« on: September 24, 2020, 05:39:55 PM »
[Aidan's "journal" consists of a series of notes scribbled on scrap pieces of parchment, used spell scrolls, and even cramped into the margins of some of his other books.]
I never would have thought that I, of all people, would have any use for a journal. There was a time when I was known for having a memory like a steel trap, and writing anything down would have seemed a waste of time. Now my recent experiences leave me unable to fully trust what recollections I still possess, or even my own perception at times; and so this has become a necessary exercise.
Where to begin? My name is Aidan Rathcore, of that much I remain certain. I still possess most of my memories from before I was first taken by the mist, as far as I am aware. Back then, I was highborn; a third son of a proud Cormyrian house, given to the esteemed College of War Wizards to apprentice as a Battlemage. I would have been well-suited to the life of a War Wizard, I expect, but for the intervention of the mists.
My memories of that first year or so after being taken have become hazy. I attempted to escape near the end, I think. I pushed deeper into the mists than was safe. I'd been warned that doing so was dangerous- that prolonged exposure to the mists could lead to memory loss, and worse things. But like so many other warnings rooted in good sense, I assumed it wouldn't apply to someone like me.
It was, in retrospect, perhaps a tiny bit arrogant of me.
I've washed up in Barovia again; and I've gathered that more than a year has passed since my mistake. It has been.. challenging. I feel as if a bit of the mist lingers with me, smothering my thoughts. Some days- particularly at first- I found it nigh impossible to focus on anything at all, and I walked in a haze; trying to think was like fighting quicksand.
That part has been getting better; but I have been experiencing more troubling side effects. Episodes come upon me like hallucinations; and I see people who are not there. Sometimes, I cannot hear or see people who are there. I have seen ordinary people break apart into clouds of mist even by daylight, like apparitions. Most alarmingly, during the worst of these episodes I have perceived those around me twisting and distorting into dark, wicked shapes, shoulders hunched, arms hanging long and tipped in claws-- I have seen these creatures before! But where? There is something my mind is trying to tell me, I think, but I cannot grab hold of the memory.
Beyond this, I have also witnessed hostile, skulking figures out of the corners of my eyes- they're not there when I attempt to focus on them more clearly, but I can sense them watching me with predatory eyes, sometimes.
Of course, this being Barovia- those might actually be real.
The episodes are, fortunately, becoming less and less frequent. It occurs to me that, whatever this condition of mine is, a powerful enough priest might be able to aid me in recovering more quickly- but I am hesitant. I have been taking some pains to hide these things from what few allies remain to me after my long absence. If I approach a priest and my allies begin to suspect that I might be mad through some failure of discretion, it's going to be all the more difficult to persuade them to go along with my plans- which sound mad enough to my own ears already.
The lack of trust is frustrating. Just because I see things that aren't there doesn't make me completely insane. Probably.
I am less than I once was, though. This much, I can tell. The man in my memories is not quite who I now feel myself to be. The Aidan Rathcore of my memories- those that I still have- was a man of great compassion and charisma. Somewhere along the way, I seem to have to have lost that. I find myself faking emotions more often than feeling them, these days; and connecting with people as I know I was once able to do has become.. difficult.
I don't think I was faking it before. The man in my memories cared deeply for people. I sometimes feel as though I have been hollowed out- that what remains of me is more shell than man. Perhaps this is all another part of my malaise? I hope that it is so, and that it will all pass with time. Perhaps the Mists function like a poison, and I simply need to allow it to work itself from my system.
I was surprised to find that the old Hospice is still open. At first, I had assumed that it must have been abandoned and picked up later again by the Halans; but I have since learned that it has stayed open continuously from the days when I myself ran it, passing from me to Tess, to Hypatia, and now to the Halan order. In a way, I feel like the grandfather of it's current incarnation.
It lightens my heart, somewhat, to know that at least one thing that I did has served to lighten the burden of suffering here; even if my own role was mostly limited to throwing a lot of money at it and organizing the staff. I must seek out this "Sister Amelia", and see if there is anything I can do for them now.
More importantly, I must get inside the building. It has been locked down every time I have attempted it.
