1st of Februrary, 16.866.
I hate everything about Kelt. It's too cold. Too fucking humid. Impossible to work proper wood, let alone metal, when keeping a damn forge lit is a quest of its own. This was a mistake.
Nonetheless, I did find employ in one of the keltish noble houses, the Risencrantz. Strangest folk. They got them crazy eyes. Taciturn bunch. The Lord of the house keeps to himself, a scholar of some sort, always in the library. The Lady though... That bitch gives me the creeps, makes me tremble in me belly. She is the general of the local army. Her first request to me was a decorative armor shaped to the likeness of a skeleton and crafted out of gold. "A test of skill", she said, in a daring tone.
Fucking humans. At least these two didn't breed yet.
10th of June, 16.866.
Why does everything have to be so damn big in this keep? So much walking. Everything is too far. I have short legs, damn it.
I am adapting well to the life here. The other vassals are good people, if only a little scared. They never answer when I ask the reason for such nervousness.
I did witness something weird the other day. The Lord was taking a tray of food into the attic. I wonder why. There's nothing there. Still, not any reason to piss one's pants.
I heard the Lady burst into laughter the other night, in one of the other rooms, somewhere in the manor.
3rd of March, 16.867.
A little more than an year and I've seen all kinds of shit in this hell hole. Something is off about this place. Since my arrival I've seen a dozen vassals disappear. And somehow, I keep forgetting about them. Lil' Camilla vanished last week. Now I can't even remember her face. Why? Why can't I remember?
I am working non-stop trying to please that damn woman. Nothing pleases her ever. I have never crafted this many weapons and armors. Funny thing is: their army isn't even that big. I saw the equipment being stored in crates and taken to the attic. If they're not arming any men with what I craft, then... what are they doing with it? Stocking?
I realized the Lord and Lady were preparing. But for what?
27th of August, 16.867.
I overheard their conversation in the attic. I was passing by and I could swear I heard voices. I climbed the stairs and got my ear against the hatch door. Yes, voices.
"Why wait? We have the manpower right now", said Lady Risencrantz.
"Timing is important, my love", said the Lord. "As a wizard, I know that very well. The more we prepare, the less chances of failure."
"This plan of yours will take years, Jeremiah."
"Yes. And we will succeed at the end."
"You know how waiting gets me anxious", she said in that daring, challenging tone.
"Meredith, we're not doing this for me or you", he said. "We're doing it for the Wyrd."
"I don't care for your family's cult, Jeremiah. Our lands are withering and the Hapsenbran double the taxes every year. I say we refuse to pay the cropshare next month."
"It is not a cult. It is a cabal. Subtle difference there."
There was a moment of silence, then the Lady continued:
"You have one year."
"What? One year? Are you out of your mind?"
"One year, Jeremiah. So hurry up."
I heard steps, so I climbed down the stairs as fast as I could and hid under a table.
Lady Risencrantz passed by, in an angry march.
13th of December, 16.867.
Strange men have been visiting the manor, every friday. They all come in cloaked and hooded, in a dark green robe, and slither in silence into the attic. Then I hear chanting. Creepy shit. I need to find out what's going on.
I tried to go in there during the day, but the hatch is locked by a sizeable padlock.
20th of April, 16.868.
I grew closer to some of the other vassals. The Lord and Lady of the house dubbed us those most loyal to them, which seems to shield us from whatever is making other servants disappear. Me, old man Amos and the cook Estella.
Old man Amos was indeed the oldest vassal in the keep. He was one strange fucker. Barely ever blinked. And told stories about the lands of the Risencrantz that would rob anyone of sleep. Amos had seen everything, with those big crazy eyes of his.
Estella, on the other hand, was a recent arrival. But she learned quick how to win the favors of her masters.
The Risencrantz keep saying a change is coming and those loyal to them will be the most rewarded.
8th of July, 16.868.
Men are flooding the city. The house is hiring sellswords and arming them with my armors and my weapons. It is clear to me now there is a war coming.
10th of October, 16.868.
I was right. War. The Risencrantz allied forces with other noble houses and rebelled against the royal family of Hapsenbran. A bloody civil war is on the horizon. Were they preparing for this?
