Diary of Malaroy Vastile

## Summary

Seventeen years after the Sharpeye and Ulskin Crew's adventures and the defeat of Primus, Omegus, and Sigma, a mysterious diviner named Malaroy Vastile II was sent on a mission to find a missing person while chronicling his journies and lamenting the loss of hope and peace in the world. Preceded by Family - An Illerian Tale. The Revelations of Lancelot Bordair starts somewhere in the middle of this. Succeeded by The Remnant Campaign.

## Entry #1

*Year 17 after the Rive (AR), Under the Constellation of the Hydra.*

*The month of Tideswitch, the 13th dusk.*

Dark have been my dreams for this already darkened world. Seventeen years ago, a brave group of warriors put a stop to the Wicked Three, saving the world from their malice. Yet, I fear their efforts will be for not, as there is no one of their ilk has been found to rise again for the feeble candle of justice in these troubled times. I am afraid that it will sputter out if not given more fuel, the fuel of hope, and unfortunately, sacrifice.

Another noble city of Albion has fallen to the northern invaders. It is a dark and perilous time for the kingdom, which had its capital snatched away and its king so cruelly murdered by unknown sorceries. Lord Robert Rogers has managed to rally together the remaining tatters of the army, playing tactics once unthinkable to defend the battered husk of a land he calls home. I fear that in the saving of his world, he has managed to doom that which is most precious to him. Still, he fights on, his purpose unshaken, though the horrors of past conflicts have started eating at his mind, and his supplies of drink are running low.

I face the sorrowful truth that tomorrow I must part from his boisterous company, as my visions have pointed to yet a darker horizon, one I have no choice but to seek. How cruel magic is, strengthening my waking hours, only to lay me low during my fitful attempts at sleep. Were my father could see me now, what would he say?

## Entry #2

*Year 17 AR, Under the Constellation of the Eagle.*

*The Month of Tideswitch, the 27th dusk.*

Here, on the precipice of destruction, have I seen hope. One of the great heroes has managed to stave off the wicked evil that pours from the north. King Erdan, Master of Primality, has forced the wretched invaders from the islands of his people. The Elementals he once studied for academics has now become a study for survival. He has managed to keep the Elvish colony of Telenra safe, for now. After the victory feast, I turned to bed this night, falling asleep, entering blackness, I found myself staring at the most peculiar of things.

It was a mother hugging her son goodbye, with so few words between them, yet so much was said.

I awoke in tears, though I do not know why.

## Entry #3

*Year 17 AR, Under the Constellation of the Eagle.*

*The Month of Icefall, the 3rd morn.*

The Eagle shines bright over my head in this early predawn hour, for I was ripped from my sleep by a vision that chilled me to the core. A half-orc, noble and dignified, lay dead upon his bed, a knife plunged into his chest by a shadowy apparition. I have not known a half-orc of his kind, so dressed in human-made clothes, surrounded by finery. Yet I was swept away by a harsh wind, blown away by a malevolent force standing in the doorway. I swear I could hear laughter in the gale.

## Entry #4

*Year 17 AR, Under the Constellation of the Eagle.*

*The Month of Icefall, the 12th morn.*

I can tarry here no longer. After learning all I could from Lord Erdan, I fear I must travel to the remains of the Elvish Empire. Once so great, so fearsome, so terrible, the whole world could have been brought under their heel, were it not for He Who Drowns and the Wicked Three. Though the Cursed Dragon has vanished, and the Wicked Three slain, the scars of their work still heavily blight that land. Slaads and Shadows clutch at the living, and the living cower under the fearsome worshipers of Blightwing Gale, a new and twisted god of their adoration, though I can find no record of him.

But it is hear I must go, for I had a vision of a beam of light, shooting forth and clearing away clouds of darkness in this land. I can assume it refers to none other than Elessar, the Holiest One, Elessar Lightbringer. This light struck upward into the sky before linking to the Constellation of the Serpent. My time has been set by the forces above my thinking. I will do their bidding, though I loathe to go to the mainland, where even seraphim now fear to tread.

