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Eirik's Journals

Offline Day Jun 24 2020, 11:10 PM
  • Age: 29
  • Gender: Female
  • Race: Human
  • Rank:
  • Total Posts: 0
  • Played by: Day
100 Mana · ?
A journal somewhere, abandoned. The pages are weathered. Once the cover might have been a fine leather; now it is weak and spongy to the touch. Inside are the sprawlings of letters, in not particularly good writing, and drawings — also of the same quality. But they’re good enough to convey a sense of shape and form.

Inside is no rote description of the day-to-day but a rather strange description of his time in the Hinterlands.

I know why I had to leave. But did you have to join the chase?
Humans are treacherous.
I had you in the summer. Now I need your warmth the most.
In the morning the dew turns to frost

I go to the Hinterlands where no one will follow.
Now I have endless time so I will write.

Salt & lime. Soap
Salt & sage. For teeth
Pennyroyal. For biters
Scarlet root. Sore throat

Drawings of the various herbs here

Rabbit hardly worth it. Hard to catch. Arrow destroys it. But the meat melts in your mouth. Have to chew the bones.
Deer is good but I waste much of it before it rots. Oh well. Buzzards eat too.
Boar might charge on sight. I like fox. Just the right size. Not bad to taste.
Prey hides when the wolf howls.

Fingers turn blue when I wake.
Only have one pelt.
Have to steal warmth from the skin of a bear.

So cold, I will take it bleeding still.

As if a manual for future reference, there is a diagram-like drawing of how to make a makeshift skinning rack and a nearly step-by-step of the pelting process.

It is dark and it snows. I am abandoned. I do not remember warmth. I can only rise to keep the fire going and to eat. The land doesn’t harbor me. Every thing is indifferent. Why did you leave me?
Fresh fruit. Green things. Clear sky. Warm air. Honey. An embrace. A kind word.
Things I long to see again.

I dream of a single flower blooming in the snow.
Lusca fills me with hope in my sleep.

I have neighbors.

I wish I could write well. My hand isn’t fit to describe the things I saw.
My neighbor takes me to see the offerings place. Eximius like me. But mad
There is a big tree. Effigies from tusk and antler hang from its branches. The cords are dried entrails. So many, the tree is covered. It is dead and stark.
He says the guardian likes them the best. And the hearts of prey. To drag them here and cut its chest open. Over night the heart is gone.

Is it a guardian? Do guardians like such terrible things?

He says, the land will kill me if I give it nothing.
I would have thought it him rambling. But Lusca seems to agree with him. I admit I had felt it. The land dislikes me on it. It fights me. I am unwelcome here. I feel it watching me.

I get dreams. Something speaks to me. I will write the words if I remember. They are not Lusca. I leave a heart at the offering place. This morning I woke. Strange tracks outside the cavern. All over. I would have heard it.

Tracks lead to a tree of a fruit. The first sign of spring? Or, a gift?

I don’t know what it is. It is sweet. Lusca likes it too. Somehow it fills me with life.

Drawing of the fruit; round, the insides filled with seeds.

I dream of a great network of roots under the earth. They are all connected. Like one thing. But I sense rot. I hear the insects roil in the dirt. Even under the earth I hear them buzzing. I feel the earth is a corpse infected with maggots. The buzzing rises and rises til I wake.

I dream of the roots again. They connect at a beating heart. The heart pounds. And it whispers. But I can’t understand the words.
Offline Day Jun 30 2020, 11:01 AM
  • Age: 29
  • Gender: Female
  • Race: Human
  • Rank:
  • Total Posts: 0
  • Played by: Day
100 Mana · ?
One page is just scrawled phrases of all kinds: some illegible, others not, diagonal, right-side up, or simple, single letters or symbols. Some of the writing overlaps. Most are hard to decipher.

Winter breaks!
A poem: how pleasing not to be freezing.

Madwone came by. I told him I was glad to survive the winter. I told him I hear him at night howling like a dog. He says he doesn’t recall.

He likes to stand about and mutter. I don’t mind I guess.

