Completed The kiln of divinity

[Leo Varniak]

Timestamp: 27th of Fall, 512 AV He could not wait to get the tale started for real. Writing no longer tired his hand the way it used to, and he'd started getting restless over finishing his opus. He would have few regrets if he died, but to do so before he had written the last page of this tale. Time for him who burned in his own fire to pick up that quill and get ever so closer to the end. The ink from the previous sessions had dried up nicely, the writing was tiny but still well legible. Pleased with his work so far, Leo Zaital bent over the book and made his vision into someone else's vision. - - - - - - - - She was a young girl, also an Azenth, and she gave me this letter. To me, it was the first step towards a new life. My feelings at the time might have been quite different, to tell you the truth. As soon as I opened the scroll tube and read its contents in which my father confessed to having learned of my existence only at the time of the writing, and asked me to find this 'circle of Zai'... well, my initial reaction was to find him and punch his lights out. How could someone so powerful, certainly so well-introduced to the secrets of the world, not know that his once lover had birthed a child who looked just like him? Because I thought I knew everything, I had no doubt he was making up excuses. I thought the girl was weird and the feeling was decidedly mutual, but I did not mind. I was left with bits and pieces of information - I now knew my mother had a sister, my aunt. If any of this feels vague, it is because I need to protect these individuals. I have no qualm about revealing my name, my enemies', and those who have since died or ascended to godhood, but I cannot endanger those who have assisted me in any way, especially when they are surrounded by all kinds of enemies. I shall omit names in that case or simply let them be known by their initials should they play a significant role in this tale. This girl who shall remain nameless told me all my blood relatives were disappearing, picked off one by one in mysterious circumstances. Within the Azenth, power usually runs in bloodlines, although there are exceptions. There are four main bloodlines, myself belonging to the very driven Zaitals, who orchestrated Ivak's release; the girl was an Avisata, the family in charge of releasing the land itself. Their work consists of liberating the hidden pressure beneath the crust of Semele, causing many small quakes and avoiding a single catastrophic one. While we all share this ability, they are the most attuned to the task and have made it their sacred mission in Ivak's absence. She went on her way and I knew little more than before, except that I was on someone's hitlist and would do well to stay alert. I also had a name, the circle of Zai, a triad of some sort that had been run by an old man called Baltio, a weaver of carpets. But when I explored Stormhold's third tier looking for his legacy, I found next to nothing that could support my search. It was then that, abandoning the rational side of things, I got desperate enough to seek help from a fortune teller. This event I still remember as if it had happened today. In a way, it happens every day to me. Her name was Kasav'ii. Yes, I just shared her name with you. That in itself speaks of her fate, does it not? There are people of great worth whom I met on my travels and who traveled no more afterwards if not through the dark lands where Dira rules. I wish for their memories not to be forgotten; there will be proof of their righteous existences for as long as this book exists, and someone willing to read it. Lady Kasav'ii was the first; she wasn't to be the last. - - - - - - - - Leo allowed himself a moment of recollection for the noble Konti. He pictured the lines on the face of the aged woman, still youthful as all of her race were even when elderly, but marked by time in different ways than human wrinkles. Yes, he was doing the right thing here. Kasav'ii had died for him, and it was the least he could do to make her live again, if only as a memory, on the pages of this story. - - - - - - - - How should we remember her? As a fortune teller, no doubt, a woman living in simplicity with a pure, untainted love of her craft and a passion for helping perfect strangers. Such is the nature of the Konti call, which steals them away from their native islands despite the horrid dangers of the world beyond. She had lived a long life, I think, and her sun was approaching the inevitable West at the nadir. She might not have known what she was getting into when she welcomed me into her abode and agreed to read my fortunes. If she already knew, that makes her even more of a heroine. From the start, she was aware of things. She knew who I was, who I really was, she knew what I was searching for and warned me that it would not be easy to find. She had met my father, she had been a friend of Baltio's and all in all her knowledge of my past and its intricate weaves towered over my own. And this is how she died.

