3. Requiem, the Journal of Syclya Latonein

Requiem, the Journal of Syclya Latonein


  • First Entry

    _The Apothecary is silent now, devoid of the sounds of pain and suffering of the wounded who seek care here. The other workers here are either on their sleep rotation, are concocting potions upstairs or are working the main floor. Two of note stand ready regardless of the lull in visitors. Others still sweep up the blood soaked sand that litters the infirmary and replenish the dried herbs that are hanging about to assist in improving the smell.

    I have just come back from the Rawlinswood, carrying in my hand a large pouch filled with herbs, roots and clusters of berries. A supply run to restock the pantry with more traditional healing aids. Sad be it that healing through the channelling of positive energy via priests via Gods is the more common state of the sacred healing arts these days. True, it is fast and ideally suited to the battlefield or those adventuring. When on the move it would be nigh on impossible to sustain a mortally wounded fallen comrade. If bloodloss, shock and trauma don't kill them first then secondary conditions definitely would. Stuck in a dank cave or swamp or exposed and moving constantly on the road or perhaps freezing huddled about a makeshift fire in a high mountain pass traditional healing treatment would assure your death. Secondary conditions like infections, easily cured at home become serious trouble at times like these. Internal bleeding, should it be suffered_ will _be fatal as cutting the patient open in any place but a surgery will almost certainly hasten death. There is quite a list of things that would kill you in circumstances like these to be honest. Blood poisoning, critical head trauma and or brain damage, hypothermia, heat stroke even malnutrition. But I digress. Divine healing has it's time and place, and so to does traditional healing, as is evidenced by the infirmary here in the Apothecary.

    In my time back here I've been astounded by some of the changes to the region. It seems I spent too long abroad, though it was not without merit. I sought and luckily received audience with High Cleric Barriltar Bhandraddon in the mesmerizing Temple of Torm's Coming in Tantras. An audience, however brief, with the chosen pontiff of my Lord himself is a great honour. I spoke with his majesty about Narfell, about the good work that others and I are doing there, the victories and the defeats. I received a blessing from him and a shining new holy symbol, truly a gift from my Lord Himself. It has been a long time indeed since I have known happiness this great. Afterwards, mingling with others of my clergy was a joy as always. Learning of the happenings from the Sword Coast to even Kara Tur from paladins and priests alike scattered across the land who've returned to Tanras, much as I did. I stayed there for some time, studying and training. Honing my skills and absorbing all that Torm Himself has to offer me in His center of power. When the time came for me to leave Tantras I did, a little begrudgingly, and headed home, to Narfell and Norwick.

    In my first few months back I have learned that the undead still plague parts of the region, demons have wrought their will upon the lesser sentients of the Rawlins. Twisting their forms and creating of them aberrations that must be destroyed. The Drow too still harass us from time to time, my dark cousins raiding the surface to capture slaves and satisfy their unquenchable thirst for blood and combat. The Troblin Disease as some have taken to calling it, now passed thank Torm, alters and twists the shape of the infected at random. Having been afflicted with this myself I was exhiled with fifteen others and barred from returning to town until we were 'safe'. I was fortunate to never have suffered its unthinkable effects, praise to Torm.

    As I write this I have resumed my patrols into the Rawlinswood and I have begun taking up my old duties in the Apothecary in Norwick of late. Fetching supplies for them, cleaning cooking and advising, these things I do with the best intentions. My primary job -outside of my Services to Torm, and my Penance of Duty- is the tending of the sick and injured. From the commoner seeking treatment for her family from sickness, the broken arm of a clumsy child to the severed limbs of Redcloaks coming from a recent assault on the gates, to the critical trauma of adventurers brave enough to put themselves in harms way with the town guard. Often though, I am to the South with them, holding the line and channelling His Will and Power to mend the broken bodies of the righteous. When someone is felled, praise Torm this should not happen, I help prepare the ressurection ritual by tending the body and offering my prayers for Torm's guidance of their soul safely through the world in between. It is my hope that one day He will find me worthy of channelling His Power to return the recently fallen to our realm of the living. One day I am sure that He will grace me so, but first I must prove myself worthy to Him._

    She sets her quill back in its holder and after allowing the ink she has so carefully laid onto the paper of the book to dry, she closes it gently, taking a moment to admire the craftmanship of the white hardcover laced with gossamer strands of gold and silver throughout. She then stands and heads to the door leading upstairs, unlocks it, and disappears across the threshhold.


