There is an extra caution: if you are Andrew, Jacinda, Heather, or Laramy, this is an adapted form of Tholomewâs backstory. Donât spoiler yourself you fools!
Entry #1
Today was an odd day. My name is Tholomew Spar, I am twenty-three years old, and I believe I am tasked with shepherding the next prophet of the Plielands.
Perhaps I should start from the past to explain this oddity, for future proprietyâs sake, and to ensure no readers come to the incorrect conclusion that I am some kind of heretic.
Fourteen years ago my Father left me along with a sizable inheritance and this rather empty estate. The disappearance was sudden and, if Iâm being honest, left me rather bereft for some weeks. Gerald, my householdâs keeper, a kindhearted Goblin (although, if Iâm being honest, it occurs to me now upon writing this that that too is something of an oddity, given that I never once saw another Goblin in the Plielands (although perhaps that is more indicative of my more hermitous nature than anything)), kept me fed and entertained, stressing the importance that I continue on with the life that might turn me into something of a good person, the life that my Father, Dekethar Spar, insisted upon: education to build the scaffolding for morals to build the home for company. Outside of the money and the estate Father left, he only left me one other material good: a silver-chained pendant with an amethyst jewel. Gerald was kind enough to suggest I not wear this pendant whilst tending to my daily errands, as though crime is not often warranted within the streets of Aurelion, it was never impossible.
I am, some might say, lucky so as to have been gifted with such wise caretakers in my life. I attended school where, though my classmates may have sneered at me for being parentless and still successful, my instructors were generous with their attentions and lavish with their praise. I suppose these stories of my growing up may come later in these entries, and instead I will skip ahead to what makes today so odd.
Well, I woke up with my nightstand rocking into a clamor of its own accord, toppling over, at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night. I was perfunctory and diligent with my sleep, after all, and so to be woken at two in the morning was disheveling to say the least. Yet it was the smoke billowing from my nightstandâs drawer which startled me the most.
Upon opening it, a small dragonling (though I understand it now to be a drake, which there is an immense difference between the two) fluttered out, spewing all sorts of pufts of smoke into the air. It couldnât have been larger than my fists balled together, and was utterly black-scaled with this radiant orange-yellow underglow that seemed to highlight some labyrinthine, serpentuous pattern.
Yes, reader, if you have picked up this work you are probably intelligent enough to have drawn the conclusion I, in my stupor of the early morning, was unable to conclude until I saw the wreckage myself: the creature arrived from my necklace, evidenced by the shattered metallic remains now sprinkled across my otherwise pristine floor.
After a few moments of its chaotic childlike tantrum, the drake seemed to settle and perch atop the back of my desk chair, peering at the surface of my work. Then, with a perfunctory hop, landed atop my well-studied edition of The Legends of the Plielands and with a triumphant tip of his throat, spewed its first spray of embers into the air. Well, something like embers. They singed and scarred everything from my parchments to the wall behind my desk, but the actual trace of them seemed rather mysterious, the only compelling throughline: they were divine and magnificent in their brilliance.
Reader, you may also, then, be intelligent enough to have drawn the same conclusion I arrived at: this was a miracle of the spirits, and would be a new age coming towards unlocking the secrets of our most divine and powerful lineage.
If, by awful coincidence, you are not persuaded, let my tale to follow convince you otherwise. If you would turn-up your nose at me, then may I suggest that turnips belong in the ground which is where your heresy will inevitably have you come to your unrest.
In light and virtue,
TS
Entry #2:
It has come to my attention that many in this town are not yet ready to bear the consequences of looking divine gift in its beady, unblinking, reptilian eyes.
Gerald came bustling into my room upon the commotion. Apparently, he tells me, I screamed loud enough for him to wake from his quarters on the outside corner of the estate. When Geraldâs eyes glanced upon the drake, there was a slurry of emotions that overcame his features, most of which allowed me one starling insight: the prophet required a name.
Thankfully, his clawed feet were each landed on some letters titling the tome of his predecessors. As such, Lie would be his name. Or she, I suppose, Iâm, at the time of writing this, not sure what the gendered spectrum for divinely prophetic creatures resides as.
In this way, Lie, Gerald, and I arrove at Dawnâs first light in high spirits, if not still slightly discombobulated by their abrupt yet grand awakening. I discovered, in those meandering hours between dark and light, that Lie was actually not only quite amenable, but also incredibly perceptive toward my intents and desires. I could not, for instance, let those dawdling darker thoughts placate my mindâs furrows. Like when Gerald was offering his good-hearted yet misplaced warning that we should be cautious not to overinvest in hyperbole, and amidst listening to his warning, I yearned for his mouth to be closed; Lie, dutiful, attentive, moved to try blowing a choking smog in the direction of Geraldâs face.
