Another dark day has passed. Ive treated more victims of this fighting pit today. A horse attack and another carriage accident. I don't even think they are trying to fool me any longer.
I was in the Santuary, trying to explain that I did not need door guards to Ser Roland and Leopold, and enjoying ser Rynn's company (which has grown seldom in recent days.) when we heard screams from outside. The laughter that followed was umistakable.
We rushed outside to find undead swarming from a house at the end of the market street. Leopold, Roland, and Rynn mounted a defense, but the numbers were staggering. I turned a great many of them, yet they did not stop coming. I have to wonder where he is getting so many bodies to animate. But more of that later. Eventually, joined by Arnham and a few others including a Druid id met before, we managed to push them back. One of them had been a spell caster in life and still had use of its magic. It put a spell on the others so that they could not tell friend from foe. I did not speak of it, but when Rynn and Leopold turned their weapons on me, I was terrified. Without having had time to girde myself in my armor, I had nothing to save me. I suppose the spell must have warn off before they slew me outright, because Rynn revived me with smelling salts just as another mass of undead issued out again. Ilmater healed me, but I was still shaken.
Eventually we did fight our way into the building. There we met an illusion of the crazed Mundingo. This latest scheme was meant make us play a game in order to save the life of a child. However, Ser Roland must not have been listening when the rules were set out, and he attacked the illusion. It turned out to be both a pointless and terrible mistake. The mad-man slew the child. I shant go into detail about the rest, save to say that the remaining undead were put to rest, including the small girl he had animated when we found her. I knew only a Ressurection recitation would have any hope of returning her to her family and so I asked the other to bring her.
This is when yet another disturbing turn of events occured. Nearly everyone in our group was opposed to giving the small child a hope of return! Leopold I could understand. The misery of his own life has jaded him so that now, he believes any child who dies early is blessed for they will enter the heavens before they have a chance to fall into bitter misery as he has. The Druid I could understand, because Druids are out of their minds. I dont know if it is the leaves they smoke, or just the maddness brought upon by exposure to the elements and solitude that makes them so, but whatever the reason, I wouldn't expect logical thought from such.
The true surprise came from Arnham. He was truly angered that I wished to give the little girl the choice to return. I suppose on some level, he was thinking with his heart, wanting to spare the child the horror of memories and trama that would come with her passing. And to a point, he is right... if brought back, she would have hard years ahead of her in remembering what had happened. But, in the end, she still had a loving family, (a good deal more than many of us have) and as a young child, she would have healed quickly until her experiance was no more than a shadow of memory in the past.
I admit, I am very angry at this. Much more than perhaps I should be. Perhaps its is just the insults based in ignorance that are so unsettling me. I expected to be called witless and selfish by Leopold. Afterall, he said I was no differant than a theif and murderer because our Santuary heals such people. I expected to be taunted by someone with no concept of morality. But when Arnham branded me a self righteous fool, I was rather hurt.. and now I am just plain mad. These people act as though I did something wrong in giving this child a choice (even if I knew she wouldn't take it) to come back and have the life she ought to have had.
And what is this morality that I have so failed to grasp? That people ought to be let die rather than have to face pain or trama? Is life so unworthy of living to some, that we should automatically conceed to death rather than endure suffering in order to keep it? I am very glad that there was no such men there to decide my fate as a child. The passing of my family still haunts my dreams, and yet not even in modesty can I deny that by being allowed to live, I have helped others. What might that poor girl have done in her lifetime.. had it not been stolen at the whim of a monster?
Did I believe she would return? Not really... few do, especially children who have not yet had time to bond themselves to this world. Yet who am I to assume that she did not have some purpose to draw her back? What kind of person am I if, having the power to help, I did not because of some foolish idea that children should be spared life if bad things have happened to them? I had a dark thought that I hope is not true. Arnham is a worshiper of Hoar, the god of revenge and retribution. Is it possible that he wanted the girl to remain dead so that he would have a better motivation for his divine inspired mission of revenge? Is it possible that in her return to life, he felt he would somehow be cheated of a divine mission? I certainly hope this had nothing to do with it. If it did, I would never speak to the man again.
The Luckmaster asked me why her. Of all the hundreds of undead I have helped put to rest, or others who have died in my care... why this one child? The answer in part of course is that I had the means. I have only had three of these dimonds and coins in my lifetime. So long as I have the means to help, I will use it. Why this child over any of the other dead that were present? Because she was a child I suppose. She had her whole life ahead of her. The Druid says I was interfiering with nature in trying to help her. But again, Druids are out of their minds. Nature had nothing to do with this poor girl's death. She was taken by very unnatural evil, evil which was being commanded by an affront to all creation.