  • Fourth Entry

    A blot of ink marks a corner of the page where a quill had been kept in place for too long, not far from it a smudge mark possibly from a prolonged tapping of the finger in one place.

    _Torm forgive me for not being the greatest chronicler, too long have my words lingered from this….accounting of my life. It has been too long and there is much I have to make up for.

    Since my last entry in this tome the greatest thing that could have ever happened to me, well happened. That man. The brave but foolhardy warrior I spoke of before, Celad. We started seeing each other a long time ago now, two years, a little more perhaps by my reckoning. I had known for a time after I met him that there was something there between us. Something more than the simple comraderie that exists between two people fighting hobgoblins or what have you out in the wilds.

    It was that look in his eyes when he would approach me and say hello. The way he would bend over backwards to do anything for me that no one ever would. Bless his soul, it finally clicked in my mind and after a time of...lets call it observation I called him on it. It sounds crass, my observing, and it broke my heart a little every day I put off broaching the subject with him. But I've been hurt several times in the past and...well I guess that was my way of guarding myself until I was sure I was safe.

    We've been happy ever since! There are still times when we don't see each other as much as we'd like but we both understand the why's and how's. With a lifespan as long as one for our kind what is a few days, a week? In all an eternity there will more than enough time, and I think that our times apart is healthy in -hopefully- small doses.

    Still foolhardy though. It is his way and truth be told one of his greatest qualities. He stands for his friends and cannot bear to see them come to harm. I have seen him risk his life, and even lose it briefly a couple of times, to be there for someone who needs the help. I just wish he would be more careful. It pains me greatly every time I see or learn of his falling. He told me about the spirit talking to him about his headstrong sense of duty to those in need. I think much the same as this spirit, and I also see him improving. He is beginning to use more caution, to use his head more to thin over the situation before needlessly throwing himself into mortal danger. I am ever proud of him for learning this lesson much faster than I myself did. I've even invited him to my room above the Apothecary for the night on more than one occasion. Fond memories I would prefer not to share, even with you dear journal.

    I have also taken on an apprentice, an interesting halfling named Atel who is on a journey to become one of Torm's chosen. She is well versed in His scriptures and seeks to commit herself to Him. I warned her that I've never trained anyone before in his ways, and that as a Tormite I am not so orthodox as many of my brothers and sisters. This did not seem to trouble her, and she seemed confident in my ability to teach what I could. This warmed my heart.

    My thoughts regarding Jaelle. I'm....disappointed and horrified all at once to learn that it was indeed her that murdered all those people. There was a time when I had grown to think of her as an upstanding respectable person. every time I offered His blessings to her, she refused until the rest of the sick and wounded had been treated. Noble....at least I thought so. I am at a loss to describe what it was that drove her to commit such barbaric acts....with a farmboy...in a graveyard. I am sure there is_ some reason, some chain of events that took her down such a dark and ultimately destructive path. I…I just don't know. All I do _know is that I'm relieved that she has been stopped for good and that no more innocent lives will be lost.

    I've also learned a lot more about my dearest Celad's own past, and he mine. It seems we've both been through some pretty rough patches at times in our lives. After what he had to endure, I would surely have gone quite mad. With all the turmoil over the last year….I'm just glad I have at least one, earthly, constant right now._


  • Third Entry

    _It has been some time since I have last written, dear Journal, and much has happened.

    My dark cousins, the Drow, assaulted our fair townalmost a year hence with much ferocity. The single largest Drow assault that I can remember. All seemed to be lost. The townsfolk were evacutated to the North and kept safe during the fighting. I did what I could to ease the journey for them…the looks on most of their faces, like ghouls. The poor folk...most had not ever set foot outside of Norwick. Nonetheless they were made comfortable and safe in their haven. Should the town have fallen it's people would have been safe.

    Many answered the call for help, and again I must offer my sincerest gratitude to all those brave defenders. I stood alongside many and did my best...all that Torm can ask surely...but my best that night was not good enough. Those up on the hill showering our foe with arrows took the highest casualties. My heart quivers at the thought of them crossing to the otherplane_ she shivers at the recall of memories _and I offer my most heartfelt regrets, however belated the recording in this journal.

