Leanbh Síoraí

In the beginning of the month of Senectus, 153 PR, a terrible storm blew in from the Blighted waters of the Ephemeral Sea that ran from the Bay of Glass across the entirely of the Eastern Wastes, moving in a southeasterly direction until it was lost over the Ramaal Jayiea desert. Nestled in that storm was the strange outline of the ghostly airship, the Fettered Cloud, which had made numerous appearances in the opaque skies above the Ventryte lands. While this rare occurrence remains a mystery, there are many stories of sightings of it and twice as many speculations as to how or why it appears, always nestled into a storm. This particular instance however, was unique in that, the events that occurred on the ground beneath its passage left a grisly path of destruction, the cause of which stirred a great deal of fear and concern within the Empire's top officials. Airtam was sent in to investigate and, if possible bring back the subject of their ire. The following letter is the initial report of the event in question.

On the evening of the 43rd of Senectus, 153 PR, a severe storm originating from over the Blighted waters of the Ephemeral Sea was reported to have made landfall Southeast of the Bay of Glass, causing widespread damage and destruction across the Eastern Wastes. The storm was observed to be moving in a southeasterly direction until it dissipated over the Ramaal Jayiea desert. The storm’s high winds, torrential black rain, and intense lightning strikes, causing widespread damage throughout the region. The wind speeds were strong enough to cause structural damage to buildings, leaving many structures in ruins. The heavy rainfall caused flash floods that swept away caravans, roadways, and even a few small groups of Ventryte nomads that had attempted to seek shelter from the onslaught of the toxic rains.
During the height of the storm, witnesses reported seeing the strange outline of the airship, assumed to have been the Fettered Cloud, which had been previously spotted in the skies above the Ventryte lands on several occasions since the most famous one in 67 PR. The airship appeared to be caught up in the storm and was seen to be traveling with it. Witnesses reported seeing it moving erratically through the storm, as if it were caught up in the turbulent winds, its ghostly outline seeming to fade in and out of view, adding to the surreal nature of the event.
The trail of destruction left by the storm was immense, with entire communities devastated and countless lives lost. The disappearance of every single one of the Ventrytes stationed at the Hand Over Fist trading post only adds to the sinister mystery surrounding this event. The devastation continued southeast until it reached the settlement of Sand Wisp, where reports indicate that a terrible creature, accompanied by a horde of undead, emerged from the storm and laid siege to the location for the better part of a day. The attack resulted in the loss of hundreds of lives despite the best efforts of the Irregulars stationed there and the independent assistance of several desolation striders and a handful of my own agents as well (who acted in an unofficial manner) before the creature and its horde vanished along with the movement of the storm as it passed over.
The exact nature and origin of the storm and the creature that emerged from it remain unknown at this time. Investigations are ongoing, and further updates will be provided as they become available. The fact that the storm was apparently a cover used for an attack on the town of Sand Wisp, has raised concerns about the implications of this event. Given the severity of the storm and the unknown nature of the creature that emerged from it, it is imperative that the combined resources of both the Culvarkt L.O.S. and the Becht’s Intelligence Bureau conduct a thorough investigation into the event. The implications are far-reaching and suspicions are already spreading concerning the matter, many believing it to be a premeditated ordeal planned and executed by another nation, and it is vital that steps are taken to ensure the security of the region and to avoid a potential incident should the Ventryte people assume fault lie in the hands of either of our Empires, as we are both currently the only nations with the technology to field an airship.


L.O.S. Director of Operations,
Victor Vhank

Purpose

In a hurried attempt to discover the nature of the storm and attack on the settlement of Sand Wisp without potentially causing an international incident, Airtam Morenthall was sent to the settlement in an "unofficial" capacity to learn the true nature of the events that unfolded there, preferably without drawing attentions to the Becht and Culvarkt nation, both of who the Ventrytes were already beginning to blame for the events that occurred, many of them seeing it as an attack against them engineered by the other two nations.

Document Structure

Publication Status

As part of the leaked Morenthall publications following her death, these writings are generally easy to find, though there have been several attempts by Culvarkti and Becht agents alike to gather and destroy as many copies of this particular document as possible.

Historical Details

Public Reaction

The relevant contents of what Airtam found and wrote about during her visit to Sand Wisp garnered understandable attention from the Seanachaisian refugees and settlements, causing a small influx of seekers that made their way into the Eastern Wastes in an attempt to find for themselves what Airtam saw there.

