Written By Martino
Jan. 22, 2024, 6:35 a.m.(8/8/1021 AR)
On leaving Southport, saying a brief farewell to the city, I saw some pieces of our history and learnings from Southport's Archives. So a similar copy of them is to be made in my journals to look back on, reflect on, and perhaps read by others.
Planning and strategy are everything, more so when it comes to war and military endeavours. This was not meant to be my path, I was the Malvici to socialise and connect our House. I have done that, but now my path has changed. It was in this past that the need to observe and provide advice - helped strengthen my skill in planning. Keep planning. Keep developing.
Deception is a core skill, willfully and intentionally misleading an enemy. Keep them unaware of your true intentions during a campaign. When we can strike, we pretend not to. When we are near their camp, we pretend to be far away. When far - then one must appear behind their backs. Keep the enemy confused and wear them down. Appear strong, appear perfect - your foe will avoid you at all costs. Tire them out, weaken their unity and push division among their ranks. Appear where they do not expect. Feed the attrition of their mind and body. You will have the enemy second guess themselves.
Excel at that? Tthe victor will be decided before swords clash.
Planning and strategy are everything, more so when it comes to war and military endeavours. This was not meant to be my path, I was the Malvici to socialise and connect our House. I have done that, but now my path has changed. It was in this past that the need to observe and provide advice - helped strengthen my skill in planning. Keep planning. Keep developing.
Deception is a core skill, willfully and intentionally misleading an enemy. Keep them unaware of your true intentions during a campaign. When we can strike, we pretend not to. When we are near their camp, we pretend to be far away. When far - then one must appear behind their backs. Keep the enemy confused and wear them down. Appear strong, appear perfect - your foe will avoid you at all costs. Tire them out, weaken their unity and push division among their ranks. Appear where they do not expect. Feed the attrition of their mind and body. You will have the enemy second guess themselves.
Excel at that? Tthe victor will be decided before swords clash.
Written By Medeia
Jan. 22, 2024, 5:39 a.m.(8/8/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Mabelle
I knew that there would be losses in the days and weeks to come as we face the horrors of the Abyss let loose upon our beloved Arvum, but this death is one I will mourn for years to come. We all should.
Lady Mabelle Laurent came to be a far dearer friend to me than I think I ever let her know. She and I, when we put our heads together, created wondrous things. She was a brilliant woman - as smart as she was fashionable. Her genius will last beyond these horrors, beyond these lifetimes, and I am sure it will inspire generations beyond. From the creation of exquisite fabrics like starlight silk (I owe some success with windspun wool and peachskin to expertise and support) to her charitable works with the Honey Havens to her artistic preservation endeavors in galleries through Arvum to her extreme dedication to Artshall, she worked tirelessly on projects that few could forget.
More personally, she trusted me with something that I still don't - and may never - know the full consequences of. She trusted me on a whim, and for every single person who benefited from the protection of certain malissite necklaces at Harrow Hall, she is owed thanks. She is the one who removed the barrier I needed removed to gain the guidance I sought in order to create them. She also helped in creating the solution used to destroy the thorns at Harrow Hall, and if my newest project is a success, she will have had a hand in that, too.
Thank you, Mabelle, for all you did. While I will honor you for the hero you came to be, I will choose instead to remember fixing your hair for you at the Fire Bee or chatting at the Saving Grace gardens, or - this, the last time I saw you - at Lottie's with sweets and talk of lists that maybe neither of us were joking about.
You were one of the best of us, and I'm blessed to have known you in this lifetime.
Lady Mabelle Laurent came to be a far dearer friend to me than I think I ever let her know. She and I, when we put our heads together, created wondrous things. She was a brilliant woman - as smart as she was fashionable. Her genius will last beyond these horrors, beyond these lifetimes, and I am sure it will inspire generations beyond. From the creation of exquisite fabrics like starlight silk (I owe some success with windspun wool and peachskin to expertise and support) to her charitable works with the Honey Havens to her artistic preservation endeavors in galleries through Arvum to her extreme dedication to Artshall, she worked tirelessly on projects that few could forget.
More personally, she trusted me with something that I still don't - and may never - know the full consequences of. She trusted me on a whim, and for every single person who benefited from the protection of certain malissite necklaces at Harrow Hall, she is owed thanks. She is the one who removed the barrier I needed removed to gain the guidance I sought in order to create them. She also helped in creating the solution used to destroy the thorns at Harrow Hall, and if my newest project is a success, she will have had a hand in that, too.
