A Diary

[Kamik Windslasher ~]

The handwritting is somehow different on this page, it is Kamik's, but it's gross and much more like someone who is still learning to write:

I will probably not remeber all that happened since the last time I wrote here. And not writting was not an option. I simply couldn't. This is the only thing that occured which I will never be able to forget. It's deeper than a scar, colder than the winter. Its is - or was - my left hand.
I am still learning to do other things with the right hand, which has been a pain to me. Sometimes I catch myself trying to do things, just to proof myself I am still the same, that I can do them. I know Devrah noticed, even though she never mentioned. But I can feel her eyes watching me, caring. Together we count with each other without spoken words, we've transpassed the barrier of sound; we don't need to speak anymore. A single stare into her eyes and I know what she is thinking. And somehow I am honoured to have this chance because I know it's unique. Her mask is up for anyone else. As I am learning to up on mine...
The loss happened almost a month ago. I wrote here earlier about the ritual Moskher did and the result - that I would always have a scar of the curse in me. This scar was never meant to wake or grow, but it did. And this time was worser than before. I really don't want to write about the things I did to dear people... But the dagger told me I've killed an elf called Cirindil: I never met him before. And even though Berengar thinks it all was his fault, I disagree. I went to the Tomb because I wanted. He didn't know this would happen. Nor did I. But when he mentioned the underground harbour and the ruins of an underground civilization something inside of me called me for that. A instinct for... adventures. Yes. I have to admit. It is in my blood and in my name and I will not run from it anymore. So we went, down the grave hole, into the unknown...
Berengar, as always, was very protective to me, like a father would and it is odd to think of him that way, but I can't help it. That is how I feel. We fought skelletons together, bandits waiting for lost travellers, red skelletons and beholders; the creatures lurking inside the infinite corridors of that buried maze.
We spoke theories of what could have inhabited the cursed place and everything points to drows. I doubt that dwarves would have lived under a graveyard or would have a port. We neither saw no vestige of blacksmithing tools or any source of iron. Drows. Indeed. At this port I mentioned I started to feel strange. A cold wind whispering dark secrets in ancient elven languages in my ear. Whipers of echoes long forgotten inside those caverns, they spoke of hatred and anger and revenge. And I still ask me if that is what I heard or if that was my scar, my curse, speaking within my soul. Whatever it was, it turned me into a trance stage, nothing to do with meditation; it sucked me out of that place - my body stood there, but not my mind. Berengar told me I spoke elvish on a certain moment, before we decided it would be better to leave the port. He asked me if I was well and if I wanted to leave.
- No - I answered. - I want to found out. I need to.

And I really did.

