Excerpts from the journals of Blystos Re

[Blystos Re]

This entry is dated Ninthmonth, eleven days before the beginning of autumn.

As I write these lines, sitting here in the relative safety of the guild hall, I take comfort in the place we have established here. The numbers of our guild members, united in a common good, continue to grow. Daeron may now be safer than it has been in recent times.

Still, I feel pulled back to the recent dreams, nightmares rather, that have plagued my sleep for the last fortnight. I wish nothing more than to shut out the horror that I witness with my mind’s eye, but the images haunt me now even in my waking hours.

I see Daeron’s walls burning. I see its populace enslaved. I see great mechanical monstrosities, and two massive spirits of death. I hear the maniacal laughter of a madman. There is death and fire everywhere. Terrible suffering.

These cannot be dreams, but visions sent to me by Torm: A warning of what may come. I fear that the world of Aetheria begins to shift to a darker design not its own. I fear for the safety of the people; my brothers and sisters. Since I was sent here, they have been more real family than ever I have had before.

I must prepare, we all must, for the worst. I know who the madman who haunts my dreams is. He calls himself Primus, and his foul plans would plunge all of Aetheria into an eternal hell of his design. I fear, though I dare not speak it, that as a whole, Clericus Liberatus Anno Domini does not yet possess the strength we will need to survive these dark times.

I sense that all the guild feels this imbalance. Paris kneels in our chapel at this moment, deep in prayer to Tyr, Torm and Ilmater asking for their blessing and guidance. The one who calls herself Glimmerlight sits in her darkened quarters, never sleeping. Vastly and Chust are both restless, and I often see Don Pablo walking the halls in the late hours of the night, pacing like a caged animal. And the new recruits all look to me for guidance, while I seek the same guidance in Torm…and Father Kurth.

He tells me that “evil will not wait” until we are ready, that I must “take the fight to evil’s doorstep”. This much has been made apparent by the recent attack on Daeron. Evil will not wait. Though the hulking automations were brought down, we would have faired much worse against the dracolich that landed in Neversummer City. We were lucky.

But even the word sticks in my mouth. I am not content to be “lucky”, nor will I stand by and hope that our luck continues. Shall I wait here for Primus to choose the time of battle? Shall I wait for a great, undead dragon to land in the heart of Daeron? I think not. Preparations must be made. I must strengthen myself and my comrades if we are to succeed.

We will take the fight to Primus.
The time will come sooner than he thinks.

[Blystos Re]

The following occured at the close of Eleventhmonth, just after Daeron was infiltrated by Commander Leona's forces.

“Calm yourself, Paris,” I exclaimed. “Please!”

“Calm?!” she shouted at me, undoing her gauntlets. “You want calm?! Calm is what got us here! Calm is the reason for a near hundred dead! At the hands of what?!” Paris flung her gauntlets into a corner of the bed chamber. “A half-score of drow?! Go on, tell me to be calm again!”

“They were very well trained,” I put up my palms. “And well prepared…”

“Yes,” she cut me off. “And we were not. We are not. That much is evident! I went down more times than I can count in that fight, more times than I can remember! It was only by the grace of the gods that we survived at all and…” here she choked on the words. “…and they weren’t even our gods.”

“I know,” I sighed in resignation. “We are blessed to have the aid of Silvanus.”

“Are we?,” Paris asked. “Are we really? Re, I realize now why we haven’t seen The Triad at work. I see why our gods are not here. We are weak!” With the word ‘weak’ she flung her shield, sending it crashing into the cabinet against the far wall. “We don’t deserve gods! Only the pity of the spirit of nature for our feeble attempts… What happened to taking a stand? What happened to fighting against the forces evil? We are supposed to be the protectors of Daeron! I want to ask you what to do, Re. But I know you are as lost as I am. As lost as Tyr and Torm are to us…and where does that leave us?”

I attempted to speak, but in my hesitation I was again cut off. “Leave me,” she slumped against the wall. “I’m tired. I’m tired of all of this.”

As I closed the door behind me I nearly collided with Vastly in the hall. He stiffened and put forth a valiant effort to pretend he hadn’t been eavesdropping. “She’s not handling this well?” he asked. “Why is she so upset? She’s helped to win a great battle.”

