Geneviève Frankling

It is with much sadness that I must affirm my previous musings on Zalia: she still serves a devil and thus cannot be trusted. Granted, she was clearly in excruciating pain before she agreed to the new terms. Which are supposedly to gather powerful artifacts and to get revenge against her father, who was apparently her last patron. I’m not entirely sure if she herself understands the infernal and labyrinthine obligations she has dotted a very careless line under: devils revel in lying by omission. Does she know the terms of non-compliance? That’s something I would consider acutely pertinent to be aware of. Especially since she will be monitored by an imp – hence why she cannot be trusted: we’ve an unasked-for glirine tattler with us. A murine piece of sizzling garbage! A lumbricine stool-sized sycophant! An acarine menace!   But this Andros seems to enjoy inflicting physical pain and psychological torment more so than devils should in their dealings with mortals; it doesn’t seem like Zalia was persuaded to agree so much as coerced into doing. Is Andros a devil, or merely in the guise of one? Whatever is true, a heterodox devil or a conniving imposter, I am of the opinion that Zalia needs round-the-clock positive reinforcement and good companionship! Paradise begins in the heart, not the Hells. I think Volodomyr could contribute something valuable in this regard. After all, he serves a goddess both more powerful and benevolent than any bottom-feeding bloodstain of an excuse of a devil! And Zalia certainly appreciates the former.   My last written thoughts for tonight shall go to the good huntsmen. I grieve for their loss in James and can only wish for them to recover their sense of kinship in the wake of Peter’s sudden egress. The punishment for desertion is usually some variant of summary execution, a cold finis that no one should ever aspire to inflict on a fellow. And they are not soldiers bound by regulation. That worries me most of all.   Atonement heals the spirit, vengeance confirms cruelty.

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P.S. Ki’tor still has it. I suppose he would actually drop down dead if he didn’t chase after women like a vampire would for blood, invitation and all. Outrageous, good for him!

And so we have accrued a second Planestone. By Jane’s estimations, it’s bound to the Shadowfell. Ki’tor volunteered to steward, or rather absorb, the blasted thing. Of those capable to contain it, he’s the only sensible one – I’ve neglected to write down my thoughts on Volodomyr in plaintext until now, but he’s still grief-stricken and in mourning, and his plan to revive his wife with one of these loony stones is utterly demented. He seems like a good man beneath the maniacal exterior of his current obsession, though. Zalia can’t be trusted, full stop. Serving a devil, or whatever it is, does not leverage much good faith. As much as I want to believe otherwise. And the book that instructs her whom to kill is still very much in play, as it scouted the peripheries of the shadowed tower; but it’s been a while since anything came of it. Suspiciously long.   I hope we encounter the good huntsmen on the way back! Without their rowboat, we would never even have reached the island. I want to commend their role in this ordeal to Lady Estème, but that might bring them more attention than they might desire. At the very least, I’d like to thank them in person.   The full moon shines brightly once again, and the shadows have dissipated. The dead rest again, and the manorial lands of de Paramont are safe. It’s not often the motto of my legion gets to be invoked in solely good graces, but I’m glad that it can: ex umbra solem.

A two-day trek through the Allerdales, and a short sojourn in one of its complementary drider lairs, and we have finally reached the archfeudality of Helonia! Continental scholars, and Academy peers, will insist on calling it an archduchy. Since we received a gracious, if not patronising, welcome by sir Melwin of House Paramont, I can tolerate this classification for a little while.   I have always wondered what the mythical Seven Commandments and the Rules of Honour in practice meant for Helonian society. From my experience as a Hellknight squire, the Measure is reminiscent of the Helonians’ strict codification of chivalry and the maxims of the Chain rhyme doctrinally with the Commandments and the Rules of Honour: an emphasis on fighting for order, regulation of both outward behaviour and personal emotions, and an interpretative view of mercy. The chief difference being that Hellknight dogma does not discriminate between commoner and gentry, whilst the entire point of the Helonian system is the perpetuation of the rulers and the ruled, oppressor and oppressed. But I must admit that there seems to be a genuine feeling of benevolent intent underlying sir Melwin’s explanations of his duties. Even if it sounds like a defence mechanism.   They seem like us, but they aren’t like us. I believe that was one of the opening statements by the good professor Arthur on the subject of Helonia’s history. Until tomorrow, to explore the veracity of that claim.

