Xanthus Creek: War Journal

[Space Cowboy]

Year 768. Month 4. Day 14.

Ezra has revealed to me my role in the Grand Scheme.
It is with a humble yet determined heart that I accept the role that has been laid before me.
My entire life has been in preparation for this battle. The battle for Barovia shall be a long and bloody one and many of us will not survive.

It is a battle that we are fated to lose, yet we fight anyway. We claim the minor victories. In each loss the Legion suffers. In each person delivered to the salvation of Ezra's loving embrace. We fight on, for it is right and to do otherwise would be surrendering ourselves to damnation.

The mistakes of our forebearers lie upon us like scarlet stains of blood. Each where I look the futility of existence is evident. Barovia is a festering sore upon the face of the Core, maggot ridden and diseased and in dire need of cleansing. The parasites that feed upon it's rotten heart do not understand nor comprehend the vile hive of filth and sin that their bloated husk of a country has become.

This land is infested with the Legion. The Drinkers of Blood lurk in every corner. The beast known as 'Mother' is most prevalent but it is but one and we are many, and it's end shall be borne upon swift wings of divine retribution. The Beasts that Rend crawl out of their hovels and feed upon the populace with wanton abandon. It is a dark time in Barovia, it is here where the Legion shall find it's strongest foothold.

Corruption among it's people is commonplace. A cult gathers in the shadowy depths of the town of Vallaki, composed of both insane outsiders and misguided deviant peasants both. They worship bizarre and mad deities. They seek war with the Church of Ezra, and we shall oblige them.

The peasants of Barovia are ignorant and fearful. They fear and hate us and what we represent - the ideals of an outside orthodoxy. They do not understand that we are their only salvation from the darkness. Where others shall falter, we shall prevail. Even those outsiders who claim to protect these very same people despise us for reasons unfathomable. Their opinions matter little, as long as we can deliver salvation.

This is a breeding ground for heresy. Ideas spread among those who claim to be free thinking, twisted and perverted. Our enemies grow in number, but to me it is a sign. A sign that we walk the difficult path. The true path. The way of Ezra.

Already we grow in number. Our newest initiates are promising. Night and day we train them at our stronghold, instilling in them the skills they will need to survive not only this battle, but the war. We are moulding them into instruments of battle. They shall be our angels of death, to be delivered with fury upon our enemies.

I could not ask for better soldiers. They would all give their lives to Her without question. They may have to. They understand that no sacrifice is too big. One life is meaningless if it could save a thousand more.

For we have what our enemies do not. Conviction. Belief. Faith. Our enemies gather on our doorstep, lacking unity and focus. The faithful shall rise up as one, armed and wiilling to lay down their lives for Our Guardian in the Mists. We will ask for no quarter and give none.

To he who reads this journal, it is imperative to understand.
These are the final days. Our time is running out.
At night, I weep. I weep for the horrors that are still to come, the lives that must be spent.
The world is coming to a screeching halt, the Time of Unparralleled Darkness is around the corner.
We will not go into the Darkness without a fight. We will make our stand. Each monster we slay, each heretic we purge, will spare us precious more moments to save more souls.
As the world is dragged screaming into the abyss, we shall look to Ezra to save us.

We shall save Barovia from itself, whether it wants us to or not.

Beata Ezra.

[Space Cowboy]

Year 769. January. Day 18.

I dared to dream again last night.

She came to me, as she always did, borne upon a beautiful white steed of mist with a bloodstained longsword in hand. She wore little except the still warm entrails of our foes, draped across her nape. I could not look upon Her, for she was as fleeting as a ghost, a wraith, a mere wispy tendril of presence.

In awe, I attempted to kneel. Yet I could not.

Her voice rang like the pealing of a thousand silver bells, My child, You must witness that what is to be.
And then she pulled the mist from my eyes, and I could truely see. I saw with clarity the horror of the End Times. I saw the Legion spring forth from their darkened holes, crawling into the light of day and feasting on man, woman, and child in an orgy of blood and death. Yet I felt no sympathy, for they had forsaken Her.

I warned them, I told her, I warned them until my breath grew ragged and my face turned blue.

She wept, for I knew it pained Her to witness this as I did. But if only I could protect them all, she said, but for the Mists of Death it is not to be.
And then she showed me something else. I saw a vast open field, soaked with the blood of her enemies.  Corpses littered the battlefield like so much waste. Vultures, fat and bloated, wheeled in the dark skies overhead.

But there were two warriors still fighting. I could not make them out, for the fog was still thick, but the sound of the clashing of steel on steel carried across the vast space.
Who are they, they who remain to fight, I asked.
They are brothers. She replied. Her voice came back deeply sad and pained.

The Mist cleared, and they were revealed to me. Two Anchorites attired in the green garb of Her chosen, their swords bloodied and their plate sodden with crimson.
She spoke softly as she wept freely.This is the Time of Unparalleled Darkness.

My hand had grasped my longsword while I slept so tightly that my knuckles had turned white.
The visions frequent me more now. Always they are of sword and blood and death.
Should I doubt myself? Be they merely maddened imaginings? Heinrych thinks not.

I should not dwell on such dark thoughts. Trust in Her and Her signs. Do not question your heart. Obedience is Righteousness.
I am Her Sword of Mercy, and mercy must be delivered.