The Journal of Rick.

[Kent]

He always kept the leatherbound tome close to his heart, at the deepest layer of his clothing. The last one had stopped a bullet. He hoped this new one wouldn't have to.

Early Chilldawn.

It's been months since I arrived in the First Province, and I have to admit, it's been quite the journey. I started out as a fur trader, but I've since given up that for the most part to pursue my true passion: writing. Perhaps I can do both if I focus my energies. Time will tell. It's been a challenge, but I'm starting to make some progress. Real, legitimate progress.

But today, my mind is preoccupied with something else entirely. I can't stop thinking about my past, and the terrible things I did in the name of Decus & Country.. The memories keep coming back, no matter how hard I try to push them away.

I was an officer of marines on board ships during the early parts of the apocalypse. Those born after those days have only ever known a world of Torment, but for those of us who were living in those long-ago times, it was different. Back then, I did things that I'm not proud of. I was part of a team that was tasked with clearing out the major ports of the Western Provinces, and we did it with ruthless efficiency.

We burned many ships at the wharves to contain the possibly infected masses clambering towards the ocean. Many had to be forcefully evicted from their ships upon the wharves, sometimes even whole families … but looking back on it now, I can see that we weren't just fighting the spread of Torment. We were fighting the people who lived there.


I don't know why I'm thinking about this now. Maybe it's because I've discovered that there is a large and thriving population of migrants from the Western Provinces here in the First Province. It's shocking to me, to think that these people survived everything that happened there, only to end up here in this godforsaken place.


And what's worse, they seem to be causing trouble. There's been a recent crime epidemic, and I can't help but wonder if it's them. I know it's wrong to blame an entire group of people for the actions of a few, but I can't help it. It's like something inside me just wants to lash out.


To make matters worse, I was recently scammed by a con artist named Drusilla. She charged me an outrageous amount for barely any treatment when I was injured & vulnerable. I'm furious about it, and I can't help but feel like it's somehow connected to the fact that she's from the Western Provinces.


I know I shouldn't be thinking like this. I feel like she somehow knew what I had done all those years ago, recognized the scars on this weary soul. I know it's wrong. But I can't help it. I'm so filled with anger and frustration, and I don't know what to do with it. Maybe writing will help. Maybe if I can just get it all down on paper, I'll be able to let it go. But somehow, I doubt it.

-FQX.

[Kent]

The scrawl is quick and far too much in a hurry to employ proper form.

I never thought I'd say this, but today was a good day. It all started when I ran into Doctor Drusilla on the street. I tried to avoid her, but ultimately she cornered me with one of her goons. She demanded, through her goon, that I pay for the medical treatment she gave me, and I knew there was no way out of it.


But then something inside me snapped. I was tired of being a victim. I was tired of people taking advantage of me just because they thought I was weak. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.


I wrote her a fake check, and she actually believed it. I couldn't believe it. I felt like I had finally won something. It was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.


I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have lied to her like that. But I couldn't help it. I was so tired of being taken advantage of. And besides, she deserved it. She was the one who scammed me in the first place.


I don't know what's come over me lately. I've been feeling more and more like I need to stand up for myself. Maybe it's because I'm getting older, and I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling like a victim.

Either way, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I have some control over my life. And it feels good.

[Kent]

An even hand, a calm hand.

28 Chilldawn.

. . .


I've been thinking a lot about my past lately. Specifically, how I ended up in the naval service. As the sixth son of eight in a prelacy parish, I was never going to inherit anything more than a name: too many heirs and not enough business and land. So when it came time for me to choose a career, my parents sent me to the Foundry, with the promise of commission as the leader of the marine contingent upon a coastal patrol frigate they had purchased as an endowment to the Foundry.

At first, I was excited to be there. I had never been away from home before, and the prospect of sailing the seas was thrilling. But that excitement quickly turned to fear during training. The drill sergeants were brutal, and the other recruits were even worse.

I remember one night, I got into an argument with another recruit. A western boy–they all thought they were the most surefooted of any of the recruits for some reason or another. I don't even remember what this argument was about, but I do remember losing control. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find and hit him over the head with it. He died instantly.

I panicked. I knew I couldn't tell anyone what had happened. I would be kicked out of the Foundry, and my family would disown me, and with a finale upon a pyre or in a gaol. So I covered it up. I hid the body and made it look like he had gone AWOL. – Absent Without Official Leave. A cowardly deserter.

It was the first time I had killed someone, and it changed me. I became more reserved, more careful. I didn't trust anyone. But at the same time, I felt a strange sense of power. I had taken someone's life, and I had gotten away with it.


Looking back on it now, I know it was a terrible thing to do. I can't even imagine how the other recruit's family must have felt. But at the time, I was just trying to survive. And in a way, that's what I've been doing ever since.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully come to terms with what I did.

But I know that it's a part of who I am. And if I'm going to continue living in this world, I need to be able to accept that.

[Kent]

Thawmist 3

It's been a few days since I last wrote, and I've been struggling to put my thoughts into words. I've been thinking a lot about my time in the naval service, and specifically about my best friend. His name was John Libriatus. We spoke to one another in our bunks late at night, sharing the intricacies of one another's lives. He spoke greatly of his son who had unfortunately been dropped by the apothecary during delivery.


After the incident with the other recruit, I worked hard to become a good marine officer.. I wanted to prove to myself and to my superiors that I was worthy of being there. And I did just that, earning the trust and confident of my marines day by day.

During one particularly brutal battle with western pirates, our ship was boarded. I led the contingent to repel them, and we fought fiercely. It was chaos. Men were screaming, swords were clashing, muskets were firing. The acrid smoke made it hard to make out who was on which side at times.