Thank you, Mabelle, for all you did. While I will honor you for the hero you came to be, I will choose instead to remember fixing your hair for you at the Fire Bee or chatting at the Saving Grace gardens, or - this, the last time I saw you - at Lottie's with sweets and talk of lists that maybe neither of us were joking about.
You were one of the best of us, and I'm blessed to have known you in this lifetime.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 22, 2024, 1:43 a.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
It's 11:35. 25 minutes to midnight.
Time to go.
Time to go.
Written By Titus
Jan. 22, 2024, 12:57 a.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
It isn't mine, but it is good. What you feed is what will grow.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:06 p.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Medeia
I believe Lady Medeia Saik accepted my offer of patronage purely because I have, in the past, encouraged her curiosity and the boldest of her ideas. Every now and then, our madder notions need a little nudge, and it's been a privilege to be able to encourage hers. She hardly needs it now. Meet a few successes and that support isn't so necessary any longer.
She is a spectacular overachiever, vastly more capable than most of us, and she'll have my support whenever she asks it, however unneeded it may be.
She is a spectacular overachiever, vastly more capable than most of us, and she'll have my support whenever she asks it, however unneeded it may be.
Written By Raven
Jan. 21, 2024, 8:02 p.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
Someone come chat theology with me
Written By Medeia
Jan. 21, 2024, 4:30 p.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
Yes.
I promise.
I promise.
Written By Raven
Jan. 21, 2024, 2:31 p.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
If everyone's an asshole, I might be the problem. Everyone's right. I'm arrogant. I'm stubborn. I'm an opinionated, pushy loudmouth. Yet I am coming to realize of the many occasions where I was in the wrong, my sin isn't always how I am, or even who I am. Sometimes it was the when. Time. That's my sin. The squawking when I ought to be have been quiet or silence when I should have stood up. Does it mean really my sin is lack of wisdom? Probably.
Either way while I will never be too proud to apologize or admit my errors I am done apologizing for who, for who I am. Archfiends. Heralds. The dream and the nightmare. I will walk it and I will face it as myself. The causes I serve, the forces and people I serve I will remain loyal to but first I must be loyal to myself.
When I take my soulbrand I will do it entirely as myself. For good or for ill the only power I will call on or rely on will be my own. If this means I am somehow less than I might have been had I borrowed or called power from elsewhere I will still have no regret because so long as I succeed or fail on my own merits I know that my choices will always be my own and that means nothing will sway me from keeping the promises I've made to myself and others. I will remain whole, unbowed, unbroken. Imperfect but free to strive to become who I mean to be. Everyone and anything else who feels entitled to a say can fuck right off.
Either way while I will never be too proud to apologize or admit my errors I am done apologizing for who, for who I am. Archfiends. Heralds. The dream and the nightmare. I will walk it and I will face it as myself. The causes I serve, the forces and people I serve I will remain loyal to but first I must be loyal to myself.
When I take my soulbrand I will do it entirely as myself. For good or for ill the only power I will call on or rely on will be my own. If this means I am somehow less than I might have been had I borrowed or called power from elsewhere I will still have no regret because so long as I succeed or fail on my own merits I know that my choices will always be my own and that means nothing will sway me from keeping the promises I've made to myself and others. I will remain whole, unbowed, unbroken. Imperfect but free to strive to become who I mean to be. Everyone and anything else who feels entitled to a say can fuck right off.
Written By Mabelle
Jan. 21, 2024, 1:43 p.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
My name is Mabelle Laurent, daughter of Tina Laurent and Martin Longwood.
Whatever I accomplished in my life, it is written and shall be remembered and will not be repeated here by myself.
Whatever I chose to keep private in my life, shall remain so after I've finished living them.
The things that are not written are so: my soul did not always belong to me. It used to belong to Lady Cressida Umbrage, otherwise known by her chosen name, Jet. Before the reckoning, she attempted to stop it, rallied an army, marched against her king for the sake of humanity. She was betrayed and has failed. I tried for many years to follow her footsteps, to finish her job. Perhaps in another turn of the wheel.
I am not her.
Whatever I thought I have done in her name, with her magic, I have done with my own magic, including hiding the moon with shadows during the battle against Orichalcum, making his army falter.
