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Player's Guide Places People History Beliefs


I don't know where to begin. My anger is an entity unto itself; it writhes and twists, a knife in my abdomen. It is palpable, a meal I cannot stop eating.

My friends...my companions. They've no real sense of who we were talking to, of the import of what we carry, and what we do. To be stringing along one of the lords of hell! One does not bargain with such creatures, even in jest. Especially when one is a "guest" in his castle. If I'm to die in hell, I would hope to at least die with a little dignity, not with the flippant remarks of my own comrades in my ears.

I begin to wonder whether they truly appreciate the import of what we are doing. It goes beyond any of us. This is a fight to save existence itself. Humor may be found, yes, but flippancy in the face of such a powerful force for evil is not only unbecoming, it is utterly stupid. Is it all just some grand joke to them? Have they forgotten already the sacrifices that have been made, the people who have died to allow us to get this far? It seems that the answer to both is yes, and that is something I cannot abide. The disregard shown for the gravity of our predicament, and for me, has drawn me to the edge of my patience.

The time has perhaps come to remind them who in present company has been on this journey the longest, who has put the most time and effort into finding these things and keeping them out of the wrong hands. Right now, I almost trust Horus more than the three of them.

Then there was the dream. I still don’t know entirely what it means, and I am reluctant to discuss it with anyone. As the dream began, I was walking down a long tunnel; all was gray and there seemed no ending to it. Then I saw three suns blazing like lighthouse beacons ahead of me. I quickened my step to reach them, to see more clearly what they were, but I seemed to come no closer to them. After an eternity, I approached the end of the tunnel. Before me were the three suns, shining over a stone dais, upon which lay Elana. I found a knife in my hand, and to my dismay it was raised over her throat. The blade came down, drawing closer and closer to her throat…and I awoke.

I am no big believer in prophetic dreams, but I worry that this dream may be exactly that. If it is, I must surely find some way to prevent it from coming about.

Associated Regions: Lochlainn
From the journal of Islan Diemyn

Contributor: Chris Schuettpelz