The Crucible and the Way Home

While enduring her self imposed exile following the trial of Mauve Einstrauham, a chance meeting with a group of Volrishtad led by Sybell Vithmokai set into motion a chain of events that nearly claims the life of Airtam, and inadvertently leads her home to a much changed situation thanks to her stalwart nature and persevering spirit.  

11th of Cortus, 160 PR

I have been hiding in the Blighted Lands between the Commune and the village of Gillelle for well over a month now, carefully avoiding any obvious paths that Nonpareil Geraldine Fulton might have expected me to take and staying constantly on the move. The days have been long and hard, and I find myself yearning for the comfort of my own bed. I can barely remember what it feels like to be truly safe and at ease, and I can only imagine what my staff and students would think about this, a woman my age roughing it like some pulp novel desolation strider. Despite my hardships, I have not been able to bring the flask that contains Kael's ashes to his home. I know so little about that place, as they were very unwilling and slow to share details of it. I know it is in the north and is a place called Sasha’s Folly, named for the priestess that once represented their faith to Volri and helped to spearhead the conspiracy that brought about the Blight. How the world has surely shifted in the years since that day. I have found a strange comfort in keeping his flask close and speaking to him as though he were still here, but as I sit alone by my campfire, I can't help but feel a deep sense of sadness and isolation weighing heavily on my heart.
Fortune, however, it seems, has finally smiled upon me. A small group of Volrishad stumbled upon my camp today just as dusk was settling across the sky, led by a captivating young woman named Sybell. Her beauty and grace left me awestruck as she moved through the shadows with an effortless elegance, wisps of trailing shade twisting and turning around her lithe figure as though alive, constantly shifting and changing to suit her every movement like a shimmering gown made of twilight. I was relieved to meet more of the Volrishtad, a people whom I have grown to admire and respect, and even more thankful for the company after all this time hiding in solitude. As with Kael’s people, they were equally as kind and polite, making great effort not to intrude or offend, and Sybell spoke with such eloquence and poise that, had the situation been different, I might have mistaken her for some kind of royalty.
Over a meal shared by the fire, I told Sybell the story of what brought me here and the tragic events that led to the deaths of Kael and his friends. I detailed my efforts to stay a step ahead of the Bureau, hiding from my own people who I had thought held me in high regard. She listened intently and offered to take the ashes from me, explaining that while she may be of the Strochti, their people's customs in death are universal throughout all the families, and that she understood all too well what it was to be misunderstood by her own people. I was overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of finally laying my dear friend to rest, and gratefully accepted her offer. She took the flask and nestled it with the shadows that wreathed her with a smile that seemed to hang on me as she did, and for a moment, I was lost there, gazing into those eyes like obsidian. They thanked me for sharing my fire, and though I offered them a place with me for the night for the sake of safety, Sybell only laughed in a lilting, soft manner and shook her head. She told me not to worry, that they were not in any danger. I found this odd, but did not question it and instead thanked her once more and watched them drift silently into the deepening dark of night.
Now freed of my burden, I have decided to travel to the small town of Hearde, to rest and work on my device, which I have decided to name the Kaelic Repulsor in honor of my fallen friend. Though my journey is far from over, the weight of my sorrow seems slightly lighter with the knowledge that Kael's memory will be honored by those who understand the true value of life.

Purpose

Aside from her meeting with Sybell, these entries document the days before and during the siege of Hearde by the victims of the Breathless Plague, and Airtam's nearly fatal attempts to do her part in defending the people there against the onslaught.

Document Structure

Publication Status

As part of the leaked Morenthall publications following her death, these writings are generally easy to find.

Historical Details

Public Reaction

The release of this document pushed the memory of Airtam into something of a legend, elevating her story and leading to her becoming an icon for the Empire, a figure to look up to and aspire to be like. Following this release a fresh wave of intellectualism and philosophical change swept through the Becht Empire.

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The Crucible and the Way Home

3rd of Senectus, 160 PR

As I put pen to paper, I am filled with a sense of contentment that has eluded me for far too long. It is as though the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders, and I can finally breathe easy. For the past few weeks, I have been living in the small village of Hearde, disguised as a simple widow who seeks nothing more than a quiet life away from the tumultuous events of the wider world. To my relief, I have yet to be recognized, and the villagers have shown little interest in the national politics that have consumed my life for so long.