My name is Mabelle Laurent.
The love I bore and bear still for my family, friends and lovers is a private love. Whether steady or brief, it is none of your concern.
The only love that never faltered was the one I bear for my name, my House and our City.
Though it was never mine to rule, only to serve, Artshall has forever been my most treasured love. My priority. My greatest achievement.
It should come as no surprise at all that I refuse to see it burn again.
Should I not return, my will is simple:
My black journals will remain sealed.
All my earthly possessions and assets are to be taken back to Artshall to be sold and used for the reconstruction of the city, if need be, and support of the people. This will be facilitated by Baroness Amari Redire. Those who have a claim on anything, should write to her.
Exempt:
To my betrothed, Marquis Orvyn Harthall, I leave my apology and the dowry stated in the agreement between us.
All the art I've curated is to be passed to the Art District, under the guiding hand of Princess Denica Thrax.
The family heirlooms, the gown of the Duchess of the Honeybees and the Apiarian Queen Crown, are to pass to Lady Annalise Laurent when she comes of age.
The Dire Bee Lounge, The Fire Bee Cider House, The Honey Glow Salon and The Buzz Art Gallery are to remain in possession of House Laurent.
Upon release from my duties, Adelina, my aide, will be appointed Mayor of the Art District until the time she finds herself a suitable replacement, if she wished to. All profits from distribution of fabrics will serve as income to the district.
Maurice, my baker, will be released from his duties should he like and receive his own bakery in Artshall, compensation for tolerating my sweet tooth demands for many years.
My personal pets are to be given to the Honey Havens to keep company of the children until they come to a peaceful end.
To my Duke, I leave my family ring and my gratitude for saving me from an awful situation and trusting me with his city and by so, directing the path to my happy life.
To my friends and loved ones, failure to mention you in writing, does not mean you are not carved upon my heart.
To you and to all else, I will life, happiness and purpose.
Lady Mabelle of House Laurent
Whatever I accomplished in my life, it is written and shall be remembered and will not be repeated here by myself.
Whatever I chose to keep private in my life, shall remain so after I've finished living them.
The things that are not written are so: my soul did not always belong to me. It used to belong to Lady Cressida Umbrage, otherwise known by her chosen name, Jet. Before the reckoning, she attempted to stop it, rallied an army, marched against her king for the sake of humanity. She was betrayed and has failed. I tried for many years to follow her footsteps, to finish her job. Perhaps in another turn of the wheel.
I am not her.
Whatever I thought I have done in her name, with her magic, I have done with my own magic, including hiding the moon with shadows during the battle against Orichalcum, making his army falter.
My name is Mabelle Laurent.
The love I bore and bear still for my family, friends and lovers is a private love. Whether steady or brief, it is none of your concern.
The only love that never faltered was the one I bear for my name, my House and our City.
Though it was never mine to rule, only to serve, Artshall has forever been my most treasured love. My priority. My greatest achievement.
It should come as no surprise at all that I refuse to see it burn again.
Should I not return, my will is simple:
My black journals will remain sealed.
All my earthly possessions and assets are to be taken back to Artshall to be sold and used for the reconstruction of the city, if need be, and support of the people. This will be facilitated by Baroness Amari Redire. Those who have a claim on anything, should write to her.
Exempt:
To my betrothed, Marquis Orvyn Harthall, I leave my apology and the dowry stated in the agreement between us.
All the art I've curated is to be passed to the Art District, under the guiding hand of Princess Denica Thrax.
The family heirlooms, the gown of the Duchess of the Honeybees and the Apiarian Queen Crown, are to pass to Lady Annalise Laurent when she comes of age.
The Dire Bee Lounge, The Fire Bee Cider House, The Honey Glow Salon and The Buzz Art Gallery are to remain in possession of House Laurent.
Upon release from my duties, Adelina, my aide, will be appointed Mayor of the Art District until the time she finds herself a suitable replacement, if she wished to. All profits from distribution of fabrics will serve as income to the district.
Maurice, my baker, will be released from his duties should he like and receive his own bakery in Artshall, compensation for tolerating my sweet tooth demands for many years.
My personal pets are to be given to the Honey Havens to keep company of the children until they come to a peaceful end.
To my Duke, I leave my family ring and my gratitude for saving me from an awful situation and trusting me with his city and by so, directing the path to my happy life.
