ROLEPLAY

Holeth, Winderly 18, 1st AC 2617

It is decided, Eeri and I will leave for the Old Lands in a few cycles. The announcement in front of the friends of the CEK was not easy. The reproachful look of Wixarika especially. Yet you should have known better, my ardent li'l Fyrossa. If I trained you, it was so that you could take my place. The Empire needs an akenak with fresh ideas, not an undisciplined old gruff one like me. Of course, they tried to stop me. But what I didn't foresee was that Eeri would have born a kid in the meantime. A kid, Eeri?! ramèch! Of course, she should stay to bring him up. But that's like trying to stop the advance of the sawdust dunes. More stubborn than a bodoc that girl. And so much the better. I like better her coming with me, but I'd never tell her.

I have been preparing this for years. Years of reading and reading again the old chronicles I transcribed on varinx leather and stored at home. Years to refine my vision of these forgotten lands.
The ranger Dorothée has elaborated a map a little more detailed than the one I gave to the Imperial Academy. Most importantly, it is more solid, so it is less likely to get damaged during our journey. I don't completely agree with some things, especially about the location of Baldos Reef. But overall, it looks good to me. By the way, on next Pluvia 8th, we have an appointment with Barmie Dingles so that he can tell us a little more about the geography of the Old Lands. He will probably make some changes to the map and maybe give us some advice on how to avoid the kitins. I just hope he won't try to talk us out of our trip. Not that I'd give in. But that would make me angry pretty quickly. At 63, one's past the age of being mothered. Even, I have never been mothered, my poor mother died in childbirth.

But I digress, as always. Anyway, after this meeting, it will be time to depart. We may need a few more weeks to fine-tune the preparations. Eeri and I plan to meet regularly to do this. Soon we will be spending years together, although we haven't seen each other for months. She has changed, by the way. More tired. Probably her kid. I don't care who the father is. I only hope she hasn't lost her fighting spirit. I rely on her a bit. These last ten years, I spent much more time in the hallwayss of the Imperial Academy than on the battlefield. Eeri, she is somewhat my armed wing. I am the head, she is the legs. ramèch, if she reads this, she kills me! Don't worry Eeri, I know you're not just a bunch of muscles. One can't survive what you've been through without a little spirit. And spirit will be needed over there. Probably more than will muscle.

Tria, Germinally 9, 2ndt AC 2617

A first page of a log book. I'm going to have to engage in this writing exercise, as often as there will be something important enough to be worth reporting. Anyway, who will read this except me? Azazor and I have made a mutual promise to keep our respective writings to ourselves. It will be better that way. My writings are and will probably be much more chaotic than his, full of ideas thrown on the paper as soon as they will come to my mind. Never mind, I'll sort it out and rewrite the important stuff when I get back. But where to start?
He'll read that only if I don't come back… You'll excuse me in that case, my good Fyros. We're going to spend some time together, so I'd better go out some of my anger and doubts in writing, rather than blow them up between us. But come on, reading all this again will make me laugh in some years time.

The hour is coming. Every minute that passes makes me savor the world around me a little more. The lapping of the water in Thesos, the sound of the wind laden with sawdust, the crackling of the wind, a bodoc steak and a shookie... Even a sip of fresh water. Who knows what it will be like over there. Ah, what a great idea: I'm starting to talk about what gets drunk or eaten!

And yet time is short. Barmie Dingle, the Guide of the Rangers, spoke to us about this Marauders' fortress we will undoubtedly not be able to pass discreetly, even less in force. We will absolutely need something to negotiate. Something to convince them to let us pass, on the way out, and then on the way back. Good arguments, a bargaining chip, objects? Perhaps a message, information? Some homins can probably help me, starting with Mazé'Yum. Between his contacts with the Marauders of the New Lands, and his membership in the Black Circle, we will find something. I just have to convince him. I have to keep all this to myself, a negotiation with the Zorai-goos is always a delicate deal. It should only be about doing them a favor, not about promising them anything in return. A scalded varinx fears the retch, as they say. But it is not won.

Barmie had also hinted that the Marauders and Rangers in the old lands helped each other out, in a way, ones being the eyes, others being the armed wings. So it wouldn't be silly to pose as Rangers over there as well. Rangers messengers. It's not won, with the Fyros exuding imperial discipline from three dunes away, but I'll have some cycles to train him to pronounce a perfect "Woren siloy", to make any hominist misunderstand.

And then again that Barmie... Indeed. I spoke to him for a while in private, to ask him about the Trytonists. We talked about Marauders, Rangers, but what about those?
I could see very quickly the difference between him and the homins from here, from the New Lands. It's quite surprising, finally, to come across a homin who doesn't jump out of fear when he hears the word Trytonist. Most people here think that the mere fact of pronouncing this word in a low voice makes a regiment of The Kuilde appear, determined to chop them into small pieces.
His answer is clear, and makes sense. There are no Trytonists in the Old Lands, Barmie had never heard of them before coming here. They also have no interest in being there, so far away. Why would they hide so far from the Powers they fight? I'll see on the way, maybe we'll come across some. It's quite a long way to this citadel.

And then... We'll have to leave Thesos behind. This chit of a Fyros will grow up without me. It's a done deal, everything is finally organized so that he won't lack anything during his youth, and so that he'll be educated by the cream of the crop of the Fyros discipline. That will be something, he will not have to undergo my instability and my madness. I am getting used to his presence, though. I will almost miss him a bit. Kyriann is right, I am unbelievably irresponsible, except I hope when it comes to survival. We'll need that.

