In an abandoned house: The Diary of Sorian (AV 398 - 400)

[Sorian]

It had been centuries since great changes--changes that altered history and society had taken place in the tranquil drops of those famous mountains, yet the cold winds commandeering Riverfall remained unchanged. It still blows with unquenchable zeal towards the far reaches of the bitter and lost lands of Suva, grazing everything in its path. How this phenomena of nature was born could only be speculated, much like how the Akalaks' shady history had come full circle. It blows with a solemn and airy power over the city, its warm and honorable citizens busy with the dances of everyday life. Like a gentle lullaby it serenaded through everything it came across on, and a few smiles had been solicited from the playful children by the coolness which they had remained so fascinated in, despite the obvious fact that it was always cold in their city. Atop a craggy precipice a mile above the main city, seemingly untouched by time, stood a simple house, its cracked shell crumbling away in its forlorn state of abandonment. The time-hallowed walls spoke with beautiful silence about the histories that had occurred there, the broken and weathered furniture remaining poignant and embossed with a charming quality. There was a small kitchen collecting dust and weeds, the shoots growing from the soil that had collected in between every broken tile, and the utensils were all covered with soot and webs, like the dungeons of some haunted castle. Some writing tools remained scattered across a sturdy but decomposing oak table: a quill on a dried-up ink bottle stood frozen beside the yellowed pages of a diary that rustled with every breeze that blew into the innards of the house. Each one of its page fluttered and turned quickly, back and forth, depending on where the wind came from, the pages never being torn but are instead crumpled, weathered, beaten and lashed by the same wind that echoed its quality. And the words within them spoke of the same story, but in another context: a somber reflection of its former owner, now a mere shade in Akalak history. The ever-volatile winds blew back again, turning to the very first page, now pasty and seemingly filled with more squiggles and yellowed stains than words, but they were still legible. ..... Entry 1, Spring, 5th day, 398 AV Another winter season had run its course, yet the beating of my heart remains tied to the cold; indeed, even when the sun is out and the music is lively in my ears, there is this hollowness within me that I cannot comprehend, a hall without warmth. They say that this is the gift which my people had received from our mother, the goddess Akajia. Truly it does baffle me how contrasting her will is to our great and benevolent father Wysar. While one revels in darkness and yet finds greatness in it, one revels in the wretched clutches of demoniac spurts and terrible ways. When these two collided and meshed together in the bed of heaven, we as a people were born. We of two faces, we of two distinct fates. Strangely, despite my gentle upbringing and the discipline which I had so mused myself over the past 98 years of my life, I still feel like I am going down that different path which I so loathe, which I so fear. The one road towards losing control of everything. Maybe I am just tired, or had been thinking too much. Or maybe--dare I say it--because Karnelia did not show herself today at Godiva's? Frankly the days are even emptier without her presence, and I find myself in times at wonder, how I had even lasted this long without having even spoken a single word to her. I pray that the courage which I had managed to show in the wilderness and battlefields of Cyphrus could carry over to the seizing feelings I feel when I find her drawing nearer. Or that the lusty stares I get from the other village women could be found in her very own eyes. But alas, one cannot make the world fall for him, when the rest of the universe conspires to separate you from the one you wish to be with. There is a mysterious power that holds sway over all our fates. Perhaps it is the conjuration of the gods, or perhaps it is something beyond even the gods' control. It is evident in the faces of all I meet anywhere, with both their smiles and their frowns. Everyday I see the same expressions grow from root in their eyes, their lips, in every sway of their bodies. Everyday the people grow into their ways, find their meanings and become better. I wonder if this is the fate which I have for my future as well? Only time will tell if it is so. I went out to gather supplies for a sojourn which I would undertake in the wilderness later this season. During winter the animals were sparse, hiding from the humans who patrolled the area. But the monsters were everywhere: I had to wrestle with a powerful glassbeak a few days ago, and it had left me with a fierce reminder why we should face them only in greater numbers. A huge gash in the very arm which I am now using to write these words down is seeping pain into every bone and flesh I dare move. My Lakan received another dent as well, and this is something that hurt me even more than the wound. Perhaps I should finally take it to a blacksmith, but I don't have the money to pay him. Sometimes he can be a stingy gentleman too. I ought to train more in unarmed combat so I wouldn't have to damage it anymore. As I traveled the vast wilderness I saw many scenes of horror; there were monsters feasting on human flesh, rending them apart with ungodly strength. There were also Myrians on the prowl, perhaps the only sentient race that the Akalaks should be wary of in terms of fighting strength. The Burning villages seem to be a staple in the environment nowadays, along with littered body parts that would be missing a limb or two. The sights and smells have horrified me, yet somehow I can find the strength to write them down so casually. Maybe they appealed to that darker side which we Akalaks all struggle to suppress, I do not know how to explain it. I fear no pain, I fear not death. But I fear a fate worse than death: I fear the darkness. I should find solace in some warm haven in a season or two, and spend less time outdoors. But artificial exercises do not amuse me nor supplement me much. To my great distaste, my body proportions only increase with the rancor of battle; to be stronger in body I must grow stronger in mind as well... ..... The rest of the page is lost to the elements, unreadable to those who would even bother to read it.

