Imposing

24th of Othen, 2734

I stand before the walls of the Dwarven City, sinking ever smaller into the sand and rock beneath my feet. The walls of the City extend both high above my head and down into the depths of the earth. The doors, made out of a great red wood that gleams a hint of gold from it's shimmer, cascade down over the side of the walls like a mighty waterfall. It's true beauty could only be admired from here, the bottom, where the intricate carvings of the Orcs smashing against the rocks of the canyon are readily at hand. No mortal hand could open the doors from here, as they are only opened from the inside. Even here the history of the Dwarves is played out. I see the great battle of Carathos, when the goblin hordes swept through this land and broke like ale against a counter top. A useless display of the more primitive and stupid whiles of demonic foes. The walls themselves are made of a rather valuable and unique metal forged from the minerals found only in the Togric Canyon and below. I believe that it is called Punnok, which translates to "silver steel". It would make sense, since the walls are hard like steel, yet shine like silver.

I feel very small here. Even now I can feel the eyes of the Dwarven people gazing down at me from their chambers on the top of the wall. I can see three towers. One to the left, right, and above the entrance. Horns have been blowing now for a couple of minutes, warning my of their knowledge of my presence, and pronouncing me like I am a threat. It is a most stunning, overpowering, and imposing presence to give as a first impression. I rather like it.

Yet it turns me to the other meaning of the word. I wish not to be am imposition on the people here. If I invoke a response of anger, it could very well hurt the way Dwarves view the entire outer world. I would not want to break the delicate balence that we have so far achieved with this current leadership. It is a valuable ally we have in the Dwarves. Any common enemy would surely fall to the might of the Togric Warriors. (Togric translating to Fierce in out tongue.) Only once have I seen a Togric Warrior. When the Warrior dies the body is carried the entire length of the canyon by the stone carvers of the Dwarven City. It's quite a massive group. The other Warriors stand in the shadow of the door the entire time that the march goes on, nearly two weeks. No food, no rest. Always in the shadow to give the fallen honor. It's beautiful, solemn, and painful think to view. By the time the body has returned home, it is rotted away to almost nothing. The bones are placed in a stone box and sealed away in a family crypt. Such is their way, and I must say, it does the fallen justice.

And now I must impose upon those people. I wonder only if my own fortitude can even hope to match their own. Do I have a stomach for the underground? Is it a trap? Futile thoughts now... the doors are opening...

Dwarves

23rd of Othen, 2734

Dwarves hate people. And hate may be too kind a word. They are completely uninterested in the things of men, and generally, the rest of the world. I have heard that they have a deep loathing for the realms above their own. As hostile as they are diggers, the Dwarves had found excuse upon excuse to refuse passage into their dominion. We all will remember King Rabish who was fool enough to attack the Dwarven city more than an age ago. If not for their hatred of the sunny sky, we would all live in a Dwarven world now... And Dwarves are very good at holding a grudge. And yet...

I received a letter from my Lanlord Goshen. It says that I am allowed to enter into the realm of the deep to seek out guidance in the library. It's... astonishing. It sounds inviting... almost urgent for me to come. What could have possessed the Dwarves to think this way...

I will set off. I do not want to delay my time there. Yet a hint of a warning seems to come to me. I must be cautious. Are they planning on making an example of me? I must chance it. Anyway that I can get another change at seeing him...

Clean and Leave

Though I truly do not have a home in this place, the initial flock of Soriel interested parties lent me a room that I have come to call home for this short while. In the time I have been gone, all who originally identified his presence have left. The paladins, clerics... everyone. It seems as though they do not hold as much interest in the matter as I do... though they should. Behind they leave only the things that I have acquired... which is not much.

I have arrived home. And the view both shocks me... and is completely unsurprising. The whole stead is trashed. I look even now on the papers scattered on the floor. My table is broken, which leads me to wonder what could have made them think that what was in/on/magically casted on it that would require such treatment. The place is still surprisingly empty. The beds that held my fellow travelers are untouched, but stripped of their coverings. The floor has a few planks pulled up, undoubtedly where they were searching for hidden items in the foot wide space under the room. This is a ghastly reminder of my unwelcome nature now.

Though there is a mess, there does not seem to be anything missing.

I will gather my things and move on. Being here alone has chilled me to the bone, and I do not wish to remain. I have found a note on the table expressing that my mail was given to my renter, I will stop there before I depart.

Free

22^nd of Othen 2734

Finally, a breath of fresh air. I look out over the forest once more. Strange to me, seeing this world now, compared to when I first looked at Adderwain. Everything seems less certain now. Like this bubble of a town cannot possibly exist outside of the influence of the greater scheme. Standing here, where I know he walked so close makes me marvel at the ignorance it would take to ignore his presence.

They are not convinced. Though I put on a good show for all who cared to take it in, I am convinced that the head spellcaster neither believes that I am cured nor wishes to see me leave his establishment. Thankfully, the better and more sane will of the people has released me from his care. And thus, I stand now outside his door. I can still feel the judgmental stares on my back as I make my way back from the healers. There are not many people in the streets today, or maybe they just knew when I was being released. No matter. I will make my way back to the hotel to gather my belongings. Whether I head to the dwarven city or to the great libraries it matters not, I must pack. 

Wasted Time

20^th of Othen 1734

Staring. I’ve been lying on my back for almost three days now. Though no possession has been driven from my body, the locals keep trying to heal me. Apparently I will not leave until they are satisfied. They search for an answer though there is none to give. And still I must wait. Their fool-hardy attempts to heal me have taken some small toll on my body. The scars are beginning to heal from the wounds I sustained in the forest, though I have not been able to acquire any salve to ease my pain. My legs feel as though they have some strength again, a pleasure which I had not endured two days prior. At my attempts to stand I am forcibly laid back down by two fiendish characters known as Harborrow and Rickta . Brutish creatures, they watch over my bed day and night and I question whether they even sleep.

My mind plays games with me in this time, trying to convince me that it was all a fool’s errand, that I have not been chasing a reality but rather a slim fantasy. The psychological war I have been waging has not been fought in vain however as I remain convicted of the validity of discovering who this man is. One who’s sight can chill the bone.

 And so I wait, I have been trying to discern whether or not they will let me go of their own volition. Though it seems improbable that they will believe the possession has left me completely. Perhaps my amicable disposition will implore them to release me. I can only hope that it does not lead them in the other direction. I am not a fan of burning to death.

Though the last few days have accounted of no knowledge to speak of, I have had some success even lying here. I managed to convince the head spellcaster to let me write a letter. After placing an enchanter’s block on the paper, he bayed me write. I wrote a letter to the dwarven city asking permission to enter their libraries and after doing so sent it out with a messenger as quickly as possible. I do not expect a quick response as the dwarves are sluggish with their public relations. I hope to appeal to their sense of history and if nothing else to their curiosity about the existence and ramifications of Soriel Daw.

No matter what the case, I refuse to stay here much longer. Up to this point it has been beneficial to my own body. But I will not remain when so much is yet to be discovered in my quest. If I cannot convince them in some manner or another that I am of my own mind, then I will forcibly remove myself with what small magic I posses. Surely, if I set the place on fire, they will have to remove me from my quarters.