Read the Document

Leanbh Síoraí

47th of Senectus, 153 PR
I arrived at the Hand Over Fist trade outpost today, the first stop on my investigation into the storm that devastated the Eastern Wastes under the guise of an explorer seeking relics, a common occurrence here. The site appears to have been repaired and fully staffed, despite reports that all the Ventrytes stationed here disappeared during the storm. The fact that the site is up and running so soon after such a catastrophic event is suspicious. They act as if everything is fine, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened during the storm at all. They are polite enough, but their demeanor is strange, almost rehearsed. They seem to be hiding something.

I asked them about the previous attendants of the site, but they were evasive in their responses, claiming that there was a misunderstanding and that the previous attendants had simply been relocated to a different site, but their lack of details and the way they avoid answering my questions only raises further questions in my mind.

As I look around the site, I can't help but feel that something is off. The repairs seem rushed, as if they were done hastily and without much care, and there are odd markings on some of the building’s walls, almost like symbols or glyphs. I don't recognize them, but they seem to be significant in some way. When I asked about these, the attendant merely laughed and said it was something an outlander would never understand and waved me off. I will need to conduct a more thorough investigation here to get to the bottom of what's really going on. The fact that the Ventrytes are being so secretive only strengthens my suspicion that they know something more than they are willing to admit to.

48th of Senectus, 153 PR


I was approached at my campsite where I spent the night, not far from the outpost by a Ventryte woman named Hadiza, the mother of one of the disappeared former attendants of the Hand Over Fist. Her son's name is Faraji, and she was clearly distraught and terrified by his disappearance. She approached me cautiously and begged for my help in finding him. She was evasive when I asked her about the trade post, dodging any further questions about the location, but she did tell me an interesting addition to the story about the missing people. She believes that they were taken by whatever attacked Sand Wisp, and may have been used as part of the attack. She explained that some of the bodies found at Sand Wisp following the attack were among the people missing from the outpost, and also that people heard the sounds of a child singing over the din of battle and the winds of the storm, but claimed to know nothing more. I offered to help Hadiza find her son, and she thanked me and quickly disappeared back to the trade outpost, as if she had never spoken to me. Her behavior was odd, and I can't help but wonder if she's hiding something.

I have decided to move on to Sand Wisp to investigate the attack and search for any clues about the missing people. To make the journey, I have joined a small caravan of Volrishtad travelers who have offered to let me travel with them, and while I am a little nervous about being around them given their reputation for carrying the taint of the Void, I cannot afford to draw attention to myself by traveling alone. The journey across the wasteland will take about two days, and I cannot help but feel a sense of trepidation about the risks involved, however, the Volrishtad will serve as a buffer against the dangers that may arise if nothing else, and in that vein I am grateful for their company.
As we set out, I find myself distracted by thoughts of Ioelena. I miss her company greatly. It is difficult to be this close to the former Gaul Do Shah empire, where I imagine she still resides, without thinking of her.
Damn it all, I need to stay focused on my mission and not let my emotions get the best of me. Sand Wisp awaits, and I must be prepared for whatever I may find there.

50th of Senectus, 153 PR


I have finally arrived at Sand Wisp, after a long and tiring journey across the wasteland with the Volrishtad people. At first, I was wary of them, their black eyes and strange customs making me feel uneasy, however, after traveling with them for two days, I have come to realize that they are good people, far removed from the rumors that surround them. Their ability to manipulate shadows to create almost anything they need is fascinating. I must look more into this phenomenon…imagine if we could unlock the mystery behind this strange mutation! The applications are endless! Their songs and stories have kept me enthralled for much of the journey. They have protected me, fed me, and shared their knowledge with me, for which I am grateful.
Sand Wisp, on the other hand, is a very different story. The city is in a bad state, with significant damage everywhere and people still trying to pick up the pieces of their lives following the storm and the attack. Most of the people here are stand-offish and hesitant to speak with me, which I find strange, but they are polite enough. It's clear that they don't want to draw attention to themselves.
I have decided to spend the rest of the day applying my skills as a healer at the local Order of Benevolents clinic, which is full to capacity with injured people. My hope is that the injured will reveal more information as to what happened here. The dying tend to be more open with the truth, as callous as that may sound. Perhaps I will find Hadiza’s son among them, though I hope the poor young man survived the ordeal.

