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Writer: Justian
Date Fri Oct 9 18:58:55 2026
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: What We Brought Home II
Justian remained beside him. Behind them, Orra laid the
last bottle on its side and stopped folding the cloth.
Harrak looked down at his hands before he began.
"When I drank, I wanted the strength," Harrak said. "My
shoulder hurt. There were things still moving beyond us.
I wanted to be standing when we left."
He rolled the shoulder beneath his mail. Something hard
pressed against the links where the shape of him had changed.
"On the road I kept hearing you tell me where the blood
belonged," Harrak continued. "I carried the bottles. I
carried what I had taken, too. I could feel it with every
step. By the time we reached the Warp, I knew what I would
give."
Justian watched him lay a hand over the mark beneath his mail.
"You are speaking of your life."
"Mine, and what I have gathered into it," Harrak answered.
"The Tree shall have the whole offering."
Rauk came closer, turning his good ear toward them. Veyra
rose from the bundles. Harrak met their eyes in turn, then
looked again at Justian.
"The End is their death," Harrak said. "I know whose death
that means. You will still have work when I am gone."
Justian placed a hand upon his shoulder. "We will. I will
speak the Verities with you, and we will remember what you
have chosen here."
Harrak bent to retrieve his spear and offered it to Rauk.
The orc took it beneath the crosspiece, testing its familiar
weight before setting the butt against the floor.
"Keep it sharp," Harrak told him.
Rauk nodded. "I will."
Veyra helped with the fastenings Harrak could not reach.
The mail caught at his altered shoulder. She worked it free
with the same patience she had shown Rauk's torn links.
Beneath it, the eight-pointed scar stood thick and pale
against his breastbone.
Harrak settled his tawny body beside the roots. Orra moved
the empty vessels out of his way while Kesh brought folded
cloth for him to lean against. Tellen drew closer with his
parchment, lowering himself where Harrak could see him.
Harrak waited until they were settled. "Begin, Justian."
Writer: Justian
Date Fri Oct 9 19:01:21 2026
Subject The Tree Made of Horn: What We Brought Home III
Harrak drew his knife. The movement was brief and partly
hidden by his body. When he laid the blade aside, fresh
blood marked the roots beneath him. Justian kept his hand
on the wemic's shoulder as the others gathered close.
"Suffering exists," Justian began. "We heard it among the
ruins. We tended it beneath our armor. Harrak feels it
now, and we will remain beside him while he bears it.
No teaching of ours should require us to look away from
what it costs to follow it."
Justian looked toward the golden figure above the Tree.
"The false gods and the order they have made are its cause.
They give suffering a place in their designs, then teach
those beneath them to endure it. We have chosen to raise
our hands against them. That choice brought us to the
ruins. It has brought Harrak to these roots."
Harrak shifted against the folded cloth. Veyra steadied
him until he found his balance. His breathing had grown
rough, but he raised his head. "The End is their death."
"Their death," Justian answered. "Remember that when you
speak of him. Our brother's death does not finish our work.
The gods remain, and so do the lives they have bound to
their purposes. We must use what we gather here. We must
teach those who have learned only obedience and carry our
war to those who believe themselves beyond its reach."
Kesh sat near Harrak's forepaws. He had stopped worrying
the loose seam at his cuff. Orra's hand rested on the horn
above them, her scarred knuckles still stained from the hunt.
Rauk stood beside her with the spear held upright.
Harrak drew another breath. "The Path is Chaos," he said.
Justian repeated the words, and the others answered with him.
The wemic's head lowered. Justian supported him as his
weight settled, remaining there until his breathing ceased.
Veyra rested her fingers against Harrak for a while, then
quietly nodded. Justian looked around the gathered faces.
"You heard his purpose from his own mouth. Carry it with
you. When we leave this hall, let our deeds answer for
the strength we have asked to gather here."
Tellen bent over his parchment and added Harrak's name to
the account of their return. He recorded the words Harrak
had spoken, then read the passage aloud to those gathered.
Rauk took Harrak's spear with him when he went to fetch a
bier. Kesh followed. The others began clearing the vessels
from the roots while Justian remained beside the body,
his hand resting over the eight-pointed scar.
Something shifted beneath the tree's bloody bark...
the slow rhythm of a sleeping heart echoed for a moment...
then stilled.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Sat Oct 10 19:31:00 2026
Subject Dark Currents : Part 1
Melchaleve's body floated silently within the moonwell, the Umbrastone pulsing above, the light
of the chamber consumed by the darkness.
"What do you seek?"
"Knowledge."
"Of what?"
"Wielding Her power."
"Don't you have your own power?"
"
The power I wield now is not the power I need. I sought this power while seeking the remnant
of Him. I am of Her, now. The power I wield is in service to Her. The tormented demons within
my heart were of His make. The taint from him excised by the guilty blade.
"
Silence met him.
The howls of the demons were silent. The roaring of the wind stopped. Silence.
"Do you seek pity, Duskbinder?" A silken voice purred from the darkness.
"Never, my Queen."
"Do you seek mercy, then?"
"Never, my Queen."
As he spoke, agonizing pain ripped through his body. Pain unlike any he had ever encountered before.
"Then what is it you seek?"
Pushing down the pain and forcing himself to focus on the truth within his words, he spoke.
"To serve you, my Queen. Unto eternity."
"Were you not aware you already do?"
"I am aware. Now, I will embody Your will."
A faint heat touched his forehead, reminiscent of a kiss upon his brow.
"Ah, so you have figured out that what was His is Mine?"
"Yes, my Queen."
"Good."