Speaking of Druids and their insanity. I was visited by one yesterday in the Santuary. Ironically, it was soon after I had tried to convince my bodyguards that I had no need of them. He was an elf, and he came charging into my Santuary with a flaming sword and a massive pig! On and on he went about how our Santuary was unnatural and an affront to nature and his god, Malar, because we helped the weak survive. As though healing were somehow unnatural. Of course when ser Roland pointed out that Malar granted the man himself healing magics, that seemed to throw a kink into his "Druid logic." In the end, he tried to put a sleep spell on us all, but it petered out before affecting anyone. And then he ran, promising to come back and burn the Santuary down if we didnt stop helping people. Leopold and Roland showed amazing restraint in not striking the elf's head from his shoulders, and for that I applaud them. I must admit they showed far better restraint and proffesionalism than I had expected. Nearly all of my close calls with death have come because those who were "protecting" me, almost made me enemies of the local gangs in doing so. These two have given my confidence. With Rynn gone more and more often, I feel Frost was right afterall. I may be safe from the gangs who actually make decisions based around logic... but from the insane whims of zealots and crazed druids, it is well I keep some stout fellows here to help.
But, back to the Puppeteer. The others concocted a plan to draw him out, though I have serious doubts as to it's merit. They intend to stage a talent show of some sort, thinking that the man will set aside his maniacle mission to enter it and have a chane to win a golden crown... made from smelting gold coins. I dont know where they think they'll find so much gold... or how they expect to not get thrown in prison for melting them. But that aside, I believe the real problem with this plan comes from the fact that they simply do not understand the nature of such mad men. Naturally, its not very lilkey they'll listen to a "girl" like me... but dispite, I did offer my opinion as a trained healer who works with mental patients.
Mundingo is a fairly standard Psycopath. He is a wizard and a necromancer to be sure, but I believe his truest motivation is to gain validity for his love of pupeteering. It is my belief that he probably tried to get on at the Pegasus theatre at some point in his past and was badly humliated by the other actors. Pupeteering is probably viewed with some disdain by traditional actors as a medium of acting for "children" and not for serious actors. My guess is that this whole "show" he is putting on is a form of revenge against the actors who turned him away. He will lilkey pin the guilt and the blood onto them for refusing him in his "final" performance. Though, gods willing, it will never get that far.
I believe he is an affluent local, as he wears a mask, probably simply to hide his identity. The sheer size and scope of his "performances" as well as the height of his ability lead me to believe that he is not without means, and in fact, is probably very rich. The first course of action should be to check into the Pegasus theater and learn if they have any information that might help. It would probably be something from far back. He may have even been a child or young adult when the blow to his ego was delt. That is the way of Psycopaths. When all around them breaks down, they oft cling to one part of their life.. one single anchoring point to give their life meaning and direction and keep them afloat in a choatic sea. It is for this reason, the psycopath can so often reach heights of genius. All else in their life is put aside as they try to realize their goal. I believe Mundingo's magic in this case is a means to an end. He has gained this power for his life's work, the culmination of his "art." Wherein he will show all the world that never should they have scourned the great Mundingo the Magnificient.
But how to stop him. I think my suggestion here will go unheeded, and that is a shame. Mundingo stays ever out of our reach as he lets his plan progress. He does not dare to do anything to endanger his life's work. That is why this talent show simply won't work. He wouldnt dare even take the faintest chance of coming out into the open before he completes his goal. Though he may send a crowd of undead to attack the talent show.. he himself could likley care less about the golden crown. He's probably got dozens of similar items in his home. I should note however, that I hope I am wrong, and that it will go over in flying colors.
No.. in order to draw him out, and cause him to endanger his plan, he will need to be thrown into rage. He will need to be set adrift by attacking the one single point of stable ground he has left... his pupeteering. His art. His life's work. Much like Christopher clings to his knife for stability, so too does Mundingo cling to his art. If we can taunt him here... laugh at pupeteering, call it a foolish passtime for "lesser" actors. Something to cause him to relive his old humliation, the thing which broke him to begin with... we may be able to get him to abandon his focus and reason in a moment of sheer anger. Psycopaths are prone to spells of terrible wrath when provoked just so. By doing this, we may be able to get him to manifest in person and attack us personally. If his grip is loose enough, he may even seek to use his bare hands, reverting to a primal state of anger.
