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The Journal of Eamon Vigil (Ravenloft: Legacies of Darkness)
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<blockquote data-quote="MDSnowman" data-source="post: 2091213" data-attributes="member: 6255"><p><strong>March the 10th, in the 759th year of the Barovian Calendar</strong></p><p></p><p>Home.</p><p></p><p>From my earliest memories, Port-a-Lucine (and, more specifically, the Vigil estate) has been my home. It was here that I was raised, here where I have studied the mysteries of religion and history, and here where I now find myself after the harrowing events of days (or months, more accurately) prior. Strangely, I found little comfort in our arrival here. Where only a short while ago my first thoughts would have been of my family and their possible anguish at my extended absence, I could only concern myself with concealing my party’s whereabouts from mysterious parties that, save for a few vague pieces of evidence, remain unknown to us.</p><p></p><p> Connor seems to share my discomfort, though I speculate that the origin of his somber demeanor can be traced to the night previous – throughout the better part of the evening, the shaman was assailed by what he deemed spirits, imploring him to maintain his distance from the grounds surrounding Gryphon Hill. The encounter seemed to leave him visibly shaken, even as he recounted the tale in the comforting light of the following sunrise. His unease troubles me, as I had not before this morning ever seen him to show a failing of nerve – either the rigors of our journey thus far are beginning to take their toll on the rugged adventurer, or there are far more dangerous entities that haunt the lands of Gryphon Hill.</p><p></p><p> By necessity, my hypotheses were set aside as we passed through the city gates: unwilling to subject my family to unwelcome hostilities, I chose instead to seek shelter at the home of my mentor, Stephan Gearling. The gnome was neither inquisitive or suspicious, gladly offering us a room in his home where we might rest our tired bodies and weary minds before deciding upon our next course of action. I was able, thankfully, to share with him a firearm design that I have refined a great deal during our travels, and he assures me that said design would revolutionize the future of the firearm – if a working prototype can be developed, of course.</p><p></p><p> While Stephan busied himself with my schematics, I completed a series of counterfeit rubbings (taken from certain portions of the mysterious tome procured from the Mournesworth crypt) which I plan to present to my superiors at the University – though such deception seems unwarranted, I am hesitant to completely trust anyone who might have prior knowledge (or some higher degree of involvement) in our ambush outside Glenhollow. These rubbings will enable me to share pieces of my discovery with the faculty, while preventing them from making full use of its contents until definite proof of their benign intent has been presented.</p><p></p><p> Caution, while not always necessary, is still to be considered, whatever the case.</p><p></p><p></p><p><strong>March the 11th, in the 759th year of the Barovian Calendar</strong></p><p></p><p>Morning found each of us in renewed spirits: Natheme, ever alight at even the hint of morning, had already returned with breakfast by the time Connor and I had awoke, and after a brief meal (consisting of some nameless concoction of questionable texture and uninspiring flavor) the three of us left Stephan’s workshop and made our way to the campus to report our findings to the faculty.</p><p></p><p> The dean seemed impressed with the extent of our discoveries, listening with some measure of excitement as I recounted a carefully edited account of our journey (and the encounters it encompassed): he seemed especially curious as to the full nature of the obsidian rapier obtained from our pale opponent outside the Mournesworth manor (despite my attempts at concealing it from him), but did not pursue the matter further as he speculated aloud as to the meaning behind the etchings we presented to him. After the matter of payment (in regards to the services performed by Natheme and Connor as my guides and protectors) was completed, the dean dismissed us with what Natheme interpreted as condescension and disinterest: thankfully, we were all spared an explosion of her infamous temper, as she chose instead to retreat into an unsettling quiet that, quite honestly, left a pain in my chest. I feel as if there are volumes of secrets inside her heart of which she will never speak, and I wish there were some way to help free her of the burden she so blatantly carries. A task for another time, perhaps, when I am more intimately informed, and well prepared.</p><p></p><p> We did allow ourselves one final distraction before departure from the campus, inspired by the dean’s curiosity concerning the strange weapon I now carry with me. My friends and I reported to the division of the school charged with uncovering the countless secrets (and true nature) of what many refer to, quite simply, as magic (and the items and persona related to said phenomena): after presenting the weapon to them for a cursory study of its properties, we were greeted by the head of the University, Lord Balfour de Casteelle. Like the dean before us, he displayed a marked interest in our expedition, and the blade in particular. I, for one, was in a state of anxiety while in his presence: I have never been in such close proximity to the man, and I chose my words carefully for fear of embarrassing myself in the face of his boundless knowledge. I curse myself now for not taking full advantage of the opportunity to inquire as to his thoughts on the many mysteries that have plagued me since I first enrolled at the school.</p><p></p><p> Our day ended with an excursion to La société des rasoirs, in an effort to ascertain the full measure of their involvement in the attack on our party after leaving Glenhollow. The headmaster, a man named D’Pointu, was less than forthcoming, denying vehemently that any of his students would dare involve themselves in such unscrupulous activities. Despite our best efforts (short of resorting to violent measures, mind you) at probing him for information, we left the compound with the same volume of information we possessed upon arrival. We agreed, however, that D’Pointu is indeed hiding something of import, and we will attempt another excursion after we have had an opportunity to plan.</p><p></p><p> I will end this entry by expressing my mounting displeasure at having to conceal my very presence here in Port-a-Lucine from my family. Though I am convinced that Lord Vigil and Matthias would shed no tears if I were never again to return to the Vigil estate, I faithfully maintain that Lady Vigil and Branwyn must have some question as to my fate following such an extended absence. I have resolved to send word to them at the earliest – yet safest – opportunity, if only to ease my own guilt at not having done so sooner. I do miss them.