Around him, the shadows began to pulse, the world fading back in from grayscale. In his mind's eye, he
could see a bloody puddle before him, Telthian drawing the image of the black moon eclipsing the sun.
From far away, he heard his voice
"The gate is thrown open, and the beginning of the path is lit. You will find your way."
Of course he would. He would not fail Her.
The world faded black once more and the silence returned. Faint motes of umbra could be seen far in the
distance. Taking a deep breath, Melchaleve began to move.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Sat Oct 10 19:32:54 2026
Subject Dark Currents : Part 2
It was not so much walking as it was the sensation of drifting through the void. His body did
not carry the weight of his mail, here. The familiar sensation of his own power was absent as
well.
He felt hollowed out. The moment the blade had touched his heart, the depths of his very soul
had been pierced. What he was drained away, pulled from his very being into the depths of the
infinite night.
In its place... nothing.
Physically, he felt the same. But something more fundamental was different.
Each step led him deeper into the umbral path. An icy wind could be felt blowing gently, causing
eddies of umbral mist to swirl around him. Faint motes of stars developed in the distance. It
was different than the path to the moonspring, but many aspects felt familiar to him as he walked
the path.
A low howl built upon the wind as he continued onward, undercurrents of jibbering excitement as
the creatures within the realm between sensed a new traveler upon the path.
Around him, phantom images of those who came before could be seen, their ghostly images training
with sword and shield, swinging their swords wide, cleaving with the shield, charging on mounts
through the mist.
These Shadow Knights had been accepted by Necrucifer and fallen in his service. They battled
eternally, their service continuing beyond the veil. It was likely that his fate would be
intrinsically linked to service. His soul put to battle long after his body faded away.
Quietly he continued, observing the training with rapt attention. Each step down the path had
more of the umbral motes of mana float through the air.
He could not place the exact moment the path changed. The oppressive aura he had been enduring
seemed to ease. The sensation was difficult to describe, subtle. The low throb of a headache
faded as the mists changed and a faint scent of lavendar filled the air. A sense of danger
permeated his being, a quiet threat that failure would not be tolerated. The air seemed to be
charged with electricity.
Then his own voice echoed through the void, words spoken long past before the Moonstone.
"Willingness to do whatever it takes."
"How to defy the laws that were crafted to bind."
"To rewrite the rules of the Cosmos."
Shrieks filled the air around him now, madness carried upon the wind. The ghostly servants of
Necrucifer seemed to turn as one from their phantasmal training, their ephemeral bodies stretching
and changing into the shadows that lived between the planes. They flew towards Melchaleve, their
shrieks of 'Betrayer' following them.
Grimly, he turned to face the onslaught. He had no weapons upon his body capable of stopping
these creatures. He knew that from his interactions with the Umbrastone. He reached for the
umbra itself, summoning an enormous mirror behind him. He drew upon its depths, seeking
anything that might turn the spectral shadows aside.
From within the mirror a shape began to form, small at first, but rapidly growing larger. His
attention was fully upon the shades in front of him, and Melchaleve failed to notice the monster
that was developing within the mirror behind him. As he continued to summon forth the umbral
powers an earth-shattering roar echoed out across the vast emptiness of the void.
Umbral flame washed over him, causing his skin to blister and scorch. The pain was eternal.
Through his searing flesh a different sensation came, a sharp pinch within his heart that rapidly
expanded to suffuse his whole body. His heart pierced by a blade.
As his vision swam, darkness threatening to close around him, he watched as the shape of an
umbral dragon flew through the mists, returning towards the mirror from whence it came. That
could only be one.
"Do not disappoint me."
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Sat Oct 10 19:34:00 2026
Subject Dark Currents : Part 3
The Umbraseer stopped before him, the guilty blade poised over his heart.
"
This blade undoes the weakness in the heart and soul, that it may be reborn in Umbra. You
will be sent below, into the very currents of umbral creation, to be humbled. Embrace it,
choose your path wisely. Fail, and it will consume you whole.
"
As the umbral power flowed through her arm and into the black blade, she plunged it into his heart.
He collapsed without a sound.
As he fell, it seemed his life flashed before his eyes. Choices he had made. Triumphs, mistakes, it
didn't matter. Wave after wave the visions came, and he was powerless to stop the flood.
He saw himself as a young man, steeled flint in his eyes and determined. He was not yet shaped by
the journey before him, nor did he carry the scars of battle. All he had was the zeal of a crusader.
He was not aware of the coming weight of his failures on his soul. Serving under Crelius, his faith
grew.
He saw himself slightly older, a troubled expression on his face. Holding Xiao's Bo from the raid,
he seemed to be arguing with Dark Lord Lanival Illithi, shaking his head in anger and departing the
keep, heading towards the Althainian port to board a ship for other lands.
He saw himself much older, at least a decade had weathered his skin. As he disembarked the ship he
made his way west towards Althainia. Slowing as he passed the desert sands of New Thalos, he looked
south, seeming to reminisce as he continued on his way.
He saw himself being interviewed by the Umbraseer, rejoining the rank and file and pursuing raising
his standing within the keep.
As he was falling, he saw himself entering the Basilica of the Fallen Sun. He saw himself spending
time with the Cavalry Overseer within the Stablegrounds. He saw himself speaking with the chargers
and felsteeds. He exercised them every day, taking them out to the field and training with them. He
continued to visit them often, even after he began the path of Shukenja. The beasts undestood him.
They were intelligent. They All knew who he was, and what he fought for.
He saw the fateful day that started his path to the Mistress.
Pain. Agonizing pain. Pain that made his head explode and shattered his mind into crystal
fragments of what it once was.
