January 8th, 770BC
The past months have been fairly eventful. I no longer miss my settled life at the Village. I wonder if it would had been better to never have left service twenty-five years ago. I could be in a better position now. I could be dead as well. Killed by a filth neuri, or a seasonal fire witch. To hell with them all. Perhaps I wasn't ready for this commitment. Now the time feels right. This is my life. And what am I? An underpaid walking target. - An underpaid walking target with powers. I can hang someone with a quill. Who would imagine that a combination of words can determinate the fate of century old creatures, like the dirty mountain pitics, or the ever arrogant fey? Creatures that have fought Old Night, slain it's spawns. That have gone deep into fiery mountains and atop freezings peaks. That have lived the equivalent of four, five or six generations of barovians. Killed by a quill.
I came to Vallaki to escape the plague that stroke the Village, two years ago. There was nothing left for me there, only death. I minded my own, worked the farms, the warehouses. But it all seemed dull and wasteful. I enlisted again. "Old Timer" they called me. Sent to work the storage of the Citadel. A Recruit for several months, confined to the walls. Then the pointless Wachter feud started. Men died. Openings were created. I was pulled from the reserves and thrown on the field. Only a few whose served with me lasted from those days. Marius Valeriscu wasn't there. Arrested. Captured. Dishonored at his return. From those who served with me: One third crossed the river. Deserters. Some of those who decided to stay revealed themselves as rotten apples. Bogdan Antonescu. Weak minded. Got bewitched by a fey. Probably stabbed in his back. One by one, those who served with me vanished. Throughout the Citadel, in other groups, the same happened. People deserted, fled, gave up, died. A broken chain of command remains to this day. I wonder when will they fix the gaps.
I've given my blood to Vallaki. I've taken blood for Vallaki. The fools at the Wayfarer's Kinship think themselves as the saviors of Vallaki, and Barovia alike. Hooray. They can't even save themselves. They can't even hold the membership of their own members. They breed calibans inside their Lodge. Avid vraja users. Their members even have a knack for becoming vroloks themselves. Turns out, a while ago, that the almighty Self-Righteous knights of the Kinship killed a vrolok. Not a random one. The mass killings. They caused it. Indirectly. They caused it. I was given the order "restore peace at any means necessary". I did it. The killings stopped, without any apparent reason.
The Wachter Conflict. A pointless feud, pitching barovians against each other. A costly game of chess with lives. Finally over. What comes next?
