Downwards

Week 158 – The Heiress

Wilhelmina Constantine von W-, Heiress and Lady of the Hamlet: Her Diary.

I've had parties out for the past month, hunting that monstrous thing that's been haunting my lands. All they've found is dead things, ruination, and those crystals.

Couer is back at work. He avoids Howard, but I don't give a damn as long as they get things done. I'm using too much labor destroying the crystals, and I'm concerned about their effect on the workforce.

I've asked Howard to keep an eye on him. He's been acting increasingly erratically over the past year.

The last thing I need is a mad occultist in addition to a mad plague doctor.

Lady W., Heiress.

Week 159 – Berners, Grave Robber

Dear Diary,

Once more unto the Weald, I suppose.

I never wanted to go back there. It reminds me of Pevrel too much. His campaigns, his plans and strategies, his shield between me and the monsters. Camping with him. Damn it.

I'm ruining your pages, Diary. I have to stop.

I thought this would have faded and gone. Damn it. Damn it.

Signed, Berners.

Week 160 – Medley, Vestal

Dear Diary,

I praise the Light and Her kindness, Her fire and flame that fills my heart, Her strength that strengthens me to the task ahead.

I have been trying. I give them Her blessings and prayer, I give them service and kindness in Her name, and they do not listen. It is difficult, but I carry on. My vows demand it, my soul sings that it is righteous and just to tell them of the truth. The only ones who have hearkened are the sisters of the Sanitarium, and some of the tavern girls. They sit, and listen, and talk with me. It is a blessing in this thankless task.

Disappointments and frustration aside, there is work in plenty here. I have spoken long with Aljarhaa, the Eastern snake-sorceress, and learned something of her past and her curse. I never blamed her for the serpents, and I see that I was right in that. There was a demon at her throat, but I see in her eyes and her walk that its grip is loosened.

I am grateful for that. She is a good woman and did not deserve that evil.

Medley, in service to the True Light and Her Glory.

Week 161a – Rache, Harlequin Jester

I don't understand anything.

There was peace, for a while. I went to the Farmstead and gazed on the lights and heard the odd chimes and half-real words, and there was a great movement in my heart and a power that stood equally with the memories of what I heard under the Manor.

I was standing between two deadly sleeping gods, perfectly in tension, and I felt sane for a few weeks.

Humans weren't made for that. I am cracking. Thorel wants to tell me to write, to talk, to share. I'll write, but no one will ever read it. I'll keep it locked safe like that book Dacre thinks no one knows about.

I'm splitting in half, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

And Couer smiles at me like a snake. He knows something.

Week 161b – Audrey, Grave Robber

Dear Diary,

At least there's absinthe. It doesn't exactly help you forget, but damn'd if it doesn't take the edge off.

Poise. All my life I've worked for poise, and now the poise that matters is my balance and precision as I sling a pickaxe through the skull of a monster.

I haven't properly danced in. . . years, maybe? Gods help us.

Berners told me that early on, they couldn't even get consistent shipments of liquor. Praise every single ray of the Light that I don't have to worry about that, at least.

Audrey.