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This journal is written in Elvish, Korami dialect.

It rarely leaves the Elreyna's residence or workplace, yet if she is not looking, can be read.


(( Please do not post on this thread, yet leave a like if you enjoy reading: it encourages me to write more )) 

Link to Elreyna's Profile

1st Harrowing, 1640 A.C.

First entry. A daunting prospect. Yet record-keeping and reflection of thoughts may be prudent, given the historical significance of events unfolding at this time.

I am Elreyna of Clan Xal'tara. I am from Ko'ram, Iria Province. As of writing, this one resides within the unnamed settlement around The Spire in the Southern Reach. This land is strange in every sense of the word. My homeland is one of millions of spirits, mountains and clouds... yet this land is flat, with houses of stone and magic seemingly an afterthought for most individuals living here. Ironic, given it is The Spire, of undeniable magic, that lures people here.

My Clan, my family, were once Aedall. Five hundred years, seven generations ago, our ancestors crossed the ocean I had ventured over to reach this place. I am Korami, of this there is no doubt. Yet an idle curiosity, of my mixed bloodline culturally, one remains in existence when all Aedall disappeared fifty years ago. All that remains today are ruins, this Spire and us-- the migrants of various lands.

Xal'tara's are healers, witches and warlocks. Our heritage made us outsiders in Ko'ram. Whilst accepted to live in our own isolation under Great Clan Kensho, we could not find peace within the cities or towns. Perhaps it was the colour of our skin, our wider eyes or our arcane ancestry. Yet when illness, disease or injury fell upon others, they knew our name. It was in these arts I had been taught all my life. In this land, one is welcomed within the walls of this town-- and accepted, amongst various cultures, as an individual, not an outsider.

I have been here only a week. I have taken work at this settlement's hospital. There is much to learn of the Nua Sidhe and the giant folk. Perhaps, in time, one may learn what made my ancestors disappear. Yet such questions are better answered by others, the individual adventurers I now heal on a daily basis.

6th Harrowing, 1640 A.C.

Within The Spire settlement, there appears to be an ongoing conflict between the town residents and an overwhelming force of independent 'templars' and 'bandit knights.' Though the line between both are confusing. The templars appear to desire locating Aedall artifacts, under some religious doctrine of one Saint Taliana. A makeshift peace was made between these individuals and the town by an unusual band of misfits from starkly diverse backgrounds, religions and cultures. However, these hedge knights (similar to rōnin of my homeland) have been harassing locals, kidnappings, demanding protection money and are suspected of thievery of the local library.

It is not clear to me what these two factions have in common, only that they are interconnected in some way. Normally, one would not write on such matters. However, for historical preservation, it appears important-- especially as it does affect my work. Part of the peace brokered between the townsfolk is these templars (and bandits?) can access our medical facilities freely. This was agreed to by myself, Konrad and Selene as forthcoming physicians, to whom the locals seem to respect for our healing arts. It was also agreed that we may be 'taken' (via blindfolding with vague promise of return) to their hidden camps to treat their wounded or sick.

I find myself conflicted by these events. When moving to this Southern Reach from Ko'ram, one did not imagine my ancestors lands to be so lawless, akin to a frontier of opportunity and crime. Within my mind, I desire naught more than to ignore these would-be vagrants and hero-driven townspeople, yet such would be foolish. Ignorance does not excuse an individual from events, especially ones that may result in my involvement, regardless if I desire it or not.

Of pleasant note: a teahouse was opened yesterday by a man named Anwar. It is nice to finally have somewhere one can go beyond work that is not boisterious or prone to malicious brawlings.

14th Harrowing, 1640 A.C.

Patient: Drenmir

Study: Dragon-blessed, unfettered mortal with wings

Wingspan 7m² in diameter, retracts up to 4. Bone density, organs and vitals nomimal for Fey-Touched, despite obvious addition of wings and the apparent ability to glide through the air with occasional updraft. 

In Ko'ram, I do not believe I would have ever gotten the chance to study such a diverse collection of cultures, mutations and people. A Greatling, for example, harnesses extrodinary size and muscular mass from which an increase of fat shields them from the cold of their original climate. This is the type of medical study I strive for. With a better recording of these alterations to mortals given by Fable or Fey, one will be able to better medically treat all-- if not discover new medications or sciences from their mutations.

20th Harrowing, 1640 A.C.

This land is beyond strange. The Southern Reach is a wilderness where cultures clash and collide.

When moving here, I was surprised to find many Korami ventured across the sea much the same as I. Some are even from extremely notable clans, far greater than I. Though I had never heard of a Stonerunner before coming here and, as of today, I now live with one. Rott has allowed me temporary residence in a spare room in his basement-- Rott being the local smith and an engima to me.

A subject of cultural ideology most seem to agree upon here in the Southern Reach is that of 'honour.'

Though it differs from person to person, as there is no written code of it, many here cite grand ambitions in these unwritten rules. Duels, agreements and-- much to my annoyance-- the prospects of sacrifice. I am alone here in my belief that life is sacred, especially that of mortal life. In sharing my viewpoint to others that I would rather a person live than die for their ideals, I am mocked for my supposed idiocy. Men would make martyrs of themselves here, just to prove a point in a debate they ultimately lose in their death regardless.

Honour is a word brought up often here, from Valkians, Stonerunners, Korami migrants and even Walljacks. Yet all have spent hours to my aching ears yelling about having no honour because, ultimately, the word has different meanings between the various cultures and factions. What is honourable to one is honourless to another. 

Honour has brought more patients to me than any other ailment. 

