This thing in my head, it acts like it wants to help me. Its healed me, helped me heal turner. And yet it doesn't barely speak. And its face- it looks like my memories. Sad ones. Painful ones. My hand has begun to change in some way- the chaos is taking a tighter hold I fear. I just watched as a man vaporized, seemingly from magic. What if something like that happens to me? Or what if i lose control again? None of my- companions, could possibly stop me if I did. I would kill them. I can't let the happen.

It seems we are running in circles. We have an objective, but seemingly no understanding of it. We have a package- a person, to deliver to the king. And along the way we've been waylaid with various people's and their own agendas. Everyone has an angle to play in this game, everyone except us it seems. We seem to be caught in the middle, unsure of our own position. Valenwood sees the possibility of himself taking the throne, but even that seems little more than an aspiration. Until we find a way to decide what it is we want- and how we'll get it, we will will continue to be the pawns of others.

Sleep has always been hard. But the dreams are shifting lately. The same bodies, the same twisted faces as I see them die- but something is different. That thing is there, watching. It's like its trying to figure me out, like its making me relive these dreams like reading my memories like a book.

What Clara is feeling- which she herself doesn't fully understand, is dread that she is beginning to feel companionship. Dread at the thought that she might become close to someone again- only to lose them. Damon was a good man. He cared more than any man ever should, and was as kind a soul as one could hope for in a killer. And yet he still died, cut down by vile men. And Voss is terrified to lose again .

Clara woke in a cold sweat, gasping for breathe. She watched him bleed out again tonight, arrows all over his body, his eyes wide in shock and his mouth hanging limply. The nightmare never leaves her. She pulled her cloak tight around her as she felt the bump of the wagon around her. And today she almost saw it again, but it was no dream. A bugbear bear had all but killed Turner- "He may have actually been dead for a moment" Clara thought to herself. When she ran to him, he was mangled. Blood ran from his mouth, and his arm was twisted unnaturally and broken in two places. But I was able to heal him somehow. My curse was able to heal him, but I thought it could only do harm. And what was that odd creature? A nymph, or dryad? Clara had heard of such creatures, but never seen one. Not that she was sure of, at least. Maybe it was some spectre of death, come to take Turner. But Voss wouldn't let that happen. She wasn't going to lose another friend. Not again. A rap on the wall of the wagon snapped her back to the present. "Voss, we're coming up on the encampment. Time to get alert", Turner said. "Aye boss, I'll be out." Voss gathered herself. "I'll do what I have to get stronger. Whatever it takes. I'm not losing anyone again." If only she knew.

Rumors about where the gods have gone: The gods left since the start of the war 10 years ago. No one knows why, are where they have gone, but rumors fly: The gods are leaving this world after giving up hope for the mortals realms The gods were destroyed by the monstrous dragons Left signaling the end times They left for another universe, signaling that multiverse theory is true

Rumors about the Shattering: Caused by the appearance of great flying monsters called dragons, which breath magic Caused by a magic spell gone wrong during the war A curse given by the gods before their departure, signaling the beginning of the end times.