[Leo Varniak]

I am blessed with a strong memory, thank the gods. Some of the more transcendent events I have witnessed have begun to fade little by little, hence why I long to put them on paper before I lose any more of their otherworldly colors; but the voices and words of people stand out to me in great clarity. Kasav'ii spoke slowly and with purpose, every word weighted against the last and the next. I recall the words she spoke about my mother... 'powerful, too powerful for the death you remember'... 'it feels very much like she is alive'... 'outside of the events that moved around her'. All of them rang so very true. What she revealed to me about the Circles I repeat faithfully to you. The Circles should exist in every city and settlement: theirs is the duty of helping people release their pent-up emotions before they take deep root in their hearts. Every Circle made of three, which I believe is the optimal tradeoff between safety and effectiveness. Within a Circle, there is usually a leader who is, however, a first among equals. Baltio was the leader of his Circle, which he ran alongside two siblings, Canvia and Truvin, but he had allowed his other occupation as a weaver of blessed rugs to distract him from his primary goal as Ivak's presence in the city. And thus they fell suddenly; one day they were there, the next day it was as if they had never existed. She seemed saddened when I said that I had no intention of reforming the Circle in Syliras. Other things occupied my mind at the time, first and foremost among which was finding out what had happened to Baltio and make sure he was avenged. No more petty criminals in shades of grey for Leo Varniak, no more killings with complicated ethics involved. Something larger loomed on the horizon, something of such pure evil that it could be killed without a second thought, put on a list and burnt to a cinder. The thing excited me, for it gave me purpose. Establishing a new Circle, though? That seemed like work for old folk who gathered at tea time and had fun with their little secret meetings. Not my kind of work. Listen to me now. As she set up a bowl of her vision water and stared into it, partaking of visions I cannot even begin to imagine, she spoke of Baltio and his rugs and his destiny leading to certain death. He had to die because an old enemy had set its sight on him and would not stop until he was erased from the world, until they all were. Such an enemy lay far beyond my imagination at the time. Little did I know that, only because I could not see it, did not mean it could not see me or at least know of me. A glimpse was all it took. Kasav'ii saw something she was not supposed to. Her mind's eye wandered too close to this presence and it noticed her. It drowned in the brightness of its corruption, no doubt. The Konti's voice began to change, it turned deep and guttural like a monster's. And it spoke to me and said it would not stop until I, too, ended up feeding the worms like the rest. I saw a black hand writhing in the bowl of vision water. In the presence of absolute evil, a voice from the deep threatening my life, I laughed. Yes, I laughed. Because I had an enemy now that fueled my drive for justice. I actually rejoiced (fool that I was) for its existence, so I could destroy it. The need for retribution, which had been denied in me since my last kill, surged out of me as I challenged the entity with taunts of my own. I think it would have ended the same way regardless of my answer. Still, I prefer not to consider the possibility that this thing, which I now know to be Rhysol of Chaos, decided to snuff Kasav'ii's flame as vengeance for my words. No matter what the reason, she turned dark and blue. I was reminded of dead fish at the time. He overwhelmed her aged body and crushed her from within. The strength of the vision left her a lifeless husk of the wise Konti she had been. Farewell, Kasav'ii. Laughter died in my throat as I gazed upon her dead body. Once again, fate had made a fool of me as I caused yet another unwanted death, as seems to have become a habit of mine. Her daughter, A., happened to pass by at that very moment. She saw me with her fallen mother and, by the miraculous faculties of understanding of the Konti, was aware that I was not responsible for her death. She explained to me that Kasav'ii knew her time was near, and as such she was also prepared to part ways with her. I still wonder if she knew for certain it would be me who brought Dira to her door, but she had foreseen my coming. She had instructed A.'s sister to gather a certain medallion for me that had belonged to Baltio. Upon the back of the medallion was a map. I accepted it and left A. to her mourning. On the surface, it looked like a map of the city of Syliras with a certain location marked as a single water drop. It did not take me very long to find: if you have ever been to Syliras then it is quite likely that you already know of that landmark. It is called Kova's Well and it is said to grant wishes if only you cast a coin down its depths. This chase had taken yet another turn for the bizarre! I had always viewed the well to be a place of superstition like so many others, but it turns out that it holds actual power, albeit not for everyone. With no other clue on my hands, I made my way to the well, almost changed my mind and went through the rite of throwing down a gold-rimmed Miza. My wish, I expressed in the simplest of terms. Let me kill that bastard. I saw a woman of incredible beauty stand at the edge of the well and extending her arm to touch me. Then everything flared with blue energy and I was sucked in. I kid you not, it is exactly what happened. How many coins are tossed that way every year, and fail to produce anything? But mine struck a chord of resonance with some mysterious power in the world. I was drawn into a vision of things transpired centuries in the past, and as with all things I experienced outside the boundaries of my physical body, my words cannot possibly do them justice, but I shall endeavor my best. I witnessed the birth of a baby in the country of Alahea, before the Valterrian. I saw his parents in a moment of idyllic happiness as they marveled at their child's beauty. Ivak and Kova. The baby was playing with fire already, laughing in delight as he set small flames to his own blankets. I still feel a little envious at the memory. I long for fire, and I still obsess over the lack of control, but this baby knew no restraint or hesitation. There was nothing dark or unhealthy in him, he had nothing to fear, he was supremely joyous to be alive in a way I can never hope to be. I stood in awe, a silent witness to a scene where no-one could see me. But then one