55th of Senectus. 153 PR

It has been almost a week since the attack on Sand Wisp. I have been utterly consumed by the grueling work I have done with the Benevolent Order. Five days have passed, but they feel like an eternity. I have lost track of time and am exhausted, my body aches with each step I take. The wounded are many, and there seems to be no end to the stream of people who need help. Amidst the chaos and despair, I uncovered a number of brutal truths behind the attack on Sand Wisp. The storm was not just devastating, but the undead did indeed attack as well, and the tales of their brutality are even more horrifying than I could have ever imagined. I have seen the carnage firsthand in the bloodied remains of families that died huddled together in their homes, their dismembered limbs and torn flesh scattered through their houses and the streets, but perhaps the most disturbing detail is confirmation of the presence of the small child mentioned by Hadiza. As the storm raged on and the undead swarmed the city, this child moved through the streets unfazed, singing songs in a language that no one seemed to recognize. Apparently, if the eyewitness accounts of the dying citizens I heard the accounts from are to be believed, she was looking for something, her eyes wide and unblinking. It was as if she was possessed, or worse, in league with the undead themselves. I shudder at the thought, and cannot help but wonder what kind of horrors this child may have unleashed upon the world, or if she was some new kind of Void born monstrosity now loose in the Eastern wastes.

I have continued to search frantically for any sign of Faraji, but there have been none. I fear the worst, that he may have been caught up in the chaos and fallen prey to the undead. The thought fills me with dread so much more so than the countless, nameless victims I have eased into the spirit realm. This one person is real to me. He has a name and a family that I have met, and this poor boy’s survival I feel is now my responsibility, but I must remain focused on my work. The wounded still need me, and I cannot allow myself to give up hope. If I fail in this task, there is no telling what the retribution will be. The world is heavy upon my shoulders…

58th of Senectus, 153 PR

As the rebuilding of Sand Wisp progressed and the work with the Benevolents slowly became more manageable, I found myself with more time to connect with the locals. I’ve built up trust with them through my work in the clinic, and they've started to confide in me about their struggles in the aftermath of the attack, but amidst the stories of loss and survival, one piece of news caught my attention more than any other. A young man who fits Faraji's description has been spotted wandering the wastes to the east.
I wasted no time in preparing to search for him. I know the dangers of the Wastes all too well, having heard enough stories and done enough research at this point to be afraid of leaving the gates, but this is far too important. I stocked up on water and questionable jerky from a local vendor, and I hope it will be enough to sustain me on the journey. Funnily, what I’m most excited about is the giant fox-like creature called a Fennex which I’ve acquired as a mount for traveling across the inhospitable sands. The Fennex is a magnificent beast, with a thin coat of fur that keeps out the worst of the sandstorms, and powerful legs that can traverse the shifting dunes with ease. I felt a thrill of excitement as I mounted the creature and set off into the open Wastes, leaving the safety of Sand Wisp behind, but as the miles stretched out before me, my excitement began to give way to a creeping sense of unease. The Wastes are a harsh and unforgiving place, full of dangers both natural and supernatural. I’ve heard stories of bandits and raiders who prey on travelers, and of strange creatures that stalk the sands at night, and then there are the undead, the very same horrors that attacked Sand Wisp not so long ago. I tried to push these thoughts aside and focus on the task at hand, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of Faraji, and scanning the horizon for any movement or smoke, but as the sun began to dip towards the western horizon, I realized with growing dismay that I am no closer to finding him than when I started. I’ve traveled further than I intended, and the shadows are growing longer. I’ve made camp for the night and managed to gather enough scrub brush for a small fire. I should have never come alone.

59th of Senectus, 153 PR

At dawn I continued my journey, the Fennex never seeming to tire. We climbed to the top of a tall dune and took in the vast expanse of the Eastern Wastes. It is a beautiful and desolate place, with nothing but sand as far as the eye can see, and yet there is a strange majesty to it, as though just beneath the surface of the emptiness lies a hidden mystery.
As the day wore on, I began to feel the effects of the unrelenting sun. My water supply is already running low and I know I’ll either need to find a source of water soon, or turn back in defeat. I spotted a rocky outcropping in the distance and headed towards it, hoping to find some relief from the heat, but as I drew near the outcropping, I spotted something in the distance, a figure, stumbling across the sand. I urged my Fennex on, dashing across the distance, my heart racing with the possibility that it could be Faraji, ,but as I closed the gap and topped another dune, no one was there. The Fennex seemed apprehensive, sniffing the air, but I could see no other signs of life so I turned back to the outcropping and settled in for the night after rationing out half of the remaining water and jerky. I will return to Sand Wisp tomorrow.