Come on, that's already a lot for a first page of a log. I still have a lot of things to deal with.
First, find Mazé'Yum. Then, find a powerful poison, and its antidote. Azazor, if one day in the future you read this, don't worry, it's not meant for you, and it will never be meant for you. Just a kind of hunch, something that my intuition tells me to get. Mazé'yum will probably be too narrow-minded to provide this for me, I have a feeling that he has, in his own way, a certain affection for me. I will have to turn to the Matis, there is a rumor that one girl in particular is singularly interested in that sort of stuff.

Quarta, Thermis 28, 2nd AC 2617

I met Canillia.
Strange homina. And I'm writing this, I who am probably just as strange in my own way. Anyway, the rumor was right. A poisoner, one of those cold-hearted Matissas, ambitious and ready to do anything to achieve her ends. However, cautious, mysterious, and thoughtful.
After a few questions about why I was looking for such products, she described to me the effects of the poisons she could prepare for me, with calm and precision. My reason is not clear, yet. A bargaining chip, a means of leverage... Her poisons are terrifying. A paralysis after a few seconds, and if it is left to act without antidote, a death by asphyxia in the following minutes. Also disturbing is the possibility, in very small doses, of using it to put a wounded person to sleep in order to better heal him. I will have to trust her in her indication of the dosages, hoping that I will never have to use it. I didn't ask any questions about how she was able to test all this. The apprentice scientist I am knows that it's best not to question everything, and that the result of hard work and successful research rarely comes without cutting one hair on a yubo.

Should I be suspicious of what she asked me to write and sign, on a varinx leather, that she was making these poisons for me, so as not to be accused of any murder I might commit? Each poison formula is signed, she told me: she could be quickly identified. I understand her cautious attitude, but have little optimism for her future. So young, already so many rumors about her. If more than that her productions are easily identifiable, she won't go quite far. Well, after all, it's not my problem, and in a few weeks all this will be far behind me.
If she herself uses this poison while I am here, she could also have me charged. So I will have to write down, with precision, the quantity of poisons she will provide me, and she herself will have to apply her seal on a second varinx leather. As long as I am here, and in any case as long as possible after my departure, the vials will remain sealed.
After I explained the reasons for our trip, she gave up demanding any payment, only asking me the promise to return alive.
Strange homina, really. I can't believe I could write anything positive about such a homine, but after all, this journal is not the place to lie. I even think that, hadn't she been Matissa, and Alkiane above all, I would almost have wanted to know her better.

The next one to meet is Mazé'Yum. Ha, how silly of me, I had to send him an izam, instead of wearing out my quill about this orskossa.

That's enough writing here for today. I need to save room in there for when I'm gone, it'll no doubt have a lot more to tell. Or maybe not, who knows?

[s]Meet Barmie and learn more about the Old Lands[s]

[s]Finish my training as a butcher of the kitins' nests[s]

Now I have to be on good terms with all the tribes of Kamist allegiance. I don't know if it will be of any use over there. The Kamis seem unable to bring the dead back to life in these far-off lands. Or maybe they only reserve it for the most deserving. That's why I prefer to leave knowing that I will have done everything to make myself look good to them. You never know. Besides, there is always to be learned rubbing shoulders with other tribes.
The only ones left are the mysterious Gibads, whose camp I discovered recently in the Void area, and the Beachcombers. It's not going to be easy with the latter, it's a pain to access their camp and they are particularly suspicious. It's already been a true ordeal before I managed to get them to give me delivery missions. Of course, these deliveries are made in the Enchanted Islands area. Talk about an enchantment!

Oh yes, the Hamazans of the Dead Seed are left, too. But I think I'll do without their sympathy. At least they don't show any intention to kill me when I approach their camp... and I don't either. That's already much to ask me.

What else? What else am I forgetting?

[…]

Wixarika. Did I properly complete your training, my ardent li'l Fyrossa? Will you be able to replace me when I will be away? And the CEK, what will become of them? Sure, I trust them to continue the research, track down the white kitins' domes and finalize the map of the their nests. But I can't help but feel that I'm failing them.

The closer we get to the departure date, the more doubts I have. But that's how it is. I always asked myself so many questions. And so few answers in return…

Tria, Nivia 15, 2nd AC 2617

Une chose de faite, et pas la plus facile.
J’ai tendu ma main vers Kyriann, et lui ai donné mon badge de drakani, à garder en lieu sûr jusqu’au jour de mon retour dans les nouvelles terres. Elle a essuyé quelques larmes. Ostium a contesté un peu, cherchant à comprendre mes raisons. Mais heureusement, ils sont n’ont pas rendu les choses plus compliquées. Et n’ont pas posé plus de questions. Je préfère ça, et il me tardera de les revoir. Jazzy, lui, a gardé le sourire, comme s’il savait ce que tout cela impliquait.