## Entry #5

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Serpent.*

*The Month of Fallsend, the 1st dusk.*

Here, at the first day of the year, I have reached at last, the home of Elessar Lightbringer, the currently leader of the Elven refugees, in the city of Illihaeven, or what is left of it. Elessar’s holy magic and his acolytes keep with wicked at bay, though the slaad’s aggression makes it more than painful. Elessar refuses to leave hope, stating that the people’s faith will drive out the evils and restore peace. If only I could share such confidence. For I came to tell him of the wicked wind that pushed me out and of the dead half-orc. I do not know how, but I got the instinct that this information was meant for him. He recognized the half-orc at once as a man named Jeremiah, one of the great heroes who slayed the Wicked Three, currently alive and well at his estate in the southern islands nearer to the Trade Federation.

I did not tell him of the mother and her son. I cannot bring myself to talk about something that fills me with unmeasurable sadness in a place already so devoid of optimism. Still, I have a name, and the stars will undoubtedly guide me towards the next step in my journey, no matter how shrouded in the fog of future it may be.

## Entry #6

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Dragon.*

*The Month of Earthspring, the 9th dawn.*

It has taken two months, but I have finally arrived at the home of the mysterious Jeremiah. Though his family seems well, I cannot help but notice something was off. As I was trying to describe my purpose for being there, a young man named Gabriel promptly had me removed for trespassing. I tried once more to convince him my words were of the utmost importance, but he refused to listen. Gone are the days when the Diviners of the world were respected, and gone are the days when people longed for foresight.

I left a note with a lady whom said she lived on the estate, detailing my visions and my fears. I can only hope it will reach the good Jeremiah before it is too late, for I had another vision I must attend to. One of a single rose sprouting around vile thorns in dark, shadowy woods. I have yet to discern its meaning, though I have consulted all of the meager resources I was able to salvage from my master’s home before it was burned to the ground.

I only hope I can solve the mystery in time. Perhaps it is an omen of a brightness in the dark.

## Entry #7

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Djinn.*

*The Month of Seedplace. The 31st Dawn.*

At last I have found the place of my visions, though I strained to do so, and at the most costly expense I have ever garnered. I was forced to sell the last of my father’s foci to a very strange Tabaxi, who in exchange allowed me to purchase a trinket that was a deep, red rose amongst thorns. It is a necklace made of red, glowing stone, surrounded by dried thorns. He claims to have gotten it from a very powerful druid in exchange for passage to a remote island. I can feel the remnants of very powerful magic, and a pull towards the eastern seas in the back of my mind. There I have set off and arrived at the shadowy woods from my waking dreams. I have the feeling I shall either find answers here, or I shall find death. I pray to any gods that are listening that it is the former.

## Entry #8

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Djinn.*

*The Month of Sproutwatch. The 13th Dawn.*

It is this place, these shadowy woods that I have encountered two beings I never thought to meet. They call themselves “Dusk” and “Dawn.” It is two of the people that destroyed the Wicked Three. Power emanates from them both, so I have no choice but to acquiesce to their demands that I stay in their village. Coin has no purpose here, nor are there laws. Instead, the druidic circle and simple Gnomish tribesman here must depend on each other for survival. Everything is shared, and the concepts of personal ownership seems limited to clothes and weaponry. Fortunately, the twins do not seem to apply this rule to me, as I am an outlander in their world.

Alas, as one rejected of Mordran and embraced by Wee Jas, I cannot help but marvel at the grim preparation that is taking place here. This shadowed wood seems to have peace, but the twins assure me that there are menacing creatures all around. It seems that goblins and orcs are rivaling tribes here on the island, and the twins have taken my arrival to mean the time has come to wipe them out. How they expect one as inexperienced as me, a mere drifter, to assist them, is beyond my comprehension.