A beautiful woman standing over the corpse of a dead man.
"If I didn't know better, I would say Fatale had been here."
"They offer their lives for You, Dark Queen. By blood and deed it would seem."
"Supplicants before you, my Queen. Both of these men are competent, zealous."
His awareness began to fade as the scene continued to play out before him.
"
I endure them... For the benefit of the Darkness. I do not denounce the Lord as I
serve Him. His is... a guiding Vision. Or maybe... it was yours?
"
The woman chuckled darkly as she leaned forward, inches from his face.
"You will need to figure that out...what was his is now mine..."
Sweat poured off his face, and his face was pale from the pain. Grimacing, he said
"Aye, I am well aware. I shall serve you as I served Him, by your command."
Leaning in, she kissed the center of his forehead and a slow grin spread across her lips
as she pulled away.
His body hit the floor.
I will not fail you, my Queen.
Writer: Ezrianne
Date Sun Oct 11 02:31:49 2026
Subject At the Feet of the Dark Mother
Ezrianne had never been a woman of uncertain faith. Whatever else might
be said of her -- her stubbornness, her pride, her irrepressible habit of
saying aloud what wiser tongues left unspoken -- her devotion to Drakkara
had remained steadfast through uncertainty, hardship, and no small measure
of personal trial.
And yet, lately, Ezrianne had found that steadfastness alone could not
answer every question, nor could strength of conviction always illuminate
the path ahead.
It was this uncertainty that brought her to the High Priestess' temple.
She entered reverently, leaving the clamor of the world beyond the temple
doors. Within these sacred walls, beneath the watchful presence of
Drakkara, she sought refuge within her Goddess -- not to be sheltered from
her troubles, but to seek wisdom so that she might face them properly.
She did not pray for deliverance, nor did she ask the Goddess to remove the
burdens that weighed upon her heart. To ask such things would run contrary
to the very tenets of her faith, for Drakkara demanded strength and
self-sufficiency of those who devoted themselves to Her. Instead, she
sought discernment: the wisdom to recognize what was hers to endure, what
was hers to change, and what she must finally relinquish.
For hours, she remained upon her knees, examining her thoughts with the same
uncompromising scrutiny she did when she tossed and turned in bed at night.
Whatever uncertainty clouded her judgment, whatever pride, impatience, or
misguided conviction might be obscuring the path before her, she would not
shrink from confronting it.
She laid her uncertainties and fierce determination before Drakkara with
sincereity, seeking clarity without presuming that her Goddess was obligated
to provide it. Perhaps no revelation would come. Perhaps she would leave
the temple carrying precisely the same questions with which she had entered.
Ezrianne's piety had never depended upon seeing the road ahead. It lived in
her willingness to walk it, steady within the Dark Mother's Darkness, with
Her name upon her lips and devotion unbroken in her heart. Whatever trials
lay before her, Ezrianne would see them through -- though she suspected the
process might prove about as pleasant as having a tooth pulled with a pair
of rusty pliers.
And when the proverbial seas got particularly rough and motion illness set
in, there was always prayer. That much, at least, she knew she could rely
upon.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:45:05 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 1
Two mornings later, Branik moved them again.
He arrived after breakfast with a pair of sailors and began unlocking
restraints from the far end of the compartment.
No one asked where they were going.
Sten rose when Branik reached them. "Another improvement?"
"Up."
Branik unlocked Tiber last and pointed toward the companionway. "Move."
They joined the others filing above.
The morning was grey and cold. Nine prisoners emerged from a compartment
that had held nearly twice that many two days earlier. Branik led them
across the deck toward another hatch.
One of the sailors escorting them had tied a strip of cloth across his mouth
and nose. As they passed the mainmast, Tiber recognized prisoners hauling
lines and tending work that sailors had handled only days before.
Branik took them below again - this compartment was already crowded.
Prisoners Tiber recognized from other parts of the ship sat along the walls.
The iron rings had been fitted at regular intervals, but some now held a
second restraint. Several remained standing while a sailor sorted lengths of
chain across the boards.
"Where are the others?" someone asked.
Branik crouched beside the first restraint. "Forward."
The prisoner looked around the compartment. "...All of them?"
Branik threaded the chain through an iron ring. "Sit."
No one asked a second time.
Tiber was fastened between Sten and a narrow-faced man he'd seen working
near the water casks. Torsten sat beside Sten. Across from them, three women
had been crowded together along the opposite wall.
The sailor helping Branik secured another prisoner, then reached for the
next length of chain. There wasn't one.
"Need another length."
Branik looked at the prisoners still standing. "Get one."
The sailor climbed out.
There was little room to settle while they waited. When one man shifted and
his knee brushed the woman beside him, she immediately pulled away. He did
the same.
Boots crossed overhead. Somewhere beyond the bulkhead came several dry
coughs. Conversation stopped. Then came the scrape of movement against the
boards, followed by another fit, deeper this time and difficult to stop. The
narrow-faced man beside Tiber shifted away from the sound as far as his
restraint allowed. Someone across from him noticed and did the same.
The sailor returned with another length of chain. Branik finished securing
the remaining prisoners, checked each fastening, then stood.
A man near the companionway coughed into his hand and the woman beside him
turned sharply. "You sick?"
"No."
"Still... Don't cough on me."
"I didn't."
She shifted away until her shoulder met the prisoner on her other side. He
pushed back against her.
"Move."
"I can't!"
Branik looked over. "Enough."
Neither answered, but the woman remained wedged between them.
"We're staying here?" one of the other women asked.
"For now."
"They're putting the sick in ours?" Branik looked at her - she already knew
the answer.
