Below is a list of all player written fiction for the Paws scenario; Presented exactly as they were presented to us, and with the players name written. The only exception is one sample which we have not received a response back from the person who wrote it to say which name they wanted to be known for on it. All of the submissions were fantastic and we loved reading them, and hope that you all enjoy them as well. Without anything further, here they are.
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Valus’ Inferno – The Chronicle of the Death of Paws
Author: Valus Caormastus, of the Cult of Virtue.
Player Author: Balthier Trakand
“This way, a good soul never passes.”
- Written in Blood on the Church Ruins of Paws.
To the Patriarch Marcius IV, Reverend Father of the Cult of Virtue, and Keeper of the Heart of the Earth.
Faithful Marcius,
It is with trepidation, and no small grain sorrow, that I pen this missive to thee. For if thou are reading this, I am already dead.
But even as the shadow closes in around me, and the curse that has stolen my vigor now lays claim to my soul, I realize that I live only for the mercy of the Light, who has given unto me this final chance to reveal the grim truth I hold close to my heart, and divulge a secret the Powerful would see hidden.
I refer to the destruction of Paws, Marcius, and to the atrocities that were inflicted upon innocent men. I refer to an evil that still festers in its fetid swamps, waiting for the right moment to unleash itself upon Our World.
You know the histories. You know that long ago, in the Age before Cantabrigian, Paws was no more than a humble farming village located on the Golden Plains of Valencia. It was simple, unimposing, and all but ignored by the feuding warlords and aristocratic barons that divided the land then.
It was the place of my birth, and it, like I, was not prepared for the evil that would rain down upon it.
Mondain, the Son of Wolfgang, had hoped to become the god of this world. He believed in his madness that only through the corruption of the Gem - and the sacrifice of some ten million souls - could man regain his rightful place amongst the Stars of Heaven. To that end he blasphemed against the Light, fornicating with Devils, and sharing his knowledge with beasts who sailed amongst the stars. He *****d human women to their slave masters, and exchanged flesh for precious magic and technology our kind has not known since we departed Earth, more than three millennia ago.
The Age of Darkness, as it would come to be known, was a time of bloodshed and famine, the likes of which are all but incomprehensible to those who were not there. I tell you now, Marcius, give thanks to the Light that you were not yet born, for I shudder even now to think of the atrocities I bore witness to. Give thanks, each night, that the world had not again faced such an Apocalypse. We would not survive it.
Paws, along with much of the Empire, was set to the torch by the Legions of the Dark Lord, leaving only ashes and misery in their path. It was only under the banner of a single Duke, Cantabrigian, who would become our Prophet and Lawgiver, and his Champion, Ganji of Earth, that Sosaria was spared.
But it was not saved. The Shattering did not free the world. It damned it. For in that fateful moment, when Ganji brought down his sword upon the Gem, Sosaria was broken forever. The world was rent in fire. Seas boiled and became like blood. Continents rose and sank. Civilizations, lost in the desperate swoop of one mans sword, a billion souls snuffed out in one instant. Light, I pray that the deaths of those vast multitudes came swiftly, and without pain. Theirs was the more merciful fate.
The remnants of the continent that would become Britannia, it is said, emerged strong and powerful, not because it was so before the Breaking, but because it was spared the worst of the atrocities heaped on other nations. It was unto this land that Ganji, the Stranger, would be given a heroes welcome, honored as the Savior of Light and Virtue, before disappearing forever into the Chronicles of Man.
Cantabrigian would restore Akalabeth, later to become Britain, while sending his most loyal servants west and south to map out this strange, broken new world. Those of us who returned to Paws, or what we thought was Paws, discovered a broken and lifeless shell poised on the edge of the New Sea. The lowlands and fields were replaced with a shallow surf, and the far hills, with its ancient pagan temple, became Islands.
We barely recognized our home, and those with means elected to depart for the West, where new farming villages offered new opportunities in the woodlands of Caledonia. Others chose to go South, where Paladin Japeth, and Crawworth were erecting a New Trinsic, the Sentinel of the South. I was one of the fortunate, but chose instead to travel across the Sea to the opulent Magincia. It had once been a river port, where traders from the Lands of Rondolin and Olympus might trade their wares. In the Breaking, it had become an Isle in its own right, poised to become the trading center of a New Kingdom. It was there I elected to be schooled in the teachings of the Light, becoming a Theologian.
It was not long into the Reign of Cantabrigian, now called British, that War, that most ancient and cruel of human practices, would again threaten to consume all Sosaria. Robere, claiming descent from the Ancient Line of Kings, announced that he was the true and rightful heir to the crown Cantabrigian now wore, and he had formed a Legion of Royalists and Mercenaries to prove his “…Legitimacy.”
The Usurper was a cunning and ruthless tactician, managing to carve out a Kingdom of his own in the North, while the valiant Britannians, led by Cantabrigian and Blackthorne, managed to hold the South, though losses on both sides were great. It was during this period, I learned, that my home had taken on a new purpose: a camp for the sick, the wounded, the dying. Legions of the injured, having sacrificed life and limb in the name of Cantabrigian, were shipped here, along with the plagued, victims of Robere’s penchant for poisoning wells and hurling plague infected corpses over City Walls.
I was a young man, then, and quite naïve. I was a philosopher, and theologian in profession, but a healer at heart. I hoped to help Britannia, and Paws, in whatever way I could, so I boarded a ship, leaving all that I had behind, and returned to the village of my birth.
I was …horrified when the village port came into view. It had become a walled place, festering with rot, the skies dark with furnaces used to cremate the dying thousands. I did not turn back, though my stomach churned at the thought of what I might discover within. Light, I should have. But I could sense the need of the sick, the dying, the great plight within. I could smell death, rot, and decay.
Light help me, Marcius. I could not turn away.
I am told the defeat of Robere was Glorious. The final charge of the newfound Order of the Silver Serpent, something to be remembered in song and prose. But lets not mince words, or exchange in falsehoods. It was a shameful slaughter.
Let it not be said Our Prophet, Cantabrigian, was injust in his War, for the tyranny he fought against is echoed in the dictatorships of later men. In Blackthorne, and in Casca. But let us glorify the things he fought for, not the means by which he fought it.
I could have left then, now that the war was over. I should have left then. Studies into the deeper meaning of existence, and a young woman, awaited me in Magincia. But I could not leave the dying behind. I could hear the screams of terror in my dreams, I could feel their suffering, and I knew I must remain amongst them.
It was during this period, a new man became the Lord Mayor of Paws. Vorigern. And it was under his …leadership that the Village took an even darker hue.
The walls became a prison. No longer did they keep bands of roving marauders out, but instead, the people within, in. For plague flourished amongst us despite the best efforts of our healing. No longer could communication occur with the outside world.
And no longer was Paws a place to send the sick, the dying. It had begun with the Last Legion of Robere, survivors of the Battle of Altmere, now the Crimson Plains. The Legion was forced into makeshift prison camps on the edge of the Village. Inquisitors, bearing the Seal of the Monarch, began extracting confessions from the soldiers, divining from them the location of any pockets of resistance that might oppose Cantabrigian’s Rule. And only healers, chosen by Vortigern, were permitted amongst their number.
Healers, who turned the powers of Life to Destruction and Woe, sterilizing thousands of men, and using them to test new diseases, and cures.
It was not long before the resistance was crushed. Political prisoners, and any who stood in opposition to the Britannian Court were sent here. Such nobles could not be executed - such violated the Old Codes and might stir rebellion in the North - but they could be removed from their ancestral manors and locked in a Plagued Colony.
It was then that I met Gustave Hohenstaufen.
He was something to behold, Gustave. Tall. Dignified. With light brown hair that cascaded in curls down his back. Dark, often narrowed eyes that bore with them the aura of command, and features that were at once brooding and seductive. He was every much a King as Cantabrigian, and as he was hauled on a prison cart into the City, people fell back in awe or looked away as his eyes swept across them. Such was the power of this strange man.