One siege wiser, our lives intact; circumstances could be worse. We know that our heretofore mysterious adversary, Morbrand, is a lich on account of him being Jane’s previous incarnation. Just a week ago he and a vast undead army stepped out from the shadows and laid open siege to an Ahldurian gate settlement, and she believes the correct course of action is to sit on this information? To do nothing? Refuse to take any proactive measures against a foe that already has us three leagues behind? Notwithstanding the personal connection, divulging that a lich is on the loose is a matter of life and death – giving townships and local commanders this crucial piece of information would allow them to drill their troops, revise procurement standards, reinforce existing supply lines: the list is long! Not to mention, apophatically, that the light of knowledge dispels the dangerous reconditeness of uncertainty. The nature of the threat, an actual lich, will encourage joint action and cross-cultural cooperation. We are not the only ones with a real, tangible interest to be rid of this unholy creature. As the new tombstones from Dur’Khazun can attest.   That is cause enough. Acta non reactiones.

We have finally arrived in Dur’Khuzun – and the Academy records certainly knew approximately where. They missed the following:

1. The overcharging runesmith Rurik at the Stone & Steel Smithy;
2. Dorra Emberflask of the Emberflask Tavern – she serves Emberflasks! – an extroverted darling extraordinaire; and
3. That the very stonework itself is guilty of treason by association. This is noted by Jane Mossbrook, in my second real conversation with her. On an unrelated note, I once played cards with a trio of Ostenmanc Untarnished fellows at one of my usual haunts, just returned from Nova Aera. They spoke of an eccentric who prowled the streets as he pontificated about interdimensional space demons and grand financial conspiracies – seditious cobblestones sound right up his trade charter!

In fairness to Rurik, he may just drive a hard bargain. I doubt that the forthcoming negotiations will be short – just like home!   So Jane reincarnates and has done so for millennia. I finally have some clarity regarding her unusual statements – she carries with her memories of countless lives. And unfortunately, it’s the traumatic ones that have surfaced lately: her death during the Battle of the Crag, for instance. I cannot pretend to grasp how it would feel to be continuously reborn, nor can I imagine the immense burden it would entail. Even so, the Crag was decimated nearly two thousand years ago, and the turncoat mercenaries from Dur’Khuzun are long since dead. Any direct legacy of theirs is ash on the wind, and the social-historical context has changed considerably since. The past has shaped the present, yes, but it is not shackled to its vices. If it were, the world would have been physically dragged to the Hells aeons ago. I digress – Jane and I have some disagreements in this matter. She’s languishing in the dead air of the past, I draw my breath for the future!   As Pierre would say whenever marking the conclusion of an inconclusive polemic: in varietate concordia.

In the very eventful span of one productive day we were beset by beasts both pantherine and hominine – the former’s heart punctured by yours truly; the latter driven to retreat by the might of our combined arms. Even so, I believe Zalia’s offensive magicks were the deciding factor that made this self-styled “rememberer” Ezzan flee. He even left us a parting gift before he left the field! I had to wring it from his cold, dead-but-not-quite-so-deceased grip, but it’s the thought that counts. And he so clearly wished to deliver a powerful pyromantic spell – the type used by frontline battlemages to break up formations or set hamlets ablaze – directly into our hands, free of charge! What’s not to like? What’s a little heat when you’ve already been washed with pure hellfire?   Everything. Tous. It is by the grace of providential circumstance that he did not get the chance to fire a highly potent artillery spell against us. And unlike a real formation, we have neither a contramagus hunter detachment nor an anticantator to protect us. I saw how Zalia’s spells blinded and confused the man, but I am not sure if that alone would have stopped him from using it, even if he incinerated himself in the process – he didn’t exactly disguise his pallid, dead exterior. The look that one has when death is an inconvenience, not a terminal end.   We are lucky that Ki’tor’s angelic heritage allows him to channel immense divine healing derivates – he might have fallen otherwise. I feel bad for lecturing him on his questionable choice of supposed skirmisher tactics – it was too soon. I should have been more considerate. We are equals in our merry band: I cannot conduct myself as a laurifer of the Prima Cohort. I need to write that down a few more times.   Even so, it’s hard not to fall back into my legionary rote. The danger presented to us has been raised considerably and in a very personal manner. Ezzan was clear in his intent and actions to get rid of me, Ki’tor, and Zalia as a means of having Jane returned to the service of Morbrand. Whoever that is.   That’s today’s thoughts noted down. We now have an enemy that can seemingly track our movements and anticipate our path – who wants Jane re-employed and us dead. And with a title of such provenance, Ezzan will probably remember the woman who blinded him and infer the one who tore the scroll from his hands. And for all our sakes, Jane needs to remember every last detail of her historical arrangement with Morbrand – and everything about him. She likely had good reason, or even no choice, to withhold or suppress information from us before, but that changed today.

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P.S. And we are selling that silly stone I pulled from the displacer beast’s digestive system! Hoarding is a privilege afforded to those with endless purses and senseless galleries. Like the Garderiques. Or uncle Mathieu. Or Jeremy.