Maintenant, commence le vrai travail : changer de coiffure, modifier mon tatouage, et discrètement me faire passer pour ce que je ne suis pas. Tout ceci tourne dans ma tête depuis que Barmie nous a parlé des maraudeurs, et de la probable difficulté à franchir cette forteresse, ou simplement de pouvoir traiter avec les homins des anciennes terres. Mazé’Yum a confirmé la seule solution qui me semblait valable : celle d’être l’une des leurs, de posséder mon propre cristal zyn. Surtout, il m’apportera l’aide dont j’ai besoin afin de convaincre l’officier Atimoskain de me laisser entrer dans le campement maraudeur. Apparemment des preuves d’avoir combattu les gardes de différentes villes. Quelques missions, sous cape, dans leurs postes avancés afin de faire parler de "moi" chez eux, aussi. À commencer par le pays matis, ça suffira sans doute, et au mieux, ça pourra être plaisant. Ça devrait suffir pour que je puisse me procurer chez eux ce dont j’ai besoin. Comparé à ce que l’on entend des maraudeurs des anciennes terres, ceux des nouvelles terres semblent bien naïfs pour considérer une telle épreuve comme une marque de bravoure. Qu’importe, et tant mieux, ça me facilitera la tâche.

J’espère que mes drakani n’auront pas vent de tout ça. Azazor ne doit pas le savoir non plus. À quoi ça servirait? Je sais juste qu’il fera le nécessaire de son coté, il est lui aussi plein de ressources. Au mieux, ce cristal zyn sauvera nos deux vies si j’ai à le montrer afin de nous faire accepter par l’un des clans maraudeurs là-bas. Au pire, ça ne sauvera peut-être que la mienne.

Quand à Mazé’Yum, je trouverai le moyen de lui faire parvenir des informations, c’est ce qu’il veut. Le futur des nouvelles terres se décide là-bas, me dit-il. D’après lui, les communications entre les anciennes terres existent, si l’on a pas peur que le message ne se perde ou soit lu par quiconque le transporte. J’avais commencé à apprendre à cacher des informations dans des cubes d’ambre anodins avec lui, mais je doute encore être capable de le faire par moi-même une fois partie. Il faut sinon lui communiquer un code afin de déchiffrer les informations importantes, mais une écriture visible et indéchiffrable sur un message attirera bien plus l’attention.

Ça ne me laisse que peu de jours, le temps passe. Me procurer des cubes d’ambre et terminer d’apprendre à les coder. Me procurer un cristal zyn et quelques objets de la panoplie du parfait maraudeur. Apprendre aussi des rudiments de marund. J’aurai le temps en route, mais ce n’est pas avec le vieux fyros que j’arriverai à avoir une prononciation convaincante. Je dois aussi recevoir quelques petites bombes à goo de Mazé’Yum aussi, et ma commande chez la matisse est prête.
Eeri, tête de ploderos amorphe, ça suffit d’écrire, secoue-toi le kostomyx, tu as du pain d’épice sur la retch !

19h - Quarta, Nivia 22, 2nd AC 2617

To the Fyros authorities who will read this memoir: I owe you the whole truth. I told you that I was leaving to refine the map of the Old Lands, the map of the Oflovak Road, and to learn more about the kitins of these distant lands. But what I didn't tell you and won't tell you before I leave, is the other reason why I'm doing this trip.

This one came to me through our meeting with Barmie Dingles. He told us about this marauders' citadel at the very end of Oflovak Road. Marauders who wouldn't let us pass without compensation. I realized that this was a great opportunity. The marauders have managed to survive without the help of the Powers. They have developed a technology that allows them to teleport without the help of Kamis or Karavan. They know how to make weapons, drilling machines, armor. All this science, all this knowledge, deserves to be shared.
Remember that robbery at the Imperial Academy by the tribe of the Scorchers. It all came about because the chancellor refused to share the knowledge, in this case a manuscript on gooified timaris. Because we did not trust them, because we wanted to keep the knowledge, jealously, for ourselves alone. This is what we have to fight.

I say that as long as the marauders do not encroach on our territory, as long as they do not infringe on our interests, an exchange can take place with them, as well as for food and raw materials as for knowledge. This is what I will negotiate at the citadel. To open a dialogue with them. I doubt that it will be enough for them to let us pass their citadel, but at least it will work in my favor. And then, I count on Eeri to find something more tangible to offer them.
When I get back, I'll tell you that in person. I will tell you that yes, I negotiated with the marauders. Yes, I dared to offer them to exchange our knowledge, our manuscripts, our ambers. But not out of treachery, rather out of a sense of diplomacy. For a long time I was adept at axe diplomacy. But for now I don't think it's the most effective.

I still have in mind to become a talumetimos in the Imperial Academy. If I am ever to have that honor, then I will be the one in the House of Truth, with respect, of course, to the other pillars.

Holeth, Medis 18, 3rd AC 2617

Quelle journée. Ou journées, plutôt. Je me suis réveillée après visiblement plusieurs nuits de fièvre, j’ai perdu la conscience du temps. Trois jours, quatre jours? Lorsque j’en ai eu la force, j’ai machinalement déchiré un pacte pour Fairhaven, comme si je devais faire mon rapport aux drakani. Arrivée là-bas, j’ai vidé une grande byrh au comptoir, j’avais soif. Puis je me suis rendue compte que Kyriann et Eolinius étaient là, avec ce marchand de brassage de vide. Kyriann a eu du mal à me reconnaitre, à cause de ma coiffure. C’est là que j’ai repris conscience de la situation présente. Au fil de la conversation, j’ai retrouvé mes esprits, et d’un coup, me suis sentie dans une forme incroyable, quoi qu’un peu confuse, une énergie à arracher la corne d’un bodoc d’un coup d’orteil.
Le bruit courra sans doute très vite qu’avant de retourner à thesos, il s’en est fallu de peu pour que je me laisse aller à une pulsion meurtrière. Personne n’aurait pleuré de voir ce Feinigan avec une dague en travers du bas-ventre. Allons, soyons positifs, si ce n’est pas moi, un autre le fera, et j’espère en lui offrant autant de souffrances gratuites que j’avais entrevu de faire. Était-ce pendant, ou après, la mémoire m’est revenue… Les bains. Cette épine, sur la dague vivante. Je ne pense pas que Kyriann, ou que Feinigan, ne se soient rendu compte de quoi que ce soit lorsque j’ai enlevé mon gant, afin de vérifier si cette marque n’était pas un mauvais rêve. L’effort que j'ai du faire pour contenir ma réaction a sans doute engendré cette pulsion, comme si Feinigan devait payer pour les manigances de cette damnée matisse.
Heureusement, ou malheureusement, le coup de dague n'est pas parti.

