The Winterfell Journal

This is the personal journal of Nitholiak VonSchlichten, an inhabitant of Winterfell in Aegis. 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 take the severed heads of my plain, ordinary parents… But one mercenary they called ‘Irish’ I met in the “Cat and Fiddle Tavern” said he could introduce me to his boss tomorrow. He is the leader of Storms Army, Commander Storm himself.

As I lay in a paid bed in this Inn I hope tomorrow brings greater luck.

Day 22 Be patient journal, for today was a long day.

I was to meet Commander Storm at noon in the courtyard. As I waited for what seemed like hours, a large man gleaming in plate armor approached me. He introduced himself as Commander Storm and told me that he could have some answers to my questions but I must follow him. I procceded to follow him to what I expected was a private residence… no we walked out of the city on a road for what seemed like half a day. The commander answering none of my questions.

We then reached the edge of a great desert, and there stood it: A great Keep.

Commander Storm looked at the Keep, sighed and shook his head as we approached the gates.

“This was once belonged to my army, we lost it, and now it is ours again,” said Storm.

Confused about the whole situation, I inquired further. It seems there was a bit of a schism within the anti-undead movement in the human kingdoms. Apparently the Oren Guards and Storms Army battled over some issue I am not concerned with and the keep was lost. With a recent treaty the Commander and his troops regained the keep.

So I began to follow the commander around asking questions as he proceeded to do labor around the camp. Putting up new signs, installing new doors, setting up gates, ect. I started to feel more like a nuisance and wondered why have an arcane scholar just be your shadow for a day. It was wasting both of our times.

With my patience growing thin I cornered the commander at a stairway and just flat out asked what he thought of the situation. His answer is that which I feared.

“They are probably just adding them to their army.”

I felt as if I ran into an obsidian wall. Yes yes… Did I not explain they just took the heads? Rolling heads do not work well as undead soldiers. Realizing I just wasted my entire day, I teleported back to Al'Khazar to extend my room at the Inn.

Then I saw a curious looking hooded figure. Immediately I recognized the robe as he is an Arcane Mage of the Order of Mages. I approached him and asked if he could aid me in my mission for information about why the undead desecrated my parent’s tombs so. He said he would be glad to aid me. He then teleported us from Al'Khazar to outside the Mage Tower in the frozen north. The shift from warm sunny weather back into a blizzard was a shock, but the joy of finally getting help overrode any complaints my body was sending to the brain.

After explaining the whole situation, the mage just looked at me and said, “I am very sorry to hear that. We will try to look into it.” Then POOF! He teleported away…. USELESS! This was what my great great grandfather probably ranted about. The mages with all their power and knowledge, too good to actually help people. Ugh. I used my soulstone and returned to the Inn for another night.

Day 23 Waking up the next day. I decided it may be best to venture to lands of those who know darker magic. The Orcs. As I stepped out of the inn and into the courtyard I was immediately approached by a panicked man seeking a doctor or any medical treatment. Always being the good Samaritan I decided to give a helping hand. Perhaps karma will work in my favor one day.

The man, who introduced himself as Ryan Burinston, had a friend who was suffering from great pain in his home. We rushed to his house and I saw a young Grogthan male laying on the table writhing in pain. I had an idea already what this was. The man in agony confirmed my suspicions: he, like most of his people, have been cursed with the Leash of Yaemir… a terrible blood curse. I knew immediately I could not cure this poor fellow nor could most healers. Blood curses are truly vile magic. A curse that passes down to each generation, the innocent are born tainted. I did have a temporary solution that could ease his pain.

His friend, also possessing mild magic powers, was able to restrain him using a charm. I then took my staff, and with a great swing, I landed a blow against the restrained man’s abdomen. The trick is to allow some of the magical enchantments to also enter the cursed’s body. With luck the magic will combat the curse as often as it can. So while this poor soul may feel writhing pain still, it will not happen nearly as often.

When he was released from the restraining charm, the look of pain was no longer in his eyes… the enchantment worked for now. Bidding them adieu I heard a familiar voice out of the window. A voice I did not hear since a few weeks ago in my own home.

I looked out of the second story window of Mr. Burinston’s place and saw him: bald, left side of his face heavily scarred with his left eye blind. But instead of wearing the Winterfell Watchman’s uniform he was wearing magnificent emerald robes of the mage order.

“CATARIS!” I yelled from the window. Not minding my manners in any such bit.

He looked up, smiled and waved me down to talk to him. I bid my new confused friends a goodbye and ran down to the street. We exchanged pleasantries and explained how I have been looking for him and could use his help. He said he is seeking an old Templar friend to help him and if I could help him he would gladly do whatever he could to aid me.

We then met up with Cataris’s Templar friend. Then I learned the grim details of what I got myself into. Apparently an Cult sympathetic to the undead has built a ritual chamber nearby Ailston town. Cataris was attacked by them demanding money, he was able to escape. But little did they know he was a mage. He located the ritual chamber and was gathering friends to cleanse the north of the cult.

I explained the situation to both Cataris and the Templar as we were traveling. Cataris immediately said that he believes the undead would only take the heads if they wanted to reanimate them and find out information. Finally, an answer that made sense but opened up a hundred more questions. What did my parents know? I did not have time to think any further because the cold steel gauntlet of the templar pushed my shoulder down to take cover behind some bushes.

There it was, out of the side of a cliff face a small wooden set of stairs and a lone torch mounted on the rock. We watched as 6 figures climbed up the steps and disappeared into the cliff.

“We move” was all I heard before both armored companions made a dash toward the cliff, I leapt over the bush and caught up fairly quickly, not wearing plates and chains of metal really does give you a bit of a speed advantage.