“It would seem,” I said, shaking my head. “That she does not feel that we won. To be perfectly honest, old friend, I am not sure that I disagree with her. She has a good point; Leona’s assassins never should have gotten as far as they did. She feels that we have let Daeron…and our gods…down.”

“I see…” said Vastly, and by the sinking look on his face I could tell that indeed, he did see. “I will be out for a bit…I feel I should form a group to go questing on the planes,” he said after a short silence. “I shall return soon.”

I nodded a farewell and Vastly took his leave.


It was true. All of it. My prayers to Tyr, Torm and Ilmater had all echoed in silence for as long as I could remember now. Perhaps Paris was correct in her assumption that we had lost our gods due to our weakness. What was this ancient guild compared to what it once was? Was I doing justice as a leader? Did it even matter anymore?

With my mind and soul I reached out again, this time not to the gods of The Triad, but far beyond the realm of Aetheria. I reached out with all my strength to my home plane, to the last place I thought to find guidance and wisdom – to my own father.

“Please,” I asked humbly. “I do not presume to have learned the lesson that you have set before me, but I beg of you, help me. Help me to find their strengths. Help me to lead them with the power and wisdom with which you watch over the shining, golden sands. Please. Help me.”

And far away, but growing stronger, I felt a pulling…

[Blystos Re]

It seemed as though I would fall forever, faster and faster as I was pulled through the vast reaches of the planes. The intensity of the pulling and the cold was too much to bear, and I drifted in and out of consciousness as the breath was pulled from my body. I know not how long this went on, but it seemed an eternity.

When next I awakened I was face down in the soft sands of the desert, the cold had been replaced with a burning heat that permeated me to the core. Weak as I was, I raised my head to see a shining light so bright that it could only be Hakau Sechtech Re, my father and the Sun god of my home plane. I bowed low and rested my forehead on the sand.

“Oh my father,” I said reverently. “Forgive my failures and shortcomings, I beg you. I have not been…”

“Peace, my son,” his hot, thunderous voice boomed and shook the sand and stone. Yet there was a calmness that I had not heard in what seemed ages. “It is true, you are not yet ready to return to this realm and take up the power and responsibility that you once squandered. You need not consider this failure.

“The realm of Aetheria is not in my charge, thus I cannot control all that happens there. You set out on a path to protect the innocent; to teach you the meaning of love and loss for people that you know not. Your challenges have been great along this path, and your role has changed much. I find that, with all that has come before you, you are no longer fit for the role of leadership that you have taken up.”

My heart sank at these words. “…I accept your judgment, my father. I will not protest being cast into the eternal shadows…”

“As before, peace,” his voice shook again, this time with mild irritation. “Do not presume to know what I have in store for you. I shall not be contented until I see you in your proper place. As you are not fit, so must you change; so must you adapt.” As he spoke these words, I felt myself lifted and begin to burn in agony. “I will reshape you; mold you to your new task of leadership, and give you the power required of a true leader of good and justice. You will regain the attention and respect of the gods of Aetheria once more, and the gods of good, of light, of justice, shall return!”

I felt my body, my flesh and bone, consumed by the intense light and heat; the fire of my father’s gaze. I wished to cry out, but there was nothing left. Then I felt my body regain its shape…only different somehow.

“You will learn to stand and fight against evildoers, and they will learn to flee at the sight of you! Go now! Return to Aetheria that the darkness may know that it must submit to the Power of the Light!”

In an instant, I was lying against the cold stone floor of the guild hall. At first I could see and hear nothing, but my senses began to return to me. My friends came rushing to my aid, slowed as if in a dream. As Paris knelt by me I hear her cry out.

“Ah! He’s hot!” she shook her hand as if she had touched a stove. “Careful!”

“By the hells…” Vastly’s voice trailed off. “How can this be? He is like a hot iron! Can you hear me?”

In response I summoned all the strength I had and pushed to my feet, breathing heavily and slowly. I felt that, indeed I was far too hot, but cooling gradually…not unlike a hot iron. “I hear you…old friend. How long…have I been away…?”

Vastly looked at me with a furrowed brow. “Away? Re…you’ve only just left the room. I hadn’t yet gotten back to my quarters to prepare for questing…What do you mean by away? What has happened to you?”

