Diary of Cain

[Gordan]

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I don't know why I'm writing this, I don't know why I want to tell my story or if it deserves to be told, I've walked the compass my whole life hoping it would lead me to a place I can call home, the warmth of family, love of a brother.

I have found none of this, all I have found is sand and blood, a cruel desert that hates us and a tyrant sun that watches us from afar, yet with all this I feel the need to write.

and so here I am, under the walls of the Krak de roses, a refugee according to my hosts even though I came here of my own free will.

I am Rashan Cain, Grimclaw, mercenary, kinslayer and acolyte of Sage La Fortuna of the Dome of Men.

I was there at the end of one era only to march into the next with thirst and hate.

every word in these pages is true....


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I was born in the old world, in the city of rings, I don't remember the name of the area I lived in but I remember me and my family lived as mercenaries, my first memory is when my father gave me a halberd, gods, it was heavy back then, and since then I've made a commitment to be stronger and master that weapon.

it's not as elegant as a greatsword or as brutal as an axe, but it gets the job done.

i killed my first man before i even started having an interest in women, timecounting was illegal and was said to be bad luck so i have no idea how old i was, he was a highwayman, a low class robber who thought he might kill me and my family, he was wrong.

I drove the point of my weapon into his chest, pierced his ribs and punctured his lung. he just stood there pinned to my weapon with his arms thrown at me as I tried to keep him away, I was scared.

that night we celebrated my first kill as if it was a rite of passage, I drank with my father and my brothers and sisters around the fire, I was happy, and as time went on killing got easier and easier.

I wonder if anyone keeps track of the lives they take, I've lost it.

[Gordan]

my youth was spent in the battlefields, Lizardmen, bugbears, bandits and shapeshifters, we killed so many and took the reward, some of my brothers died, but most always remained, until that is all finished, until when the era ended.

I tried to forget, but some things you can't forget, the screams, the shadows, those eyes, those terrible red eyes, lights that longed for life and shape feeding on yours, we fought the nothingness,
we lost.

Like many we reached the Drill and ran, I was still so young I just wanted to follow orders, a pat on the back was enough, knowing I'd have water and rations tomorrow was enough, I was foolish, and we peeled off the Ciqnuefoil as soon as the walls collapsed, My father was convinced that we could find our way on our own.

My father was an idiot.

The desert took us all, who sooner or later we began to die of thirst, hunger, and exhaustion not to mention attacked by lions and Meleks.  It was there that he understood that the king was dead, and that the sands had taken his place, no more dispencery, no more herald cries from afar on the king's glory, no, just sand, sand and blood, they were our new king.

My father died  and my brothers began to become what we always hated, bandits and raiders, at first I was with them, I wanted to stay with the family, but then

No diary I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet
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[Gordan]

We raided caravans, we killed innocents and robbed them, I robbed them, I have never felt so dirty in my life, but I swallowed my pride of hunger and thirst, until that damned night, I we attacked a caravan of refugees, women and children, orphans like we once were, I saw their eyes, I saw the fear, I saw myself in the reflection of their tears.

and it disgusted me what I saw.

I turned around, and I faced my brothers, they didn't want to listen to me, because they didn't ever listened to me.

  I killed them, all of them, I drove my blade into their flesh, I opened their stomachs, I cut off their heads.

Arms comrades, fellow adventurers, brothers.
Kinslayer.

The caravan left, I have no idea if it managed to be safe, I remained there, bleeding, wounded, surrounded by vultures, I was sure I would die, a lion, a desert worm or even a goblin would pass and give me eternal peace .

Instead I woke up in another caravan, Pilot-priests passed and found me to save me, I told them my story, they told me of the Dome of men, of Ephia's well, of a new life.

I should have died there.

But we are all shipwrecked in this ever moving sea, only by accepting our movement and our way can we live in harmony with this world

and so I set off towards Ephia's Well

A compass in my neck.
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[Vlaid]

[Posted with permission]

A weary eyed Velan Volandis finds this journal in the Krak des Roses, he mulls it over for some days, reading it over and over before at last penning an entry into the journal.

"I knew this man, this troubled man whom for the time I knew him I knew nothing of his sorrows. We crossed paths in the way many do for we refugees; aligned in some business of applying our martial prowess to a task. This particular one was some data retrieval for the Astronomers if I recall, taking measurements across the dunes in hope of pinpointing when the great Ash Blizzard would come.

Well it turned into a chaotic mess, men emptied out of the Well to come to the call, even ridiculously some left a trail of arrows in the sand to us so that those scant few souls still in the Well could find their way. It was easy for the singular to get lost in the sea of the many that day.  But in the end some of our Cinquefoil Rose was put in charge of handing out potions to those who aided. Unsurprisingly there was dispute over whom was dolled out what and whom was even present and helping.

They accused him of....I don't know what really, not helping? Not helping enough? Being a hanger-on with a hand out for nothing? But during the battle, I saw him. I saw him bleeding and battling like all the rest. Perhaps it was because I had decided to use my bow that day that I was more apt to notice what was being done. But I saw him.

So I offered him my share of the potions. I remember his confusion, not wanting to take them I said I insisted. His response I still recall "Before I take them you should know I always kinda hated you. You still want me to have them?" I simply laughed and said "Wither you hate me or seek to bed me it does not matter, I saw you helping out so I won't see you go without this day."

Little did I know but that moment which was one of a thousand like it in my story was a pivotal one for him. I glance over the pages of this journal and I see a troubled man. A man whom life had not been kind to, who had been thrust through terrible situations and at many times made terrible decisions. But I see the hurt behind it all, the wound of the heart that all this fell from - the longing for friend and family.

I feel perhaps glad I didn't know the truth of his story as he lived, following me around as my loyal supporter with his most unique weapon. I might have judged him harshly, but we are always more merciful to the dead than to the living.

So I take solace that I was ignorant and for a few days he got to have what he had longed for, he had strived for through his terrible choices - the love of a brother."

-Velan Volandis

The journal is closed and slid into a hidden space behind some loose stones in the Krak des Roses. The elven Velan Volandis thought to himself "Let the future worry about this tale, it is too sorrowful for I to tell or hear told in my time."