He gathered the unused restraints and started toward the companionway. Tiber
spoke before he reached it. "Corren?"
Branik stopped. For the first time that morning, his attention settled fully
on Tiber. "Alive when I saw him."
"When was that?"
"Before breakfast."
Tiber nodded - it wasn't much. For now, it was enough. Branik went up, and
the hatch closed behind him.
Someone coughed beyond one wall.
From beyond the other came the unmistakable sound of a man vomiting.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:46:13 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 2
They were put to work before midday.
Tiber and Sten were given buckets and sent forward with Branik. At the first
hatch, the half-ogre handed each of them a folded strip of cloth.
"Over your mouth and nose."
Tiber tied his behind his head. Sten followed his example, while Branik
knotted another into place before opening the hatch. They descended one
after another.
The heat struck Tiber first. The compartment was close with bodies and stale
air - thick with sweat, sickness, and the sour remains of emptied stomachs.
Men and women lay wherever there was room. One man was curled beside the
foot of the ladder, forcing them to step around him.
Tiber saw Corren against the far wall.
He looked thinner than he had two days earlier. He sat slumped against the
boards with his eyes closed, his skin pale beneath a sheen of sweat. There
were no swellings Tiber could see.
Tiber crouched beside him, studying his face. "...How are you?"
Corren opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on Tiber.
"Been better." His voice was little more than a rasp.
Tiber filled the cup and held it out. Corren reached for it, but his hand
shook badly enough that Tiber kept hold. He drank several swallows before
stopping, closing his eyes as he breathed through his mouth.
"Still vomiting?"
Corren nodded. Tiber's eyes moved over his throat and what he could see
beneath his arms. Corren noticed. "None yet..."
Tiber remained crouched beside him until Branik called from behind him.
"Caine. Move on."
He hesitated, then stood and carried the bucket toward Harl. Corren's eyes
remained closed as he left him.
A man near Harl coughed blood into a rag already dark with it. Farther along
the wall, another man's swelling had ruptured. His shirt clung red and wet
to his side. Someone else had fouled himself nearby.
Harl moved quickly from one prisoner to the next. He examined a man's
swellings, opened one of the remaining packets, and measured bark and leaves
into his cup. Beside the next woman, he checked her breathing and moved on
without opening the case.
Tiber followed with the water. Some drank greedily enough that he had to
pull the cup away between swallows. Others managed only a mouthful before
turning from it. One woman tried twice and vomited both times. Harl waited
for her to finish, checked her eyes, then pointed Tiber toward the man
beside her.
"Him." Tiber moved on.
"Open it." a delirious man called from the wall.
His eyes were fixed on the bare bulkhead. His fingers worked weakly against
the boards as though searching for something he could not find. Harl passed
him without acknowledgment.
"Please." he cried out, nearly sobbing.
Harl was already kneeling beside another man whose breathing came in short,
labored pulls. He placed a hand against the man's chest and watched him for
several seconds, then reached for the cup Tiber carried. "Just a little."
Tiber held it to the man's lips. Most of the water ran from the corner of
his mouth and into the stubble along his jaw. He swallowed once. Harl took
the cup away.
There were others waiting. A woman farther along the wall called weakly for
water. Someone behind Tiber retched into the boards. The delirious man asked
again for the door, quieter now.
The man beside Harl drew another breath. Several seconds passed before the
next. Tiber had begun filling the cup again when he realized he was waiting
for another sound.
None came.
He looked back - Harl kept two fingers against the man's throat for a
moment, then withdrew his hand. Someone farther down called for water again.
Harl picked up his case and nodded toward the next prisoner. "Next one."
Tiberius followed. The dead man remained where he lay while Harl began
examining the next in a long line of many.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:50:19 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 3
Branik took them back when the buckets were empty.
Tiber removed the cloth from his face before descending into the
compartment. Sten did the same and tucked his into his waistband.
Conversation quieted when they entered.
The narrow-faced man beside Tiber's place drew his legs closer and pressed
himself against the wall as Tiber approached. There was nowhere else for him
to go.
"How bad is it?" Torsten asked.
Sten rubbed both hands against his trousers. "Bad."
No one asked him to explain.
Branik fastened their restraints and left. The narrow-faced man waited until
the hatch closed. "You were in there?"
"Yes."
"With them?"
"...Yes."
Tiber could still smell the sick hold on his clothes. The man edged away
until his restraint stopped him. Across the compartment, another prisoner
pulled the neck of his shirt over his mouth and nose.
Sten noticed. "We didn't choose the work."
The man beside Tiber remained pressed against the wall.
A man near the companionway coughed. Several heads turned. He covered his
mouth. "What?"
The woman beside him stared. "You did that this morning."
"I coughed."
"Twice."
"So?"
She pressed herself against the man on her other side. He pushed her away. "Don't."
The woman held her ground. "There's nowhere else to go!"
The coughing man shook his head. "I'm not sick!"
"Then why are you coughing?!"
"Because I have a throat."
No one laughed.
A prisoner farther down the wall pointed toward the hatch. "Call Branik."
The coughing man looked toward him. "For what?"
"You know for what."
"I'm not going forward!"
The woman beside him pulled away again. Her chain scraped across the boards.
"Get away from me!"
"Where?" The prisoners on either side had already moved as far as their
restraints allowed. "Where do you want me to go?!"
The woman only pressed farther away. He coughed again.
At the sound, she shoved him. He shoved her back harder, sending her into
the prisoner beside her. Chains scraped across the boards as those nearby
tried to move away.
Tiber rose as far as his restraint allowed. "Enough."
