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Kæjk La’Baer ab Jujnis, 2997
The early hours are quite pleasant I must say. There is a peace that one doesn’t find anywhere else than in the waking hour were the first lights of day have broken the horizon.
Much has happened over the past forty three hours. I would have written last night, but with being exhausted from the trials and Daevri having had my journal in his possession, I ended up going straight to bed. Honestly, it was probably the best. These pages seem to be nothing but angst as I looked over the past two weeks. Granted a lot of unexpected change has taken place, so much I would think anyone would complain. Even Bordel seems to have succumbed to the pressure.
The other night, after traveling all day, and I being very sleep deprived, woke in the middle of the night to the Cleric muttering to himself about something. I think it had to do with demons. I didn’t want to say anything for shame was upon me from nearly killing him, but I did anyways, asking how his throat was doing. He was rather kind to me in his tone, but soon the talk turned to the dreams we had from the tea.
Before the incident between me and my companion, Bordel had drunk some of the tea, the Hermit having sent him away with a flask. Apparently his parents weren’t exactly his parents and it angered him. I sympathized stating that there’s a possibility that I’m the daughter of Remus Trophe.
The chat had begun to shift back to his neck, I offering to provide more healing in the morning, when a familiar face approached. It was the beggar we saw in Asura. I wondered how he had found us and he mentioned being Bahamut’s scribe. He then looked at Bordel and offered to answer questions he might have, and anyone else’s for that matter.
I went to wake the others, as the Cleric began to pester the man, Astarea, about what he knew of his parents and what Bahamut wants with him. It sounded as though the Platinum Dragon played a role in who raised Bordel... but exactly what I dare not ask since it clearly is a touchy subject.
With the Cleric upset, the Scribe turned his attention to me. I refused any answers since I didn’t want to hear second hand whether the vision I had held any truth. It is my intentions that if I ever cross paths with Lord Trophe to ask him myself. No need to learn through the grapevine.
Astarea then had the audacity to ask if I had made up my mind concerning how I would participate in a fight. I flat out told him it was none of his business.
The Scribe quickly went on, giving the same attention to Zaren, Kimaris, and Daevri. Each chatted with Astarea and seemed ok with the advice given. Before I knew it, the Scribe was bidding us farewell and disappearing as quickly as he appeared.
All of us, excluding Bordel, barely made mention of catching a few more hours of sleep when the Cleric shouted aloud, demanding that Bahamut answered him. My shock with Bordel was punctuated as a lightning bolt struck where the Cleric was standing. For a moment I truly thought he had been killed for the tone and language used toward the God. He was gone and that set Kimaris off. He threw a tantrum, expressing his hate for who we were and the role the deities played.
I couldn’t handle Kimaris any more. With my own wits at their end, the boy’s talk of destruction pushed me to offer myself up. If he was so mad, so sick of who we were and the order of things, so hurt from my lack of love, then he had my permission to kill me first. I was done. Part of me still feels done.
Almost as quickly as he had disappeared, Bordel reappeared. Seeing the state Kimaris was in, he quickly silenced the boy, threw him over his shoulders and instructed us to get a move on things.
Thankfully we made it to the stepping stone trials that day. We all barely managed to accomplish the task, what with Centaurs detaining us, trials that took us on more spirit journeys, nearly falling to our deaths as we jumped from stone to stone, and for much of the journey up to the monastery everyone fending for themselves. It is a miracle to say we all made it.
At the top, a Monk greeted us only to state we had one final test; two metallic statues came to life to fight us. Bordel sent one through the stone slab we stood upon and got sucked in himself. Daevri then teleported the Cleric to safety. I endured the scrutiny of Zaren as I used my spells poorly. It was another reminder of my inadequacy. The most damage I did was hauling a large stone into the Shifter’s gust of wind, but that won me a spear in the side.
Through the pain I focused on using the little magical energies I had left to heal my party. Keeping them alive ensured that the statue was destroyed. And soon we were taken in; battered, bruised, and defeated. Thankfully they were hospitable. Perhaps all who venture to the Monastery are expected to be in such a state.
We were shown around, taken to our rooms, and informed of the meal hour. We all went and ate first, before I retired to lay down on my cot. My side continued to ache and I very much wanted to sleep it all off. Eventually Bordel knocked on my door asking to borrow some pen and paper. It was there that I realized my journal was missing. It had just occurred to me that the book Daevri mentioned at dinner was my journal!
Zaren came into the room as I swung around to go fetch my book. He handed out the leather bound papers toward me saying he figured I might have wanted it back. I can only hope my embarrassment wasn’t noticeable.
I asked Borel if he needed help with his letter, since he had mentioned not knowing how to write. He declined and I didn’t push it further. One, it wasn’t my business as to what he was going to do with the pen and papers. Second, some Monks came in to tend to my wounds. Once that was finished, I fell into a deep sleep, waking to the gong that has signaled to what I assume to be the start of a new day.
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