Que's Journal

Journal of Que, ArchMagi, Master of Roaming 

Day 1 of Seeking

Today I came to the temple of the twelve, I renounced my appointment at the Tower, and swore the vows of a monk of Farat. Long have I renowned him who keeps the secrets I seek. I hope he will see I’ve always honored him, I will swear my entire existence to him, should he but grant me a single answer.

Day 14 of Seeking 

I have combed the scrolls of every plane I could reach, begged scholars, priests, and warlocks, even whispered to the gods themselves. There is no cure for what I have wrought. My hands hold power enough to sunder worlds, yet they cannot grasp the lives I have lost. What good is magic if it cannot undo the cruelties it makes possible? Today I held my wife’s hands as she took her last breath. My son yet survives, and this pushes me onwards.

Day 33 of Seeking

No priest or doctor treating my family has grown sick, and my son woke up today. He ate a bit, and I held his hand again. For the first time I see hope.

The entries become shorter, and the handwriting is scrawled more franticly and harder to read.

Day 44 of Seeking

I thought perhaps my son would survive; he showed signs of recovery. I shall stay here, perhaps I can learn more. Perhaps I can travel to where they are. 

Day 128 of Devotion  

Farat whispers when I listen. He teaches in riddles, in absences, in truths hidden within shadows. The monks say that knowledge is meant to be earned, that suffering is the toll paid for wisdom.

Day 365 of Devotion  

 I have given a year, given my name, given my mind—still, he remains silent on the one thing I seek. Does he laugh, watching me kneel in his temples, pouring my soul into unanswered prayers?

Final Entry 

Farat. I curse you. You, who hoard secrets, who bind knowledge with chains of silence. You who knows all. You knew there was nothing to find, no answer among mere mortals that could have undone this. Yet you have kept your silence and allowed me to waste a year of my pitiful existence in your halls. I tore myself apart for you. I groveled before your altar and sang your praises while my family’s bones turned to dust. 

No more. I revoke my oaths. I will unmake everything you stand for. There will come a day when your name is but an echo, a whisper that fades into nothing—just as you left me with nothing.