The prisoner who had called for Branik looked toward him. "You saw them. You
want him staying here?"
Tiber studied the coughing man. His face wasn't flushed. There was no sweat
on his brow... There hadn't been swellings on Corren either.
"I don't know if he's sick."
"And if he is?"
Tiber had no answer.
The coughing man looked around the compartment. "You send me up there and I will be."
Boots sounded overhead. The hatch opened, and Branik descended.
"What's happening?"
Several answered at once. Branik listened, then pointed at the coughing man.
"You. Stand up."
"I'm not sick."
"Didn't say you were... Stand."
The man rose. Branik put the back of one hand against his forehead, then
felt the side of his neck.
"Well?" the woman asked.
Branik ignored her. "Anything else? Stomach? Chills? Vomiting?"
"No."
Branik released him. "Sit down."
The woman stared at him. "You're leaving him here?"
"He's not fevered."
"He's coughing!"
"So are plenty of men on this ship."
The coughing man sat. Branik waited until the others settled, then climbed
back through the hatch.
The woman kept as much distance from the man beside her as her restraint
allowed. The narrow-faced man did the same with Tiber.
Across the compartment, a prisoner tore a strip from the hem of his shirt
and tied it across his mouth and nose. His eyes never left the man who had
coughed.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:51:20 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 4
By the following afternoon, two more places along the wall were empty.
One prisoner had been taken sometime before dawn. Tiberius hadn't seen him
go, only the open restraint left behind when he woke. The second had vomited
after the morning ration and was gone before midday.
The coughing man remained. He had tied a strip of cloth across his mouth and
nose, though the woman beside him still kept herself pressed toward the
prisoner on her other side. When he coughed, several heads turned. No one
said anything.
Water came late again. Branik arrived some time afterward with three sailors
and began unlocking restraints. He took six prisoners, including Tiber and
Sten, and brought them above.
There were fewer sailors on deck than Tiber remembered seeing the day
before. Prisoners hauled lines near the mainmast and carried stores toward
the stern. A woman Tiber recognized from a different compartment scrubbed
the boards, while one sailor watched her and several prisoners hauling stores
nearby. There were fewer men in the rigging as well.
Branik sent four of the prisoners toward the lines and pointed Tiber and
Sten toward the water casks. "Buckets. Forward compartments first."
Tiber collected one from the stack. "How's Corren?"
"Don't know." Branik moved on to the others.
Tiber and Sten filled their buckets and started forward. Near the mainmast,
a coil of rope struck the deck behind them. Tiber looked back to see the
sailor who had dropped it braced against the rail, vomiting over the side
while the men working nearest him moved away.
The sailor wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. "I'm All right."
When he bent for the rope, another sailor backed away. "Leave it."
"It's nothing." The sick man straightened but kept one hand against the rail.
Someone called for Branik. The half-ogre crossed from the mainmast and
reached for the sailor's forehead. The man tried to pull away, forcing
Branik to catch him by the shoulder before feeling the side of his neck.
"How long?"
"Since breakfast. Stomach's just off."
"Chills?"
The sailor hesitated.
Branik pointed to two men standing nearby. "Get him forward."
Neither moved.
"You heard me."
The nearer sailor glanced toward the forward hatch. "He's crew."
"I know."
The sick man straightened against the rail. "Send me to my berth. I'll be fine."
"Forward."
One of the two sailors shook his head. "He can walk."
Branik regarded him for a moment, then took the sick man's arm and drew it
across his own shoulders. "Then get back to work."
He started toward the forward hatch with the sailor leaning against him. The
others watched them go until one bent to retrieve the fallen rope. Another
joined him, and the work resumed.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:52:18 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 5
Tiber and Sten still had water to deliver. They followed Branik forward.
The compartment had grown more crowded since the previous day. Tiber had to
turn sideways to carry the bucket past a man lying near the foot of the
ladder and, farther in, Harl was moving between patients with his leather
case tucked beneath one arm. Branik took the sick sailor toward him while
Tiber and Sten began with the nearest prisoners.
Tiber found Corren before they had worked halfway along the wall - he was
sitting upright. He still looked thinner than he had before the fever, but
the sweat was gone from his face and his eyes followed Tiber without the
delay of the previous day.
"Back again?"
Tiber filled the cup. "You look disappointed."
"I'll recover."
There was more strength in his voice. Tiber handed him the cup and watched
him take several gulps without stopping. When Corren lowered it, Tiber's
eyes went to his neck and then beneath the arm resting across his knee.
Corren noticed. "Still none."
"Keeping the water down?"
"So far."
Tiber took the cup back. Sten had already moved farther along the wall,
where another prisoner waited for water.
"You've got customers."
A small smirk edged Tiber's lips behind his mask. He hadn't heard that tone
from Corren since the fever began.
"Apparently."
Tiber moved on with less reluctance than before. He and Sten finished the
compartment and returned above to refill their buckets. Torsten was working
the line where the sick sailor had been.
One sailor stood near the mainmast directing the prisoners while another
worked the line among them. Torsten leaned back with the others when the
line drew taut, then gathered the slack as the sailor called for it. Tiber
and Sten refilled their buckets and carried them below.
They spent the rest of the afternoon moving water. Other prisoners carried
stores across the deck or worked the lines. By the time Branik collected
Tiber and Sten, the light had begun to fade.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:54:12 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 6
The evening ration had already been distributed when another man within the
hold began shivering.
Tiber noticed him across the compartment, sitting with his arms folded
tightly against his chest. He had eaten some of his bread, but the rest lay
untouched beside him.
