Posts from ☀️ Arselia and Akonia Auto-translated

After a brief moment of sadness, they head to "Lepota." If there's no script there, they buy three chocolates with Beata's money, eat two on the way, and then go to "Tentacle" with the third.

🏃 they arrive.

They are checking – is Zhenya still there, or has he gone somewhere? And is Bronya still there?

- The gentleman went down to the dungeon, - Bronislava says to a couple of scouts.

- The master went down to the basement, - Bronislava says to a couple of scouts.

Looking around cautiously, the pair approaches and lowers their voices.
- Excellent. We've been thinking... Evgeny is an intellectual, very interested and well-read. A book would be a good gift for someone like him. We've picked out a couple of options, but if they don't seem suitable, "Blagodat'" has a few other good volumes, - Guyon hands over "Demography" and "Sophia". - The first is a local exclusive, an author's book by the saleswoman, and the second describes one of the celestial beings.
- Our boss also told us that she has some foreign artifacts that she doesn't know how to use. Maybe we can persuade her to give or sell a couple, I think Evgeny would be interested in that, - added Beata. - And also, any gift is better if it's accompanied by a pleasant and tasty treat, - she hands over a chocolate bar.

If the chance of getting killed in the street is gone, then I'll go to the Academy. If it's still there, I suggest Kilike goes, since she needs to be there anyway.

Ask them to install the lever in the "Carnelian" so that Merel has something to guard.

Distracting herself from describing her former life, Alaria decides to also make some notes about the School of Eight Paths while her memory is still fresh.

"Baldr Memorial
An architectural monument and a place of power, telling of distant lands and undistant heroes. Some walls of this place are inscribed with ways of mastering the elements. Others bear stories of people dear to the founder. Stories of love, broken fates, and cats. Stories of Baldr, a barony quiet and peaceful at first glance. Such a pity I didn't have a diary with me at the time of my visit to write down the coordinates. I fear this place has every chance of being buried under the sands of time.