## Entry #9

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Djinn.*

*The Month of Seawrath. The 17th Dusk.*

It has been just under six months since I have arrived at this island owned by Dusk and Dawn, a place I have taken to calling “Angnakhiirin” in honor of that which protects us. The gnome people have taken me in as one of their own after my six months of colossal effort clearing away two of the native goblin tribes that seek our continual destruction. I feel, after these six months, that I have come to understand their twisted thoughts and tongue. I grow concerned for my sanity. It feels like the magic in the air is becoming too heavy for me to bear.

## Entry #10

*Year 18 AR, Under the Constellation of the Djinn.*

Alas, my time here on Angnakhiirin has come to an end. For the first time in nearly 8 months, I have been sent a dream. In it, I have seen a tormented, lonely soul, in twisted black, weeping for a relief that has not seem to come. Seeing their despair rends my heart so, but I feel like that they are currently trapped by forced darker and stronger than I can handle. But, in their despair, they looked upward and saw a bright light to the north east, blasting away the gloom in a sacred, fiery light, followed by a roar that shook me to the marrow of my bones.

I have been summoned. By what, I almost dread to imagine.

## Entry #11

*Year 20 AR, Under the Constellation of the Squire.*

*The month of Shipslaunch. The 9th Dawn.*

 I cannot believe I am still alive. After nearly two years, I have managed to escape one of the prisons of the Scourge. They raided Angakhiirin and wrested me away on one of their ships. Dusk and the others managed to escape, but I was caught while out on patrol. I was tormented by foul inventions that I cannot bring myself to repeat.

I managed to escape solely by the fortune of understanding the Orcs that guarded me. Had I not observed them, I doubt I would have succeeded. I was also aided by a very peculiar gnome, dark and brooding. I do not believe he was entirely sane, but in a berserk rage, he smashed through my guards, ripped off the doors to my cell and demanded I leave, according to the will of a person named Index. I am not sure who this Index person is, but I am amazed they employed such powerful folk. I am currently on a ship back to the far north, towards the sound of the roaring wind.

## Entry #12

*Year 21 AR, Under the Constellation of the Seal.*

I stood speechless in the polar, cracking wind. Here, at the ends of the earth, I have found one: The last dragon in recorded history since the vanishing that took place 5 years after the Rive. She is the mother in my dreams from so long ago, and she has summoned me to her to perform a most dreadful task. I am to assist her in stopping the Scourge. Me! What might can I even hope to lend a dragon? But, I cannot argue. The Scourge has conquered more of the north with each passing day, pressing in on Albion and her neighbors both.

So, the Dragon, named Vomo, has given me a task I dare not share, on paper nor aloud, for fear that someone would happen upon my journal and try to kill me on principle. Is this the fate that Wee Jas has set before me? I pray not, but I know that deliverance seldom comes to those who are idle. I shall carry out my grueling, nigh impossible task for now. Even if it takes years, I will find him.

And in finding him, both he and this world can find their salvation.

## Entry #13

*21 AR, Under the Constellation of the Seal*

As I have been given my task by Vomo, she has deemed me to know more still. Here amidst the frozen, heartless wastes, so far up north, so close to the Blightwing Scourge, she has led me to a place that was once marked as a place of foul research for the Wicked Three. Here, she did describe the meeting of a peculiar dragonborn sorcerer by the name of Chilleran, and her possession by the Wicked Three. To have the strength to bend the mind and will of a dragon, I shudder to think.

From this lab, she had me acquire clothes that guard me against the wretched cold that has filled my hours. Before we headed north, to a remote mountain, almost nigh inaccessible due to a blizzard. Had it not been for Vomo, I most certainly would have perished.

We landed on this strange mountain, into a cave that was most certainly once a dragon’s lair, filled with cobwebs and long-forgotten artifacts whose use escapes me completely. Vomo seemed very ill at ease in this place, but pressed on, despite a look of longing and bitter nostalgia upon her expression. Deep she led me into the heart of the mountain, where it grew warmer and warmer still, until she led me to a site of wonder I have never beheld before in my life. Nor am I likely to forget as long as I stride this material plane.

It was a vaulted hall, towering and grand, the likes of which I have never seen before, written in a language I have no hope of reading. Carved deep into the walls were sprawling and massive chains of artwork, preserved in time from wind and rain by its sheltered home.

