From the pen of Piper Swift

[cat sìth]

*The following journals are sorted by regnal years.  Each regnal year has its own respective small book, bound with brown leather and embossed on the cover according the time period chronicled within.  The calligraphic writing is acceptable but not particularly elegant — still an improvement over the crude calligraphy seen in letters Piper has sent in the past — and there are occasional ink blots.  This thread depicts but a small selection of these writings.*

[cat sìth]

1st September 4th Blackthorn:

              I have a clear view of that pulsing orb from the parapets of my home as well as during my patrols of the city wall-walks.  At first it did nothing but crackle now and then with whatever dark magics power it.  Now it glows and traverses the sky day and night on the heels of the sun and moons, as though it seeks to blot them out.  With it too far out of range for anything we could cast or fire at it, there is little we can do but prepare as we were warned.  I mislike this, but Trinsic is known as a city forged by battle, and its people as well.  Our stone homes and walls themselves are a response to invasions such as those described in the writings of Paladin Guildmaster Japheth.  The walls may not repel this threat, but the people who dwell within them are a different matter.  I suspect Hawkins would have much to say about that, were he still among the living.  I recall him sitting in the Keg and Anchor a year and a half ago, brown juice in hand, ranting as he often did.  Let us hope he was not foretelling the next Burning of Trinsic after all.

              Chant and I spoke again of our concerns three days past.  I think the weight of them to be the cause of my impatience with him over the incident in Cove, for which I apologised.  He assures me that he does not ignore our predicament, and while I believe him, I worry more each day.  When I cautioned him against letting his Pride get the better of him, he corrected me that it was not Pride, but rather “hope” — much as the look on his face suggested it pained him to admit this.  Even so, he seems almost as uncertain of what to do as I am, and to hope is no easy thing.  Time grows ever shorter, and any spent apart now feels regrettable.  All this was far away when first we met in the spring of last year.  Now it is upon us.  I know he always strives to please me and hates to see me troubled.  I should remember this in my reactions to things outwith his control.

              Perhaps the seers will be of some help.  They must.  After the appearance of that monstrosity during the last attempt, I am wary.  But what choice have we?

              We cannot afford to despair on any fronts while still there is time.

[cat sìth]

11th September 4th Blackthorn:

              We have been investigating the strange occurrences around the realm.  As suspected, it concerns the Titans.  They and their forces attack the cities even now and have left us without a King during a crisis once more.  Some say the King is dead, others that he is wounded.  Still others wonder if it was again a false Blackthorn.  Whatever the truth of it, if history is any indication, the realm fares poorly without a strong ruler and eventually declines into chaos and treachery.  We vanquish the Pagan invaders only to see them resume their assaults elsewhere.  It is as though their armies are infinite and undying.  It bodes ill for the future of Britannia, and Sosaria itself.

              The coming of the Titans, along with other events, should tell us that the veil between worlds is perforated and possibly time itself unstable.  The unexplained presence of Faeryl.  The arrival of Dirge and Draegan who followed him here.  Relthor’s failed summoning ritual — thankful though I am for it, in a strange way.  The Royal Britannian Guard visiting another time to find a massacre.  Subsequently being chased away by some sort of Time Lord.  Younger likenesses of our murdered friends seen alive and talking.  That terrible night at the ruins.  Colin Stark and his voices in Khaldun.  The axe saga.  The vampire in Aila’s tent.  Ezekial’s return.  The Renthar we fought.  The Titans of Pagan.  The list is long and longer.

              Now there is the note that was left for Chanticleer as well — perhaps another symptom of this perforation and instability.  How could anyone but us know of the things written therein?  Worrisome.  Chant intends to go as instructed and asked me to accompany him.  He is more courageous than I.  A trait borne of necessity, I imagine.  I am dubious, but I recognise why we must comply, however reluctantly.  He knows I would follow him anywhere.  And Everywhere, if need be.  We have too much still to do, yet only one day might remain.

              It is here, and there is no more later.  Later is now.

[cat sìth]

*The script in this entry is sloppier than usual, and there is a three-month gap since the previous one.*

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26th March 5th Blackthorn:

              Three months lost.  This is what they tell me.  It seemed much longer that I was *ink drop* as I was.  I thought it a lie but Chant insists he counted the days and he would not lie to me I know.  He says Relthor created a false version of him like the others Jolicia mentioned the same.  The In Quas Xen.  Created it to get close and murder me three months ago.  I should be glad for the plot’s thwarting yet I cannot feel gladness I feel *more ink drops*

              wrong