The Field Journal of Isabelladonna Rosemyrtle Sproutleaf, Arcanist Vol.IX

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The Book detailed hereafter is a red dark leather-bound volume approximately 8 inches by 4 inches, with no markings on the covers, only a simple mark seeming to float on the spine indelible but not damaging the leather. The mark does detect as magical.

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Within the cover is the steady hand of thorass calligraphy written in the common trade language is the inscription: "Field Journal of Isabelladonna Rosemyrtle Sproutleaf, Arcanist Vol.IX".

At the bottom left of the inside cover is business stamp marking it as being from the Ace of Wands Magical Emporium, Caer Callidyrr.

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Begining Page 3

Journal Entry, Uktar 5, 1388

Inked while using the light from a magically glowing ring, in a quite interesting ruin. I am attempting to get a little rest, but I do not think I can until I put this down to the page. I will tell the story of how I came to be here.

While on a business trip to Waterdeep, I was informed by Ensmir that he had heard of a rumor of new rare historical texts being discovered concerning an ancient kingdom of magic users nearly a thousand years lost. He piqued my interest.

For the rest of the months-long trip delivering ordered materials to business partners along Tradeway of the Sword Coast, I could not get the thought of such a historical discovery from my mind. It is a pleasure, always, to learn of the histories of the world. Especially when it comes to magical histories.

As such, I found myself on the Tradeway making my way to a place I have not seen in years. The Gem, Silverymoon. I have had mixed feelings about it. While I was there last there was some significant trouble. I paid my fines, restitution for damages, then found I could not continue due to a staffing issue. I could not stay any longer, and it resulted in being granted provisional graduation. Then, a new dean was assigned, and I got a letter saying I should return for a more advanced set of courses. It has been a question for me ever since. I sent away to register for the classes a few years ago, intending to return, but never was seeming to find the time. The trouble friends pulled me into on the Moonshaes took everything out of me for a while, I had a need to see other places. Much like the wanderlust of my mainland cousins from Luiren.

Calimport, was a dangerous place to return to, as the last time I was there I was not wise in my dealings. I was just learning the language and somehow agreed to join Falamir’s harem as a dancer. While I was not legally a slave, I was not protected by law from that fate. This is why when the opportunity arose I escaped. Word had reached me though that Falamir had fallen from his position as the head man in his drudach. This meant I would not have to worry for my safety should I visit the city again. Well, no more than usual of course. But that adventure was written in an earlier entry.

I never liked ocean travel. It frightens me, I much prefer to be able to put my feet to the ground and sleep on a solid bed not shifting constantly by the waves. It’s not that I cannot swim, just that I am not terribly adept at it. And then there was the great beast that tried to drown our ship on my first ocean voyage. As such, I was not overly upset by the news that the Dessarin river ships were not running to the Surbin and on to Silverymoon. I didn’t pay too close attention as to why, for it did not matter. I would take the caravan from Waterdeep to Triboar, then on to Everlund. From there, I would likely take a river ship further north to the Gem.

A day out from Olostin’s Hold which was to be the last stop before Everlund. I had stepped out of the carriage to see if I could obtain some food and stretch my legs. Not that the carriage was cramped, just me and my traveling chest under my feet taking up my space built for a burly human by height and width, at a premium price mind you. The extra furs and cloak made it quite padded and comfortable enough to sleep despite rocking and the lowering temperatures of the wooded road at night. After changing the horse teams we loaded again to try for the outpost. I read for a while, examining and learning about the amulet a friend had given me to protect me on my journey. When night came I tucked myself up into my seat holding my pack containing my magic bag upon my lap and covered with my cloak, the amulet still in my off-hand.

I don’t know how long it was before I fell asleep, or how long I was asleep before the caravan was attacked. My first indication was a sharp cry of alarm and the pained scream of a horse, and then the feeling of weightlessness and the wind knocked out of me as my traveling chest landed square end on into my pack. I lost consciousness for a few seconds at least. There were a lot of screams and I know I came back very slowly because it all seemed to be happening at an accelerated pace. I felt my head looking for blood or a wound, everything was dark but I could hear a great crashing of trees like a frost giant thundering through knocking them too and fro. My hand came back dry, but it was still dark.

That changed too very soon. There was another great crashing sound. The enclosed carriage I was in, I realized was on its side, was smashed into two. A tree limb, with such force as used by a giant as a club rent the cabin in twain without so much as a hesitation. Splinters sprayed everywhere, and I managed to pull the cloak over my face just in time to save my eyes. There was fire, I could see the flickering light through the cloak and I had caught a brief glimpse before covering my face. I assumed it was a result of the oil lamps hung astride the carriage had broken.