I’m busy and I forget to write. I have pelts now for rugs. I have cleared the dirt in the cave. I found seeds so that Lusca can grow them. Our yard is full of green now and yields fruit and vegs. Potato and leek. Onion. Raspberry. Blackberry, rhubarb. Sage and lavender. All things Lusca grows strong, and tall.
I can eat the berries all day.

I hunt. Or look around. I find others. Some are mad but they treat me fine.
I bathe and drink from the river.
I can stay here a long while.

This page is just full of drawings of various beasts: hares, foxes, deer, lizards and an attempt at the illustrious Lusca.

My blood beats, up my throat
Out my ears
A swelling river

I look down. Black water under my feet. I sink slowly into darkness and I hear it whisper again.

Dream. Have not had one since last fingers of winter

Wet bone and heart string
Thread of intestine
Taste of tongue
Empty gut and eye socket
It makes itself of mortal flesh and twisted wood. Bone, stone and shadow.


I must go again to the offering place.

I left a doe there today.

I had thought the offering place was dead because of winter, but it’s clear nothing grows here. The soil is black like ash. It is a tangle of gray thorns and vines. Cracks in the dirt. Lusca fears to tread o er it. Whatever dead is left here shrivels up. Even the insects are driven away.

We decorate the black land with morbid trinkets. Whole bodies of prey some times. Some look torn apart. Heads dangle from trees. Bones strewn about.

There was someone digging. She says the thing lives deep underneath. She can hear it talking. I can’t get her to say much. It looks like she has been at it a while. There were many holes she’d made and she is covered in dirt.

I worry I am going mad again. One day I might be her, digging til fingers bleed.

We have a solid clan of ravens now. They pick the bones and offal I leave behind. Sometimes they will follow me as I hunt too. I don’t mind them. They squawk when they see me and they bring me pebbles and twigs.

Lusca warns them not to eat the fruit. How anyone survives without a princeling I will never know.

Spring turns to summer. The flowers bloom.
A drawing of a meadow in bloom. It can’t really convey the majesty, but it’s an attempt.

Dom we met this time of year didn’t we. I wonder if you think about me still. I do you. I want to lay with you in the barn again. I can’t touch myself like you did. Gods I am longing for that stiffness. How it traveled how far. I wish I had saved that stupid dirty poem you wrote. But I think you called it a sonnit. I can’t remember the words. Gods I am frustrated

Drawings of a male figure here and some flaccid DICK

I speak more to a neighbor. She is mostly sane I think. Like me?

She knows the dreams. She smiles. She says, it has seen the way the world has chased us to the far corners of the world. Those not shepherded to Ballasburn are lost and it has embraced us when no one else will. In the Hinterlands where no one will follow.

I had written those very words many months ago.

She says she brings strong things to the offering place to please it. There is something in her eyes I don’t like.

Fearful night.

I dreamed but it felt real. Knew there was something just outside my camp, watching me. I felt its breath. But I knew if I turned around and saw its face it would be so horrible, so terrible and so hideous I would lose my mind. I can’t look at its face.

If you look at its face you go mad


This happened two nights ago. I have not been able to write it until now

It was dark, summer evening. I saw something shambling up the path to my camp. Thought it was a creature at first. Uneven gait. Strange sounds. But halfway I saw it. I don’t know if I can describe it. A hideous creature made from many things with black center, dead eyes, rotting flesh. Mouth agape dribbling black. A long black neck from its center with a doe’s head on top. But it was dead.

I have done some thinking, I think it was the doe I brought to the offering place, come back to visit me

I was filled with fear and I shot it. Three times. Each time it merely rocked from impact, no reaction. The third time I loosened some flesh from it. It stared. Then it turned back where it had come from.

For many hours I lay awake. I did not sleep that night. In the morning I found its tracks and the flesh that had come off it. It is black and rotten like something dead for weeks.

A drawing of the creature. It’s hard to decipher what it might be depicting. There is a deer head; from its base is a long black column like a slithering neck, too long for it; its body is a jumbled mess which, due to his lack of skill as an artist, is too indistinct to make any sense of.

I don’t think anyone will believe me. Maybe this was a dream too.