“This is the Walk of Origins,” Vomo said, her voice carrying up and out into silence, despite it being but a whisper. “This… was my father’s lifework, and his father before his, all the way back to the beginning, we have kept this knowledge alive. But now, as my people are vanishing… it seems the task has fallen to you, Dwarf.”

My Dwarven kin are old, our records dating far back, our knowledge of the past deeper and vaster than almost all peoples of Illeria. But this was far older, far grander, almost beyond my comprehension. Had I more space, I would write for years about all I saw there in that hall, but time and space rob me of this privilege.

Instead, I shall only record what Vomo has told me, in her own words here:

*“In the beginning, there was nothing but neutrality, the God-Dragon Io, the first of us, and the ultimate of us. From him sprung all dreams and ideas, both the good and bad. From these two forces came the Primordial ones, the Old and Eldritch Ones who linger on the edges of creation, pushed out by the forces of Io’s other, younger thoughts. From these thoughts came those we call the First. There was Primus, the god of order, and Malstromus, god of disorder. From Primus came the Planes, the Outer Realms, and the concepts of time, and space. From Malstromus came thinking, dreams, emotions, life, and death. From them sprung others out of their thoughts, for all gods are collectives of thoughts, all except Io, who was the First to Think.*

*I could tell you about the many, many minor gods that followed, and their trials, tribulations, and triumphs in those early eras, but that is something that is shrouded in the Mists of Time, the veil Malstromus casts upon Primus’ creation to protect the mortal realms from the insanity of knowing. Instead, I’ll tell you about the first two gods that really matter: Bahamut and Tiamat, two of the oldest gods, two of the oldest thoughts of Primus and Malstromus. They are the progenitors of the oldest mortal races: Dragons. And as Malstromus and Primus were in conflict, so are Bahamut and Tiamat, their children pitted against each other by their very existences.”*

I was very confused by this. Surely two thoughts, even if they oppose each other, can see merit in the other and set aside their differences? When I raised this question to Vomo, she gave me a pitying look. “You are young, as are all of your kin, the patrons of Mordran. While your youth and open minds allow you to do such things, we dragons are far older, far less malleable than you. We are older in Thought, less influenced by other Thoughts. We cannot shift ourselves in how we are made so easily. We either thrive…” she grew quiet as she stared at the Walk around her. “Or we fade.”

She could bring herself to say no more, and so we went to bed that night, surrounded by the watchful gazes of events long since passed.

## Entry #14

*21 AR, Under the Constellation of the Seal.*

Today, Vomo continued to pass her knowledge on to me. She described the Dragons warring with each other, and how, out of each side, went unnoticed, the arrival of several groups of people.

*“From the Thoughts in the earth sprang the Dwarves,” Vomo said. “And Mordran took pity upon them and gave them his guidance and sheltered them from the warring dragons beneath the protection of the mountains.”*

*“From the shaded glens, from Thoughts in the woods came the Elves, lasting long and deeply rooted in themselves, just like the Thoughts of nature they once sprung from. And so they looked to the gods for direction and tapped into the arcane arts, spreading and prospering under the protection of their magic and the gods.”*

*“The god Glittergold looked upon the warring dragons and the despairing Elves and Dwarves, wishing for them to be merry and appreciate the world’s many blessings despite the terror. So from this Thought emerged the Halfling folk, spreading the joys of simple life and community wherever they traveled. And so from them came trade and the sharing of knowledge between Dwarf and Elf while the dragons continued to rage. Even the wrath of winged serpents was not enough to dissuade the Halflings from their lives, and so they powered forth into the unknown, cutting swaths into wilderness held by dangerous Thoughts of beasts and plant.”*

*“From the destruction and chaos of the Dragons, the god Grummsh pondered the need of adversity to build stronger people. This Thought created the wicked Orc and Goblin that the others still war with to this day, ensuring that through adversity, the other races might find strength to withstand even the might of dragons.”*