I fought with fear as I could hear the breath of a great creature close to me. I was imagining the bearded face of a frost giant bend over the pieces of the carriage looking for something inside of worth to it, or maybe a dragon looking for a morsel. My will was weakening, I longed to peek out, but I was too afraid to be noticed. Then with an angry grunt, the part of the carriage I was in was struck again by a great branch and launched into the air. It landed to the side of the road, in the runoff gully. It landed so that my back took the impact, I felt the wind thrust from me again by my trunk but did not fade into darkness again. The broken side rolled to face the ground, and I was dropped out of my soft nest along with my traveling chest. I crept over it, to look through a broken bit of framing and what I saw took my breath away.

It was not giants wielding branches of great oaks as weapons. It was great oaks themselves. Treants were attacking the caravan. I saw one stomping its roots into what a moment before had been one of the caravan guards, leaving not much more than a bloody mess. I held myself quiet and still for a few moments as I counted them, half a dozen at least that I could see. The sounds of destruction and battle seemed to be ending in less than a minute. I could hear no more steel striking, only the painful sounds of horses being crushed to cease their tortured lives.

I saw the treant begin to walk ponderously back into the forest. I used that noise to try to cover my own escape. I crawled through the wreckage to gather my pack and chest. I took a moment to put my boots back on while protected with the wreckage to my back. My traveling chest is only about 40lbs, but with my pack on my back and still breathing heavily from the fear of the attack, I have to wonder if it was the rasp of my breathing that turned the last of the treants to look back as I had used a magic wand to become silently invisible and disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the road.

I was not, and am not certain of exactly where I ran, I just know that I was attempting to put distance between me and my pursuer. I was lucky, I thought, as I had stopped hearing the crashing. I slowed my pace and relaxed a bit, trying to watch my footing better. It was difficult to see in the half moonlight through the trees. Then ahead of me I saw one of the trees turn and look in my direction. I was frightened, had it heard me? Could it see me? I didn’t move, or even breathe.

It called out in a strange language, seeming to be challenging me as it lumbered its way directly at me. I responded in as bold a voice as I could muster “I don’t speak tree… I don’t mean any harm.. But I won’t be an easy bug to squash either.” This one though looked different. I had not noticed before then, but the others had looked sickly. As if they were trees in late autumn after a very dry season and beset with a rot. This one looked very healthy and did not seem to have a rage in its eyes. Perhaps that is what caused me to call out to it. It did not understand me any more than I understood it. Yet it continued its booming speech as it waded through the earth toward me.

That was when I came to the idea of the elvish language. If we were nearing Olostin’s Hold, we were along the borders of the High Forest of the elves. I called out to it in elvish, and it responded. It was, in fact, rushing in its way past me. I put the pinch of guano back into the pouch as it passed and I was not attacked. I had been preparing to blast it with a fireball, for I was too tired to keep running at this pace. It was not going to attack me. Which I was glad for because I could see another tree moving in the distance, silhouetted by the light of the moon on a waterfall. We started a dialog, basic mostly, as it ordered me to follow, then defended me against what it called a ‘sick sap’.


As the treant stopped to morn what was now to be seen as another of its kind that was healthy but fallen, I noticed the many wounds and split branches. I thought perhaps the ring with healing magic I carried might be able to lend my newfound protector some comfort, and start him on the road to health. And perhaps, he might be strong enough to continue protecting me.

My defender told me he would guide me to a place I could ‘dip my roots’, where I would be safe. I followed, only to be sent along as he defended me from two of the ‘sick saps’. I hurried by his directions but then got turned around in the forest. I was walking along a steep bank, and it had intended me to wade across, or so I thought. I had to abandon my trunk along that bank because my defender had fallen, and the victorious sick sap was charging my direction. I remember saying to myself, ‘this is going to suck’ because I had in fact in the earlier fracas lost the amulet my friend had given me that would allow me to breathe underwater because he knew how much a feared sailing.

I continued along the bank to where it looked like I might be able to dive in without hitting rocks or thick mud which would trap me and likely mean my death. Once in the water, the ‘sick sap’ charged along my path. With a sickening splash, I could hear my luggage hitting the water, launched by roots intent to follow me. One day, it is possible my traveling chest which was watertight, might be found perhaps as far south as Waterdeep. My clothing, dresses, journals, and mundane supplies might one day come into the hands of someone who might use the journals within to contact my sister and inform her of the find. Perhaps seeking a reward, and I might get them back if I survive this.