The Lord and Lady are away most of the time now. No more secret meetings in the attic.
I caught old man Amos in their library the other day. Reading.
14th of January, 16.870.
Two years. Two years of this neverending war. Why do I even remain here? This was supposed to be a temporary thing. What manner of force binds me to this place? Old man Amos believes I'm hexed.
"You're hexed", he says. "I read it in a book. You're thralls. I am trying to learn how to break the curse."
Neither Estella or I paid him any mind. Because old man Amos was indeed very old. For human standards, at least. Sixty? Seventy? He was starting to make little sense. It was all that reading in the Lord's library; it was doing him no good.
There's word they'll return home from the field soon.
23rd of September, 16.875.
The war lasts seven years now. Will it never end? I am tired. First, crafted for sellswords, then brigands and now... undead? I could swear the face inside one of those helmets was a dead man's face. The Lord is a fucking necromancer. And the Lady is his death knight. I should have known. Did all servants got turned into those unspeakable things?
Estella disappeared now. No one is safe. Why do I remain? Every time I decide to leave, my mind comes up with an excuse that makes me return to the forge. My hands are calloused and bruised. I am so damn tired. Working so much.
Old man Amos seems oddly more vigorous... I catch him in the library some times. And every time, he awkwardly returns a book to the shelf and exits, without saying a word. One of these nights I confronted him.
"What the fuck do you keep reading there, Amos?", I asked.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Are you serious? I see you doing it for years."
Amos looked at one side, then the other. Pulled me into the study, empty at this hour.
"You wouldn't believe the things I've read", said Amos. "What they're attempting to do here... What this is all about... The cabal, the Wyrd and The King That Waits... I'm getting closer, Mak. Maybe I can find a way to break us all free."
"Whoa, whoa, slow down, old man. You're making no sense.", I said. "Wyrd? King that waits?"
"It's gonna be soon", he declared, moving to the door. "I'm very close."
19th of December, 16.875.
I convinced Amos to show me his studies. He took me into the Lord's secret library, where he kept all his dark arcana books. It was there that I heard of The Stranger for the first time.
Amos said the cabal was an organization dedicated to an eldritch entity known as The Stranger, and they were empowering it in hopes to gain benefits from it. He said the Risencrantz were using the civil war as a massive sacrifice to the deity.
"What the heck, Amos? Are you mad? That makes no sense to me! It can't be true!"
"It is, Mak. They hope The Stranger will teach them the secrets of immortality. True immortality. Can you imagine that, Mak? To be young again? And forever? Men would kill for much less."
"How do you know all this? How can you know? Who are you?"
"Well, Mak... I'm the butler. I know everything", he said, with a grin. "Fifty years. For fifty long years I served this house like it were my own, blindly, without ever declining an order. I was a thrall, like you, but I got lucky. They freed me. The other cabalists. But they're just using me, I know, they're no different than Jeremiah or Meredith."
It didn't sound like old man Amos. At all. It was like seeing the fucker reborn. He showed me the rituals they were going to do to contact The Stranger. And he showed me how he would sabotage them, to hopefully put a stop to all that.
"I've been waiting very long for this chance, Mak. I'm gonna take it. What I want to know is: will you help me?"
No. I said no.
"I forgive you", said Amos. "You don't know better. You will... in time."
5th of February, 16.876.
The date of the ritual approaches. Amos has been acting weird all week.
10th of February, 16.876.
I don't know what the old fucker did. Some reagent replaced or some such. All I know is that, in the middle of the night, I heard screaming. It came from the attic.
I ran that way and climbed the stairs to find them... all of them... the cabalists, including Lady and Lord Risencrantz... fallen around a pentagram, withered and decayed, drained of their life force. In fact, I could see their essence being sucked out, the dark substance spiralling in the air and into an amethyst on old man Amos' hand.
"Amos, what's happening here?!"
"A long overdue retirement. It spoke to me, Mak. Last night, It told me what to do. Behold!"