This instinct was stronger than I, powerfull as the atmosphere involving the Tomb. I had no choice but to continue. When the things got bad I thanked in my mind the mage that first inveted the teleport scrolls and I was glad we both had bought one. But it was already too late. We were too further under the earth, too further inside. We went back to Troll's Bane succefully, but a part of me never really came back. And then, my curse woke.
For the first time I wondered to myself why it was within me. Why no one else suffered from this disease, this plague that was eating my emotions and my will. What did I have of special to be the only one affected by it? I lost myself at some moment and then the power of the dark curse grew.
I remember little of this, flashes, memories that aren't mine and at the same time are. The person that I became during those days was everything I fought against. A monster, a murderer, a criminal. It was so strong that this time the curse was almost solid, like a concentration of dark fluids lurking under my skin. A worm made of pure hatred. And this is how I lost my hand. It was cut by an orc warrior - and a strong one - named Kl'urk. He aimed to it while my hand was wraped around and pressing the neck of Caitlin Fergus. While she was just trying to help me.
Kl'urk slashed the hand while the "thing" under my skin was in it. The hand fell and rotted instantly. And truth be said, I am glad I just lose that. I could have lost worse. My love. Devrah.
Right now, I am dedicating my time to hide my loss and train with my right hand, because I know that this is the chance my enemies were waiting for. If they come to me now, I won't have any way to defend myself. And it was thinking of that and the duty bestowed upon me that a plan came to my mind. A difficult plan, but could work if realized by the right hands. And when I mean right hands, I want to mean the best hands, the best in what they do. Hands have their own knowledge. After some time, a smith don't need to watch what he is doing or pay attention to where he is hitting. His hands works alone, by their own will and inteligence absorbed. After some time, a mage don't need to study his books and magical words anymore, they become part of him, he only have to think and they will come. And it wasn't only by a demonstration of an example that I took these two archetypes. It is a smith and a mage that are helping me to create a new hand. And it have to work.
The smith would have to be a dwarf, I thought of this since the beggining. Their skills are old ones, perpetuated through countless generations. There was only one dwarf that I knew would be qualified for this job, the best smith of our Gobiath: Durin Silverbart. He was not only the one from whom I usually buy my equipment, but also a friend. I knew I could count on him for this.
The mage, well, I don't know many magical users but the one I know had proved me to have enormous magic power. Enough power to do this deed. He was also an acquaintance of my father, though their relation couldn't be called friendship I know I can think of him this way. His name is Marius Einsenhauer, a Knight of the Grey Rose.
After I exposed my plan to them, both agreed to help me with the hand, but the project would have to be a secret. Marius explained to me that iron and magic were two oposite forces. Durin stated that iron would rust with time and so he suggested we use silver. The mage explained that silver had less chance to refuse the magical bindings. The smith, however, had no silver. For a moment the whole plan was ruined. But then I remembered of something I had, something I was given during my childhood. My elven sword. The sword of my grandfather. It was destroyed after the effect of the Heart's Desire, but I kept every single piece of it... and it was silver. The idea seemed good, to have my sword, my only memory of my past forever fixed to my body. But there was a problem. The quantity of silver would be only enough for two attempts and Marius told me it would be difficult even using silver, and that we would have to prepare the metal before it was melted.
That same day I went to the Grey Rose Castle with Marius to enchant the sword shards. We went to the roof where he invoked forgotten names, summoned mystical powers and enchanted the broken blade.
- This is enough - he said when the magical proccess was finished. He seemed very tired. Then I remembered of something he told me while we were still on the shop: "You may be able to use it like a normal hand, however, you will never feel anything with it again". My left hand. Where a golden ring is supposed to be within time. And will never again feel it. Never again. The only thing during Marius' ritual I could think about was Devrah.
And all the time I forgot about the dagger and it's wisdom. Perharps, but it also never pronounced itself during the conversation with the made and the smith and I wonder why, since it knows how much that new hand is necessary for me. Someway, somehow, I think I don't trust the dagger of my father anymore. It is strange, different. Even the way it speaks. It almost seems greedy sometimes. And I also think it doesn't trust me anymore, or maybe never did. Only some days ago I discovered that the dagger and Devrah had a secret kept safe with each other. I remember the day when Devrah and myself took care of Revlen's wounds and one time I left the dagger with her and went take a bath. That was when they spoke to each other. Their secret consisted in a request the dagger said: it wanted Devrah to separate me and Nariela. In echange, it would give the name of the orc Devrah was searching for, the assassin of her family. I couldn't believe that. I didn't want to. I felt used all the time, even though Devrah said her feelings for me were always true and I believe her, but even then... I didn't expect this from the dagger. I now it is unable to lie, but I didn't know it was capable of manipulating the truth. Well, anyway, I couldn't be upset by that now. Devrah and I were to marry and I know her love and I love her too. It was past now. So, that day, I made her my fiancee and gave her a ring. The result was the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. She should smile like that more often. Now we are engaged and once the island is in peace, we will marry.
Later that same day I met Durin again and we still needed to take the measures of my right hand in order to make the left one. However, something unexpected happened. Ceigan Ibatha, inside the shop, was teasing Durin, calling him........ Matilda. The end of the story was Durin attacking Ceigan to death. I felt a cold sensation at a time and I wondered if it was Ceigan's spirit heading to the cross.
- Durin, what have you done? - was all I could say. That was a horrible situation. He was a criminal now and I was a guard. I should got him in jail or banned for killing a person inside the town walls. But I simply couldn't. Instead, I only tried to convince him he was wrong and he needed to control himself more and went with him to the workshop to take the measures of my hand. I feel selfish. But I also had to be logical. If I acted as a guard that moment and put him in jail, my desire would never come true and soon I would have to get out of the Guard for inefficiency. But if I acted as a person, I would pretend I saw nothing and let our work continue, to get my hand and stay where I belong, in the Guard, protecting my town. Still, I feel selfish and sad for Ceigan. But I had no other choice than close my eyes.
In the workshop, Durin told me the sword was already melted and was in the Grey Rose. After he took the measures of my hand, he went back to Silverbrand to study the old tomes of the dwarves, their ancient knowledge filling rooms and rooms with scrolls, parchments and books about smithing and it's techniques.
And now I heard somewhere Durin went to jail anyway, for promoting himself viceking of Silverbrand without notifying their king, Tialdin. Sometimes we just can't run from our fate. And that is why I've been trainning with my right hand: I am preparing myself to spend the rest of my life in this situation.