</p><p></p><p> I can only pray that they will welcome me home.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="MDSnowman, post: 2091213, member: 6255"] [B]March the 10th, in the 759th year of the Barovian Calendar[/B] Home. From my earliest memories, Port-a-Lucine (and, more specifically, the Vigil estate) has been my home. It was here that I was raised, here where I have studied the mysteries of religion and history, and here where I now find myself after the harrowing events of days (or months, more accurately) prior. Strangely, I found little comfort in our arrival here. Where only a short while ago my first thoughts would have been of my family and their possible anguish at my extended absence, I could only concern myself with concealing my party’s whereabouts from mysterious parties that, save for a few vague pieces of evidence, remain unknown to us. Connor seems to share my discomfort, though I speculate that the origin of his somber demeanor can be traced to the night previous – throughout the better part of the evening, the shaman was assailed by what he deemed spirits, imploring him to maintain his distance from the grounds surrounding Gryphon Hill. The encounter seemed to leave him visibly shaken, even as he recounted the tale in the comforting light of the following sunrise. His unease troubles me, as I had not before this morning ever seen him to show a failing of nerve – either the rigors of our journey thus far are beginning to take their toll on the rugged adventurer, or there are far more dangerous entities that haunt the lands of Gryphon Hill. By necessity, my hypotheses were set aside as we passed through the city gates: unwilling to subject my family to unwelcome hostilities, I chose instead to seek shelter at the home of my mentor, Stephan Gearling. The gnome was neither inquisitive or suspicious, gladly offering us a room in his home where we might rest our tired bodies and weary minds before deciding upon our next course of action. I was able, thankfully, to share with him a firearm design that I have refined a great deal during our travels, and he assures me that said design would revolutionize the future of the firearm – if a working prototype can be developed, of course. While Stephan busied himself with my schematics, I completed a series of counterfeit rubbings (taken from certain portions of the mysterious tome procured from the Mournesworth crypt) which I plan to present to my superiors at the University – though such deception seems unwarranted, I am hesitant to completely trust anyone who might have prior knowledge (or some higher degree of involvement) in our ambush outside Glenhollow. These rubbings will enable me to share pieces of my discovery with the faculty, while preventing them from making full use of its contents until definite proof of their benign intent has been presented. Caution, while not always necessary, is still to be considered, whatever the case. [B]March the 11th, in the 759th year of the Barovian Calendar[/B] Morning found each of us in renewed spirits: Natheme, ever alight at even the hint of morning, had already returned with breakfast by the time Connor and I had awoke, and after a brief meal (consisting of some nameless concoction of questionable texture and uninspiring flavor) the three of us left Stephan’s workshop and made our way to the campus to report our findings to the faculty. The dean seemed impressed with the extent of our discoveries, listening with some measure of excitement as I recounted a carefully edited account of our journey (and the encounters it encompassed): he seemed especially curious as to the full nature of the obsidian rapier obtained from our pale opponent outside the Mournesworth manor (despite my attempts at concealing it from him), but did not pursue the matter further as he speculated aloud as to the meaning behind the etchings we presented to him. After the matter of payment (in regards to the services performed by Natheme and Connor as my guides and protectors) was completed, the dean dismissed us with what Natheme interpreted as condescension and disinterest: thankfully, we were all spared an explosion of her infamous temper, as she chose instead to retreat into an unsettling quiet that, quite honestly, left a pain in my chest. I feel as if there are volumes of secrets inside her heart of which she will never speak, and I wish there were some way to help free her of the burden she so blatantly carries. A task for another time, perhaps, when I am more intimately informed, and well prepared. We did allow ourselves one final distraction before departure from the campus, inspired by the dean’s curiosity concerning the strange weapon I now carry with me. My friends and I reported to the division of the school charged with uncovering the countless secrets (and true nature) of what many refer to, quite simply, as magic (and the items and persona related to said phenomena): after presenting the weapon to them for a cursory study of its properties, we were greeted by the head of the University, Lord Balfour de Casteelle. Like the dean before us, he displayed a marked interest in our expedition, and the blade in particular. I, for one, was in a state of anxiety while in his presence: I have never been in such close proximity to the man, and I chose my words carefully for fear of embarrassing myself in the face of his boundless knowledge. I curse myself now for not taking full advantage of the opportunity to inquire as to his thoughts on the many mysteries that have plagued me since I first enrolled at the school. Our day ended with an excursion to La société des rasoirs, in an effort to ascertain the full measure of their involvement in the attack on our party after leaving Glenhollow. The headmaster, a man named D’Pointu, was less than forthcoming, denying vehemently that any of his students would dare involve themselves in such unscrupulous activities. Despite our best efforts (short of resorting to violent measures, mind you) at probing him for information, we left the compound with the same volume of information we possessed upon arrival. We agreed, however, that D’Pointu is indeed hiding something of import, and we will attempt another excursion after we have had an opportunity to plan. I will end this entry by expressing my mounting displeasure at having to conceal my very presence here in Port-a-Lucine from my family. Though I am convinced that Lord Vigil and Matthias would shed no tears if I were never again to return to the Vigil estate, I faithfully maintain that Lady Vigil and Branwyn must have some question as to my fate following such an extended absence. I have resolved to send word to them at the earliest – yet safest – opportunity, if only to ease my own guilt at not having done so sooner. I do miss them. I can only pray that they will welcome me home. [/QUOTE]
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