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Message: <blockquote data-quote="MDSnowman" data-source="post: 2091225" data-attributes="member: 6255">March the 12th, in the 759th year of the Barovian CalendarToday has proven itself to be another battle in what I now believe has become, for lack of a better explanation of our current difficulties, a war.    I must caution myself against hasty musing and thoughtless speculation, as the previous day has been filled with details and events that necessitate careful examination from which learned conclusions can be drawn. The time for assumptions and hypotheses has ended, as every movement, every decision made from this juncture onward, must be weighed carefully to find a tenuous balance between discovery and preservation. Even now, I am nearly trembling as the day’s events are replayed within the confines of my limitless memory: the dangers around us seem to be growing exponentially, and we have skirted death countless times since we first came together six months ago.    The morning began with a kiss, unexpected but not unwelcome, as Natheme nestled my shoulder, her body wracked by shivers that woke me from my slumber. After taking a moment to comfort her (as well as I am able, as I am woefully inexperienced in such things), I was able to disseminate her fearful mutterings into a tense monologue of her movements while Connor and I slept. The details of her infiltration are still somewhat of a mystery, as she was hesitant to reveal each detail of her encounter at the compound of La société des rasoirs: what was of most import were her discoveries that the duelist training school was indeed involved in the ambush at Glenhollow, and that a man known only to her as Bendick appeared to be directing D’Pointu and his men as it pertained to their dubious activities. In truth, Natheme was barely able to escape the compound with her life. Intercepted by Bendick as she attempted to flee the compound, she was subjected to a powerful force that very nearly left her in thrall to the dangerous stranger: only by misleading him as to the depths of her susceptibility to his charm was she able to escape his clutches, offering a false promise to procure the Mournesworth tome (as well as Connor and myself), and deliver us to him at a time and location of his specification.    Despite my overwhelming relief that she was able to return to us unharmed, I found myself consumed by an inescapable rage at her blatant disregard for her own safety, as well as her inability to involve us in whatever plans or machinations she hoped to set in motion. Thankfully, I was able to contain the majority of my anger and busied myself instead with preparing a communiqué which, with Stephan’s help, I was able to forward to Lady Vigil in hopes that she might offer us aid in dealing with the quandary in which we now found ourselves. Natheme, sensing my displeasure at her nocturnal misadventure, left the workshop in search of breakfast.    As Connor and I waited for word from Lady Vigil (if, indeed, she would even trouble herself with a reply), I busied myself with translating another portion of the Mournesworth text, touching upon one section in particular that spoke of a mythical “sentinel” waiting to be awakened by a “chosen one” whose identity was not readily apparent from the text’s rantings. Through an often erratic exchange of thoughts with Connor (relaying on our collective – yet limited – knowledge of Ravenloft’s geography), we were able to ascertain certain clues that pointed towards Barovia, a land far to the east of Port-a-Lucine: it was agreed that, quite possibly, the region would yield further clues as to the tome’s true nature, as well as the full ramifications of our efforts in Glenhollow.    Natheme returned with breakfast, bringing with her an uncomfortable silence that fell upon the three of us like a heavy fog: thankfully, the awkward tension was alleviated by the arrival of Alaink Ray, the single most noted criminologist in all of Ravenloft (if not the entire world), and most recently commissioned by none other than my adopted mother, Lady Vigil. He explained that Lady Vigil had procured his services upon receiving my message, and, after listening carefully the details of our conversations with D’Pointu (and the intelligence gathered by Natheme the previous evening), left to prepare a possible countermeasure before we met with D’Pointu and his men at Bendick’s chosen venue.    I am unsure as to what served to ignite it, but a heated confrontation between Natheme and myself erupted mere moments after Alaink’s departure: I uttered a collection of angry words in the chaos that followed (each of which I now desperately wish could be retracted and forever lost before they had ever been spoken), after which Natheme, in a fit of rage, struck me soundly upon my cheek. Despite the testing of my temper’s limits, I forced myself to retreat upstairs: if Natheme had not followed me, I am certain that I would have gathered my weapons and walked to D’Pointu’s compound myself, to kill him or be killed as the fates would allow. In the end, I held a distraught Natheme in my arms, her trembling frame and frightened tears calming me in an instant as, once more, the pain in my chest returned. To see her so miserable…gives way to an ache I cannot explain, a torment I have never felt before. It pains me beyond measure to see her unhappy.    With the prevailing of cooler tempers, the three of us were able to form a plan. With Stephan’s help (and welcome ingenuity as it pertains to new and insightful uses of gunpowder), we constructed a handful of explosive devices for use in our upcoming confrontation with D’Pointu and his students. It was Natheme’s recollection of Bendick’s words concerning his venue of choice – an abandoned warehouse, resting on a pier sinking slowly into the water – that sparked the idea: by placing the explosives carefully outside the warehouse, we would set them off from afar (using the rifles procured from our enemies outside Glenhollow) to trap our enemies inside the warehouse and complete the pier’s slow path to immersion. Convinced that time was of the essence, we neglected to wait for Alaink’s return, moving quickly to the docks in hopes that we could prepare the site before D’Pointu and his men arrived.    In retrospect, our actions were ill-conceived (at best): thankfully, fortune was with us and the three of us were able to execute the plan without major incident. D’Pointu escaped execution only due to the timely arrival of Alaink and a platoon of Port-a-Lucine guardsmen hoping to place the entire lot of Société members in custody. We were, however, able to take full advantage of the opportunity to interrogate him at our leisure and, after careful persuasion (bolstered at times by offers of protection and veiled threats of violence), we were able to learn that Bendick himself was a native of the very land Connor and I had ascertained to be our next logical destination: Berovia. With that piece of information in our possession, we gladly turned D’Pointu over to the authorities and returned here, to Stephan’s workshop.    Though we have enjoyed a measure of success in our efforts thus far, I can only imagine the full scope of what we have now involved ourselves: plainly, there are unseen forces moving against us, doing everything in their power to thwart our efforts and hamper our movements as best they can. Thus far, we have prevailed, but I cannot believe that this will be a permanent victory: fortune, like the tides, ebbs and flows. In time, fortune will no longer smile upon us, and we will have to rely fully on our own capabilities if we are to have any chance of survival. I am hesitant to place that much faith in myself, as I have yet to do anything but disappoint those who matter most to me.    But Natheme rests beside me, her head nestled gently against my shoulder, the hint of a smile playing upon her lips as she sleeps. For this moment, I will be content with the present, and worry tomorrow about the future. Sleep well, my most precious.    Tomorrow, we return to war.</blockquote>

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