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Nitholiaks Journal
Archmage_Cataris
Day 1: I always knew it is the scholarly thing to keep a record of one's research...especially when moving to a new region. Ever since I received word from my brother about my parent's passing I have felt a combination of sadness and closure. A parent's passing is always a sad time. However, mine both lived long and fulfilling lives and died in their sleep. A son could not ask for more especially in these troubling times. To delve deeper, how an old man and woman survived in the frozen north far from civilization baffles even a scholar as myself. I digress, journal. The estate has been left in my name being the eldest child and I must tend to it. Being abroad researching the arcane and facing dangers has been exciting. But it is a good time to perhaps settle down in my childhood home and make the best of things. Being in a secluded area will probably help out my own studies. I always did enjoy the tranquility of the estate. Tomorrow I make the move. ____________________ Day 4: After a rather uneventful journey, I arrived at the estate just east of Winterfell. Old Dietrick , my father, did his best to keep the place in shape. It needs much remodeling... the daft old man... placing staircases across the room from each other. I swear the old man had the design sense of an orc! Luckily Winterfell is only a quarter day's walk away. Procuring supplies for the renovations should not be a hassle. My brother and uncle were able to scrounge up enough Minas for tombs to lay my parent to rest in the VonSchlicten mausoleum with the rest of the VonSchlicthen clan. I have always been weary of entering the mausoleum since I was a child. Perhaps it was just the thought of death that frightened me. I still think is my own sensitivity to the arcane forces that steered me away from there. I need to stop rambling journal. I have a problem with that. However, I did leave roses on their tombs. I hope their souls rest easy. ____________________ Day 6 Nothing too eventful happened today worth noting. However I did encounter my first brigand of the area. I was outside felling a tree when some rough looking northerner approached me. He said he had a message from the King. Unlikely. I have not had a messenger dispatched to me in 5 years and that messenger did not look like a filthy vagabond. Needless to say I entertained his game. He then pulled out a blade and demanded 500 Minas. I only had 60 so I could not meet his demand. However I told him I am a practitioner of the arcane arts, which is true, and a master swordsman , flat out lie. I threatened to decorate my mantle with his head if he dare try anything. Quite brave of me. I do not know what came over me then. I drew the handle to my iron herbalism knife from my robe to show a gleam of metal. I prayed to the gods he was idiotic enough he would think this was a sword. The brigand retreated. I informed the Winterfell watch and they are keeping an eye out. I must say I am rather proud of myself today. ____________________ Day 8 A dark energy rests in this place. I can sense it. My dreams every few nights are filled with visions of terror. Kingdoms ablaze, men, women and children being slaughtered by their own friends and families. I can almost smell the rotting flesh in my dreams... Yet I always awake to such a conserve scene. Outside a layer of fresh snow lay on the ground. The wildlife is awake and foraging for food. The sun is rising and a wave of calm flows over me. I have set up my father's old herbalism laboratory in the basement and unpacked most of my books. Botany, Herbalism, Magical History, Alchemy. My standards. Of course I keep my books on the arcane arts tucked away someplace more discreet. It is just a book,paper and ink, but some visitors may find the sight of such a subject matter...uncomfortable. But I expect such reactions in this region. Peculiar, being that the Winterfell Mage tower is barely visible over the horizon. Oh how my grandfather would angrily rant about them. Apparently his grandfather [my great great grandfather] had some issues with those mages. I never bothered to ask why. Alas, the days I could ask Grandfather Gerhardt these questions are long gone. ____________________ Day 10 VISITORS! Today when I was remodeling the staircase I heard a knock at the door. An elf with a green tunic introduced himself as a member of "The Lost" a force dedicated to fighting the undead. They thought this land was deserted and started constructing a keep. I was escorted down to speak with their leader. There was some territorial worries but the keep was 100% off my estate lands. A rainstorm drew near and I invited them all and a Watchman from Winterfell named... oh dear... Catasis? I am always horrid with names. We shared lunch and drink and drink until the storm passed. So lucky I am to have a keep of defenders so close to my estate. I am much less worried about any brigands. But the most interesting part of my stay in the North comes from discussion with the Watchman. I must say the physical appearance of this man made me uncomfortable at first. The watchman, as it turns out, is an old guard from Al'Khazar. The man is a fighter of the undead. He entertained me with stories of his days in Al'Khazar and told me horrible accounts of battles with the undead.... yes the undead! Now journal. My interest in dark magic... all academic of course... has been a thirst I could never quench. And here in my house is a man who knows more about the undead than any scholar. Did you know, that the undead can speak our tongue? They communicate with each other! Here my theories were that they all were puppets for some dark energy. Astounding! I knew the undead had the ability to channel the dark arts, obviously since that is how they remain "alive" but never to what