Then it all happened so quickly, as if it were part of some rehearsed theatre for my own entertainment. The templar kicked the door open and immediately slashed his blade to the right of the door. From my view still on the stairs I saw a ribbon of crimson blood paint the wall, never seeing a body fall. Cataris and I followed closely behind. The cultists were aware something was not right and we could hear commotion coming from a lower level. The templar put his finger to his lips to indicate silence. He pointed his azure blade toward a hole in the ground with a ladder protruding from it. We all rushed to take positions around the ladder when the first head emerged from the hole. With surgical precision, drawing almost no blood, Cataris stabbed the feind in the neck. I watched in horror as the body lost all tension and fell down the ladder almost knocking the man below him off the ladder. The next cultists emerged with blades ready, parrying our first blows and gaining footing on the floor. After only a few seconds the 2 warriors dispatched 3 rowdy looking cultists.

I then heard a noise beside me. A towering green Orc with flaming red eyes burst out of the room behind me wielding a magnificent iron blade. Not to make combat or make some final stand… the creature feared his life and ran. In a half state of panic and adrenaline, I blindly swung my stone blade toward the fleeing fiend. After that moment I will never forget the feeling of blade cutting live flesh. When I opened my eyes he was 5 feet behind me when he tumbled to the ground. It was if his body left wanting to run without knowing it was dead. I walked over to the corpse and picked up his sword. If I was to be doing this more often I will need a quality blade . The other two looked in amazement at the sight. A small meek man in a crimson robe with a bloodied blade standing over a green mountain of a corpse, blood pooling beside it. The others confiscated dark relics and destroyed them. This will be a small setback for the undead… very small. After inspecting the bodies we determined these were ALL mortals sympathetic to the undead cause. Disturbing. They must have some direct contact with the undead to obtain dark relics and shrines…

We went our separate ways from the hidden lair. Cataris said he would stop by the next day and he will investigate the tombs.

Finally, Progress.

Day 26 Journal, this entry take's place over the last two days.

I had another nightmare. This one made less sense than the others. Again I was outside of my old homestead. The sky was a swirling crimson ethereal mass. I faced the mausoleum, the door still open.

I heard his voice. The same Undead with those burning blue eyes who attacked me in my home. I saw nobody, once again it seemed the voice echoed from inside my head. I could not understand what he was saying, but his voice sounded furious.

Then I saw a large empty cavern with a pond of water surrounding a small monument. small waterfalls cascading down from the pitch black ceiling.

I was then outside again. At the foot of the large hill our house stands on. But none of the trees were there and the house was not there. The only thing that stood was the mausoleum. I saw the figure of a portly bearded wizard in a brown robe walking away with a look of accomplishment from the foot of the hill. Then I woke up.

What does any of that mean?

Cataris arrived shortly after breakfast. I offered him some porkchops and bread but he declined. He wanted to examine the crypt as soon as he could. I quickly finished my meal.

The winds were blowing quite harsh today and I struggled to keep my outer robe secure for warmth walking across the estate. We approached the door to the mausoleum and my mage friend concurred the lingering presence of dark magic. We both stepped inside and lit the wall torches. The cold mausoleum seemed to be howling as the wind was sweeping over the wooden roof. Cataris asked to examine what was left of my parents in their tombs. Journal, I am already stressed enough as it is. It is still hard revisiting the desecration of my parents final resting place. Cataris gave a look of understanding. I kept my back turned as the mage examined the wounds. He confirmed these were done by the undead and it seems they were back once again since taking my parents' heads.

I thought this would happen. We have at least a dozen bodies of powerful wizards, sorcerers and mages sealed in magical tombs. The undead would want them in their army. But no undead could break those seals. Cataris cautioned that we should investigate the lower crypt for certainty. To make sure the undead are not doing something else other than just defiling graves for information.

As we slowly walked down the stairs into the darkness. I was clutching my iron dagger close to me... for fear of the worst. Cataris seemed more at ease than anything. I must explain journal, the lower crypt is divided into two wings. Some say its generational, some say its when the magic stopped showing up in the family. But Generations One through Five, from Reinhardt the first of the arcane bloodline to his fifth generation of family are all entombed in a separate wing labeled "For those with the gift".

We crept into the wing of the crypt. Square holes line the walls where tombs sit of my magical ancestors. The stone slabs covering the tombs were broken open... my heart sank and I panicked. I peered into a tomb... the coffin still magically sealed. The undead could not breach it. The others showed same success. The great tomb of Sarugon the I at the end of the wing was completely broken open. Coffin sealed. A wave of relief hit me. Now time to check the other wing.

We walked past the sign that said "Generations Six through XX, Those born without". Inside it was a different scene. All the tombs broken into.. some whole bodies taken... my great aunt Hilda's casket and plaque were also missing. They struck again. But why just these people? Sarugon the II, a famed warrior of the family, his body still rests. But they took the body of Dietrick the II? The shameful drunk of the family? I do not understand.

Visibly frustrated. Cataris could tell I needed to leave the crypt. He recommended stopping by the "Cat and Fiddle" Tavern for a drink and just to try to perhaps formulate some plan or find someone who may know more. Perhaps even in the Mage Guild. We both took out our soulstones from our pockets and turned them over in our hands.

After the normal sickening feeling I get after experiencing the teleport, the ground of Al'Khazar materialized beneath me. It was much warmer here than up in the north so I quickly took off the outer robe I wear over my normal robes to avoid breaking a sweat. Cataris appeared beside me a few seconds afterwards. What happened next will change my life forever.

Akator was his name. Some strange man with a strange orange face. He ran up to us in sheer terror. Saying a group of undead is in pursuit of his friend and he needs help. We saw him trying to coax other passerbys only seconds before. I did not trust the man and from the look in Cataris's eyes, he did not either. He then he looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and said, "why not".

