I take these blank pages from my hosts and begin my journal anew. The rest lay at the bottom of the Dagger Sea along with everything I held dear. When I have recovered fully, I will recreate what I am missing. Until then, I count from the night of my betrayal.
**Day 1, Knives at Night!:**
They tried to take my life on the open sea. The dagger
missed its mark by inches, but the wound it left is deeper than flesh. The
assassin—one of my own men. I trust no one now. I go to renew my oath, but the
weight of betrayal shadows every step.
**Day 2, At Sea:**
After the assassin’s strike, I split his skull. There were
too many of them. I had no choice but to slip overboard and leave the ship
behind. The waters were colder than I remember, but I knew I must swim. It was
the only way. More might have been watching, and I need time to think—time to
decide my next move.
**Day 3, Near Dawn:**
I spent this day at sea. Hours passed, and I was weary. My
muscles burned, but I did not stop. The stars above were my only companions,
guiding me towards the coast. The salt stung the wound from the blade, but it
kept me awake, focused. I knew I must survive this, even if it meant swimming
until my strength gave out.
**Day 4, Midday:**
Land. It was distant, but I could just see it—a thin line on
the horizon. I pushed forward, though my body screamed for rest. The goblins,
the High King, even my own men—they all faded into the background. There was
only the rhythm of the sea and the promise of solid ground ahead.
**Day 5, Early Morning:**
The sun rose, and with it came a small fishing boat. Crabs
were their quarry, but they fished a half-drowned old man from the sea instead.
They asked no questions, and I offered no answers. They took me aboard, fed me,
and brought me closer to the shore. I kept my identity hidden. In their eyes, I
am just another lost soul.
**Day 10, Noon:**
I walked away from the fishermen’s camp at first light. My
uniform, soaked and ruined, lies buried beneath rocks near the shore. I’ve
taken simple clothes from my hosts—a plain tunic, rough sandals. No one
recognizes a General of Westrun in this guise. It’s better this way. Anonymity
grants me the freedom to move unseen.
He recalled me to give an oath anew. I believe he hired the
blades which sought to end my life.
I go now to confront him.
**Day 12, Nightfall:**
The road is long, the journey slow. I walk the High King’s
Highway alone, the weight of each step reminding me of what I once was—and what
I am now. The landscape is unfamiliar, but I keep moving, driven by something I
cannot yet name. Every person I pass is a potential threat. I speak little,
keep my head down, and move forward. The signs say I am ever closer to
Peakshadow. The High King expects word of my death, but I wonder—what will his
words be to me now?
**Day 17, Somewhere in Bolden:**
I walk with pilgrims. To Peakshadow I go.
**Day 20, Peakshadow:**
Peakshadow looms before me like a shadow from my past—its
black towers piercing the sky, a monument to power and ambition. Tomorrow I
will enter with the farmers at first light. The walls are as formidable as I
remember, but the keep’s heart has grown cold since I last walked its halls. The
streets leading to the keep are bustling, but I remain unnoticed, just another
traveler beneath a hooded cloak. No one suspects that Agronar, once the sword
of Westrun, now moves in the shadows of the ancient city.
**Day 21, Peakshadow:**
Through the teeming crowds and the endless refuse of the
city. I realized I had forgotten its stench. It smells like betrayal and dishonest
blood here. I stay on the terrace tonight. Tomorrow the Inner City. I am filled
with conflict.
** Day 22, Peakshadow:**
Entering the High Keep was easier than it should have been.
The guards are lax, more interested in their dice games than in watching who
carries bread in through the gates. I walked with purpose, though I had none. Would
I kill him who recalled me?
Marten was a king who understood the weight of the crown—a
man who valued strength and honor, and who chose his generals not for their
flattery. Under his rule, Westrun was worth fighting to preserve. Favian is no
Marten.
I made my way through the keep’s labyrinthine corridors with
ease. The servants avoided my gaze as I passed, sensing that I am not one to be
trifled with. Finally, I reached Favian’s private chambers—a place that should
be the seat of power, but which felt like an animal’s cage.
The door creaked open, and there he was—Favian, sitting at
his desk, surrounded by scrolls and letters. He did not hear me at first. The
light of his candle illuminated his rat face, casting long shadows that made
him appear smaller, almost diminished.
When he finally noticed me, he did not react as I expected.
There was no alarm, no call for the guards. Instead, he looked up with a
mixture of surprise and something else—relief, perhaps? Or was it resignation?
I couldn’t tell. He bade me sit, and I did, though I felt like a wolf in a
sheep’s den. He spoke of duty, of the need to renew my oath. But as I listened,
all I could hear was the fear in his voice.
In place of my oath, I gave my resignation and named him
coward. I drew my dagger and watched him pale. I drove it into his desk, but even
as I did so I was not sure it would not land in his skull of my own hand’s
accord.
His was not the Westrun I fought for, nor the one I bled to
defend. Favian accepted my imprecations with a coward’s tremble. There was no
pride in his eyes, only the weakness of a man burdened by a crown too heavy for
his brow.
I could not bear to spend another night in the city that houses
his throne. I slept under the stars on a hill off the Highway. All night I
heard the horses and riders… men I might have commanded… searching for me.
** Day 26, Somewhere in Rath:**
The road back to the Goblin Kingdoms stretches before me. My
heart is heavy with doubt. I journey with the knowledge that this Westrun is no
longer the kingdom I fought to build.
The Debtor’s War they call it. They say I tamed the
Provinces, but did it to avoid the King’s default. Is this how I will be
remembered?