There is something there, I believe. Something that I left there? I have foggy recollections of locking down the doors at night to conduct meetings with.. someone. Someone who's face and name have become choked by mist in the corridors of my memory. We had guards on the door, traps, wards- something significant transpired, and it gnaws at the corners of my mind.
If I can just get back inside, I am hoping that the setting will jar my memory. I cannot shake the feeling that it is important.
The Mists seem to have acquired an unusual appetite for dark elves, of late. It seems that the area is crawling with them every time the sun sets. These seem to be unusually.. Mellow. I have had no prior experiences with drow that I have yet been able to recall; but I am familiar with the tales of them from my homeland. From what I have been able to discern thus far, these are indeed largely Faerunian drow, and largely Lolthite. (Though one apparently worships Malar. I had to double check several times to be sure I wasn't hallucinating his response. A Malarite drow? Wonders never cease.)
Shyael assures me that these drow are harmless, cut off from the resources and power structures of their homeland as they are, and left to an environment quite hostile to them. Everything I have witnessed thus far suggests that she is right. Except one thing.
By all I can remember of drow lore- Lolth isn't just a goddess, she is a demon goddess.
I have memories- fragments really- of contending against worshipers of a demon prince.
I remember a woman, a captured priestess, strapped to a stone altar in a damp and reeking cave. Her face is lost to me, but the feeling persists that I knew her well.
I remember the vampires- their faces, I can recall perfectly. They were leering down at her, taking their time, offering her to their master slowly. They'd drawn the monster's sigil with her blood; and it wounded something within me just to look at it.
I remember attempting to save her, though they were many, and I was but one. I remember failing.
I remember her screams, and the scars they left on my soul.
If that was a ritual to a demon prince, then how much worse a demon goddess? Can anyone who has bent the knee to such a being ever truly be harmless? These drow may be struggling and isolated now; but what will they begin to do when they have established themselves?
I must find this Matron of theirs and divine her intentions. I'd like to discern for myself just how harmless she is. Then, we will see.
Never trust a demon. Never trust a drow.
My experiment with the dragon managed to take place much more quickly than I anticipated. It was also of highly questionable value.
The creature answered my questions. Indeed, it's answers even more or less verified what I suspected to be true.
But I cannot shake the feeling that it was all.. Too easy.
Can the dragon's testimony be trusted? Even if it can be trusted to be honest, is what it believes to be true actually correct? Can I trust Severine to have relayed everything to me faithfully?
So many possible points of failure. So many ambiguities. (Just as Severine intended, no doubt). In the end, there is only one firm conclusion that I am able to draw: This line of inquiry is a waste of time.
There are a thousand thousand layers of deception between me and the truth of the Mists. I could not hope to unravel them even with a dozen lifetimes. I have come to the conclusion that I cannot risk including the Ezrites in my plans; not unless I can conceive of a far more decisive test.
I've decided not to broadly publish my findings, for the nonce. Not only can I not be entirely certain of them- but the all-but-inevitable conflict and condemnation from the church would no doubt consume vast amounts of my time and attention that are better spent pursuing more fruitful lines of inquiry.
It was a little tempting, though.
There are two (Three now?) vampires terrorizing the region by nightfall. Of them, I have only seen the one- a "Danya"- in action thus far. She fights in a manner reminiscent of the Deathsinger of old, though mercifully without the Singer's repertoire of mind-effecting spells.
At the moment, they seem fixated on satisfying their basic predatory instincts, with a dash of personal vendetta and vengeance thrown in. Nothing that concerns me overmuch. They're not going about trying to summon a bloody demon prince into a densely populated area because they're just that godsbedamned crazy. (May you burn in hell, Deathsinger).
I wouldn't be paying them much mind at all, save for one detail.
They have, apparently, been inside. Inside that place I dare not name, nor even write.
And I must, must, must squeeze them for every detail that I can, somehow. Every doorway, every corridor- every last trap, guardian and ward- any detail at all could be the difference between my life and death.
But how to make them talk? And how to do it without drawing his attention?
How?
They say he has his eyes and ears everywhere.
Every bird and bat and wolf.
Are you watching me, even now, as I write?
Have you somehow divined my intentions?
No- I've been so careful. So careful.
But what magics does he possess that I can't even guess at?
« Last Edit: September 24, 2020, 05:58:02 PM by BlankStare »
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Current PC: Aidan Rathcore