Much has happened since I last had a moment to
write here. It feels more pressing that I write things down, the
further I go on this journey. This was once meant to document Shadow of
the Pride's adventures from original sources, but my own journey feels
significant in a way it did not before, even if it becomes a warning to
others.
I was able to use the spell to speak with the dead, or
rather have others do so, without issue. Much was learned, especially
of the orcs and of the half-orc we encountered, Grannoc. It all went to
plan, and nothing untoward happened.
We have travelled to the
lost dwarven fortress of Axeholm in an attempt to secure it for the use
of the people of Phandalin. I had thought little of it, despite it
being near the base of the Icespire Peak, for we had managed to visit
the Mountain Toe goldmine without me being unduly influenced by the
proximity. In this I was in error. On the journey, a figure of
terrifying presence walked alongside us, one only I could see and feel.
Its voice was that of the second voice I had heard back at the shrine
where the orcs had taken over. He told me that ahead there was a test
for me, and I once more felt a pull, a tug of my senses towards not
merely a general location, but to one very specific, showing that no
matter what else was true, this being was linked to the power I had
aligned myself with. When questioned about his identity, he told me, in
a most unsettling manner, that he was Death.
I can well believe
it, at least in so far as any figure might be death. A facet, an
avatar, or merely someone who trucked in the bringing of it to others.
He disappeared after that, and suddenly the group became aware of my
distress. Perhaps they thought me mad, startling like that, seemingly
out of nowhere. I might have thought so too, if not for what happened
later.
We made it to where the Rockseeker brothers had found
hints of the fortress, and it was then, when the group were swithering
on what to do, that I felt that tug again to the east, stronger than
ever before. I made some excuse to the rest about randomly choosing a
direction in which to hunt for the entrance, not wanting to appear
madder than before, especially as it might hamper their willingness to
follow. But they did follow, and as my footsteps fell nimbly and
confidently in a way through the mountain that was reminiscent of my
past when such journeys were undertaken in this way, we found the
entrance to Axeholm.
Atop it though, stood three shadowy
figures, ones that all of us could see. The one on the left was the one
I had spoken to in the Mountain Toe goldmine, and I could make out a
gauntlet on his hand. The middle figure towered above the other two,
his body covered in black scars, while the one on the right was the
figure I had spoken to earlier.
They told me my test was inside, and that they would watch, and my actions would determine who claimed my soul.
I
had never offered my soul to anyone, not even a deity in so many
words. Passively, perhaps, in that I allowed my steps to tread the path
where the skills were granted to aid in that task, but I had given
little thought to my soul up until that point. Could they, or anyone,
claim my soul without my consent? I had not thought it possible, but
they had proven, without a shadow of a doubt, to be vastly more powerful
than any creature I had yet seen. More even than a dragon, especially
together.
I now sit in a small room packed with the group,
wounded after two battles of 'residents' of this place. Phase spiders,
and what appeared to be ghouls. I saw a spectral woman down in the
courtyard from a distance too, but we have not met her again.
The three's words stay with me, heavy on my mind.
I
do not see a way to step away from the path they have set me on, for it
is clear they have set their sights on me, for whatever reason, and
beings of power on the scale I have witnessed, of spirits that have gone
beyond the borders of the afterlife to accrue such power to go wherever
they please, to alter my spells, to freeze time, body, and attention,
there will be no escape from their wishes. I do not even know if I
should be seeking escape, as they are aligned with the power that has
been aiding me in my path all this time. I will only gain answers when
one of them has chosen me based on what I do, how I act, or what comes
to pass. That, I think, worries me the most.
So far we have
merely murdered, and that would likely just align me with the central
figure, who seemed to bear no patience, no nuance, or forethought. Yes,
a bringer of death much like the others, but if it is he who claims my
soul, what will become of me in the aftermath? The robed figure too,
although thoughtful and well spoken, seemed … perhaps not to delight,
but certainly not hesitate to render me into a quivering state of fear
when he need not have. It sits poorly with me, that almost chaotic
turning of character, swift as a breeze. I do not wish to fear
constantly that on whim they might turn upon me, as I know some beings
are wont to do. Only the left figure, the one I spoke to at the mine,
he at least seemed logical and tactful enough not to use his threat in
such a way. He spoke to me calmly, and especially considering the other
two, I appreciated that.
But so far all we have done is killed,
and that weighs on me. Like their unseen gazes. I do not know who I
will become by the end of this. Much hangs in the balance of the
group's actions. I worry, and I worry. I remember my last time up on
frozen peaks, the Star Mountains to the east. It seems almost like
another life to the one I now live, one filled with dungeons, and
spiders that phase through walls, of dragons and orc raids. I do not
know why they need me, these spirits, or merely want me as is more
likely the case. Whatever they want is likely beyond my understanding.
Now
more than ever, I could use better understanding, and yet the very
sources I might call upon for guidance are the very ones that will not
influence what comes next. My actions will influence it, and the
actions of the group.
We rest now to heal a little before going
further into the fortress. The others are doing their own planning and
preparing around me, while I write. This has become a sort of haven to
set my thoughts out in these times for me. Who else can I speak to,
after all? The group? They know as much as I do, and so it would
merely be repetition without cause. I have tried, today, to appear more
personable with them, but it felt odd and unnatural, but seemed to be
appreciated nonetheless. Perhaps if all goes wrong, or if whatever
plans the spirits have for me takes my path beyond the group, they will
take this journal back to my clan, where someone can learn at least
something from it. I think Factoré and Siax at least might do so,
although it may depend on what happens next. He especially may not
appreciate what I have to do.
If I end up the property of the middle figure, I may well be the next monster they fight.