Sebastians journal entries

Journal entry 1:

I woke up covered in blood with what looks like three guards dead at my side, I took the papers they had which I can only assume belong to me, I have no clear recollection of who I am other than glimpses of times with people and places that look nothing like my current surroundings, the papers I have taken from these men say my name is Sebastian Strykynthorpe, orders are to execute once beyond the threshold and I was to be given one item to enter the void, the item being the journal I’m writing this in now, How these men died is beyond my comprehension, all I know is that I am alive and they are not. I should put distance between myself and these dead men as whoever wanted me killed will notice their absence in due time.

Journal entry 2:

I have travelled three days north from where I first awoke judging by the rise and setting of the sun, I have taken in my surroundings and other than the wildlife which I care not to get close to I have had no human contact, what I am comfortable with is that all the items I acquired from my not so lively company three days ago have shed some light on what I once did in whatever was my prior life. I seem to have knowledge on alchemical mixtures and mutagens, a small understanding for now. It may hold clues to why I have little to no memory of what happened to me or led to the situation of my failed execution.

Journal entry 3:

It feels like an age since I’ve had any contact with anything other than myself and the voices in my head, unless you count the rabbits and small creatures that have had the pleasure of being my sustenance for these days gone by, I must find civilisation and some contact with another human being before I go mad. I have no bearing on time as I wonder through this strange land. If I had a god in my previous life I must’ve displeased them greatly as I’m sure they are having a great time seeing me wander the wilderness like a madman. I should rest and start anew in the morn.

Journal entry 4:

I had a strange dream, in this dream I was in an apothecary with high ceilings nicely furnished, I can smell….. Black powder…… whatever black powder is……. and a well-dressed somewhat noble gentleman has approached with a large object surrounded by black swirling energy which changes to bright blinding energy in the manner of seconds whilst he is holding it, he yells to me “Sebastian we’ve done it ! You clever lad we’ve done it!” and suddenly I’m kissed by a female stranger with a whisper “You keep this up and you may even have the high council interested in you” I reach for her but the blindness hasn’t passed, the man gives me a nudge into the table I’m beside and the female playfully replies “Roland you leave him be, you’ve had the audacity to blind the poor lad, let him be” the voice responds “ I can’t fault his talents Felria….. Even if it makes him blind” he laughs aloud, a laugh that you share only with people you are close to.
Suddenly I’m awake and the warm kisses gone and laughter even further, was that a dream or a memory……

Journal entry 5:

“By the god’s boy, don’t you know where you are!?” these are the first words from I’ve heard from anyone in months, this man smells of sweat and metal. He offers me his hand and Name “Tibald Corinth” “or bolt to my friends” and offers me water and a small loaf of bread to eat; I almost choke on the bread as I consume it faster than my body is willing to. He looks simple but his eyes say different, cold and calculating with the illusion of being dull underneath his hooded eyelids, he seems friendly enough and has offered me a ride in his cart to a place called Northport, in exchange we take shifts at guiding franklin, his lifelong friend, companion and grey mane horse who looks a little out of place as a carriage beast.
Who knows who this man really is
 What I know is that he has transport and he is willing to take me to a place called Northport, even speak to a few people he knows if I’m in dire need of work, this he says this as he motions at the state of my boots….. Well the worn ones I acquired from the dead soldier however long ago it was, but those details he need not know.
To Northport.

Journal entry 6:

We have travelled for what seems a week now, Tibald hasn’t asked me little more than if I was hungry, he has more questions for Franklin, which is a relief as I have no answers for him, I did correct myself today as I realized I had not given him my name in return when he offered me his, “Sebastian” I said as we rode along, “Sebastian is my name” he laughs, “I thought you had forgotten boy, no need; you’re a good sort, I know these things” “Sebastian……. A good name” he sounded as if he was almost tasting it recalling it from a memory long past.
We make camp just of the main road we’re travelling.
Time to sleep.

