Journal of Ser Amphion

Journal of Ser Amphion of Elturel Entry 3

The keep is packed to bursting right now ever since the arrival of the new commander, High Dawnlord Ionna. Her contingent was larger than normal, and many are forced to sleep on the floor in the barracks or in the empty cells in the cellar. Many are taking offense to the reason that there are so many, as "there is trouble on the roads" is a direct insult to those that patrol those roads every day. The Watchers have been holed up in the ramparts, fed up with their disgusting behavior. Writing this down, I can't say I blame them.   I'll be riding out to Elturel with High Dawnlord Anwir in three days, once the ceremony is complete and everything is squared away here. I'm assigned to accompany him all the way to the east, but he graciously promised to stop by the order leadership in Elturel and see if I could be posted there while we're transiting through. I know it is a slim chance, but I pray to the Morninglord himself every day to see that it comes true.    

Journal of the Disgraced Amphion of Elturel

The ritual went off without a hitch. Anwir and Osteris died as did a sizable portion of the survivors as their life essence was used as fuel for the spell to shackle the Darakhul in. When they tried to escape in the night, they found themselves bound to the Fort, forbidden from leaving it. I died as well feeling my life force sucked out of me like all the air in my lungs suddenly escaped, but there was something remaining I could feel, throbbing from a wound in my calf. As it would turn out, I was infected with the Darakhul fever during my flight to the chapel, likely from the bite of one of the attackers. I woke up a day later as a member of the undead.   We're trapped here, and that is for the best. When they tried to flee after the slaughter, we found ourselves bound within the walls, thrown back whenever we tried to exit. Even through the secret entrance we found leading to the river, we were bound as soon as we were about to pass through where the walls would be. As much as I miss my dear Beryillis, I know if the day comes where I ever see him again, then that will be a terrible day.   I am only able to keep my lucidity for mere moments it seems. Despite our lack of a need for sustenance, all of us are driven by the hunger. We fight over the corpses of birds that fly over the walls, or fish that swim up the entrance stream, sucking the marrow out of their bones. Or what little of it there is. The only one of us that seems to operate in complete clarity even while being hungry is that of the High Darakhul Ionna. When there isn't anything for us to do, she teaches us of the risen god of death and how he is the third aspect of the Three Faced Sun Heresy. Lathander at Dawn, Amaunator during the day, and Bhaal at dusk. One god with three different sides to him. Its mental, but when everyone is hungry, we flock to her like moths to a flame.   Last night, a goat managed to make it over the walls somehow, it was my first meal in six months. As I broke open its leg and gorged on the marrow, I suddenly realized what in the nine hells I was doing. I stashed what bones I could and immediately set upon several tasks.   First, I drew as many pictures I could of my beloved Beryillis, so that way even when I am a monster I can see his face and remember. Second, I moved all the coal and smokepowder to the treasury. The plans in the war room seem to indicate them needing it for something if we escape. Third, I threw the key rune in the chapel. They avoid the place due to the spirits so it should buy time.   If anyone is reading this from the outside, please, I am sorry. If I attack you I'm not in the right mind. Put me out of my misery. and tell Beryillis I love him.