To my friends and loved ones, failure to mention you in writing, does not mean you are not carved upon my heart.
To you and to all else, I will life, happiness and purpose.
Lady Mabelle of House Laurent
Written By Mabelle
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:45 a.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Claude
I've never met Claude in person, I do not think, but I have met him through his art.
I know of his meticulous work.
His appreciation to detail.
His talented fingers and his love of creating toys.
The Map of the Oathlands was a project I started as he began making the Oathlands Houses' toys. He helped me complete it with a few small houses he did not yet reach back then. I've placed it at the Dire Bee Lounge to honor his memory.
Rest in Peace.
I know of his meticulous work.
His appreciation to detail.
His talented fingers and his love of creating toys.
The Map of the Oathlands was a project I started as he began making the Oathlands Houses' toys. He helped me complete it with a few small houses he did not yet reach back then. I've placed it at the Dire Bee Lounge to honor his memory.
Rest in Peace.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 21, 2024, 11:23 a.m.(8/6/1021 AR)
Day 13:
(Sent before sailing away to Eurus)
I am the granddaughter of Highlord Donrai Thrax. I will always be a Thrax. It is written in my blood and in my bones.
I despise Highlord Victus Thrax, the Usurper. At one time, I sought to have him killed over a broken promise. However, I found there were more important things to do with my time, and I let that dream of vengeance die. I've never forgiven him, and never will. Yet, I still wish him success in his fool's errand. The world depends on it.
I've made my peace with everything that I am.
(Sent before sailing away to Eurus)
I am the granddaughter of Highlord Donrai Thrax. I will always be a Thrax. It is written in my blood and in my bones.
I despise Highlord Victus Thrax, the Usurper. At one time, I sought to have him killed over a broken promise. However, I found there were more important things to do with my time, and I let that dream of vengeance die. I've never forgiven him, and never will. Yet, I still wish him success in his fool's errand. The world depends on it.
I've made my peace with everything that I am.
Written By Claude
Jan. 21, 2024, 1:43 a.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
If you are reading this, I have died.
I went to defend Bastion. I hope I was brave. I hope it was not in vain. I hope... I hope that I mattered.
If am I lucky enough to pass through to the Shining Lands I hope I will see my wife and children again. I hope there I will remember their faces.
I bequeath the contents of my bank account to the Liberators of Skald.
To my dear friend Master Cufre Harrow I bequeath my shop, Out of the Woods. Master Harrow, I'm sorry I didn't make it back.
To anyone else, I pray the Compact still stands. That we are victorious. I pray that you wake up tomorrow with all your loved ones beside you.
Claude of Deepwood
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 20, 2024, 9:39 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Athaur
A rousing speech to then watch the backhand to echo through the whole of Riva. It was a good speech brother.
Then I too was backhanded. I love you Ima.
To Sanctum then.
Then I too was backhanded. I love you Ima.
To Sanctum then.
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 20, 2024, 8:24 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ann
As I stand upon the boats, seeking refuge from the turmoil that engulfs Riva, my mind races with the recent events that have unfolded. Athaur's powerful proclamation echoed in the air, reminding us of the gravity of our mission. Yet, it was Ann, my heart, and Eshra, our sister, who stirred my soul and brought clarity to our purpose. Life, they emphasized, is more precious than any piece of land that fate may force us to abandon.
In the midst of chaos within Riva, our urgent task was to assist our people in reaching the flotilla. However, a somber interruption occurred as we solemnly conducted a death ritual for a fallen scout named Haldrien. The weight of loss hung in the air as his family clutched his bells, and an enigmatic knife was discovered among his possessions.
Ann and I joined forces during this poignant moment. Together, we invoked a ball of light that danced in hues mirroring the colors of the wind, casting winding shadows around us. It was through this mystical display that I felt a profound connection, and it is now this ethereal bond that resides within my heart.
Our destination is Sanctum, where we embark on a journey to defend that which we hold dearest. Despite the urgency of our mission, my left arm still throbs with the aftermath of recent events. I've been assured that it will heal in time. Fresh ink adorns my skin, depicting a winding river dragon entwined with a water spirit, engaged in a dance of love. Their serpentine bodies climb over my arm, their heads entwined protectively over my heart.