The woman nearest him noticed next. "...You cold?"
The man shook his head.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine..."
Someone farther down the wall laughed without humor. "That's what they All say."
The man looked toward him. "I said I'm fine."
The woman reached across and put the back of her hand against his forehead.
He pulled away too late.
"He's hot."
Those nearest him pressed away, chains scraping across the boards.
"Get Branik," one of the prisoners called.
"No." The sick man pushed himself upright. "I'm not going forward."
The woman beside him drew her legs back as far as the restraint allowed. "You're fevered."
"Then leave me alone."
She pressed herself toward the prisoner on her other side. "Get away from me."
The sick man looked from her to the prisoners crowded along either side of
him, then down at the restraint around his ankle.
"Where do you want me to go?!"
It was the same question the coughing man had asked the day before. There
was still no answer.
A prisoner near the companionway twisted toward the hatch and hammered both
hands against it. "Branik!"
The sick man's head snapped toward him. "Don't!"
The prisoner struck the hatch again.
The sick man lunged toward him. His ankle restraint pulled tight and stopped
him short, but the sudden movement sent those beside him scrambling back
against their restraints. The prisoner on his other side caught his arm
while the woman shoved hard against his shoulder. "Get him away from me!"
"Let go of me!" He drove an elbow into the first prisoner's face. The man
recoiled, then struck him across the mouth. The woman screamed as the
struggle crowded into her, leaving her trapped between the sick man and the
prisoner on her other side.
The next prisoner along the wall leaned into the struggle and caught the
sick man by his shirt. Together they tried to pull him away from the woman.
His ankle restraint stopped them before they had moved him more than a step.
The sick man twisted free of one of them and kicked the other in the chest.
The blow knocked him backward into his neighbor, who shoved him away. With
nowhere else to go, he came back swinging.
The prisoner near the companionway struck the hatch again.
"Branik! Get down here!"
Tiber rose against his restraint. "Stop it. That's enough!"
No one listened.
The two men nearest the sick prisoner were striking at him now, while the
woman caught between them shoved blindly at anyone who pressed against her.
One blow caught her across the cheek. She cried out and struck back.
The man beside her recoiled into his next neighbor. That prisoner shoved him
away, received a fist in return, and retaliated with one of his own.
The fight began spreading down the wall.
Writer: Tiberius
Date Sun Oct 11 17:55:14 2026
Subject The Long Road Home: Among the Healthy pt. 7
One of the struggling men lost his footing and pitched into the aisle. His
ankle restraint caught him before he fell completely, leaving his upper body
within reach of Torsten. His hand caught Torsten's shoulder.
Torsten shoved him away. "Get off mae!"
The man struck at him instead. Torsten answered with a swing in return.
Sten rose beside him as the man came at Torsten again. He caught his brother
when the next blow knocked him sideways, then raised his shackled hands as
another came toward him. The man's fist glanced from his forearm and caught
him along the jaw.
The attacker stumbled farther into their reach. The narrow-faced prisoner
beside Tiber caught him by the arm and shoved him back across the aisle.
Tiber steadied Sten with one hand. Across from them, the fight continued
along the wall. Someone thrust both shackled hands at the man beside him and
caught him across the shoulder.
The hatch opened.
Branik descended into the compartment. "Stop!"
The prisoner nearest the companionway had barely moved aside before another
stumbled into Branik. The half-ogre shoved him back toward the wall and
crossed into the compartment.
Two men were still pulling at the fevered prisoner. Branik tore the nearer
one away and drove him back against the wall. The second came at Branik with
both hands. Branik caught the man's shackled wrists, turned him, and forced
him down against the boards.
A prisoner beside them brought both shackled hands down at Branik from
behind. The chain between his wrists struck Branik across the shoulder.
Branik turned before he could strike again. He caught the man's wrists and
drove him backward until the restraint at his ankle pulled tight.
"Back against the walls. Now!"
The first prisoner reached toward the fevered man again. Branik caught him
by the front of his shirt and shoved him beyond reach. "Back!"
This time, he stayed there.
Branik worked his way down the compartment, separating the prisoners still
fighting and driving them back toward the walls. The struggle diminished
behind him.
Then the fevered man vomited. Whatever remained of the fight stopped.
He sank against the wall, blood running from his nose and mouth. The woman
beside him held her sleeve against a cut beneath her eye. One of the men who
had tried to pull him away sat with both hands cupped beneath his bleeding
nose.
Torsten's lip was split. Sten worked his jaw and winced. Across the aisle,
another prisoner cradled two fingers already beginning to swell. Branik
looked from one to the next.
"Who's hurt?"
For a time, no one answered.
No one looked at the fevered man either.
Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Oct 12 00:33:58 2026
Subject To the Umbral Heart.
Pitch black. That is All that Aothien saw when he awoke. He ran his
hands over his body.. Everything seemed to be in place. He had lost a
tremendous amount of blood using the Umbral cube as much as he did, but that
was the cost of feeling out his enemies rather than just brutally assaulting
them. In his mind, you could not simply stab and slash All of your problems
away, especially the ones that belong to your own being. He was no longer
the being he was in the past, and if he was wrong about that, he would find
out now.
The vision he had with the Umbrastone previously, he thought he understood
it then.
But he wasn't entirely right. It takes more than a vision to prove one was
beyond his sin. That his ambition had overcome.
Aothien stood up, letting his heavy armor settle around his body. The
darkness was comforting in it's overwhelming evil. He could feeling it
flickering against him, it was not a physical feelings but perhaps a
spiritual one, searching for weakness and ways to feed off of him. He was
not the apex predator here..
He was the prey.