I am told he was a minor noble, one of mixed heritage. Akalabethan, on his mothers side, and Valderian, on his fathers, a Northman. His sole crime? The impregnation of the wife of a Duke in the favor of Cantabrigian.
He would be brought to me in the mornings, after the sadistic indignation of the inquisitors were satisfied, and with what herbal knowledge I possessed, I mixed a special poultice that would ease the pain and heal the worst of his scourgings, that he might be again put to the Question.
Despite our differences, I, a man of the cloth, and he, a vain noble, he and I began to speak, and I found him to be a profoundly intelligent man. He might quote passages from Revivalist Poetry and Ancient Liturgy in the same breath, and was well versed in the Arts and Sciences of the age. The one thing I found abhorrent, however, was his strange fascination with the dark arts; in particular the names and aspects of demons, an interest I could not imagine being sparked in the education of a young noble.
And not surprisingly, Gustave became acquainted with Vortigern, the two spending long hours in study and debate within his library.
It was during this period that the shadow would fall again on Paws, and I would be forever changed.
At last, the sick and the dying stopped streaming in. The War of Succession was over. Yet despite my pleas to return to Magincia, I was barred from leaving. A new plague had begun to spread, it was said, and every Healer and Priest would be needed to fight it. I was left with no choice in the matter.
I am not certain when I began to understand something terrible was at work. Was it when I turned back from the Gates, and saw Vortigern, wreathed in black, staring down at me with such hate I shudder now to remember it? Was it the first night, when the scream of a woman awakened me from a nightmare, or the fifth, when the half-eaten corpse of a young maiden was discovered in the alley behind my apartment? Was it when the Order of the Silver Serpent built an encampment on the edge of the Village as though preparing for war?
Or was it two weeks later, when the dead began to walk again, hungering for the flesh of the living?
It was called the Plague of the Necromonger, which caused the infected to begin developing flu like symptoms. Hemopysis, and the development of black leisions soon followed.
It would have been easy to believe the illness was the Black Death, which had not broken out in centuries, and not something more …malignant. That sounds absurd, doesn’t it? Nothing prepares you for a man he pronounced dead three hours before rising up and attempting to sink his teeth into your arm.
The plague spread quickly, and within a month, roving mobs of undead haunted the allies at night. We had no recourse but to dismember the newly dead and burn their remains while their flesh was still warm. Light, forgive me for what I did in the name of the Greater Good.
During the evenings I would speak with Gustave. He seemed surprisingly …unaffected by what was happening around us, and remained in good cheer. He revealed to me that Vortigern was studying the corpses of those …zombies laid low, and the Plague. He told me the enemy would use it one day against us, thus it was important we understand it, that we might mitigate the worst atrocities.
Were we the experiments? I wonder.
It was then that a woman - Aurelia - disappeared. She had been carried off into the night, it was said, her captors having managed to smuggle her through a tunnel under the wall.
To my surprise, instead of sending the Order, Gustave was permitted to form a militia and leave the Gates. I was the first he asked to accompany him. Despite my ineptitude in all things warfare, I could not refuse, for I knew the woman, and her husband who fate would place amongst the prisoners of Robere’s Legion. I accepted the mission.
We marched west into the Drachenwald, now called Spiritwood, in search of the woman and her captors, and spent hours searching for tracks. I heard movement. I turned.
I must have been knocked out cold, for when I awoke, I discovered the corpse of a soldier atop me. I also heard whispers, something about the time when the barrier between worlds becomes weak, and the eclipse that would “…open the Gate.”
I managed to climb from beneath the corpse and stand. There I beheld Gustave, and to my surprise, Vortigern, standing in a moonlit glade, staring down at the corpse of a woman, her mouth and lifeless eyes open as if to scream, a dagger plunged into her heart.
I vomited.
Vortigern turned, and with a sneer, he acknowledged me. He explained, when I had regained control of the contents of my stomach, that the search party had been ambushed by the dead. Killed to the last man. Gustave had survived, only because of his Swordsmanship, having driven back the dead, injuring the Necromancer responsible for this ritual, but not before he had completed this unholy sacrifice.
Something was amiss. I knew that, somewhere inside, but however much I loathed Vortigern, I was inclined to trust in the goodness and valor of Gustave.
In the following weeks, Gustave continued to lead his militia against the Living Dead in the Village. Yet despite his valiant crusade, and the best efforts of the crematorium, the dead mobs seemed to be growing in number each night.
The Order offered us no aid. Instead, the Knights kept the gate locked and barred. We were each potential carriers, their Grand Master, Lord Delacroix, announced from behind the Wall, and until a cure could be found, no one was leaving no matter how dire things became within.
Vortigern, in the few instances he departed his manor at the center of town, seemed anxious and aloof. A fellow healer claimed to have seen him in the streets one evening, babbling incoherently, and I did not doubt the rumor, though I convinced myself it was something less sinister, perhaps stress, and not an inner malevolence being loosed from the inner reaches of that mans wretched soul.
The night before the eclipse, as fate would have it, I indulged in an old ritual, searching out the nearest pub. I seldom partook in the fruit of the Vine, a ritual associated with the fat and impious friars of Dal Riata, now called Yew. But I was careworn, and it seemed a sinless indulgence considering the circumstances. It was there, in the eerily quiet common room, windows boarded incase the dead decide to lay siege to the Inn, that I found Judith. Gustaves new lover sat huddled in the corner, holding herself. I moved to her side, and inquired as to the nature of her suffering. She gazed up at me, and with a haunted look that I shall not soon forget, she whispered, telling me Gustave had sacrificed …her. I inquired as to whom, and with tears in her eyes, she responded, “Aurelia. Edith. And now, Annabelle.”
It struck me like a blow across the face. I reeled backwards, not because the first seeds of suspicion hadn’t been planted before this night, but because her words gave those suspicions nourishment, a place to grow, and I could no longer convince myself that such misgivings were falsehood.
Whatever look I had on my face, it must have startled her, for she doubled over as though in pain, and fainted. I would have confronted him then, but I could not leave her, not in that state. Ergo, I endeavored to bear her back to my apartment where I could question her further, but that journey proved far more perilous than I had anticipated. For a ravenous corpse leapt from the shadows, nearly tearing her from my arms, and had it not been for the brave act of a young woman, bludgeoning the things skull in with a crude club, I might not be writing this.
Judith awoke the next morning, clearly no more sane than she had been the night before. I saw to it one of my apprentices watched over her, and then proceeded to the Mansion occupied by Gustave.
The doors were unlocked, but the door held fast as I pushed. So, with a growl, I threw my weight against it and shoved. It moved, slowly at first, and that is when the lingering scent of death overwhelmed me.
I looked in. The maimed corpses of liveried servants, having attempted to flee, were piled against the door, there bodies hacked to pieces. Annabelle sat in a chair, and for a moment I thought her alive.
I shudder, even now, as I recall the profusion of death laid before me, of her form, adorned in a wedding dress, now stained with blood. A slash across her carotid artery suggested a quick death, a clean death, and not the work of a ravenous zombie. I knelt down and closed her eyes, wiping from her lips a larvae that sought to crawl nestle inside the open orifice.
I made to turn back then, and should have, for this task was best left to the authorities, but then a shadow moved in the room and into the dining hall. I moved to follow, but it disappeared before I could pursue. Again, I would have turned back. I should have turned back. But then I heard it. Chanting. An ancient tongue not meant to be uttered by the lips of man. I admit, I was transfixed, perhaps even curious. I descended down a set of spiraling stairs, and it was there, in the basement, I found …him.
Gustave stood at the head of a black altar, its edges crusted with dried blood. On the altar writhed Edith, wrists bound, stripped to the waist, a crude gag preventing her from screaming. The man held a bloodied athame over her chest, and chanted in Enochian.
I called out his name. He looked at me, and smiled, daring me to stop him, as though he thought me powerless. Perhaps I was. But that arrogant smirk twisted into a look of surprise, and loathing, as booted feet sounded behind me.
Chanting. A raised hand. A ball of flame leapt from Vortigerns hand and screamed across the chamber. Gustave deflected it, a shower of sparks exploding harmlessly around an invisible barrier surrounding the Necromancer and his Sacrifice.