Ça m’apprendra, de nouveau. Yubette de lait que tu es, Eeri. Il te faut connaitre tes ennemis, encore plus que tu ne les connais. J’aurais du savoir quelles précautions prendre lorsqu’on saisit une dague vivante de ses damnés orskos. Elle se dit scientifique… Je lui souhaite une fin atroce, que ses poisons aient raison d’elle.

————

Maintenant que j’ai pris le temps d’analyser les différents stades de ma réaction à la substance qu’elle m’a injectée, je peux en déduire deux choses : il ne s’agit pas du poison qu’elle m’a préparé, si seulement je peux faire confiance à la description qu’elle m’en a fait.
il doit s’agir d’une drogue similaire à ce qu’utilisent les maraudeurs. Sans doute pas de sève noire pure. J’ai déjà pu observer il y a longtemps avec les légionnaires, les phénomènes d’addictions suivant la première injection, et les effets secondaires qui peuvent durer plusieurs semaines ou causer la mort. Mes symptômes étaient beaucoup plus légers.
En repensant à la sève noire, il m’est revenu que Vao avait quitté Zora quelques mois auparavant, et qu’il avait été aperçu vers Yrkanis. Le lien avec Canillia semble évident, quoi que peut-être trop facile, ou trop direct. Je dois en avertir Mazé’Yum, il en saura peut-être quelque chose. S’il ne travaille pas avec elle, toute information que je peux lui donner sera au désavantage de la matisse.

Quand à cette marque, dans la paume de ma main… Je mets maintenant en doute toutes ses paroles. La raison n’était ni de me faire passer un rite quelconque ou me donner l’opportunité de reconnaitre, ou d’être reconnue comme l’une des leurs, formée auprès de ces "ienne" ou "uenne", comme elle m’a expliqué. Des agents du royaume, des nettoyeurs. Pourritures. Fleur serait apparemment de mèche? Je ne me souviens plus de tout ce qu’elle m’a dit. Je dois avertir les drakani. Ou peut-être est-ce son plan d'incriminer quelqu'un d'autre, de nouveau, afin de passer inaperçue?

Maintenant, elle pourrait profiter de cette marque, je ne sais comment. M’incriminer dans n’importe quel méfait. Elle veut que je revienne des anciennes terres, en effet. Mes raisons de partir sont encore plus urgentes, je suis piégée.
Mais je serai là, de retour, dans plusieurs années.
Je serai sa mort, sa souffrance.

————

Note pour moi-même : poison à tester sur une pique, sur kincher ou kirosta, et sur n’importe quel autre créature non kitin.
Seconde note : faire une copie de cette entrée de journal, plus factuelle, et la laisser dans mon appartement. … Et une copie pour les drakani.


————

J'allais presque oublier. Avant de rencontrer Canillia, avant qu'elle ne me drogue, j'ai rencontré de nouveau Mazé'Yum.
Il m'a donné deux livres, des instructions, pas mal d'informations, et de quoi me faire respecter de l'agent maraudeur, pour entrer dans le camp de la source cachée. Le temps presse, il est l'heure.

Lordoy Nair Tao-Sian

Despite my guild's recent troubles with the Theocracy, I appeal to your unique skills. I know from your past exploits that you will not turn away from a homina in need.

Our friend and former guild member, Eeri, wants to leave soon for a trip on the road of Oflovak, but she has just had an attack. For a moment, she didn't seem to be herself.
Could you give us a consultation like you did for Ny-Jazzy?
We won't take up your time and your price will be mine.

Kyriann Be'Zephy Rie
Taliar Tryker
Leader of the Guild Bai Nhori Drakani

Note written before departure

Quinteth, Mystia 11, 3rd AC 2617

I think that's it, I'm ready. I hope Azazor is too.
I finally got the Marauder crystal back. Then I wore it down a bit, dropping it a few times, then rubbing it vigorously on the blade of a retch. It will look like it has lived. I loaded it to the brim, then tried their teleportation system. I must admit that it is quite practical, ingenious. The only bad side is that you have to be a Marauder to use it...
This crystal and a few words of marund will do the trick. Anyway, neither Azazor nor I will be able to hide that we come from the New Lands. It's this, or nothing.

I finally wrote a letter about Canillia, for Mazé'Yum. He will do what he would like with the information. After all he has done for me to help me prepare this journey, I would prefer to be able to talk to him about it face to face, but I'm afraid I won't have time to see him. It would have been awkward to bring up this topic of conversation in front of Azazor and those who will be present during our little departure ceremony.