As a scientist, I have found much to appreciate in the practical and pragmatic nature of the villagers. Their love for all things scientific is evident in every aspect of their lives, true to the Becht spirit that I do still very much love about my people, and their skills are put to good use in maintaining the security and safety of their village out here in the fringes beyond the safety of the walled metropolis of Armuun. This is precisely the sort of environment that suits me perfectly, allowing me to work uninterrupted on the Kaelian Repulsor.
I have spent countless hours pouring over every detail of the Repulsor, striving to perfect it in every way as the nature of its functionality is one of delicate precision. For it to work properly I have to be able to attune it to the exact vibrational frequency of the Void itself. Normally, this would be a nearly impossible task, but I once read a story about a Seanachaisian musician from before the Blight that was so talented and powerful, they could hear a sound and then mimic it perfectly but out of phase just enough that they would silence the other tone, creating a musical null point, an envelope of silence. This is part of what inspired the idea, and by utilizing this same principle, I believe I have figured out a way. The hardest part was determining the frequency and variances of the Void energy, and to my surprise, it turns out there was far less variance than I thought! While this field the Repulsor generates can only do so much, and the Void itself seems to push back against it when it is activated, I have yet to see it able to breach the boundaries. After weeks of tireless work, I have completed the first prototype and have conducted numerous tests, all of which have produced highly positive results. It is a moment of triumph, one that fills me with a sense of hope that has been sorely lacking in my life. For the first time in far too long, I am truly happy.
With the Repulsor nearly complete and its efficacy proven, I now plan to unveil it to Diana Shepherd and the Ongommu Tae Board of Directors, as I had promised. It is my hope that this will not only aid them in defending their vital passes against the likes of that creature they call, Pale Man and his ilk but also earn me a measure of positive attention that could potentially put me back in the good graces of Sovereign Effron. If all goes well, perhaps I may finally be able to return home and witness the day when Geraldine Fulton is held accountable for the heinous things she has done.

4th of Senectus, 160 PR

The pages of this journal bear witness to a grim and dire warning. The news delivered by the young dwarven man from the nearby village of Gillelle has left me reeling. A horde of the undead, amassed in large numbers and growing with each passing moment, are making their way towards Hearde, fueled by some malevolent force that knows no bounds. The Roper cycle riding messenger is fraught with fear and trepidation, haunted by the harrowing images of those who have fallen prey to the undead's merciless grip, only to rise again as twisted, tormented versions of themselves. The poor man nearly fainted after delivering his message from sheer exhaustion.

The threat of this scourge is unprecedented, as the undead relentlessly march towards Hearde, apparently hungering for the living. The messenger believes that the undead originated from the Malicean Scientific Commune, a place known for its twisted experimentation and unholy pursuits. I had thought after Mauve that Thomas would have learned his lesson. This couldn’t be his handiwork though, could it? Even he would not be so foolish as to commit an act such as this. As he recounted the horror that befell Gillelle, my heart raced with a mix of fear and fury at his descriptions of the violence and mayhem of it all, the death and loss, I can see it haunting him already. I fear this man may never fully recover from the trauma of the events that led him here, and I cannot help but wonder if we will either, but even as my thoughts race with apprehension, I find myself consumed by a new and unfamiliar feeling, a fierce, unrelenting rage. I refuse to let this village fall to the insidious grasp of these creatures. Though I am an outsider in Hearde, I took charge without hesitation, directing the villagers to prepare every defense at their disposal. I must admit that my commanding presence comes from my years spent as headmaster at the University - a role that has honed my ability to lead, even in the most dire of circumstances. All it took was one look and even the most stubborn of the citizens of Hearde went to work. One would think I was waving a giant flaming ruler and threatening to slap wrists into oblivion. I must admit that, were it not for the severity of the situation I would have found the entire scene quite comical.
Evening has settled in, and while the villagers toil outside, I sit inside, meticulously cleaning my pistol and sharpening my dagger. The task at hand may be daunting, but I am resolved to fight, to make good on the promises I have made, to save lives, and to return home. The gravity of the situation is not lost on me. I know I am preparing for a war with the undead, and with every movement I make I am reminded of my age. This is not what I had envisioned when I first embarked on my journey into the Gaul Do Shah lands so many years ago, but this is my reality now. I wish Ioelena were here…
The air is thick with a sense of foreboding, and the skies overhead seem to mirror the darkness that has descended upon Hearde. I am numbed by the realization that this may be my last stand, but I remain determined to see this through, though I question whether I should ask for more compensation from the University should I be lucky enough to survive this.

5th of Senectus, 160 PR

Today has been one of the longest days of my life. I have spent every moment helping to set up the meager defenses of Hearde, and it pains me to see how little we have to work with. The village has no walls, and there is no wood to be found in the area. We must rely on our Bechtlarite ingenuity and scientific prowess to craft traps and other contraptions that might help us control the horde of undead that approaches.