With those words, he lifted the gem and yelled words in a language I couldn't understand. The gem shattered between his fingers and blood ran down his wrist. Then, the blood ran up his wrist and back into the palm wound, which healed and sealed shut. No scar. Amos seemed to absorb all the energy that was stored within the gem. And then I saw the unthinkable: old man Amos rejuvenated into a younger version of himself. Although strangely, he looked at once young and old, about 20 years old, but pale and wrinkled.
"And It foretold my fate! It revealed my true name, Mak!"
"What are you doing, Amos?! You're a bloody necromancer too!"
"The Stranger! It was all true! It contacted me! Promised me things. Delicious things. And look, it was real. I'm young again. The Risencrantz are dead. And you'll be free once more, my friend. No more chains! No more chains!"
"You're insane, Amos. You've condemned us all."
"Amos is dead", he said. "My name is Zomactelonyvarix, Harbinger of The King That Waits."
27th of July, 16.880.
It's been four years now since young Lord Zoma retreated from the war. When he rode into the keep, four years ago, it was a topic of much debate amongst the vassals, since none of us knew the Risencrantz had a son. He's been very kind to us and spoils us in ways his parents never did.
Weird, I can barely remember his parents at all, or the life here in the keep, before his coming. Were he not so fair with us, I'd most likely suspect dark magics were at work, twisting our memory and thoughts. Nonsense! Lord Zoma was the best thing to ever happen to this house.
I can tell he misses his parents very much. Every month I see him standing by their graves, looking down upon them, sometimes whispering. No doubt in prayer. Poor man.
13th of October, 16.881.
The keep is very empty these days. What is the young lord planning to do? Over the last year he has released every vassal of their duty or vow. He says their work is no longer needed. And, with that, the keep grows quieter, a new vacant room every other week.
I knew my time would come too. Fifteen years working here, though truth be told I couldn't recall a whole lot from the first decade. No matter. I'm old and tired. But I hate the idea of stopping my work. Nothing would displease me more. Crafting has consumed my days, my patience and my health. But hell, do I love it.
24th of January, 16.882.
The keep is now empty. Only the lord and I remain. Everyone else is gone. Most of the furniture, art pieces and cutlery were sold.
The lord came to me in my room, as I knew he would. Though he came with an apologetic expression. I was sick and bedridden, feverish. And all I could think about were the hinges I couldn't finish ealier that day.
"Most of what I'll say here will not even be understood by you, but still, I appreciate some transparency nonetheless", he started. "I could free all of the others. All, except you, Mak. I've always wondered why. For years I've been looking for your chain. And to my surprise, the answer was right here under our nose. Or all around it, I should say."
"I'm not sure I follow, my lord..."
"I know you don't. The genius, as well as the cruelty, of the enthralling the Risencrantz did to you, lies in the very fact your mind accepts to forget. To ignore any thought process that contradicts the spell", Zoma said. "And all this time, Mak, you were not bound by a crystal, by a gem, by a wand or any other arcane foci. You were bound by the keep itself, my friend. The keep is your prison. That is why we're now getting rid of it. I imagine you don't have many years left in you, but... at least the very last of them, you'll be able to enjoy as yourself, in your hometown. Don't you miss Karagard? Or the mainland?"
"Crafting."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I miss crafting, my lord. Are the forges ready?"
He chuckled quietly, then shook his head.
"No more forges for you, old friend. It is time to rest. Wouldn't you like that? To rest those overworked hands of yours?
"I care not for resting. I want to finish my work."
"Your work is finished, stubborn dwarf. I am releasing you of it, at last, with this power that I have acquired. Isn't that enough?"
"It never is. So much work to do still."
The lord sighed and exited the room. By the door, his final words were: "We shall see".
15th of March, 16.883.
We'll go to the mainland, the lord and I. At first, I wasn't too happy about him selling the keep and I did protest. I was ready to defend it. Armed with the weapon and armor I crafted myself, I bloody did.
"You're not getting rid of this keep. I'll protect it with my life, if I must."
"Fret not, my good dwarf. I'm taking this brick with us. You can protect it, if you like."
He gave me the brick after saying that. It was such a fine brick too. Perfectly cut. Sturdy. And it needed me to look after it. I can't quite understand why or how, but it's so important. Such an important mission the lord has given me.