of the actors noticed me, a servant girl who had been assisting Kova through her birthing. Suddenly, her face twisted in a most unnatural way and she spoke in a dark male voice identical to the one I had heard from Kasav'ii's lips. She hissed that I would not know, that I would be kept ignorant and threw a pitcher of water my way. It felt like acid, melting she flesh from my bones as I dissolved from the vision and was brought back into the world of things in a state of extreme pain. Kova's last warning echoed through my mind - that I could not allow Ivak's mortal line to die. I got back on my feet, more and more convinced that I was walking into a world I could not even begin to fathom. I had been shown a glimpse of the truth. I knew of Kova from my history lessons, of course. I knew she had been Ivak's lover but that she had given him a child was a shocking revelation to me. To learn that I descended from that child and shared blood with the queen of Alahea and the god of fire, even more so. As a matter of fact, I could make a rather solid dynastic claim to most of Eastern Mizahar if I wanted to. Such lineage may be meaningless now as far as heraldry is concerned, but the rulers of Alahea still live within me. Some cards are not easily removed from play. My search had revealed much, much more than I was prepared to face on my own. I needed someone, an ally, a mentor, a guiding voice experienced in the ways of the gods - for it was clear to me by now that it had been a god ordering the destruction of the Circle and the mass murder of Ivak's offspring. Only one name came to my mind, even though I had never been acquainted with the man. He was known in Syliras as the priest of the Temple of All Gods. This was my first meeting with Glav Navik, the man who would in many ways shape my future. He bears a new name now, a great and terrible one, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. I found myself in need of a priest, and Glav seemed like the person who could help me. He was not an outward man, for all that he possessed great charisma in speech and action. Quiet and reserved, he much preferred quiet discussion over a cup of tea and a bag of cookies, which was exactly what he offered me. He heard my story in full - what good would it do to withdraw any details? He knew I was marked by Ivak, as well, which made it two of us. It felt quite surreal to be waltzing between sages who all knew who I was before I even opened my mouth to explain. And explain I did, and talked, and talked some more. He listened to it all, and eventually he shed some light on the matters haunting me at present. He told me that what happened in the Valterrian was not what most people think it is. You see, history has it that Emperor Galifer of Suvan simply had Kova killed when he found out she had not come a virgin to his bed on their wedding night. According to Glav, however, Galifer was not that kind of man, and he ruled a nation based on order and discipline. Such uncontrolled hate, bearing terrible consequences and shattering the very treaty he had signed with Alahea, was entirely out of character for him. Someone must have interfered and driven him over the edge somehow. That very same entity, who had orchestrated Kova's death and Ivak's fall into blind rage, was now carrying out the total annihilation of the fire god's mortal line. He manipulated everything, made things happen so the wheels of destiny would turn in his favor. It is a personal war, fought over unimaginable hate. And the enemy is Rhysol, master of chaos, lord of all that moves in entropy, corrupter of men, desecrator of minds, defiler of anything that is right and just in the world. So many have pledged themselves to him, dedicating their lives to furthering his dark agenda. To bring pain is their pleasure, torture their food and nourishment. The black hand I had seen in Kasav'ii's vision water was one of his own. Whatever it was, it had killed Baltio and the Circle. Whatever it was, I knew I must kill it. As for Glav, he could relate with me very well indeed. He, too, had his father slain by Rhysol during the Valterrian itself. There is no further reason to hide this, no more need to protect a mortal who is mortal no more: Glav Navik was an Alvina, a son of Sylir's and now - also because of my later actions - Sylir reborn. If this world still holds a promise of peace for the future, it is because of this man. If you can bring home a single lesson from this book, let this be it; as long as Sylir lives, we can dare to hope. Rhysol killed the original Sylir in the chaos of the Valterrian. Glav believed that all the god of chaos had done - exploiting Ivak's love, having Kova killed, and fueling the grieving Ivak's rage through the Valterrian - had been in order to slay Sylir and grant himself a new world without peace and civilization. I, too, believe this to be the truth. Speaking with Glav had opened my mind to incredible new facts, but none greater than one. Rhysol wanted me dead for one specific reason. He cares little for most individual mortals, and would not have gone to such great lengths without a cause. There was danger that he saw in me, making him nervous or even afraid. His fear was justified: he wanted me dead because I could free Ivak from his prison. As Glav and I reached this conclusion, a silence fell between us. We suspected much, but how to proceed then? How to challenge the evil that had brought both of us to our knees, lost in a world bereft of our patron gods? Glav's suggestion echoed Kasav'ii's: that I should reform the Circle of Zai and build a power base to challenge Rhysol with. Reluctantly, I saw the sense in his words. I still had no idea what it meant to free Ivak and made no commitment to it. As far as I knew, Ivak was still raging in his prison, only waiting to destroy the world - does it surprise you that even a marked one cannot always accept things in blind faith? I needed to think this over very carefully. Shortly afterwards, I claimed the building that had been Baltio's base of operations. It is too dangerous to describe it in detail, but suffice to say it was well-suited to the task. With an actual place to stay and the burden of leadership on my shoulders, I was already a changed man in so many ways. All the petty crimes I had judged in the past seemed so small and insignificant next to this, and I should have been excited to begin. In truth, however, I was experiencing doubt and confusion as I never had before. A leader? Me? And going against the god of chaos and evil? Surely this could not end well. And the restlessness did not leave me until the next midwinter fire festival, when I actually met the other two legs of my Circle, T. and S.