At that moment, I do not know why I was thinking that. I am not a terribly strong swimmer, at least I had the current to aid me, even still I was not thinking I was terribly lucky as I slogged up the seemingly shallow bank through knee-deep mud and on to more solid soil. I looked back, and the sick treant seemed to barely be able to move through the water. I had actually gained some ground. Then a snake struck at my boot and another at other thigh tearing through the silk of my traveling trousers.

I had a giant tree, sick and angry slogging through the river toward me, and two snakes had decided I was in their territory, thus needed to die. I was angry by this point. Soaking wet, getting quite cold and done fearing for my life. A moment or two later, the snakes lay dealt with, and I prepared to fire the tree the moment enough of it rose from the river to burn with my magic. To my surprise, I heard the sound of shouting and horses. Rising out of the river on the other side of the little river delta was what appeared to be a group of adventurers. Two elves, a human and what seemed most odd a fully armored and helmeted knight.

The sick sap treant turned toward the closer group and climbed out of the river to attack them. I did not hesitate as it crested and began my incantation setting the seed of fire on its course to erupt into a blossom of superheated air engulfing the top of the tree before it could reach them. Oddly, that did not seem to turn it back toward me as I expected it would. The next few minutes were chaotic, as they finished off the burned treant as I used my wand to become invisible again and swam across to them from my peninsula of relative safety.

To my dismay, however, not even before I stepped out of the mud I saw a half dozen more attacking from the other direction. I admit I was all turned around, I do not know what was south or north if I am honest, so I will not depict it as such. The adventurers were adept though, and the battle was relatively swift, admittedly, my anger and use of fire magic were not without adding to the damage we inflicted. As the last fell, I could not help but think about the score of others that were part of the caravan that was slaughtered only hours earlier. I hoped these were that party of bandits and put down as was right for murderous villains.

The elves were familiar, but then again, it was difficult to see at the time but for the guttering flames of the dead treants. I was greeted and warned that I came to a dangerous part of the woods. I said, “I noticed.” The elf then complimented me on knowing a few tricks and asked if I came to adventure. I scoffed and informed them I was just passing through on the way to the Gem. I looked to the river, up and back again, and sighed knowing my luggage was gone. Now all I had was the contents of my pack. She informed me that she was unsure of how safe the forest would be for me alone, and suggested seeking refuge with the locals.

My first impression of Jhessi Kross was of a wizard though in the night and the way she spoke I was unsure if she was a man or a woman. She was examining the dead sick saps and seeming rather disgusted for not being able to determine if they had been ‘doctored like the others’. They were unable because of the fire damage. This made me feel defensive and a little put-out, did she not realize it was a battle of life and death?

Jhessi turned her attention to me and greeted me, then offered me a warning to refrain from the use of fire because it is difficult to determine what is making them sick, the druid would not like it. Their knight Bertilak joined Jhessi and drew her attention “Do you suppose these undead trees came from that cave as well?” he said.

“Did you say Undead trees?” I asked, somewhat horrified.

They confirmed what I heard, and launched directly into their plans to get to the source and end it. There was some argument from the elf whose voice was familiar and I then recognized as Saerela one who had been a small part of the effort in the ‘Shae’s a few years ago. I was gladdened a bit for I knew she was a goodly sort and was also pleased to learn she still lived since she had disappeared suddenly after we both were almost killed in that explosion in the temple in southern Alaron.

I will gloss over the negotiations and preparations, but I joined them in their goal to track the source of the trouble they believed to be not far from their current location. They were supported and guided by an odd druid whose grove appeared to be a plateau atop the waterfall. He, though, would not be joining us in the endeavor. He seemed to be overly obsessed with a mind-altering herb. This did not and does not sit well with me for someone whom you are taking advice.

As we neared the sunken structure, they warned there was a tribe of nixies taken up residence within. They did not think they were the cause, they were worried about death head moths which seemed to nest in the trees which then became sick. They were preparing to go into a cave under the water. Prepared with water breathing spells and defenses, they began to wade into the lake which flooded the ruined structure there. The pushback was immediate, the nixies were casting from under the water before we even were all with our feet wet. We decided to avoid the direct route and approach from the rear because we identified a wall of abjurative force assumed to be able to dispel our preparations of magic.