Many times I wandered up to the old lighthouse and then back to Troll's Bane, trying to clear my mind during my walk and think of something else. When I more try to avoid trouble, the trouble finds me. At the lighthouse I saw Maeve and Pendar, the girl holding a dagger to the neck of the Captain of the Guard. Fortunetally, all went well and no one got hurt. That is, I think no one did. Maeve seemed to be in pain inside, fighting with a force inside her soul, just like my curse. Dagger and her had an odd conversation about demons and real names. I could only understand it completely after Pendar told me everything. She was being possessed by a demon, a demon that was, at the same time, herself. Her Child of Bjolmur side. And it seemed there was nothing we could do but wait.
And I was waiting, in Troll's Bane, when the salvation came. Caitlin brought a message from Moskher to me, about a ruby ring my father once gave to Chak, and Chak gave to Maeve. She, consequently, gave it back to Chak, that gave to me, and I returned it to her. The final hands the ring reached were Moskher's. I knew little about this ring, all I knew was that it has to power to extract things into it - even magic... and demons. What Lady Fergus was sent to ask was about a possible keyword to activate the ring. But I didn't know. And instead of my father, the only other who could know was Maeve, that I doubted would give it, and the dagger, which I knew that would ask for something in echange for it's knowledge. And it did. But it wanted something from Moskher and oly him. So a meeting had to be arranged to the next day. It is odd, but the dagger almost seemed to mistreat Caitlin, even seemed to threat her. And nothing she said could convince the dagger to tell her the keyword.
Moskher came late, but the dagger said he was just in time. The diplomat and the talking-weapon made a deal. What the dagger wanted, and what surprise me, was the ring, after the ritual, to be given to me.
- I was of the understanding, from Dominik, that you hated the ring, dagger - Moskher said. - I was of the understanding, from Dominik, that you hated the ring, dagger.
And I wonder... what business that dagger could possibly have with a demon?
Well, the truth was that there was no keyword, just some precautions. And this proved I was wrong. The dagger actually can lie. And if it can, how many lies it might have filled my ears with? And why does it asks for a ring with a demonic essence inside?
And just now it occurs to me, while I am not speaking or thinking, but writing - the only time I can be certain that the dagger is not hearing me - that I always had something special with me. But it is very unlikely. And believing this would change a lot of things. But now that I think of it, it makes some sense... Why was I the only only one affected by that curse? What do I have that others don't?
Now I can only think of one answer.

The dagger.

[Kamik Windslasher ~]

Kamik burns his diaries, without the motivation to keep on writting on them. He looks around, searching for Wiergraf - his mercenary partner. Kamik's dream was over.

[Moirear Sian]

• One day, another grey dove breaks through the fog and delivers a message - this time it brings word to Kamik Windslasher - cast onto a small scroll; bound to the bird's leg by a fine red silken thread. The parchment, unravelled, reveals written text, all composed neatly in a curvacious handwriting, and the paper carries a scent and distant impression of fresh air of the northern mountain ranges and pine woods.

Kamik, Son of Windslasher,

-about your father, Dominik.

There are a few things I am forced to elaborate on, so please bear with the length of this document.

First, and foremost, is the matter of this "Dagger."

On "Dagger's" personality. It is not animate, it could not move on its own. It would speak with almost anybody on whim, but one question it would always dodge - the question why it spoke.

I came to realize over time that Dominik was a skilled ventriloquist. He was able to cast his voice to objects, for example, his dagger. Ironically, I noticed this, of all places, in a busy tavern when Bailey Thunnigan took the dagger in her hands - I had incidentally had my eyes closed, and heard the voice of "Dagger" emanating more from Dominik's stomach region and belt rather than from the object.

My last noteworthy knowledge and experience with "Dagger" on all our common misadventures, was that "Dagger" seemed to have some sort of sixth sense for magic. Considering that "Dagger" didn't exist and was Dominik all the time, this could either mean that Dominik had such a sense for the supernatural, or that he played out that part rather well and was extremely lucky - because his sense seemed to be highly accurate.

Well, so much for "Dagger".

Despite deep meditation, I cannot remember much of Dominik himself except for the last weeks before he vanished. He was a shady spirit not unlike some old friends. Noteworthy though is that he was a man of deeds and swift decisive action, not a man of many words. And the more I ponder, the more mysterious he appears, looking back from the now.

You should know about Dominik that not long before he vanished, he was somehow connected to the riots revolving around the infamous artifact known as the Astral Eye. I reckon the last few times I crossed roads with Dominik, he had sustained a vicious leg injury, in spite of which he would still merry-go-round with us on our foolish adventures. He seemed very tired, oftenly, and I can only wonder now if his constant fatigue stemmed from the wound of his leg or from something else.

At one point, we did clash a few times with a vile demon boasting the gutteral name 'Groar' - the fiend had sought to seize the Astral Eye. In the initial encounter, not only was Dominik wounded, but his leg injury opened again, further weakening him. This leads me to sadly say that it's not unthinkable that your father may have passed away quietly like the lion that he was. However, knowing what a trickster he also was, he might still be out there somewhere and laughing while we all deem him dead...

It was clear to me that Dominik too, sought to find this Astral Eye, but why was never clear to me. Keep this in mind though: I remember him telling me that Groar wasn't the first demon he had fought, and now after having meditated upon such, I believe that if you pursue this "Astral Eye", you might unearth more clues about your father's disappearing. Or perhaps it's wiser to bury the past, for the search for the Astral Eye is said to be a path of certain doom.

That is all I can tell you for now.

Signed,

~Sian of Varshikar