“You cannot stop me now,” he screamed, and before I could take a step forward and stop him, Gustave plunged the ritual dagger into Edith with all his might.
I dare not repeat all that transpired, for I shudder now to remember it. The world became black as the blackest night. The pentagram on the floor began to glow, and spin, as though the ground had become the sea, churning around the maelstrom at its heart. The walls faded. And on every hand, I saw a great plain of woe, and cruel torment. Tombs, scoured in flame, made to glow all over, hotter than iron need be for any craft. And such dire laments issued fourth, as only come from those who are truly wretched, suffering, and forever lost.
I beheld Hell.
And there in our midst, I beheld a being both terrible and beautiful, shameful to look upon, our own sins reflected back at us. Vortigern and I watched, helpless, as we share Gustaves depraved vision, and listened as the Evil One offered him immortality, revenge, perhaps even godhood, if he would but perform one favor. Sacrifice each living soul in Paws, condemning their innocent souls to Damnation.
It was a price he was more than willing to pay.
I know not how long I was unconscious. But I woke to Vortigern standing over me in that basement. Gustave, gone. And on my person was a strange mark. While I understood not its meaning, not its purpose at the time, I knew the script to be ancient and foul. A Brand of Sacrifice.
Vortigern explained to me, in hushed tones, that Gustave had traded his immortal soul to Hell, and in exchange had become the vessel of a being from the Void. To complete the geas, he needed to sacrifice each man, each woman, and child living in Paws to complete the Ritual. Edith? The Eclipse? He had opened a Gate to the Aether, and even now, hellish creatures of the Void were pouring out into the streets, butchering the sleeping in their beds.
Vortigern explained that he had been a Necromancer, permitted to live and practice his art, in exchange for his knowledge, which would be needed in the fight against the Lieutenants of Mondain still haunting the dark places of the world. He had been experimenting with the Plague in private, but Gustave had discovered this secret, stealing it and unleashing the Plague upon the Village. When Vortigern had learned what was happening, it was too late.
Then he revealed to me the darkest secret of all. This was not the work of Gustave alone, but a greater web. The Order had planted the idea in the mans head, knowing he would summon the Devil and become his vessel. The Order planned to defeat the Evil here on the Mortal Plane, and even now their number was laying siege to the City, prepared to strike down the Living, the Dead, and the Demonic. He bid me escape, if I could. He would use his powers to stop Gustave, if he could, and if not, all was lost.
That was the last I ever saw either of them. I fled then. I fled, avoiding mobs of zombies and winged, demonic creatures, grabbing up Judith, escaping with her under the walls in the confusion.
I would learn of the destruction of Paws when I arrived in Britain. The Criers declared it an Orc Incursion, and that the Order of the Silver Serpent managed to quell the it, but not before the village was put to the torch. What remained, the charred rubble and rotting foundations would sink into the mud, forever lost. Thus was born the Fens of the Dead.
Gustave was never found, Marcius. His name is not on the records of the dead. And those few survivors who managed to escape have been dying, murdered one by one. I fear that as the next eclipse approaches, more than two decades later, Gustave is alive, and he is attempting to finish the ritual.
I do not possess the strength to fight him, Faithful Brother. I am an old man long before my time. The Plague waits for me to shed my last breath, that my body might rise again and hunt the living.
When you read this, Brother, the poison has already touched my lips. You will not arrive in time to stop me. I have left instructions in the accompanying envelope, how to dismember my body, and scatter my ashes in accordance with our Faith.
Light, give you the strength to do what must be done.
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My Journal
Author: Helena Von Wyck
Player Author: Fanny Firebottom
Day 1
Well, father will just have to accept that I will not be running his shop now or ever. I told him that it is simply not my calling and that I wanted to be a healer. I wanted to help people. He just looked at me and then walked out of the shop. They will let me go I swear it! Now I just have to figure a way to tell Mother...
Day 2
So, after all the china was swept off the floor and the liquor bottles righted, she stormed out of the house tearing at her breast. I thought it went well.
Day 3
Mother is still acting like it's the end of the world. She weeps openly and for no reason now and is scaring father's customers away. If she keeps this up, people will send her off to Paws! Father is not speaking to me at all, just shakes his head or pretends to be checking ledgers when I come into the room. The caravan leaves in a fortnight, I have that much time to convince them to let me go.
Day 4
Today was much better, at least mother was not crying – well not all morning. She's now taken to hollering disjointed thoughts at me during odd times. "It is not proper for a young woman of your stature," she yelled while I was gathering invoices for father. I dropped the whole stack on the floor and had to re-organize them.
Day 5
Mother was all smiles this morning. I quickly ran the other way when I saw that.
Day 6
"What about Luke?" was the question served up with dinner. Now, if THAT was supposed to entice me to stay, she was gravely mistaken. That goat-faced troll would fondle a pig if given the chance! I should tell her all about him....
*detailed drawing of Luke with a goat face trying to kiss a reluctant pig*
Day 7
I have tried again and again to explain to my parents that people are needed at Paws. There has been much yelling back and forth about it over the past several weeks, what the neighbors must think of us now! But, I am going. With or without their blessings, I am going. Even if I have to sneak out in the dead of night...
Day 16
The trunks are all packed and I'm ready to leave! I feel frightened and excited at the same time! Good-bye Mother and Father! Good-bye Vesper! Good-bye salty sea air and noisy seabirds! Good-bye dumb bridges everywhere!
Day 17
My travelling companions are so nice! There's another girl here about my age, pretty too, I wish I had her hair! The few sick people are in the last wagon, riding behind us. I'm not allowed to go near them yet, but the monk riding with us has been quizzing me on herbs and such. I'm learning so much, can't wait to start helping out.
Day 19
Nausea much better today, what I wouldn't give to be standing on a bridge for 5 minutes inhaling the fresh air. The wagons are cramped and crowded – we are elbow to elbow. Perhaps I should have brought the more practical dresses that I've seen the common folk wearing....this silk sticks to you like a second skin. I never thought passage to the city would be so, rough.
Day 21
Feeling much better today Brother (I always forget his name) gave me some kind of tea to settle my stomach. Hopping out and walking alongside the wagon helps too – lessy bumpy. My dress is destroyed, mud all over the bottom ripped hem, but when I get back home I'm sure the tailor can fix it.
We're almost there! They say we should be seeing the city soon!
Day 24
Well, it wasn't exactly how I expected it to look, but... I was a bit surprised to see the city was being fenced in by high walls. Construction everywhere! And not even your average height – beyond what I'm accustomed to. Maybe they want to keep prying eyes away.
Day 25
I asked Lazarus, the head healer, why they were building the walls so high, he just pushed past me muttering under his breath. He's not a very friendly man and I get the impression that he doesn't like all of the new construction happening here...I wonder what it's for..
Day 32
Been mixing poultices all day long. Not quite what I had in mind as "helping". It's not too bad, but grinding the oats into a fine powder is tiring. I asked what the liquid was that it gets mixed with and I was told I didn't want to know.
Day 35
Today they had me crushing of all things, buttercups! Athara kept bringing bundles and bundles in – the whole table was covered in them.
Day 36
Garlic.
Day 39
More Garlic. Had I wanted to be slicing and chopping so much I'd have run away to Good Eats in Britain!!
Day 41
Finally! I can help! Brother Augustine (that's his name!) said I was a quick learner. I wrote Mother and Father the night I arrived, but I'm told the post is very slow and it takes time for messages to go back and forth. I hope they still aren't mad.
Day 46
I've been treating some people. Most with skin afflictions, it's mainly wrapping their arms or legs with linen bandages and oatmeal flour. For a few it staves off the constant itch, and one person even looked much better after a few days.
Day 48
Saw Annie today – she looks like such a sweet little girl. Cries terribly because she misses her parents. I'm not allowed to go near the more serious cases. They think she has little-pox. But still, who could send such a small child away so far from home?