extent. The pure combative magic the undead possess is frightening. The ability to conjure fire and hurl it with an explosive impact? Unheard of in these modern times. To only makes things more dire, they can raise fallen mortals as mindless undead to fight along side their new dark masters. The ancient VonSchlicten's wielded such immense arcane powers. Greatest Wizards of the area hundreds of years ago. But to see such magic in today's age? After the departure of magical powers from this realm many generations ago, the VonSchlicten's only possess casual magical enchantments and incantations that are nothing more than glorified parlor tricks... The existence of such power in our realm is quite exhilarating, albeit, frightening. Once again journal I am rambling. I will not bore you with my family history. What is most exciting is that Watchman Catiris..Cathis...Ca... oh forget it... said he would take me to observe an undead portal. Oh yes I nearly forgot. The undead have built portals to enter our world. Alas journal, you must be exhausted from all this information. I will pray to find the strength to keep these thoughts from dancing in my mind so I may get a restful night's sleep. ____________________ Day 13 ((The following entry is scribbled)) They are here. Dawn thunderstorm. Undead above in house. Hiding in herbalism laboratory in basement. Explosions. Heard voice of one friend charging up the hill, dead. Hiding journal in wall safe. Praying. ~Nitholaik. ____________________ Day 13 Part 2 I have recovered you dear journal! After sifting through the rubble I feared my personal belongings gone. Alas, I am glad to be amongst the living! I hope my scribbles make more sense after this: I woke up to a dawn thunderstorm, peculiar in a dry, cold environment such as this. I thought nothing of it and began work germinating seeds in the basement laboratory. Then I heard it, an explosion. I started climbing the stairs when I heard the voice of Balin Stor...dear I forgot his last name...one of "The Lost" leading a few others into a charge. Then I heard it... a deafeningly loud...yet silent voice... it called for "the fools to be sacrificed to Iblees" ...is that the name? I am almost certain. I heard the sounds of a quick skirmish and a sense of dread..I could FEEL the darkness.... it was...powerful... Yet sheer terror swept over me when I realized my friends from down the hill have been slaughtered when I peeked over the basement stairs toward the front window.... Blue eyes... glowing like fiendfyre. His face... a gray, sunken and expressionless face... Wearing magnificent robes of Onyx and gold... I stood there frozen for a second. He turned to me and met my eyes. For a split second time stood still. I felt an energy...no...a power within me. Then with a booming voice that seemed to come from my own head It spoke, "Die for Iblees" The creature lobbed a fireball at me from the front doorway. With instinct I ran toward the second story balcony... the windows are all boarded up, there is no escape except jumping. The wall behind where I just stood exploded and sent cobblestone and timber in all directions. I ran up the stairs, out on the balcony, made the jump and twisted my ankle. I hurried with all my strength toward Winterfell. I should not have looked behind me but I did. I saw my childhood home ablaze and the...creature standing on the balcony watching me run toward the horizon. I ran and ran. My lungs were burning with cold air, tears down my face, nose running uncontrollably and my ankle was only getting worse After I arrived at the Winterfell gates I screamed for help. Immediately the guard mobilized and survivors of The Lost joined us. When re made it to my estate the house was in ruins. The robed undead mage missing. The soldiers pursued a rogue undead who was still about and dispatched him quickly. I did not see the "re-death", but I much wish to see it for research. I made a futile effort to rebuild. Mostly out of grief. I did not want to accept what just happened. The undead attacked my small homestead...why? Did they know of my family's history? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Later that evening, an Elf from The Lost stopped by to inform me his guild found undead ruins buried in a valley nearby and I must vacate to remain safe... it pains me to abandon the homestead but my own safety is more important than brick,mortar and wood. No matter what sentimental value it has. Let's hope tomorrow is less...unfortunate... Rest now, rebuild tomorrow. ____________________ Day 14 I had a terrible dream last night. I was standing outside my home, only untouched by the undead. Everything seemed normal other than the sky. It was a twisting mass of dark green sky. Gray clouds twisting like great ethereal whirlpools. Then something inside of me directed me to the family mausoleum. It beckoned me. I walked across the estate toward the mausoleum. I looked up and the sky was now a swirling crimson mass. I looked back toward the mausoleum and there they stood. My family. My mother and father, decomposed, standing swaying in the wind, staring at me. Beside them stood my eldest brother, a rotted corpse with empty eye sockets wearing his academy robes. His left arm missing, the wound that claimed him. My grandparents behind them. Frail eyeless mummified skeletons, mouths hanging open, wearing their tattered and faded VonSchlichten robes. Behind them even more standing cadavers. Some wearing armor, some wearing robes. I blinked and in an instant they were all gone. The front of the mausoleum pitched against the swirling crimson sky. I do not know what this dream means. If it means anything. The attack by the undead left some unseen trauma I suppose. On another note, Some of the residents of Winterfell helped me set a new foundation for a residence away from that cursed place. I set up