Characters:
Eir von Walravn — the storyteller, a sword master, and the founder of the place I visited. An energetic and ambitious young woman who overcame the hatred boiling in her heart. Well-versed in the nature of the fire element. A Sorceress, apparently, of some sort. A curious surname as well.
Jan Dere — the founder's mentor. From the description, a talented swordsman and a handsome man. Aware of this and not shy about mentioning it in conversation. At the same time, he is willful and prone to using his fists. Gives the impression of a man who thinks he has conquered life and is now trying to entertain himself by any means possible. Strange he never thought of accursed manors.
Veserod — an unsociable young man. Supposedly young, but the description gives the feeling he was around forty. Served as a pillar of support for his brothers and sisters, inspiring them with his courage and strength of character. For the same reason, he was popular with women. Described as a talented archer, and ironically, he died by an arrow himself.
Gungnir von Brekkendorf — the adoptive father of Baldr's wards. With a sword slung over his shoulder, he is mighty and fearsome as a storm. Described as one of the greatest warriors of his lands and an extremely talented commander. Apparently, having decided to settle in the wilderness, he did not seek such fame and prefers a quiet, measured life. Somewhat similar to Veserod, likely having had a strong influence on the latter's personality. It's hard not to envy his students for having such a worthy father figure in their lives.
Emilia von Brekkendorf — I'll admit, when I read about 'kind-hearted witches who treat children to tasty food,' I immediately become wary. I've read too many fairy tales. But in this case, it turns out the image is truthful and hides nothing sinister. Just a kind-hearted woman of many talents. I wonder... did she use magic in her recipes? I probably would have given it a try. I definitely used the fire from my abilities for cooking — it would be foolish not to use such a convenient tool. Sigh.
Claudia Acham — although this girl is completely innocent in all of this, her name inevitably reminds me of a certain greedy scaly face. A very unfortunate surname, I must say. Not the most interesting character in Baldr's stories, but I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't be curious to visit the 'Amber.' Maybe I'd ask for a couple of recipes and share my own. But I definitely wouldn't make comments about her surname. At least she got her happy ending and changed her surname to a more fortunate one.
Gregor Filanemo — Claudia's fiancé and Veserod's mentor, though he looks young enough to be the latter's son. I can't say whether he was that lucky with genetics or Veserod wasn't. Renounced his title to follow a dream, which seems admirable, but the title then passed to his decadent younger brother. I can understand the reluctance to rot away in an unloved place doing unloved work. And I'm not one for excessive self-sacrifice myself. Still, I'm curious how he lived with the knowledge of the fate he had condemned the inhabitants of his native county to.
Aisen von Mariendorf — another aristocrat, but stripped of his title under different circumstances. In contrast to his 'colleague by trade,' he is a responsible and selfless person. Possessor not only of noble blood but also of a noble spirit. It's hard not to respect such a person. At least, based on the few stories I managed to read.
Cecilia von Mariendorf — strange to see someone like this living in the wilderness, far from big cities. Otherwise, not the most interesting or notable person. Even a bit ironic, given her field of activity.
Matthias Kessler — one-eyed, apparently. A bandit, apparently. Yet doesn't give off the feeling of a bastard devoid of any positive human qualities. And he turned out better looking than that thug.
Almandina Arkadia — strange culture in this world, indeed. And the analogs to choral singing are unusual. Though, I suppose it would be a bit curious to see it all with my own eyes. But the problems are the same. I hope she ultimately found a path more comfortable for herself.
Victor Slimegate — it feels like Baldr is some kind of shelter for exceptional individuals. Want to live somewhere in peace? Gungnir von Brekkendorf will welcome you with open arms! An eccentric professor, however, went further than the others and decided to settle somewhere truly remote.
Amelia Slimegate — the reason the professor settled in the wilderness. Another exceptional individual, but a swimmer this time.
Virgil from Stingelheim — to be honest, when I first read about the 'purity and innocence' of such a comely knight... my thoughts went a bit in a different direction, hehe. I got rid of those thoughts afterward, though. A tragic figure, really. In a way, his situation was similar to mine, but much worse — there was no chance to make up for lost time. And then he seemed to have found a cozy place. Managed to come to terms with the realities of fate. Then his friend shows up, whose machinations break the poor man's spirit as well. And with the participation of his beloved student. Honestly, he should return to Baldr, but it's not for me, with my tendency for self-destruction, to talk about that.
Theodahad Bors — a friend who makes enemies unnecessary. At least according to what is written. Only visited Virgil when he needed something from him, and then, through his machinations, simultaneously destroyed several lives, including his own. A very instructive story, actually.
Rutger Rivelstein — probably the strangest character out of the four warriors. That says a lot. He became an invalid, apparently, but resigned himself to it like Virgil. And then he still went along with his wife, who started weaving bloody intrigues in hopes of curing her husband. A strange decision for a warrior who once risked his life to save innocents. It feels like *his* spine was broken, not Virgil's. Or perhaps human life had lost all value to him. Given his line of work, not the rarest shift in values.
Hecate Rivelstein — setting aside her questionable methods, the willingness to take risks and defy fate for a loved one commands respect.
Tyros Rivelstein — not a pointy-eared twerp, apparently, but still a traitor. A curious coincidence.
Gulveig — that student of Virgil. Reminds me of heroes from fairy tales. Kind and brave, but hapless and not too competent. Very clumsy, everything slips through her fingers. But behind all that lies a brave heart and an iron will. A naive girl, but courageous. It's hard not to respect such resolve. Especially when people around you are running away, and their lives are going downhill. I hope she managed to straighten out her betrothed's brains. And his spine.
Calenthia — according to the records, Gulveig's closest friend and sister, as well as the 'brains' of the squad in battle situations. Seems like a well-read girl. Strict, serious, and disciplined. But Baldr's isolation didn't work in her favor. As a result of her upbringing, she turned out to be no less naive than her kind-hearted sister. And then she faced the realities of her world. All her plans and dreams either fell apart or were turned upside down. In the end, her brain overheated. In trying to keep her footing, she began clinging to any chance to hold onto her sanity. She became fixated on an idea — to protect her family and Baldr at any cost, from any threat. In general terms, it's also a manifestation of love. But I just hope she doesn't find herself, at the end of her path, alone on the ashes.
Anselm — at first glance, a knight in shining armor. Brave, courteous, and noble. But also a shrewd businessman with an entrepreneurial streak. Probably would have achieved a lot, if born into an aristocratic family.
Imelda — the lady of the knight in shining armor. Fragile, defenseless, gentle. Plays the violin. Tries to get her lover drunk with potions stolen from slavers. Sent to compulsory treatment. A classic love story.
Renold — an extremely talented duelist. Got the impression he kept trying to become the squad's leader, but lacked Veserod's authority or Calenthia's tactical cunning. Apparently took out his anger on opponents. Has a very suspicious dynamic in his relationship with his blood sister.
Ilva — a beauty, artist, swordswoman, cook, and also a Sorceress. Constantly fussing over her little brother. As I already wrote, their dynamic is strange. Maybe I translated something wrong.
Alessia — a bitchy fashionista once called a witch. Decided to spite the offender and became a real witch. She'll fleece you dry, say something nasty, and burn you to the ground. A difficult personality, but not lacking in assertiveness. Earns a certain amount of respect. But I wouldn't want to be a captive when Alessia is called on a rescue mission. Though, in general, I wouldn't want to be a captive at all.
Anders — when people describe cat-loving guys with a dark past, they usually mean stately dark-haired men with chiseled features. Anders doesn't fit that description at all. Also, these guys with a dark past don't consult their cat on every little thing. And the cat doesn't answer them in human speech. Setting aside all the oddities, he's basically just a shy guy who wasn't lucky in the looks department. Kind-hearted. Stands by his family through thick and thin. And he even managed to find a girl. It's hard not to be happy for him. Though I, in his place, would hope the children take after their mother in appearance.
Ryohei — a guest from distant lands. A ninja by calling, yet he saved his comrades' lives more than once. Described as handsome. Very much so. His beauty is noted in almost every appearance. More and more as the story goes on. I can guess why. Too bad nothing ever worked out between him and the founder.
Yua — I don't know how I would react if I suddenly found a little girl in a tree hollow at the edge of a forest. I understand the Baldrians' concerns — the girl was clearly not as simple as she seemed, even though she later showed herself to be a loving sister.
Daniel — the most mysterious of the wards. Got beaten by dendroids. Then got beaten by Hans. And after that, never mentioned again. As if he vanished into thin air.
Bouvardia Milano — yet another person with a difficult fate. At least her story ended on a high note. Perhaps she will yet fulfill her dream.
Hans — alcohol will lead to no good, Mr. Landsknecht. Although you know that perfectly well yourself. But you put that annoying trio to good use.
Shino — reminded me of a girl I once crossed paths with. Not entirely sure why."

