Miriel Hana's Journal

Journal Cover Inside

Miriel Hana's Journal

This partially burnt notebook has most of its pages torn off. It is, at best, a keepsake rather than an actual journal. Few of the surviving pages are readable.

What remains:

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December 2188

It is quiet now. In such moments I can hardly recognise this house. Our house. I lay with my eyes closed, listening to the subtle noises the night brings. Dry leaves rustling outside, swept down the street by a gust of wind. Rodents running across the rooftop. Bookshelves and door frames creaking as the air cools down. Ialath's bed downstairs creaking, too, as he stirs in his sleep.

All of this was present before, as well. There is something missing now. It is the tension that used to divide this house in two better than the spacial separation of ground and attic floor. Pent up anxiety, denial, hurt. We called this house "The Retreat", yet it was everything but a retreat. How I hated to love him! Ialath.

I remember myself distraught by his indifference. I remember kneeling on the stone cold floor, waiting for him, as he communed with Andrinor's Beloved all night. I remember trying to close his wound, as his arrogance brought Micah's sword through his chest amidst a battle we all had entered as allies. I remember Andrinor's Beloved walk on by.

I remember cursing Andrinor for many things, and for this too. I often say that it was the hypocracy and animosity amongst the mage orders of Andrinor's Trust, that made me speak up against him. Of course it was far not out of altruism alone. It was personal. It is always personal.

Andrinor's reaction was personal, too.

So was my counter-reaction.

I remember Ialath distraught with worry for me. My mentor, my wall, my Ialath. Was it really me you were concerned with? Or was it fear for your own self at the realization that if successful, the path I had joined could shatter the world as you knew it? Were you as content as you looked like, when you walked me out of the door and out of your life on my wedding day?

I guess I will never know, and it has long ceased to matter, too. A dozen winters have passed, then another dozen. Finally I do not have to beg for your embrace. I do not need it, either. When we speak in one voice, it does not amuse us anymore. I wonder what happened to you for all these hollow years. I know what happened to me.

I remember everything.

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February 2189

A tree grows . . .
Twisted and contorted by the forces of nature, its adaptibility ensures strong, proud growth and is that which shapes its outer beauty.

- The Green Order of the Forest

Much like a tree, the society of the Avlissian Elves is slow to progress, often stagnant. In their appearance and actions the Avlissian Elves are rustic, ranging from homely to uncouth. They can be astoundingly humanesque in many aspects. It is no wonder, given that their creator Dru'El was human. The Ghost Elves are something else; They remind me of the Sylph fae.

I have put much effort into gaining fluency in the language of the Avlissian Elves. I do not doubt the creditibility of the fact that it has been thrown together from the fragmentary remnants of the spirit kin speech. What I know for myself, is that Draconic is much more feasible to pronounce.

One of the greatest shocks in my life on Avlis has been the discovery of the Drangonari: Their origins, history and their lingual heritage. With their creation, Angadar has become just another example of the negative aspects of the Sun Elf mentality; Pride and disdain for all other races to name a few. Still, to his credit, his twisted creations have been given our language.

It was only in the recent years, that I began writing in my mothertongue. Perhaps driven by their creator in his role of a master of Arcane knowledge, the Drangonari often use parchment and paper to record knowledge. For comparison, Espruar as I know it exists largely in spoken rather than written form, as the writer would likely outlive the paper.

I recall my mother's wedding band bearing an inscription in Espruar, and of course the family seal which was only used for human documentation. These are all examples of written Espruar that I can think of. Then again, I spent my childhood in a kingdom predominated by humans. Ironically, I live amongst humans now, too: By the grace of Melonius, Visimontium is for the most part populated with settlers from post-war M'Chek.

I have noticed subtle changes in my speech in the recent years, as well. Most of them I have acquired from Aman'dul, although he is not the only Drangonari I have communicated with. For instance, the Drangonari word order appends the adjective to the noun more often than not, much as in the archaic ballads my father sang. I have found many discrepancies in our vocabulary, which is only natural for a language evolving in a drastically different social environment.

Aman'dul's seprentine features distorted his speech further, although he maintained astounding elegance to his handwriting. There was much dignity in the way he spoke and in the way he carried himself on the whole; even in the way that he opened his letters using his long fingernails.