Akator ran ahead as we left the city, just out of earshot of our whispers. Cataris told me he did not trust him. "We will see what is happening, if it looks too dangerous we will flee."

We bounded over a snowy hill. Some great ruins stood on a plateau on our left. A long rectangular structure of stone and wood... almost looked like some sort of temple in state of decomposition. Then Akator held his fist up and ducked down to his knee. We both followed suite and took cover. We saw who Akator must have been talking about. But it was a group of eight or so undead cultists walking along the road past the temple, they looked as if they were just triumphant from another sacrifice.

Cataris and Akator moved along the ridge toward the ruined temple, tailing the mob. I quickly followed. The cultists rounded the plateau and my two companions climbed to the temple to get a better look. I heard another voice echo in my head... "Iblees will be pleased today". Judging by the looks of my companions, I was not the only one who heard the voice. A figure in the crowd turned around and pointed at us. Akator fell back and said,"Damnit they could sense we were watching! HIDE!" We all three ran into the temple. Akator ran down some dark hallway. Cataris and I hid dark corner by an empty room behind some pillars. I heard footsteps approaching in the gravel outside the temple... there were eight of them with at least one of them being an actual undead. Survival seemed minimal if we could not hide.

At once the cultists poured into the temple. Akator was nowhere to be seen from... the thought of ambush crossed my mind... An orc was running down the hallway towards the pillar I was hiding behind. He easily spotted me and my mage friend and we made a run for it. In the chaos I ran into the crowd of cultists. I heard a crack that sounded like an axe hitting wood. In the the melee I was able to escape them and had to find my way out of the temple. They were all behind me chasing me down the main hallway.... some of these rooms lead to the outside... I was going to take a chance. I dove into the first door on the left. It was windowless, doorless. The cold stone and wood room was empty other than a small desk in the corner collecting dust. Much like a jail cell. The cultists followed me in and blocked off the door.

Then he showed up. Another hooded Undead. This one wearing robes of violet and onyx. The cultists started to whoop in excitement on what my fate should be. I am never one to have my fate be in another's hands, I find it humiliating. I heard such suggestions as ,"Lets boil him alive!" and "lets make him watch himself get disemboweled!" and an ever so intelligent orc said "We stab him!"

My mouth gets me in trouble a lot. It always did with my family, my colleagues and authorities. This was one of those situations. After the orc voiced his recommendations for my fate. I turned to him and said, "If I wish advice on how to eat babies or not wear any clothes, I will summon you!". A few of the cultists chuckled but the undead was infuriated. The figure approached me and without any warning and struck my leg with his staff. I fell to one knee and looked up at him. His hood so dark I could not even see a face... just a glow from his eyes. He placed his staff on the ground.

A voice boomed from inside my head.

"Nobody insults my servants to Iblees"

"Yeah get him, Val!" I heard the Orc grunt to the undead standing over me.

Val... The dumb orc said the damned undead's name..... I looked to the side at the orc's feet and grinned at his idiocy.

I saw a flash of red and orange and felt my skin burn.

It felt like days. I was awake at the Cloud Temple of Aegis. A bandage over the left side of my face. A monk quickly ran over to me when he saw me rise from bed. With a grave look in his eyes he explained what happened. How I actually died. Killed with a direct blast of dark energy from the undead. It left a felwound to my left eye. The monks are attempting to heal it but the curse it left was too powerful. They only were able to just contain the curse to my eye. Better than I could have hoped.

I am grateful, yet bedridden.

I wonder what happened of my other two companions.

Day 27 I had another nightmare while sleeping in the Cloud Temple of Aegis. More and more I believe these dreams to be messages…or signals from someone or something. I was back in the large cavern with the lake. This time I was on the island in the middle of the cavern standing next to the monument I saw from afar in a previous dream… now I could see it clearly. A large obsidian plate lay atop a pedestal of ivory. I approached the curious structure; normally I am not used to this level of control in dreams. Then a familiar dark voice echoed in my head. The undead voice I have heard previously. I could not understand what he was saying. I could just tell his voice sounded excited. As I slowly approached the obsidian and ivory monument things started to become clearer. It was if my senses were sharpening. I could see more detail of this strange object. My hearing was becoming clearer the closer I crept. Suddenly a voice boomed in my head, “The crypt! He is entombed there. But we still do not know where or how to find him!”. How was I hearing the undead voice? Was this really a dream still? I stood at the base of the monument. I could barely see over the top of it. At the base I saw a large golden plaque with a name inscribed in glowing runes. A name I only heard once before.

“Gestahl VonSchlicthen”

I woke up in a state of bewilderment. I forgot I was at the Cloud Temple being tended to by the Monks. It was early morning and the monk named Dalmer approached my bedside.

“My monks tell me they see you fit to be released from our care. Please take this soulstone and have safe journeys.”

I did not have a chance to say a word as he helped me out of bed and placed another small amber stone in my palm and led me toward the exit.

I left the temple within nothing but the robes I wore and a soulstone in my pocket. With the left half of my face bandaged I knew the journey back to Winterfell would be long and tiresome. The sun was already high in the sky and my charcoal robes only made the heat worse. Quite different from the frozen wastes I am used to.

Half a day passed as I was walking on the road to Winterfell. The whole time I felt helpless not knowing what happened of my companions in the temple ruin. The Monks did not see anyone matching Cataris’s description. First I needed to get back home before I began searching for him or more realistically, his fate.

News reached me by a passerby that King Edmund’s Bridge has been completed. That should make my normal journey across the frozen sea a bit easier. It isn’t the fear of falling into the ice and drowning in freezing water. It is just the constant balancing game you have to play scooting across the ice becomes time consuming and mentally painful. I digress, I was passing by the outskirts of Al’Khazar when I felt a presence from earlier. Down the road I spotted a familiar figure from my execution at the temple ruins. Wearing different robes the hooded figure only known by his nickname “Boney” made eye contact with me and reached inside his robe.