60th of Senectus, 153 PR

The beginning of the return trip was one of somber defeat. The morning brought with it a strange gloom that blanketed the landscape and seemed to distort sound and dampen vision almost to the extreme. We rode for what must have been five or six kilometers at least, me trusting the Fennex’s senses to guide us, but in the uncanny murk I could see very little. Discouraged and worried, I made the decision to stop for the remainder of the day.
I dismounted from the Fennex and set about gathering scrub for a fire. I had just finished lighting it when I heard a sound that froze my blood, the unmistakable shuffle of feet on sand. I drew my pistol and turned towards the sound, my heart pounding in my chest, unable to get a clear view through the fog.

What I did finally see lurching through the obscuring gloom filled me with horror, a group of undead, flesh rotting and eyes glowing with an unnatural light, shambling towards me across the sand. My mind raced as I considered my options. I could try to fight them, but there were too many. I could try to outrun them, but there was no clear path through the gathering without risking a deadly bite. I was trapped.

As the first of the undead drew near, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer to the gods. I didn't expect an answer, obviously, but then I felt a weight against my leg and opened my eyes to see the Fennex, snarling and snapping at the undead with teeth bared. I realized with a sudden rush of gratitude that the creature was fighting to save my life, standing between me and the majority of the lumbering horrors beyond.

Inspired by the tenacity of the creature, I resolved to fight back, and together we began to fend off the undead with pistol and teeth. I could feel my strength ebbing as I ran out of ammunition and was forced to draw my dagger, but the Fennex fought on, seemingly tirelessly. With one hand gripping onto its fur and the other slashing out at the closing ranks surrounding us, we fought on, the two of us both suffering several bites and bruises as they began to wear us down, and then, just when it seemed like we were about to be overwhelmed, the undead suddenly turned and began to shamble away, as if summoned by some unseen force.

I slumped to the ground next to the injured Fennex, both of us panting and hurt, wrapped my arms about its shivering form and I wept. Right there in the bloody midst of that hellish, murky waste I cried harder and more fervently than I have ever before. The poor creature’s breath became labored and slow, and it closed its eyes and went to sleep…what I assume will be my brave companion’s last. I buried myself in as close as I could get and am writing this as a final statement, should anyone ever find me here…or more likely a shambling corpse out in the sands. I have loved in a way even I could not understand, and with someone I never fully comprehended. I have fought for what is right in a time when light was at its most dim. I only ever wished to help. I’m sorry Hadiza, I tried. I really did.

2nd of Frigus, 153 PR

I cannot believe what has just transpired. After falling asleep, thinking I may never wake, my eyes finally fluttered open. The first thing I noticed was the sand. Each tiny granule stretching out before me in a seemingly endless ocean of sparkling wonder, each one catching the light, dim as it was, and sending it back into the world full of color and beauty. As my weary mind hung on this thought, my mind became clouded with concern for the brave Fennex that had fought so valiantly to protect me. I looked over only to find it missing, but I was startled by the presence of a young child standing over me. It must be the same child that I had heard about from survivors of the attack, the one that had wandered through the streets singing in a language no one recognized. This child had unearthly glowing eyes that seemed to look right through me, and weathered, sunken features that hinted at an innocent beauty long faded by the ravages of time and death. My gaze met her own, and I felt a chill run down my spine.
I tried to speak, but my voice was too weak, and my parched throat could barely muster a sound. The child stood there silently, watching me for a long time, silent and eerily still, and I felt as though I was being judged. The weight of that stare was oppressive and glaring, and it made me feel so incredibly small, despite the fact that, if I could have stood, I would have towered over her. I could feel my eyes begin to burn as, in my fear and frustration, I began to cry. As if in response to this, the child cocked its head at me with a soft grinding creak followed by a sudden stop, and her eyes glowed slightly brighter. She reached out with one of her near skeletal hands, the skin drawn tight and thin over them, and wiped a tear away with a finger. Her touch was cold and left a lingering sensation on my cheek that did not fade. She studied the tiny droplet for a moment and then let it fall into the sand, slowly returning her attention to me. She then reached out and picked up my journal and thumbed through its pages lazily, but still seemed to absorb the contents, her eyes flickering slightly as they moved across each page until turning to the last entries that I had written about my search for Faraji. The child began to question me, speaking in a voice that was hollow and cold, and seemed to echo in reverse, as though it were coming from the depths of the grave. The sound made me tremble and choke on my breath. The questions were deep and philosophical, and they shook me to my core. These were things no child could possibly understand or be concerned with. The child wanted to know my motives for helping others, why I believed in the good of humanity, and what kept me going in the face of so much suffering and pain, and why I thought eny of her kind were even remotely worth saving. I struggled to answer, but the child was relentless, asking question after question, each one more probing than the last. It was as though this child could see into my very soul, and I felt exposed and vulnerable.Finally, she handed me the journal, placing it in my hand and digging in my pack, she produced my pen and ink, placing them next to me. She stood with a soft popping sound as her knees glided into an upright position, and stared down at me once more before once again speaking, though, looking back I now realize that her lips never moved…that her mouth merely opened slightly and the words seemed to just float forth to land within my ears. The thought makes me shiver uncomfortably. She pointed to the blank page upon which I write this and demanded that I tell the story of our meeting and that she would return to decide if there was enough truth in my telling to merit sparing me. Strangely, I found courage in her challenge. I have been many things in my life, and I am far from proud of them all, but one thing I have never been is a liar. I will die by those words if I must, but even death…or undeath…cannot change that.