Little things I recall.

His hot breath in my hair, when he slept by my side. The dent on the pillow, when he was not there.

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March 2189

My life for your life. I will spend my life with you. I will trust and respect you.
My death for your life. I will be there for you. I will give my life to protect yours.
My life for your death. If you fall, I will give the rest of my life to bring you vengeance.
My death for your death. I will not go on without you. When death takes you, I will follow.

When you speak such an oath, you believe every word. When you hear it given in return, you believe every word. Or at least I did. I was young, soaked by rain in my dress of silver and white on my wedding day, and I believed that my life was finally taking a turn away from the times when I killed for money or for the fun of it.

Aman'dul spent his life with the Ebony Order of the Moon. He did not like Visimontium, and I daresay Visimontium did not like him either. The more rarely he came home, the more often he found me apprehensive, strained from the effort to keep the walls from falling over me every time I closed my eyes at night.

And then came the day when Divina of Cha'Reth who had wed us, spoke up against our marriage. I had truely exhausted my living force with hard work by then, in my attempt to distract myself from being left alone. My body refused to bear with the torment.

Aman'dul taught me meditation so that I could cope with it all.

I blessed him for this.

And then he carried on the way he had before. I mostly learned of his life by the banishment posters that appeared in the south ever so often. Most of my friends had left me when I married him. Those who remained, often reprimanded me for bearing with what Amand had been up to: Things that I often had not the slightest idea about.

Ironically, in order to protect each other, we had to keep each other away from the paths each of us pursued. "I will leave a lot more than a god for you." - My words. After the first Geritri massacre, for a long time I dared not ask him questions. When I finally did, he lied to me in my face, and we both knew it was a lie. "You knew me well enough to know that I could not reply in any other way." - His words.

One could say we did our best.

Until the day when he put his reputation higher than me. I found myself under watch. Even he could see what a torment it all was for me. I cut off my ring finger, that bore my wedding ring burnt in the flesh. I had the ring burnt in, so that I could never lose it. But I cut off my ring finger, and fed it to the crows.

I did.

And so, he let me go. Finally we could hurt each other freely. Or at least he did. The more he hurt me, however, the more he hurt himself.

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April 2189

Came the day when I found myself back in my husband's arms. Each of us had learned a bitter lesson, we had hurt each other to point where we had no choice but to surrender to each other.

Aman'dul had made a miscalculation in the timing of his confession to the Sentinels, and his crimes against Visimontium were exposed with no mitigating circumstances in sight. Even so, it was in these times that he became an Archmage. He had unmatched strength of will.

Aman'dul crushed the Ebony Order rebellion, and for once I could join him in a path of vengeance: Against the insane magus Martin Bendt who started it. (Unlike the previous time, a decade or so earlier, when I had demanded an apology from Damar Ogdem for threatening him after my own actions. If there is something I regret in my life, it was that. One cannot be young enough to be this foolishly pathetic). Bendt's heirloom staff, Night, Aman'dul carried thereonout. For me, a knuckle of Bendt's cold dead finger was enough.

We truely were together, at last. Even if he had to be away for long, even if he still denied me his embrace in public, I was finally strong enough to stand for myself. I did not need him, to be happy. I had grown up. It was finally as close to good enough, as it could get.

Until his sentence was spoken. Until his lies were over. Until his heart stopped beating.

The three days and nights I spent by his lifeless body - the frozen corpse of a bugbear - were perhaps the longest time that I ever got to spend by his side. And I could not even spend it alone with him. I could not follow him in the Gehenna, either. Even though he had freed me from the oath to follow him into death, I still felt obliged to do so. By the time I thought it over, I was already consumed by the frost spell keeping his body from rotting on the floor of the Ebony Tower foyer.

It was my brother in blood Whisper who gave me a hand and led me out into the light of a new day.

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On their wedding day, many pledge love and faithfulness to each other. Aman'dul and I did not. Knowing that love is not something the conscious mind could ever command, we spoke oaths of different nature. We did our best to keep them. There was much darkness. There was light, too.

And then, the darkness was gone from my life.

And then, the light was gone, too.

What did remain?

Just me.