Journal entry 7:

Another dream
In this one I’m at the centre of a circular stage surrounded by alchemical equipment with various glowing runes and bubbling mixtures and the sounds of various gears clicking, whizzing, grinding, “We’re at 50%” a voice yells, I reply “push through we aren’t there yet” “we can get more” I find myself turning; twisting; a strange voice that was my own emanates with a strange weight and conviction and my eyes grow heavy “Sebastian!” a female yells “More… we can do more…”  “NO YOU FOOL!” this voice I recognize as Roland…… “One more……” a whisper I can barely hear “by the gods new and old I think he has done it…” darkness…….

Journal entry 8:

Bolt confronted me about my dreams last night
He wants to know what I was dreaming of. I tell him I barely remember what it was but that I remember speaking a weird language and a sudden rush of being surrounded by magic, I also remember there being people in the room cautioning me to stop.
I feel him measuring me again as if he has found something else of interest in me, “I suggest you come with me when we get to Northport, I have men and people that may make use of what skills you have” I have no idea what skills he speaks of “Sebastian, your ability to navigate the contents of what I have in my cart aren’t normal for just any man, I have dangerous extracts herbs and chemicals in no particular order which you have avoided without difficulty, your ability to read and write along with your aid in mixing the various compounds assures me of your competency in alchemy whether you believe so or not”
I told him “Maybe in another lifetime friend, for now I just want to see this Northport of yours” there is more to this man than he pretends to be.

Journal entry 9:

I was asleep maybe an hour before we were attacked by bandits, I saw something that impressed me and frightened I at the same time, there was 8 dark cloaked figures maybe 30 feet from the cart surrounding bolt, he remained still as they circled him all brandishing daggers from what I could see in the moonlight, I had time to see him move slightly and a flash of light so quick I almost thought it didn’t happen, the cloaked figures all fell in a single moment. Bolt looked at me with his eyes glowing an eerie blue and then faded to normal.
His words were “It would do you well to forget what you saw tonight Sebastian, not many men have seen what you have and are alive to tell of it”
With that he returned to the cart and hopped in the back to rest like nothing had happened, “We are less than a day’s ride from Northport, do not stop for anyone until we reach Northport itself, do not let anyone in the cart, do not let them feed Franklin, And most of all do not mention my name. I would like to enter Northport with less fanfare than our recent visitors were willing to give us”
I nodded.
Who is this man?
 I’m glad this man decided I was worth saving….. Or not killing we will see which it is once we are in
Northport.

Journal entry 10:

Arrived in Northport, didn’t listen to Bolt and was pickpocketed as soon as I let some stranger rub Franklin down and feed him with apples. Bolt just looked at me like he knew it was going to happen, why did that kid choose me? Would he have had the same luck with Bolt? I think I’m being set up
What have I got myself into?

Journal entry 11:

Bolt has given me 10 gold pieces for my help in getting to Northport, clearly he didn’t need my help at all but I’m grateful for the gold as I know it will go a long way toward gaining my feet in this foreign place. Finding out more about who I was seems less important for the time being as I need a place to sleep and food to eat. Bolt has said that my skills would be valued in many places around Northport.
He has said that if I ever need to find him again that It would be best to leave a message with Berum the tavern owner of the busiest tavern in Northport aptly called “The Port” it is also a great place to find out the inner workings of Northport, who’s important, who’s not, and who I should avoid.
More important matters like food and rest for now.

entry 12. 

Haven't had much time to return to this journal over the past week. I haven't wanted to travel too far deep into the depths of North Port, this place seems riddled with rogues and pirates, so I have kept to the area I now know to be home, and from what I understand, the most secure -- the Grey district. Berum has only answered a few of my thousand questions, and from what I can gather, this place is run by a powerful group. I have requested that he send for Bolt as I do not feel at ease in this place, and my gold is running low. The room and cheap food i've managed to source won't last forever, and I must find a way to sustain myself without stepping on the wrong shoes.

entry 13. 