As the boats sail towards Sanctum, I find solace in the symbolism etched on my skin and the collective purpose that binds us. The journey ahead may be fraught with challenges but the echoes of Athaur's words to finally leave the land behind and Ann's reminder continue to resonate, fueling the fire within. We move forward, not just as defenders of land, but as guardians of life and love.
In the midst of chaos within Riva, our urgent task was to assist our people in reaching the flotilla. However, a somber interruption occurred as we solemnly conducted a death ritual for a fallen scout named Haldrien. The weight of loss hung in the air as his family clutched his bells, and an enigmatic knife was discovered among his possessions.
Ann and I joined forces during this poignant moment. Together, we invoked a ball of light that danced in hues mirroring the colors of the wind, casting winding shadows around us. It was through this mystical display that I felt a profound connection, and it is now this ethereal bond that resides within my heart.
Our destination is Sanctum, where we embark on a journey to defend that which we hold dearest. Despite the urgency of our mission, my left arm still throbs with the aftermath of recent events. I've been assured that it will heal in time. Fresh ink adorns my skin, depicting a winding river dragon entwined with a water spirit, engaged in a dance of love. Their serpentine bodies climb over my arm, their heads entwined protectively over my heart.
As the boats sail towards Sanctum, I find solace in the symbolism etched on my skin and the collective purpose that binds us. The journey ahead may be fraught with challenges but the echoes of Athaur's words to finally leave the land behind and Ann's reminder continue to resonate, fueling the fire within. We move forward, not just as defenders of land, but as guardians of life and love.
Written By Thesarin
Jan. 20, 2024, 6:02 p.m.(8/5/1021 AR)
It's been a time since I set down to paper in these Journals. Never was my way in truth, though I made my attempts.
I go out to another battle; so's been much of my life, for I chose to spend it wading through a river of red. This to save the lands of the Grey Forests, of my people, or at least see them safe away if such might be done. I ain't wrote on them and neither will I like on this. If I fall today, then keep my Blacks closed to the end of time;y thoughts are my own. If there's anything of me worth carrying on, it's my people, my family, and my children. I hope I'll see them soon.
But if this to be is the last word spoke or writ by or of Marquis-Consort Thesarin Riven, War Chief to the Twainfort, son of Vahari, last chief of the Greenwood tribe, let it be this:
That the Rangers of the East held their cause to the last.
That he the faith given him by the riverlanders making welcome to a stranger, them from every corner from the Forests to the Isles who he promised protection, and those of the Greenwoods who walked out from the woods with him to the unknown, was never broken.
Or failing that:
Come the second Breaking of the World, he never Abandoned his people.
I go out to another battle; so's been much of my life, for I chose to spend it wading through a river of red. This to save the lands of the Grey Forests, of my people, or at least see them safe away if such might be done. I ain't wrote on them and neither will I like on this. If I fall today, then keep my Blacks closed to the end of time;y thoughts are my own. If there's anything of me worth carrying on, it's my people, my family, and my children. I hope I'll see them soon.
But if this to be is the last word spoke or writ by or of Marquis-Consort Thesarin Riven, War Chief to the Twainfort, son of Vahari, last chief of the Greenwood tribe, let it be this:
That the Rangers of the East held their cause to the last.
That he the faith given him by the riverlanders making welcome to a stranger, them from every corner from the Forests to the Isles who he promised protection, and those of the Greenwoods who walked out from the woods with him to the unknown, was never broken.
Or failing that:
Come the second Breaking of the World, he never Abandoned his people.
Written By Aelgar
Jan. 20, 2024, 2:20 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
We are organizing and catloging against the coming attack. There is so much to do and we will never be done, but I will never quit. Lord Vellichor gave us the Knowledge and charged us to safeguard it. He did not say 'until the end of the world', He did not put any limit on how long to carry this charge. He said to safeguard it. I will.
Written By Amari
Jan. 20, 2024, 1 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
I once told Duke Cristoph that I was a hedgehog. I know I look awfully cute and harmless, but start annoying me and find out. He's going to chuckle when the army from Reveillon arrives.
Finally, to everyone I've spiked over the years: I'm sorry, even if you at least half deserved it.
Finally, to everyone I've spiked over the years: I'm sorry, even if you at least half deserved it.
Written By Pasquale
Jan. 20, 2024, 12:30 p.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Lisebet
I believe it is important to believe there will be an after.