The Hall of Splendor seems a distant dream now, a relic of a
time when our victories meant something. What lies ahead is uncertain, and for
the first time in my life, I find myself questioning whether the path I tread
is the right one.
**Day 31, Somewhere in Treft:**
He would have had my oath renewed. He threw it away. The
High King looked me in the eye and lied that his purse bought the blade. I saw
the truth. Did he question my loyalty after all these years? Or did he suspect I
might snatch his Kingdom from him? I return to the Goblin Kingdoms – to the
last place things made sense.
I am too weak to travel long this way. The cough will not
leave my lungs. My fever comes and goes.
**Day 33, At Sea:**
I chartered a boat after selling the ring of my office. The
sea is calm, yet I cannot shake the unease within me. My dreams are haunted by
the faces of the fallen—those I’ve led into battle, those who trusted me. I
should be eager to reclaim our lost lands, but all I feel is a gnawing dread.
Sleep brings no rest. I am cold no matter how many blankets
I use.
**Day 40, The Goblin Kingdoms:**
We’ve landed, but the news is worse than I feared. All my
gains, all the blood and sweat spent—lost. The goblins are stronger than
before, as if mocking my efforts. I bartered a sword from my captain. It feels
heavier every day. Perhaps it is the weight of futility.
**Day 46, The Hall of Splendor:**
I am back in the Hall of Splendor, but there is no joy in
these walls. The names of my fallen companions echo in the silence. We built
this place as a testament to our victories, but it feels more like a tomb. I
fear I will join them soon.
The fire cannot touch the chill in my bones. I hear whispers
all around me. I thirst.
**Day 47, The Hall of Splendor:**
Last night, I sat before the statue of Sir Edric the
Valiant. His deeds are carved in stone, immortalized for all to see. The Siege
of Bloodridge—none fought harder, none bled more for victory than he did. He
held the line when others faltered, his courage unbreakable. I led the charge,
but it was Edric who inspired the men to follow. I feel small before his
memory, a shadow of the man who once commanded such loyalty.
**Day 48, The Hall of Splendor:**
I spent the morning in the crypt, where the remains of Lord
Elowir rest. The Shield of Westrun, we named him. He defended the retreat at
Iron Pass, his company holding back the goblin horde while the wounded escaped.
His sacrifice saved hundreds, yet I feel unworthy to stand beside his memory. He
was the embodiment of selflessness and honor, virtues that now seem foreign to
me.
**Day 49, The Hall of Splendor:**
Today, I knelt before the shrine of Toran the Unyielding.
The Battle of Thundertop—how he laughed in the face of death, charging into the
heart of the enemy with nothing but his warhammer and a fierce grin. He never
knew fear, not even in his final moments. I gave the orders that day, but it
was Toran who made victory possible. How can I, weakened and doubting, hope to
match his indomitable spirit?
**Day 50, The Hall of Splendor:**
I visited the tomb of Seralo the Whisperblade. He commanded
the scouts and raiders. His blade struck down the Goblin we called Ironsleeves.
His skill was unmatched, his loyalty beyond question. I depended on him in
countless battles, yet now, as I sit among these heroes, I feel like a fraud—an
old man clinging to past glories while the present crumbles around me.
**Day 51, The Hall of Splendor:**
As I walk these halls, I am haunted by the faces of my
fallen companions. Their exploits are legends, their sacrifices the foundation
upon which Westrun was built. And yet, here I am, feeble and fading, unable to
live up to the legacy we forged together. I was their general, their leader,
but I no longer feel worthy of the title. They gave everything, and now, as I
falter in my final days, I wonder if I truly gave enough. The weight of their
memory is more than I can bear, and in their company, I feel only inadequacy.
**Day 52, The Goblin Kingdoms:**
My body fails me. The strength I once commanded is gone.
Every movement is a reminder of the years that have passed, and the victories
that now seem so hollow. The men whisper of my decline, and I can see the doubt
in their eyes.
**Day 55, The Hall of Splendor:**
I tried to rally the troops today. I could see them on every
hill, but they would not approach. My words fell flat, as lifeless as the
stones of this hall. The men follow me out of duty, not respect. Perhaps that
is all a man can hope for in the end. But I had hoped for more.
My fever robs me of rest. I cannot hold food.
**Day 58, The Hall of Splendor:**
Goblins probe. I will fight bravely. Perhaps they are wiser
than I. I once thought I could conquer the world. Now, I struggle just to hold
on to what little remains.
**Day 59, The Hall of Splendor:**
My sword arm is useless. I sit here, surrounded by the
memories of what was, knowing that I will not be remembered for what could have
been.
**Day 60, The Hall of Splendor:**
I have given everything, and now I have nothing left to
give. The Hall of Splendor, once a beacon, now feels like a prison. They taunt
me. Something prevents entry.
I have no water left.
**Day 61, The Hall of Splendor:**
No relief is coming. I am to hold the line until the end. So
be it. I will die here, among the stones we built with our hands, in the
company of ghosts. I only hope that death comes quickly, for I have already
lived too long.
**Day 62, The Hall of Splendor:**
The end is near. I can feel it in my bones. The goblins will
overrun me soon, and yet I think I will not live to see it. I die faster than
they can gather courage. Perhaps that is a mercy. I have spent my life in the
service of Westrun, and what do I have to show for it? A broken body, a
shattered dream, and a hall that will soon be nothing more than ruins.
---
Remember me thus… I am Agronar, Loyal Soldier of Westrun. I
fought with honor, but lived to die with regret. I fought with heroes.
No comments:
Post a Comment