In the midst of it all, I saw my best friend go down. He had been shot in the chest by a magical fireball. I remember everything slowing down for a moment as I saw him fall, several enemy blades passing through his chest at once. It felt like an eternity as I rushed to his side, trying to stop the bleeding. But it was too late. He was gone.


I can't even describe the pain I felt in that moment. Losing him was like losing a part of myself. We had been through so much together, and now he was gone. I tried to be strong for the other marines, but it was difficult.


I've never really gotten over his death. It's something that has haunted me for years. I've lost other friends since then, infact most of them but none of them hit me as hard as he did.


Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had been the one to take the fireball. Would he have been the one writing in his journal about how much he missed me? Or would he have moved on quickly and forgotten about me?
I don't know. But what I do know is that I miss him. And I always will.

Thawmist 5

It has been a few days since I last wrote in this journal. I have been busy writing, trying to work on a book about my experiences during the early days of the Torment crisis. But tonight, I find myself unable to focus on that task, and instead, my thoughts have turned to the campaign against Maritime Piracy in the Western Territories, a protracted campaign long forgotten by historians, lost in the chaos of the early years of Torment.


I was a young lieutenant back then, leading the contingent to repel boarders when our ship was attacked by those infamous pirates – infamous to anyone on the Terameran Seaboard in those times. But it wasn't just the loss of the famous ‘Incorruptible’ ship of battle that made that campaign so memorable. It was the so-called Lord Basil who commanded the stolen ship ‘Victorious Wind’, who had taunted the Foundry navy and indeed even the church itself.

During the campaign against Basil, we also lost a local fisherman named Nikita. Nikita provided more than scrumptious fish for us during the campaign; his unique fluting and fifing styles brought pleasure to our ears for many moons. His boat was cruelly destroyed by the western pirates, and he died in the attack. It was a senseless loss of life, and it fueled our determination to defeat those westerners and put an end to their raiding.

I remember how we tracked them down to their hidden cove, where we launched a daring attack and defeated them once and for all. Basil revealed his grand plan; the road to his layer was filled with innocent locals who he claimed to be protecting from the ravages of the Afflicted. The mortarmen aboard my ship gave good account of themselves and saw to the clearing of the path of any potential resistance prior to our landing.

The campaign was long and arduous, but in the end, we emerged victorious and though many of the comrades who had been so excited so long ago to ‘see some action’ were no longer with us in body, I will carry them on in spirit. Thinking back on that campaign, I am struck by the sense of camaraderie and brotherhood that existed among us in the Foundry, across the spectrum from Marine to Clerk.

We were all united in our goal to protect the Foundry from its enemies, and we were willing to put our lives on the line to achieve that goal.

But now, as I sit here in Fort Praesidium, I cannot help but wonder if it was all worth it. So much bloodshed and loss, all for the sake of maintaining the status quo. The Torment has brought about so much destruction and suffering, and yet here I am, still trying to cling to the old ways. Perhaps it is time for me to let go of the past and embrace a new future. Only time will tell.

Thawmist 6

I can't shake off the memory of that woman on the road – I forgot to write about her, so bare with me. She's one with the platemail helm and flintlock pistol. I've seen some scary things in my life, but she gave me a new level of fear. I was on my way to Fort Praesidium, minding my own business, when she appeared out of nowhere. She insisted on traveling in the same direction as me and I tried to politely decline, but she wouldn't listen.

I could sense that something was off about her. She was too quick to pull out that pistol and point it at me. I don't know what she wanted, but I wasn't going to stick around to find out. I charged at her and she fired, barely missing my shoulder. I managed to disarm her and we got into a brutal fight. I was fighting for my life and hers too, but I couldn't bring myself to kill her.

Eventually, I managed to escape and made my way to a nearby fishing village. The village was surprisingly free of the undead, and I took refuge there for the night. But I couldn't sleep. I kept replaying the fight in my head, trying to figure out what I could have done differently. Maybe I should have been more aggressive or maybe I should have run away sooner.

I'm angry at that woman for putting me in that situation, but I'm even angrier at myself for not being able to finish the job. I've killed before, but something about her made it impossible for me to do it at that moment. I don't know what that says about me as a person, but it's been weighing heavily on my mind ever since.


Sprained.

My ankle is still throbbing with pain. I cannot help but curse my luck for injuring myself during my stay in the Hearth and Hale, slipping down the stairs… The thought of seeking medical help from the fort's hospital system, with "Doctor" Drusilla, is not an option. I fear the possibility of her using western pagan magic upon me to turn me into a toad. I know it may sound ridiculous to some, but I have seen things during my time at sea that would make even the bravest of marines tremble with fear.

The fact that I cannot trust the fort's doctor is frustrating beyond measure. I am left to nurse my aching ankle in my inn room. It is a small, stuffy room that I have been living in for weeks now. The walls are thin, and the noise from the tavern below makes it difficult to concentrate on my writing. But I am grateful to have a roof over my head at all.

My thoughts wander to Drusilla, and I cannot help but feel a sense of disgust towards her. She is not fit to be the fort's doctor, drawing respect as she does. Her kind belongs in the refugee camp, not in a position of authority. I cannot believe the VAC would let someone like her hold such a prestigious position. She is not to be trusted, and I am not the only one who feels this way.

I long for the day when Drusilla is removed from the fort and sent to where she belongs. It would be a victory for all of us who value order and discipline. Until then, I must bear with the pain in my ankle and hope that it will heal soon. Perhaps I should take this time to work on my writing, but my mind is clouded with frustration and anger towards the situation I find myself in.
I cannot wait to leave this place and return to my quiet life. But until then, I must endure and make the best of the situation at hand.