33 entries, it seems. Depending on whether you count the descriptions of certain events within the character descriptions as entries for those events.

Klin accepts the gifted diary from Alaria and bows his head reverently in gratitude. Someone might have thought that the knight had been bound by depression this past month, but in truth he could no longer feel such an emotion.
The explanation is far simpler: thoughts, words and movements now seem to the warrior superfluous and empty, as if wrapped in a veil of eternal sleep. He would gladly talk, but his own stern voice feels alien and cold to him. Every moment he makes an effort not to slip completely into the abyss of darkness.

Settling into the shade of a jagged sandstone crag, Klin opens the diary and for a few moments gazes at the empty pages. With heavy, stiff movements he begins to write. The letters are not words; they need not be twisted into a wrapping of polite flattery. The remnants of his tormented soul turn into ragged thoughts, and straight, confident lines settle onto the desiccated parchment. The knight needs neither rest nor sleep; right now he is more like a mechanism than a living being.

Those able to savor reality in his condition would have turned to philosophy; he, a thinker in life, having lost his soul lost also the ability to reason. Time no longer has any meaning; his path leads in only one direction. At least he no longer has to play that foolish roulette of fate.

*key names and locations for the mission are encrypted

I cannot say how long my service lasted — time in Helmar lost all meaning. I only remember how one day I was ordered to help the court mages prepare for a certain magical ritual.
From that day my life changed once more, and alas, not for the better. I would lack the knowledge to recount the details of that sorcerous spell; I will only say that I had never observed anything like it in my short life. Every day granted us by the gods, blood flowed, music thundered, the outlined circle flared with an azure glow, and a new mysterious figure emerged from the air. Who were these invited guests, and with what purpose did they step into our world? I was fortunate enough to find answers to only a few of these questions afterward.

I vaguely remember the first of them, the mysterious priestess. More power than anywhere else was invested in her summoning; only the best of the servants were admitted to her care. Alas, I never once crossed paths with her in the corridors of the imperial estate. For an unknown reason I felt only a strange cold contempt toward my own soul, as if at some point I had managed to fall deeply out of her favor. Strange, for we most certainly could not have been acquainted...

Next I made the acquaintance of a worthy warrior by the name of Shoneksh. People often confuse his appearance with that of an easterner, but I find that comparison extremely crude. Though our worlds are alike, every culture bears its own unique shade and character. In time Shoneksh would become my comrade and an equally loyal servant of the princess. A man to whom, without a doubt, I could entrust my life. All the more bitter the shared ruinous fate that overtook us both.

I was given the chance to introduce the suspicious robber to the new world in whose embrace he now found himself. Perhaps this man could have become our companion, but he refused the mission offered. A wise choice; others like him do not survive long otherwise. I fear he would have betrayed and robbed us at the first opportunity.
By the adventurer's words, he is able to converse with the souls of his dead kin. Perhaps here, in the south, we might have tested the truth of his claims. I can only hope the princess found a worthy use for him.

The last of the summoned whom I met was a young woman named Rialia. Judging by her strength of character, she had behind her more than one hundred of battles and upheavals endured. Strange that she was not immediately appointed leader of our party, as would happen in the future. I am sorry that I failed to justify the expectations placed in me and to end our mission with dignity. I can only hope that my foolish deeds will not bring her and Shoneksh still more misfortune.

Among others, among Her Grace's guests I observed still more strange and suspicious persons. One of them posed as an actor, yet even I could detect the falseness in his performance. This man is a destroyer of human souls and women's hearts. Every woman who shows him affection will soon die the most horrible death.

I also observed a strange pair of swindlers. In all likelihood they will be placed in the same party as the robber I mentioned above. I know not what dark deeds will be done by their hands, but I have no doubt that they will bring still more innocent blood and needless cruelty into our lands.

Our daily routine at the Villa of Irnia is governed by a strict service schedule, yet even so a rare servant begins the working day earlier than our magnificent mistress. Her luxurious estate has by now become my true home, the place of my labor and entire existence. Thanks to the greatest kindness of Her Grace, we are always fed on the leftovers from the imperial table, dressed in custom-embroidered livery for servants, and even provided with medical care. All the little that is required of us in return is loyal and diligent service. I think I have been very lucky in this regard. Not every man can boast of so many of life's blessings.

Today I was summoned on yet another errand. Following the countless labyrinthine corridors of the estate, I nodded politely and greeted the familiar servants. To omit them now would be to insult their worthy and selfless service. The summoner-mages made not a single error during the summoning rituals. The scholars carried out the most detailed calculations, revealing the most complex astronomical patterns. The healers in good time rendered aid both to the new guests and to the princess herself. Under the watchful eye of the imperial guard not a single incident occurred at the villa during this time.
Each of my acquaintances and friends, taken alone, is like a tiny ant, but together we are capable of moving mountains to the glory of Her Highness.

My personal role model, beyond any doubt, remains Yari — the personal assistant and faithful friend of my mistress. I do not think that someone like me will ever even come close to that level of selfless competence she possesses. For all that, Yari sincerely cares for the other servants, insofar as she sees in them a virtuous striving to be of use to Her Highness. I am certain that as long as Yari watches over the princess, she will surely be safe.