I reached to my own side only to forget I was unarmed. With only one functioning eye I would be hard-pressed to be an adequate opponent for a duel in the middle of a road. I reached into my robe sleeve…I knew nothing was in it but maybe the fool would back down. Boney took no notice to my action. He approached me and took out a small envelope from his robe.

Confused by his lack of hostility,I asked a thousand questions at once. Who are you? Who are your masters? What is this curse I have been stricken with?

The cultist snapped back at me, “Serves you right for interfering with our affairs. I will kill you personally myself.” He handed me the envelope. “What is this?” I asked.

He explained it was a missive from one of the cultists.

“He says you can help us. We can help you.”

I opened the envelope and the letter said that this ….oh journal for my own safety I will not mention his name. He needed a book. A rare one but just a book of paper and ink. It is part of the matching set that includes my book on the Arcane Arts I keep hidden. In exchange, he will immediately lobby to have the undead stop attacking my family’s estate. With the exchange of the book the undead would return my parents’ remains. This deal only seemed too good to be true… If the undead were to not hassle my estate then I could… yes… I could use the time to try to research more about Gestahl VonSchlichten. First I would need to test them on their agreement.

“Tell your friend I agree to help him. If the undead so much as set a foot on my lands I will abandon my search. And don’t think you can find someone more suited for this task.”

The hooded man nodded and turned and walked off. He made 10 paces and looked over his shoulder at me.

“Just remember who you are helping.”

And he walked off.

It then started to get late. I made the decision to stay in the Inn in Al’Khazar. Night was falling quickly and I could hear thunder off in the distance.

Day 28. Journal, I had another nightmare. Since my encounter with the undead the nightmares have been more frequent and more vivid.

This time I stood in a war camp. I did not recognize this place. Around me stood a small city of tents. Human soldiers were walking about in armor I did not recognize. Instead of the mail and plate I am used to, they were all wearing crude hammered breastplates held together with leather straps.

I saw walk toward me a familiar man whom I’ve never seen before wearing magnificent crimson and onyx robes. He was flanked with a man and woman wearing hooded black robes. They both had their fists clenched in their fingerless gloves and kept their heads low to hide their faces. The man in the center walked with a sense of power and urgency toward the largest tent at the camp.

I tried to gaze at the man’s face. He looked like a younger blonde mirror image of my great great great grandfather. Strong brow, high cheek bones, sunken eyes and the prominent VonSclichten nose. Just piecing some of the information from my last dreams I assumed this was Gestahl. My body seemed to follow the three as soldiers parted aside for them without hesitating as they headed up the path. When the three approached the large golden tent, the woman grabbed the flap and threw it open as her two companions stormed inside.

When my body floated into the tent behind them I saw about 8 or so mages, some knights, generals and an Archmage looking over a map at a large center table. They all looked up at the three new guests who just entered. They were talking about something. It was if I had a deafening hex cast on me. I could hear their talking but it sounded muffled to the point I could not understand any words.

A Mage stood up and bowed to Gestahl, he returned the bow. They seemed to exchange greetings. Gestahl began to address the group gathering over the map. He looked to speak with great confidence, no, a sense of cockiness. He paced back and forth speaking to the large group, gesturing with his hands, his face vivid with different expressions, seeming to tell a fantastic tale. As he went on I could hear his muffled tone turn more condescending. His two companions still stood by the exit not moving. The mood in the room seemed to turn sour the more he talked. Looks of anger started to manifest themselves on the faces of those listening in the room. Then he said something that must have crossed a line. A stocky gray bearded general stood up; his face was red with rage. The man drew his blade and pointed it at Gestahl standing across the room while his arm shook with anger. He spat out words and pounded his fist against the table below him. Whatever words landed in Gestahl’s ears were not taken kindly. He swung his arm in a slashing motion in the direction of the old man.

I saw a crimson mist fill the room as the old general and the mage sitting behind him were cut in two as by some great invisible razor. Before Gestahl had time to even register his kills, the Arcane Mage flew to his feet and. In less than a moment he sent a dozen bolts of pure arcane energy hurtling towards Gestahl. The two hooded companions by the doorway threw both hands forward as a magical shield appeared in front of the three intruders. All I saw was a great flash of light.

I woke up again in a cold sweat. Surely just a wildly imaginative nightmare I thought. The stress I am undergoing combined with me…dying…is sure to cause some sort of temporary trauma to the soul. I enjoy trying to lie to myself. In my studies of ailments of this sort, sometimes it is best to regain a sense of normalcy. I will leave the inn and walk over to Dawn’s bakery and get some breakfast and continue my journey back to Winterfell.

I stepped outside of the Inn into the streets of Al’Khazar. From the way it looked nobody seemed aware of any sort of problems. As if the whole world was fine. Shops were open and peddling wares. I pondered returning to the market after I got something to eat. I walked down the bustling streets, scanning for any familiar face. I approached Dawn’s Bakery and a line was already formed. She does make the best baked goods in the whole kingdom. I can afford to wait in line a few minutes.

When I walked in the front door the smell of baked goods was intoxicating. Such a simple comfort that I can appreciate more than ever. Journal, you will be the only one to know this unless somebody else reads this. I purchased a whole cake for myself. Took it upstairs and began to eat the whole thing. It was delicious; this is pure happiness in a baked good. Afterwards I was a tad lethargic in my seat looking out the window over the docks. I saw a glimpse that brought nothing but relief to me. A man in emerald robes walked around the corner that I recognized as Cataris. He seemed to be quite in a hurry.