I also wrote some letters. Goodbye letters no, more like letters of friendship and encouragement. Sometimes it's important to write and let the homins who are dear to us know why they are so. And sometimes things are easier in writing, even with the words of a Fyrossa as poorly poetic as I am.

————

My bag is ready, too. I won't be taking this Marauder armor after all. It's too heavy, and taking it would mean giving up on a lot of other stuff. Instead, I made myself a black kostomyx, of the best quality, as light and resistant as possible. I think I did pretty well, at least I won't have learned this craft for naught. You have to travel light, as light as possible, and above all you have to have room for enough weapons, ambers and other materials, and various products. No or few food, only things that we will need in case of a hard time. We will have to hunt from day to day, as soon as the opportunity will present.

Tomorrow we leave for Silan, and we will take our first steps into the unknown. I was told that as a child, I had arrived by this same road, brought by a group of Rangers. Lost child, or rather, foundling. How old was I? 5 or 6? I don't remember. Maybe some memories will resurface, some sensations of déjà-vu.

So these are my last words in this diary, which I will not take with me. When I return, it will be the first part of our travel memoirs. I'll rewrite all this, because well, it's really lacking in style.

Dua, Pluvia 8, 3rd AC 2617

Première nuit sur la route d’Oflovak. Rien de particulier à déclarer. Après un passage rapide sur une plaine désolée avec uniquement de la micro végétation, on est passé à un biotope type forêt. Des bornes couvertes de mousses mais debout (Eeri me dit que les rangers passent régulièrement sur cette portion de route pour les entretenir). Pas d’homins de croisés bizarrement, pourtant ce bout de route est réputé être infesté de bandit. Mais visiblement on a de la chance, pour l’instant. Ou alors deux fyros en armure lourde, ça dissuade. Par contre, on a vu des kitins, mais pas plus gros que ceux que l’on connaît. Et pas spécialement nombreux. Leur puissance, je ne peux pas dire, on a pas essayé d’en tuer un. Malgré ce que dit Eeri, je sens que pour l’instant, les puissances pourraient encore nous ramener si elles le voulaient, mais j’ai un doute. On est peut-être déjà trop loin. Et j’ai pas envie de jouer au mektoub ici. Mourir dans cette quête, je suis prêt à l’accepter, mais pas tout de suite quand même.

On va dire que ce premier jour, c’est plutôt facile. Pour l’instant on est en terrain connu, pour Eeri tout du moins. Son expérience de ranger est un atout. Ce qui m’inquiète, c’est quand on attaquera le labyrinthe. Là, on sera tous les deux à poils devant l’inconnu. Eeri me dit de ne pas m'inquiéter. Mais depuis mes expéditions en pagne dans le couloir brûlé, je sais que trop de confiance tue. A trop connaitre le terrain, on en oublie les règles élémentaires de prudence.

Dormir

Note pour pas oublier
Labyrinthe : succession de zones de forêt en haut et de jungle en bas. Biotope pro kami en bas, pro kara en haut. Au ciel les vaisseaux de la karavan, sous terre, le lieu des kamis ? Du dragon ?

Dormir, maintenant.

Prima, Medis 14, 4th AC 2617

The days pass and look alike, the road too. The summer heat makes the trip more difficult, but our mektoubs hold up. No matter, the New Lands seem already far behind us. Azazor already looks quite tense and worried, yet the road we are on is still relatively safe. I wonder how he will react later.
I keep thinking about all the people I left behind. The Drakanis, at first. I hope nothing will happen to them, considering the bunch of brainless degenerates lurking around. I hope the Zorai-goos will stay away from them, but I don't have much hope, these Trykers are very good at getting into each trouble surging in the New Lands. I'm thinking about Wixarika, too. I know she'll take care of my little monster just fine. I would have made a pathetic mother anyway, what's the point in attempting? I also know she won't have an easy task for waking up the patriots and shaking the Empire. Still, I hope the Empire will rise again and regain its greatness, some day. A strange voice echoes in my head when thinking of this... "you might as well piss in a strammel."

Azazor spotted this black mark in my hand, which has spread a bit, but strangely doesn't hurt anymore. I don't know if it will disappear or keep spreading. I vaguely replied to his comment about it, telling him that I'd had that mark for ages, and that it was now just a spot of color. Damn Matissa, I can't write that enough. I hope Mazé'Yum will take good care of gooifying her pure, white pretty skin.
I'll sure have to tell Azazor some things. There's no point in hiding everything from him now. He has no choice but to accept what I have become and what he doesn't know. But still, I'm afraid to come to that moment, afraid of this confrontation. But still, I'm afraid to come to this moment, afraid of this confrontation. It will happen soon enough, I pray that it will be as late as possible.

Enough of writing for today. I mustn't turn this research log into an outpouring of moods. Doesn't bode well... At the same time, for now, there is not much to observe, except that Azazor is snoring so loud a madakam would enamor.

Dua, Fallenor 14, 4th AC 2617

For several weeks, we have been trying to follow as best we can the beacons of the Oflovak Road. I tried to count to see if they were about equally spaced. Wasted effort, their distribution is completely anarchic. Sometimes, we spend a whole day walking following a direction, without being sure to be on the right way. We doubt, we look at the day star to be reassured: always in the east. We follow what we believe to be a track. But it is surely not one. An illusion, we say to ourselves. We go to bed in the evening telling ourselves that we went the wrong way. And then the next day, bang, a beacon, we breathe again. Other times, we cross a beacon every hour. Then we move forward confidently, sure to go in the right direction. But most of the time, we cross only two or three markers per day. And still, you should see the state of these. As much at the beginning of the road, they had an aspect more or less correct, as much, since we entered what seems to be the famous Maze, they are only old pieces of wood covered with moss and in so advanced a state of decomposition that it is difficult to locate them in the vegetation.