It is my belief, that though risky, this is the only means we currently have to draw him out. He is entirley too inteligent and cunning to fall for any of these other tricks. What good is it to match wits with a genius at his own game? In order to best such a man, you need to remove his reason through emotion, thus robbing him of his superior intellectual advantage, just as narrow ground robs an outnumbering force of their advantage in numbers. There simply is no other way. He will see through each and every attempt to oustsmart him and continue his game until the loss of innocent life is enough to satisfy him and he can deliver his final performance. I only hope my advice will be heeded... because I may not be here when next he comes.
Lastly... I met a woman who hails from a land where Ilmater is forbidden. I was shocked to hear this, because I cannot imagine a place where healing and kindness are not welcome. However, she went on to say that the patron diety of her land was none other than Loviatar. The woman, not being strongly devout was a rare gift in actuality. I beileve in our further discussions, she can help me understand more of the Willing Whip. Perhaps I can do the same for her.
In closing, it is clear to me that I need time away. Perhaps I shall go visit the monastary of Broken Ones. The things I have seen in past days are weighing on me heavily. I can only hope that Arnham will somehow manage to extract his head from his nether regions and quit thinking me a villian for giving a murdered child the choice to have her life back. If he doesn't, I doubt there is anything I can do, save to continue my duty with the knoweldge that I have one less person there to cling to in an ever deepening ocean. To endure however is my path, and no one ever promised this one would be easy.
Abby
Abby Winters, a Saint in the Slums
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*Abby
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Well I came back from the Temple of the Broken Ones yesterday morning, and I was plesantly suprised. I found their temple to be a quiet place of reflection and peace where Ilmater's Sacrifice was felt with a deep sense of reverance and respect. I admit, it was not what I expected. But then, nor was ser Rynn. I believe I have at last grown into what Ilmater meant me to be. A healer with the understanding to accept all of his teachings. Though they do not follow the same doctrine I do... The differances are sembiotic... as a hand and a foot both follow the same mind and heart, yet move differantly. Without Ser Rynn, I feel I would never have learned this. And here I thought he'd been sent to me to learn, and yet all along it was to teach. I shall have to tell him that some day. Sometimes I feel as though I am too demanding of him and don't give him the gratitude and appreciation he deserves.
Though Telflamm obviously hasn't changed much since I got back, I had a few good things happen as well. I saw ser Arnham in the square and had a good long talk with him. He appologised for his hard words to me after I tried to raise little Erin. Of course I felt instantly awful for making him feel guilty and happily put any hurts away. Its good to have my friend back. When a person has no family, friendships are truly a treasure and I am thankful for those I have.
That cruel Mundingo struck again today, and though I was able to fool him into sparing the life of his victim, I feel that strain is beginning to tell on me. He forced me too choose between putting to rest dozens of souls corrupted with undeath, or saving the life of a young woman. Only by swearing not to lay hands on his cursed victims could I save the woman. I swore it and he agreed to the deal. Then I put them all to rest with the light of Ilmater, ending their pain without laying a hand upon a single one of them. He was infuriated of course, but he stuck to his promise. That was a thing most Interesting. And I was truly afraid that her death would be upon me. Yet was it anything but the choice between flame and frost? I did learn something that may help my friends bring this menace to an end though. It seems there is a strange form of honor under all of his malice. But... perhaps not. Only time shall tell.
Between these hard choices and the terror which was in my heart if my actions lead to another's death, I feel as though I have shrunk into a thin and fragile thing, exposed to grief and hurt. Little Erin's death broke a piece of me that I dont think I shall ever get back. When she did not come back to my call... as I knew she would not, I found myself wondering to what reason anyone could? Though I have known happiness and love since my life was changed as a child... nothing has ever been the same. Before they died, my joy was as a radiant light, surrounding me with warmth and holding me safe from all shadows. A joy that was like a pulsing heart. I... still remember it in the stillness of my chamber at night, though it is changed, muted. It is but a faint memory now, as though the weight of the years is a filter through which all other joys must pass and be diminished. Sometimes I miss them so much. Can there ever be such happy and bright days as those I left behind when the plague came? Off on adventures with a wooden sword and my big brothers? Riding on father's shoulders and a big hug from mother waiting for me at home?
I know that my path is a good one, and a duty that I will never stop fullfilling so long as I draw breath, yet I find myself thanking Ilmater that this life is short. And mine lilkey to be shorter than most, for as I am often told, a bright light casts a deep shadow.