Day 55
I don't understand why some people must remain here even after they're cured. There was a nice old woman named Edith that I was taking care of, the rash on her arm was NOT what the healer was claiming it was – I don't care if he's been at this for a million years. It was a simple case of silverleaf rash. She went to leave and was stopped at the gate. There was some kind of argument, but I couldn't hear it well enough. Two guards walked her back to the infirmary.
Day 58
I still haven't seen Edith, I asked after her and was told that she left in the evening hours with a departing caravan towards home. I wish her well.
Day 67
Seems that each day more and more people arrive. It's starting to get a bit crowded here. I still haven't heard from mother or father and it's been two months already.
Day 78
Been very busy. I barely have time to sit let alone write in my journal. Still no word from home. Mother and Father must be terribly mad at me.
Day 84
I went to try and stretch my legs today and was stopped at the gate by the guard. Why we even need guards is...anyway, was told there were brigands about, so I'll try again tomorrow.
Day 85
More people today! Carts and carts! Lazarus oversees everyone coming in and then sorts them and sends them to different huts for treatment. There seemed to be a good number of people that looked quite healthy to me.
Day 89
Brother Augustine showed me how to prepare different dressings, oils and elixirs for coughs today.
Day 90
There is a handsome fellow, think his name is Zack – came with the new arrivals the other day. Makes my heart pound hard in my chest when I see him. He was walking around outside today, has the most amazing colored eyes. Why can't the boys back home look like him instead of goat-face? I hope I get assigned to his hut..Ack! Look at what I'm writing! Oh bother! No one will ever see this but me.
*drawings of hearts cover the page with the name Zack in the middle *
Day 93
Still more people arriving today, I asked Lazarus why more huts couldn't be built if they were able to contruct these blasted walls around everything, he went red in the face and stormed off.
Day 98
Snuck in to see Annie again tonight, she's growing very fond of the stories I tell her. She even asked me if she could be a princess one day when she gets older. If I had known children would be her (what a dolt I am!) I would've brought some things from Father's store with me.
Day 100
The whole city is aflutter – there supposedly is a very important doctor that will making a visit here. The rumour is that he's trained in many different areas of medicine and will be bringing a huge retinue of assistants with him! It's exactly what we need. Our supplies are running dangerously low with the constant influx of people.
Day 102
Brother Augustine and Lazarus were having a very heated debate this afternoon. I've never seen Brother so angry. Lazarus spotted me and then they both went inside.
Day 106
Blazing horsehides! Zack's been making eyes at that other healer....I can't remember her name, she was in the caravan with me. I can't help but feel some smug satisfaction that she's leaving tomorrow. Going with a group of people to retrieve that doctor and gather more herbs and such. Maybe I can get assigned to him........
Day 109
Pure mayhem, with a good deal of the healers gone off to bring that doctor back we've been shorthanded on help. I'm not even eating tonight, just going straight to bed. Still no word from home, Lazarus said that when everyone returns there may be a letter or two. I'd like to remain hopeful, but I fear that my family is the price I've paid in choosing to come here.
Day 116
The new doctor will be here soon! Unfortunately Zack's healer-girl comes back too, but we'll have supplies and new medicines and bandages and....I'm so relieved. It has been rough. Zack has been looking markedly better, I would even say that he may be well enough to return home. Saw him and another boy, Jonas - both were running around and tossing a coconut back and forth as a sort of makeshift ball.
Day 117
Lazarus has been acting very strange. I mean he's been a strange fellow since I've been here, but I would think he'd be happy, elated even, that reinforcements are coming. New doctor, more medicines, more help. It almost seems like he's been avoiding those of us who've stayed behind. Hasn't spoken to anyone, avoids looking at us. Odd.
Day 119
The doctor arrived this evening as dusk was falling. Perhaps it was just the gloomy atmosphere of that particular time of day, and the weather, but ...no, I'm being silly. My knowledge of people in the world is limited to Vesper and Paws, what do I really know about the various customs or dress of foreigners? Still, in the dim light it almost looked as if the black robes he wore swirled with a life all their own. I must be tired! I'm sure proper introductions will be made in the morning.
Day 122
I went to check on Annie today and cannot find her. It's taken me awhile but I managed to sew a doll out of one of my dresses for her. I'll ask Lazarus if she's been moved.
Day 124
Since the arrival of that doctor, I can't seem to get a good night's sleep. Something keeps waking me up................Annie...................it's curious..................never thought...........* most of the entry is illegible, with wax droplets dotting the page*
Day 125
Lazarus said that Annie's been moved but that he'll see to it that she gets the doll. Poor thing, I hope it cheers her. I made it from the blue silk dress I wore here, a princess doll has to have a proper princess dress.
Day 129
Back on "kitchen' duty again. More crushing, steeping and preparing elixirs. It wouldn't be so bad if: 1.) it wasn't so mindnumbingly boring and 2.) if I were getting a good night's rest. I fell asleep scraping mandragora today. Had the knife in my hand and everything. Sybil took it from me before it slipped to the floor and then sent me off to bed. Maybe just a nap.....
Day 132
I know it's silly to keep writing home. Mother and Father will never send a reply, but in telling them how I am and all that goes on – well it keeps me sane. I still give the letters to Lazarus to post, perhaps one day they will find it in their hearts to forgive me.
Day 138
Just realized, Jonas and Zack have not been around lately. They were always outside – even if they weren't throwing that stupid coconut around.
Day 142
Zack seems to have taken a turn for the worse, I've asked that girl about him. She wouldn't look me in the eyes so it must be very grave.
Day 141
I'm exhausted. Even Sybil says I am not looking well. With so many people here now, I'm running from sun up to sun down. We've been moved to another house of healers, double the beds and barely enough room to dress. Perhaps things will get better.
Day 143
The doctor rarely comes out of his house/houses. One is for patients and the other is his own personal residence. Very curious man, I've seen him only in the evenings and at night.
Day 149
Was so lost in thought today, that as I was bringing fresh water and bandages to patients, didn't realize which way I walking until it was too late. Looked up to see five guards rushing at me, dropped the bowl and it shattered into a thousand shards. I wasn't even aware that I was headed toward house seven.
Day 151
Starting to get very crowed here. We may even run out of beds.
Day 155
Lazarus has been acting stranger than what is normal – even for him. Brother Augustine hurries by me with barely a moment to talk.
Day 163
Lazarus came to me today with a vial full of some viscous liquid that tastes absolutely disgusting. He says that by order of the doctor all healers in my house are to drink this everyday. Apparently someone was exposed to something and this is a preventative measure so we don't fall ill. Upset my stomach.
Day 167
I've been assigned to the "dying house" as it's called. Patients who have no chance of living – most are the ones the doctor has seen exclusively since his arrival. Poor souls, some are in such agony the only thing to do is keep pouring whiskey down their throats. The others who talk are delusional, saying things like the doctor is a demon, the doctor is killing them...
whiskey rarely works on those.
Day 170
Been a week and that concoction I've been drinking has had me running to the outhouse every new hour. I hope that I am finished with this "preventative" measure. The cure seems worse than the disease.
Day 173
Had a terrible fright today. As I was leaning over an older woman to check her bandages, her eyes snapped open and her hand shot out and caught my arm in a vice-like grip. She kept saying, "he has souless eyes...they glow, watch when they glow...." and then fell back onto the pillows. It took everything in me not to turn and bolt out the door.
Day 177
I was flipping through my journals and noticed a lot of the strange things happening started when that doctor arrived. I'm getting nervous and wonder about our work here. I wonder about the future of Paws.
Day 179
Agatha, that is her name. I had to find out, been calling her Lady Death Grip, and that's not really a kind thing. Spoke to the other girl on duty in there with me and asked her if the patients were saying anything odd – she said that most of them do because they are delirious, delusional and crazy.
Day 181
Agatha was awake today, I was very careful not to lean over her. She seemed rather alert. When she went to speak though I hurried out of the room.
Day 183
Mari came to get me today, burst into the kitchen saying Agatha was asking for me and in a terrible state. I ran back to the house with her as quick as I could. She refused to talk unless I sent Mari out of the room. Then pulled me down close and whispered ... soulless eyes, so beautiful and terrifying....get away from here, go far away.. find your way home.... and, and then she died!