Let us speak about the vegetation. An alternation of forests and jungles with between the two biotopes, a transition say… abrupt. You have to climb, that's it. And when I say climb, it's not an idle word. I was expecting a slope, like the one to reach the Hidden Source from the Matis forest. But no, this is true mountaineering. I think it's some kind of big bushy roots that separate the two biotopes, not any sheer cliff. You can hold on to these gigantic steps to climb. Sometimes there are even beacons on the wall that show you the direction. It is a horror to climb, carrying your bag, pushing the mektoubs from behind so that they don't slide, while holding on to the clumps of vegetation growing on the root with one hand. If Eeri hadn't been there, I would have cried. Yes, I'm writing this down: this is the most physical thing I've ever done. Even training with the Fyros Legions was easier.

Once at the top, we realize that we changed biotope. We look for the following beacon and here we go again. After several days of uninterrupted walk in the forest, another giant root, but to be climbed down this time. And we alternate so again and again. It is simple, that goes up, it is the forest; that goes down, we know then that we are going to pass to ragus and other najabs of the jungle. And the whole without dying and without getting lost in this endless immensity. On the map, it is indicated "Dangerous zone". I don't dare to imagine what it will be like in the Sea of Wood or the Scattered Desert.

The worst part for now is the forest. The Heretic's Hovel is a pleasure trail next to it. At every crossing, we have to spend a while looking for the beacon that will show us the right direction. Oh, when you're not in a hurry, it's okay. But when you have a herd of jugulas which sticks to your buttocks, it is not so funny. Nevertheless, we try to avoid these creatures, but we have to believe that they love to hide behind a tree or a root, to catch you by surprise. Then we advance at the step, slowly. We sniff to feel if there is not a smell of jugula in the air. Or of torbak. But those are less vicious.

And then… there is the jungle and its najabs, the jungle and its ragus which run after you to make you their next meal. By cons, we did not meet any ocyx. I'd say too much the better. I don't want to know what an ocyx fire burn would do in a world where, I understand, kamic magic is no longer there to repair our wounds. We've managed so far to avoid the blows, so impossible to check. And scarifying myself on purpose to check… we'll see that later. Well, there was that swipe of jugula claw on my armor the day before yesterday. But nothing that touched the flesh. As for the ocyx fire, on the other hand, I know by experience that it will go through the armor, however Fyros it is. No kitins either, none in the forest nor in the jungle, and none of the gibbais seen from time to time in the distance saw fit to pay us a courtesy visit. Always concerning the jungle, at some time we entered a kind of tunnel. I figured we were going to move into a Prime Roots type biotope, but not at all. It was still the jungle. Maybe we weren't deep enough to have any environmental change. I don't know, I have so hard a time that I'm unable to think about what I see at the moment. So I note and we will see later, with a clear head. If we arrive at Fort Beacon one day I mean…

Oh yes, and the best thing: today we already lost one of our two mektoubs. Climbing is already not practical for us homins, but for fully loaded mektoubs, it's just not possible. This damn mektoub has slid down one of these huge roots and has broken his head below. And of course, most of the potions I had brought with me were broken in the accident. Fortunately, I keep the varinx leather pieces in my bag. Eeri laughs at me and my "priorities". But keeping track is the most important thing. When she saw the burst toub, she laughed and then simply said: "''We'll have to tie up with the remaining toub next time.''" I don't know how she keeps her ability to laugh and then get serious the next second. Even when I took that swipe of jugula claw, she found a way to laugh and make fun of me. There are some Fyros who are made of a different wood… Or maybe it's the beginning of the madness.

Well, right now, she's cooking the mektoub's paw that she's been carrying around all day, the paw of the one who burst while falling during this day. Oh, she really wanted her mektub's paw. "''One mustn't waste!''" she said, looking at me with her crazy eyes. I didn't dare contradict her.

Eeri, please don't crack. At least wait until we're out of this damn maze!

Quarta, Germinally 10  Tria, Germinally 21, 1st AC 2618

Pour l’instant, la route est relativement divertissante. Ce n’est pas l’avis d’Azazor, et je m'emploie à pousser ses limites. Je suis convaincue qu’il vaut mieux le faire maintenant, plutôt que d’attendre d’être réellement confrontés à l'inconnu. J'ai l'impression que le fyros panique légèrement, intérieurement. Le pauvre. Je devrais le ménager, mais pour l’instant je peux me permettre de le garder encore dans cet état. Je saurai lui dire ce qu’il faut pour qu’il retrouve son sang-froid quand il le faudra.