“I believe…I have begun again,” I said. “And I feel that this time, I am on the right path. Come, there is much to be done.”

[Blystos Re]

This entry takes place just after the turn of the year.

Paris sighed with relief and slumped into a chair by the fireplace, relishing the warmth and soft, flickering light it provided. After shifting to find a comfortable position, she picked up the cup of tea that she had brought with her from the kitchen and blew at the surface; a waft of steam billowing from the brim of the cup.

“Welcome back,” I smiled. It was late and most of the lights had been turned down. The night watch had taken over patrolling the corridors of the guild hall, ready to raise the alarm at a moments notice. Yet, there was a peace and security that filled every room with a feeling of safety.

Paris smiled in return. “Thank you. It’s good to be home. Funny what a hot bath and one’s own bed can do for them.”

“Home,” I echoed. “It sounds so strange to hear you say that and have it sound so natural….And yet, I agree with your observation. This place that we have called our own is finally starting to feel like home.”

She looked around the room, still smiling all the while, then closed her eyes. “He’s here,” she whispered. “It’s Tyr’s presence; I can feel it everywhere. All through Daeron, all through me…and he permeates the walls of this place. I’ve not felt this in so long…not since I left home. It has been so long.”

“Yes, I imagine it has been,” I said. “You have an air of peace about you. It is…good to see. At times I feared the search for your god…our god…would be far too much for you to bear. It was not long ago…back when you were bound to the Alliance, that I feared you had given up.”

Her smile faded as the memory washed over her, and she gazed into her tea as if it were a divining pool. “I did. Not on Tyr, but on a world without him. I never did tell you what happened…It’s one of the only reasons that I’ve been able to hold on until now.”

“What is it that Death said to you at the altar in Avendell?” I asked. This question had burned in me since the event had taken place, but was never something I would have asked to know before. “What did it tell you to do?”

“Death…” she shuddered. “It appeared before me in a huge ball of flame…and it spoke to me.” Paris seemed very far away, as if in a trance, trying to remember. “’Lathlander is your god now, mortal,’ it said. ‘Make your offerings to him, lest you bring his wrath.’ But I protested, saying that I was and always would be a priestess of Tyr. That I had been lured in by the Alliance’s promises to send me home. I wished to leave them.”

“And…did Death reply?”

“It said,” she continued. “’In this life you are bound to the Last Alliance and the Morning Lord, and that is all the aid I may give you.’ Then the flame grew and wrapped around me, but did not burn…and Death was gone. That was when I made my decision.”

“Yes,” I said. “I remember that you told me that you knew what needed be done. You never did tell me what it was, though.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she looked at me, her eyes welled. “At least, not in person. I had decided that Death had meant to help, but because Death is bound by the laws of the gods, it could not tell me directly the answer to my plight. It was however…obvious to me…it said this life.”

“You were prepared to end your life?” I asked quietly.

“I made the arrangements,” she nodded. “…gave away all of my belongings, save my sword. I went up to the altar one last time…I planned to take my right hand and then allow myself to slip into the rifts, and return only by the grace of The Just. I prayed to him to forgive me, and that I would accept his judgment in the world beyond if he would grant it to me…and as I prepared to strike the blow…everything went white.

“When I awakened, I was in the portal room with the ambassadors. They treated me as though they had never seen me before. I went directly to Wennes and asked to join the Northern Coalition…and the rest, you have witnessed yourself.”

“…may The Triad bless you,” I shook my head. “You took your own life to reach your god.”

“That’s just it, though,” she gazed into the fire. “I didn’t. I was about to; I was so very close to it. But I never had the chance to finish what I started. I believe, though he never revealed himself to me, that Tyr stopped me. It was enough for him that I was willing to prove my faith to that degree…”

“Amazing…” I exhaled. “In that case, the time we have reached must be sweeter to you than anyone.”

Paris simply nodded, doing her best to force back tears. “It has been…such a long time…”

“…And we owe so much of our gratitude to you, for you have helped to make this possible…more so than I.” I took her hand. “Though frustration got the best of you at times, your devotion has been a beacon to us all.”

“Thank you,” she smiled again.

We sat silent for some time before I asked her about her latest expedition.