---

May 2189

Dignity is something I have found scarce in the people of Avlis. I am yet to see proof that a race native to Avlis has dignity as a given trait, or an acquired one. How would they be able to acquire dignity anyway? Most of them were led by the hand right from the start.

According to popular belief, the Great Nine gods created their races simultaneously, circa 500 P.O.D. In her lecture on Early History of War Magic, Andrinor's Beloved expressed the opinion that the Great Nine created the races as adults, and had given them adequate means and knowledge of survival. That would be most likely true, given that in roughly a century there already was organised study of Arcane magic on Avlis. The first formal academies for magic created in 400 P.O.D. in Le'Or, and 372 P.O.D. in Dobrekan; This was four or five Orcish generations from the moment of creation.

As for the rest: Would the Drangonari, knowing their heritage from the twisted mind of a god focused solely on vengeance, ever have true grounds for dignity? Or a Centaur, born from the blood of gods that remain locked in a struggle to this very day? The Ganooms often focus on creation for sake of creation itself. The Halflings live a down-to-earth life for the most part. Dignity would be an exception rather than a rule.

It is a striking contrast to the world as I know it. Of the creator races on Faerun only the humans remain as a cohesive civilization to-date. They were however the most slow to advance. During the First Flowering, while the elves and dwarves settled through portals, the humans were still loitering around as primitive tribes for the most part. They have grounds for their dignity today, as their reign was forged by many a rising and falling.

And after all the tearing wars that ensued amongst the elven settlers on Faerun, dignity was never lost to us. It was always there: Often in excess, as the Crown Wars are said to have been kindled by pride rather than a disparity of resources. I can only wish that I showed such an in-depth interest in history back in my childhood, as I do today.

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The humans I had befriended as a child, all died before I turned of age. It was perhaps for this reason, that I never regretted departing from my sheltered life in which I was never refused a thing. It would be an understatement to say that I got into trouble often: Starting from the Moonsea Ride, then on Mystara, then around the Hala earthbergs on the Outer Plane of Ysgard.

I was truely lucky to meet a rare few who would bear with me and protect me. May the Seldarine bless Mailyn, wherever she may roam now. Twenty and one turns of seasons, and two collapsed interplanar portals away from where we started, I saw her one last time in plague-quarantined Elysia.

I saw her as she sneaked out through the barricades, to be precise. The red-hot redhead sneaked out!!!

And I stayed.

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June 2189

My first glimpse of Elysia threw me into a state of quiet stupor. I remember it like it was today. The snow falling and melting at my feet, as I stood at the front door of Cyndrid's tower. Aria's hand on my shoulder, and her soft voice in my ear: "We made it, hun. Welcome to Avlis. Welcome to my home town." - It was how she spoke to everyone who were not her enemy, her words echoing naught but her earnest sweet innocence.

And then, my young mind was blown away with the sight of the drop-dead-gorgeous fey and half-fey of O'Ma walking and talking in the strees and gardens of Elysia. Most of them - half-naked. Some of them - fully naked. I closed my eyes and clutched to Olidammara's lucky coin in my pocket, praying that they would disappear. "Please, my sweet lord of tricks, make it go away."

It did not work.

Aria did not seem to notice my state of mind - Or if she did, she covered it by her usual cheerfulness. She took me by the hand, encouraginly - just as she had done while we crossed the Astral Plane Conduit - and led me through to Elf Gate.

This was the second shocking moment for me. I had been told that the city was affected by a continuing war between elves and humans. And so, I was not prepared to see groups of people chatting casually, sharing food and drink and playing cards. Then, there was the bald gnome Dibel, who professed everyone's doom and tried to sell coffins, only to be met with laughter.

It felt surreal.

It felt as if we had journeyed through the Astral Plane only to arrive back on Ysgard, at a picnic on Minya Island. The feeling deepened as I saw the Maleficarum cousins walk past, as well as Rykoffe Neirgral, then director of the AKN: All too familiar faces from the Minya beach.

Seeing my dismay, Aria took me back to the city, and into the newly built HEAL building. She explained that her friends managed the place, and showed me to one the rooms downstairs. I kicked off my boots, and collapsed onto the large bed, nearly unconscious with exhaustion.

When I opened my eyes the morning after, Aria was gone, and the city was quarantined with plague.

