[An excerpt from the Journal of Yivellor Sa’Kaasv – the entry does not seem to have any chronology, though all of it appears to have been written around the same time. Partial songs and poems are haphazardly written between the paragraphs.]
To my friends, my family.
I don’t know how you’ll get this, or if I will ever allow this to leave the pages of my journal. I expect that simply writing to you is an effort to calm my nerves and to free myself of the weight that is already growing on my shoulders. Your advice and welcome during my darker times helped to put my burdens at rest. You taught me to direct my troubles into song, poem, and tale. It has carried me out of darker times.
I find myself in the middle of a tale that may echo through the ages. We stumbled across a sealed cylinder containing a riddle that may help to mend the broken nations. Songs and poetry have been running through my head since we cracked the seal, but beneath them I can hear the whispers of the past, threatening to take from me the soul I have struggled to regain.
And lo the shadow as it settles
consuming the lands and people.
Crumble oh cities and bastions of man,
shatter nations and descend to fear.
Yet hope grows so long as man has mettle,
Come forth courage and steel.
Struggle forward ’gainst villainous clan,
and mend a tattered land.
The cylinder is a curious object, used to safeguard information. Kaelan, you would love to have the chance to study it, though I must admit that I was more interested in cracking its contents as opposed to the device itself. I was sealed by magic, requiring a daylight spell to open it. Any attempts at tampering would cause the internal contents to be destroyed. Alas, I suspect that the cylinder itself will end its journey here in Palisade Head as even without its contents, it will likely fetch a decent price.
It hasn’t been without hardship that we’ve held onto it though. There are plenty who wanted to get their hands on the object before we cracked it open. Our wizard lost his shop as a result, along with another poor shopkeep girl who certainly doesn’t deserve the hardship that is being placed upon her for our meddling with the object, but it can’t be helped now.
Petals of crimson
Plucked from the stem
wilting on the ground
Hopes and dreams
dashed to pieces
Longing to be found.
We have been all over the city, and with each trouble we have encountered I grow more restless. I can hear a chant, bubbling up from the depths of my heart. Faint whispers that stir in the forgotten places in my soul. I am trying to do good. To help those in need, but any interventions that I take are only making things worse. Petty crooks and thieves who flock at an opportunity to take from the less fortunate.
My blade stirs, I can feel it, though I no longer know where it is. A cold void maw is lurching forward, stealing life at my hand, and despite the warm sun, and quiet glow of moonlight, the air is becoming chill. The darkness is lasting longer and settling upon the bright places; and I fear it is my own.
Blood soaked entry trim
Dress of flower, Spring delight
Hope lost, none remains