The thought of death is a strange one to me... and I have to wonder, if the call came to me, would I come back? If I found myself walking down that brilliant corridor into the light beyond, would I turn away from the open arms of my dear mother and father? My big brothers? The love of my lord Ilmater, wrapping me in a blanket of gentle strength? I just dont know. I feel there is so much for me yet to do here, but I so dearly miss them.
Yet I cannot deny that there are many that I would dearly miss here. Will, Damien, Grannitt, Arnham, Elyenna and so many more... but most of all, I would so dearly miss ser Rynn. My knight... my champion. I love him. More than I should I know, and though I would never tell him so, it pains me to think of leaving him here alone. If I were taken, and the call came, would I not turn from it and go home at last? If I didn't come back... would he understand? Would little Will who has lost so much understand? Would I understand?
These are thoughts better left undisturbed, and yet for whatever reason, I feel they are somehow relivant to me now, even if I cannot say why. Perhaps it was the feeling of peace I awoke with this morning. It was doubtlessly the passing dream from which I came. Though the memory of it faded before I could close my thoughts upon it, the warm feeling of peace lingered in my heart. It was as though I had spoken long with my lord and come to some enlightenment in my soul... some hard choice, that... once made filled me with quiet resolve and unshakable faith. I wish I could remember it. But that is the way of life. A collection of defining moments that give structure and substance to carry us over hard years. Though we may forget many of them on the journey, without them, we would never have the strength to support us in our winding paths.
So it is with a sense of peace that I look to the future with optimism. I know that Ilmater and my friends and loved ones will give me the strength to Endure and carry me in his good works until the day I am called home. Be it this very night, or in the far future as an old woman sleeping in a rocking chair beside a stack of books... I will be at peace.
Abby
****************
So the final entry into the journal of Abigail Constance Winters was penned. Though many blank pages remained behind it, her story ended the following day. Sister Abby Winters, healer of Ilmater died a Martyr's death the day before her 23rd birthday. Her body was found lying in front of the alter of the Santuary which she had founded. In the grace of Ilmater, she took her own life, that others might live. And so she was remembered among her faith, and her name given to the Santuary of Ilmater in the Docks of Telflamm. From that day forward, it was ever known as "Saint Abby's Santuary." A small but radiant light of hope shining in an often bleak world.
Though Telflamm obviously hasn't changed much since I got back, I had a few good things happen as well. I saw ser Arnham in the square and had a good long talk with him. He appologised for his hard words to me after I tried to raise little Erin. Of course I felt instantly awful for making him feel guilty and happily put any hurts away. Its good to have my friend back. When a person has no family, friendships are truly a treasure and I am thankful for those I have.
That cruel Mundingo struck again today, and though I was able to fool him into sparing the life of his victim, I feel that strain is beginning to tell on me. He forced me too choose between putting to rest dozens of souls corrupted with undeath, or saving the life of a young woman. Only by swearing not to lay hands on his cursed victims could I save the woman. I swore it and he agreed to the deal. Then I put them all to rest with the light of Ilmater, ending their pain without laying a hand upon a single one of them. He was infuriated of course, but he stuck to his promise. That was a thing most Interesting. And I was truly afraid that her death would be upon me. Yet was it anything but the choice between flame and frost? I did learn something that may help my friends bring this menace to an end though. It seems there is a strange form of honor under all of his malice. But... perhaps not. Only time shall tell.
Between these hard choices and the terror which was in my heart if my actions lead to another's death, I feel as though I have shrunk into a thin and fragile thing, exposed to grief and hurt. Little Erin's death broke a piece of me that I dont think I shall ever get back. When she did not come back to my call... as I knew she would not, I found myself wondering to what reason anyone could? Though I have known happiness and love since my life was changed as a child... nothing has ever been the same. Before they died, my joy was as a radiant light, surrounding me with warmth and holding me safe from all shadows. A joy that was like a pulsing heart. I... still remember it in the stillness of my chamber at night, though it is changed, muted. It is but a faint memory now, as though the weight of the years is a filter through which all other joys must pass and be diminished. Sometimes I miss them so much. Can there ever be such happy and bright days as those I left behind when the plague came? Off on adventures with a wooden sword and my big brothers? Riding on father's shoulders and a big hug from mother waiting for me at home?
I know that my path is a good one, and a duty that I will never stop fullfilling so long as I draw breath, yet I find myself thanking Ilmater that this life is short. And mine lilkey to be shorter than most, for as I am often told, a bright light casts a deep shadow.
The thought of death is a strange one to me... and I have to wonder, if the call came to me, would I come back? If I found myself walking down that brilliant corridor into the light beyond, would I turn away from the open arms of my dear mother and father? My big brothers? The love of my lord Ilmater, wrapping me in a blanket of gentle strength? I just dont know. I feel there is so much for me yet to do here, but I so dearly miss them.