Removing his helmet, he let us pupilless eyes take in the darkness. If
anything lived inside of him, it would not make it through this, unlike
himself. He knew this darkness intended to devour him, to feed it's endless
hunger. Closing his eyes he felt out for the flow of Umbra. The darkness
would guide him, and destroy him, and that pleased him in many ways.
Opening his eyes once more, he began to walk forward.
The actual direction was irrelevant, he was not walking a path.
He was going to where everything begins, and ends.
Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Oct 12 00:35:25 2026
Subject To the Umbral Heart (2)
Darkness never stopped enveloping him, slowly eating at every part of his
being. In front of him, visions flashed before him as he walked forward.
Many of the very things he faced in in the mirrors were showing themselves
before him again, not tangible but battering at his psyche. Images of his
prideful moments, his work on the Umbrastone when it was still known as the
Moonstone. His argument with Reklah. His failures. His Pride. His
Vanity. All hammering against his mind.
He continued forward, step by step, focusing his mind to crush the images
that appeared before him. He knew the truth. The truth that was laid
before him upon his return, the truth he embraced and made his life. The
past was irrelevant, and he was not going to let anything tell him
otherwise. He reached up and crushed the vision of himself and Reklah
between his gauntleted fist, sending spirals of Umbra back into the darkness
as he continued marching.
Seconds to turned to minutes, to hours. There was no true way to tell how
long he'd been progressing with the flow of Umbra, but he had internally
wondered if it was a matter of distance traveled, or perhaps.. Something
else. Simply reaching the Sovereign and Umbraseer did not sit right. He
flashed back to what the Sovereign had said to him as he battled for this
life.. "There is only one way forward. And when his mind refocused on what
was in front of him, a being of pure Umbra stood before him.
Aothien walked forward to look the Umbra given form in what would have been
its eyes if it was human. Standing exactly his height, with thick plated
armor bound from Umbra, it simply stared back. Unmoving. Unwavering. The
being of Umbra stayed silent, and simply raised a hand and backhanded
Aothien straight across his unarmored face, staggering him back slightly,
but not knocking Aothien off his feet.
Cracking his neck, Aothien muttered under his breath "So this is how it will
be" and launched his forehead into the 'nose' of the Umbra-being, passing
right through it and falling forward. Standing back up, he came to the
rationalization he tested earlier. Not every fight was about simply brute
force. Mercy is Weakness. Pity is a sin. But not every fight was won with
a blade..
Writer: Aothien
Date Mon Oct 12 00:37:52 2026
Subject To the Umbral Heart (3)
He stared at the Umbra-being. It stared back. Neither moved. Aothien
felt as though he was staring at a mirror in a way, he could feel his
surroundings constantly eating at him, he did not have unlimited time to
accomplish what he came here to do. Blood dripped from his nose and down to
his chin as he raised a finger to tap against it. He had not realized he
could bleed here, but there were many things about the depths of the Umbra
he did not know. He needed to figure this out before he became one with it.
As this thought crossed his mind a sharp pain in his gut followed and blood
poured from his mouth. The Umbra-being pulled its arm back from the punch
and returned to a stationary position.
Aothien flashed back to the vision he previously had.
A similar being had appeared in a vision before him. He remembered being
called weak, full of fault and failure. The same things the specters from
the mirror said to him. The more he thought on this, the more rage welled
within him. They were wrong. They were All wrong. He reached out and
grabbed the Umbra-Being by the throat, and began to squeeze. His anger, his
ambition, his goals. They swelled so hard within him he did not stop to
register that he was able to physically interact with Umbra-Being, All he
could feel was the wrath within him squeezing harder and harder.
SNAP
He heard the what sounded like bones breaking between his fingers as the
Umbra-Being faded back into the darkness. Aothien flung his hand out as if
throwing the body that should have resided there onto the ground. Nothing
was going to stop him.
Not Himself.
Not the Umbra.
Not the Sovereign.
The past was just that. It meant nothing outside of the lessons taken from
it. It did not fefine any man, and certainly did not define himself.
He began to march again, his pure determination causing cracks to ripple
through the darkness as he headed deeper.
No one and no being would doubt him again.
Writer: Ryger
Date Mon Oct 12 17:22:15 2026
Subject Forging the Sword - The Kurotaka Mountains
The flutter of wings echoed across the mountain range as Ryger spotted
something quite beautiful. A narrow stream, rich with minerals, wound its
way down the ridge, cutting through exposed rock, volcanic sediment, and,
most importantly, sand. The Ariel swooped down for a closer inspection.
Like an ebony line drawn across the landscape, the dark volcanic sediment
traced the streams path. Beneath it lay a rich bed of clay, just waiting to
be worked. Ryger followed the stream downhill for a short distance before
settling upon a suitable location. With tools in hand, he began chipping
away at the earth, excavating a deep pool beside the watercourse.
For now, the basin was little more than exposed clay and sand. But Ryger
had a purpose in mind. Once he connected a sluice to the stream above, the
rushing water would carry sediment down into the pool, where he hoped to
collect what he sought most... Black iron sand. By evening, the pool was
mostly excavated, and the beginnings of a sluice stretched up the hillside
toward the stream. Ryger made camp nearby. A large fire crackled in the
gathering darkness, sending glowing embers spiraling toward the heavens as
he lay back and gazed at the stars. Tomorrow, he would complete the sluice
and set the water to work. For now, he could only wonder how much black
iron sand the mountain would yield.