Written By Gwenna
Jan. 20, 2024, 8:18 a.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
I will pen something fitting of recording soon - once I wrap my thoughts around all that occurred and the incredible efforts of the Houses of the Northlands. For now, though...
We made our stand at Farhaven. We did not yield.
We made our stand at Farhaven. We did not yield.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 20, 2024, 4:01 a.m.(8/4/1021 AR)
Journal
Halfway down the stairs. The dream always began halfway down the stairs - a transition between up and down. Halfway down and I'm stuck. All of us are stuck: Tessa, Olivia, Violet, and me. It's so close I feel we are dreaming the same dream together. Am I really interacting with them? Or is it just fevered imagination?
Somewhere, a song wafts on a light breeze. It presents itself in an eerie fashion like a funereal march. It makes us shiver, but also yearn. It makes us want to give up. All we have to do is reach the bottom of this descent and the hunger will stop. We will be at peace.
The Halfway House called to us. It called to us in our dreams. Even in waking moments, Tessa would talk about it with a glaze in her eyes. And I felt it too. It could all be so simple. To return. To embrace corruption. To dine on the feast that waits for us in the garden.
The compulsion was powerful. An undeniable tug upon my wits urged me to return.
It had been a year - a year, at least. This new dream was just a dream - or so I thought. One of the many I had and was having. But it was persistent. Very persistent. Encouraging, even.
One day I awoke to itching. My shoulders and arms - they itched. I sat up and when I went to scratch...oh, I can't bring myself to write it.
I must write it.
Tearing through my skin, sprouting forth like wildflowers find a way in the gravel road, were black, corrupted vines. They had broken through my flesh and were embedded in my arms and shoulders. They were alive, growing, and threatened to wrap me entire. If only I could describe how the world swirled around me in a sense of motionless panic...if for no other reason than so it wouldn't come across as blase. I must've stayed in bed three days, terror-stricken, before I was able to muster enough sense to get out of bed. I found I could hide them in my clothes, somewhat, but for how long?
It was these corrupted tendrils twining around my flesh that drove me to my first long bout of solitude - for no other reason than I had become a sort of a shard, or - I imagine - the beginnings of one. But they were merely a cosmetic nuisance - frightening as they were. The real terror? It was knowing that this corruption would spread. That it would encase my body in full and once done, would compel me to march back to the Halfway House and give myself to the Corrupted Mother.
Time was running out.
Halfway down the stairs. The dream always began halfway down the stairs - a transition between up and down. Halfway down and I'm stuck. All of us are stuck: Tessa, Olivia, Violet, and me. It's so close I feel we are dreaming the same dream together. Am I really interacting with them? Or is it just fevered imagination?
Somewhere, a song wafts on a light breeze. It presents itself in an eerie fashion like a funereal march. It makes us shiver, but also yearn. It makes us want to give up. All we have to do is reach the bottom of this descent and the hunger will stop. We will be at peace.
The Halfway House called to us. It called to us in our dreams. Even in waking moments, Tessa would talk about it with a glaze in her eyes. And I felt it too. It could all be so simple. To return. To embrace corruption. To dine on the feast that waits for us in the garden.
The compulsion was powerful. An undeniable tug upon my wits urged me to return.
It had been a year - a year, at least. This new dream was just a dream - or so I thought. One of the many I had and was having. But it was persistent. Very persistent. Encouraging, even.
One day I awoke to itching. My shoulders and arms - they itched. I sat up and when I went to scratch...oh, I can't bring myself to write it.
I must write it.
Tearing through my skin, sprouting forth like wildflowers find a way in the gravel road, were black, corrupted vines. They had broken through my flesh and were embedded in my arms and shoulders. They were alive, growing, and threatened to wrap me entire. If only I could describe how the world swirled around me in a sense of motionless panic...if for no other reason than so it wouldn't come across as blase. I must've stayed in bed three days, terror-stricken, before I was able to muster enough sense to get out of bed. I found I could hide them in my clothes, somewhat, but for how long?
It was these corrupted tendrils twining around my flesh that drove me to my first long bout of solitude - for no other reason than I had become a sort of a shard, or - I imagine - the beginnings of one. But they were merely a cosmetic nuisance - frightening as they were. The real terror? It was knowing that this corruption would spread. That it would encase my body in full and once done, would compel me to march back to the Halfway House and give myself to the Corrupted Mother.
Time was running out.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.