Yet I cannot deny that there are many that I would dearly miss here. Will, Damien, Grannitt, Arnham, Elyenna and so many more... but most of all, I would so dearly miss ser Rynn. My knight... my champion. I love him. More than I should I know, and though I would never tell him so, it pains me to think of leaving him here alone. If I were taken, and the call came, would I not turn from it and go home at last? If I didn't come back... would he understand? Would little Will who has lost so much understand? Would I understand?
These are thoughts better left undisturbed, and yet for whatever reason, I feel they are somehow relivant to me now, even if I cannot say why. Perhaps it was the feeling of peace I awoke with this morning. It was doubtlessly the passing dream from which I came. Though the memory of it faded before I could close my thoughts upon it, the warm feeling of peace lingered in my heart. It was as though I had spoken long with my lord and come to some enlightenment in my soul... some hard choice, that... once made filled me with quiet resolve and unshakable faith. I wish I could remember it. But that is the way of life. A collection of defining moments that give structure and substance to carry us over hard years. Though we may forget many of them on the journey, without them, we would never have the strength to support us in our winding paths.
So it is with a sense of peace that I look to the future with optimism. I know that Ilmater and my friends and loved ones will give me the strength to Endure and carry me in his good works until the day I am called home. Be it this very night, or in the far future as an old woman sleeping in a rocking chair beside a stack of books... I will be at peace.
Abby
****************
So the final entry into the journal of Abigail Constance Winters was penned. Though many blank pages remained behind it, her story ended the following day. Sister Abby Winters, healer of Ilmater died a Martyr's death the day before her 23rd birthday. Her body was found lying in front of the alter of the Santuary which she had founded. In the grace of Ilmater, she took her own life, that others might live. And so she was remembered among her faith, and her name given to the Santuary of Ilmater in the Docks of Telflamm. From that day forward, it was ever known as "Saint Abby's Santuary." A small but radiant light of hope shining in an often bleak world.
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*Abby
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The Awakening
This is the continuation of Abigail Constance Winter's journal which chronicled her life beyond death... Or perhaps what she only precieved as death.
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I have perhaps lingered too long from taking up my journal again. Yet how does one even begin to write of the circumstances I have come to find myself in?
Everything I have ever known is gone from me, and all that I had hoped would await me is beyond my reach. I have awoken on the other side of death to find myself trapped in some manner of other world set afloat upon the planes. A strange sort of city which the dwellers within have named Sigil. Or more appropriately, the cage.
My confusion in the outset of my sentence was overwhelming, as this place is utterly foriegn to me. Even as I learn more of it in the tendays I have spent here, the whole begins to look more alien. To understand it is to realize that it is a place overflowing with violence, choas and misery held in check only by some sort of over-goddess of terrible power as to deny even the other gods.
Following closely upon the heals of confusion came dispair. In this place, Ilmater is a distant whisper, barley felt. At first, channeling his gift was taxing beyond my abilities. I have begun to find ways to draw his gifts through me, though even now, his presence is muted. The ruler of this city does not permit any other gods to dwell within her domain.
I have been here for a full moon, and the confusion and fear have begun to ebb. Now what remains is an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and loss. A deep regret which hangs over me as a palor I cannot be rid of. In life, my faith was unshakable. Always was I certain of my purpose and my lord's protection. Yet now I find myself asking; why?
For 14 years I did his works, I lived on scrapes, I slept in filth, I worked in squallor, always weary of the rapist, the killer, the zealot who would spell my end. All pleasures, all desires I denied... even my love of ser Rynn. All of this suffering I endured in the hopes that my works would lessen the suffering of others, and in keeping faith, even to my death, that my duty would be a short one... a single lifetime.
I was wrong.
So now I must ask myself. Why am I here? Bitterness overwhelms me when I think of my last moments. After the pain... after the paniced terror of drowning on the blood which filled my lungs as I drove that horrible weapon through my own breast. After all of that has passed... I so vividly remember the calm. The feeling of quiet happiness. I knew my lord was with me as the light around me grew dim. I knew I was going home at last. I knew my mother and father waited for me at the doorway of his house. I knew my brothers were there, waiting for their long lost sister.