We were met with a fierce force of undead summoned or created by the necromancer we were seeking. Fighting was again chaos, but at least the use of fire was no longer requested to be kept in check, as my wands were valuable to the fight and much appreciated. The carnage of undead treants and creatures was as disturbing as any battlefield I have ever seen. We fought our way to standing stones which seemed to be a gate arch or was long ago.

As we tended to wounds, I began to examine the corpse of a treant. It had two black crystals which seemed to be eyes. In short, we discovered this was the key to raising, and controlling them. The necromancer still retained some perception from within them. Each was rooted as if the crystal had grown outward into all of the tree flesh surrounding it. Both were strong in necromancy and conjuration magic, but each was weighted to one, balanced by the other.

I tried to retrieve them, intent to return them to the Lady’s College for study and analysis in efforts of defeating this scourge. That is how I learned of the crystalline root structure. While I was attempting it though, it was as if the necromancer was reaching into my mind through the contact. I stepped back casting a protection spell I already had in place out of reflex. The necromancer spoke clearly in my mind. "Interesting. A new player. Or plaything. Tell them to come to me. I am waiting." It was unnerving, to say the least, but also angering me a bit.

I kept notes in charcoal in my notebook, which I will detail in greater depth in a later entry. But it reminded me of a situation I had heard of when I was last at the college half a decade ago. There was a spate of undead attacks, all of whom had black crystals embedded in them to control them. I wondered if the incidents were related at all. As I recall, that one had never been settled.

Working on their own, Jhessi and Bertilak were attempting to free whatever souls were being used to power these undead creatures. They smashed the crystal eye of the largest of them, causing a burst of energy to spill forth which actually caused injury by setting Jhessi’s robes aflame. Not an easy trick since most wizards treat their robes against elemental damage. She was pushed into the water to put out the flames. When she was retrieved from the water, she was certain she had felt the spirit of her first teacher a master Evenwood taken by a soul reaper, believed to be released from that crystal.

They smashed the rest, though done more carefully. Giovanni the gnome was laid on his back from just touching one too long and needed to be helped back to consciousness and his feet. I stood back and let them be destroyed. Believing them to be trapped souls, I no longer wished to retain one for study, it is an abomination. Once that task was done, we prepared to return on our path and make our way inside the ruins.

As a result of the dispelling of the protections, and the length of time it took for the fight, we were forced to attempt to prepare to swim again for the entrances were all below water. Likely as much as twenty feet below. We did not have enough spells or potions to bring all that was gathered, leaving Giovanni and myself without. I admit that was partially my doing. Something went wrong when Jhessi attempted the spell upon herself, causing a painful backlash and ruining the scroll. I had one scroll in my bag, part of my items to sell. This was a worthy cause, so I decided to use it upon her.

It was not the first I decided to use, and many have been used since. In fact, I have used nearly two dozen of my scrolls written to sell in an effort to help these people. In for a penny and all. I suppose when it comes down to it, I could have sought refuge and let them go on with their daring-do. How though could I live with myself if they had died for the want of just one more ally?

Giovanni came up with a few hollow reeds, saying they would allow us to breath if we were just under the surface, and at air pockets that would surely be found. I smiled and accepted one. Then finished off the contents of my wineskin, and blew into it for a last few breaths of air should they be needed. If nothing else, it would work like the one I had made for the ocean crossing and would keep me from sinking like a stone.

We swam, for what seemed like forever, and entered through a crevice in the stone that looked like it had happened from collapsing natural stone the ruins were built into. Once inside, Gio and I struggled to keep up with the others, as we searched for air pockets along the route. Oddly, the nixies did not seem to be disturbed by our presence, merely trying to keep us out of certain areas.

We found a crack in the wall that lead to an old chimney from when the ruins were above water. At least, that’s what I think it was. It was a rough go, and I needed to use the skin to breathe after getting turned around. Eventually, we each found our way through a natural-looking cavern and into a more structured tunnel up. It was tight, even for me. I am unsure how the knight managed to swim through it. The cold water got to most, the jagged rocks left ribbons of blood in the water as we made our way. If not for that, I am not certain I would have found my way up after getting turned around.

The chamber we emerged into was locked by a rather serious-looking metal-bound door. A giant moth swarm had made its nest in the room, so we knew there had to be a way to the surface, or maybe only I assumed as much. They were gathered around the door when Gio and I were both up. I used a cantrip to make us dry, and help with the chill that was actually making him shiver violently.