Day 185
That's it I've had it, I can't stop thinking about what the old woman said. I'm on the next caravan out of here.
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Valus’ Inferno – The Chronicle of the Death of Paws
Author: Valus Caormastus, of the Cult of Virtue.
Player Author: Balthier Trakand
“This way, a good soul never passes.”
- Written in Blood on the Church Ruins of Paws.
To the Patriarch Marcius IV, Reverend Father of the Cult of Virtue, and Keeper of the Heart of the Earth.
Faithful Marcius,
It is with trepidation, and no small grain sorrow, that I pen this missive to thee. For if thou are reading this, I am already dead.
But even as the shadow closes in around me, and the curse that has stolen my vigor now lays claim to my soul, I realize that I live only for the mercy of the Light, who has given unto me this final chance to reveal the grim truth I hold close to my heart, and divulge a secret the Powerful would see hidden.
I refer to the destruction of Paws, Marcius, and to the atrocities that were inflicted upon innocent men. I refer to an evil that still festers in its fetid swamps, waiting for the right moment to unleash itself upon Our World.
You know the histories. You know that long ago, in the Age before Cantabrigian, Paws was no more than a humble farming village located on the Golden Plains of Valencia. It was simple, unimposing, and all but ignored by the feuding warlords and aristocratic barons that divided the land then.
It was the place of my birth, and it, like I, was not prepared for the evil that would rain down upon it.
Mondain, the Son of Wolfgang, had hoped to become the god of this world. He believed in his madness that only through the corruption of the Gem - and the sacrifice of some ten million souls - could man regain his rightful place amongst the Stars of Heaven. To that end he blasphemed against the Light, fornicating with Devils, and sharing his knowledge with beasts who sailed amongst the stars. He *****d human women to their slave masters, and exchanged flesh for precious magic and technology our kind has not known since we departed Earth, more than three millennia ago.
The Age of Darkness, as it would come to be known, was a time of bloodshed and famine, the likes of which are all but incomprehensible to those who were not there. I tell you now, Marcius, give thanks to the Light that you were not yet born, for I shudder even now to think of the atrocities I bore witness to. Give thanks, each night, that the world had not again faced such an Apocalypse. We would not survive it.
Paws, along with much of the Empire, was set to the torch by the Legions of the Dark Lord, leaving only ashes and misery in their path. It was only under the banner of a single Duke, Cantabrigian, who would become our Prophet and Lawgiver, and his Champion, Ganji of Earth, that Sosaria was spared.
But it was not saved. The Shattering did not free the world. It damned it. For in that fateful moment, when Ganji brought down his sword upon the Gem, Sosaria was broken forever. The world was rent in fire. Seas boiled and became like blood. Continents rose and sank. Civilizations, lost in the desperate swoop of one mans sword, a billion souls snuffed out in one instant. Light, I pray that the deaths of those vast multitudes came swiftly, and without pain. Theirs was the more merciful fate.
The remnants of the continent that would become Britannia, it is said, emerged strong and powerful, not because it was so before the Breaking, but because it was spared the worst of the atrocities heaped on other nations. It was unto this land that Ganji, the Stranger, would be given a heroes welcome, honored as the Savior of Light and Virtue, before disappearing forever into the Chronicles of Man.
Cantabrigian would restore Akalabeth, later to become Britain, while sending his most loyal servants west and south to map out this strange, broken new world. Those of us who returned to Paws, or what we thought was Paws, discovered a broken and lifeless shell poised on the edge of the New Sea. The lowlands and fields were replaced with a shallow surf, and the far hills, with its ancient pagan temple, became Islands.
We barely recognized our home, and those with means elected to depart for the West, where new farming villages offered new opportunities in the woodlands of Caledonia. Others chose to go South, where Paladin Japeth, and Crawworth were erecting a New Trinsic, the Sentinel of the South. I was one of the fortunate, but chose instead to travel across the Sea to the opulent Magincia. It had once been a river port, where traders from the Lands of Rondolin and Olympus might trade their wares. In the Breaking, it had become an Isle in its own right, poised to become the trading center of a New Kingdom. It was there I elected to be schooled in the teachings of the Light, becoming a Theologian.
It was not long into the Reign of Cantabrigian, now called British, that War, that most ancient and cruel of human practices, would again threaten to consume all Sosaria. Robere, claiming descent from the Ancient Line of Kings, announced that he was the true and rightful heir to the crown Cantabrigian now wore, and he had formed a Legion of Royalists and Mercenaries to prove his “…Legitimacy.”
The Usurper was a cunning and ruthless tactician, managing to carve out a Kingdom of his own in the North, while the valiant Britannians, led by Cantabrigian and Blackthorne, managed to hold the South, though losses on both sides were great. It was during this period, I learned, that my home had taken on a new purpose: a camp for the sick, the wounded, the dying. Legions of the injured, having sacrificed life and limb in the name of Cantabrigian, were shipped here, along with the plagued, victims of Robere’s penchant for poisoning wells and hurling plague infected corpses over City Walls.
I was a young man, then, and quite naïve. I was a philosopher, and theologian in profession, but a healer at heart. I hoped to help Britannia, and Paws, in whatever way I could, so I boarded a ship, leaving all that I had behind, and returned to the village of my birth.
I was …horrified when the village port came into view. It had become a walled place, festering with rot, the skies dark with furnaces used to cremate the dying thousands. I did not turn back, though my stomach churned at the thought of what I might discover within. Light, I should have. But I could sense the need of the sick, the dying, the great plight within. I could smell death, rot, and decay.
Light help me, Marcius. I could not turn away.
I am told the defeat of Robere was Glorious. The final charge of the newfound Order of the Silver Serpent, something to be remembered in song and prose. But lets not mince words, or exchange in falsehoods. It was a shameful slaughter.
Let it not be said Our Prophet, Cantabrigian, was injust in his War, for the tyranny he fought against is echoed in the dictatorships of later men. In Blackthorne, and in Casca. But let us glorify the things he fought for, not the means by which he fought it.
I could have left then, now that the war was over. I should have left then. Studies into the deeper meaning of existence, and a young woman, awaited me in Magincia. But I could not leave the dying behind. I could hear the screams of terror in my dreams, I could feel their suffering, and I knew I must remain amongst them.
It was during this period, a new man became the Lord Mayor of Paws. Vorigern. And it was under his …leadership that the Village took an even darker hue.
The walls became a prison. No longer did they keep bands of roving marauders out, but instead, the people within, in. For plague flourished amongst us despite the best efforts of our healing. No longer could communication occur with the outside world.
And no longer was Paws a place to send the sick, the dying. It had begun with the Last Legion of Robere, survivors of the Battle of Altmere, now the Crimson Plains. The Legion was forced into makeshift prison camps on the edge of the Village. Inquisitors, bearing the Seal of the Monarch, began extracting confessions from the soldiers, divining from them the location of any pockets of resistance that might oppose Cantabrigian’s Rule. And only healers, chosen by Vortigern, were permitted amongst their number.
Healers, who turned the powers of Life to Destruction and Woe, sterilizing thousands of men, and using them to test new diseases, and cures.
It was not long before the resistance was crushed. Political prisoners, and any who stood in opposition to the Britannian Court were sent here. Such nobles could not be executed - such violated the Old Codes and might stir rebellion in the North - but they could be removed from their ancestral manors and locked in a Plagued Colony.
It was then that I met Gustave Hohenstaufen.
He was something to behold, Gustave. Tall. Dignified. With light brown hair that cascaded in curls down his back. Dark, often narrowed eyes that bore with them the aura of command, and features that were at once brooding and seductive. He was every much a King as Cantabrigian, and as he was hauled on a prison cart into the City, people fell back in awe or looked away as his eyes swept across them. Such was the power of this strange man.
I am told he was a minor noble, one of mixed heritage. Akalabethan, on his mothers side, and Valderian, on his fathers, a Northman. His sole crime? The impregnation of the wife of a Duke in the favor of Cantabrigian.