It was the 20th of December, 2148. I was all alone in a world I knew nearly nothing about.

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Many pages are missing here.

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That was new to me: A sense of belonging. While I was growing up, I had gotten used to a life amongst humans, but it did not make me belong there. As I travelled the planes, never I had found a place or a person to take my heart.

Aria took me to Ferrell to show me the house which she planned to purchase, so that she and Ed could have a place for themselves alone. It was a small water-mill at the Hunting Creeks. Nearby stood a large stone house. "It looks like a mage tower," Tericky said when he first saw it. And so we began making plans to settle in the same valley.

The portal to Ysgard had collapsed during the plague, and yet Avlis felt less and less like prison for me.

One of the denizens of the Hunting Creeks was - and I assume, still is - a lorewarden of Vorin, a halfling with the most poetical name in the world. Sun and Moon. I had actually met her first near Elysia. She saw me burdened by a pile of tomes and outright gave me a magic bag. She then asked me if I would share my book collection with the Ferrell Library. Soon, I became a library attendant myself.

The person who steered me to Vorin was Tericky in the first place, but it was Sun and Moon who showed me how important knowledge was in itself. Tericky also encouraged me to sign up at the AKN, and finally, he asked me if I would try myself at something I had never even considered.

He called it "A future". A future for me, when he would no longer be by my side. Much as I hated it when he talked that way, we knew that his time would come sooner than later. I was a young elf, almost a child, while Tericky was a human in the sunset of his life and he wished that I made a future for myself.

He offered me to begin studying the Arcane Art.

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August 2189

My first attempts at the Arcane were disastrious. I could read magya all right, soon I could recite up to sixth circle spells from scrolls without effort. I understood the spell schools and the spell structure all right. What I could not do, was maintain the concentration needed to channel a spell on my own. What was worse, the more I failed, the more angered I got - And the more angered I got, the more I failed.

Tericky patiently endured my fits of what I can only describe as all too loud despair. I was desperate indeed. Elves are regarded as a race with affinity to the Arcane on Faerun, but on Faerun magic is like a weave spun throughout the entire realm. This concept is radically different to the situation with Avlis, where magic is shaped into a Vortex currently located on the Outer Plane of Ysgard.

Tericky adviced me to try and turn to Andrinor mentally, as a beginning of every spell. Seeing as he controls the Vortex, that looked like the rational thing to do but I did not wish to rely on a god as onto a pair of crutches. Instead, I engaged myself in more activities which required concentration and went as far as serious studies in fields I had never before thought to pursue: Such as map drawing, architecture theory and draftwork.

Tericky encouraged me all the while, constantly reminding me that I was his pride and joy. He laughed and cried with me as I finally found myself able to channel a simple cantrip: The spell Light. He took me to Deglos that very same day, and said, "Be my light now." Tericky relied heavily on such spells, as his sight was leaving him little by little. I was so proud, to be a light in the dark for him.

We took the Ferrell Meygle Pass and entered the Deglos tunnels near Derome Delem, making a large round until we saw the night sky in Bazgamph. Tericky was visibly tired, and admitted to it.

"Someday, I will be able to turn into a dragon just like you. And then, I will carry you," I smiled.

"I am certain you will," he responded as he embraced me goodbye.

And that was the last that I saw of my dear.

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I had made many friends by that time, and they supported me unfailingly in this dark hour: Veilan and his cousin Susallia, Elyl, Te'noch Ju'un, all of those that I met at the AKN and who are simply too many to put to record. I moved to Ferrell, and focused on alchemy and history studies, as well as the Arcane. Slowly, I found myself able to confidently channel first and second circle spells. To this very day, however, casting even a simple spell requires painstaking concentration from me. Few are aware that for many years I actually evaded casting spells until I absolutely had to.

I became an Ashen Order initiate after much inner struggle, as a great part of me called me towards the Ivory. As I sat at the first Ashen meeting that I had the honour to attend - or at least, back then it was an honour to me - two things drew my attention. One was the fact that the topics discussed were for the most part politics. The second was the other initiate seated in front of me: A gaunt Drangonari in monk attire, holding a roughly hewn quarterstaff.