Another dream. This time far more blurry, yet far more disturbing, and I can remember the few details I was privvy to with astounding detail.. "GODS HE HAS DONE IT!!!! HA HA!!," I hear, as my vision wanes, and I see what look to be glorious arcs of lightning shooting around whatever room this stage is inhabiting..   ...I then hear a very strange creaking from behind me and I lose control of my body, and collapse. From my obscured vantage point, and my fading vision, I see something. Something is moving past me, towards my peers. Something horrifying and otherworldly! I want to scream, but this encumbering feeling won't let me! As my anxiety heightens, the horror turns to me, and oh but if only Abadar could smite me so I would not have to bear the sight - all I dare to remember are its legions of fleshy tentacles and those unassuming, cold black orbs i can only presume were eyes.. .. "well that's enough fun for tonight, well done everyone!!!!!!" resounded a familiar voice, and after a blinding crescendo of ear-splitting noise and a cacaphonous scream that no mortal could ever forget, the nightmare was gone. The only other feeling I can recall from the dream was a stark loathing of my friend that day. What had i done.. what had i unleashed onto this plane?  ... who was i?

entry 14. 

Spending lots of time at The Port. I've started to become one of the 'regulars'. And as such, I've started noting a couple regulars, myself. None of them ended up meaning anything to me however, as the intriguing Bolt eventually responded to my request for a meeting through the tavern-keeper. Agreeing that it was time he introduce me to those whom he believed I would be best served working for, I was lead along by the hooded man with the lightning blue eyes through the grungy and musky dirt-laden streets to a barrel, only the gods knew where, in some dingy alley I could never remember how to get to. Motioning to me that I should open the lid, it was revealed to be an entrance to a ladder. Descending down, we both arrived in to what appeared to look like a shop of sorts, with tables laden with jewels, both rare and common, coins of strange note, and exotic weapons. Men dressed in a rather similar fashion to my.. associate, were watching from every corner as we made entrance, clearly guards of a sort, and men of what looked to be a rich and strange background were perusing the goods, said wares being hawked by a large, rat-like character who spoke remarkably perfect common. We made our way through a corridor, which one of the dark figures opened up a door for while exchanging what seemed like a very familiar nod with Bolt..  and after descending a few flights of stairs, exchanging more nods and one or two exchanges of strange coin, we came to a room that seemed very removed from the warm grey half-tones and meagre, decrepit outfits of Northport. Here was a place laden with furniture made from rare woods, silver and magical weapons stocked on the walls, and  gold skulls lining a blackened chest of drawers. I could only imagine what was kept inside of such a thing. A tall and stern faced figure was leering over the centre desk of the room, staring over what looked to be a map, or plans of some sort. Barely reacting to our entrance, he simply inquired 'Is this the man, then, Tibald?'.  "Sebastian's his name, sir. And yes. Certainly one of the only survivors from the event. Oh, and here," the smirking Bolt replied, as he pulled out and handed to what I can only assume is his commander or leader, the papers i'd found on my person when I woke up that day! When had he taken them from me? I dared not react, lest one of these clearly powerful individuals murdered me where I stood. This was not a place I'd ever imagined i'd find myself.
              Briefly studying the papers with a serious, yet bored expression, the menacing man then rolled them up and offered them back to me, which I managed to barely recall how to move at that point, and retrieved, thanking him. "So you're an alchemist. And I'm told you remember nothing. Hrmph. How utterly brilliant and fortuitous," he stated, as he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a beautiful, black stone that almost seemed to give off a smoky, black aura "do you know what this is?" ..  "..uh... no?".  The man smiled. "This is something i'd appreciate if you studied. My guild is curious about the effects of weaponising such a rock, but we are ever weary and cautious and as of late have had no skilled professionals with whom to consult on the matter. It seems nigh unmanageable and does not react well in our forges. Curious, no?" I'll admit it excited me. "Your pay would be handsome. 100 gold pieces a week, accommodations within the guild house, and insurance against common pickpockets and brigands. Tibald here has given quite the high appraisal of you, and I trust his judgement." How could I refuse? I had no idea what the reaction from a man who collects gold skulls would be if i DID refuse! "th-that sounds fine. Will I have a lab to work from?" I managed to stammer out.
             My hands tire so i'll quickly note before bedding down tonight in this much grander room than I've ever been used to, that he indeed did have a lab for me. And what a lab! I'm actually ecstatic about this job, it'll keep me busy and focused and I won't need to pay heed to those damning dreams every second. The pay's amazing as well - I can only see things getting better from here!

entry 15


I'm still unsure about Bolt, now. How did he come to find me? There is more to this than I could ever piece together on my own. Damn it all!!!! The dreams have stemmed and now paranoia takes over.