We will cross the ocean. The lord, myself and the brick.
29th of June, 16.883.
The last couple months, I've seen many a man come and go. The ones in dark green robes. They treat Lord Zoma really well. They call him a "Harbinger", whatever the fuck that means. They don't meet in the attic anymore - Lord Zoma says it's off limits now.
"That area is corrupt beyond any restoration", he said. "We're leaving that problem behind for the future owners of this place."
They met in the vacant study, where the library used to be. I did overhear some of their conversations. Something about a new age, about change and about a stranger. The Stranger. Funny, somehow that sounded familiar.
Another thing they said sounded weird in my ears. One of the cloaked men asked:
"What of Jeremiah and Meredith? What was their fate?"
"Oh, they're right here with me. I made sure to get samples. Blood from him, bone from her. Enough to... recreate them in time."
"Good. You've proven quite useful to the cabal, Amos. That war effort was a mistake to begin with. We should never have involved ourselves in keltish politics. The mainland is where we should set our sights upon."
Amos? Funny, that also sounded familiar.
"That isn't my name."
A moment of silence, then I heard the other man speak:
"Of course, Harbinger. Excuse my careless words. You've done a lot for us."
"For you? You think I've done any of this for you? Oh, old man. I did it for them. For the ones chained to this place, like I was, by your former master. Your fake Harbinger", the young lord said, and I recognized the defiant tone of his mother on his voice. "The difference between you lot and I is that you beg The Stranger for gifts. Whereas I expect nothing from It. That is why It chose me over you. Over any of you."
"Careful now."
"Care... I used to be an old, fearful man just like you. No more. Those days are over now. I have power, at last, real power. After a lifetime feeling powerless and ignored, I can finally change things. Affect things."
"Don't fool yourself, butler. You have nothing. Who set you free from your enthrallment? Who initiated you? Who gave you the power you have now? You may look young, but inside you're still a decrepit rotten thing. An old thing, just like me."
"I am nothing like you."
"You'll age again. And you'll become fearful again, when the Mourning Lord comes to knock on your door. He knocks on every door, and let me remind you Kinarugi has a special distate for necromancers like us."
"I am. NOTHING. Like you. And I will prove it. By dismantling this poor excuse of a cabal. This cult of yours. And then I'll recreate it, to my design, to Its design. Away from this famished nation and its vultures."
"You're out of your mind if you think we'd let you-"
I don't know what interrupted the man. Suddenly, he stopped talking. Then I heard gasps and silence again. Steps coming to the door. The lord came out and found me, stunned on the other side.
"Oh, good Mak, you're here? Well, a true shame if you witnessed any of that, but it won't matter by the morrow, I promise. You'll forget. And these vultures can fly no more."
He then ordered me to pack our things. We'll board the first ship in the morning.
18th of November, 16.885.
I am bedridden again. I swear, it's this bloody climate of the south. And this damned sand getting in my beard, my eyes, my sockets, even my butt! Sand everywhere! The hot weather doesn't seem to affect the lord as much. He seems to have adjusted well. I thought Kelt was extreme due to the cold. Kamella is the same with its unbearable heat.
"But it's a free city", justifies Zoma, whenever I protest.
I think the heat and dryness are getting me. I feel weak. Too weak to work the forge. I can't even remember what I was working on. Only that there's so much more work to do. The lord tries to convince me there's none, that I should rest; says his parents command me no more. Nonsense. Even with them gone, I have a responsability. I must finish my work.
30th of May, 16.886.
My condition has worsened. It's like this old body of mine refuses to function properly. Like a worn off tool.
The young lord visits me now and then. He's been very busy, though I don't know exactly with what. I think he's been crafting too. Creating something in his lab. The other night, I thought I heard him saying his parents' names, as though talking to someone. Maybe just my imagination.
He says he worries over me. He says I'm old and that he can't figure out how to break the spell. I don't know what he means.
"I think, Mak, the reason was you... All this time, you", he said. "I think, despite all my efforts, you want this. You want this ceaseless work, this life without rest. Crafting is indeed your passion. I think it is your own mind preventing me from breaking the hex."