But my discoveries did not stop: Lie was powerful, strong, curious, obedient yet with a mind of their own. I have never been one to doubt in the majesty of spirits. The blessings the Plielands powers have bestowed on my life in both purpose and relief have been plenty. Yet watching this creature, so clearly a raw and radiant emblem of divine power, I have never been more sure of my path to walk in life: at their side, encouraging their growth. For I knew in my heart that if I did not steer young Lie to their rightful light, they would scorch those who might attempt to know them.
With such a momentous day in hand, I opted toward an indulgence much akin to the celebrations of my day of birth or the celebration of Light itself. Although I suppose Lieâs awakening is something of a hybrid between the two, nevertheless, I stopped by my favorite bakerâs store and tea-stand, Rudolphâs Fine Sippings & Sumptuous Delights. With Lie on my shoulder, perched and curious nonetheless, I perused the selection of immense quality teas, and landed on something described as an Oolong if it had class which piqued my interest.
I try to keep an amiable rapport with Rudolph, though the staff heâs hired to aid him in his age seemed less interested in my banter. Nevertheless, they sat down a tray of decadent biscuits with warm honey, spices, creams, butters, and jams with a diligent set of instructions for which order to indulge in. While the young man spoke to me, his eyes were fixated on Lie to the point that I felt awkward on their behalf.
âYes, this is the next Prophet, awoken this morning.â I chirped, trying to offer some levity to ease this insisted deference.
Lie, to their credit, struck up and flew around the shop, and elected to take nibbles from some of the display pastries, eking out pleased screeches and sputtering embers that dabbled holes in the aprons of the other two staff. This display was, apparently, too much for the store.
We were asked to leave. I was not even able to have one sip of my tea, though they did allow me to take a few biscuits as I left. Lie demanded one as compensation, it was their day after all, and we were left returning home with the calls of the staff behind us yelling, âTake your monstrous heretical joke away before we call the guards!â
I will leave this here before I betray my morals and speak too poorly on those who are too simple to fathom such magnificence.
In light and virtue,
TS
Entry #3:
Lie and I must flee the Plielands and head to the Might. It seems some guards did not take kindly to their divine presence, and, when Lie reprimanded them for their heresy (spitting on their hands with those embers which radiate yet do not burn), they attempted to have us restrained for our criminality.
Pah! Fools. They shall know of their criminality when the prophet has concluded what journey is necessary for me to shepherd them on. We slipped away easily enough (though Lie is quite small, they do carry with them an immense presence certainly only available to one as close to mighty spirits as they are, and with this presence they were able to frighten the poor guards into inaction long enough for me to gently take the prophet and zig-zag my way back to the estate).
Gerald could scarcely believe me when I told him the estate would be his now, and that I would be leaving, though I should hope there would always be a room for me if and/or when I return. And perhaps even room for Father, for much the same reason. Gerald assured me that this was our property, and that legally he could not take for himself, but that he would watch over the larders and ensure any of our wine storage that was in jeopardy of bursting from the pressure (as Gerald has warned me, wine kept for too long does accumulate pressures upon its features and is want to burst which can be terribly dangerous for cellar integrity) would be properly dealt with.
I thanked him for his years of service as is proper and want and asked if he might pack my bags suitably for a long period of roughing it and adventure. He seemed concerned throughout this all, I suspect a form of how he would miss me and Lie so, despite not knowing Lie as intimately as I.
It was, I confess, a rather boring afternoon while I waited for Gerald to put everything together for me. But I occupied myself watching Lie peer out our windows, watching the birds with an eager fixation.
Towards mid-afternoon, Gerald concluded toward me by chiding that I should set out on adventure in the morning, as that was when wagon trains and other mixed company would take their leave. Then, he walked me through the accoutrement he had packed for me: much of my fitness clothing, some leathers which seemed sturdy, pretty much the entirety of our stores of dried fruits and cured meats, but hardly any luxuries.
I acknowledge my selfishness in this endeavor, an unyielding stubbornness to completely relinquish my life of known comforts, but I packed two billowing shirts, flowing and white with ornate patterns sewn into them, which would certainly allow me to maintain a certain prestige for my position as shepherd for the next prophet of the Plielands. As I was shoveling these shirts into my pack, though, my finger pricked something sharp, which is how I discovered some jangling array of daggers and arrows, which sheepishly Gerald offered, âI should hope youâve no need for these, young sir, but Iâm no fool to contend that outside these city walls is entirely flowers and light. There is darkness, and too there will be that which you must defend yourself from.â
It was said in the best heart, though I doubted things would come to much more violence than a stern voice and a firm display from Lie would otherwise dissuade.