My errand led me to the threshold of the forge Paradise Water. I know that this establishment produces, on commission, the finest equipment in the empire. It is even somewhat strange that this place is still open to the eyes and purses of plain townsfolk and tourists. Then again, knowing the local master's prices, one rarely gets away with just a purse here...

The mighty smith named Ge already meets me with the artifact crafted to Her Grace's order. Without a shadow of flattery or insincerity, I call him the greatest master in the empire. At times it even seems to me that his wondrous knowledge reaches roots beyond our world and divine authority — may the creators forgive my blasphemy. Besides that, one can pick up useful worldly wisdom from him, for heavenly mastery has not in the least stained his soul.

To my surprise, Ge hands the legendary blade... to me. No number of lines in this diary would suffice to convey the emotions that overcame me. The blade of the two-handed sword shimmers with fifteen runic symbols, playing mysteriously in the rays of the setting sun. Not believing my own eyes, I grip the hilt and make a few trial swings. It seems to me as if I had trained my whole life to wield exactly this weapon. "Soul Devourer." A menacing, mysterious, infinitely worthy name for my new sword.
..And however mighty this blade was, just as powerless turned out to be its present owner.

Hurrying back to the villa, I struggle to find words of gratitude to Princess Irnia for so generous a gift. And though in her brief reply one reads only royal indifference, I understand perfectly that such a gift is not handed to insignificant worms beneath the boots, like me. A severe trial awaits me, and I simply must not lose face.
It now seems to me contemptibly wretched, the confidence I had back then. Aspiration and faith alone are not enough to reach a desired goal. For my arrogance I ultimately paid a cruel price.

curse captivity slavery imprisonment hopelessness indifference death doom end
And so, four (three) valiant adventurers stood before Princess Irnia herself. Truly, there is no ruler in the world more virtuous, wiser or more ambitious than Her Grace! As if by many moves she sees the complex picture of the world, gathering from the shards a fragile mirror of omnipotence. To serve Her Highness — that is the true achievement of every self-respecting mortal, for only in her words is truth, and only in her desires is truth. Without Irnia there exists for me neither water nor air, and even my cursed soul cannot find peace. All the fates of our world now lie in her fragile and infinitely strong hands.

Her Highness's commission leads us far to the south, into a feral, sand-swept land. The more I heed her words, the greater the agitation that grips my soul. I am proud of the trust shown, and yet I am utterly weak to carry out so serious a task. Why did I not say so then? My boundless loyalty walled off my reason from the whisper of common sense like an ugly wall.
Do not think that I am bitter about my wretched fate: my agitation concerns the difficulties I involuntarily created for Her Highness by agreeing to lead our humble party. My fanaticism resulted in unthinkable losses of human and financial resources. So heed my advice, O reader: always soberly weigh your strength, for loyalty without sanity is like a warrior without a weapon.

Our goal is the capture of three mysterious Archangels of Rishi, each of whom embodies one of the primordial aspirations. How are we to find such cunning and mighty opponents? They skillfully hide their true appearance, concealing themselves behind the masks of common folk. It is known only that divine obsession sooner or later takes hold of each of them. As of the writing of these lines I will recount only one of the archangels, the encounter with which forever mangled the fates of our party.

To aid us a magical cat, Pet, was summoned, who would become our faithful companion and counselor in the wanderings ahead. His wisdom truly knows no bounds, and all the riddles of humanity have long been solved in the depths of his fathomless mind. Such an ally only strengthened my fervent certainty, making me forget caution. In those days I naively believed our mission would take no more than a month.

Having accepted the generous reward for carrying out the commission, I immediately spent the greater part of it on fashionable accessories of Helmar. This will probably seem to the reader a shameful folly, but never before had I clenched so many ringing coins in my trembling hands. In my fantasies I paid a diplomatic visit, with a grand procession, to a foreign ruler, and with the support of his intelligence effortlessly disposed of the three unholy archangels. Velvet greed withered my heart. Ah, had we but stashed away with our companions even half the riches bestowed by Her Grace's generosity!
But alas, the great and wealthy city — the sparkling pearl of the empire — effortlessly conquered our souls. And while my off-world companions might be understood, there is no forgiveness for me. For many years I had lived in Helmar; like no one else I knew its greedy and alluring appetite. I fell into its trap like a foolish moth to lamplight.

First and foremost I dropped into a shop with the curious name "Bear's Den." This establishment was quite popular both among the other servants and among high society, for its wide selection of business attire to every taste and color. After consulting with the shop's owner, named Masha, I picked out a worthy suit to make a favorable impression on the overseas king. Little did I know then that fate, in place of cultural visits, had me dragging myself around in it across boundless southern deserts...

At "Time" I bought a luxurious wristwatch set with precious stones. And what was I thinking at that moment? Alas, the delicate speech of the salesman Tykven proved far more persuasive than common sense.

"Hunger" supplied our party with cheap but passable provisions for the journey. It is most curious how Mister Derzharium manages to keep his prices so low, when foreign merchants are forced to sell simple canned goods at five times the price of the well-off Helmar market.

Toward the end my weary feet led me to the threshold of a frightening place by the name of "Thomas." Among my colleagues in service the most suspicious rumors circulate about this shop, yet it is exactly there that one can come by unique artifacts whose usefulness for our task is hard to overstate. unFortunately, we have not yet had the chance to test the quality of the purchased goods...