Clara Voss (WIP) (UNK- Unknown to your Characters) You, Clara Voss, find yourself in an odd situation. Is it where you thought you would be? Hells no. You were a soldier, and a damn good one at that. Unrivaled in hand-to-hand combat and looking to get promoted fast and at such a young age. Many suspected you of having some sort of magical abilities, but the tests were done, and they confirmed you didn’t. Whether they did the right testing you wonder about some days. You were a soldier. You had friends. You were respected. Well maybe that last one was a lie. You’re a woman and you beat a lot of men older than you and a lot of them bigger than you. That’s enough on its own to cause jealousy, but to have a captain be a woman who was so young? That was the problem with some of the men. Some of them at least. There was many who looked up to you and respected you. There was more then a few who admired you and trusted you to get them through the thick of it. One such man was your closest friend. You went through training together and were sent to the same war front. Damon Whisperlake. He was a good one. Again, past tense but the memory of him helps drive you to do what you do to this day. ** It was a good day. You were alive and you had not lost a soul on your patrol. That wasn’t to say there wasn’t fighting, it was war and there was always fighting but this felt like one of the only days something couldn’t go wrong. You happened upon a band of orcs and they fought bravely. Respect for the enemy was always something your father strove to teach you and it was surprisingly one of the things that stuck. Damon seemed to be taught the same thing. There was a boy, he was a half orc by the look of it, couldn’t have been more then 14 years old. He dropped his weapon and surrendered. Damon walked over to him and picked up his sword. You could still remember the words in orcish that he spoke. “Listen kid, I am not going to kill you and neither will any man here, or woman“ you remember him looking at you and winking. “Take this sword and just go somewhere and just try and be better. Whatever they have you here for this war is not worth it. You could be different and amazing!” He knelt down in front of the boy. “If you remember anything remember this act. Not everyone you meet is a monster.” He gripped the childs forearm in the orcish handshake and lifted him up patting him on the back and gave him a kick in the ass along the way. The boy saluted and ran. Tavish raised his bow in question to you. A skilled archer that one but you shook your head. Better you had let him kill the boy. At camp that night you awoke to a commotion , it wasn’t the enemy attacking that would be too bold. No it was Damon’s sarcastic voice egging on your commander. Not good. You rushed out of your tent and saw him being held down on his knees by six other soldiers, your commander’s sword at his neck. “Clara, you should have told this coward to kill that orc. Now instead you will kill this one.” There was no love lost between you Commander Hamming but this was too far. “No.” “its not a choice girl, it’s a bloody order!” Something inside you snapped at that. Like a rabid wolf contained for so long but no more, you walked over calmly and punched Hamming right in the mouth, knocking the sword out of his hands and back handing another soldier. A soup ladle? Yup. You had a soup ladle in the other hand and smacked another soldier so hard int eh head he stumbled back into another tent. This was enough to stir up a distraction and Damon took advantage breaking free. He managed to run off as you had your hands full. Somewhere a fire had erupted and the camp was in absolute chaos. You were close to escaping. Close. You felt the blade press against your neck slowly and heard Hammings voice asking someone a question. You took a breath and cleared the battle lust briefly. Long enough to hear. “do you have him Tavish?” “Aye sir!” “Then kill the Coward!” Hands and the blade turned you to look towards the forest and towards Damon’s running form as you watched the arrow fly through the air and land in the back of his neck. His lifeless body falling in the dirt and then laughter. Laughter from the men. Rage, that’s all you remember before blacking out. *** People still tell the story of a barbaric woman who took on 25 soldiers and paralyzed the commander of the southern front causing the southern isle to be lost. Fuck ‘em. The war ended and not in a victory for either side. The world was practically torn asunder. You were in a holding caravan being shipped back when they asked if you had any family to plead for your case, for your freedom. But it wasn’t the name of your drunken father you gave them, but the name of banker: Turner Waterby. Not long after, you were unceremoniously let go with a small water flask and told to disappear. You could have killed them when they freed your hands, in fact you wanted to but the image of Damon lifeless and cold in your arms was all you could see. You’d never kill again. Not ever. So disappear you did. You sought out mister Waterby, remembering the dim memory of him getting his shit kicked in by 3 syndicate henchmen. You weren’t a fan of the syndicate and had pulled the bastards off of him. Well you saved him and it turns out that it was one of the best decisions you could have made. Probably saved you a trip to the gallows. You work with him now, he needs someone dealt with and you do it. He doesn’t know you don’t kill them. He doesn’t know you see Damon’s face every time you hold a knife to someones throat. You make sure they aren’t seen again, so what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He doesn’t know about you being the downfall of the southern front either and to be honest you’re not sure he would care. You headed off to the city of Mijorn with him and so far, so good. Damons memory still haunts you but you have met a human man that takes some of the pain away, Victor is a good man. Hopefully he never finds out about your secrets either. There is one thing bothering you lately. You Swear you’ve seen that half orc in the city older which would make sense but its not like you would forget that face. Might have to investigate that. -Yeti