[Leo Varniak]

Fire blazed bright in the darkest bell of the night, contained but not constrained by its braziers not unlike the baby in the vision. The midwinter fire festival is celebrated at the half point of the cold season to beseech the heat into the world once more. I found myself at a very similar junction at the time, unable to make progress until I had reestablished a working triad in Syliras and not knowing how to go about it. Certainly it is no topic you can just bring up with a random stranger on the street, and getting into the good graces of people has very seldom been a strong suit of mine. With these thoughts on my mind, I attended the festival. I have never been very big on symbols and rites, you see. I need no flame sigil or medallion to remind me who I am; priestly trappings and paraphernalia are wasted on the likes of me. Festivities are much the same: a simplification for the masses, fuel for folklore and a chance at free food. What drove me to the festival was the notion that those with an affinity with fire might be drawn to its flames like moths. Perhaps I would have an easier time meeting them there. I did make the right choice going there; almost immediately I recognized the warmth of Ivak's mark on a fire dancer. As I approached him, the recognition was mutual. We shall know him as T. - not so much a wielder of fire as a releaser of emotions. A negotiator at heart, T. excelled at finding compromise between opposites normally thought to be incompatible. I knew right away we would not always get along: compromise rang like a swear word to my ears. Regardless, from just the briefest exchange of words I knew T. to be as loyal, dedicated and good-willed an Azenth as one could hope to come across. As for the other precious leg of the triad, S. the Konti, I discovered her helping herself at the booze table. She was not marked by Ivak just yet, but her inclusion echoed with inevitability. A tormented spirit I could relate with, S. bore the weight of vision at the price of her inner peace. The strength of her abilities, I believe, drove her to the drink and probably other addictions as well. As strong as any man in battle, she was the first and only woman I have ever seen wield a war hammer with the grace of an ornament. If I have learned anything from her, it is to never jump to conclusions based on gender or race. With a single touch, she could glimpse into a person's worst sins. I treasured her ability greatly, as it might prevent new mistakes in my judgment. Even when I allowed her to witness my last murder and the death of that innocent woman, she did not abandon me. In the end, I did abandon them instead. It is becoming rather distressing to note all my errors and shortcomings, but I am bound to truthfulness. Once again, though, I get ahead of myself. We are not quite at that point yet. I made sure they knew of the terrible danger they ran by simply associating with me. They understood, and did not flinch. What was left to do, then, if not take them to Glav to make the new compact official in front of the gods? We went then, and a new discussion emerged among the four of us. The first thing we were confronted with, however, was a deity made flesh. It should be no surprise to you that Glav entertained many divine guests and visitors, many of whom had marked him at one time or another. He was extremely well-introduced in the pantheon, and there were many who pressed for his ascension to the vacancy his father had left. Of course, there were also some who would have spent any amount of resources to slay him before he could do so, if they had known about him. And so, Ionu, lord of all illusions, weaver of new realities, showed itself to our incredulous eyes, constantly shifting and changing like water in a whimsical pot. Its form was fluid, in perfect sync with its words and complementing the sense of its words. It had brought presents, but the tail end of its conversation with Glav as we caught it made it look like the fulfillment of a deal. There were two catlike creatures that were no cats in the Temple of All Gods. They had come with Ionu, special creatures from its domain that Glav called Naryn. Easily dismissed as pets, they were able to look past appearances into the true nature of things. We were gifted with one for our base's security needs, even though we all felt the little creature to be quite a bit creepy for a cat. Just like Ionu itself, we had no idea what it really looked like. I wonder if the Naryn is still there, guarding our place from unwanted eyes. I wonder if T. and S. walk those halls in my absence. I wonder if they are still alive. One day I shall return to Syliras and have answers to my questions. For now, however, the city holds too many dangers despite the Knights' presence. It is too big to protect itself