*“Yet, from all of these Thoughts, there was strength, a Thought that was so strong it drew the attention of the First to Think. It was the thought of a race that between all of the smaller folk, who themselves had fallen into conflict between each other amidst the draconic war above, would be able to link together people, and end the violence, a race of boundless ambition and infinite potential, a creation that mimicked the duality of his children, and the creative nature of their sire. From this mighty Thought, humanity erupted forth onto this world, rapidly consuming knowledge of the others, expanding outward, proliferating both peace and war at a rate never seen before, even by the serpents of the sky.”*

*“It was here that many took interest in the line of Man, from Elf to dragon themselves, and so dragonborn and half-elven came into Thought.”*

She then described the other gods, thinking and reflecting on the warring Bahamut and Tiamat and their children, which lead to the creation of many other creatures. All, except, I noticed, but one.  “Where are the gnomes?” I asked. “Surely a race as old as they must have been... ‘brought into Thought,’ as you put it.”

It was here Vomo walked along the wall, far back, to the oldest carvings. There, faded amongst dragons, stars and deities, were tiny figures I scarce believed real “The gnomes are a strange race…” she said softly. “For they existed in Thought before even dragons. Yet… they did not exist.”

I asked her how that could be. She simply turned and spoke once more of Malstromus and his ‘Veil of Time.’

*“As Primus and Malstromus came into conflict, Primus would build Time, only for Malstromus to destroy it. In the midst of these many makings and destroying, there was one race that, stemming from desperation and made of a stray Thought of the First to Think, found a way to tear the Veil of Time and step from their destroyed time to another. And here they have stayed, strange and eccentric guardians of knowledge and watching over the other races, so primitive in comparison. Here, the gnomes took pity upon the other races in their early years, teaching them of magic, of fire, and of powerful science. Yet, this knowledge proved to be their undoing, in the end, and they are but a shadow of their former glory, with small remnants of their advanced past scattered throughout the world.”*

Here, she forced us to stop, as I had grown weary and must rest, or at least, attempt to. For deep were my thoughts in that hall, and dark were the dreams that followed them.

## Entry #15

*21 AR, Under the Constellation of the Seal*

After four days of silence, Vomo sought to teach me of the Tears of Dragons.

*The Dragons waged war on each other, and the other races suffered, beginning to despise dragons of all kinds, not just those of wicked natures. Led by the leadership of humans, the magic of the Elves, the metallurgy of the Dwarves, the ferocity of the Half-Orc and Tieflings, the new Thoughts waged war on the Old. But the Old were mighty, pushing the New to the brink of annihilation, even their gods could not withstand the might of Bahamut and Tiamat.*

*All would have been lost, had it not been for one particular Elf by the name of Tuatnau using the darker magics of Malstromus, he twisted himself into the form of a Dragon. And so, he worked tirelessly to end the war on all sides. But alas, a Dragon cannot tolerate dissonant Thoughts, and so he split into two, the light of himself, and the darkness of himself. And so they fought each other, both seeking to end the conflict, one through order, the other through chaos.*

Here, Vomo’s face darkens in the thin light of our fire, her draconic form being riddled with shadow.

*It was the one who sought chaos that succeeded. He found the method once used by the gnome-folk to tear through the Veil of Time, and with that, he declared war upon not just the dragons, but the gods themselves. He tore apart the gods mercilessly, splitting their unified Thoughts into smaller and smaller pieces, breaking and scattering them across Times.*

*Unable to see this anymore, Primus sought to intervene, only to be torn asunder into three parts…”*

The Wicked Three! At last I see them in this tale, but not, as villains, but tragic victims of their own children! It takes me some time to recover before I could continue, but at last, I managed to write down the conclusion to Vomo’s story for the day.

