3. Wynn's Writings

Wynn's Writings


  • Individual parchments are scattered throughout this small, mostly empty book, though regular entries usually appear in the order of the pages, not at all restricted to one entry per page. The handwriting is heavily practiced, incredibly neat Common.

    _We were headed south, through the Hobgoblins and such, when I started feeling a bit disoriented. I don't remember too much, but I distinctly remember when things started going blue. First, things just looked a bit bluer. Then, everything was a shade of blue. The wind was deafeningly loud, and the air chilly, and I could hardly make out what everyone was saying. By the time we were in the graveyard, on our way back, everything was a blur.

    Soon enough, I could see nothing. It was all just blue. Ice blue. There were spots of differing shades of blue whose location had correlating voices, and from what I could guess, the smaller spots were Dog Boy and Ethan, and the various other spots were the men accompanying us. It became difficult to walk, and things seemed different. Very different, as if Norwick had been transformed, and the wind was picking up, and colder.

    When we had gotten to the gates, I was lost. Paolo led me to a bench by the fire. Voices were no longer attached to faces. I had been looking about, viewing this strange blueness that had confronted me, and shivering in what had become a blizzard. Then I tried to close my eyes.

    It turns out that this was a mistake.

    I am not sure how I reacted, but what I saw caused at least my conscience to rear back. As I closed my eyes, I saw creatures, silhouettes, walking en masse in one direction. The blizzard was clearly visible, its specks of snow stinging my eyes. Everything had become very clear in my sight, but it was certainly not Norwick any longer.

    That sight lasted for the longest time. For what seemed to be hours, those silhouettes walked, marching, drudging, with tools in hand, full of intent. The land lacked features, losing all personality to the blank, snow-white image of a vast plain, overrun.

    I felt infinitely drawn to their destination, driven to drag myself along had I only one arm and no legs, or even with my chin, should it come to that. The pull was powerful, the urge intense, and only my complete lack of will kept me from following the shadows.

    Then I opened my eyes. Everything was back to being blue. I think Diego made a request to stroke his cheek, so I tried feeling the bench. There was no feeling. My extremities had gone numb, and my core only barely tangible. It was all I could do to hug my staff to my body.

    I think, then, at some point, that Paolo, Diego, and Daveth decided to take me to the Grapevine. I can only say their names with the improved vision of hindsight, for I only heard three male voices - a worrying scenario. So they took me there, I now know. My gaze had wandered down a moment, and when I looked up, I saw something much different, but very, very familiar. What I saw was a massive glacier, or some kind of block of ice, the vague blue shapes having been replaced by a scene similar to that which I saw when I closed my eyes. At its base were the silhouettes, chipping away laboriously.

    I remember only the terror of the sight, as I was dragged around it, viewing its workforce in all its might. Then we entered, walking through its icy mass. Within was a barren room of ice, utterly simple, yet utterly vivid. Every crease, every crack, every glimmer was perfectly clear to my perception.

    In all of its vast emptiness, there were three chairs and a fire. So we sat. But I remember only the fire, a blue flicker whose light shimmered on the icy walls. There was something handed to me, I think, but I did not feel as if I had received it. Indeed, I felt very little at all. I turned, and saw a man, a lone man, standing in the middle of the room.

    Then he turned. He was tall and pale, but with long, dark hair. He turned and looked at me. Into me. Through me. And he held a finger up, and gestured to me, beckoning me. Then he slowly approached me, and my eyes were locked on his, black and empty. And he whispered to me. But his words, I do not remember. Perhaps I never understood what he told me in the first place.

    Soon after he retreated to a new corner of the room. I tried to see Paolo or Diego, but they were mere silhouettes of blue. Then I settled in, or perhaps my body took itself where it pleased. The location and direction I do not remember. All I recall was a warmth at the back of my neck, and the fire slowly becoming orange - then the warmth returning from all around. Slowly the ice began to melt away. Everything began to melt away. I melted away.

    And then I was back, in the meager comfort of the Grapevine Inn._


  • _It is the usual. A blizzard mercilessly beats the desolate, white landscape. I walk, alone, sighting no silhouettes as I might on occasion in other dreams. In the distance is an abnormality. The snow whirls around, avoiding a sphere of space ahead of me. So I approach it, unable to see clear through the blizzard into the sphere.

    As I step through the whirlwind of snow into the sphere, the howling in my ears stops. It is replaced by the sloshing of water and the slow, but gargantuan crashing of ice. All around me are glaciers and platforms of ice, flowing peacefully in a dark sea. I think I see something in the distance, tall and imposing, but it is infinitely far and I cannot discern it.

    Slowly the pitter-patter of rain sounds around me. The ice flows away from me, sinking into the water, with such incredible subtlety that I nearly overlook its disappearance.

    I am left standing on the surface of the motionless sea, where the only stir is that of the ripples from the raindrops. It is neither a downpour nor a drizzle, falling evenly and quietly, yet substantially.

    Ahead of me is a hand, held stiffly as though it were grasping for the sky from beneath the surface. I go to it and pull it, and from the water emerges a man. The man. The man with black eyes, tall and dark-haired. Gracefully he stands, dry in spite of his submersion and the rain.

    His hand now comes to my face, caressing my cheek. He grins, amused and sly, but his face then becomes stern and severe, and he slides his hand under my chin, then pushes it up, directing my gaze to the sky.

    The rain falls, yet there are no clouds. I stare up for a time, and then the man lowers my head again.

    We are no longer on the water. I am in a golden field, crops rising up to my waist. The man holds out his arm, as if presenting the field. In it are two silhouettes, clearly human in shape. One is that of an adult man, and the other of a young boy.

    Their mouths are visible.

    The smaller silhouette approaches me, while the larger one stands back, unmoving.

    It stops in front of me, within arm's reach.

    "You can come back," says the small figure.

    I look harder at it. Its voice is familiar.

    Then, as though they were there in the first place, the silhouette opens it eyes, bloodshot and deranged, pleading for mercy and red and wet with tears. They are inhuman.

    Not only its voice, but a cacophony of voices plead hauntingly to me:

    "You can come back."_


  • _I am thoroughly disturbed. A man at the south gate said that an Archdevil who was imprisoned by the Lord of the Ninth fit the description of the man I saw. A man named Jerrick thought that what I saw was a vision. I think he might be right.

    But why? Why would I receive a vision like this? Then again, why would I have an Imp harassing me as I do? This unnerves me greatly.

    I was referred to Celebring, who might have some association with Spellweaver Keep. Aramuil is also an option. I need to find someone who knows more about this. Then maybe I can figure out what is going on. Then maybe I can resolve it._