His name was Amand Xilo, and that would be the first and last time that I saw him in Elysia before I moved north with the migration to Visimontium. We missed each other at the founding meeting of Architects of Avlis, a group dealing with interior design and architecture. I still remember the others present there, though. Rory, Kadrim, and Krator Blackfist, to name a few. It would be many years, until I would see Krator again.

Krator was one of Ialath's friends, and Ialath certainly had an unusual circle of friends. I doubt not that many of them would be irked to hear their name mentioned in relation to Ialath, and so I will not go as far as to put record of it. For a fact, Ialath has a long history of being a renowned pain in the lower back in Andrinor's Trust and outside of it; Even more so than Aleon.

I first saw Ialath for long during the migration of over a hundred thousand M'Chekians to Visimontium, which was assisted by the Trust Orders amongst many other groups. Then, at the Ashen Order outing where Robert appeared drunk and almost got us killed; I know that Imoth still holds a "warm memory" of this one instance. And of course, there was Ialath's farewell party at the Ferrell Port Hole Inn. The Ashen Archmage Navarra had decided in favour of ridding herself from his big mouth, and instituted him as first Ashen senior mage of Visimontium. I remember getting really drunk at that party, and singing. Actually, I would rather not remember it.

Against all odds, I decided to move to Visimontium as well, to help out with the interior building works on the Ashen Tower, and begin a new life. I settled at the Tipsy Wizard Inn, while Ialath literally set up a tent at the foyer of the Ashen Tower. He still wished to have a house of his own and so he tasked me to design one for him.

Instead of payment, I asked for ownership of the attic. He agreed. This was perhaps the greatest mistake in the lives of us both, but in the beginning we got along seemingly well, as a senior mage and apprentice. The Visimontium Ashen Tower was finished in 2153, but the house that we called "The Retreat" was built a lot later. Much bitter water was to run before that day.

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I realize that I am sitting and writing long after my brother in blood has called me downstairs. It was him, who told me not long ago, "Someday you will rise like a dragon, sister blood". And I did, as I was finally able to draw nineth circle spells, thirty years after Tericky's passing.

A fateful hour comes upon the Fury of Ra-Ghul on this day, the 28th August, 2189. I have to face it shoulder to shoulder with my brother in blood. An eerie chill has gripped my heart, yet I am certain that I will return to finish my records.

There is not much left to write. The events of the next three decades of my life - 2153 until 2189 - are tightly intertwined with the events described in the Guide to Visimontium. Yet, there are all of those details that brought Sylux to desperation upon hearing them. To think that after hearing it all, he actually overreacted on how little an impact he thought he had on my "long" life! Humans. Always a catch with them.

I hear Whisper's voice again. I must follow him.

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September 2189

We all change with time, just make your choices wisely. You will regret some in the future, but you cannot change them. Some things are hard to learn except by making a mistake, but it is better to avoid the worst mistakes if you can.

- Fealith Anifail

Some of the heaviest words I have ever heard, were spoken by Archmage Navarra as she pronounced me a full member of the Ashen Order. "I see no future for the Order. Everyone is plotting behind my back, Miriel. It is good that I can trust you." Ironically, at that very moment I was the eyes and ears of those who wanted her down from the Archmage seat. Her sincerity broke my heart, even more because it affirmed the reason why they wanted her to step down in the first place. Navarra was weak, and those times - the middle of the 2150s - demanded action. The Drangonari siege on Visimontium was already a fact and the Web of Angadar was reaching to undermine Andrinor's Trust; The Ashen Order found some of its senior members in strife with the HMC moderator; We were unable to uphold any form of balance for ourselves let alone for the Arcane as a whole.

Arlin stepped forward, and Ialath followed. In the elections to come, I was rather relieved to see Arlin win rather than Ialath, even though I was Ialath's right hand. Even I could see that Ialath was as self-righteous, as one could ever be. Arlin not only brought stability to the Ashen Order but also founded the Battlemages of Andrinor. He even managed to bring Robert out of his nearly permanent drunken stupor. He did it in the most miraculous way, at that: He tasked Robert with the responsibility of a senior mage.