*But… to his dismay, not even tearing apart the Thought of Order was enough to stop Tiamat and Bahamut, so he used the method once more… and thus he rived the material plane, flooding it in a Deluge with the destruction so great, most was lost beneath the waves, even the mighty dragons. Those that remained hid from his wrath, the wrath of a god slayer. His half that sought peace through order led the newer Thoughts to safety on the tops of mountains or in realms of safety using all the knowledge he could.*

*And so it was that He Who is Divided and He Who Drowns brought the war of Bahamut and Tiamat to a close. With their children destroyed so greatly, the Thought of Order broken, and so much forgotten, many gods faded in power, as Thoughts of them vanished or were scattered by the hands of He Who Drowns.”*

*“Many thousands of years passed since that time, the only ones with this history now vanishing, though to where I do not know. I am among the last. I can feel it. And so, it is with great difficulty I must pass the burden of the Thoughts of Truth on to you.”*

I am humbled by this beyond measure, and now quaking in fear at the task before me. She told me to seek him and ask for aid. He who slayed gods!

*“Here is my last warning,”* Vomo told me. *“Just as gods are Thoughts made from other gods, just as mortals are made of their Thoughts, so are gods empowered and formed by the Thoughts of mortals. Only by destroying the knowledge and Thoughts of the dragons was He Who Drowns able to end the wars between dragons and banish many gods from interfering with the mortal realm. Now, some wax stronger and seek to gain the power of Thoughts for themselves. It is up to you and those chosen to stop them. We have fought hard for a tenuous survival, but now that the Thought of Order is gone, a new one must arise.”*

Vomo peered at me with one giant eye. *“You must seek others to guide the Thought of Order into existence, before everything unravels. Now, go to sleep. We must travel come dawn.”*

As if I could sleep with those words etching themselves into my mind.

## Entry #16

*22 AR, Under the Constellation of the Roc*

Vomo has told me to take to the south, past the remains of the Elvish Empire, to the Trade Federation. Long has it been since I have visited that place, nearly a decade, in fact. I wonder how much it has changed. I write this from the rocky shores of a tiny island that is south of the northern wastes. Vomo calls it Vomoshk that she was born here, though she hatched up north.

Desolation is an understatement for this place. There is seemingly no life to be found here, save for the stone house that she has put me in for shelter. Still, it is has a roof, and I am not surrounded by ancient history and oppressive carvings. I will be content for now.

## Entry #17

*24 AR, Under the Constellation of the Oak*

It has been two years since I last penned in this cursed tome of my sufferings. I was captured once more by the Blightwing. Vomo managed to escape, but only with my assistance. Deep was my misfortune, for my knowledge is what kept me alive, but my knowledge I couldn’t reveal, even under the deepest pains. The secrets of creation and godhood were entrusted to me. I cannot let them go so frivolously. Still, Though I scarce speak of my torment, of the monsters and otherworldly terrors they foisted upon me, I shall pen this one event, as it is a great and terrible tragedy.

Before I escaped, I was brought, battered and nearly-broken, before the Blightwing god. He was small in stature, with strange protrusions from his back, almost like skeletal wings, he had horns sprouting from his head, spiraling upward, twisted and black. His skin was partially covered in gray scales like that of a fish. His eyes were sad and maddened, like that of a hound with an abusive master. Before me was the being responsible for this wicked tide of evil, yet, I could not bring myself to hate him.

“You are one of the ones she picked, eh?” he asked me quietly. His voice startles me, it has the rasp of a demon, but underneath it a pleasant country drawl. “I think she did well. Though, she didn’t warn me ‘bout none of *this*.” The Blightwing gestured to his surroundings of bleached bones, tent made of hides and wicked attendants. “So… these kids are gonna keep comin’ at you no matter what, and they want to conquer the world.” He leaned down and gave me a wicked grin. “And the more I think about it, the better it sounds, you know? Everyone was fighin’ each other and rippin’ world to shreds. But now… everyone’s shakin’ in their boots and unified against us… no internal fightin.’ Pieces of horse crap like Primus can’t throw weight around no more. People like that do one thing in the Blightwing: burn.”

I could only look at his twisted logic and marvel at the eloquence of insanity. “Blightwing god,” I said, “You are not a god, but a mortal. I shan’t join your ranks. I will find the ones to rescue this world from you.”

