Armon

Journal

--

--

--

--

Lore by Onigame

--

Its been a while since I went on any journeys, and after resting began to itch for adventure again, so set off, with no particular destination and changing paths and direction at random intervals. I found myself lost in no time, and to no surprise either. I had never been keen of visting the southern ice field, and today was a stark reminder of why I always avoided it. It’s just way too cold, and no matter how many layers I put on, I could never manage to get warm.

As I was beginning to worry about the onset of cold, I was greeted by a strange spiral. He looked very out of place- covered in sand and dust, with barely any protection against the cold, the idiot. He greeted me and led me to a tiny clan; it was more of a junk pile than anything. The leader, Gonimotita, explained they spend hardly any time here, and most of this spent in the shitfting expanse. She asked if I would like to spend the evening travelling with them to the desert. Gracious for a guide out of there, I agreed.

The rest of the clan was an alright bunch for the most part, but I felt a few eyes burning into my back- eyes that were very unwelcoming. I caught a glimpse of somebody staring at me intensely from behind some rocks. Later, I decided to stay the night. I saw them staring at me again, and managed to get a better look at their face before they disappeared. I don’t think I will be staying much longer.

--

I have managed to keep myself alive by my wits and the gracious help of an extremely strange dragon. I made the mistake of touching down in the Wandering Contagion. I only thank the eleven I am alive now to make further mistakes. As I poked around the curious vents in the earth and tried not to smell the...ah...fragrances that permeated the air, I was met with a rather large guardian. He wasn't terrifically friendly, and in fact he bullied and shoved me the entire way back to his territory.

The place is ringed in odd little shrines, each shrine has a burning pile of offal on its altar and they seem to burn day and night. Well, that explains the extraneous pungency in the air, anyway! I didn't get much of a look at that because the great brute shoved me into a deep pit. Before I could gather my wits about me, the top of the pit was covered up by a rather gruesome weaving of bones and hide. There were other dragons confined as well. One of them, a rather belligerent mirror, sarcastically welcomed me to "the real clan". She explained that the territory was held by a group of dragons zealously devoted to the Plaguebringer and said they called their clan Tva'Kadith. Dragons like me who found themselves afoul of these...ahem...devoted individuals were tossed into the Pit to await judgement.

Judgement, I suppose, usually involves some sort of sacrifice. I was quite unsettled after hearing that, and spent the rest of the evening curled in a corner of the Pit, waiting my time. That was when I was approached by a wildclaw who seemed to be absolutely covered with frogs and toads. She offered to get me to freedom. Her exact words were "You're small enough, I could take you without us both evaporating." Not exactly encouraging, but much better than being sacrificed by wild-eyed cult members! I agreed, and the next moment found myself hock deep in swirling ocean water. "Run," the wildclaw advised me. Her form seemed to waver and I thought I could see the rocks of the tidepools through her. A wave rolled up and slapped me down, and when I was able to find my feet again, she was gone. I think perhaps it would be best if I too were to get as far away from the Wandering Contagion as possible.

---

I found a mage school in the Cloudsong, so I decided to stay and learn. The students are quirky but kind. The teacher scared me at first, but he sensed it and treated me a little more gently until I got used to his brash manner. Most of the students were excitable, but I still appreciated their company. Maybe that's a Wind thing.

I got along best with Strom, though. He spends most of his time in the library, so I joined him there often to escape some of the excitement when it became too much. He didn't talk much about himself, but he asked me often about my travels. He gave me some good advice for if I ever visit his old home, the Southern Icefield. He spoke sadly of it, though. I think he's homesick.

When I finally decided to leave, Sylvester praised me, saying I was one of the best students he'd ever had. Maybe he says that to everyone, but it still meant a great deal to me.

--