Ialath became involved with the Visimontium city defences on the side of the Ashen Order. Myself, I could mostly aid the Order with healing supplies. For a long time I felt helpless when it came to political infighting, and even more when it came to actual fighting. The kind of fighting where you get hurt; The kind of fighting where you see people bleeding to death or burnt alive. All of this went on around me until I was no longer able to simply let it happen. I applied to the Sentinels together with Ialath, but of us two it was me whose application was accepted. I sometimes wonder if Brigadier Igor had something to do with it.

I often say that every street of Visimontium has seen my blood spilt in its defence. It is not a figure of speech. This was how Visimontium truely became my home. My most serious assignment as a Deputy Sentinel however was not my participation in the fights, but the task to escort the Grantir Ambassador Preaan on the evening after the peace talks in 2158. This was barely hours after the remaining Drangonari renegades and the Angadarian Web gave us a final onslaught. I led the Ambassador to the ruined Western Passage Gate, as he wished to see where the most heated battle took place. He then made a speech on the defendability of this spot; This was the spot where we suffered the heaviest losses after magic became unstable, for which we had to "thank" the Angadarians. My broken ribs caused me pain on every breath, and so did my dignity.

In turn for my service as his personal guard - I did not push him down the chasm, after all - the Ambassador agreed to proofread my record from the peace talks. I swear, this record is one of the most ugly examples of the muddy waters running between the mages of Andrinor's Trust. The only more shameful record in my possession would be a testimonial by Cor'Angelus Gengue. While I doubt that Cor'Angelus was fully sane at the time, his words cast a lingering shadow onto me during the years of the siege. "The Mage Orders wouldn't listen, some don't even respect Andrinor, they just take the power he gives them."

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I blamed Andrinor for allowing this to happen. And so, I come to the moment this journal started off from: The battle against Kazan's trolls. The long moment where I stood over Ialath's body, while the Ebony Archmage Micah Elizabeth Ormane walked away with his blood on her sword. I cursed Andrinor for the deeds of his mortal followers. For this, Andrinor severed me from the Vortex completely. In outrage, I ignored the sound advice of those I respected and left the Ashen Order in 2162, when Arlin retired and Robert was elected for Archmage. I was rendered useless as a mage, but there still was something I could do in the state I was in.

Krator Blackfist admitted to not believing his ears when I told him what had befallen me. Seeing as I could not channel even a cantrip, however, he was convinced. I became his apprentice, and accepted the Sunstreamer as my patron. The next couple of years I spent researching the involvement of Angadar's Web in the Drangonari siege. I tried to convince the "small fish" to deliver themselves to Visimontium's justice, before their superiors would throw all the blame on them.

I informed the Sentinels' commandment of my actions a bit too late. How Fealith did not throw me out of the Sentinels' ranks, I know not. He trusted me. Krator himself did not; He made it clear that he was aware of the game I was playing and never gave me tasks related to Andrinor or the Trust. The first serious task he gave me, was one that I failed.

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At this point, I am not certain in whose hands this notebook will someday end up. I will therefore write just this: Do not sell your innocence for information, no matter how hard-pressed you feel over acquiring this information. That was how I intertwined my path with Aman'dul Xilo'rulithii in the first place.

Earlier in this journal, I wrote of our wedding day. May it be known, that before this day there was a time when I was the worse person of us two, without a doubt. Amand once told me that if he could have changed the circumstances that brought us together (adulteration, deceit, attempted murder to name a few), he would have. I doubt it. However, it was from this dirt that something beautiful still grew. And I became a better person, because I believed in this beautiful thing.

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I think of the "friends" who left me after I married him. I think of some who "stayed", only to treat me like a stray dog: Taking a detour to pat me on the head whenever their way passed through town, and then leaving. I think of the Sentinels who believed in me, while they suspected Amand of terrible crimes. I think of those who respected me no matter how much Amand had wronged them.

I think of a dear friend I lost. Ere'n'dhl of Cha'reth. I think of a dear friend I gained. Sylux of Gorethar. I only wish they knew each other. May they someday meet in the Upper Planes. So much they could learn from each other, about the nature of forgiveness and on how far one can go in the name of someone else's good.

There is one thing that brings them together even more, in my memory. I do not think I will ever have the heart to tell Sylux about it any more than I had the heart to tell Sephira that I completely shared Robert's opinion about Valinos. I still do not believe that Robert Wallace had any right to speak the way he did, but I digress.