28th Harrowing, 1640 A.C.

After what can only be described as a circus performance of what people (with straight faces) here call "politics," the Spire finally is abuzz with new demokratia elections. Naturally, the largest names have begun putting their names forth-- and rightfully so. Their reputation is in no small part due to their abundance of activities and, by extension, frequent visits to the hospital.

This place has changed me.

There is a newfound confidence confounded within my abilities to heal. People have been putting their trust in me and, in turn, I am finding a certain affection toward a growing community here. We are upon the frontier of the known Realm, with little remnant left of Aedall law and custom with rampant barbarians raging at the gates. If not for one another, we may have naught at all. What I find intriguing is how often people seem to forget their purpose of being here in the first place.

The Spire from which the settlement is named has been the source of my intrigue for quite some time and it has begun seeping into my dreams. In idle curiosity, I have come to some logical conclusions using simple observation:

The Southern Reach was not simply home to Aedall Arsa Sidhe, but neighbours to diverse cultures and species. Greatling Stonerunners, Human traders and even an abundance of Fey-Touched (including Fey and Fables themselves). The Aedall themselves vanished, but as too did any other individuals within the lands at the same time, including migrants and travelers. Nobody witnessed what transpired. Thus, whatever event took place, it was a radius-- not a spell directed upon a specific race, culture or noble class.

The Spire could undoubtedly be a weapon that caused all of this. They say there are crystals the Spire is made of which contain great arcane power. Yet magic does not simply appear from naught, nor does it stay stagnent without reason.

Magic yearns. It is raw chaos that desires order. It wants to be formed, shaped and canalized. It longs to be molded-- to become something.

If the Spire is the reason for the disappearance of an entire civilization, it is likely the most powerful weapon in existence-- having turned mortal men and women into harvestable, arcane power. That would make its crystals powered by captured souls.

This, I dare write, is true politics.

What governed Aedall to wipe themselves out? Was it a mistake? Or perhaps the Spire is a teleportation device, for the few that constructed such a marvel and iconic structure that I now behold every morrow as the sun rises from the east?

I may never know, for I fear what will have to happen to learn the truth.

5th Skybright, 1640 A.C.

May my ancestors smile upon me, for I have become a mage.

Magic has always been merely a word spoken to me, never a sensation until now. Without mentorship, one can feel the knowledge of what I am capable of within my blood, within my soul. My hands lay upon wounds and, through will of essence, the flesh stitched itself together, bones fused and blood staunched. It was my first spell... and it saved a life from what otherwise would have been certain death.

Facet, a cursed knight of yore, granted me the activation of my ancient blood. He granted this gift on the sole promise that I use the magic responsibly. A simple yet strange request, as if the ruins of the Aedall do not show what happens when magic is used haphazardly with chaotic purpose. Few can claim to have been raised amongst the arcane, I fear. Clan Xal'tara is one steeped in spells and occult.

It is as my entire life had prepared me to this path, to this moment, wherein I find joy in my arcane prowess. 

9th Skybright, 1640 A.C.

It has only been a short time since I have been intuned to the arcane. In this brief time, I have come to understand the simplicity of how a mage feels, the innate knowledge granted to oneself through magic flowing through the soul and veins.

Yet I find the limitations of my novice abilities, despite the miracles capable of being performed in chance-- as if by a dice roll-- frustrating. I must find a way to open my soul to further empowerment, to better perform as a healer of Ichor.

Perhaps meditation.

18th Skybright, 1640 A.C.

Yesterday I had the fantastic idea of joining a party of warriors to help defeat undead Aedall soldiers. Of fortune, only one arrow lodged itself unto my shoulder, to which was singular to the many strikes intended for I. Whilst admittedly the expedition did allow me to give study to the anatomy of living corpses and skeletal figures-- as well as the ability to fully test the arcane in stressful situations-- it is not something I desire to do again.

Rott has gifted me a dagger, easily hidden as a hairpin, as a gift for attending. I am somewhat glad I did attend, for without my presence, the wounds of others may have been more life-threatening.

*Elreyna details below in annotated diagrams in Korami Elvish her theories on anatomy through different races, the similar skeletal makeup of mortals, muscular function and blood flow through the veins*

21st Skybright, 1540 A.C.

Today I was a fool for believing a man could put aside honour for love.

13th Frostfall, 1540 A.C.

My arcane prowess continues to develop as Knight Facet has granted me more arcana. Whilst capable now of feats otherworldly, I believe I can do better even still. Anima continues to deplete swifter than patients influx, an ill-boding calculation regarding the current state of The Spire, rather than my inability to retain magical energy. So appealing my personal arcane source, an Void being we (me and Diarmait) currently study has leeched itself onto our souls. Harmless, yet noteworthy.

The guardhouse exploded back on the 8th, due to an imprisoned powerful mage. It was a troubling and traumatic day. I do not wish to write more, though I know the event may have lasting implications upon the Spire and lasting effects on my mental wellbeing. 

Focus primarily has been upon improving the hospital through a funding incentive, culimating in Lady Siona's Masquerade Ball on the 22nd. I do not yet have a dress nor a mask. Whilst the idea of attending a large celebration such as the gathering is not desirable, as I dislike crowds, it is part of my duty with the hospital to attend-- and host a lottery of my own design. It is my hope that I may enjoy it, despite my fears.

No further developments have been made regarding the fate of the Aedall. All focus has been upon defending the Spire from major and minor threats by the townspeople. Perhaps I shall begin investigating Aedall ruins in archeological digs to discover more about my lost ancestors.