Most of the villagers here are old, retired researchers and tinkers who moved here to escape the troubles of the city. They are not soldiers, but they are doing their best to defend their home with what little they have. It fills me with both sadness and pride to see how they work without complaint or question, ready to fight for their community, but I worry for their safety. They are not prepared for what is coming. The dead are moving closer, and I fear that many of these good people will not survive the week. It is a heavy burden knowing that so many lives are hanging in the balance.
I have sent a young man named David Brinks on the dwarf’s Roper cycle to deliver a letter to Armuun, bearing my sigil and explaining the dire situation we face. I can only hope that it will be enough to rouse the attention of the Guard and bring reinforcements in time to save lives. If nothing else I’m sure Geraldine will bring out a force just to make sure I don’t survive the ordeal, but as long as they save these people, it will be worth it.
As I look out at the approaching horde, I know that we are running out of time. We can see the vast dust cloud kicked up by their shambling feet. It won't be long now until the dead are upon us, and I must prepare myself for the fight to come. I feel the weight of my blade and pistol, knowing that it may not be enough to keep me alive, but I refuse to let these villagers become victims. I will fight alongside them, and if necessary, die with them. These are my people. This is my Empire. I will not let their sacrifices be in vain.

6th of Senectus, 160 PR

I am doing my best to chronicle events as they happen, should these indeed be my last days. The horde has arrived, and we are vastly outnumbered. We set off our explosives as they approached, and the people cheered, but it was short-lived. The dead trampled over their fallen brethren, dropping to their knees to feast upon their remains in a grotesque display that left the people around me reeling in horror. I tried to rally them, but the sight of what we were truly up against had drained much of their hope. We were left with only a shallow pit lined with whatever metal and stone we could find as our next line of defense. As the dead stumbled blindly into it, their bodies piling up upon each other, I ordered those who could to open fire upon them, but it quickly became clear that this boundary would not hold for long, as those that came behind the fallen easily climbed over their trapped comrades. We have constructed false walls and barricades made from the doors and furnishings of the villagers' homes in hopes of directing the horde into a kill zone in the center of the village, but there are so many of them, and their moaning and gnashing of teeth fill the air and send shivers down my spine. My heart races with fear, and yet, I cannot show it. Many of these people are looking to me for guidance, and it is my duty to stay strong for them. I wish I knew what I was doing. My mind is a blur, but I must remain focused, even if it means my life. These may very well be my final days, and all I can do is hope that our defenses hold and that reinforcements arrive in time.

7th of Senectus, 160 PR

We tried our best to hold back the undead, but they proved to be far more tenacious than we ever could have anticipated. Their hunger for human flesh drove them to push through our flimsy barricades, and they began filtering out to the undefended parts of the city like a relentless wave. It was as if nothing could stop them. Throughout the day, the screams of terror and pain rang out, piercing the dark sky like arrows in my heart. I watched as brave souls selflessly rushed to the aid of their neighbors, friends, and family and I fought alongside them, my pistol roaring to life again and again until every bullet I carried was spent. But still, they came, undaunted by even our greatest efforts. Their sheer and mindless drive was something I have never seen before.
As the fighting wore on, my hopes began to dwindle, and fear began to take hold. I ordered the people that could hear me over the din of battle to fall back and reinforce. A large group of our people followed my command, and we made our way through heavily infested streets to the tavern. We suffered significant losses along the way, with each person that fell rising up not long after to join the horde that assaulted us, and even more fell to familiar faces they could not bear to do harm to, even in light of the situation at hand. We finally made it to the tavern, climbing to the second floor and destroying the stairs behind us but in doing so, accidentally stranding several people below who followed after us too late. My heart ached as I watched them fall to the horde. My face was covered in soot, tears, sweat, and blood, and I could feel the spreading warmth across my back from a burning wound I could only hope was from debris and not a bite or scratch.
The tavern is filled with the undead now, reaching for us and unintelligibly howling and groaning in hungry anticipation. I think we are safe for a moment, at least until the fires that are rapidly spreading through the village reach us. We are taking shifts to tend to the wounded and attempting to find a way out to the nearby rooftops. The undead do not seem to be able to climb, so perhaps we can use this to our advantage. I am exhausted.

8th of Senectus, 160 PR

I managed to fall asleep on the loft where we sought refuge, exhausted from the day's fighting. But my rest was short-lived as I woke to the realization that several of the people there with us had succumbed to the infection that was driving the undead. The chaos was already out of control, and in my groggy state, I was set upon by an infected survivor. He quickly overpowered me, striking my head against the floor and leaving me dazed. I thought my end had come until, through the haze of blurred vision, a dark-clad woman smashed through one of the side windows followed by a group of several similarly dressed individuals. The woman dispatched my attacker and jerked me to my feet, and the sound of gunfire roared in my ears as they began to fend off the remaining undead. Even in my disoriented state, I could tell they were working with terrifying efficiency.