[Sorian]

A sunny day it was in the great city of Riverfall, and for the what seems like the first time in a lifetime there was some rustle and bustle to be found in the old abandoned house that nestled so far above the normal Akalak populace. A couple of small rodents could be seen playing with each other among the lifeless ruins, bringing a subtle yet tiny glimpse of activity upon an otherwise unearthly sight. They ran around together, knocking down some old bottles in the corner, rampaging in unison as if they were in the notion that they were in some fantasy world where they are actually allowed to be around the handicraft creations of sentient beings, even abandoned ones. The verdant green sprouts which shoot from the earth around the structure stood as shields, protecting its hidden scenery and secrets from all those who would dare venture the craggy rocks in some juvenile attempt to loot anything of use to be found within. For now it stood still, locked in the timelessness which it had been entrusted to by he who had disappeared into the fog of forgetfulness. The wind, yet again acting like it was the hand of some unseen god, slowly turned the pages of the diary, landing the stopper on a random page within. ..... Entry 17, Summer, 21st day, 398 AV I woke up this day with a sudden jolt into consciousness; the sun was still covered with the airy mist of the dusk skies, and it had left me with a throbbing sensation in my chest. I had thought that it was some earthquake caused by the god Ivak, for it hammered into my heart like it was a mighty blow from a force unseen, and had half expected to hear some sort of noise or scream emanate from the city. Yet alas, nothing stirred in the civilization below, and it had left me in wonder for the rest of this day. I am still hoping that it was a mere figment of my imagination, but the feeling of anxiety remains lingering and discreetly present. The very moment the sun arose I packed up a basket of fruit to take to Godiva's. As luck would have it, she was there, precious Karnelia who, in her utterly painful beauty, parades it with an unknowing furor everywhere she goes. I had played with the very moment in all my dreams and wakings: I would approach her with a gentle manner and with some measure of confidence and present myself to her. Truly I had heard that she is quite receptive to gifts, but in contrast to it she had rejected every Akalak male who had ever approached her. Courage was not with me today, and I found my eyes in a rut behind her, only able to sigh and follow her image as it disappeared into the temple's inner sanctums. Pity on me, who has so much in gifts while lacking courage at the very right moment. And as an amusing for the fates, just yesterday I had received a basket from one Daryna, supposedly a new girl who had recently been saved from the barbarian raiders by a number of our men. Just to think that this girl, new to our society and knowing nothing about me was able to send me a gift, while I on the other hand, extremely old (in human terms) and supposed to be wise and brave and having the handy aid of all I have, could not even begin to speak to the one I harbor in my heart! I should find some time to visit this Daryna and thank her personally for her kindness. I picked out a nicely colored fruit from the basket and ate it, contemplating on the weaknesses of my being. The red of the fruit, whose name is unknown to me, reminded me of blood; the life giving essence which flows from all beings had been feeding the land so much as of late, for the bloody raids still continue to rage everytime we Akalaks turn our heads. It reminded me of the day before yesterday I had volunteered to go on a rescue mission to find a missing youngling from the family right below my home. I girdled my broken Lakan, taking it with me just in case, and we searched for him through the night. We found his mangled remains at the bottom of a gorge; his arms had been chopped off, and his eyes gouged out. Looking at him, his tortured form etched a portrait within my mind. I felt a great rage surge forth from my body, and my sights grew dim and hazy. I blacked out, and I don't remember anything that I did. Supposedly I lost control of myself, and had to be restrained from going on a manhunt by the other rescuers. I found myself lying on my cot, the sights reintroducing themselves to me frame by frame... and unlike the last time, I felt... strangely amused at the memory. It terrified me, made me regret having to come and find it myself. I could not understand how such a pitiable sight made my heart thrash with glee, how it made my blood curl with malice. Yet again the darkness rears its head, and I stared into the abyss, knowing not what to do. Now as I write these words I find myself saying, "I should stop trying to be so critical of myself." But the truth is harsh; even we Akalaks, great warriors though we may be, are nonetheless imbued with some silent weaknesses. This is natural in all beings, and I shall have it to the end of my days. Now I realize... That it is the love of it that I fear. Maybe I do love the darkness, and had only been telling myself to fear it because everyone else does. What better way to harness your weakness than by facing it? To continue my day, I simply ran off to the wilderness in search of nothing in particular. I had contemplated on jumping into the Bluevein from the peak of the mountain earlier, but it would have been foolhardy. One of my friends said he was willing to try it, but we merely laughed at him. Indeed he did shrink away from it when we had ascended the mountain top, and frankly, I would have too. So I ran into the sea of grass, feeling the winds and flowers brush through me like invisible hands, touching every ounce of skin in my body like I had been destined to be so caressed... I wish it would be true, that I am indeed destined for great things. ..... The chapter ends without any other sort of fanfare, the silent pages remaining still in the west blowing wind.