We had a final dinner together and I played a rousing game of checkers with Gerald as the evening hours kept me awake in anticipatory delight. The excitement of the day seemed to tucker Lie out, and I confessorily lost them as I assumed they found some comfortable hole to take a nap in. But nevertheless, as the candles were lit and the night fell upon us, I gave Gerald firm instructions: if the guard came to harass Lie more, I should like just a momentâs warning and I shall be off into the night like a rogue; however, if they gave us our peace, I would be off in the morning.
At that, I will end this entry. But rest assured, future reader, this journal, ink, and quill are to be packed with me.
In light and virtue,
TS
Entry #4:
O future reader, I write to you after a tough day on the road with what was promised to be a caravan, and yet inevitably is just a group of two adventurers who were looking to prove themselves.
Their names are Corala and Raust. Corala, a halfling woman who seems powersborn but wouldnât divulge where she was born, is incessant with her rude presumptions and unprivileged behaviors: foraging various flora along the way with the promise that itâll add to the dinner that night or letting out foul belches with seemingly no regard for mine or Raustâs ears, not that Raust minded. Speaking of, they were something of a halfie, I suspect some elven blood based on his sharper-ears, but shorter and stouter so perhaps mixed with a dwarf or even an orc; however, for whatever reason, he insists he is âone-hundred percent, all-natural marine elf.â Itâs idiotic to present such a brazen lie, but whatever, they were company, and they did manage to fend us off from a small herd of drapĂ©d whoâd been startled by the loudness of our groupâs approach and had inflated themselves as they are want to do. They wouldnât have attacked us, but being effectively gigantic horses stampeding away at incredible speeds from their grassy meals due to perceived dangers still couldâve gotten one of them immensely hurt.
Corala chastised me after that encounter, swearing that I should keep better control over my Lie, their offputting screeches and practice toward making flame was provoking too much noise and scaring the local wildlife. But she simply could not understand that Lie was anything more than a drakeling, even though I attempted to compel her that Lie was destined to be the next momentous spirit of the land, the inspiring seed that would blossom into awe-inspiring powers for the rest of the Plielands, keeping watch over us and protecting from invasive evils.
Nevertheless, I write adjacent to campfire flames, after a meager dinner where I dined on, at first, mostly the cured meats Gerald had packed me and loosed Lie to catch a rustlewing nearby, though they would not share their meal with me, and tore into its flesh rather savagely. Seeing that I was eating two sticks of meat, Corala looked at me with a pitying glance and offered me some of the scavenged soup sheâd thrown.
I didnât want to be rude, but she could really do with some improvements to her culinary skills. The broth was rather tasteless, and the flora inside tasted heavily of a rooty bitterness, though there was some sharpness to it that I believe came from a few plucked bulbs of ginger.
Most enviable of this day, though, was our discussions about the Might. Iâd read stories about the Might for ages, hearing that it was the inevitable destination for any who would wish to prove themselves as strong and capable in this otherwise fairly threatening world. Naturally, when I saw Lieâs sparks, I knew this was where we must go to prove their relevance as the incoming spiritous prophet of the Plielands.
I knew it was rather cold up there, and that weâd have to either swim or travel by boat to the frozen island, but that was about the extent to my knowledge.
Raust told me about his previous ventures along and within the Generosity of Spirit, or colloquially known as the Goss. That it was deceptively calm most days, with frozen islets just underneath the froth on the surface that would spell disaster from any whoâd dare go too fast or unaware.
Then there were the inhabitants. Raust claims he yearns to explore the Goss as fully as possible because, within it, thereâs rumors to be massive ships full of marine elves as he calls them, that might illuminate some of his heritage or even find him some family. I didnât tell him it was foolish as Father always told me it was impolite and immoral of the worst variety to dissuade someoneâs dream. However, just as plentiful within the Goss are tentacled beasts, hordes of candlesleeks who have arrowlike spears to their snouts that glow with a dangerously comforting warmth, crownshells and scalefins that reside along the shores, stalking and residing for unaware passersby to stub their way into a trap that would take their foot or worse, envenom them with a paralysis that would inevitably lead to death.
Corala told me only idiots attempt the challenge of the Might, that people donât simply survive that and most will get to the Ravagerâs Overlook, take a glance upon the perils and the distance ahead of them, and turnaround. I assured her most do not have the blessing of the most divine spirit of the land. Corala wrinkled her nose at this and told me I should leave a will or parting message with them, as they were more likely to return to Plielands city limits than I was.