As the last of the newly turned were felled, the woman pulled me over her shoulder and dashed once again through the window and out onto the rooftops of the village. Even as disoriented as I was, I could still see the fires raging out of control, smell the choking smoke, and hear the cries and screams all around us, broken only by the angry cracking of gunfire. We ran to a spot that must have been further from the core of the fighting, as the sounds were distant now. I wondered if reinforcements had finally arrived.
When she finally stopped, the woman laid me down roughly upon a rooftop, and I could see her looking out into the distance, reloading her pistols. I nearly lost consciousness, but when I regained focus, she was kneeling before me. Her eyes sparkled with an opaline beauty that struck me even in my weakened state. Above the mask she wore over half her face, I saw the scars…dark-colored scars that traced lines around her eyes and across her forehead. Seanachaisian scars. The woman leaned in as if considering something, and then, with a voice soft and lilting, whispered, "Remember this moment, Bechtlarite..." And then, I fell into oblivion.
When I awoke, I was in a vehicle of some kind, a large motorized one, and there was a Benevolent smiling down at me, cleaning my head wound and telling me I would be fine. They said we were on the way back to Armuun. I sat up with a jolt, demanding to know if the village had survived. The Benevolent assured me that while the losses were sadly very high, Hearde still stood, and the people still remained. The horde had moved on towards the Carrig River, and Becht forces were harrying them along the way.
I silently wondered about my strange savior, the Seanachaisian woman, but drifted back into sleep. When I awoke some hours later, I decided to write this journal entry, to document all that happened should I meet an “accidental” end before reaching the city. I am nervous about the reception I will receive upon my return to the capital.

12th of Senectus, 160 PR

Today was an overwhelming day, one that shall be etched into my memory for eternity. As I returned to Armuun, I was shocked to receive a notice from the Sovereign who had been informed of my part in the defense of Hearde. My heart raced with excitement and trepidation as the Benevolent who had been tending to me informed me that Sovereign Margaret Effron wished to greet me personally and that I was being taken directly to the Palace of Glass, however, my spirits were dampened by the realization that my tattered petticoat was hardly appropriate for such a grand occasion. The Benevolent, noticing my distress, laughed and put my fears to rest with his comforting words, assuring me that my attire was of no consequence in the presence of such nobility.

As we entered the Palace of Glass, I was awestruck by the grandeur of the architecture, and the way the glass housing seemed to magnify and play with the light, imbuing the room with a vibrant and alluring ambiance. An immense assembly had gathered in the chamber, and my heart swelled with pride as Sovereign Effron called me forth to award me for my gallantry before all those assembled. Nonpareil Geraldine Fulton, seated in the upper reaches of the audience,, seethed with rage as I looked on, the Sovereign standing behind me to lift a medal over my head, and I realized with elation that the Sovereign had no knowledge of the animosity that Geraldine had harbored towards me. Geraldine must have been acting alone, if the Sovereign had been involved there is no way she would go to such lengths to paint me a hero.
Buoyed by my triumph, I seized the opportunity to express my gratitude to the Becht people, who had continued to inspire me with their unwavering bravery and indomitable spirit, especially those who had remained in Hearde. I said I hoped that the Empire would swiftly assist in the reconstruction of their land, ravaged by the brutal conflict. I then profusely thanked the Bechtlarite Intelligence Bureau, whose efforts had facilitated most of my adventures. My satisfaction was complete as I saw Geraldine reluctantly raise a glass to toast my honor.
Bolstered by the Sovereign's appreciation and my newfound courage, I took a moment to announce my retirement publicly. I disclosed that I had one final task, to finish my Repulsor, an apparatus whose significance I elaborated upon, much to the wonder and approval of the audience. I pledged to put it into action in the Commonage, establishing a safe zone around their passes, and augmenting the defense of their land and the Empire's trade, to the great benefit of all. A jubilant celebration followed, wherein Geraldine was conspicuously absent.
After the revelries, I retired to my abode, feeling serene and fulfilled. Today was a day when my struggles were honored, and I was able to spit in the eye of my nemesis with the Sovereign's blessing. It was a day that shall remain a beacon of hope and inspiration, not only as a Becht or member of the Empire, but as an individual unbound by what we once were, and newly focused upon what our Empire can be.

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Type

Leaked Original

Medium

Vellum / Skin

Authoring Date

3rd through the 12th of Senectus, 160 PR

Location

Hearde

Authors

• Airtam Morenthall