Kismet; The Journal of Celeste Arumen

[Celeste Arumen]

20th Day of Summer, 513 AV After much contemplating, I’ve finally decided to write down my thoughts. Perhaps they’ll one day be worth something, but as it stands now, I’m just another face on this awful creaking slab of wood they call a boat. Never have I hated anything more than sea travel. And to think that some people find this soothing. It’s an absolute nightmare. I spend most of time with my chin between my knees – that, or halfway over the railing. Anyway, the Captain says we’re five days out from shore. By the Gods I hope he’s right, mostly so I can be rid of this vessel, but also so I can take the first step toward the discovery of my new life. When I heard the rumor that the Island was open to the public, I’d thought it just that. A rumor. But Zeltiva had been recently hit with series of plague that wiped a good deal of the population. So I knew I had to move on. I really sincerely hope they don’t turn me away. I don’t think I’m talented enough to sneak in. They must have ways of detecting that sort of thing; they are an ancient sect of Alahean mages, after all. But I’m going to try. And when I get there, I will become a Wizard. I will somehow find a way. For those of you haven’t guessed by the title, I’m Celeste Arumen. Normally, people go into the terrible, yawn-inducing details of their past up until the point in which they begin writing their journals. But not me. I’ve read far too many tales that started that way. Still, I feel I have to tell you just a little bit about myself before we proceed. We are going to be friends, after all. I may strike you as annoying perhaps, but it’s okay. I’m just barely thirteen. I’m sure my writing will get better with practice and time. First of all, as you guessed, I’m a mage. I’m a morpher, hypnotist and reimancer, though I’m only really adept at the first of the list. And as far as I know, I don’t really have any family in the world. I once lived in Alvadas; heck, I even met Ionu. But as you may have guessed by the setting of this journal, that isn’t my place anymore. Everything that I might’ve had there means nothing, anymore. I had a friend, a grandmother, a companion. But those things are gone now. And all I have are my dreams. When I was six years old, Grams told me a tale about the Island of Sahova. I always suspected the old bat was in love with the place. Our whole house smacked of ancient Alahea. Everything – absolutely everything – was square. Even the plates were square. It was pretty obvious in my opinion, but adults have a way of overlooking a child’s intuition. Maybe I’ve always been sharper than most my age. Then again, I’m also a philterer and somewhat of a polyglot. But like I said, I’m also thirteen. Take my opinion for what you will. Anyway, the old woman was really trying to scare me with talk of a whole island of undead. She said they were the Nuit, a race of bodysnatching zombies who lived solely to carry on their secret magical research. Naturally, she piqued my curiosity. I wanted to know why there were so secluded. So I got the whole story; Alahea at the time was at war with Suva, just before the Valterrian. The island was a research facility geared to end that war. They wanted to use their magical abilities to get a leg up. And they might’ve done it, too, if it weren’t for the marriage of Emperor and the Queen, and by extension, the Valterrian. Nothing ends war quite like a deity on a rampage. I was born the five hundredth year after. And how time flies. From then on, I was enamored with the idea of becoming a Wizard. There they only accepted the best of the best. Some of the greatest mages in history came first from the Island of Sahova. I knew that if I were to become anything, to matter in any way at all, I had to go there. I had to try and prove myself. Of course, the old bat quickly shot the idea down. They'd never listen to me, she said. But of course, her opinion doesn't matter anymore. And I'm not quite certain if it ever even did. But I find it difficult to write on this shuddering monstrosity, so I’ll keep this brief. Perhaps I’ll write again after I get to the Island of the Undead, provided they even allow me in. I suppose we’ll have to see.