“Things are really looking up,” she said. “Primus is being met with force these days, on all sides. When we discover his lair he will be in for trouble, and we’ll be there to stand over him in his last moments. One thing that is noteworthy, that we may wish to research, was with these latest war machines that we faced in the Amazon city.”

“Go on,” I said. “Something new?”

“Yes,” she said. “Most unsettling as well. Somewhere in the fight I was hit with a spell of some kind…in the confusion of the fight it was difficult to recognize…but I was slowed as if I’d been weighted and bound. It was unlike anything I’d experienced, and I was unable to undo it. I even prayed to Tyr, who was present and watching as he had charged us with taking the head of the Amazon Queen. And though I could feel his power surround me and restore me, I was still unable to move.”

“Were you protected?” I asked. “Had you cast Freedom of Movement in preparation?”

“…Yes,” she hesitated. “But it was hard to tell if the effects had been undone by the machines. I do not look forward to meeting them again, but it will likely take more time in close quarters with one to determine what the nature of the slowness was. I know that I was not the only one.”

“Strange indeed,” I said. “I commend your observation. We should gather the others in the morning and confer about the machines. In the mean time…you should get some well-deserved rest.”

“Thanks,” she said as she stood to retire for the evening. “I think that I can finally do just that. Goodnight, Re.”

[Blystos Re]

This entry takes place in the middle of Firstmonth.

Much has happened these last few weeks, it seems there has been a shift in the land of Aetheria. I find it difficult to put the feeling I have into words.

Uncertainty. Primus has been toppled, and the common objective that joined many factions together has been eliminated. Fighting between those factions and their guilds is on the rise, and I have joined in that as much as any. I wonder if we were safer when Primus was a threat?

Suspicion. There are murmerings of a new guild forming in Melencia and the wood surrounding it. A new guild headed up by an old threat. I am wary of what the future holds for the forces of good.

Sorrow. This morning I walked the streets of Daeron to find the Headquarters of the Fists of the North is dark, the door boarded up. Things had been quiet from our neighboring guild for some time. I was not aware that their situation had gotten so dire.

Fear. A strange being revealed herself to me recently, a winged creature calling herself 'Mercy'. I know not her intentions, or whether she be divine or demonic, but she bade me warning shortly before I stubled over a group of Death Dealers. Their combined power and preparedness made short work of me.

What will the future hold for the dwindling numbers in Daeron? Time alone can tell.

~Re

[Blystos Re]

This entry is dated in Thirdmonth, two days after the St. Cuthbert's Day celebration in Daeron.

The luminescence that my spell cast threw light over the gray stones of the ancient passage. Though these tunnels below Daeron were hallowed ground, I still felt uneasy. I was walking stones that had not been trodden by many of the Coalition since its founding days. The cold air from below moaned softly as it passed the twists and turns, sending a chill up my spine. There I was, an Elder Cleric of my order in full armor, armed to the teeth with a lump of fear in my throat.

After chiding myself for my apprehension, I proceeded down the corridor. I stepped slowly past the entombed dead, revered members of the Coalition who had been honored with wards against raisings and resurrection – the only true death in Aetheria, a final, peaceful resting place. No magics of mortals would move these bones, nor would the dark magics of the Arnoth Mountains.

Father Kurth had surprised us much recently, revealing to us his half-elven heritage, and members of his bloodline who had gone into hiding at the time of the last fall of CLAD. He had also taken me aside and revealed this underground network of tunnels and chambers, oddly named the Sanctuary of Light. These are the halls where the persecuted members of my order had hidden out to preserve our guild in times when the dragons’ agents stalked the streets of Daeron in search of fresh slaves, and young paladins would vanish in the night at the hands of the Shadow Legion.

“Sanctuary of Light…” I muttered. “Maybe it was brighter back then?”

I came to a right turn in the tunnel and found myself entering a vast hall with high, arching ceilings. A large lens hung from the ceiling, focusing light onto a series of mirrors that in turn reflected the light through stained glass images, depicting Tyr, Torm, Helm, Ilmater, Saint Cuthbert and others. While the light seemed natural, I believe it must have been magic of some sort; I could think of no source in Daeron that would provide sunlight this deep into the ground.