I sprinted out the front door to give chase. I felt the cake gurgling in my stomach so I knew I had to lessen my pace. As I rounded the corner where I saw him he was standing with two other robed figures. Unlike the ominous undead cultists, they wore fantastic mage robes of violet and azure. I stumbled to them and was doubled over trying to catch my breath and not vomit my whole cake on the mages robes. When the mages turned to me and Cataris saw my face I was met with a look of joy and shock. “Nitholiak! You are alright! Your face! Why is your face bandaged up? Are you alright?”

I explained how I received a felwound from the undead curse that killed me. He was in awe the Monks at the Sky Temple could not fully heal the wound. Curious on how he escaped, he told me when the undead entered the temple, he tore up a floorboard and hid under it and eventually found an opening to the outside. He went to the mages for help but by then it was too late… like they would help me anyway. The moment I thought this, the other two mages looked at each other and signaled Cataris. Apparently I may have interrupted some secret guild business they were wrapping up. Cataris apologized and said he had to go with them. He promised to stop by my home near Winterfell in two days when he got back.

Knowing Cataris was alive was a big relief. However, the nightmares of Gestahl seemed to be eating away at my thoughts like a plague. I must learn more about him. He was never mentioned in our family history. If these dreams are actually glimpses into the past, there may be others who know of him. Although very few people have been alive since his time almost 500 years ago. I should start looking for a great library with detailed history. I AM an arcane researcher, this will be simple bookwork. Nothing too difficult such as gathering and studying resources from the realm of the undead. Alas, that will be a story for another day. I know the Sky Temple has a great library I browsed over once. I still need to get home first.

As I passed the shops, A merchant named Rhycen had an impressive show of wares. Intrigued I purchased a new blade and some food for the road. The blade was sharp, lightweight and perfectly balanced. Quite a treat in Aegis where many amateurs slap anything sharp or pointy to a handle and try to play it off as some ancient relic. I made my way to the gatehouse. Perhaps I can sleep in my own bed tonight.

Approaching the gatehouse is always a nuisance. These days they let anyone become a guard. I swear once I saw the King’s Advisor get questioned by the guard on what his business was in the city was. I approached the closed gate I saw the face of “Boney”. He was now wearing an ornate blue robe that resembled a scholar’s. He was arguing with the guards to get in the city. The guards confused him for a thief they saw earlier. He saw me approach and we made eye contact.

“Look there he is! There is my boss. We have important research to discuss for the King!”croaked Boney.

I could feel the envelope this same man gave just last night. If I made an agreement with the undead it would be unwise to break it so soon.

“Yes, let him in. He is with me.” I ordered the guard.

The gate creaked open and Boney stepped foot into the city. I noticed the eye of a curious looking archer wearing the insignia of the guard atop the wall who nodded. Boney grabbed me by the sleeve and told me we need to find a location with less stray ears for our voices to fall on. He led me by my sleeve to the docks.

“You, there were three mages here in the city not too long ago. Have you seen them?”

I could not let the Undead see through me. I had to be as convincing as possible without endangering Cataris.

“Yes. Three of them left with great urgency about an hour ago.” I said leaving out details that would put him in danger.

“Any Idea where?” Boney inquired.

“They left out of the gatehouse and they were heading toward the northern ruins,” a new voice spoke from behind.

I turned around and the Archer from earlier walked out of the shadows. I drew my new blade. In an attempt to try to show my loyalty to the undead agent to win his trust...madness right?

“HAH! Put your blade down Nitholiak,” Boney chuckled. “This is the man you seek the book for”

An Oren guard? Perhaps they are not ALL stupid after all…Then he spoke to me.

“Nitholiak that was quite a feat you pulled off there. Getting Boney in the city and all,” rasped the Archer adjusting his hood. “We didn’t even expect to get him inside. He was just to cause a distraction for my more ‘honest’ counterparts at the gate so I could do what I needed to do.”

Journal, I felt the pit of my stomach drop out. I assisted the undead in some sort of operation that they did not even expect to fully work. What sort of gears have I set in motion? To not look anymore suspicious standing at the docks, The guard recommended talking out a few plans on a full stomach. We headed to the Cat and Fiddle.

We sat in an empty corner. The tavern was unusually empty that night. The barkeep was standing outside sweeping the path way upstairs to his establishment. The two undead agents were terribly excited for this recent turn of events. But it seems that is not why they wanted to speak to me to begin with. Boney put down his mug of ale and then his mood turned from jovial to almost deathly.

“We see you travel many times with a Mage named Cataris.”

I confirmed I did. But played it off more of that Cataris is just some strange fellow who likes to follow me. Me being the nice person I do not tell him to just leave me alone. Oh I hope he never reads this. How embarrassing. But I continued, Boney believed it. These undead are such fools sometimes but that did not stop him from saying what he came here to say.

Boney and his Archer friend let me in on information that the Mage Guild has one of the largest libraries in the world. That I should use Cataris as a way to get the book on Necromancy for the undead agent. I thought about it for a split second. Yes, I COULD somehow check on the mage library. But not for their book. Some history on the 2000 year war.

The two agents got up and nodded a goodbye.

My thoughts danced back to that tower. Never would they let inside a cursed arcane researcher who lives alone in the frozen wastes.

But maybe…

Day 29

Journal today was the most exciting of days. Not due to events that unfolded throughout the day but changes to myself. When I awoke at the Inn I was sitting on my bed turning over the amber stone that transports me to Al’Khazar. As I was turning it over I was imagining me back in my living room in Winterfell. No long journey, just appear in my home without concern. I focused on that thought and turned the stone over in my hand. I suddenly felt my body twist and float. Next thing I remember was the feeling of the VonSchlichten rug beneath my feet. I had done it. I somehow magically channeled the stone to have me apparate in my own home. Amazing! But that is not all!

Feeling elated from saving a day journey by some new magical power, I was running around my living room with feelings of pure joy. What else could I do. Immediately I ran outside with my staff. Found a zombie standing under a tree out of the sun’s rays. I concentrated hard…fire…nothing.

