Sypheros 5, 1423
The last twenty-four hours have been the longest hours of my life. Only my closest friends and allies, those of the Hart’s Cross, remain by my side in this macabre world I call home. The only connection I have left to my beloved Branwen lies in the depths of my memories and the things that fill the Weaver household, which has now been left to me. I lost my fiancee, then my mentor, and less than half a day ago my last remaining father figure. I suppose there is a chance that my blood-parents are still alive, but I would not know where to begin to look. I suppose this would be the price I pay for the life I lead. If my assumptions are correct, my friends and I have slain at least two beings known as Darklords. I gather that the same path they were on was in some way similar to the one that Marius was on. Mad and craving seemingly unlimited power over life and death. This world’s obsession with death and how to avoid it may very well be what makes our world such a horrific place to live.
In my travels with the Hart’s Cross, I have combated all manner of beast and man. I have watched the dead rise from their graves to wreak havoc on the living. I have seen men turn into wolves. The wounds I have sustained have brought me many times to near-death. I fear that I am beginning to lose hope in humanity itself. More than anyone else, I can understand the unquenchable desire to see Branwen again, but the dark and evil things that Argus was willing to resort to are beyond anything I can imagine myself doing. By the heavens I love her so, and miss her so much more, but to place my life in the hands of such corrupt magics would be against everything I am. To sacrifice the life of an innocent to see her again. She would never forgive me. I am afraid she may never forgive me for not doing more to stop Argus from attempting such an evil ritual. For not saving him from that abomination that crawled up from beneath the graveyard.
My conscience eats at me when I contemplate attempting to find my parents. Part of me feels that, if they are still among us, that meeting them would put them in harms way. But sometimes I feel so terribly alone. I feel that everyone but Ellyria harbors some sort of distrust for me, and even she may have some reservations about me. Ambrose even criticized me for losing my taste for battle once my strength had been exhausted. I do not know how to fight any other way, yet he insists that I fight on. I can understand this, I think, but it is such an unfair burden to place upon my shoulders. I have spent my life trying to learn how to master the powers that reside within me; it left me with no time to learn how to fight using my body. The armor Ambrose covers himself in would do nothing but weigh me down and further inhibit my ability fight the only way I know how.
Things are changing so much among us. Ambrose is becoming more and more militant as the days go by, a side effect of the time he spent with the paladin, Hawking. Bondel has gone off on his own for reasons I cannot fathom. Faylor’s past is slowly creeping up behind him. I have lost everyone. The world around us seems to be fracturing. As we go from place to place, I can see everything fall apart. Estus has been left without a king and no one knows where the queen has disappeared to.
Deep down, I know that no matter how much we do. No matter how many of these Darklords we eliminate, the world sinks ever deeper into darkness.
Somehow we must persevere. We must continue to fight.