On another note, the strange black rock is reacting interestingly when I mix it with traces of silver and iron. I think their problem was treating it as a perfect and pure substance to begin with - it needs mixing with other properties to really start letting out the sparks and show its true colors! I'll need to keep picking away at this, it's the one thing that keeps my insides smiling these days. That and all this gold.

entry 16

I bought a whole cow today and cooked it. A whole cow!!! And that was 1 gold!! Holy crap!!
The properties of this rock continue to confuse and confound me. Tried fusing it with a small dagger today. Something didn't feel right.
The walls in this place are really thin, too.

entry 17

I swear they're all around me. Whispering. I keep hearing these voices when i'm hard at work. But they make no sense. It's not like we're prisoners here. Yet they keep saying what sounds like 'let me out' and 'i wont go back into the darkness'. At least that's what I think I can hear when I focus on the faint noises.
Perfected my obsidian dagger. Oh. And i've decided to name this rock obsidian. Was sure I heard someone whispering something that sounded like it earlier and the name just kind of stuck. Sounds so masculine. There is a slight problem though. the dagger felt.. sticky. Took a lot of tampering to finally place the foul thing on the bench. I hope that won't always happen.
I need to ask for thicker walls, this is becoming too distracting.

entry 18

GODS. I complained to Irenicus today about the whispers and the walls and what do I get? A pay increase? And as I keep forgetting to mention important things in this journal, the tall man who seems to lead this place is named Irenicus. He seems nice enough, although his business is clearly shady and shrouded behind courtesy and strange familiar nods and exchanges of coin. I think that for now i'll refrain from asking. The coin is good and the work is simple enough, if not exhausting to my psyche.
Quite happy that I have all of the isolation that I am given, however. It's definitely necessary in this line of work. No doubt my social demeaner has fallen considerably since I began this strange work.
I've managed to complete a line of weapons now, but I don't really want anyone to pick them up yet. They all seem to fly into the palm too easily and I can't seem to control the consistency of the stone yet - they all stick to my hands. I can only see that being a nuisance to anyone and I don't want to be kicked out or killed for performing miserably at my job.
I'm now very certain that the whispers are all coming from one, or two people in here at most. They're louder now though. They must be in one of the adjacent rooms. I'm going to pay them a visit tomorrow, this needs to stop.

entry 19

Pricked myself on some of the stone today while forging with it - hurts like a fucker. Can't seem to dredge it out of my palm either.. I can barely write with it due to the pain. Have taken some calmroot to help. The issue with the blades  has gotten worse. One is missing. I can only imagine one of those idiots walking around here with it and complaining to Irenicus. Curses. And that DAMNED WHISPERING. I ran to check the rooms adjacent to mine today and noone was there!! WHERE IS IT COMING FROM!?

entry 20

 - this entry is smeared with blood and blackened soot, it is not legible -

entry 21

Condition is worsening.
Don't care that the thieves are happy with my work. They just want more of the blades now. fine. i've perfected the concept. they can all rot with their swords if they're happy with them. this pain is my life now and my arm is feeling ever heavier.
i'm also 80% certain now that the whispering has only ever been coming from me. more importantly, this arm. it keeps praising the new body it is receiving, and continues to yell about cages and lightning.
i need to start dreaming again.