Again…

Nothing.

So I can teleport home, but cannot cast offensive spells. I went to the front door, took out my bone wand and waved it over the door knob.

• CLACK*

The door magically locked itself. I could open the door fine and then it would lock behind me. Amazing, a powerful locking charm for protecting all my valuables! Perhaps this will dissuade any potential raiders. I am horribly excited journal. A bit of peace of mind in the frozen wastes goes a long way. Ah! Another magical skill…. Now I can conjure images of my memory for others to see in these books. In a amazing living picture. For example,

I met this man earlier on my estate. He has been living in the north all his life living with wolves! Zio was his name! Fascinating!!! The wolves are quite fearsome! I wonder what else this entails. I cannot wait to show Cataris when he stops by.

Day 34 I am in hiding right now. People are dead. Things have gone all wrong. Every single plan I had is now nothing more than an idea. Everything has fallen apart.

I woke as the sun was rising. I needed to journey to Snowy Fields to gather some paper to bind some new books. I haven’t heard from Cataris since I saw him leaving Al’Khazar in a hurry almost a week ago. Alas, the life of a mage must be busy sitting in that huge tower watching the Undead contaminate our world. So I grabbed my traveling cloak and made west for Snowy Fields.

As I passed Winterfell, the cold winds were especially harsh. My cloak’s hood was not enough; I had to wrap my facemask around my head only exposing my eyes to the freezing winds. I could see King Edmund’s Bridge in the distance after reaching the top of a hill. On the bridge I noticed a robed figure with his head down walking toward my direction. Always weary, I kept my hand on the handle of my silver dagger incase he was a bandit who mistook me for some peasant. But as we approached I recognized his black and crimson robes.

“GURAIM!” I yelled.

“Ah! Hello Nitholiak, It’s been a long time eh?” said the robed and masked man.

Guraim was a fellow researcher years ago before I moved to Winterfell. We both worked many hours alongside each other. It was quite a treat to see another friendly face in the wastes. I asked him where he was heading to. He normally would never be caught dead in the frozen wastes. I remember him talking many hours about how he loathed to cold.

“I am headed to Kal’Bryst” Guraim said calmly.

“The ruins, why?” I questioned.

“The ruins hold many artifacts and books. The undead swept in and destroyed the city as the population fled. They left behind many arcane objects. What are you up to that is so important. You should accompany me like the old days! “

I am a sentimental person journal. I would much rather do some old fashioned field research with my old academic partner instead of getting a stack of paper. Who knows, I may have found paper in the ruins! We immediately headed in the direction of the fallen city.

Exchanging stories what we have been doing since then, Guraim seems to have never taken a break. Always searching ruins and decoding arcane tomes. After about an hour of chit chat I saw a huge spiral of lava coming down what was once the great city.

“Ah there she is!” gloated Guraim.

We both stepped inside a hole blast into one of the massive walls. Traces of dark magic were everywhere. Guraim seemed un-phased by this. The massive walls were now crumbling. The center keep reduced to a monument of the Undead’s triumph… this place made me sick. After 15 minutes of walking about I told Guraim I was going to step out of the walls and look around the city perimeter. He seemed too immersed in the ruins to even care. He just nodded and waved me off while pouring through a toppled bookshelf.

Outside the walls it was a much different scene. Life still thrived. Wild cattle were grazing on the fields surrounding the city. I could see sheep up on the snowy hills. Even a lone red rose poked out of the site of the great battle. As I was taking in the simple things I saw an emerald figure atop a hill walking down toward me. My friend Cataris seems to find me wherever I am.

“Nitholiak! There you are! I stopped by your house earlier and you were not there.”

“Hah! What made you think I would be at Kal’Bryst?” I questioned.

“Well, that is just a coincidence. I am here for other reasons but it is good to see you. These ruins are dangerous alone you know.” Said Cataris in a true mage fashion.

Alas, I can take care of myself. I informed Cataris I did not travel alone and my old colleague is pouring over the ruins. This seemed to disturb Cataris a bit. We chatted a bit standing in the fields around Kal’Bryst and then he started talking about the mage tower. The wonders of arcane engineering, how the tower is invisible from a distance until you get close to it. Hmn… makes me want to gain entry even more. Then I took a leap of faith.

I asked if the tower had a library. What I just spoke set off a chain of events even “I” could not have predicted

“Yes it does, it is quite marvelous. Would you like to see it?” replied Cataris casually.

Would you like to see it? Would you like to see it? Was it really that easy? I just “ask” and I get entry to the Mage Tower? I can research information about Gestahl, search for the undead agent’s book and may pick up a few more magical tricks from their tomes. “Of course! That is only if I am allowed you see. I do not want to be a bother…”, I stammered to my mage friend.

“No problem what so ever.”

Perfect. The pieces were all falling in together. I just would need to inform Guraim that I would not be accompanying him on his return journey. Cataris and I climbed to the outer wall to see Guraim so I could inform him of my departure. To our confusion, no sign of him was in the city. I yelled out for him, we even looked in all the buildings to make sure he was alright. No sign. Cataris and I turned back and headed to the mage tower. The man can take care of himself.

We were walking on a narrow cobblestone path in a light flurry. I expected to see something on the horizon at any minute until…

“Here we are.”

I took a few steps forward and a large tower seemed to appear out of nothingness. Ah, so this is where the mages stay. An impenetrable fortress even the undead cannot seemingly breach. When we approached a flat wall, with a motion of his hand Cataris opened up the wall. Inside was a marvel to behold.