Harya. Owner of the shop. A very strange gentleman, resembling a dark sorcerer or something worse.

Mifla. The shop's saleswoman. She appears to be enchanted by Harya. At any rate, her appearance hints at a frightening and mysterious secret, which only the worthiest of us might unravel.

Done with my shopping, I decided to visit the local circle of astronomers to rest my body and mind a little. To my luck I arrived just in time for the start of a fascinating discussion that quickly carried us off to the most inconsequential, illusory matters.

The debates were led by a cheerful young fellow by the surname Jo. His sincere interest in the most varied of life's topics, and his desire to set head-to-head the most varied persons of any rank and station, struck me as very welcoming. Had I more free time, I might well have become a regular at this circle.

One of my opponents was a rich man by the nickname "Ska." In the old days of my literary talent, I think, I could easily have persuaded him of my view of the world. But the years of service, it seems, have ruined that gift in me. To my shame, my speech was disgracefully droning and made no impression on him whatsoever.

My involuntary ally in the heated argument turned out to be Neon — my kinsman from Cridear. By all appearances, long wanderings had led him to Helmar, just as they once had me. We found it very easy to find a common language. I think we could have become good friends.

The last of the astronomers was a frail merchantess named Koya. At first I saw in her speech only a reflection of the first rich man's vain words, but toward the end I was astonished to detect sincere, kindred notes. As if behind the cruel and unscrupulous entrepreneur there hid a kind and fragile soul. I can only hope that life never brings her face to face with her naive principles...

Having restored my peace of mind, I decided to get into shape before departure, and without long thought made my way to "Milk." There I ran into the familiar Shoneksh. Heavy training lifted my spirits and added fresh confidence in my faith.

Nedam. A very skinny, frail and sickly gym administrator. A rather strange combination, given his surroundings. At the very least, his appearance does wonders for one's morale before a workout.

Before the road I decided to drop in on the familiar smith Ge to order a new helmet. There a most curious incident occurred between me and a foreign guest, Doskandra, related to the testing of my sword... Unfortunately, I was forced to refuse her the continuation of the banquet.
Had I known then who her mighty father was, I would probably have summoned all my charisma to win her favor. Who knows, perhaps our mission would have succeeded long ago. And so once again I proved blind to the helping hand of the goddess of fate...

I headed for the pier, clasping in my hands an old issue of the "Sunset" newspaper house. The editors' attention to detail and artistic talent had always inspired in me the deepest respect for the honest practitioners of that profession. Sometimes it seems to me that in several past lives at once I too was a journalist.

The road led me aboard the swift ship "Sun." This vessel belonged to the luxurious fleet of Her Grace, and aboard we were met with the most cordial reception. The royal cabins and the treats prepared in honor of the dear guests lulled my vigilance, when an experienced seafarer should have been carefully studying the ship's crew. I do not think fate will ever bring us together with this magnificent vessel again, and its story will most likely end tragically in the maw of a sea maelstrom.

Captain Anexia also ranked among the faithful servants of Her Highness, and so our voyage was promised the most favorable calm. Had I bothered then to converse with her, I might have learned of the sad fighting spirit and the frightening lack of coordination between crew and captain. Alas, I preferred carefree rest and reading to this.

Rastilav and Zador were among the sailors with whom I crossed paths during the voyage. It seemed to me they regarded the guests of the "Sun" with mild suspicion, and I decided not to force my dull company on them. Without a doubt, we ought to have devoted time to building ties with the ship's crew.

Instead I spent my days studying the Vishnian encyclopedia borrowed from my fellow traveler. I think that now, in a manner of speaking, I too can be called an expert on this wondrous land. I shall be brief in my advice and save you dozens of chapters of reading: "If M, then no."

As for the voyage itself? Not a day passed without us falling into yet another storm. I seriously believe that the sea goddess herself grew angry at my negligence. Being swept overboard would, perhaps, have been a well-deserved fate for me; but instead of death, fate brought me only the painful consequences of the ship's rocking.
In the second half of the journey the crew mutinied and seized the vessel. The fate of Captain Anexia henceforth seems to me most unenviable.

Toward the end of the voyage we managed to secure a meeting with the new captain, Sirot. It was hard to say what this pointy-eared one was capable of. He gave the impression of a cautious but confident seaman, and so one could not say with certainty how an aggressive confrontation with him and the rest of the crew would have ended in the middle of the sea.
Then I recalled an old story about another warrior of the same name. That time, a group of hapless adventurers brutally settled accounts with another Sirot, which led to the failure of their mission. And so this time I hesitated and judged our goal more important than the party's honor and the rescue of the captainess. As it turned out later, I was wrong again. Third time's the charm...

Three against all of Calcite — that is perhaps the most accurate way to describe my feelings upon arrival in the capital of the south. First and foremost we begged a meeting with the Great King Akkad, counting unconditionally on his help and support in our difficult affair. Our dialogue ended with only mixed success: we were given luxurious chambers in the royal pyramid, but support in the matter of finding the archangels was not to be hoped for.
Here I should mention that my continued existence I owe chiefly to my faithful companions, rather than to any leadership merits of my own. With rich gifts and polite speech they won the king's favor. They urged me to pay attention to the royal sorcerer. They had legitimate suspicions about one of the archangels hiding in the owner of a local slave farm. They asked the right questions of the wise cat on my shoulder. Rialia even studied the local tongue, and Shoneksh, to earn coin, was forced to become an executioner. And all this time, what was I doing?..