Et puis on a perdu le Mektoub d’Azazor. "künos, j'ai glissé, künos", j’ai fait, avec une petite voix, et ça nous a pas fait rire. "ramèch", j’ai ajouté, en grimaçant.
Ces bestioles ne sont pas taillées pour un chemin pareil. Grimper et sauter de racine en racine, il faut dire, c'est pas leur truc. C'est pas non plus le notre, je vais pas mentir. D'ailleurs, Azazor me faisait remarquer l'absence de Gibbaïs dans la zone, et c'est une bonne chose, ce serait bien les seuls créatures capables de nous courser dans ces zones, avec leurs grands bras. Les jugulas ne nous y poursuivent heureusement pas, et lorsque nous avons à grimper, les prédateurs de la jungle non plus. Observation en passant, quoi que pas très utile : poursuivi par les machoires d'un najab, le mektoub se montre très agile lorsqu'il s'agit de grimper sur des racines pour ne pas se faire bouffer. Il est en revanche beaucoup moins à l'aise lorsqu'il s'agit de descendre. C'est peut-être du à la position de ses yeux, ou bien aux sangles et sacs que nous lui attachons dessus qui l'empêchent de bouger librement. Je regarderai ça. Il était peut-être simplement trop chargé.

Bref, on a perdu un mektoub, la poisse. Cet imbécile d'animal a posé une patte là ou il fallait pas, il a fait une belle chute, et s'est empalé la trompe plus bas. C'était pas beau à voir, et ça nous a calmé... J'ai bien entendu fait de mon mieux pour ne pas montrer mon inquiétude à Azazor, il ne faut pas perdre la tête. On a bu une bonne shooki à la mémoire de l’animal, sachant qu’on abandonnerait le petit tonneau là. Puis on a pris les outils, la viande séchée, deux ou trois potions qu’on a pu sauver, vu que la plupart étaient en miettes, donc le plus précieux du sac de l’animal et on a abandonné quelques pièces d’armures, des vivres encombrants... Ensuite, nous avons mis ça comme on pouvait sur mon mektoub, et pour ne pas trop le surcharger, en faisant un peu de place dans son sac aussi. J’essayais tant bien que mal de ne pas sortir certaines de mes marchandises plus délicates. Azazor lorgnait sur tel ou tel paquet, me demandant s’il était bien nécessaire de garder tout ça. Bon, j’aurais pas du lui dire "occupe toi plutôt de trouver la prochaine balise!", il a posé encore plus de questions. Puis il a failli ouvrir la boite avec la dague vivante. Du coup, j’ai expliqué pour les livres, et vaguement que tout le reste était important. Je commence quand même à regretter d’avoir amener ces bombes à goo du cercle noir. C’est pas anodin, et surtout, faudrait pas que mon mektoub fasse le même faux pas, ça ferait un sacré nuage. Je me demande quand même à quoi ça va me servir, et si ce ne serait pas mieux d'abandonner ça discrètement dans un coin de la jungle... Pour la prochaine escalade, il faudra que je garde une partie du sac de l'animal à la main, ce sera plus sûr. Et puis faudrait peut-être que je lui en parle.

Puis mon pauvre mektoub m’a regardé de loin découper son congénère et emporter un large morceau de cuisse, avec dans ses yeux une lueur oscillant entre la tristesse infinie et l’indifférence la plus totale, sans réagir… Ça change du regard déjà épuisé et légèrement énervé d’Azazor… Le palefrenier n’avait pas menti, la bête est bien dressée, en bonne forme, elle ne nous lâchera pas. J’entends, le mektoub qu’il nous reste, pas le fyros. Pour ce dernier, j’ai servi une pointe d’essence d’ocyx avec le roti de mektoub, ça nous l’a ragaillardi. C’était une bonne soirée, on se serait crus à la patte de yubo, les grognements de Lydix remplacés par ceux des lointains prédateurs.

D'ailleurs, j'ai du forer du bois pour allumer un feu dans ce foutu pays. Tout est trop humide, il n'y a pas assez de lumière. Azazor s'est moqué de la piètre qualité de mon forage. Mais il faut dire que d'une part, les sols de la jungle et de la forêt ne sont vraiment pas mes spécialités, et que bon, kif kif, de la part d'un fyros qui ne tiendrait pas une pioche par le bon bout... Ce bois me semble assez étrange, un peu différent de ce qu'on pourrait trouver chez nous. Humide, mou, et une odeur étrange. Mais comme je n'ai jamais vraiment foré dans ces régions des nouvelles terres non plus, à part au nexus, qui est visiblement un cas à part, je ne saurais pas trop dire. Peut-être que le motega en forêt est simplement de mauvaise qualité, comme la plupart des choses que l'on trouve là-bas. Il est un peu tard pour demander à Nilstilar quel bois il utilise habituellement pour faire chauffer son eau en forêt, mais je penserai à prendre quelques échantillons au retour, si nous avons encore de la place.

Le lendemain, on a pris le temps de faire un point sur la carte. Azazor me dit que nous ne tournons pas en rond, je commence à en douter légèrement, sans le lui montrer. Mais je fais confiance en son sens de l'observation et sa connaissance des astres, qui est bien meilleure que la mienne. Ça fait quand même pas mal de jours que nous avançons ici, et Azazor pense qu'il nous faudra encore un mois de marche pour atteindre Fort-le-phare. S'il dit vrai, nous devrions bientôt arriver dans cette zone de forêt qui surplombe la Mer de Bois. Peut-être essaye-t'il de se persuader lui-même, je fais de mon mieux pour le croire.
Nous verrons. Il faut avancer sans trop réfléchir, et au moins, ça, on sait faire.
Fort-le-Phare... De là, je trouverai peut-être quelqu'un pour faire transporter une ou deux lettres vers Fairhaven et Thesos.

Allez, il faut dormir maintenant. Nous avons trouvé un coin légèrement en hauteur et protégé, il faut en profiter. Les journées se ressemblent dans ce labyrinthe, Il faut faire en sorte de rêver d’autre chose pour ne pas laisser la moindre chance au découragement.