from Rhysol's infiltration, as you will also learn in the remainder of my tale. Glav acknowledged our desire to form a Circle of Zai in Syliras, and once we all pledged ourselves to the task, he shared the results of his most recent inquiries. I did not ask how he had gotten a hold of such information, but I suspect it was a part of his constant trading of favors with the gods. They took what they wanted from him and in return they left him with gifts and knowledge, making him perhaps the wisest man in the city. It was from him that I finally knew what had killed Baltio's previous triad. It was on that day that I first learned what a Druvin is, and why they must die. Do not forget this. Rhysol is a real presence, and while he makes his home in Ravok, his tendrils extend to the whole of Mizahar. Evil is real and does not only walk in black armor. Evil is, first and foremost, to be found in the hearts of men, where it breeds and multiplies without end. A Druvin is a priest of Rhysol who has long since lost any vestige of humanity. Their power is enormous and they are nigh immortal, but it is not what makes them truly fearsome. Rather, their greatest asset is the Rhysol-granted power called Chaon. Any marked of Rhysol can call upon it, but the Druvin stand on a different level altogether. Chaon is the ultimate corrupter - know this, and be warned. No power is darker or more foul. It twists and turns your very essence, playing on your every weakness to unleash the chaos within. As your spirit is broken, so is your outward appearance. If it makes you believe you are a monster, you truly become a monster. By simply choosing to stand against it with this knowledge, I would call you a hero. Others would call you a fool. Glav said the black hand I had glimpsed in Kasav'ii's vision water was a powerful Druvin who had been tasked with eliminating Ivak's followers in Syliras and preventing their rebirth. Such was our enemy, and this was the one whom I must kill for Baltio to be avenged. He said one more thing also. I cannot reveal it in its entirety, for I am sworn to secrecy on the matter and the city of Syliras would be endangered if it was known. I can, however, tell you that Glav was ready to ascend to godhood with the power Sylir had left in the world upon his death at Rhysol's hands. The catalyst needed for this to happen was Ivak's liberation. I was taken aback by the news. Glav was not so uninterested after all - he had a clear agenda and we were all a part of it. I said his struggle was not of any particular interest of me, that dishing out justice was at the forefront of my mind. The divine politics aspect of this annoyed me greatly. Why couldn't things be clear cut for a change? Just let me kill that thing, I thought. Above all, I needed proof that Ivak had calmed down before I attempted to release him. S. and T. also expressed similar doubts, and it was not what Glav wanted to hear, most likely. He made it clear that there might be no way to know. We may be able to suspect Ivak was sane once more, that there might be hints supporting that theory, but eventually we would have to accept it on faith. Faith. What is faith, I wonder? Is it simple trust in a higher being? Does it always come from the heart or can it be a product of the mind as well? Can faith and logic ever be reconciled? How do you have faith in a fallible entity, one that has been manipulated before? One that has very nearly destroyed the world? Those were my thoughts at the time. I am a champion, and I feel that I still struggle with faith at times. Accepting things without question is not the way my wheels turn, ever. Perhaps I am not worthy of my title, or maybe it is simply my way of getting things done with it. The discussion ended without a true resolution, everyone still on their former positions. I hope you can appreciate how we did not simply free Ivak out of unthinking zeal. There was searching and inner conflict and outer as well. I may have made mistakes, but this, I do not regret in the least. I had purpose. I can explain everything I did and was asked to do. How many of those who serve the gods can make the same claim? The rest of the day felt a little tense, however. Moving on, we received gifts upon forming the triad. My own was a leash, no less. I am not entirely comfortable with it, which is only to be expected of Nikali's gift. Then we proceeded to the ritual proper. Proceed might be a misleading word here. Glav simply caught fire all of a sudden, becoming a vessel for Ivak's manifestation in some strange and wonderful way. The fire jumped out of him and consumed each of us in turn, until we were four pillars of flame in the Temple of All Gods. When it was all over, I had gained a second mark and S. had acquired her first. We were bound together in the service of Ivak.

