work just fine inside the field so I could align my mind blade with law to overcome the creature's resistance to weapons, so we decided on that course of action.

The girls and I teleported to the enclave and met with Dorgan, with the blade still inside the cauldron. He took one look at it and used tongs to put it inside a forge. A cleric of the dwarf god Moradin was there, ready to cast the spell, but she never got the chance. I remember hearing Priscilla's voice in my head, telling me to watch out, before I felt something hit the back of my head hard enough to knock me off my feet. A group of dwarves and humans had broken into Dorgan's shop and were attacking everyone else. One of them managed to steal the blade before it could even heat up. By the time I managed to get back up they were gone and the rest of our attackers were trying to flee. Two made it out while three others were struck down. Maxine knocked a fourth out and from him we learned more about who had attacked us.

When I first wrote Dorgan, he had to ask around to find out what techniques were necessary to cleanse a cursed blade. Unfortunately his questions attracted the attention of a Kargat agent working for Beryl Silvertress. When they relayed what they'd heard, she sent Kargatane pawns to retrieve it, the ones who broke in and attacked us. I feel like an idiot for not realizing others might be aware of the blade and willing to steal it. I'm also shocked Priscilla is still around since it's been years since I last heard her voice and thought she'd passed on. Being deathless, she likely did pass on but came back when I was unaware of the danger.

Every attempt to locate the blade magically or psionically has failed and they didn't leave behind any sort of trail. One witness did recognize them as a ranger who haunted the surrounding peaks but that was it. This is a disaster! Beryl is already insane but that blade will drive her further over the edge if she gets her hands on it. Now we have to find someone who knows the surrounding wilderness better than any of us do before that happens. This is also proof that even though the Kargat themselves are subject to the same penalties Azalin is for breaking our oath on the Pact Primeval, apparently the Kargatane are not.

Brianna also asked a question I honestly don't know the answer to. Will the blood-slaves of the Kargat's leaders be immune to the blade's whispers? Or can even they succumb to it? The idea that the Kargatane agent will keep the blade and possibly even try to free the obyrith inside is actually more terrifying. Beryl is mad but she's still a vampire and limited by her undead nature; a living being isn't vulnerable to those things that would harm or slay her and can move about far more freely.

We have to try and find out what we can about the thief if we're going to track him down. But that's going to require scouring the area for miles to try and find any sort of base he might have established for clues. I have Shining Force agents coming to help and to investigate any and all settlements around in case he visits or just passes through. They're going to be needed.
(End transcript)