This sprawling city. How I imagined I might walk in to immediately find what I sought. A boyish dream. The city of Magnimar holds many wonders, many people traveling by foot, by sea, and by magic, surely. Magnimar is not so magnanimous, however. Anything but, it seems. I have not yet located what I came to find, but I feel I am getting closer. Desna bless the steps I take so that I may make strides everyday to a path of adventure, wisdom, and love.
I miss my family. If they ever considered me truly their kin, I do not know. But the feeling remains all the same. I have not returned to Iadara for some time, likely to my grandfather’s joy, but I yearn to see my sisters and brothers once more. Felwynathasa will surely be married soon, if she is not already. A noble and a man with military standing, no doubt. She was born to do just that. Imagining having hundreds of years already set for you, knowing that each step will not stray from the road at all, lest the road collapse under your feet. What desire paths are you missing, desires that will remained unfulfilled on paths left untraceable
My brother, dear Yarasil, what esoteric knowledge have you unearthed? What wonders are buried in the Arcanamirium? You were never the skilled warrior grandfather wished you to be, even bringing in those priests to lift your battle prowess when you were still young. It did not work. Your strength came from your mind, a much more obscured strength than a sword. I hope that one day I may visit you. We could journey home together, perhaps. At least to Greengold, on the border of the Forests of Kyonin. We could recall what we learned, what we saw, perhaps write a book together. I long for that day.
My sister, Silacaladthiel, I did not have much time with you, but you are my kin nonetheless. You were the son grandfather always wanted, in the body of a beautiful female elf. I do not know where you are now, other than you journeyed to the Mendev to dedicate yourself to the Crusades. Perhaps our paths will cross, someday, when the Crusades end and you return home. I pray to Desna that she give you safe and easy travels. The gods of all the pantheons of the multiverse cannot deny that you can use the prayers in the blasted ruins of the south.
My family, give me the strength to overcome this pride emanating from the Shard. It hungers, wishes for me to be more like Grandfather, Dregaaren, but I cannot succumb to its will. Or should I? House Myrthannia is built on pride, on seeing itself above and beyond all, even within some of the Elven Houses. It still stands after millenia, House Myrthannia. The words of the House even ooze with pride, like a black pudding in a damp cave: Valor, Victory, Vigilance. “Always approach with strength and courage in every endeavor, and after you emerge victorious, do not let your guard down. For that is when other enemies will try to defy you, and in those moments you must remain vigilant.” I heard Dregaaren say these words to his grandchildren many times, a prayer almost, like the ones I sing to the Song of the Spheres. Great Dreamer, send me wisdom in tenderer dreams.
I have a new family in the Pathfinder Society, though this one is not exactly made up of elven kin. Grandfather would certainly disapprove of such company, as he did when Father would go off on another journey. Dorn is strong and prideful, perhaps a more natural bearer of the Shard of Pride, though it could kill him. His pride is born in an unlikely place: the wild. Though even the beasts have hierarchies within their packs and collectives. So perhaps it is less queer than I might suspect.
Zynn is a likable and capable young woman, a more typical version of the sorts I expected to find in the hodgepodge genealogy of the Pathfinder Society. She has skill in stealth and spell, a combination many illusionists need to master in their early studies. Yarasil liked Illusion magics, if I remember correctly. I do not know if his tastes shifted since I saw him last. He might like Zynn. She would make for a great companion, though the elves would never allow such a high-born noble with his family pedigree to intimate with an outsider. I like Zynn, and I would approve. A woman of mystery, and yet simple, but not to a fault.
Virion is the most erratic of the bunch, his derivation marred by human blood it seems. He is a haunted man, one who comes from the Worldwound and other darker places on the continent. I hope my sister does not befall the same fate as Virion. He is tragic, really, now consorting with devils to eradicate demons, becoming a kind of demon himself to slay his enemies. Such a boon is a bane gifted by something with a honeyed-tongue. He is a sword with no hilt, an axe without a handle, a spear without a shaft. All can be used to kill your enemies, though you are likely to hurt yourself and others in your unskilled use of such weaponry.
Desna, bless us all in our continued pursuits to join this artifact, the Sihedron, together once more. Another sword without a hilt, though this one of a greater variety. Should we try to create a hilt for a weapon of such power? And after we create the hilt, could we even hold it, or sheathe the blade when we have no need of it? Questions only your could possibly answer, Great Dreamer. If we should cause more destruction than protection, wake us from our nightmares. Only you can at that point.