Yet I have found none of these things with my awakening. What I have found instead is a place bereft of morality. Filled with a choaking poverty that is unlike anything I have seen. A callousness that even the common folk share that robs them of gratitude, of compassion. Even as I carry on my work here, as it is all I know, I feel nothing of the love from those I once helped in Telflam's docks. Oh, there are some who seem thankful. There are a few who, perhaps, my kindness touches. But they are like wilting flowers in a barren tundra. Few and small. For the rest... my kindness to them seems to be closer to some sort of victory. As though they have managed to trick some fool out of getting something for nothing. Is it that this place has gone so long without any true kindness that the very bones of its people are corrupted by apathy? Hardened by mistrust and hate?
What laws they have here are as immoral as the people. Necromancy and slavery are common and accepted. Murder is reguarded as "every day life." Even those who have been kind to me can't see fault in such horrible evil's as animating the dead. When I try to explain why it is wrong, they tell me I am clueless, and go on believing the callous rationalizations that necromancers have lied about for a thousand years.
Yet for all of this... I have met some kind people here. Though even these are alien to me. There is one named Catrina whom has been very kind to me. I cling to her because she reminds me of what the people in my own life were like. I have to wonder if she is newly arrived... perhaps I shall ask her. I begin to believe that the longer one lingers in the cage, the more of one's humanity is drained away. For my part, memory of my life is already beggining to slip slowly into a fog through which I cannot see past.
Some of those whom I have met here, though they seem kind and help me, seem to be unconciously bent upon my corruption. Always they attempt to lead me away from my vows and faith. Some do so without concious thought I believe, others openly attack my ways with contempt and mockery. I can only guess that perhaps it is out of some kind of subconcious desire to make me as wretched and uncarring as most of others who live here. Perhaps a selfless person is an uncomfortable reminder of what they have lost here. Like a mirror. I dont know.
Thus far, all of my efforts here have been bent on escape. I have begun Ilmater's work as best I can, but only because I just don't know what else to do. Healing is natural to me. Yet even in this I am crippled. To preech Ilmater is death. I can heal in silence, and so this I am doing.
At the invite of a strange bard named Amir, I have taken up residence in a place known as the Gatehouse. It is from the cold dirty cell that I sleep in now that I write this. Were it not for the constant screams and howls of the insane, this cell would be much alike to the one I left behind me in Telflamm. The Gatehouse is one of the most terrible places I have ever been. It is a sanatarium of collosal proportions, a massive hollow tower ringed in cells nearly beyond sight above. This is where the city dumps those whose minds have been broken by it.
Though there is a soup kitchen and Infirmary here, they are nothing alike to our Santuaries of Ilmater. Here, the work is done almost like a dreary habit. The healers and workers go through the motions, but I do not feel the compassion, the desire to help... just a systematic sort of drudgery. Few here speak to one another in their work... they simply exist in their own small worlds, oblivous to anything outside their perspective tasks.
I am doing all I can to stave off this forlorn dispair. This sense of abandonment. I hope that I shall soon find purpose for my confinment here. I hope I shall find that there has been a mistake, and learn of some way I might go home to my lord and my family. Until then, I shall simply try to hold to my faith and do my work. I must trust Ilmater. He is wise, and there is nothing he does that is without purpose.
Abby
This is the continuation of Abigail Constance Winter's journal which chronicled her life beyond death... Or perhaps what she only precieved as death.
*********************************
I have perhaps lingered too long from taking up my journal again. Yet how does one even begin to write of the circumstances I have come to find myself in?
Everything I have ever known is gone from me, and all that I had hoped would await me is beyond my reach. I have awoken on the other side of death to find myself trapped in some manner of other world set afloat upon the planes. A strange sort of city which the dwellers within have named Sigil. Or more appropriately, the cage.
My confusion in the outset of my sentence was overwhelming, as this place is utterly foriegn to me. Even as I learn more of it in the tendays I have spent here, the whole begins to look more alien. To understand it is to realize that it is a place overflowing with violence, choas and misery held in check only by some sort of over-goddess of terrible power as to deny even the other gods.
Following closely upon the heals of confusion came dispair. In this place, Ilmater is a distant whisper, barley felt. At first, channeling his gift was taxing beyond my abilities. I have begun to find ways to draw his gifts through me, though even now, his presence is muted. The ruler of this city does not permit any other gods to dwell within her domain.
I have been here for a full moon, and the confusion and fear have begun to ebb. Now what remains is an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and loss. A deep regret which hangs over me as a palor I cannot be rid of. In life, my faith was unshakable. Always was I certain of my purpose and my lord's protection. Yet now I find myself asking; why?