I was awestruck. Such a place of wonder I had never seen in all my many years. Forward to the grand dais I walked and was compelled to kneel before the great stone effigies of our gods. I laid down my scythe and removed my helm in humility. “My lord,” I bowed my head before the great statue of the blind Tyr. “I come before you to seek the ancient wisdom of my order…please, guide my steps.”

“On your life,” a voice hissed behind me. “Keep your head bowed to my lord and do not move a muscle, for if you so much as flinch I shall send you to face His Justice.”

Though my heart raced, I somehow managed to keep still. I wished to reach for my weapon and face this threat head on, but Tyr stayed my hand. This was another follower of The Just, and from the sound of things, one who was very devout. I stayed motionless, save my breath, until she spoke again.

“Tell me why you are here and how you have come to this place,” her voice ordered rather than asked.

“By your leave,” I said. “I was shown the secret entrance by a member of my order who is called Kurth. My purpose,” I paused. “Is to seek the wisdom of the ancient CLADs, and from what I would guess, you are among those whom I seek.”

“Why do you seek the wisdom of the Elders?” she pressed on, not seeming to dwell on any of my words.

“Father Kurth believes it is time to call upon you,” I said. “There is a dark power that grows in Garagoth that we feel must be put to rest. We come to ask for your return.”

Silence was the only reply I received. Not so much as the sound of her breathing met my ears. After a moment’s hesitation, I rose to my feet and turned around. There was nothing there, no trace of the speaker. “Hello?” I called.

Instantly I was thrown to the floor with tremendous force; a hand held me face down to the stone with a crushing grip. I did not dare move or protest.

“Kurth is a fool to have sent you to us,” her voice was filled with contempt. “And you are more a fool to come up from your knees before Tyr, Blystos Re. We are well aware of the upstarts in Garagoth, and your failure to silence them. Soon they will pray to our gods for mercy and Tyr will be deaf to their pitiful pleas as he is blind, for there is no forgiveness of their transgressions. Only Justice.

“As for you,” she continued. “Return to the altar in your new guild hall and make a great offering to The Just God, for it is His will alone that stays my hand from snapping your neck for your insolence. Do not return to this sacred place.”

With a rush of air she was gone.


I returned to Father Kurth and asked him why he had sent me into such a viper’s nest so unprepared. I also asked him whom the mysterious woman was. To both, he shook his head. “It was necessary,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “I shall speak no more of her. I would advise you to do the same. She is not to be trifled with.”

[Blystos Re]

This entry takes place five days after the summer solstice.

Too much has transpired in recent months to put it all down here; though I wish I had the time – and ink – I feel both would be better spent elsewhere. I shall touch upon happenings of note:

We have regained some of the favor of our gods, or so it seems. With our recent re-entry into the relic wars and then the tests of our convictions and dedication to good during those fights, I feel that we are getting back some of the attention that we had lost. Not all of it being positive…

The Spider Queen, Lolth, now walks Aetheria, seeking dominion over all. She was most displeased with Daeron’s refusal to bow to her. I am disappointed in her misjudgment of the people of the Northern Coalition. We are not like the mindless, cowering minions of the Shadow Legion, did she really expect us to behave like them? She has vowed vengeance against us; the meaning behind her words is anyone’s guess.

I have noticed restlessness in Paris of late; she has grown quiet and withdrawn. When I have asked her what is bothering her, she states flatly that she has not been sleeping well and will say no more. Try as I might I cannot gain insight as to the cause of this disturbance. Hopefully all of the work we have to do over the next several months will keep her mind occupied and offer a distraction from whatever troubles her.

On the note of hard work ahead, I feel I should make note on one of the many efforts the guild is making to better the lives of the Coalition’s inhabitants. Paris has been working closely with a promising young healer, named Coraline, on an elixir to aid the soldiers stationed in Beryn. When I last spoke to Coraline, she had said that more research would be needed in Beryn before any tangible results were seen. Coraline will remain in contact with Paris and the Sanctum Arcanum via couriers and they will continue her work on a cure.


The mysterious zealot of Tyr has again made an appearance. Several evenings ago I stood atop a wall, looking out over the South gates and the Shara Valley below. Despite the howl of a ghoul somewhere in the distance, I couldn’t help but find the view peaceful.

“It is breathtaking, is it not?” asked a voice behind me. “I cannot count the times I have watched this same scene…how many years it has remained the same and yet I never tire of it.”