The early morning sun rose over the ridge, greeting Ryger with its warm
embrace. During the night, a small boar had wandered into his snare,
providing him with a welcome meal before another long day of labor. Ryger
prepared a shallow cooking pit near the dying embers of his fire. After
skinning and gutting the animal, he wrapped the meat in broad leaves
gathered from the surrounding foliage and placed it within the pit. He then
covered it with large coals from the previous evenings fire before burying
the whole arrangement beneath a layer of soil. With his meal left to cook
slowly beneath the earth, Ryger returned to his work.
The day passed in a steady rhythm of digging, chipping, and clearing. He
carved the upper sluice through the volcanic sediment, gradually working his
way uphill toward the stream. The labor was exhausting, but Ryger remained
focused, his deep scarlet wings shifting behind him as he worked. Seven
hours passed before he finally approached the stream. Only a foot of earth
remained between his channel and the flowing water.
Ryger left this final section intact for the moment and returned to the pool
below. By now, the basin had reached a depth of roughly six feet. Standing
beside it, he measured the depth against his shoulders before beginning work
on a second sluice. This channel would carry excess water away from the
pool and return it to the stream farther down the slope. Unlike the upper
sluice, this lower channel needed to be connected directly to the
watercourse. Once completed, it would allow the pool to drain without
forcing the water back through the excavation from which it had come.
Ryger fashioned a sturdy wooden gate and fitted it into the lower channel.
When raised, the gate would allow water to escape from the pool and flow
back toward the stream. When lowered, it would hold the water in place.
With the drainage system prepared, Ryger turned his attention to the final
barrier separating the upper sluice from the stream. It was time to
discover whether his plan would work.
Writer: Ryger
Date Mon Oct 12 17:24:32 2026
Subject Forging the Sword - The Kurotake Mountains (Part Two)
He struck the remaining foot of clay with his tool. Before he could
finish clearing the opening, the stream broke through. Water surged into
the newly carved channel, rushing downhill with a force that sent loose
sediment tumbling before it. Rocks, gravel, sand, and dark volcanic
deposits swept along the sluice, carried by the current toward the waiting
basin. Ryger stepped aside as the water began its descent, watching with
quiet satisfaction as the mountain's own current did the work he had spent
the day preparing. The pool began to fill.
With the sluice running and the water flowing as intended, Ryger returned to
his camp to retrieve his meal. He dug the boar from its earthen oven,
brushing away the loose soil and leaves. The meat was sweet and fragrant,
tender enough to pull apart with little effort. He ate until his hunger was
satisfied, then wrapped the remaining meat in cloth and secured it inside
his pack. A long day of work had earned him a proper meal, and there was
still more to accomplish before nightfall.
Both the pool and the Ariel were well supplied now, though Ryger knew the
basin could not be allowed to overflow indefinitely. He returned to the
lower sluice and raised its wooden gate, allowing the excess water to drain
back into the stream. Once the water level had settled, he began
constructing a second gate for the upper sluice. This gate would serve a
different purpose. By closing it, Ryger could halt the incoming flow and
allow the basin to drain through the lower channel. Once the water receded,
the sediment left behind would reveal the materials deposited by the stream.
And among those materials, Ryger hoped to find his prize. Black iron sand.
He worked carefully on the upper gate, ensuring it would withstand the
pressure of the flowing water and could be operated when the time came.
When the gate was finally in place, Ryger inspected his work one last time.
The system was ready. Now the stream would do what no amount of manual
digging could accomplish in a reasonable amount of time. It would carry the
mountain's sediment into the basin, depositing layer upon layer of material
for him to sift through.
Ryger gathered his tools and looked over the excavation. The channels were
cut, the gates were fitted, and the water flowed along the path he had
fashioned for it. There was little more he could do for the moment. He
would return home for a few days, allowing the sluice to work undisturbed.
When he returned, he would close off the upper flow, drain the basin, and
examine the accumulated deposits. Only then would he know how much of the
precious black iron sand the mountain had surrendered. For now, Ryger
departed with the quiet satisfaction of a plan set into motion, and the
promise of riches waiting beneath the water.
Writer: Melchaleve
Date Tue Oct 13 07:46:03 2026
Subject Dark Currents : Part 4
"What do you seek?"
"Knowledge."
"Of what?"
"Wielding Her Power"
The motes of umbral power swirled gently around Melchaleve as he made his way through the starlit
void, his senses playing tricks on him as he continued towards the portal in the far distance. At
times he felt as if he were right upon the threshold, at others the portal seemed to retreat into
the abyss.
Slowing, frowning, he considered his situation.
"I am obviously not doing something correctly here, this is not what She intends."
Closing his eyes, he concentrated inward, seeking to draw upon the nascent gift within his soul.
When he opened them again a plethora of mirrors surrounded him. An overwhelming number, everywhere
he looked.
"Within the infinite night, everything." He breathed.
As he studied the mirrors, he tried to discern patterns. He sought to judge the likelihood of
success from the images before him, dismissing one possibility after another. Each time he did,
the mirror shattered, dissolving back into the ether.
Yet as the possibilities dwindled, a pattern began to emerge.
The book. The book. The book.
Again and again, it appeared. Colors swirled around it in patterns he could not comprehend,
shifting and twisting as though governed by rules beyond his understanding. No matter which
possibility he pursued, the book remained.
He opened the book and watched as its pages began to rearrange themselves, turning without his
touch. For a moment, he studied the shifting script, searching for some meaning in the words.
Then the pages stilled.
As he focused on the pages the umbral mist thickened around him, forming a near solid wall
behind him. Around him, the world transformed. He now overlooked a valley below, the portal
still far in the distance.
He began to move, the wall of umbral mist flowing behind him and closing off the way back.
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