warning signs for any passerbys to avoid the estate for the undead roam it. Alas, I know the signs will not deter the determined and they will meet their fate by undead hands. Hopefully in the next few days I can take shelter in my new homestead. I sure would appreciate shred or normalcy back in my life. ____________________ Day 16 Construction on the new homestead is better than expected. The first floor is complete only after a few days. The space is livable although the snow falls inside from the future stairway. A local hunter dropped off some cooked port to sustain me until I get my herbalism laboratory set up again. By a stroke of luck there was a small limestone cavern aquifer below my new residence. I will have to expand it a bit. clean it up and install some enchanted lighting. This may turn out better than expected. I salvaged what I could from the old estate. It is too dangerous to be casually walking around those lands anymore. I retrieved what books I could. All the valuable ones survived. Now for another interesting turn of events... Since my move to this region I have felt an energy within me as I mentioned before. My simple charms and incantations are more powerful. After the undead attack I injured my ankle and have had trouble carrying objects. In an act of desperation I attempted my levitation incantation on a wooden slab to complete my dinner table. With astonishment I watched as the slab dragged itself across the floor and slowly lifted itself onto the table base. I attempted to do the same to a wooden chair but a wave of exhaustion flowed over me and concluded I must retire for the night. Tomorrow will be the day to try test more simple magic. ____________________ Day 20 Do those FILTHY DISHONORABLE BEASTS have no line they do not cross?! Can the dead no longer rest? It is one thing to terrorize the living, but to desecrate the dead? Do these creatures have no sense of dignity and respect?! Do I go to the town watch? The mages? What do I do? I must control my anger and explain, journal. For last night I had another dream. The mausoleum called me once again, just like the dream a few days ago. I had an uncontrollable urge to go to the VonSchlichten family crypt. I made the short journey from my new homestead to the now cursed family estate. However, I headed straight for the graveyard and toward the mausoleum. I could see it from halfway across the estate. The door to the mausoleum was open. The magical locking charm broken. Was this a grave robbery? No, stepping closer immediately I could detect the lingering effects of dark magic. Then the horror. The only two tombs on the first level, my parents tombs, were broken open. I feared the worst. I feared what I saw in my nightmares. My family reanimated as mindless soldiers for the undead lords. But no... As I approached my mother's tomb I fell to my knees and wept uncontrollably when I peered inside. Her body was still lying there in her blue dress she always loved. But that is all that was there: the body. The undead bastards decapitated her and took her head. Can my poor mother, even in death, not find the rest she deserved? Why?! Already on my knees, I fell to the cold stone floor on my hands. My palms felt a chill shoot up both arms as they landed on the floor. I became lost for a moment. Not realizing where I was or what was happening. Lost in the rage, the questions, the despair. Reality then hit me again like an arrow to the face. My father's tomb. He was spared no grislier fate. The old man lie with his arms crossed wearing his green robes. Everything above the shoulders was missing. His own blade he was buried with was imbeded in the stone tomb where his neck should have been. The sword was jutting out of the limestone bed at an angle. It looked as if the blade swung through the limestone as it were clay. The coward used a dead man's blade to desecrate his body. I did not know how to continue. Why were their bodies defiled? My parents had no magical power beyond a few tricks to entertain children. They did not possess valuable relics. Just a generation of regular humans that belonged to a family of once great wizards. I need to write my brother. Perhaps I shall consult my friend Watchman Cataris... I make for Winterfell tomorrow. Day 21 I gathered all my belongings I would need for at least a week. I had to look over my rucksack three times since I was certain I would forget something in my state of mine having very little sleep. Winterfell was just down the hill so I headed there first. Surely someone within the ranks of the town watch would understand the undead. I marched through a snowstorm for an hour. My robe provided very little protection from the elements. My exposed face was stung with the cold, biting wind while I could only make out the silhouette of the Winterfell Tower on the horizon in the blinding slow. After what seemed like an eternity I finally made it to the gates of the city. When talking of the Undead you must always be aware. For you do not want any Undead supporters to hear you asking too many questions and you do not want fanatical anti-undead crusaders becoming suspicious you are supporter of the undead. Of those I talked to, the only useful information I heard was from the elven blacksmith of the town, Euratien. The Elf I met before the first time I ventured to the city many weeks ago. The only advice he has was to either seek out the mages nearby or travel to Al'Khazar. With the prospect of walking many more hours in the blizzard only to be met with an empty tower was discouraging. I took out my magical soulstone and teleported to the capital of the human kingdoms. Once again I was met with the same quality of help. Most residents not dare speak of the undead and the ones who battled the undead had no guess on why the Undead would ((The rest is on the forums under Role Play))