Akkad Babbar sin Zababa mer Lahar turned out to be of no use to our cause, though at least he did no harm. This man has drawn everything from life that it has to offer, and so nothing any longer interests his mind. Perhaps the road of fate will yet bring our party together with him, and then we shall be able to fully repay him for the hospitality shown.

We devoted the next days to careful reconnaissance of Barsina. This city differs strikingly from the imperial settlements I had visited. The local inhabitants are three times taller and mightier than the average imperial, yet few of them live to a ripe old age. Their ringing dialect grates on the ear and conceals the meaning of a message, and their cruel ways and harsh customs can evoke horror and disgust in a pampered guest from across the sea. In every tanned face we saw one of the archangels, in every gesture a hint of a trap. And so it was, as it turned out.

The first acquaintance we made was the port interpreter Karim. Amiable and overly polite, it is quite possible he was tied to the port mafia, otherwise his lucrative business would have ended long ago. Despite this, he is responsible in his work and helped us greatly at first.

At the inn "Bastet" we spent one day and one night, after which we traded its hospitality for the royal chambers. This spot will pleasantly refresh a weary traveler, and its kindly hostess Sakhar, for an extra fee, will prepare for you the famous southern healing baths.

Very quickly the need for earnings arose, and with it we turned to the Adventurers' Guild. Be ready: the local commissions will be within reach only of the mightiest and bravest, or the lucky and reckless. Even the simplest task can conceal a deadly threat, for that is the nature of this scorched land.

The Barsinian arena, as an analog of the Helmar theater, promises spectators unforgettable impressions and dangles alluring wealth before participants. The only problem is that the master of ceremonies himself selects the difficulty of the deadly trials, being directly interested in paying the winner nothing at all. This is a place for the desperate and the doomed, ready to fall prey to a giant scorpion or spider for the amusement of a bloodthirsty crowd.

The magic shop of Nirakh, on the contrary, like an oasis amidst boundless dunes, pulls travelers from the embrace of eternal sleep like a saving straw. If your own life is dear to you, by all means pay attention to this wondrous establishment, and do not be stingy with the prices.

After a week of surveying the city I also learned of the following persons:

— The cruel slaver Kingaludda. My comrades justly suspected him of being one of the archangels, both for his physical and his spiritual deformity. I, however, have heard of him only from Shoneksh's account, and so cannot form any detailed impression of this man. I will only say that against the backdrop of other inhabitants of Calcite, he stands out, if at all, only by his wealth and his disregard for money.

— The vain and boastful Ugalu. At one time I seriously believed that one of the archangels might be hiding behind his mask. Now I think he is simply an insecure and deeply lonely man, who even in his present status still craves public validation.

— Chikan and Chidzho. Fugitive slaves whose capture Ugalu wished to arrange, and whom we never did meet. I am ready to commit any cruelty for the fulfillment of the will of Her Grace, yet I sincerely hope they managed to escape the unenviable fate of this cruel land. To flee, and to find the happiness they both so fully deserve.

— The snake-woman Trakia. An insatiable monster that devours men for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Shoneksh and I had the misfortune to become her next naive victims. Even now, having lost my soul, I still feel a certain sadness that it was she who became the last with whom I shared a bed.
It is most ironic that even now, as I set down these lines, I am setting off to a possible death in a tournament on a commission from Trakia. Who could have thought that this monstrous woman would in all likelihood become the cause of my demise...

— The caravanserai owner Ishkur. He is the most ordinary inhabitant of Calcite. Reticent and blunt in his pronouncements, but firmly knowing his trade and his goods. In all likelihood, only people like him stand a chance of surviving in the southern lands.

At the end of the week a second cat-messenger of the princess visited us. As it turned out, our delay had caused some concern, and the loss of the vessel, disappointment. By that point we had only just recovered from the visit to Trakia, and were about to set off for the temple of the goddess Shiris on an escort mission. Of the cat we shamefully requested financial support and advice on unmasking the cursed archangels.

The second cat was named Quartet, and unlike the first he possessed no great wisdom, but stood out for his foul temper and aggressive character. I think this pushiness was exactly what helped "shake up" our group. I had much to learn from this curious beast.

Our employer and escort in one was a southerner named An. She was no stranger to making crossings through the desert, and was well prepared for the journey. Her only worry remained a giant scorpion that had taken up in the lands near the temple of the goddess of luck, and its elimination was exactly our goal.

The deserts of Calcite are a horrifying, deadly place. The scorching rays of the sun here find shelter only in the dust clouds raised by raging sandstorms. Rocky barchans give way to quicksands ready in the blink of an eye to drag an inattentive traveler into the abyss. The wheezing of giant monsters grants no rest at night, and the spreading evening shadows make one start, expecting cannibal-bandits. Man has never managed to adapt to survive in these lands. All that the southerners have achieved is to resign themselves to their sad fate, raising prayers to the goddess of luck. The desert will dry up the rivers, wash away the cities, swallow up each and every one. The yellow, dead sand will forever become your sleep and your waking.