Spoiler: lexique

künos : chef
ramèch : merde
kif : rire

Tria, Pluvia 3, 1st AC 2618 (I guess...)

Why did I listen to her? We are lost somewhere in the Sea of Wood, we have nothing left to eat but bark and a few sparse plants, and we are thinking of killing our last mektoub to avoid starving. This is what happens when you listen to Eeri's genius ideas.

We have managed so far to stay on the road, to follow the beacons. Then, at the exit of the Maze, on approaching the cliffs, when the road forks to the left and the path becomes narrower, misfortune get us running into a huge herd of jugulas. We then left the road to approach the cliffs from the right, hoping that we could walk along them and pass all the same, as we often did in the New Lands, when it is a question of best avoiding of dangers. Usually this technique works well. But not here: we might well to skim the cliff as close as possible, but the herd of jugulas was still present. I had then the idea to go back and to pass the herd by following the cliff from the left. But Eeri had then another brilliant idea. Ah this genius…

What if we go down the cliff by climbing that big root, there, to get directly into the Sea of Wood. Then, going northeast, we'll end up finding the road again.''" [...] "''The mektoub? Of course, he'll succeed making it down.

So yes, he did manage to climb down. It wasn't far from seeing him too slide and burst at the bottom like the first one, but no, he survived. Except that he won't survive our craving to eat, now that we're lost I don't know where in the Sea of Wood. Probably somewhere off the map. I don't have any landmarks left. We did head northeast once at the bottom of the cliff, but we didn't find the road.
However, thinking about it, we should have simply followed the cliff once at the bottom, going back up to the north. That would have made it a bit longer, but at least safer. Except that Eeri wanted to go fast. Except that Eeri, when she has an idea in mind, when she feels confident, she rushes headlong. I understand, I used to be like that before I realized that the Fyros technique of rushing straight ahead is a mistake, especially here. I guess she hasn't evolved since the Fyros Legions. After that, I blame her, but that's also my bad. I should have been firmer with her. I let myself be fooled by her self-confidence. But I'm the head here. And she's the legs. That's how it was planned.

Since our arrival at the bottom of the cliff, more than three weeks have passed. We advanced more or less in the fog during one week towards the northeast. Because yes, it would have been easier if there was not this thick fog which makes it impossible to see the horizon. Everything is dull here, the ground is bare, nothing grows or almost nothing. This Sea of Wood, it is the negation of life. I feel so weak here, my head is spinning more and more, and it doesn't get any better with the time spent in these desolate lands. It's as if this Sea of Wood was sucking our vital energy. As if it was feeding on us. And to make it worse, we couldn't see the cliffs in the distance that should have been on our left. Then, after one week of walk without crossing no beacon, we tried to go on our left, to join the cliff even if we couldn't see it. We finally reached it, after only one day of walk. Then we went along the cliff. And after ten days of walk skimming it, nothing. No beacon, no slope or any access to go back up to Fort Beacon. There, we should again turn towards the south, if I trust the position of the day star whose glow struggles to pierce the fog.
So either we went too far north and we missed the wall beacon indicating the way, or… we are at the level of this hill noted on the map east of Fort Beacon. We think we follow the west cliff whereas we turn around the said hill.

Hope that's it. At sight, it will take us a whole week to reach the cliff while going towards the west. Then, theoretically, we'll have to go down a bit and we should find the road. We will have not to miss the beacon. If so, we would get too far down. We don't have no more right to make a mistake. But if we don't go westright, we also risk to arrive at the cliff south of the road. We'll have to walk as straight as possible and hope that this damn map is correct. The mektoub has no more fodder but it seems to be satisfied for the moment with the micro-vegetation which grows by places. He moves slowly, but he follows us. And us? We ate our last piece of dried meat yesterday morning. Are we going to be satisfied with bark and grasses for a week?

I am afraid. There, it's written, I'm afraid. I hear noises, strange noises. A dull rumbling that could be heard in the old days at the edge of the cliffs in the New Lands. A kind of mooing of a big beastie. I thought it was the cracking of the bark, but here it's much louder, and it's clearly not the same noise. It's more… guttural. Eeri talks about a giant shalah. It sounds like a monstrous bodoc to me. And tapping too… does a bodoc tap? I don't want to meet what's making that noise. A few days ago, I thought I saw a shape in the distance. A gigantic something. I didn't tell Eeri about it. I'm afraid she'll want to go see what it is. I'm not ready. So I shut my mouth and kept on walking. Maybe she saw it too and didn't say anything either. Maybe she's afraid too? At least she doesn't show it.

Writing is definitely too exhausting. But I prefer to do it now, while I still have enough strength and a clear mind. Because this place makes you crazy if you stay here too long, I'm sure. We should call this Sea of Wood the Desert of Confusion. Or better yet, the Desert That Drives You Mad. Maybe it's madness that makes me see dark shapes on the horizon. Maybe it's madness bellowing in my head and banging in my skull. Hallucination, delirium, madness… The Sea That Drives You Mad…

ramèch, I don't want to die like that, starving and completely mad in the middle of nowhere! If the mektoub holds, I hold. If Eeri doesn't crack, I won't either!

At worst, if the mektoub dies, we'll have something to eat. And if Eeri dies? Same thing haha! Hop, a batch of sawdust legionnaire accompanied by his crazy herbs…

I'm tired, I'm scared, I want to go back home…