The day I met Ere'n'dhl, was the day that took his beloved Eldraea away from the mortal world. I went to the Zvidureth temple of Cha'reth to seek peace for myself; Instead, I found a Healer whom I had to console. The day I met Sylux, was the day when his first love passed away. I met him as he was blindly stumbling over the bridges crossing the T'Nanshi Canopies, barely aware of his surroundings. I supported him, and led him to the Gorethar Chapel in Le'Or T'Nanshi. In a way, I was an angel of death for them both - And they became my angels for life.

Only, I could never stand to be judged.

There is no such thing as coincidence in my book; Not in a world where the gods are so closely watching us. Everything happens for a reason. Every single experience is a lesson.

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September 2189

We justify many things to ourselves, for reasons that are poor in hindsight.

- Fealith Anifail

I find it hard to believe that the knowledge of who I am, keeps you together.

- Amand Xilo

Dusk Redrilo of the Ivory Order asked me the other day if I stilled missed Amand. I found myself answering, "I missed him all the time while we were married. Why should I stop missing him now?"

Some years ago Aerill jested that one could guess when Amand was in town (Visimontium) by the burn marks on my neck. The truth is, Amand never burnt me on purpouse; He was a disciplined man and did all possible to evade inadverently harming me, too.

The truth is, I made him do it.

I begged, evenly. That was the only way I could preserve something tangible from him, while he was gone. I prefered this painful reminder, than the silent emptiness of all the nights I had to spend alone. The first time my brother in blood Whisper attempted to heal my scars, I nearly clawed his eyes out.

How far could one's need for affection go? I willingly took pain for love, to the point where these two became inseparable for me. The path leading out of this personal hell was a long one.

To be accurate, Aman'dul has hurt me on purpouse during the period we had separated as man and wife. It was during these months, that I became Amand's student in the Arcane Art.

The Ebony Order does not have a fixed tradition in teaching the Arcane, except for one element that remains constant: Obeying your teacher. Amand's methods involved corporeal punishment, such as he had endured as a student of Micah Elizabeth Ormane. There was one way to evade it, and that would be being a perfect student. As a student, I made him proud of me. Still, it was not an instant success. After a particularly spectacular failure on my side, he cast Beltyn's Burning Blood onto me. These were the longest three minutes of my life, as we stood and watched each other in silence, while I tried not to scream in pain. I eventually could not bear it; I fell to my knees, as tears of burning acid scarred my face. He then healed my wounds and helped me up ...

There was a time when he raised his hand against me without any sane reason, as well. That was after he lost a fight to the Turiva Ilnuru. I had caught a rumour of it, and I could not be sure that he made it alive - And so I prayed for him. What I had not known, was that for this defeat he had been disgraced by his mentor, and was thus consumed by wrath. He found me while I had knelt in prayer, quite defenceless, in front of the opened door of the AKN foyer. I was praying for him. I only knew he was there as he threw a conjured ice shard at my chest and hissed at me that I should have kept my guard. He then left. Somehow, I gathered myself and ran after him; In his anger Amand attempted to turn me to stone. He was unsuccessful at this, which only peaked his anger, and yet I remained, and I begged him to come to his senses ...

By the time we got together again, he apologized to me for this one happening. He said that every time he hurt me, it hurt him too - And I believed him.

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At one instance Amand dominated a bugbear from Crescetoria and brought it to the garden in front of the Visimontium Cottage we had rented, so as to turn it to stone and make a garden statue. He hoped I would like it, seeing as I spent hours tending to that garden. That kind of a man he was.

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Every time I cast the spell Time Stop, I recall the one time I knew he used it in my presence: He channelled the spell without a word, while he kissed me. At least that was the one occassion where I was made aware that he had done so; There is no way that I could tell with certainty if there have been other such times, after all.

In essence, every mortal being is commanded by hunger and fear. Hunger for life, survival, growth. Fear of losing them. Most emotions spring from hunger or fear. Love can encompass both of these - And still there is much about love that cannot be traced down to hunger or fear. Once upon a time I thought that the most dangerous thing was self-righteous ignorance; Now I know that the most dangerous thing to ever exist is none other but love.

And yet, I cannot imagine life without it.

