A Bitter Path, Illuminated - 1

Spoilers for Shadowbringers locations and lore.

Day 37

                It has been what I believe to be seventeen and some days since I departed home. I have decided that going forward, that it is in my best interest to not tell people what used to pass as ‘home’, as all it does is lead into a line of asinine questions.

                “Why would you leave such a place? A place so peaceful, so quiet, so livable.”

                As though anything can be simple in this day in age. People have had to shoulder the world’s burden for nearing a century and are now welcome to settle for whatever is the simplest. I would hope that the world is anything but. I would think that in its new simplicity, that perhaps the world has only grown more complex. We will see.

Day 41

                I grew to feel displeased with my room at the Pendants some days ago. I tried another place of lodging in Lakeland proper, and found that the day after I felt much the same, and so I wandered on. This morning I realized I had already grown sick and tired of all the purple. Beautiful and majestic though it may be, and I would never dispute such a thing, everything is so familiar. I have been to the Crystarium before. I have seen many ends of Lakeland, for better or for worse, when I managed to escape the confines of home. To see it now simply feels tedious.

Day 57

                I struck along with a group trekking across Amh Araeng. They were to deliver their companion to the ‘Inn at Journey’s Head’. A morbid place if ever there was one. The truest place to die, not because it is what those who have caught the affliction wait out the clock, but because one must check their hope at the door.

                The trio of men became a duo as soon as they arrived, they simply refused to admit it. As soon as the reality of the place hit them, the two that would be departing became as distant as could be. They could not even bear to look their friend in the eye again.

                I could not even imagine shouldering that illness, and yet I feel as though we are kin. I too feel afflicted, with a terrible wanderlust. That once I finally stop, I shall grow ill and wither and die. Perhaps not with such a pale face, and perhaps not a true death, but a death all the same. Dramatic indeed, I feel, but the truth.

Day 74

                My path has taken me to Kholusia, as I felt my time had in the deserts had been spent. There is only so long that one can stare at sand and trace up and down it in search of anything interesting. The locals may have no end of wares to hawk at you, but even their shining market grew dull. I feared Kholusia would be much the same, though the fates deigned that to not be.

                Not a few minutes had I stepped into one of the resident ramshackle villages did I discover the locales tearing throw one of the hovels. At first I stood, mouth agape, not even able to comprehend what their intentions may have been. When a passerby noticed my confusion, they told me that someone had recently passed away. As such, anything not nailed down in the home could be considered fair game.

                Out of pure curiosity I wandered in, only to be appalled by the state of things. Each item in the home looked to be of the same disheveled make. Every door to a room or cabinet hung crooked, made worse so by how they were all being forcefully flung open in search of anything valuable. The single chair that existed in the abode was clearly the amalgamation of three different chairs, each scrapped for parts, and looked ready to collapse at any point.

                These were not what concerned the looters, mind. No, they sought food. I saw one pull out a jar of what I believe to have been pickles. At the very least they may have been considered such years ago. Now they looked disgusting and shriveled, as though some poor green creature had shoved its toes into a jar and set them on a shelf. The foragers did not care one bit for their quality though, as they soon took to quibbling over them. While three of them argued, a fourth managed to swipe the jar, and downed the entirety of its contents. Initially I thought she was going to be ill, but she recovered quickly. All four then took to yelling about how she had just eaten three weeks’ worth of food.

                It reached such a point where I could stand it no more, and began to depart, only to be stopped by a rather weathered looking journal sitting near the door. Covered in dust, I presume no one had even considered taking it. I relieved the place of it myself. It sits in my pack currently, and I have yet to open it.

Day 77

                I believe this is the longest I have stayed in one location for some time. I could not bring myself to leave until I had finished the journal cover to cover. How I wish I could have met its author, as I know we would have been kindred spirits. They too sought the road on every occasion, and travelled Norvrandt far and wide. Their tales spoke of pixies and monsters and any number of excitements, but their most thrilling piece lay in their goal.

                Supposedly an associate of theirs had filled their head with a terrible though. That there might be a place beyond Norvandt. Beyond this light filled hell. The thought consumed them. They went to every corner they could find, though some they never had the opportunity to reach. They were kind enough to include a list of these places, before whatever it was that took their life came along.

                They spoke of how their friends and family grew concerned for them. How their desire to depart stole every thought they could ever have. I fear that just by contact with such an idea, I too have contracted this plague. Already I can feel it nibbling at me, gnawing at the edge every emotion.

                The sorrow I have known all my life is burned away by a spark of hope. The wanderlust finally has a direction. The joy of the number of places to travel only grows. And I feel absolute disgust. The people of Kholusia, the people in Holminster, the entirety of the Crystarium. They are content to sit about and wait for the end. A truly pathetic existence.

                No savior will come for them, and that is nothing that can truly be called life. The journal has revealed that terrible truth to me, and I can no longer settle for it. I must find a way. A means to travel abroad, beyond Norvrandt’s borders, those walls of the Flood.