[Leo Varniak]

The first beam of sunlight shone upon his face and his eyes went wide open as he realized he had fallen asleep near the book after writing almost all night long. The soreness in his muscles made him wince, but it couldn't be helped. Leo made sure he hadn't spilled any ink on the pages and was relieved upon finding that it remained intact. He allowed himself to yawn and stretch then, feeling more than a little groggy as he slumped on the chair. His mouth tasted like some vile thing. There was so much left to tell, though. He needed to finish the Black Hand chapter today, so he could focus on the final leg of the quest in a few days, after recuperating from this all-nighter. He refreshed himself and ate a little breakfast and set himself to work with renewed energy. - - - - - - - - - We had some adventures together as a Circle of Zai, of course. We also got our taste of Rhysol together, out in the woods where rumor had it that his worshippers had erected a shrine in his honor. I can confirm the rumor. Suffice to say that we investigated the matter and came across a sample of Rhysol's nightmarish creations; ashen beings made of tormented souls, seeking only to inflict pain on others. We also lived to tell the tale, which is more than most can say. It was a narrow thing, however, and it bears no particular relevance to the greater quest for Ivak's freedom, so I will not dwell on it for long. In the end, though, it is a known fact that we must face our destiny alone. In my case, destiny came knocking much earlier than I had anticipated. We established the Circle in the wake of the midwinter fire festival, as I said. I merely had a single season to prepare myself, for our enemies finally showed themselves in the spring. It was fast, just like Glav had said it would be. We had barely started organizing our little society, setting up a front as a perfumery with T. running the shop and me, doing the bookkeeping. It was just the three of us and a cat that was not a cat, alone in that building. We were very much on the defensive, and I liked it not at all; I am, by nature, an aggressive personality as far as actions go. I believe in acting before your enemy does, and when I have nothing evil to burn I tend to burn myself with frustration and apprehension. We lacked so much intelligence that we could not have done anything even with our enemy in plain sight. Then, one night I heard the sounds. Baltio had picked a very quiet place for his headquarters and the commotion seemed quite out of place in that neighborhood. Little by little, though, things began changing and never in an obvious way. Little side streets were now experiencing much more traffic, people lingered where previously none were to be found, and loud voices could now be heard throughout the night. They say that when a person changes his or her ways too suddenly, that warrants an investigation because people are creatures of habit. It certainly had been a tenet of mine when I was still making lists of the sins of those who lived around me. I wondered now if that also applied to cities. Given that I could not get any sleep from the noise, I decided it could not hurt to check things out in our surroundings. The Naryn had also been nervous these past few days. One night I simply put my clothes on and went out to investigate. Anticipating nothing too big at that time, I did not call for the others. It was quite big, I assure you. Navigating through the crowd of drunks and prostitutes, I had to do nothing but move towards the highest concentration of disheveled, intoxicated citizens. This in itself worried me, because I did not remember the people of Syliras to be this chaotic. They could be bastards behind closed doors, yes, but the Knights usually maintained the peace and order within the city with remarkable efficiency. Not here, though, and not now. The scene around me would have looked more appropriate in Sunberth, for all that I have never visited there. Suddenly, I found myself at the entrance of what had been a warehouse in my memory, but was now something altogether very different. A gambling hall, by the looks of it. At least, I thought it was. I was not into these vices. My rational mind knows that gambling is tantamount to losing. The mere sight of alcohol still brings back the image of Allistir Varniak's meaty hands wrapping around my mother's throat. And as far as the whores are concerned, some are indeed attractive to behold, but their fake touch usually makes me cringe. There was nothing for me in there. Had the atmosphere felt normal to me even in its debauchery, I would have turned and left these people to their idea of fun. Something was wrong, very wrong. As I made my way into the warehouse, I could not help but notice the pits. They were hosting fights here, which was clearly illegal. Fury mounted in me as I saw the bloodstains all over the place. The staff consisted of ominous-looking men and women, all veiled in black so that their faces remained unseen. They wore see-through silks and moved among the crowd like fish in the currents. I glimpsed small packets being exchanged for money, and assumed they also doubled as drug dealers. My suspicions found a grim confirmation a few chimes later, when an announcer stepped out and two females introduced two children no older than seven, a boy and a girl. The announcer spoke over the buzzing noise of the crowd and announced a new game was being introduced tonight to the establishment. Child fights. I stopped dead on my tracks, as if petrified. Child fights, in Syliras? It was no joke. The announcer proclaimed that both kids would fight under the influence of a quadruple dose of a stimulant called Enliven, for sale within the facility. The female attendants fed the kids a mouthful of the foul drug and pitted them against each other in the ring. I had never seen such a dreadful sight. They had been crying prior to that, but now they seemed possessed of terrifying fury. They rushed to a nearby table where weapons made show of themselves and started killing each other with that array of maces and blades. All around bets were flying on who would hit the floor first and become meat for the other. I knew this to be the work of my enemies the very moment I saw it. If you have ever wondered who Rhysol is, he is the type to take pleasure in seeing two children drugged and fighting to the death. Was there no-one here who felt the way I did? Was I alone in my shock? I looked around and saw mad lust and excitement in most eyes, except in a single pair. There had been a man enjoying himself with the rest, gambling the night away, but the sight of the children had twisted his face in horror for a second before he caught himself and wiped his expression away. Perhaps I had chanced upon a kindred soul in this nightmare. Later I would find out his name was M. I had never used the power of Ivak's second mark before. I decided to do so now - discretion was never my suit, and the show had driven me over the edge. Someone would have to burn for this. I approached this one man and briefly told him to stay close if he felt any sorrow for those children. I may need his help soon. I may have been the gambler then, for I was entrusting myself to a man found in a den of sin over something as fickle as a facial expression. Still, I had nothing else to go by. And so, for the very first time, I released Ivak's emotional power, which is unlocked with the second mark, trying to target the two children before it was too late. I was trying to make them run away in fear rather than kill each other in rage. As with all first times, however, I was fully untrained and unprepared to control my power. I caused fear, yes, but all around. Imagine an entire room of people huddled together, finding refuge in dice and narcotics to escape their fears. Imagine a shockwave of those very fears crashing over them without warning. Panic broke out like wildfire. Patrons screamed in terror and fled the place as they could. Of the kids, the girl unfortunately died in the commotion as she was unable to climb the pit back to safety. Another innocent had just died because of me - I sensed her potential as she died - but at least this time she would be avenged. The boy somehow managed to mix with the crowd and get out of this nightmare. I hope he learned his lesson. I hope he still lives. I stood in the eye of the storm, surveying the petty humanity whom I had just saved from Enliven and its grip. It was M. and I against the eerie staff of this new, but in my eyes already too old, establishment. And there was fire as I burned some of them down with my flames as a partial act of retribution for the pain they had caused. In the end, however, they were too many for us and they had blocked our escape routes. We were caught and knocked unconscious. As my consciousness faded, I realized how hasty I had been. Now I had lost everything for the satisfaction of a single moment, for my unchecked pride, for my foolish stubbornness.