He would be brought to me in the mornings, after the sadistic indignation of the inquisitors were satisfied, and with what herbal knowledge I possessed, I mixed a special poultice that would ease the pain and heal the worst of his scourgings, that he might be again put to the Question.
Despite our differences, I, a man of the cloth, and he, a vain noble, he and I began to speak, and I found him to be a profoundly intelligent man. He might quote passages from Revivalist Poetry and Ancient Liturgy in the same breath, and was well versed in the Arts and Sciences of the age. The one thing I found abhorrent, however, was his strange fascination with the dark arts; in particular the names and aspects of demons, an interest I could not imagine being sparked in the education of a young noble.
And not surprisingly, Gustave became acquainted with Vortigern, the two spending long hours in study and debate within his library.
It was during this period that the shadow would fall again on Paws, and I would be forever changed.
At last, the sick and the dying stopped streaming in. The War of Succession was over. Yet despite my pleas to return to Magincia, I was barred from leaving. A new plague had begun to spread, it was said, and every Healer and Priest would be needed to fight it. I was left with no choice in the matter.
I am not certain when I began to understand something terrible was at work. Was it when I turned back from the Gates, and saw Vortigern, wreathed in black, staring down at me with such hate I shudder now to remember it? Was it the first night, when the scream of a woman awakened me from a nightmare, or the fifth, when the half-eaten corpse of a young maiden was discovered in the alley behind my apartment? Was it when the Order of the Silver Serpent built an encampment on the edge of the Village as though preparing for war?
Or was it two weeks later, when the dead began to walk again, hungering for the flesh of the living?
It was called the Plague of the Necromonger, which caused the infected to begin developing flu like symptoms. Hemopysis, and the development of black leisions soon followed.
It would have been easy to believe the illness was the Black Death, which had not broken out in centuries, and not something more …malignant. That sounds absurd, doesn’t it? Nothing prepares you for a man he pronounced dead three hours before rising up and attempting to sink his teeth into your arm.
The plague spread quickly, and within a month, roving mobs of undead haunted the allies at night. We had no recourse but to dismember the newly dead and burn their remains while their flesh was still warm. Light, forgive me for what I did in the name of the Greater Good.
During the evenings I would speak with Gustave. He seemed surprisingly …unaffected by what was happening around us, and remained in good cheer. He revealed to me that Vortigern was studying the corpses of those …zombies laid low, and the Plague. He told me the enemy would use it one day against us, thus it was important we understand it, that we might mitigate the worst atrocities.
Were we the experiments? I wonder.
It was then that a woman - Aurelia - disappeared. She had been carried off into the night, it was said, her captors having managed to smuggle her through a tunnel under the wall.
To my surprise, instead of sending the Order, Gustave was permitted to form a militia and leave the Gates. I was the first he asked to accompany him. Despite my ineptitude in all things warfare, I could not refuse, for I knew the woman, and her husband who fate would place amongst the prisoners of Robere’s Legion. I accepted the mission.
We marched west into the Drachenwald, now called Spiritwood, in search of the woman and her captors, and spent hours searching for tracks. I heard movement. I turned.
I must have been knocked out cold, for when I awoke, I discovered the corpse of a soldier atop me. I also heard whispers, something about the time when the barrier between worlds becomes weak, and the eclipse that would “…open the Gate.”
I managed to climb from beneath the corpse and stand. There I beheld Gustave, and to my surprise, Vortigern, standing in a moonlit glade, staring down at the corpse of a woman, her mouth and lifeless eyes open as if to scream, a dagger plunged into her heart.
I vomited.
Vortigern turned, and with a sneer, he acknowledged me. He explained, when I had regained control of the contents of my stomach, that the search party had been ambushed by the dead. Killed to the last man. Gustave had survived, only because of his Swordsmanship, having driven back the dead, injuring the Necromancer responsible for this ritual, but not before he had completed this unholy sacrifice.
Something was amiss. I knew that, somewhere inside, but however much I loathed Vortigern, I was inclined to trust in the goodness and valor of Gustave.
In the following weeks, Gustave continued to lead his militia against the Living Dead in the Village. Yet despite his valiant crusade, and the best efforts of the crematorium, the dead mobs seemed to be growing in number each night.
The Order offered us no aid. Instead, the Knights kept the gate locked and barred. We were each potential carriers, their Grand Master, Lord Delacroix, announced from behind the Wall, and until a cure could be found, no one was leaving no matter how dire things became within.
Vortigern, in the few instances he departed his manor at the center of town, seemed anxious and aloof. A fellow healer claimed to have seen him in the streets one evening, babbling incoherently, and I did not doubt the rumor, though I convinced myself it was something less sinister, perhaps stress, and not an inner malevolence being loosed from the inner reaches of that mans wretched soul.
The night before the eclipse, as fate would have it, I indulged in an old ritual, searching out the nearest pub. I seldom partook in the fruit of the Vine, a ritual associated with the fat and impious friars of Dal Riata, now called Yew. But I was careworn, and it seemed a sinless indulgence considering the circumstances. It was there, in the eerily quiet common room, windows boarded incase the dead decide to lay siege to the Inn, that I found Judith. Gustaves new lover sat huddled in the corner, holding herself. I moved to her side, and inquired as to the nature of her suffering. She gazed up at me, and with a haunted look that I shall not soon forget, she whispered, telling me Gustave had sacrificed …her. I inquired as to whom, and with tears in her eyes, she responded, “Aurelia. Edith. And now, Annabelle.”
It struck me like a blow across the face. I reeled backwards, not because the first seeds of suspicion hadn’t been planted before this night, but because her words gave those suspicions nourishment, a place to grow, and I could no longer convince myself that such misgivings were falsehood.
Whatever look I had on my face, it must have startled her, for she doubled over as though in pain, and fainted. I would have confronted him then, but I could not leave her, not in that state. Ergo, I endeavored to bear her back to my apartment where I could question her further, but that journey proved far more perilous than I had anticipated. For a ravenous corpse leapt from the shadows, nearly tearing her from my arms, and had it not been for the brave act of a young woman, bludgeoning the things skull in with a crude club, I might not be writing this.
Judith awoke the next morning, clearly no more sane than she had been the night before. I saw to it one of my apprentices watched over her, and then proceeded to the Mansion occupied by Gustave.
The doors were unlocked, but the door held fast as I pushed. So, with a growl, I threw my weight against it and shoved. It moved, slowly at first, and that is when the lingering scent of death overwhelmed me.
I looked in. The maimed corpses of liveried servants, having attempted to flee, were piled against the door, there bodies hacked to pieces. Annabelle sat in a chair, and for a moment I thought her alive.
I shudder, even now, as I recall the profusion of death laid before me, of her form, adorned in a wedding dress, now stained with blood. A slash across her carotid artery suggested a quick death, a clean death, and not the work of a ravenous zombie. I knelt down and closed her eyes, wiping from her lips a larvae that sought to crawl nestle inside the open orifice.
I made to turn back then, and should have, for this task was best left to the authorities, but then a shadow moved in the room and into the dining hall. I moved to follow, but it disappeared before I could pursue. Again, I would have turned back. I should have turned back. But then I heard it. Chanting. An ancient tongue not meant to be uttered by the lips of man. I admit, I was transfixed, perhaps even curious. I descended down a set of spiraling stairs, and it was there, in the basement, I found …him.
Gustave stood at the head of a black altar, its edges crusted with dried blood. On the altar writhed Edith, wrists bound, stripped to the waist, a crude gag preventing her from screaming. The man held a bloodied athame over her chest, and chanted in Enochian.
I called out his name. He looked at me, and smiled, daring me to stop him, as though he thought me powerless. Perhaps I was. But that arrogant smirk twisted into a look of surprise, and loathing, as booted feet sounded behind me.
Chanting. A raised hand. A ball of flame leapt from Vortigerns hand and screamed across the chamber. Gustave deflected it, a shower of sparks exploding harmlessly around an invisible barrier surrounding the Necromancer and his Sacrifice.
“You cannot stop me now,” he screamed, and before I could take a step forward and stop him, Gustave plunged the ritual dagger into Edith with all his might.