If I were to imagine what the planes look like, that was it. All known planes of existence looked to be residing inside the tower. I saw what looked like the nether, deserts, mountains and forests all in one small room. My writing cannot fully describe such things. I cannot even pull an image from my mind to accurately display such awe inspiring things. I felt a tug on my sleeve as I realized I was still outside standing with my jaw dropped. Cataris pulled me inside as the walls sealed behind us.

The rest of the tower I saw was not so impressive. The tower spiraled down into the ground where the library was located. Cataris said he had business to attend to so I was free to head down there and stay as long as I wanted. All the time I needed to look at their books. Everything was going better than anticipated. I kept going down the spiral and passed a room where spied the archmage and some man stood.

“…confirmed identity of undead spy within the guild…”

What did I just hear? An undead spy is in the mages and has been found out?

Now journal, my next actions I regret. But read my reasoning.

This information may be of use to the undead. The mages will obviously act with precaution toward the spy and make sure no information is leaked. But the simple fact the Undead can have an “agent” who can get inside the mage tower may win more amnesty from the Undead. The longer I can keep them from discovering the secrets of the Crypt and Gestahl the better.

I kept listening to the conversation from outside the room hiding behind a pillar and jotted these infamous notes:

Archmage and Dunwood met In tower. Overheard meeting between the two inside the mage tower. Undead agent, Hwaldar, identity compromised.

Recommend new sleeper agent.

Just a few notes to remind myself what to tell my contacts when I see them again. I hid the note in the minas wallet.

I made it to the library and was now set to do what I came here to do. All the walls were lined with books from the floor to the high ceilings. It was marvelous. I poured over all sections for hours and did not find anything useful. I did find one book on the History of Aegis, I sat down at a desk and began reading.

About an hour later I was surprised by a slap on the back. Apparently I fell asleep and Cataris came to check on me. I voiced my disappointment at a rather bland selection of books for a mage tower. He laughed and motioned me to follow him. I grabbed my things and followed him.

Perhaps there is a section I missed. I was following him as we made our standard conversation of daily musing and I noticed him drop down in front of me. Without thinking I stepped into the hole in the library floor he just did. What a mistake. I was falling. I looked down and did not see the floor. The wind swept past my hair, my robe flailing wildly as I was in free fall. Then I saw Cataris’ body and a pool of blood right before I hit the ground.

• SMACK*

For some bizarre reason, the mages think it necessary to install random death traps in a library….

I awoke at the Sky Temple with all my things missing other than my small amber gem. When I got up, I asked the monks if they saw Cataris. They last saw him leaving a few hours before. Alas, I took the gem in my palm, closed my eyes, turned it over once and thought of my living room. I felt the familiar squeezing sensation over my body as I fell onto the rug in my house. Not the most graceful entrance I have done. I dusted myself off and started to piece together what happened.

“Are you home?” a familiar voice popped in my head.

“Cataris? Hello? Yes I am! Where are you?”

“This is a telepathic channel, ill stop by in a few hours…”

Good, maybe he can answer why his damned mage guild felt it necessary to have us both accidentally kill ourselves in a damn library. I walked over to the kitchen to grill up some pork chops and bake some bread.

Hours passed and I became bored. I felt much less tense than I did weeks before. The undead have not shown their faces in weeks and bandits can no longer break past the charms. Then an armored man approached the door and knocked.

“Nitholiak! It’s Cataris. Can you let me in?”

I ran over to the door and unlocked it. By now the food was done so I turned and walked over to the kitchen.

“Sorry about the armor, there were some spiders on the way I had to take care of.”

“They must have been some damn huge spiders then!” I joked.

I picked up the food and turned around back toward him. He had his diamond blade drawn and pointed at me from across the living room.

“DO NOT MOVE!”

What? I was confused. Was this a joke?

In his free hand he held my scribbled not I hid in my wallet. My heart sunk. Everything at this moment has fallen apart. I failed my friend and I failed the undead. Both may kill me. I was ready to accept my fate. He would not listen.

“Every mage has read this. I TRUSTED you. Why!?” screamed Cataris. Agony on his face.

If I were to save my life, nay, my friend, he would need to know everything. A sudden calm came over me. I explained everything: The tomb, the nightmates, the undead protection, and Gestahl and his Keep. His arm still held the blade steady and my words flowed into his ears. A look of sadness and anger stile on his face. If ready to charge at me to slay me or to break down into tears.

“ I want to believe you, Nitholiak. I really do. I trust you but why did you lie? Why did you not ask for help? Help from the mage gui-”

“I DID ASK FOR HELP! THE PIG LOVING ARCANE MAGE BRUSHED ME OFF LIKE SOME CRAZY MAN AND DISMISSED ME BECAUSE OF MY FAMILY NAME!” I yelled.

I had lost my patience. Cataris still thinks the Mages as some defenders of Aegis. He thinks this because he is a solider by heart. Not an academic. If he were to kill me, then let it be so. At least I would be killed by the only mage I have respect for.

He slowly lowered his arm and backed up toward the door not taking his eyes off me. Like he was expecting my skin to melt off and reveal I am some Dreadlord.

“I…I must go.”

He ran out the door into the dusk.

My heart was still pounding in my chest. I slumped in my chair by the fireplace. Everything has gone wrong. I cradled my head in my hands. I had allies everywhere and now I have just enemies. I failed the undead and the mages will hunt me as some undead agent. My only friend in this strange land is now my foe. My options were limited. Right at that moment I looked up and saw the mausoleum out the window across the estate. My last option lies there. Somehow unlock Gestahl’s secrets and hopefully my own magic prowess. I will then wage a one man war against the forces of evil and die a martyr… foolish, but redemption is more valuable than my life.

I got up out of my chair and grabbed my bone wand, you journal, and an unlit torch. As I neared the front door I heard a thunderclap close by. Not a cloud in the sky but then I grew cold. I stepped out of the front door and made my way to the Mausoleum.