For 14 years I did his works, I lived on scrapes, I slept in filth, I worked in squallor, always weary of the rapist, the killer, the zealot who would spell my end. All pleasures, all desires I denied... even my love of ser Rynn. All of this suffering I endured in the hopes that my works would lessen the suffering of others, and in keeping faith, even to my death, that my duty would be a short one... a single lifetime.
I was wrong.
So now I must ask myself. Why am I here? Bitterness overwhelms me when I think of my last moments. After the pain... after the paniced terror of drowning on the blood which filled my lungs as I drove that horrible weapon through my own breast. After all of that has passed... I so vividly remember the calm. The feeling of quiet happiness. I knew my lord was with me as the light around me grew dim. I knew I was going home at last. I knew my mother and father waited for me at the doorway of his house. I knew my brothers were there, waiting for their long lost sister.
Yet I have found none of these things with my awakening. What I have found instead is a place bereft of morality. Filled with a choaking poverty that is unlike anything I have seen. A callousness that even the common folk share that robs them of gratitude, of compassion. Even as I carry on my work here, as it is all I know, I feel nothing of the love from those I once helped in Telflam's docks. Oh, there are some who seem thankful. There are a few who, perhaps, my kindness touches. But they are like wilting flowers in a barren tundra. Few and small. For the rest... my kindness to them seems to be closer to some sort of victory. As though they have managed to trick some fool out of getting something for nothing. Is it that this place has gone so long without any true kindness that the very bones of its people are corrupted by apathy? Hardened by mistrust and hate?
What laws they have here are as immoral as the people. Necromancy and slavery are common and accepted. Murder is reguarded as "every day life." Even those who have been kind to me can't see fault in such horrible evil's as animating the dead. When I try to explain why it is wrong, they tell me I am clueless, and go on believing the callous rationalizations that necromancers have lied about for a thousand years.
Yet for all of this... I have met some kind people here. Though even these are alien to me. There is one named Catrina whom has been very kind to me. I cling to her because she reminds me of what the people in my own life were like. I have to wonder if she is newly arrived... perhaps I shall ask her. I begin to believe that the longer one lingers in the cage, the more of one's humanity is drained away. For my part, memory of my life is already beggining to slip slowly into a fog through which I cannot see past.
Some of those whom I have met here, though they seem kind and help me, seem to be unconciously bent upon my corruption. Always they attempt to lead me away from my vows and faith. Some do so without concious thought I believe, others openly attack my ways with contempt and mockery. I can only guess that perhaps it is out of some kind of subconcious desire to make me as wretched and uncarring as most of others who live here. Perhaps a selfless person is an uncomfortable reminder of what they have lost here. Like a mirror. I dont know.
Thus far, all of my efforts here have been bent on escape. I have begun Ilmater's work as best I can, but only because I just don't know what else to do. Healing is natural to me. Yet even in this I am crippled. To preech Ilmater is death. I can heal in silence, and so this I am doing.
At the invite of a strange bard named Amir, I have taken up residence in a place known as the Gatehouse. It is from the cold dirty cell that I sleep in now that I write this. Were it not for the constant screams and howls of the insane, this cell would be much alike to the one I left behind me in Telflamm. The Gatehouse is one of the most terrible places I have ever been. It is a sanatarium of collosal proportions, a massive hollow tower ringed in cells nearly beyond sight above. This is where the city dumps those whose minds have been broken by it.
Though there is a soup kitchen and Infirmary here, they are nothing alike to our Santuaries of Ilmater. Here, the work is done almost like a dreary habit. The healers and workers go through the motions, but I do not feel the compassion, the desire to help... just a systematic sort of drudgery. Few here speak to one another in their work... they simply exist in their own small worlds, oblivous to anything outside their perspective tasks.
I am doing all I can to stave off this forlorn dispair. This sense of abandonment. I hope that I shall soon find purpose for my confinment here. I hope I shall find that there has been a mistake, and learn of some way I might go home to my lord and my family. Until then, I shall simply try to hold to my faith and do my work. I must trust Ilmater. He is wise, and there is nothing he does that is without purpose.
Abby
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*Abby
- Posts: 18
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
After a week trapped in some strange grey void, ive returned to Sigil to find that several years have passed. I suppose it makes little differance, save that those few people I knew are gone. I still see Amir from time to time, though he spends most of his time traveling the planes. He tells me that he goes to Faerun, and I have been debaiting if I should ask about Ser Ryn and Will. Im afraid to learn the truth. What if something bad has happened? What if a thousand years have passed?
I have begun adjusting to life in the Cage as best as I am able, and I am beggining to believe Ilmater did have a purpose for sending me here. This place needs a true Healer of Ilmater, and badly. Im trying to look past my bitterness at being denied the afterlife I had hoped for. It is just another duty before the end, and I have been sent help.