“You can’t rescue the world from what it’s made itself,” he said. “I was Gale Greenleaf, I was a protector of people. Look what this world’s made me, Malaroy,” He gestured up and down to his grim visage. “Did I ask for this? Hell naw.” He grabbed my shoulder then, filling it with a biting cold that still exists today. “I didn’t ask for it, but I’m going to use it. We’re gonna have peace, whether they like it or not. So, tell me, what does Sharpeye want you to do?”

I mustered all my courage in that moment, and spat in his face. After that, he had me taken away and beaten.

I only managed to escape through the courage action of a single person, an act of mercy I can’t think of anything other than divine intervention. A shadowy figure came in the darkness, silent as death, and after suffocating my guard in silence, unbound my magical, wickedly-thorny prison. He took my hand and hauled me to my feet.

“Go,” he whispered. “Please. Follow me.”

Unable to think, I followed after his silent frame, using the training given to me by Dusk and Dawn. Oh, how long it has been since I rested in those forested vales! How my bones ached to see the woods, to see any beauty at all! Finally, we reached a small rowboat. He put me on it and pushed me away from shore.

“What about you?” I said. “Come with me!”

He declined. “I’m looking for someone.”

“At least your name, then,” I asked. A nameless savior I couldn’t even pray for would be reprehensible, nay, impossible to bear.

“I’m looking for someone, but I can’t remember her. If you find her, tell her I’m sorry.”

“Who?” I asked. “Give me a name!”

His voice was faint over the choppy waves. “Sorry, darling, I have no names to give you!”

That night, I laid down in my boat and tried to recover, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I watched the stars and moon. Something beautiful had found me at last: Freedom.

## Entry #18

*24 AR, Under the Constellation of the Martyr*

*Month of Sunpeak, the 17th Dusk.*

 Land, oh blessed land! I found myself on a peculiar southern island with seemingly very little in terms of settled folk or beings of my own level of intelligence. However, I have located a water source to drink from, there are fish to eat, and I am afraid that before I can travel any longer, I must recover from my wounds at the hand of the Blightwing Gale. Some of these wounds appear to be magical, which are beyond my limited capabilities. I will do what I can, and pray that none of them will get worse. I must guess the day by the movement of the stars and sun, but for now, I am safe, though far from sound.

## Entry #19

*24 AR, Under the Constellation of the Martyr*

*Month of Sunpeak, the 31st Dusk.*

 I have mostly recovered from my injuries, though I am just a shell of my former skill. Slowly, my body and mind have regained some of the lost knowledge and talent it once had in the ways of nature. What I have gained, however, is a deep understanding of my enemies, my hated rivals, the ones that cause my veins to still burn under the light of a full moon. I know how to hunt them, I know how they think, and furthermore, I know what they believe. If there is one thing you can manipulate people through, it is their faith.  Wee Jas seems to have abandoned me to this remote place, and fallen silent through my times in captivity. I cannot pray to the one who has left me behind. Dark and painful as it is, I must craft my own salvation. Now that my wounds are mostly recovered, I must gather materials to make my vessel more seaworthy. I must get to a place of people. For there, at least there I can have a chance of getting a possible lead for fulfilling Vomo’s task.

## Entry #20

*25 AR, Under the Constellation of the Martyr*

I have done it. I have managed to create enough materials to set out to sea. The stars my guide, the sun my clock, my hope an astrolabe. Onward, I cry, onward! To hope, to new horizons! To the Trade Federation, and the last bastion against the Blightwing Gale!

## Entry #21

*26 AR, Under the Constellation of the Gorgon.*

 I have made my way to the Federation. At last, after several near shipwrecks that cost me precious time, I have found the place my work should begin. I have no doubt I will hear whispers of him here. In the Federation, few things stay secret for long. I will track him down, I will find him and restore the Thought of Order through his visions.

I will find him by Vomo’s description:

*“Torinn, Phantom Child.*

*Torinn Dark-Scaled.*

*Torinn, Thrice-Cursed.*

*Torinn, of He Who Drowns and She Who Remained.*

*Last of the Thoughts of Time.”*