I dare not repeat all that transpired, for I shudder now to remember it. The world became black as the blackest night. The pentagram on the floor began to glow, and spin, as though the ground had become the sea, churning around the maelstrom at its heart. The walls faded. And on every hand, I saw a great plain of woe, and cruel torment. Tombs, scoured in flame, made to glow all over, hotter than iron need be for any craft. And such dire laments issued fourth, as only come from those who are truly wretched, suffering, and forever lost.
I beheld Hell.
And there in our midst, I beheld a being both terrible and beautiful, shameful to look upon, our own sins reflected back at us. Vortigern and I watched, helpless, as we share Gustaves depraved vision, and listened as the Evil One offered him immortality, revenge, perhaps even godhood, if he would but perform one favor. Sacrifice each living soul in Paws, condemning their innocent souls to Damnation.
It was a price he was more than willing to pay.
I know not how long I was unconscious. But I woke to Vortigern standing over me in that basement. Gustave, gone. And on my person was a strange mark. While I understood not its meaning, not its purpose at the time, I knew the script to be ancient and foul. A Brand of Sacrifice.
Vortigern explained to me, in hushed tones, that Gustave had traded his immortal soul to Hell, and in exchange had become the vessel of a being from the Void. To complete the geas, he needed to sacrifice each man, each woman, and child living in Paws to complete the Ritual. Edith? The Eclipse? He had opened a Gate to the Aether, and even now, hellish creatures of the Void were pouring out into the streets, butchering the sleeping in their beds.
Vortigern explained that he had been a Necromancer, permitted to live and practice his art, in exchange for his knowledge, which would be needed in the fight against the Lieutenants of Mondain still haunting the dark places of the world. He had been experimenting with the Plague in private, but Gustave had discovered this secret, stealing it and unleashing the Plague upon the Village. When Vortigern had learned what was happening, it was too late.
Then he revealed to me the darkest secret of all. This was not the work of Gustave alone, but a greater web. The Order had planted the idea in the mans head, knowing he would summon the Devil and become his vessel. The Order planned to defeat the Evil here on the Mortal Plane, and even now their number was laying siege to the City, prepared to strike down the Living, the Dead, and the Demonic. He bid me escape, if I could. He would use his powers to stop Gustave, if he could, and if not, all was lost.
That was the last I ever saw either of them. I fled then. I fled, avoiding mobs of zombies and winged, demonic creatures, grabbing up Judith, escaping with her under the walls in the confusion.
I would learn of the destruction of Paws when I arrived in Britain. The Criers declared it an Orc Incursion, and that the Order of the Silver Serpent managed to quell the it, but not before the village was put to the torch. What remained, the charred rubble and rotting foundations would sink into the mud, forever lost. Thus was born the Fens of the Dead.
Gustave was never found, Marcius. His name is not on the records of the dead. And those few survivors who managed to escape have been dying, murdered one by one. I fear that as the next eclipse approaches, more than two decades later, Gustave is alive, and he is attempting to finish the ritual.
I do not possess the strength to fight him, Faithful Brother. I am an old man long before my time. The Plague waits for me to shed my last breath, that my body might rise again and hunt the living.
When you read this, Brother, the poison has already touched my lips. You will not arrive in time to stop me. I have left instructions in the accompanying envelope, how to dismember my body, and scatter my ashes in accordance with our Faith.
Light, give you the strength to do what must be done.
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My Journal
Author: Helena Von Wyck
Player Author: Fanny Firebottom
Day 1
Well, father will just have to accept that I will not be running his shop now or ever. I told him that it is simply not my calling and that I wanted to be a healer. I wanted to help people. He just looked at me and then walked out of the shop. They will let me go I swear it! Now I just have to figure a way to tell Mother...
Day 2
So, after all the china was swept off the floor and the liquor bottles righted, she stormed out of the house tearing at her breast. I thought it went well.
Day 3
Mother is still acting like it's the end of the world. She weeps openly and for no reason now and is scaring father's customers away. If she keeps this up, people will send her off to Paws! Father is not speaking to me at all, just shakes his head or pretends to be checking ledgers when I come into the room. The caravan leaves in a fortnight, I have that much time to convince them to let me go.
Day 4
Today was much better, at least mother was not crying – well not all morning. She's now taken to hollering disjointed thoughts at me during odd times. "It is not proper for a young woman of your stature," she yelled while I was gathering invoices for father. I dropped the whole stack on the floor and had to re-organize them.
Day 5
Mother was all smiles this morning. I quickly ran the other way when I saw that.
Day 6
"What about Luke?" was the question served up with dinner. Now, if THAT was supposed to entice me to stay, she was gravely mistaken. That goat-faced troll would fondle a pig if given the chance! I should tell her all about him....
*detailed drawing of Luke with a goat face trying to kiss a reluctant pig*
Day 7
I have tried again and again to explain to my parents that people are needed at Paws. There has been much yelling back and forth about it over the past several weeks, what the neighbors must think of us now! But, I am going. With or without their blessings, I am going. Even if I have to sneak out in the dead of night...
Day 16
The trunks are all packed and I'm ready to leave! I feel frightened and excited at the same time! Good-bye Mother and Father! Good-bye Vesper! Good-bye salty sea air and noisy seabirds! Good-bye dumb bridges everywhere!
Day 17
My travelling companions are so nice! There's another girl here about my age, pretty too, I wish I had her hair! The few sick people are in the last wagon, riding behind us. I'm not allowed to go near them yet, but the monk riding with us has been quizzing me on herbs and such. I'm learning so much, can't wait to start helping out.
Day 19
Nausea much better today, what I wouldn't give to be standing on a bridge for 5 minutes inhaling the fresh air. The wagons are cramped and crowded – we are elbow to elbow. Perhaps I should have brought the more practical dresses that I've seen the common folk wearing....this silk sticks to you like a second skin. I never thought passage to the city would be so, rough.
Day 21
Feeling much better today Brother (I always forget his name) gave me some kind of tea to settle my stomach. Hopping out and walking alongside the wagon helps too – lessy bumpy. My dress is destroyed, mud all over the bottom ripped hem, but when I get back home I'm sure the tailor can fix it.
We're almost there! They say we should be seeing the city soon!
Day 24
Well, it wasn't exactly how I expected it to look, but... I was a bit surprised to see the city was being fenced in by high walls. Construction everywhere! And not even your average height – beyond what I'm accustomed to. Maybe they want to keep prying eyes away.
Day 25
I asked Lazarus, the head healer, why they were building the walls so high, he just pushed past me muttering under his breath. He's not a very friendly man and I get the impression that he doesn't like all of the new construction happening here...I wonder what it's for..
Day 32
Been mixing poultices all day long. Not quite what I had in mind as "helping". It's not too bad, but grinding the oats into a fine powder is tiring. I asked what the liquid was that it gets mixed with and I was told I didn't want to know.
Day 35
Today they had me crushing of all things, buttercups! Athara kept bringing bundles and bundles in – the whole table was covered in them.
Day 36
Garlic.
Day 39
More Garlic. Had I wanted to be slicing and chopping so much I'd have run away to Good Eats in Britain!!
Day 41
Finally! I can help! Brother Augustine (that's his name!) said I was a quick learner. I wrote Mother and Father the night I arrived, but I'm told the post is very slow and it takes time for messages to go back and forth. I hope they still aren't mad.
Day 46
I've been treating some people. Most with skin afflictions, it's mainly wrapping their arms or legs with linen bandages and oatmeal flour. For a few it staves off the constant itch, and one person even looked much better after a few days.
Day 48
Saw Annie today – she looks like such a sweet little girl. Cries terribly because she misses her parents. I'm not allowed to go near the more serious cases. They think she has little-pox. But still, who could send such a small child away so far from home?
Day 55
I don't understand why some people must remain here even after they're cured. There was a nice old woman named Edith that I was taking care of, the rash on her arm was NOT what the healer was claiming it was – I don't care if he's been at this for a million years. It was a simple case of silverleaf rash. She went to leave and was stopped at the gate. There was some kind of argument, but I couldn't hear it well enough. Two guards walked her back to the infirmary.