If this diary should fall into the hands of guests of the south, I dare offer one piece of advice. Exactly as a traveler of the northern lands would never step outside without warm clothing, do not even think of wandering the Calcite wastes without desert boots. This remarkable footwear will more than once save your life during a sandstorm, let you avoid the quicksands, and keep you from losing valuable equipment on the road. The preservation of your feet on long journeys must remain your chief priority.
I daresay, buying these boots was the only unequivocally right decision on our part.

Our path to the goddess's temple could not be called an easy stroll, but thanks to An's skill we reached our goal without losses. The giant scorpion set an ambush against our party, but at the decisive moment fate itself played a cruel trick on it. An unexpected monstrous storm washed our group and the monster into the very heart of the quicksands, where we parted with our equipment and the monster parted with its life.

Reaching the temple of the Calcite goddess Shiris, we as one fell to our knees, raising prayers to the mistress of luck. I do not know whether Arselia hears her charges in these forgotten lands, but Shiris, I am sure, protected us from the nightmare to come.

On returning to Barsina we discovered, to our bewilderment, that the royal trust in us had run out, and we found ourselves in a difficult position before the gates of the pyramid. At that moment a mysterious stranger beckoned us with his hand into a strange portal that had appeared as if from nowhere in the middle of an alley.
The reader will probably laugh at our naive folly, but imagine yourselves in the place of northerners exhausted by a two-week crossing. At that point we knew of only one mighty sorcerer from the king Akkad's personal retinue, and although our souls were torn by doubt, I risked leading the party forward. Yet another mistake in my disgraceful career.

The portal carried us straight into the "amusement park" of the slave-pit master Melesar. I suppose that, from a scientific-magical standpoint, this place would be curious for the corresponding figures of the magical world to study. Here the laws familiar to us did not work, limits broke down and immunities were pierced. Anything was possible, all of it subordinated to a mad roulette of luck, each turn of which determined the fate of the captives.

I think the reader has already guessed that Melesar was the archangel of freedom we were seeking. Instead of heeding my comrades and laying a trap for him, I, blinded by exhaustion, led us into a snare ourselves. Only by a happy coincidence did I manage to persuade the sorcerer to join his own game. The blessing of Shiris smiled upon us, though we did not deserve it. Or perhaps the mad sorcerer was so tired of loneliness and boring victories that he could no longer resist the irresistible thirst for true excitement.
I bear no ill will toward Melesar — he was but a shard of a man, devoured from within by a divine curse. The archangels are merely sick, mangled creatures. Each of them has done much evil, but deserves no more than eternal peace.

Does justice exist? I doubt anyone but my mistress could embody such a concept. And yet, playing his cruel game for the first time, Melesar was struck down by it. I do not know whether it was some special magic of the "park," or his worthy desire to keep the word he had given us, but with his death the spell dissipated, and we gained the long-awaited freedom.

Alas, by the time the archangel died, of the three who had entered the portal only one living soul came back out.

Victory over one of the trinity of archangels cost us an unforgivably steep price. My comrade Rialia lost the memory of her combat skills, and Shoneksh was turned into a disembodied spirit. And as for myself? By the decree of the enchanted roulette, I became a death knight — a sinister warrior who had sold his soul in exchange for a weapon. A deserved punishment for my sins and mistakes.
Since my transformation I have increasingly lost control of reality. The world before my eyes is as if hidden behind a veil of gloomy sleep. Everything becomes gray, useless, indifferent. Only the will of Her Highness, a faint flame, continues to warm the remnants of my torn essence. As soon as this dim spark goes out, I shall surely fall into the embrace of eternal torment.

A worthy leader would in this situation have pulled himself together and, gritting his teeth, kept dragging his party forward. But I lost all count of time, heaving our ruinous situation onto Rialia's shoulders. For many hours they spent in conversation with the cat Pet, trying to devise a plan for what to do next. In passing I heard that they even discussed our cure, as if someone like me deserved it. One day Pet overheated in the sun and baked to death.

Our situation was becoming truly dire. The chief advisor had melted into the air, two of the warriors could not leave the borders of the Calcite desert, and the last one was unable to stand up for herself. I would have accepted my own peace with dignity, laying down my dead head somewhere in the arena, but responsibility for my comrades' fates would not let me take this ruinous step.
Only toward the end of the following week did reinforcement arrive in the form of a new commander and a brave warrior, and with him a new plan.

His name was Pobeditel, and until recently he too had been an archangel of goodness. Through his doing, several dozen innocents were monstrously slain in Helmar, yet thanks to the timely intervention of Her Grace and the mysterious priestess he was cured of his madness. A straightforward and goal-driven commander easily corrected all the blunders of our hapless party, and also took charge of our training. It seemed nothing could now stand in the way of our mission.

Instead of suspecting the royal vizier Marduk Ishtaran, I should have long since secured a meeting with him. Overly secretive and ambitious though he was, the sorcerer promised us help in exchange for a few trifling errands. In exchange for the Necklace of Ang — the least I could offer now — he even shared with us the coordinates of a mysterious temple of enormous power, to which we then decided to make our way.

We set out on the road together with our old acquaintance, the guide An. This time luck was more favorable to our party, all the more so since two of the five travelers needed neither rest nor food, and at night we could, as silent guardians, watch over the peace of the other comrades. It was strange to feel neither the scorching rays of the sun nor the frosty nights under the open sky.