Itâs jarring to be in company of people who are equal parts invested in your survival and the absolute dissolution of your spirit. I swear, had I met them any sooner in life I might have fallen victim to the blows on my confidence. But due to my upbringing and Fatherâs lessons, I was able to withstand their doubt and continue on with a singular goal of shepherding young Lie.
I will end this journal here, as I realize that it has already grown quite dark, and the others are making their way to their tent, so I too should hope to avoid evening watch duty, as my eyes are particularly poorly suited for gazing into the endless void of night. Besides, Lie will keep us safe.
In light and virtue,
TS
Entry #5:
The parchment here is found dabbled with debris of various kind, mud-speckled, and the script much less tidy than previous entries.
We stumbled upon a bonafide spirit! They arenât as benevolent as Lie, though nor are they entirely given to violent proclivities.
I am writing while we walk further in our journey, my apologies for the legibility and unkemptness, but I find it best to record this as accurately as possible.
It was after Corala had stopped us after a heated discussion and turned to face me, hands reaching up to my shoulders and shaking me roughly as she practically screamed in my face, âBoy, get it through your damn head, youâre not going to the Might, thatâd be a foolâs death youâd earn yourself.â
Awkward was my reaction to say the least, I mean, who was she to me after all? And dying young wasnât within my destined fate, else Lie would go shepherdless and their blossoming into the next spirit of the land would inevitably prove corruptible, lending to some catastrophic explosion of violent propensities. I tried to chuckle good naturedly and assure her, âNo, no, Iâm not going to die, trust me, Lie and the powers of the land will watch over me.â
She practically spat back in my face, âYou donât understand. Boy, thatâs a delusion. This is just a drakeling. Mightâve been drawn to you or called to you for any number of reasons. Yaâ should be heading tâward the mountains, not the sea. Look at the bastard,â she gestured to Lieâs frame, stalking a butterfly through the tall grasses to our side, âthatâs not a beast made for diving into the depths and plucking a drowning body out.â
Above us milkdoves and rustlewings fluttered away from the disturbance. A grazing grimsow a few hundred yards away lifted its head up perturbedly, but the tortoise-like creature, secreting its venomous ichor as it was want, is easy enough to evade and certainly not aggressive enough to be considered predatory.
Future reader, I write these next moments in full recognition that I am not preserving my dignity in doing so, but I feel I must in order to retain the integrity of the spiritâs moment of apparition. Corala had continued yelling at me about my stupidity while Raust kept an eye out, mostly plucking reeds and chewing on them aimlessly.
Iâm not sure what it was about the situation which tampered with my resolve, but I placed a warbling hand on her shoulder and mustered a half-smile, tears coming to my eyes but stubbornly I was unwilling to let them fall, âLie canât be just a beast.â I shook my head, âHe canât. He canât be nothing important. He ended up being the only thing my Father really left me. So he has to mean something. Father wouldnât have left me nothing like this. He has to be important. He has to.â I felt my mouth continuing to mouth the words, my voice growing fainter and fainter as I insisted.
Corala looked at me as if looking at an ailing animal that would inevitably need to be put down. Merciful and harsh. He has to, he has to. Then, on her shoulder, a small wisp of light appeared.
It sprouted legs, but no real arms, although it did carry something of a face, at least it appeared to have eyes and a mouth that moved, although Iâm certain had I pressed a hand through it it would have punched right through amorphously. The being tilted its head-body to the side, peering at me, before kicking its feet along Coralaâs collarbone.
Raust neatly jumped into action as he said in a stone-voiced alertness, âRala be real calm now, Iâve never been more sure in my life, that is a spirit.â
It felt as though the voice came from above and behind me, all around me impossibly, but it was light, giggling, as it said, âJust continue.â The giggles felt like whirls of wind tempestuously pressing into my ribs, âYouâve now taken your first step. Next is to take your second.â
Then, just as quickly and easily as it arrived, it melted and oozed down the front of Coralaâs body, sinking into the ground between us. Momentâs later we witnessed the dirt rumbling disturbedly before a miniature sunflower sprouted out and waggled itself at me.
Unfortunately, its movement appealed to Lie as, despite my gasping protestation, Lie pounced and took the flower into their mouth.
Then, we heard the giggling laughter once more. Then, we heard nothing.
I grow tired of writing against the wind, and I no longer wish to carry this parchment steady while I walk, so I will end this entry here.
In light and virtue,
TS