The door lock wasn’t a problem, nor was the lock on the one down the short corridor. I’m not a thief, I’m just good with my hands, and some of the tools I use in crafting translate well to tripping the tumblers on a lock. I stepped back and let them open the door, and that was when hell broke loose. The necromancer was caught a little earlier than she intended. She had undead treants to attack us, but we went through them like a lumberjack and a forest fire. She managed to elude us, but we were able to dispel the rituals she had set into motion before more souls could be bound into undead.

We chased her to a locked door, which I could not twiddle the tumblers of, but I did not have to because a wizard can always use magic to disengage the locks. I used a wand and opened it in seconds, stepping back assuming the necromancer to behind the door. What was thought, was a portal. Jhessi stepped in immediately and got to work, but in the end, she could not get the portal to function. We searched for something that would give us more information, and make sure the chamber was safe.

We found four stone guardian trees, but after our research and having to face one, came to the conclusion these were not the work of the necromancer. Instead, they were much older, original workings of this ruin. It was a puzzle Nioniel seemed to have a sense of, as she sang out in elvish ‘guardians halt, I carry the key.’. I did not get it the first time, when she did it just before the crystalline stone guardian animated and attacked nearly killing Giovanni. Eventually, I did though, it was an aural key phrase and the tone was more important than the words. It also needed a magical component to drive it home. Jhessi thought an orb of sound would do it. I tried to sing the tones myself, and the feeling I got as the magic that guarded the place responded to my voice, was that if I did it just that way again, I could accomplish the task with a lesser orb. Either way, we did not have the spell at that moment to cast it.

We found her books, which I left with Jhessi as she has a personal stake in this. After dispelling, we collected the component gems. They were marked with runes for ‘Needle’ on one, and Seldarine Prestess’ on the other. I recognized them by the aura, an unfortunate experience with a Thayan wizard long ago. These were ‘soul vessels’, and after explaining this, Jhessi declared she knew them in life. She and Bertilak would have to return them to a temple to have their souls freed.

We agreed that the chamber was safe enough to remain in for a time, rest a little and prepare the necessary spell. Jhessi and Bertilak left, going back the way we came. The rest explored a bit more, to ensure safety, and I set up a little shelter enough to feel I could rest… and wrote this before I set to memorizing the spell required.

One must understand that rest is not just about sleep, but about easing a stressful mind to allow it to accept the energies of a spell. Writing, organizing thoughts, is a form of meditation. I will write about how it went in the next entry.

I.R.S.

[vergin_sacrifice]

10th Page

Journal Entry, Uktar 7, 1388

I am guessing at the date, for I am under stone ceilings and not good at keeping time. I am tired as if spending days since the last time I had to sit down and write notes, so… well, never mind that.

Nioniel, Saerela, and I have finished working out the puzzles that vexed us. Saerela called upon her goddess to free the spirits of the dead lingering above the roots that were becoming more and more disquieted by the moment. I only wish she had been more communicative before she used magic to slip into the roots and transport herself up into the chamber we would eventually find. You see, this made it more of an emergent situation because she was alone and apparently not able to return to us.

See the rubbings that I hope are still folded and tucked into the back pages marked Uktar-88. They are of the placards done in stone on this structure that marks wherein the tower you are when the portal spits you out. There was one smashed where we found the first portal that the level that was where Giovanni had built his ingenious ropework so we could get to the crystal lattice. It seemed to indicate that the portal room was on the 3rd level of the root system. There being a purpose to the roots through the stonework it seemed, and what I thought was a sunken structure was at least intending to have water in it under the roots at least. Or so I surmise. The second rubbing was at the other end of the portal, the crown on the little map.

The portal was ringed by runes in ancient Illuskan, dwarven and elven styles, and cross-referencing the elven with the Illuskan I was certain I was reading them correctly. The portal would bring one to the “Archive Entry”. Once we determined how to reactivate the portal using the key, we used it to take it to Saerela and the Archive itself. This is where I am making this entry hurriedly to explain the notes on the opposing page.

You see, the Archive is actually a great book, seeming about 8-10 feet in height and width, inscribed within and preserved against time. It rests upon a platform within a framework of white crystal that glows with an inner light. The frame holding it is formed of crystal spikes that are joined at the ends by spheres of crystalline lattice like was below in the roots. From what I can see, these crystalline spheres are not cut by any tool, as if they were grown this way by purpose, or shaped by magic.