    The celebration was immense! I have never seen so many gathered in high spirits, the passion, the revelry of it all almost overwhelming. I will not taint those cherished good memories here with the mention of those with foul moods and certain other…unmentionables._

    She pauses in her writing, toying with the quill

    About a month ago I went on a routine patrol to the Hobgoblins territory. We ran into several strange hobgoblins there…their facial tattoos indicating a rank of some importance. Guards and a chief. We engaged them, and, in my zeal came at them too quickly. I fell that afternoon. I remember all _of it.

    I remember the sword hitting me, slicing deep, breaking bone and delicate undertissue…I remember falling to the ground, the world already going dark as my crumpled broken body lay upon the ground. Eyes staring long, colour draining as my life's blood spewed forth from the wound, soaking deep into the earth. It was but a minute and everything blacked out...my last vision of my comrades fighting for their lives before my eyes closed for good.

    When I awoke I was cold....but I did not_ feel the cold…you understand? I had no pulse...I was not breathing...yet I...I was _…I was somehow living. I looked around, a hazy blue place, sand underfoot...strange noises, no smells save for that of fear and anquish..the stench and feeling of these hanging thick in the air.

    I spied a skeleton standing nearby...never did get it's name...and had a few terse words with it. To no avail. It would only help me if I had something it was looking for...which apparently I did not, promptly ending the conversation.

    I had just turned from it to go and pray by myself when I was suddenly blinded by the purest white light I had ever seen. After but only a moment I was wracked with the most incredible pain, almost unbearable. Blind, and in excruciating pain, I cried out, as loud and deeply as I could muster. As the whiteness slowly faded from my vision, it was replaced with a close view of the ground, the trunks of trees in the distance. Smells of blood, gore, death and fear. I blinked, and took an enormous breath, moving my hands, then my toes, then my head. My vision shifts to Troff standing over me, pulling me up carefully to my feet. The pain....the pain is still with me at this point. I look myself over, covered in gashes large and small. Suddenly I remember the death delivering wound, and I cry out, startled, and reach to my clavicle where the sword made entry. I feel nothing but the smoothness of my skin, dirtied and covered in blood. I call upon Torm's blessings...the mightiest ones I can muster, and tend my wounds.

    When I can walk again, we head back to town with gusto. I was and still am, though not as much as that first night, in awe at what transpired.

    I travelled to the Otherplane, and came back remembering all. I remember feeling like I had been there before...but without the direct memories to back it up. Torm himself reached forth and pulled me from oblivion, his fair and steady hand guiding my essence back to the material plane...I...cannot describe the feelings this rouses in me. Faith...yes faith. An overwhelming powerful feeling of...faith, belief the feeling that someone somewhere is watching over you. While not absent before this...event...it is much more pronounced now, highly tangible.

    I had just joined the Norwick Militia as recruit when this happened. I am still with them, it is my hope that I may one day fully join their ranks. Torm's gift is as much a sign that I am needed and must continue on my current path as it was a noble and especially kind gesture._

    The quill is set into the wooden holder on the desk, a dried tear mark can be seen near the bottom of the last page written on


  • Second Entry

    _It has been a while since my last entry, and in that time much has happened. My work at the Apothecary continues, unrelenting in it's urgency of late. Were it not for the fact that I do enjoy this work, I would surely go mad!

    I took my leave of the Apothecary a few days ago, citing that my duties require me serve many places, none surely as equal to the Apothecary in value as the Southern gates of the Realm. Whispers of Drow being about were soon answered in kind, with one attack each on the succeeding two days. On the first we were battered and brave warriors, defenders of the town, fell that night. By Torm's Will they were returned to us safely, He watches their souls and guides them, praise be. The second attack was weathered much better, with no casualties, although many were badly wounded.

    Before all this though, I ran into Celad by the South fire. It had been too long since I had last seen him, a good man and a brave, if sometimes foolhardy warrior. We went on a stroll to visit the hobgoblins and I have to say that Celad has improved much since last I saw him. With his help, we used superior tactics to defeat a vastly superior force. Afterwards, a celebration at The Grapevine! Pot pie, one of my favourites and delicious wine. I have to admit I did drink a might too fast and it went to my head. Not to worry though as a full belly of pot pie, in addition to the wine, leads one to a most resplendant slumber.

    There is however a storm brewing. My adopted brother, Alexi, getting himself into trouble as usual. Only_what looks like a tear stain, several of them, dots the page and the writing becomes messierthis time I do not know if I can keep him safe from what he's gotten himself into…..