[Leo Varniak]

I had not expected to wake where I did. In fact, I did not expect to ever wake up anywhere again. It looked as if I had not died just yet, much to my surprise, even though the place around me did not belong in this world, and so I may as well have died for all I knew. It was a room entirely made of fire. Not a room on fire, mind you; fire was its essence, not an addition. Pillars of fire ran next to walls of fire and under it all was a floor of fire looking into a ceiling of fire. In the middle of it all, red as flame, was Ivak. Had my soul fled to him in death, seeing as like attracts like? It is a well known principle in philosophy. I will not even attempt to describe Ivak. Words are no use within that fiery prison, as they would again turn out to be when I visited it the second and final time. He did not look enraged, however. If anything, there was a thoughtfulness to him that I recalled from my vision at Kova's wishing well. He offered me his hand and helped me get back on my feet. This was no raging madman seeking to bring down the world. This was a god who had made mistakes (just like me), had paid for them dearly (just like me), and was now ready to take his place again among his faithful to fix them (just like me). As he spoke to me, and told me it was necessary for him to be free and for Glav Navik to ascend at the same time, I knew the truth in every word. If the Druvin who called herself the Black Hand was allowed to live, Glav would eventually die and all hope would be lost, the last trace of Sylir forever erased from the universe. She had already gathered powerful allies in the Shroud - Vayt's beloved plague bearers, none other than the veiled attendants I had been fighting. It was a matter of time before they corrupted Syliras from within, using weapons of chaos and disease such as the Enliven drug. I told you before that Druvin are near immortal, and indeed they can only be destroyed in a very specific way, by combining fire with a blade consecrated to Sylir. Now that he is dead, the beasts probably thought themselves invincible. Not quite so, however. Ivak gave me a blade called Ivlir, a dagger that bathed in Sylir's blood when he died. With this, I could actually kill the Black Hand, the Druvin whose real name was Raven. I pledged myself to Ivak then, knowing it was my purpose to do so. This task, I understood with perfect clarity. I was extremely familiar with it: destruction. I would make the Druvin burn and the night would glow with her funeral pyre. Right at that very moment, I came to and found myself half-naked and bound in a dungeon. The men and women of the Shroud surrounded us. Fellow prisoners were chained to the walls in similar conditions. One in particular seemed to be under heavy guard, and his shape in the dark attracted my attention for an instant, but I could not tell why. Soon my gaze found the leather-clad shape of the woman who had been my nemesis all along. She was torturing my newfound companion, M. Their eyes have no pupils. Keep that in mind if you encounter one. And if you do, just run and do not look back. Without the right weapon, your chances are nil. The creature turned to me, and I felt her hot breath on my face. She had been human once, but no more. She was a husk, a vessel, nothing but a jar for Rhysol's evil. She was interrogating me, wanted to know why we had caused that ruckus in her own little house of horrors. She did not know yet; it is the only reason why I still live, and the only reason why Glav still lives as well. I stared at her, and if I can be allowed to speak well of myself for a change, for all that I was naked and bound and powerless, I was not afraid of her. All I felt was immense disgust and even a little pity at what she had become. She had become more than human at the price of becoming far less than human. Then M. created a distraction as he slipped out of his manacles with some roguish trick that hinted at his street smarts as well as the nature of his profession. Raven's attention was diverted for but a split second, but I thought it more than enough. I did it for a Konti seer, for three Azenth believers, and for a little girl whose name I will never know. I had faith in Ivak, and the dagger materialized in my hands as I lunged forward, as far as my chains would let me. I drove the blade into her throat and sliced it open, spilling her dark blood. I had avenged them all in the end. Even in death, however, a Druvin does not stop corrupting its surroundings. She burned then, red for