A large sphere of crystal atop the book casts light upon the pages of the book, and though it does not move, the light seems to rotate slowly around the book as if protecting it perhaps. There seems to be no decay, no growth of moss, mold, or mildew, nothing dares it seems to sully the pages.

The page it was open to when we first lay eyes upon it was written in a very old form of Illuskan, but there were duplicates on earlier pages in Elven, and I assume Dwarven. I recognize the runes, but cannot translate Dwarven, thus I will have to confirm that later.

See the text translated on the facing page.

11th Page

We are the last of the Fallen.

Goblinoids and hordes of orcish tribes have destroyed the kingdom that sent us here to find a weapon that could save it.

We failed.

The queen of these lands withheld her aid and turned aside her golden face. She called our search dangerous, and folly. It was both. What will not a nation do to preserve a union of otherwise fractious peoples, come together to build something good, something strong? What would we not dare, we who embodied differences that could have been cause for war, but in us were secondary to a greater ideal? Elf, dwarf, immigrant human who loved Phalorm more than patrimony left behind, we shared the Weave, and the nation we had fought for.

We record this in Memorium to hubris.

Hundreds came north, and now we are but three, one each of the races that together led the confederation of peoples who made up the Kingdom of Phalorm. In these wild marches, we have delved, and dived, grown and flown, all in pursuit of the magics we sought to shape.

In the Year of the Shattered Scepter, 614 DR, another orc horde arose in the High Moor, the Greypeak Mountains, and the Fields of the Dead to lay siege to our Realm of Three Crowns. The weakened armies responded and confronted the horde at Iniarv's Tower in the kingdom of Uthtower in the Year of the Lamia's Kiss, 615 DR. The lich, Iniarv, who lived in the tower, responded by attacking both armies with devastating spells, eventually causing the seas to rise and flood the area, dispersing or killing everyone and creating the Mere of Dead Men. It is there that many of Phalorm's finest warriors still haunt the swamps.

Three of Phalorm’s luckiest wizards walked away from those swamps. As we fled, we devised vengeances, and projected triumphs, and sought redemption for our failures. One among us had tales of antiquity from her race’s ancient history, tales of lost crystals that consumed magics. How better to visit doom upon a lich?

We found her crystals, beneath a ruin sacred to her god. Perhaps if we had left, then, taking them southward.

We did not.

Instead, we learned that the crystals did not merely consume magics. They stored them. And if properly prepared, they could be coaxed to emit focused and purified beams of power. We learned to heighten these emissions, to play these crystals like instruments, calling forth our chosen songs. Elementalists all, conjurer, abjurer, evoker, we concentrated on these powers. We played, while our homeland burned.

When we were shown what had happened to the remnants of Phalorm, we shattered, ourselves and our greatest work. In seeing the scars that had overcome us, we recognized some brought with us, some earned upon our quest.

Our evoker, who first learned that the crystals could run wild, unsated, takes the Sphere of Air to lose within the ices, cold, rarified and empty. Our abjurer, who breathed in the pulverizations of experiments before we knew better, (while she yet can) will end the Sphere of Fire in paths her race knows best. Our conjurer, tainted by a departure into that which should be conjured against, takes the Sphere of Nature, and the other, departing in search of more ancient tales. The golden queen says there is a tomb over thar, that will serve as a burial place for undead and broken ideals.

The key we leave, that some future reader may stand before this memorial, and hear its song. Lest they be tempted, though, we leave also guardians against temptation. Only those with more knowledge than we showed will be allowed to pass. Those with more wisdom will not try.

Gyasi Sayen
Thrazara Glandargloht
Ilphelkiir of Eaerlann
The Fallen Kingdom of the Three Crowns

[Wynna]

Wonderful.

[vergin_sacrifice]

Journal Entry, Uktar... maybe Nightal, 1388

First, I am alive, and now so are the others. I've lost track of time with what happened.
The past tendays have been troublesome. So much of it I spent lost in the forest or hidden from the sun, I don't know how long it has been since I left Waterdeep. No point in attempting to put a date on this just yet.

I am hold up in Olostin's Hold. This was supposed to be a way station on the road to Everlund. The caravan was sacked, everyone was killed, I'm pretty sure I am the only survivor. I had planned to spend the night, then move on to Everlund and then go by boat down the Rauvin to the Gem. Now I do not know when I will make it back to the Lady's College, or even if I will.

