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Enoch and I took inventory of the surviving personnel and resources.
The camp contains a strange coalition of remnants, opportunists, wounded loyalists, and displaced nobility. Blacktongue’s people appear to be preparing for rapid relocation; crates are being packed, skyships provisioned, and personnel quietly reassigned.
Sal spent much of the day occupied with the arcane globe recovered earlier, supposedly an artifact originating from an ancient Netherese sorcerer. The device bears a large engraved “S” and retains approximately ninety charges according to his assessment. He later explored the surrounding terrain and collected samples of clay for later examination.
Charles familiarized himself further with the firearm acquired from Blacktongue. The weapon appears disturbingly compatible with him already. Observing the interaction from a distance, it almost seemed less like attunement and more like recognition.
Enoch continued moving throughout the camp tending to the wounded. At one point he discovered Corvin Valantis quietly bleeding out among the confusion and stabilized him before the injury became fatal. Corvin himself appeared almost irritated by the attention, which felt appropriately Valantis.
The camp remains crowded. Nobles without households. Soldiers without commands. Laborers hauling crates beside mercenaries and priests. The collapse of centralized authority becomes increasingly visible when viewed at ground level.
Enoch later encountered a young goliath woman named Natasha (Stoneheart), who directed him toward a merchant called Barrel Back Bill for supplies and trade. We acquired several minor supplies, including metal scrap, a spell scroll, and ingredients for something Sal insisted on preparing into “s’mores.”
Mazarin encountered a gnome named Gibby Strange carrying an entire bookshelf strapped to his back, apparently awaiting further instructions from Blacktongue. Gibby claims to be an author and collector of esoteric histories, having previously worked alongside entities ranging from devils to dragons, Sundara, and Cassius (aka Blacktounge).
NOTE: He spoke at length to Mazarin regarding a triad of archonic or demigod figures associated with the region: a radiant battle angel, a guardian of the land referred to as the Green Warden, and a being of fire identified with Koseth or Zakor who sleeps beneath a volcano. The parallels were difficult to ignore. Xalithea. Koseth. And likely whatever force Mazarin’s mother once served.
Mazarin purchased ownership of Gibby’s infernal contract from Blacktounge.
Reports indicate Tasha’s forces attacked multiple districts simultaneously during the arena incident. Governors and loyalist proxies have reportedly been installed throughout key sectors of the city while the noble houses remain fragmented and leaderless. According to Marrion, the Shattered Covenant has already established contact with its regional cells. Issa’s assessment is that Tasha’s invasion ultimately weakens the FETC and therefore benefits the broader insurgency. They have no intention of intervening to support us.
Equally concerning is the apparent military silence from the FETC itself. Early reports suggest the empire views this conflict as an opportunity to replace the legacy structures surrounding Xalithea and the Houses entirely.
I found myself increasingly unable to regulate my thoughts as the day progressed.
Marrion eventually confronted me over it after I pressed too aggressively regarding strategy and response timelines. Her frustration was immediate and sharper than usual. I have spent most of my life functioning under the assumption that sufficient discipline could prevent emotional compromise. Recent events continue to challenge that assumption with alarming consistency. I withdrew afterward and practiced with the Forever Blade until my hands began to fail me.
The weapon responds unlike any blade I have ever wielded. I am not yet worthy of carrying it. Realizing this and carrying it anyway feels dangerously close to sacrilege.
Eventually the others pulled me away from training and gathered around a small fire while Sal prepared the promised dessert. Enoch established a gentle zone of truth over the group, more for sincerity and bonding.
The conversation that followed was unexpectedly candid.
Sal admitted to retaining the illithid tadpole recovered earlier and has apparently named it “Bob,” which somehow disturbed me less than it should have.
Mazarin spoke openly for the first time regarding her father’s experiments upon her, years spent transforming her into a psionic weapon before eventually attempting to kill both her and her mother. She admitted she has not seen her mother in years.
Listening to her, I realized how many of us were shaped into instruments long before we chose what to become.
I admitted that I am afraid. Afraid of losing Conscriptus entirely. Afraid for my family. Afraid that when this conflict ends there may be nothing recognizable left of the home I spent my entire life preparing to serve.
The admission felt deeply improper.
Instead, the group closed around me in support. We all continued speaking late into the evening beneath the stars while the fire burned low.
For a few hours, the war felt distant enough to forget.
Only a few.
New People
Current Places
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