Another flash of lightning. Two figures stood in front of my mausoleum. I stood frozen in fear. Cataris was in his robe and on his knees with his hands by some magic. Next to him stood a hooded figure with black and blood red robes. His eyes glowed bright like a cigar under his hood yet I could not see his face. I knew my fate had caught up with me. But I did have one power stronger than magic still. I took a deep breath.

“Ah! You must be Boney’s master. As promised I have information on the mages”, I rattled off charmingly.

The figure stood still and started to laugh. Not to be discouraged. I walked toward them with an aura of confidence.

“To get inside the mage’s tower was a hard task but I accomplished it as promised. They had no such book to speak of but I do have information.” I said proudly. Hoping the Undead figure holding Cataris prisoner would believe me.

“ I come not for information. I come sacrifice you both to Iblees” the voice bellowed from what seemed to be inside my own head.

Suddenly, rain started to hit the pine forest above us.

“This must surely be some sort of mistake m’lord. The mages have uncovered our agent working within their ranks. He is of no more use.”

The undead lord then seemed to be more interested. I could sense a bit of curiosity emanating from him.

“Tell me.”

“I want this man’s life. I could slave labor on my estate” as I nodded my head to Cataris.

“Tell me or die.”

“First let us take shelter.” I motioned to the mausoleum nearby.

The Undead Lord agreed as we walked inside. This was a big gamble. I was improvising negotiating for Cataris’ life with a being of pure darkness. This would not end well.

“The name, who is it”, the voice said even with more anger.

“The name for this man’s life.” Again I said.

The Undead Lord was not pleased with a mortal trying to negotiate with him I saw him take his staff out from behind his back. Cataris shot me a glance as if I were some fool throwing my own feces. My charisma was not having an effect on this Undead as I did with the others.

“Tell me the name, or you both die” said the Undead as his staff seemed to glow with life.

Now was not a time to be bad with names…. Hwalak? Hallder….

“HWALDAR! He has both exposed his own identity and my own. The mages hunt me due to his foolishness! I have failed Iblees!” I pleaded.

This must have been the best joke the Undead has heard in years. He laughed as if he were mortal.

“I killed Hwaldar with my own hands hours ago! Now you both will be sacrificed for Iblees”

Everything went wrong. This was all for nothing. The days of work and plotting, all for nothing. The Undead slammed his staff into the ground as a flash of light filled the mausoleum. The dark lightning struck the mausoleum’s protective charm and caused the whole chamber to fill with lightning. Tombs shattered and splintered stone in all directions. I could smell burning flesh and feel pain all over my body… was I still alive? I felt my body seizing from the electricity….but I noticed that the Undead did not expect this. He too was struck by his own spell.

The robed Undead staggered back to regain his footing. Reacting instinctively, I blindly grabbed the only object I could find, a shard of my mother’s tomb. I dove across the small room and tackled him to the floor. With a merciless fury, I plunged the sharp stone into the face of the hooded monster. I could feel the shard cutting past the leathery skin and crunching skull and it drove deeper. A demonic scream filled the entire crypt. I pulled the shard out and plunged it even deeper, with pure hatred into the Undead lord’s face. It’s eyes no longer glowed. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I punched the stone dagger again and again into the now horribly mutilated face of the creature who dare try to kill me and my friend. I feared if I were to stop I would feel his cold hand shoot out and grasp my throat.

Two strong hands grabed my arms and I was pulled off the limp mass of glowing black and red robes. Cataris had to pull me off of what was the Undead Lord. The robed corpse in the corner then exploded in a brilliant red flame and was suddenly gone. Cataris walked over to where it was, picked up the Undead’s staff and tossed it to me.

“You are not safe here anymore. We must go.”

Day 35 Journal, I ran into the estate and grabbed everything I could take with me. Cataris stood by waiting to get me out of the north. I heard more thunderclaps nearing. I ran out the front door and slammed it shut behind me. Cataris was already darting ahead with his emerald robe flailing in the wind. Everything was happening so fast. I did not know what to do, where to go or who to trust.

“We need to get you closer to Al’Khazar where it is safer. The undead will hunt you in the north if they find out what happened,” shouted Cataris.

I was keeping up with him as we were about to pass Winterfell and get onto King Edmund’s bridge. The cold night sky and the rain were making it more difficult for me to not shiver as I jogged behind him. I just brought a few tools and my field alchemy set. My lungs started to burn breathing in the cold night air.

Once we approached Snow Fields Cataris said for me to head to Al’Khazar and he was going to try to help from elsewhere. He teleported out of sight. I did not really know what to do. Homes are expensive and I am not sure how well my books will sell in the city.

Alas, after another few hours I arrived back in Al’Khazar and stayed the night at the Cat and Fiddle Inn.

Day 36 Journal, I woke up with a strange sense of optimism. The north was miles behind me and the Undead have no idea where I am. I could maybe even use this as an opportunity to start my own Potions and Magic shop.

After eating I walked around the city looking for some property I could open a store in. Alas, there was nothing. Knowing the area, I knew I would need to open a business near the King’s Road. I decided Kramaroe was the next best choice since it saw a decent amount of travelers.

I exited the gates of Al’Khazar and made my way to the settlement. Passing some ruined building carved into the mountain by the waterfall of Oren. The stalls in the Oren Marketplace also looked inviting. The pastor of the local church was there and he asked if I was interested in any of the shops. Of course I was but the prices he offered were far too high. I asked about the nearby ruins in the mountain. He said those were abandoned years ago and they are a just an eyesore.

I took a gamble.

I asked if it would be alright if I took them over and turned them into something nice. It was a three story building carved out of the side of the mountain. Dark inside and crumbling. Next door was an empty shop. I carved out a small room to live in and store all my tools and to sleep. For now I must sleep. For the next few days I will work tirelessly.