I am afraid this might seem terribly disjointed. I am still shaken by the experience. We searched the ruins, found the seat of power of the necromancer behind a lot of the mayhem that has been going on here. Something, history of Phalorm wizards and the power they collected but too late to save their nation, now being tapped by something identifying as a soul reaper. I just learned her name is Phaedre Elthonds, daughter of Malvina Draga, the wife of the lord of this place, Elthondsson.

How I know the title 'Soulreaper', is the most disturbing. As I, unfortunately, had seen years ago, I myself was overwhelmed and my spirit was pulled from my body and trapped within a house-sized crystal prison deep within the tower where we had found the Phalorm archive. I don't know how long I was trapped, time had no meaning. It seemed a great deal of time had passed trapped. Or perhaps it was only the perception of that time passing as I learned of my new existence as spiritual energy. Within, I made contact with two other spirits, and saw a starfield more untouchable in the distance. I am not being honest truly. It is possible I could have reached out and made contact with more of them, but after the first two, I knew the rest were lost already.

The first, was a woman named Ashera, the one they were looking for, the company of adventurers that found me in the forest. She was their friend, they were trying to free her, but she was still in this prison. Her time was running out.

Perception within such an existence is quite different, as there was no sight, sound, smell, or feeling per se. Yet, there was still a sense of existing, while having no form. A mind struggles to assign meaning to the things it perceives. As such it is important to recognize that my perception and interpretation is simply that. I cannot claim fact or show evidence, as it was all within my perception as a spirit. Within that perception, I interpreted through my sense and understanding of the weave. My arcane studies served me well in exerting my will within the void. Sensing the energies, like magical, I was prepared by my practices to not be a helpless spirit to feed the evil the necromancer plotted.

What I perceived as a vast empty void dotted with twinkling stars across the heavens was in fact a universe within the confines of a crystal prison for our souls. Each twinkling light, another soul harvested for purposes most foul I believe. My studies flew through my mind as I floated there, my power wrapped defensively about me as if I was a baby bird within an egg of my own creation. It was not until I gathered my courage to analyze my condition, and perceive my surroundings, that I did more than cower.

I exerted my will, and discovered that I was not as a speck of dust on the wind, I had the power to move. The power to guide as a ship on the ocean under sail. I used the stars as a map to keep my course and prove to myself that I was in fact able to move and not just imagine so to my own folly. I veered away from a looming great object which appeared as Selune herself as if I was careening toward the surface of that celestial form, only to realize too late, it was not Selune, but the magical energy of a companion, Saerela, a priestess of the elven goddess of the moon. But by the time I recognized that its presence was not a danger to me, it had receded far enough I did not think I could reach it well, at least without losing what little control I had garnered.

When the feeling of misinterpreted danger passed, I set my course toward the brightest star in my sky. It had become my guide, to prove that I could steer straight and control my course and speed. Soon though, as I neared I realized it was not a star at all, but something alive. My perception was through and of the weave, so I recognized the light of the goodly spirit, the power, and dedication perhaps of a priest, but also the taint of necromantic power beginning to work its way through and devour the spirit. My heart wept almost immediately, for the other twinkling lights I had surrounding me had come into focus a bit more with this nearer understanding. It was not a twinkling of distant lights in the heavens, but of souls, light being of their life, the twinkling brought about by the corruption of conjuration and necromancy devouring them for their power.

Part of me wanted to reach out to this soul, for then I realized it was going to become fuel for the fires of power as well, though not yet for it was healthier appearing so far. My heart wanted to console the poor soul, trapped and denied the rewards of an afterlife with their gods. Then as I felt that urge it came to me, that I too had that same fate awaiting me. I wanted to reach out for myself as well so that I would not be alone in this horrid fate.

As I felt myself nearing, I felt the light? the energy? the positive or hopefulness of the soul begin to grow, which had been seeming bereft though I did not know what that was before I felt it change. The image to my mind that formed was as a protective shell formed and becoming stronger as I neared, of a silver sword whirled about as if to bat away any attack. Instinctively, I felt the magic of my spirit form a hand and reach out to grasp the sword. instantly, I felt that the growing hope and positive energy was being directed at me, as if to help me. It did, for in that instant, it seemed that our souls could connect and communicate. It was this way that I met Ashera.

We became closer in the eternity of the beat of a heart or the dying of a star, time meant nothing, but it did pass. I told her of the efforts to save her, and the people who were still working for it. And in our communications, it seemed that our light grew, caused the universe about us to become defined, and confirmed for me that we were in fact within that crystal. Our positive energy also garnered attention from another soul, tentative, and somewhat distraught.