I met a tall noble looking woman named Delthene who also met her fate and awoke in the Mortuary as did I. She comes from a place I have not heard of, but was herself a squire in training to become a Knight of Ilmater. She has sworn service to me, and though her ways are somewhat differant than the guardian I once had, we certainly seem to get on better than I did with Ser Rynn at first. She is both capable and dutiful and in considering her oppertune arrival in Sigil, and the method, I begin to wonder if this is not divine providence. Is it mere coincedence that I should find myself trapped for years in a void only to immerge just as a Paladin of the Crying God should awaken?
Is He sending us here? I am not the first Ilmateri to come here, but from what ive heard from my friends, the others have lost their way rather badly. It is my hope to meet them and perhaps inspire them back to Ilmater's tennents.
I have an objective now as well. The Weary Spirit Infirmary is a place of horrors where sadistic men perform experamental sugery and take other cruel liberties upon any victim naive enough, or desperate enough to enter within in their need. Its even worse than the Gatehouse. I have made it my goal rid this perfectly good infirmary of the sadistic sort and turn it into a Sanctuary, though of course it shall have to remain secular to avoid the Lady's wrath. Im not certain how I can accomplish it, but I want to do so in as peaceful a manner as possible. It is my hope that I can find a way to make them leave voluntarily, be it bribery or public outcry. I could also potentially open elsewhere, but I don't want them to seek vegence if I rob them of their victims. Id much prefer they were gone. I'll find a way.
In life, I was given the Task of Telflamm because of its difficulty. Father Patrick felt I had been blessed with the pysical shortcomings and spiritual strengths neccessary for a missionary to overcome the trials ahead whilst keeping to Ilmater's vows. I did succeed. I can only surmise that my Lord was happy with Telflamm's Sanctuary and thusly choose me to serve him again. This time it is a task so far beyond Telflamm or any city of Faerun that I don't know if I shall even survive, let alone accomplish anything. I don't know what success would even look like in Sigil. But in any case, I do have a goal to strive toward now, and help to accomplish it. Others will come, Ilmater is with me.
I have begun adjusting to life in the Cage as best as I am able, and I am beggining to believe Ilmater did have a purpose for sending me here. This place needs a true Healer of Ilmater, and badly. Im trying to look past my bitterness at being denied the afterlife I had hoped for. It is just another duty before the end, and I have been sent help.
I met a tall noble looking woman named Delthene who also met her fate and awoke in the Mortuary as did I. She comes from a place I have not heard of, but was herself a squire in training to become a Knight of Ilmater. She has sworn service to me, and though her ways are somewhat differant than the guardian I once had, we certainly seem to get on better than I did with Ser Rynn at first. She is both capable and dutiful and in considering her oppertune arrival in Sigil, and the method, I begin to wonder if this is not divine providence. Is it mere coincedence that I should find myself trapped for years in a void only to immerge just as a Paladin of the Crying God should awaken?
Is He sending us here? I am not the first Ilmateri to come here, but from what ive heard from my friends, the others have lost their way rather badly. It is my hope to meet them and perhaps inspire them back to Ilmater's tennents.
I have an objective now as well. The Weary Spirit Infirmary is a place of horrors where sadistic men perform experamental sugery and take other cruel liberties upon any victim naive enough, or desperate enough to enter within in their need. Its even worse than the Gatehouse. I have made it my goal rid this perfectly good infirmary of the sadistic sort and turn it into a Sanctuary, though of course it shall have to remain secular to avoid the Lady's wrath. Im not certain how I can accomplish it, but I want to do so in as peaceful a manner as possible. It is my hope that I can find a way to make them leave voluntarily, be it bribery or public outcry. I could also potentially open elsewhere, but I don't want them to seek vegence if I rob them of their victims. Id much prefer they were gone. I'll find a way.
In life, I was given the Task of Telflamm because of its difficulty. Father Patrick felt I had been blessed with the pysical shortcomings and spiritual strengths neccessary for a missionary to overcome the trials ahead whilst keeping to Ilmater's vows. I did succeed. I can only surmise that my Lord was happy with Telflamm's Sanctuary and thusly choose me to serve him again. This time it is a task so far beyond Telflamm or any city of Faerun that I don't know if I shall even survive, let alone accomplish anything. I don't know what success would even look like in Sigil. But in any case, I do have a goal to strive toward now, and help to accomplish it. Others will come, Ilmater is with me.