Aedon’s Journal -- Open Ends
We are missing something. I am convinced of this. I cannot shake the feeling that there lies something unseen of yet to make greater sense of the recent events in Trinsic.
A disease is not a curse is not an ooze is not a plague. I cannot blame the officials for failing to provide a consistent story when they do not even seem to have a grasp on it themselves. Everyone is throwing around answers when the only thing we have are questions; some things are bound to become confused along the line.
First the riots, then the Mayor turning away the royal guard, and now we find that he has been delving into the sod of the Isle of the Paladins. The Paladins are the very heart and soul of Trinsic. Always has it been so. That isle was their most sacred of grounds. What manner of mayor could conceive any project of excavation to the upset of such old tradition?
Whatever his motivations, he has found something for his troubles.
What tomb was this? Whose bones did he disturb, and for what reason were they interred beneath the sacramental halls of the holy knights? Perhaps the founder of the order, I suppose. It would make sense. But then, why would the unearthing of his remains lead to such a calamity?
I must know more about this tomb. The fortifications are underway, and it may soon be too late. We cannot rely upon the word of the authorities when they have provided so few answers so far. I need to have someone on the inside before the doors slam shut.
We are missing something, some piece of this puzzle.
I only hope that, when it lands in place, we find ourselves with a complete picture.
We are missing something. I am convinced of this. I cannot shake the feeling that there lies something unseen of yet to make greater sense of the recent events in Trinsic.
A disease is not a curse is not an ooze is not a plague. I cannot blame the officials for failing to provide a consistent story when they do not even seem to have a grasp on it themselves. Everyone is throwing around answers when the only thing we have are questions; some things are bound to become confused along the line.
First the riots, then the Mayor turning away the royal guard, and now we find that he has been delving into the sod of the Isle of the Paladins. The Paladins are the very heart and soul of Trinsic. Always has it been so. That isle was their most sacred of grounds. What manner of mayor could conceive any project of excavation to the upset of such old tradition?
Whatever his motivations, he has found something for his troubles.
What tomb was this? Whose bones did he disturb, and for what reason were they interred beneath the sacramental halls of the holy knights? Perhaps the founder of the order, I suppose. It would make sense. But then, why would the unearthing of his remains lead to such a calamity?
I must know more about this tomb. The fortifications are underway, and it may soon be too late. We cannot rely upon the word of the authorities when they have provided so few answers so far. I need to have someone on the inside before the doors slam shut.
We are missing something, some piece of this puzzle.
I only hope that, when it lands in place, we find ourselves with a complete picture.