Ivak and blue for Sylir, and was vaporized altogether, but a cloud of darkness emanated from her. My own hands were dyed black from the proximity - I had become the Black Hand myself. Others did not fare nearly as well. Chaon's twisting abilities spread across the room as the Shroud servants scattered in terror. The man who had been under heavy guard broke free from his shackles and seemed to embrace M. to shield him from the wave of corruption. He succeeded, as M. was relatively unchanged, but he himself was not so lucky. He underwent a horrible mutation before my eyes, turning into some animal hybrid of scales and bat-like wings. Most others in the dungeon simply died from the sheer power of Chaon. Then - this tale is about to get even stranger - Yshul, mistress of thieves and lady of stolen property, broke in wearing a tight catsuit. She had come to steal Ivak's dagger, but once she saw it was now in my possession she had to reconsider her plan. Ivak does not take lightly at the gods messing with his offspring, after all. She freed me from my shackles instead, and enjoyed some banter with M. The word 'roguish' does not begin to describe her, but she did offer some parting advice to the two of us. The bottom line being that we had better leave the city post haste; Rhysol would be furious at Raven's death and would bring out even worse things from his endless reservoir of horrors. She also took the deformed creature with her, which I found odd at the time, but not incompatible with Yshul's whimsical character. What I just called a deformed creature, something I believed would be better off dead than living in this misery, was actually my father, Alvias Zaital. I never found out until much later, when it was too late. We fled the dungeon and never looked back. The Black Hand was dead, and without her the establishment soon closed down for good. I had won the day, but I was acutely aware that the scope of things was once again shifting and turning infinitely larger, as were the stakes at play. Soon, I would have to leave Syliras behind, heading off into the unknown. As for M., I have never met him again, but I feel that he was meant to help me kill Raven. I even thought I saw him receive a gnosis mark in the middle of our fight against the Shroud servants. I do not know what was of him after we escaped the dungeon. I hope he still lives. He may have looked like a small-time con artist and played the part a lot of the time, but his heart was in the right place. The world could use more like him. - - - - - - - - - Leo put down his quill, noting that the tip was worn out and would soon need discarding. Another chapter done. Only the final section of the tale remained untold, and soon he would get to that as well, even though it was easily the most difficult to narrate in any objective manner. For today, however, those pages were to remain blank.

[Gossamer]

Character: Leo Varniak

Experience: Writing +5, Psychology +4, Philosphy +5

Lore: Baltio’s Death. Kasav’ii’s Death, Circle of Zai, Laughing At Death, Laughing At Rhysol, Realization: Solid Dynastic Claim To the Eastern Mizahar, Glav Navik: Knowing The Man Before The God, The Valterrian: Revealing to the world it was Rhysol’s Fault, Forming Triads: The Early Awkward Years, Naryn: Having Met One In The Flesh, Chaon: Its Nature, Druvin: What They Mean To The World, Protecting Real Names In Historical Writing, Destiny: Something, Much Like Death, That Is Faced Alone, Enliven: Sylira’s Toxic Drug, Syliras: Child Fights, Ivak: Recounting First Meetings, Ivlir – Sylir’s Death Dagger, Alvias Zaital: Writing of the relevations of his identity,

Additional Note: I keep giving you Psychology and Philosophy because in looking back on your life and writing the events that transpired I think it gives you incredible insight into what happened and why - linking threads to each other and putting glaring emphasis on actions that transpired. When you start putting pieces together, such as the man saving Murdock eventually being your father to explain the actions those pc's carried out, you delve into the world of philosophy because while you give explanations to actions, your explanations are only one facet.

On a more personal note, these threads give me tremendous nostalgia for the past. In reading them they help me decide how to craft better tales for the future. It should be hugely exciting to see what is to come. Leo's work in the world is far from done. It's seemed hard up until now, but I think it will be harder still in the future.