“Am I to keep my eyes averted this time as well?” I asked, slightly cynical. “Am I to be thrown from the wall top?”

“What you are to do is show proper respect,” she did not take my humor well. “Do not presume to know my intentions here and you may not find yourself thrown from the wall top.”

I sighed and turned, expecting to see nothing behind me again. So imagine my surprise when facing me was the darkly-robed figure of a woman, her face covered by a veil and hood. “I…” I stopped for a moment. “I apologize, Elder. I dislike having to be on guard against those I would like to consider my guildmates.”

“I am not your guildmate,” she snapped as she stood to my right at the wall. “Your followers are devoted, but they are not the guild of old.”

“Indeed,” I said grimly, wishing to point out that the old guild had disappeared and abandoned Daeron in her time of need. I thought better of it, though and held my tongue.

“Regardless,” she continued. “This is not a social call. I’ve come to speak with you of the tome your archaeologists uncovered near Avendell, specifically that you need to do a better job of keeping it safe.” At this, she pulled the ancient book from the folds of her robes and handed it to me.

“You took it?”

“I did,” she nodded under her hood. “From the body of an agent of Cyric who had stolen it from your hall. You must protect this book, it is very important if they are willing to risk that much just to get at it. Followers of Cyric are not much for books, except to burn them, so this tome must be very valuable indeed.”

“I see,” I stared at the book’s deteriorated cover. “I feel foolish, not even knowing what it is, let alone why they would want it. We have not yet had the time to examine it, as Father Artemus is still at the site. I don’t suppose…”

“No,” she shook her head. “The writing within those pages predates even my time…however…” She traced a finger over a pattern on what was left of the leather-bound cover, runic letters that interlaced in a ring around a shape. Without explanation she held the book facing me and placed my hand palm-down on in the center of the book.
The fingers of my gauntlet fit into what seemed to be slight depressions in the worn leather. “There,” she said. “Does that remind you of anything?”

“Helm…” I muttered in astonishment. “The symbol of Helm. If Artemus is correct, that would mean there could have been Helmites in Aetheria predating the major rifts. This is…Now I can see why the followers of Cyric would want this.”

“Yes,” she said. “The knowledge that may be contained within those pages is more valuable than any treasure they could steal. I must insist that if your archaeologists attempt to translate it that you do it someplace more secluded. Do not let it fall into their hands again. You were lucky this time, Re. If this whelp that I found with the book had been anything other than a common thief, he might have gotten out of Daeron before even I noticed.”

I took the tome back from her and held it before me on the wall. “I understand,” I said. “And I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“These debts are rapidly stacking, Re.” she said impatiently. “Be thankful I am not looking for a way to collect on that debt…yet.”

“Yes,” I said absently. “Elder, may I ask one thing before you go?”

“You may.”

“What are you called?” I asked. As I suspected I received no answer, nor was she there when I turned around. Resignedly, I tucked the book under my arm, to take it directly to the vault instead of the library. As I reached the stairs I heard a whisper.

“I am called many things, Re. You may call me Ghost.”

[Blystos Re]

The words I write have lost their meaning here, as they cannot begin to convey my sorrow.
We've lost forever one of our most beloved. I was there and watched helplessly as she was pulled away into oblivion, unable to do a thing to prevent it.

At the service held in her honor I spoke of her deeds and all that she had contributed...or so I am told. I do not remember what I said to the group that had gathered to pay their respects to Paris. I only hope that I did her life justice...it is all I can hope for at the moment. I have remained withdrawn and melancholy this past month. I cannot seem to break the chains of sadness, nor do I care to. I ache, I grieve and at times would love nothing more than to return to Aetheria with the powers I once possessed; to callously burn all life from this wretched continent and cleanse this world with the fire of the sun. The memory of the ease with which I once could have turned Leona's flesh to ash burns strong in me, I thirst for that power again that I might avenge the life she took from me.

Aetheria feels more like a prison to me now than it ever has. The other leaders have taken over the guild for a time at my request; I am not fit to lead until I can return with a clear head. When that will be I know not.

A thousand cursed deaths to you, Leona.
A thousand more to your thrice-damned puppet master.
And a thousand to me, my dearest friend. I beg your forgiveness.

I have failed.