It is truly an odd turn of events that have led me to a chapel of Vecna. As I write this entry, I am sitting within the structure raised to honor the power of Ioun’s greatest rival. It is not as eerie or disconcerting as I thought it would be. To be honest, I was fearful of even stepping foot in such a place, but I realize that such emotion is wasted upon this place. I am glad to see I am not the only one that is mildly uncomfortable in this place. The Halfling squire Tobias, I know I have mentioned him before, and his courage has continued to impress me, although I haven’t quite figured him out yet, he also seems to have his guard elevated. I am glad he is here, he reminds me that even in the darkest times there is light. Poor Oblitus. I want to tell him about Vecna, but he is sometimes like a child and I would hate to put more upon his mind.
Elliandor sighed and closed him journal. He sat looking at his companions. He was getting a headache. It had been building slowly throughout the day and the dull ache exacerbated his unease of being within a sanctified building of Vecna. He stood up and circled around the small building for several minutes, watching his companions as much as keeping a watch on the building itself. The night was unfolding and the silence was broken only by our breathing. No wind, no noise from the animals outside, and no chirp of insects. It was getting close to the end of the first watch when he finally made his way back to his pack. He picked up his waterskin and took a small sip and breathed deep to clear his mind. He sat back down and took up his journal.
I am worried about how this tale will unravel. Oblitus is experiencing life for the first time and so far “he” has seemed to embrace it with joy and curiosity. He is constantly asking questions about the most common of topics with a tenacity of a sage. His interactions with Simon though have proven that he is quite capable of revenge and he has demonstrated that he can kill as quickly as the drow.
I am still trying to work out my thoughts on the drow. He has faced his kind and killed them, but is that really anything new? He says he is from the same house as these but when do drow tell the truth? Given all my knowledge of their kind I am still in doubt of his character. He has showed both compassion and ruthlessness. Should I have left him to die in the swamp? Have I sealed our fate by refusing to allow even a glimmer of hope that he is truly changing? My logical, rational self says that he is a drow and that they have proven beyond a doubt that they are treacherous and lying fanatics that revel in the act of murder. But my heart tells me that not only can people change but that hope exists even for this drow. I have followed my heart before, several times, none have turned out the way I had hoped.
Eilliandor stopped writing and looked up at the drow, Iz’bryn. He was lying down, sleeping. Eilliandor sighed and shook his head. He thought to himself, “only a drow could be relaxed enough to sleep in a chapel of Vecna.”