"You know, my lord, why I went to Kelt?"
"No."
"Well... It pains me to admit so, and take no offense, please. I was but a mediocre crafter in Karagard. But in human lands? I am a god. Human crafting is awful, you lot have no idea what you're doing."
He smirked, looking at me, sitting on the side of my bed.
"A god..."
"Saerin incarnate. It is a good feeling. To feel useful, necessary. Nothing gives me more joy in this life."
"Hmmm..."
Lord Zoma seemed thoughtful for a moment, then looked at me with sorrowful eyes.
"Perhaps... Perhaps there is a way... A way for you to rest and, still, conduct your work. A way to keep crafting forever, Mak. A living legacy. Would you like that?"
"Oh, lord, can you do that? I would like that very much."
"No matter the cost?"
"Every craft has a cost."
"Very well. Know the process is dangerous, however. And it may present risks. The ultimate of risks."
I knew exactly what he meant, but I was willing. Anything for my work.
"Let's do it."
"Then, I need you to write your will. In case the worst happens."
13th of October, 16.886.
I barely leave the bed anymore, but the lord says all preparations are in place. He's gonna do it. The ritual that will allow me to craft again. To craft forever, he said.
"My old friend, I know you won't be able to understand this, but... You know my stance on honesty, don't you?"
"Is it done? Can I return to the forges?"
He chuckled quietly.
"Not yet. I wanted to say, firstly, I'm sorry I failed to free you in good time. There may come a day in which I discover how to do it, but as of now, it is beyond me. What I have is a workaround. You see, if I let you die as a thrall, you'll forever feel linked to the Material Plane, your soul will never know rest, it will feel like it has unfinished business. And it would stay here, tormented in perpetual agony, until it turned into a wraith. I can't let that be your fate, Mak. But, after your passing, if I animate your corpse and it continues working, as you intended and wanted, then perhaps... Perhaps your soul will find the rest it is due. Because the hex will stay on your corpse. You'll no longer be a dwarf thrall, but an undead thrall. And since I'd be the one raising you, you'd be under my control instead. I'd honor your last wish, of course. Have you written it? The will?"
"Eh, you are very right. That didn't make any sense to me. I'm no thrall, young lord", I said. "I'm a blacksmith. And a tinker. And a tailor. A carpenter. And a cook, if I need to be. I'm a worker. A crafter."
"The best I know. Did you write it?"
"Yes, here", I said, giving him the parchment.
He read it briefly, then nodded.
"As you wish. It will be soon."
27th of February, 16.887.
I can barely hold this pencil to write in these pages. It is happening now. I see the lord laying candles in a circle around me and reciting words in a foreign language I don't understand. It feels like such a long time has passed, and yet the lord hasn't aged a single day. How can he seem old at the same time? He reminds me of someone... Someone I once knew... A friend... Who was it?
"Fuck. This heat is killing me", I said. "Could you open a window, young lord? I would, but I feel suddenly very lethargic..."
"It is not the desert, my friend. It is the fever. It is consuming you, I'm afraid. We don't have much longer", he answered. "All the windows are open. Can't you see?"
"No, I can't... lord..."
"Allow me to describe it for you, then", he said, as he placed a purple crystal on my chest. "Outside... I see mountains that extend as far as the horizon. The very back bone of the world. Mountains of metal, rich in every mineral there is. So high one would wonder if they were reaching for the sun. I also see the halls under them. The vast corridors and galleries of Karagard. I hear the sound of a thousand hammers hitting an anvil and shaping iron. And I hear laughter and singing, glasses clinking, and celebration."
"Fools... What is there to celebrate?"
"Your return, Mak, my friend, my old friend. They're celebrating your return. You're going back home."
With those words, he splayed a hand over the purple crystal. It lit up and I suddenly felt very light. The pencil fell from my hands, I struggled to get it back to finish this entry... I suddenly feel very tired... I just need to close my eyes... And rest... Tomorrow, the forge awaits me... At last...
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[[This story has an interlude on: Rotten Apples ]]
[[For more information about the Wyrd Cabal: The Freeport of Tilverton ]]