entry 22

Bolt came to see me today. His face suggested he was sad when he saw me. I assume this elevated condition of mine is to blame. My fist is now of the same stone i've been working with. I think he feels guilty about something. I inquired of what but is face would only lengthen and he abandoned me to my work after he grew tired of hearing my voice i suppose.
My pay has increased.
The weapons won't release from the rogues hands. They seem to admire my work far too much. I am being overworked. I tried showing a student of alchemy within the port how to work alongside me but he wouldn't dare touch the stone, seeing my hands condition.
Has money lost its value to me? I eat well. My future will either be a rich one underneath levels of concrete and dirt at a desk or that of a statue in a gallery if this skin condition persists.

entry 23

voices are my world now. The work has become automatic and simple, nothing I need to to attempt to focus on to continue at a perfect level. My mind is far too distracted. Now there are new voices, and these aren't coming from my fingers. I've seen their stares as I pass to the food hall. I've heard their words as I break my meat with my rock hand. they think i'm hiding something from them. how could i hide this? why would i want this? why would THEY want this? WHO ARE THEY!? WHO AM I WORKING FOR!? They come and go in their subterranean world of cloak and dagger bullshit and i am payed a kings wage for this!?
something does not add up. i'm going to ask for my work to end tomorrow. it's not like i complained when this problem occurred. who are they to keep me here?

entry 24

Last night I dreamed of that terrific horror once more. Everything was far more blurry and elusive than my original dream, but last night i got to see something more through the window of conscious. We weren't just summoning an abyssal creature from one plane to another! I forgot all about that damned thing, SHIT. SHIT SHIT SHIT. THE BOOK.
oh god.
That moronic friend of mine and his cultist-like fervor for that sickening tome of dark witchery and eldritch sacrificial rites. I never wished to touch the fiendish thing let alone read it, but ever the curious scholar, he did more than read.
I didn't just experience a loss of vision or 'a fall' that night during the event.
The two other things I recall from my dream last night were a stabbing, intrusive feeling inside my back, and a familiar whisper within me.

I only write this entry because I know i'm safe enough now to do so. When I woke this morning, it was to Bolt's audience, and he seemed as grim as the last time we spoke. "Pack what few things you need in to a backpack or satchel, NOW." He stated, his hands hiding the same energy I witnessed all those nights ago.
Placing what few items i cared to keep within a pack, he threw a cloak over me and motioned for me to stay as quiet as I could as he guided me through the common hallways of the lowest quadrant of the guild-maze. After what felt like hours, we passed a guard before a staircase, with whom we each placed the traditional 'nod'. I was halted for a second, but managed to keep my cool and wait for him to look me over. We were allowed passage and continued on, making our way past three more familiar checkpoints before passing through a common area.
"OY BOLT SHARE AN ALE," yelled a stranger from one of the tables. It was at this point that he glared at me and whispered "stay down." The rooms prior buzz of merry cheer and shared stories and alcohol turned to a far more serious mood when two of the guards heard the shout. "Bolt? Ye'rr not meant to be back here, and that's the damned alchemist, GET EM'". A flash of blinding light and I could feel a strong pull at my robe, my saviour stringing me along through a fleeting series of passages after having temporarily held back the teaming rage of those below.
"BOLT, What's going on, ANSWER ME!!"
"Irenicus found another alchemist he's been using for the last few days. He can't replicate your condition but he can replicate your weapons," He replied in a huff as he fought off a guard blocking our exit. "He wants your arm, though. Believes it a far more powerful technology, something he thinks you're holding from the guild. Wants it cut from you!"
I almost choked back vomit, things somehow DID get worse. A lingering question persisted.
"What guild???? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE. WHO ARE YOU!?"
I was forced up the ladder as I yelled out these demands, and without hesitation, climbed until I had escaped.
Bolt never followed. And I had no choice but to run. I wasn't going back down there to ask, and I wasn't sticking around. I had no other option but to leave, yet again, filled with only more questions, and more burdens. Whatever I was, whatever I became.. It seems there's always a pit you can fall further to.

At least I have this tree and this rabbit I killed. I've left and headed south. Hopefully I don't starve before I reach that speck in the distance. Seems calmer. Maybe i'll find some friends.