I have mourned my brother and embraced the father of Efran, the apprentice. He provided me with an insight and an encouragement not too dissimilar from the bright philosophy that I base my existence upon; to not fall victim to historical hypotheticals and to look towards the future, not getting ensnared in the past. A kindred spirit! And he was not the only one – Ki’tor has revealed himself to possess genuine empathy, worrying over me and even being the one to suggest holding an impromptu memorial in honour of Pierre-Pascal. I am deeply grateful for his company – especially moving forwards. To think I would ever think highly of someone with such a traditional adherence to poetic verse!   And now, much to my discomfort, we are already rushing towards the next tangible lead in our quest. We are not properly outfitted for this task, and as pleasant as Galvatorix is, I feel that volunteering for his labs’ restoration project is premature. Gathering the Planestones appears to be the singular focus of Jane. Goals are instrumental in the pathway to success, but they cannot be allowed to supersede all other means. Planning, preparation, and reconnaissance are necessary components within any sustained campaign – as mundane and boring as it may be. Maximising our chances of survival stands first on my list of priorities. If we leave Dhil Ahldur without every member of this merry band having requisitioned the services of a runesmith, I will politely yet firmly inform Jeanne and the Chancellery that they are welcome to take a more direct role after my departure. It would sadden me terribly. Yet my life is not a commodity.   Peu me chaut les caprices des chercheurs de l’abîme. The Swift Mermaid was a travesty that ought never to be repeated, not an example to be followed.

In my capacity as an invested Republican Legate and the de facto highest-ranked Frankonian official represented in the Scaelorian village of Cragyard, I am hereby notifying the Main Legation Office of the Eminent Chancellery of my intent to lodge an urgent Compensatory Expiration Relief Form as a pre-emptive Wergild Measure due to GORTAN DUVIK, resident of Cragyard. In accordance with Section 33.621 of the Codex Populis, I am voiding the Standard Form Desideratum and thus establishing this Act of Correspondence as my formal request. The Wergild shall be calculated from Bracket III (Burgher/Exemplary Citizen) and be delivered in a celeritous and respectful fashion to Gortan Duvik.   In the untimely event of my passing whilst present in Cragyard, I am temporarily altering my last will and testament to entail Gortan Duvik as the sole benefactor under Clause R, Article CX of the Charta Carus. Additionally, in such an event, it is my wish that my citizenship, military rank, republican titles, and noble peerage be posthumously stripped, my name expunged from all records, and my memory condemned for all eternity. There exists no legal precedent for voluntarily invoking the Damnatio Universi upon oneself; consider it the final request from a Citizen of Frankonia. I pray it is ultimately unneeded.   Under Official Correspondence Content Regulation 451.P, that last singular sentence is to be stricken upon archival of this letter. And in accordance with Rule 1 of the Orthographic Exception Addendum, this paragraph is likewise subject to textual annulment.

Well, we are, certainly. Yet only some are accustomed to such esteemed iron-fettered lodgings. I wouldn’t dare call myself one of them – I’m merely a novice of the art. And as I’m currently penning this entry in front of an audience, I shall keep myself short. But not without a certain authorial flair. My view of Jane has become slightly clearer – and much muddier. At the preserved ancient battlefield by the Crag, I saw in her the same blank expression and aimless gaze that I’ve seen from countless veterans from the Succession Wars. She may just be very invested in her craft – whatever that actually entails – or perhaps she was reminded of some trauma suffered in the past. A burden no one should have to bear. Especially not in silence. The gloomy tragedy of yesterday is charted by the radiant happiness of tomorrow!   And on that subject, the brutal demise of one of the conspirators was particularly striking. It would seem death follows their organisation every step of the way. Whilst I would levy many a harsh condemnation on their deficient taste in vinous beverages – Aeryonian vintage is a particularly outrageous choice – I do not want this. But if the restless spirit of the curiously contemporary priest of Anwhe is anything to go by, we should get familiar with deceit, treachery, and misguidance. I assume unforeseen mortal incidents to be part of this unwelcome bundle. Unfortunately for our adversaries, they face a foe that cannot be truly felled until the very last ember of hope in this world is extinguished!   That’s all for now. I’d do my Legion and lineage a disservice by not entertaining our very polite watchmen. It’s the least a Frankling can offer in these trying times.

Another day, another adventure, another burden hoisted upon our shoulders. Next morning we will depart Vael’s Rest and follow the late councillor Hesk’s co-conspirators, whilst officially beginning our itinerant stewardship of the Planestone. Despite the catastrophic introduction, I’ve come to adore this little village – especially after having aided the Pilgrim’s Guild and reverend Ruvin for the past days! I would feel more at ease if he could join us. But duty binds us, and the abbot is a far more honourable individual than I.   It's because of Zalia and Jane. They’re both wearing transparent masks – I’ve studied, and performed in, enough theatrical plays to see them plainly before me. Ki’tor recognises it too. I don’t necessarily care for why; but honesty is a foundation of trust, and they’re both our travelling companions now. The last thing I want to do in the field is to sleep with a dagger under my pillow. And if I were to hazard a guess, it’s what Zalia does already – so maybe it’ll win her over!