---

Again, many pages are missing here.

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With this rite, we bonded to each other as brother and sister in blood, sharing blood and soul.

A few months later I sought and recieved Andrinor's mercy, while Whisper journeyed to his past. One morning he came to me with an open face and for the first time I could look into his eyes. And by what I saw in these flaming windows of his soul, I gave him a name to call him with even from beyond the grave. I named him Daeruin, which in my native tongue means "Shadowflame".

My brother in blood once told me, "You bless me with your resolve in wanting to know what lies beneath the veil of a brute like me, I admire that in you. That you are not afraid of either shadow, nor darkness in others. I feel blessed by your caring, and your presence." So spoke he, who came to be my blessing.

He never left my side for two decades, and beckoned me back into life from the stone cold floor that served as a death bed for my husband. Even though I made this step out of the darkness on my own, it was his unfailing countenance over the years that led me to the moment when I had the strength to take this step.

---

Only fragments survive from the next few pages.

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I have decided not to report a certain recent incident to the M'Chekian authorities despite myself. Telling them that I have been beaten to unconsciousness by a warrior of the Fury of Ra-Ghul in front of the High Fury Templar will probably not speak all too well of the Fury of Ra-Ghul as a whole ...

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Next time I am attacked I will not just stand there screaming to them to stop and trying to shield my face from the blows.

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The record of The Dragons of Fury is almost complete. I look at the cut across my hand that once marked my blood bond to the one I once called brother. The cut is now black, an opened wound. My blood and my life would have run out, if not for Hebrin.

Whisper. The one I once called brother - ... He did it.

"Our bond has been cause of too much strife within the Brotherhood, and as I am pledged through my bond to you, it is within your right to call upon me. I cannot allow the chance. I cannot allow a bond beyond my faith no more. You know, more than most, what I live for. I live for my God, my faith and the Brotherhood above all." So spoke he, who came to be my blessing.

I knew that he was not the person I once trusted my life upon, anymore.

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I do not break my promises. The one promise that I broke, sent my husband to his grave.

The record of the Dragons of Fury will soon be finished.

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October 2195

It is quiet now. The Retreat is taken by the silence that forebodes snow. I have just finished the work over the kitchen shed on the terrace amongst the rooftops. It is a small shelter on the top of my private world, my retreat. Ialath once said that a proper mage would never lower himself to cooking. I find it enjoyable now. - Both cooking and Ialath's remarks, in fact.

I cannot help but stare at the mark on my hand, where the ugly scar is now a dividing line for the image of Ra-Ghul's masked face. I made it through. I walked all the way to Ra-Ghul's home, to acknowledge my intent to record the Fury's deeds after my own will. Not for a traitor's sake, nor for anyone else's sake. I travelled in spirit but I returned with something tangible in my hands. Feanaûr Ra-Ghul, a molten metal shard of Ra-Ghul's flaming heart.

Once again, where the mortals have slighted me, the god they claim to follow has protected me. First Andrinor, and now Ra-Ghul. How many times shall I fall only to rise again? The demons have withdrawn from the face of Avlis but I am not so certain about my inner demons. I am but in the beginning of my lifepath and I have so much more to learn. - Yet I am travel-worn already.

Aman'dul once urged me to settle down and have a "normal" family, upon his passing. A decade has come and gone since then, and settling down in the way that he meant it still appears to be a distant moment in my future. I am however confident that it will happen when it is time for it to happen. - When I am ready for it to happen. - When I want it to happen.

No earlier, nor later.

Beloved, if ever you read these lines, rest assured that I am my own fate's spinner.

We can look back and learn from what we have done, certainly. It can help us to better react in the future. But . . . I suppose I will put it this way: When one cares about the outcome of your actions, they think that bravery becomes much more than facing our opponents. I think we must find it even more so in facing our own choices. Before, and after we make them.

- Vanar Alhaldren

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This is the last surviving page in the journal. Few can attest to the contents of the missing pages, or whether it is any wonder that the name of Gotthardt Staahl is completely erased from the record.

^{OOC:
The dated entries in this record correspond to October 2007 - January 2008 RL.
The latest entry is from May 2008 RL.
See also: Miriel's Letters, starting from February 2009 RL.}