4th of Frigus, 153 PR

I must have drifted in and out for some time. I am so hungry and thirsty that no matter what the child decides, I may not survive anyway. She did return, though she was much less inclined to speak its seems. She read my writings, her face entirely impassive and impossible to fathom a reaction from, but when she was done, she gently laid the journal next to me and stood there, that ghost light gaze of hers boring into me with such unnatural intensity that I could not hold her gaze and was forced to turn away. I do not know how long she remained like that, but with I turned back, her face was a breath away from my own. I could feel the chill radiating from her and smell the musty scent of ancient rags and old death. I could feel her intensity in my head as though she was digging through my brain with a pick. I wanted to scream but was too afraid. After what seemed like forever, the child grasped my face with a strength that would have terrified even the strongest of men and forced me to look at her. She spoke once more saying,
"I should leave you to this fate that you and all your kind deserve. Within your feeble veins runs my gift, and if left to fester, you will rot but never die. Cease to be but be forever trapped in between. I have looked into your heart and mind, Airtam Morenthall, Bechtlarite savage that you are, and found you absent of the foolish malice of your predecessors. Your truth is without fault however, and I am my mother's child. I will not stain her name with your blood, nor darken further my path with your corruption. You will take this tale to your people. You will tell them that Phoebe Íonachta still walks these lands."
The child's voice grew darker, and more menacing, and I could feel the air being drawn from my lungs and the moisture that remained in my body being slowly pulled away. I was sure I was dying, horrified as the child's visage twisted into a snarling and vile image of ceaseless death and despair as she spoke her final words to me,
"Remember this moment, Bechtlarite, for I have spared you only because you have shown the propensity for change and a true desire for the perpetuity of life, but do not mistake my mercy for weakness, for there will come a time when my people will rise again, and we will not forget the atrocities committed against us, and on that day, those who have shown us no mercy will receive none in return."
With those ominous words, the child released me and stood once more. As if on command, the Fennex strode up behind her, and then, somehow, through her, as though she were a dream, or mist and smoke. By the time the creature reached me and began to lick my face, she was gone, but in my hand remained the journal and the entry she had demanded I write. I could feel my vitality returning and looked to see the bites on both myself and the Fennex showing no signs of infection, and in fact that they had healed significantly. I rose and stood by the Fennex looking outward, and for a moment, I could swear I saw a tiny silhouette in the distance for a moment, but it then vanished. 
We began our trek back immediately.

7th of Frigus, 153 PR
It was a grueling trek back to Sand Wisp, me holding on to the Fennex and the Fennex guiding me, but we did make it. We were brought in and I was taken to the Benevolents to be nursed back to full health, and to have my wounds and dehydration treated. I am saddened that I never could find Faraji, but I imagine he is still out there, perhaps under the care of Phoebe Íonachta, who I now realize the significance of. This has been a hard learned lesson, and one I must reflect upon. 

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Type

Leaked Original

Medium

Vellum / Skin

Authoring Date

47th of Senectus to the 7th of Frigus 153 PR

Location

Sand Wisp

Authors

• Airtam Morenthall

Signatories (Characters)

• Victor Vhank

Signatories (Organizations)

• The Bechtlarite Intelligence Bureau
• The League of Steam