A suspicious merchant crossed our path on the way to the temple. On his own he could hardly have survived a journey through the deserts. Not wishing to risk a possible bandit ambush, we decided to go our separate ways.

A strange girl appeared in the distance on the sands. Perhaps it was only presentiment, but from her, just as from us, the chill of death reeked a mile away. Our original goal once again proved more important than the risk.

Many days later we finally reached the Memorial of Baldr. This place literally beckoned with a mysterious, foreign energy. It was as if this temple had slipped between worlds and time. The ancient columns were inscribed with wondrous messages about life in another reality — so distant and at the same time so maddeningly familiar. I understood little and wished to understand little, but even so, for the first time since my transformation, I felt the warmth of kindred souls silently gazing down at me from the peaks of the eight statues.
Someday, someone will surely recount for you the wondrous story of Baldr — the finest tale I have ever had the chance to hear.

The walls of the memorial spoke of the legendary weapon-techniques of the school of the Eight Paths, which we at once set about studying. As my element I chose water energy. Ice is in some way akin to death: silent and lifeless, it commands time and matter. The warmth of life dissipates at its frosty touch, leaving behind only the cold eternity of oblivion.

We spent a whole month in grueling training, trying to grasp the subtleties of the unique Baldrian style. My undead nature offered no advantage here. We sent An on the return journey a little early, which in all likelihood turned luck against us once more.

Shortly after our return to the capital we discovered with alarm that our seeress had not come back to the city. In all likelihood she became yet another victim of the insatiable sands.
A couple of days later we found the gnawed body of Pobeditel in one of the alleys. By all appearances, our confident commander had been struck by sunstroke. Perhaps he was still ill after his wondrous cure, and the journey through the desert had only worsened his condition.

We had returned once more to the starting point, but now we at least had a risky plan. Soon the third familiar, Papug, joined us, meant in some sense to replace the weapon knowledge of Pobeditel. With these thoughts we made our way to Trakia, wishing to take part in the Sarian tournament.

Our guide this time was a mysterious sorcerer by the name of Dimuzid. Reading his luxurious robes and magic staff as ill omens, we waited in vain for an ambush or a setup. It turned out only that the southerner charges a high price for his services, but is, perhaps, the only one in Barsina able to guarantee his clients absolute safety.

The road to Saria proved easier than a stroll through a Helmar park: with a wave of his hand Dimuzid dispersed the clouds and dried up the quicksands. Even the desert monsters fled in terror at the sight of the mighty sorcerer. I think even bandits would not have risked attacking our party, preferring to look for easier prey.

At the city gate we were inspected by an eccentric giant lout named Alammush. His attention, however, was drawn chiefly to the female half of our party. I hope I do not have to face him in the tournament. One blow would be enough to knock the last of my rotting soul out of me.

For understandable reasons, I never got to study Saria myself. From my companions' accounts, this city is not much inferior to Barsina. Here too one can find unique craftsmen and establishments that exist nowhere else in all of Calcite. In my present state, however, none of this has any meaning. In Saria only one, final goal awaits me.

In my life I have made many mistakes and foolish deeds. I abandoned my native land. I failed to justify the trust of Her Highness. I became the cause of death or curse for all my allies. I am no longer able either to command or even to fully exist.
The tournament in Saria is the only thing with which I can still try to be of use to my party. It will not atone for my sins or quench my guilt. But it is the last thing I am still capable of. So be it.

The reader who finds this diary will hardly find an ending in it, for I am not the author of a book and cannot predict and pre-write my deserved finale. Perhaps my comrades will do it for me.
If so, let this message become the property of the hungry sands. And many years later a chance traveler will become the owner of the story of Klin of Cridear, and on the experience of his bitter mistakes gain a fragment of worldly wisdom in the chariot of time called "fate".

Having turned another page, the knight raises his head and discovers that nearly two whole days have passed. His performance at the tournament is soon at hand. The warrior closes the diary and returns to his allies.



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93*15*1.36 + 5 AD*30*1.36
looks like it's enough even for a water skill, factoring in the discount from Int — but still, let Ples decide what to skill up before the tourney (I have no clue)

I hand all the spare loot from my bag to Alaria + the flower; for the first battle, into the first slot, the magic-immunity talisman (this one counts as an accessory, I think)
and I hand full command over to Ples, all as usual

Erephir, on the way to the Castle, told Raphael that there was no need for them to travel in pairs anymore, although it would be better to wait for the official announcement. In the Castle, she asks Nadia for a questionnaire to fill out in her free time (she still needs to explore the city a bit more to answer honestly). / I will probably be less active today because I have things to do. /

Decided to keep the rope? As for skills, it would be good to level up Might as well, but yes.

Added 41 minutes later
There's a slight shortage of Water Magic in the end. About a couple of hundred experience points short.

Hrena Heroist went crazy. And you say I'm a wordy writer. Awesome! 💪
The question of how the cats crossed the sea remains unanswered, but that's just a detail; Princess Irnia's magic was definitely at work there.

Yes, I even felt a bit awkward about my previous, less polished writings.

Guys, can you remind me how to unlock skills? Is it in the archive for one gold? And how much gold is needed?

If I remember correctly, it costs 6 gold to open and 3 gold to get a discount on something.

Hmm, it looks like Bibe and Bobe won't be getting any new skills anytime soon. Okay, let's figure this out.