Log 25

I've done it! I have! I found their camp, the rotten bastards. They rode across the field on horseback, but even with those massive blades of theirs, Torrent and I cut them down. Once their horses were slain, it was a simple matter to finish them off. Their dying cries were a symphony I deeply relished. I cut them down one by one before their fellows could notice. These foul beasts never once showed an ounce of respect nor decency, they don't deserve a fair fight, nor a clean death.

Their camp was more heavily defended, but still no match. They sent their hounds after me, called in their allies and tried to surround me, but it was no use! Back then, I was no match for them, now I have the strength to cut them down in droves! One of the idiots was asleep at his post, and I drove my sword through his back before he could even awaken, serves him right.

Their camp is empty now, and I sit by the fire as I write this. But my work is not yet complete. I must press on, and find them wherever they may hide. I will not know peace until every last one of them lies dead.


Log 26

I came across a curious sight. A carriage was driving along the road towards the gate, but rather than horses, it was drawn by a pair of those giant trolls. It seemed to be carrying something of value, so I decided to try and loot it.

The carriage was accompanied by an entire procession of Godrick's soldiers and those miserable undead wanderers. More importantly, they were being escorted by a pair of Kaiden warriors atop their mounts, so I cut them both down. I spared none of Godrick's servants that accompanied them. My people were shown no mercy, why should this be any different? When I stopped the carriage and the trolls drawing it, I found they were carrying a cache of weapons. Useless for my purposes, but it's better than being in the hands of Godrick's forces. Besides, cutting down those animals is the only reward I need.

I followed the road in search of my quarry, and found more of them riding along the road. Not for long. At the end of the road was another fortified camp manned by Godrick's troops, including more of those accursed mercenaries.

This one was far more difficult to assault than the rest. A pair of sorcerers stood perched atop some ruins and rained down magic on me from above. I had to flee from the rest of the soldiers and make my way up to them first just to be able to fight safely. I summoned the spirit of that jellyfish that the girl in the shack gifted me with, and it provided enough of a distraction for me to make it through. Another fort of Godrick's soldiers has been cleared, and more of those brutish sellswords lay dead. One of the sorcerers was clutching a scroll of some sort, but I can't make heads nor tails of it. I'll hold onto it for the time being, who knows what may prove useful in this place.


Log 27

As I write this, I rest within the Roundtable Hold. I've spent a length of time that I dare not count hunting down the warriors from Kaiden across Limgrave. Within their camps, at Godrick's camps and bases, in the forests, and across the roads. I cut them down without a shred of mercy, and in turn they struck me down more than once. No matter how many of their number I culled, they never seemed to stop. I know not if it's because they are too numerous for one lone man to extinguish, or if the broken state of these lands keeps them all from a true death, just as I rise to fight again when they kill me. It matters not, because I have come to understand the fruitlessness of my pursuit. These mercenaries are not the reason why I suffer, they are not the authors of my pain.

I am.

It was not their blades that brought down Elis, but my own cowardice. No, even that is more honor than I deserve. My desertion made no difference, just as my fighting would've made no difference. Elis fell regardless of me.

When they came, hired by some foreign conqueror, they rode across my home and trampled it underfoot. I still remember the savagery and ferocity with which our lands and countrymen were slaughtered, the image is seared into my mind. I hid like a coward while my countrymen were butchered, sneaking and fleeing to the castle. I justified it to myself by saying that the safety of our king was paramount, but that was just a convenient excuse. The truth is that I was afraid, that I was too weak to fight and defend the people, so I fled to the safety of the castle walls where I could hide behind my brothers in arms.

Just as I deserved, even that faint hope was denied to me. By the time I reached the castle, it had already been sacked. The palace was aflame, I tried to fight my way to the throne room, to help my fellow knights and protect our king, but it was in vain. By the time I reached the throne room, the invaders had already arrived en masse. A circle of knights stood between them and our king as a living wall. I rushed to join them, ready to lay down my life for king and country, but the mercenaries stood in my way.

I can still remember the massive brute of a man who turned to face me, gigantic sword in hand. His eyes bored into me through his helmet, and although my visor was down and my head was helmed, I knew, somehow I knew, that he could sense my fear. I tried to swing my sword, but I was outmatched in strength and in speed. Before my blade could so much as nick his armor, he slashed at me with both hands, rending my helm apart with that massive sword and knocking me off my feet. I stared up at him from the ground, certain that I was facing my death, blood running across my face as if to hide the tears of terror. Even now, the memory is as vivid as if I were reliving the moment before my eyes. I fled, turning tail and running away like a coward. Even now I can still hear the accusations and screams of my fellow knights, cutting deeper than any blade ever could.

My exile was self-imposed. There was no one left to cast me out. I doubt anyone survived, if they did, then it was to be subjugated by our conquerors. Did the king of those invaders allow our people to live as his subjects? Or did he slaughter them to the last? I know not, and I doubt I ever will. Elis is likely nothing more than a ruin, wiped from memory. My testament may well be the last proof of its existence.

The truth is that I could not bear to face my cowardice. I could not stand to see the suffering of my countrymen. I could not bear their condemnations, their judgment, so I ran. I ran until I could run no further, too cowardly to even take my own life, and waited for death to claim me. Had I stayed, I would have at least died with my honor intact, died as a knight. Instead, I earned a traitor's death, alone and forgotten.

But even that was denied to me.

Why? Why was I brought back? Why was I called upon to undertake this trial? Why couldn't the gods have let me die? Why can't I just lay down and stay dead? All I ask for is a warrior's death, am I such a craven monster that I don't even deserve that much?

I miss Elis. I miss my home. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss my fellow knights. I miss my brothers in arms. I miss the smell of the mess hall. I miss my mother. I miss my sister. I miss my father. I miss being a knight. I miss when I could hold my head up with pride. I miss my old life. I miss being happy.

I want to die.

I'm fighting to restore my honor, but I already know it's impossible. Just as Elis will never be returned, no matter how many Kaiden warriors I cut down, my honor will remain impugned, no matter what manner of beast or monster I slay.

Why was I called upon to undertake this impossible task? Why was I stirred from my rest? Why can't I die? Why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why why