I never expected the whim of circumstance to bless me in the triangulation of my would-be scammers. Nor that it would be without trouble and adversity. It was easy enough to search one of the thieves’ abandoned homes and discover the extent of their illicit operation via a forgotten schematic of their mountain hideout. If only we were quicker, for now they all lie dead, massacred by the undead; hollowly avenged by our spells and blades. The sole survivor, Dorian – one of the two who swindled me – fell victim to some variation of foul sorcery after refusing to relinquish a small lockbox. There exists no cause for which this loss of life is warranted. Especially not over some magical rock! Ki’tor and our new tag-along freelancer detective Jane certainly seem quite blasé over all this death. I understand why a Kang nobleman might not react to the death of dozens, hundreds, or thousands of extinguished futures – after all, unprovoked acts of aggression constitute their mandate’s raison d’être – but Jane makes me wonder. She looks youthful but has the habits and tone of a dismissive and aphoristic grandmother. My words have already been judged, my character thus established: naïve, inexperienced, arrogant. I hope she stays around – maybe she’ll learn something!   Do I trust the holy clergy of the Platinum Flame with this ensorcelled box? Never in a thousand years. But you can always count on self-interest, and I expect the abbot will want to follow up our discoveries. The ghoul blurted out the name Morbrand – maybe it means something to an erudite Scaelorian.   Nevertheless, we live and we continue. I have my armour back and my brother seems to be regaining his senses. Maybe. He did make a blood sacrifice without hesitating – now that’s an unelectable offense!

It’s been too long since I’ve simply wandered. A destination in mind, bien sûr, but the road there? Completely at the benevolent mercy of chance and the beautiful whim of impulse. We set out for Scaelor – a stunning realm bristling with venerable forests home to dryads and druids, rolling farmlands cared for by cozy homesteaders; its rich legacy ever-present in the many ruins scattered around its periphery. The feigned adulation of its tyrannic past on full display. The high and mighty disguising their violent urges and want for control in the dragon’s visage. Willingly held captive by the flickering shadows of the past – never choosing to escape to the sunlit skies of the present! We’ve seen so much radiance and kindness here – vita est, spes est! There is life, there is hope!   And we first disembarked in Honeyport. A sleepy village, victim of deliberate administrative neglect, impoverished but unbowed. Thus tyranny slumbers, and the people live freer than others under its yoke. Due to favourable winds, we didn’t worry about time. So, off into the outer edges of the Feyfire Forest we went, tripping into Bill the grippli! He was a little apprehensive – who wouldn’t be upon meeting three strangers, two of them nearly four times taller than you, heavily armed, and clad in steel and gold; the last one being an actual dignitary from contemptible Kang, dressed in white and emanating pure, distilled arrogance? But we had a lovely few days together! Meeting his animal friends, seeing how he cares for the forest, exchanging tales from our journeys, and even having dinner with the Duststones – a sweet married couple, they run a farm south of Bill’s home. I was sad when we had to leave. But I promised to return whenever we passed by!   We next found ourselves strolling towards the Treetop Tavern, which comfortably takes a high spot, and not just metaphorically, in my list of favourite taverns – beating the Sleeping Bastard, certainly. Not the Gilded Mermaid, because they operate their own bathhouse – with free entry to all guests. In truth, I have trouble remembering much from our stay there. I had a bit much to drink. But I recall defusing a confrontation between Pierre and the owner. Or maybe it was the other way around? And what did Ki'tor do to earn the ire of the bouncer?   The last stretch of the journey to Vael’s Rest brought us outside the walls of Vel Arynth. But looking like we do, and being foreigners, and not being wizards (a point frequently emphasised by Ki'tor), we agreed to simply grace its outskirts with our presence and move on. We avoided the Mage’s Road for good measure and trotted alongside a scenic lake coast. Pierre thought me ridiculous to spearfish! Maybe he was correct, but it was fun! Those were our last days of aimless sightseeing, after all.   We will be upon Vael's Rest soon, after crossing the bridge. I hope my eminent friend’s intuition is better this time – I have no wish to offer my expertise in the aid of impatient chercheurs de l’abîme.   “Republican legate.” It is my sincere wish that I never have to pretentiously invoke that sinecure. But thank you for conferring it, Jeanne. The gesture is well-intentioned. If I believed in such things, I’d call us even! But perhaps we already are – you survived that sailing madhouse. That alone merits my gratitude.