As it neared, I recognized the pain it must be in, being torn apart by necromantic energy, and pulled at by conjuration, I remember thinking this poor soul must be tapped to power something even as I perceive it. The way it seemed to be lunging for us, I wanted to reach out a hand, and in some way offer comfort, solace, perhaps give it enough strength to endure, but I was frightened because I did not know for certain what I was looking at was even still a living soul, perhaps it was an undead soul and was a tool to destroy my own. I protected us, my will formed a mirror image of my own, and reached out to make contact. That other self was still connected, and I could hear?, the shattered mind, and feel his terror as he wailed and ranted. His form swarmed the mirror of my own, and seemed to be consuming it, then broke away as if a ravenous beast that was once a friend of man who realizes that what is being done by them is wrong and forces themselves to stop.

The spirit was that of an old wizard who used to be a mentor, Master Evenwood. I'd never met him but heard of him for certain. He shared with me in that painful contact the knowledge of the soul reaper, and his terror as he knew what was being done to him, his soul being torn to tatters to be joined with others to become a vassal spirit, an undead slave spirit loyal to the bidding of their master while all the while begging for the release of destruction. The images that flashed through my head, the horror of what he was going through, and then him slipping away just before being dragged away with dozens of others informing my heart before my mind, the fate he dreaded to was becoming the truth.

I felt my anger well up inside me, and though I wished beyond hope to not be dead, and for Ashera to be rescued by her dear friends and perhaps lover, I wanted to free all of these trapped souls from the damnation of such a fate. I communicated to Ashera, to prepare herself as I was going to unleash all of the destructive energies I could at the crystal prison itself. I did not know if it would work to destroy or even damage, but my fury had risen to the point that I could not have stopped myself. It was only that pause I gave for her to prepare herself, and to join in to perform some last willful response to our condition.

Then I felt the irresistible pull, and thought, I was being drawn into that vassal spirit. It was all I could do, to reach out to Ashera one last time and assure her that her friends were trying to rescue her, be strong. I meant to unleash the hell of every bit of energy I could upon the vassal spirit before it enveloped me, but then... I felt the weight of the water around me and drew a labored breath. I was alive.

The elves that had joined me in searching that chamber with the massive black crystal had somehow restored me to my body. I was being pulled by my heel through the water by one of them, and as my wits returned, I looked to where she had glanced above my head and saw the danger she was pulling me from. One of the drowned dead enslaved by the necromancer nearly reached me. I did not struggle to get free, but unleashed the furious energy I had prepared for the inside upon that creature, and then the form of the necromancer Phaedra herself as I recognized her evil without ever having seen her. She was using the moments her minions were giving her to mount defensive spells that I recognized would make her untouchable by my sword-wielding companions.

As the minion ceased to struggle toward me, the unlife within finally extinguished, I found my wands, though some were missing, and discovered the one I needed still within its straps. While the others turned on her to attack her, I unleashed likely the least expected spells she could imagine. I dispelled her defenses, layer by layer by layer, until she was defenseless and then slain by the elves with me. Bae'ithra, Nioniel, and Saerela.

I turned then as I saw with my arcane sight, what looked like her spirit returning to the stone, and declared the crystal must be destroyed. I thought to set all those spirits free, to grant them peace in their afterlives to be healed of spirit by their gods. I saught to destroy her source of power and hoped to destroy it before the vassal was fully formed and could escape. I was perhaps a bit foolish, for I unleashed wave after wave of my magical energy, driving it into the crystal, shredding it. It absorbed some of the energy until it could absorb no more, then it exploded in a spray of crystal shards, then again, and again, as my onslaught was driven by desperate fury.

The crystal was not quite finished, though greatly diminished when I awoke to much blood in the water. Saerela used her sacred magic to keep me from final death, again, though if I were successful in my goal death would have been a fair price. They used their heads, and pulled me into an alcove, then finished the work I had started from the safety there so that the last of the crystal shards would not fly through them as they had me. It was not done quickly enough, however, as I saw the energy of the vassal escape, and I believe the soulreaper's spirit escaped as well. Though I do not know how she could survive with her crystal shattered and her body slain. She must have another vessel preppared somewhere.

Phaedra must be stopped.

I will write more when I awake, I need to learn the details of what happened here at Olostin's hold. There is some political intrigue afoort, and I believe I may have been ordered to become a part of it.