Day 58
I still haven't seen Edith, I asked after her and was told that she left in the evening hours with a departing caravan towards home. I wish her well.
Day 67
Seems that each day more and more people arrive. It's starting to get a bit crowded here. I still haven't heard from mother or father and it's been two months already.
Day 78
Been very busy. I barely have time to sit let alone write in my journal. Still no word from home. Mother and Father must be terribly mad at me.
Day 84
I went to try and stretch my legs today and was stopped at the gate by the guard. Why we even need guards is...anyway, was told there were brigands about, so I'll try again tomorrow.
Day 85
More people today! Carts and carts! Lazarus oversees everyone coming in and then sorts them and sends them to different huts for treatment. There seemed to be a good number of people that looked quite healthy to me.
Day 89
Brother Augustine showed me how to prepare different dressings, oils and elixirs for coughs today.
Day 90
There is a handsome fellow, think his name is Zack – came with the new arrivals the other day. Makes my heart pound hard in my chest when I see him. He was walking around outside today, has the most amazing colored eyes. Why can't the boys back home look like him instead of goat-face? I hope I get assigned to his hut..Ack! Look at what I'm writing! Oh bother! No one will ever see this but me.
*drawings of hearts cover the page with the name Zack in the middle *
Day 93
Still more people arriving today, I asked Lazarus why more huts couldn't be built if they were able to contruct these blasted walls around everything, he went red in the face and stormed off.
Day 98
Snuck in to see Annie again tonight, she's growing very fond of the stories I tell her. She even asked me if she could be a princess one day when she gets older. If I had known children would be her (what a dolt I am!) I would've brought some things from Father's store with me.
Day 100
The whole city is aflutter – there supposedly is a very important doctor that will making a visit here. The rumour is that he's trained in many different areas of medicine and will be bringing a huge retinue of assistants with him! It's exactly what we need. Our supplies are running dangerously low with the constant influx of people.
Day 102
Brother Augustine and Lazarus were having a very heated debate this afternoon. I've never seen Brother so angry. Lazarus spotted me and then they both went inside.
Day 106
Blazing horsehides! Zack's been making eyes at that other healer....I can't remember her name, she was in the caravan with me. I can't help but feel some smug satisfaction that she's leaving tomorrow. Going with a group of people to retrieve that doctor and gather more herbs and such. Maybe I can get assigned to him........
Day 109
Pure mayhem, with a good deal of the healers gone off to bring that doctor back we've been shorthanded on help. I'm not even eating tonight, just going straight to bed. Still no word from home, Lazarus said that when everyone returns there may be a letter or two. I'd like to remain hopeful, but I fear that my family is the price I've paid in choosing to come here.
Day 116
The new doctor will be here soon! Unfortunately Zack's healer-girl comes back too, but we'll have supplies and new medicines and bandages and....I'm so relieved. It has been rough. Zack has been looking markedly better, I would even say that he may be well enough to return home. Saw him and another boy, Jonas - both were running around and tossing a coconut back and forth as a sort of makeshift ball.
Day 117
Lazarus has been acting very strange. I mean he's been a strange fellow since I've been here, but I would think he'd be happy, elated even, that reinforcements are coming. New doctor, more medicines, more help. It almost seems like he's been avoiding those of us who've stayed behind. Hasn't spoken to anyone, avoids looking at us. Odd.
Day 119
The doctor arrived this evening as dusk was falling. Perhaps it was just the gloomy atmosphere of that particular time of day, and the weather, but ...no, I'm being silly. My knowledge of people in the world is limited to Vesper and Paws, what do I really know about the various customs or dress of foreigners? Still, in the dim light it almost looked as if the black robes he wore swirled with a life all their own. I must be tired! I'm sure proper introductions will be made in the morning.
Day 122
I went to check on Annie today and cannot find her. It's taken me awhile but I managed to sew a doll out of one of my dresses for her. I'll ask Lazarus if she's been moved.
Day 124
Since the arrival of that doctor, I can't seem to get a good night's sleep. Something keeps waking me up................Annie...................it's curious..................never thought...........* most of the entry is illegible, with wax droplets dotting the page*
Day 125
Lazarus said that Annie's been moved but that he'll see to it that she gets the doll. Poor thing, I hope it cheers her. I made it from the blue silk dress I wore here, a princess doll has to have a proper princess dress.
Day 129
Back on "kitchen' duty again. More crushing, steeping and preparing elixirs. It wouldn't be so bad if: 1.) it wasn't so mindnumbingly boring and 2.) if I were getting a good night's rest. I fell asleep scraping mandragora today. Had the knife in my hand and everything. Sybil took it from me before it slipped to the floor and then sent me off to bed. Maybe just a nap.....
Day 132
I know it's silly to keep writing home. Mother and Father will never send a reply, but in telling them how I am and all that goes on – well it keeps me sane. I still give the letters to Lazarus to post, perhaps one day they will find it in their hearts to forgive me.
Day 138
Just realized, Jonas and Zack have not been around lately. They were always outside – even if they weren't throwing that stupid coconut around.
Day 142
Zack seems to have taken a turn for the worse, I've asked that girl about him. She wouldn't look me in the eyes so it must be very grave.
Day 141
I'm exhausted. Even Sybil says I am not looking well. With so many people here now, I'm running from sun up to sun down. We've been moved to another house of healers, double the beds and barely enough room to dress. Perhaps things will get better.
Day 143
The doctor rarely comes out of his house/houses. One is for patients and the other is his own personal residence. Very curious man, I've seen him only in the evenings and at night.
Day 149
Was so lost in thought today, that as I was bringing fresh water and bandages to patients, didn't realize which way I walking until it was too late. Looked up to see five guards rushing at me, dropped the bowl and it shattered into a thousand shards. I wasn't even aware that I was headed toward house seven.
Day 151
Starting to get very crowed here. We may even run out of beds.
Day 155
Lazarus has been acting stranger than what is normal – even for him. Brother Augustine hurries by me with barely a moment to talk.
Day 163
Lazarus came to me today with a vial full of some viscous liquid that tastes absolutely disgusting. He says that by order of the doctor all healers in my house are to drink this everyday. Apparently someone was exposed to something and this is a preventative measure so we don't fall ill. Upset my stomach.
Day 167
I've been assigned to the "dying house" as it's called. Patients who have no chance of living – most are the ones the doctor has seen exclusively since his arrival. Poor souls, some are in such agony the only thing to do is keep pouring whiskey down their throats. The others who talk are delusional, saying things like the doctor is a demon, the doctor is killing them...
whiskey rarely works on those.
Day 170
Been a week and that concoction I've been drinking has had me running to the outhouse every new hour. I hope that I am finished with this "preventative" measure. The cure seems worse than the disease.
Day 173
Had a terrible fright today. As I was leaning over an older woman to check her bandages, her eyes snapped open and her hand shot out and caught my arm in a vice-like grip. She kept saying, "he has souless eyes...they glow, watch when they glow...." and then fell back onto the pillows. It took everything in me not to turn and bolt out the door.
Day 177
I was flipping through my journals and noticed a lot of the strange things happening started when that doctor arrived. I'm getting nervous and wonder about our work here. I wonder about the future of Paws.
Day 179
Agatha, that is her name. I had to find out, been calling her Lady Death Grip, and that's not really a kind thing. Spoke to the other girl on duty in there with me and asked her if the patients were saying anything odd – she said that most of them do because they are delirious, delusional and crazy.
Day 181
Agatha was awake today, I was very careful not to lean over her. She seemed rather alert. When she went to speak though I hurried out of the room.
Day 183
Mari came to get me today, burst into the kitchen saying Agatha was asking for me and in a terrible state. I ran back to the house with her as quick as I could. She refused to talk unless I sent Mari out of the room. Then pulled me down close and whispered ... soulless eyes, so beautiful and terrifying....get away from here, go far away.. find your way home.... and, and then she died!
Day 185
That's it I've had it, I can't stop thinking about what the old woman said. I'm on the next caravan out of here.
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