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My sister and I have known Monsieur Archer (or is that Dreamfire?) all of our lives. He was one of Uncle Rudolph's friends and a previously unnamed source for many of his books detailing the undead. Little else is known about him. When these journals were found in the possession of a lich, associates of ours sent them to us. They shed light on his past. Yet they raise more questions than they answer.
Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove, Mordentshire Aug. 12, 758 BC

(Exerpts from paladin Alexander Dreamfire, Mayvin, Darkon, April 709 BC)
I met a most interesting man today. His name is Rudolph van Richten and he is studying vampires. I was glad to offer what I know of them, but his wild-eyed passion for the subject struck me as odd. Odd, and familiar, too. Over a pint of the local ale I learned his family had been killed by a vampire. He seeks to rid the world of them out of a sense of revenge.

I tried to explain that vengeance only leaves you hollow. But his anger still burns hot and he is too young to have the wisdom of experience. So I offered some practical advice against these nocturnal predators and left him to think it over. I see so much of myself in him it's scary. The same hatred for that which does not live, the same anger for destroying everything one held dear, it was like looking into a mirror three centuries past.

One thing he told me strikes me as rather ingenious. I've always relied on the knowledge of the church to study the undead. Instead of just listening to the testimony of others, he has studied them directly and even interviewed more than a few in person! I've never been able to stifle my own hatred enough to talk with them in a civil manner. Yet I have the gift--or curse--of being able to speak with the dead as readily as the living. Maybe I should take my own advice and learn directly from the things I hunt. But that's for another day. The ale is beginning to cloud my mind and I can feel the call of a bed. (End transcript)

(Somewhere in Central Darkon, Sept. 16, 709 BC)
The following are the recorded words of myself and a cannibal zombie. The creature identifies itself as what was once Liam of Maykle, a simple shopkeep. He has been cursed with undeath for three years by my calculations, after fighting off a lone cannibal zombie on his way home and suffering a vicious bite. The subject is magically restrained and docile--for the time.

Alexander Dreamfire: Liam, what is it like to be undead?
Liam of Maykle: I feel pain. Terrible pain.
AD: Pain?
LoM: I feel my body rotting. My flesh feels like it's on fire and being torn away by some great beast as it falls off my bones.
AD: Is that why you eat people?
LoM: Yes. When I eat flesh, the pain stops and I feel alive again. But it never lasts long. The pain returns soon after I finish eating. I just want it to go away.
AD: What about the people you eat? How do you feel about them?
LoM: When I'm in pain, I can't think about anything else. When I finish, I feel horrible about killing them. I see my little boy and my wife in their faces. No, I didn't want to kill them! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!
AD: Liam, calm down.
LoM: No! That wasn't me! I...I must eat!!

At this point the subject refused to answer further questions. Between rants and raves about eating and not killing his family, he begged me to kill him. So I granted his plea and laid his body to rest. What strikes me as odd, though, is that cannibal zombies roam in herds. Liam was alone and actively sought me out of his own free will...such as it was. Maybe all such creatures seek the peace of a final death, but the curse of undeath compels them to attack and kill the living? I will have to ask my next subject.
(End transcript)

This is my first posting of fiction I wrote for previous games I ran. Constructive criticism is welcome. If folks like it, maybe I'll post more.

sPtJanly wrote:

It looks as though Dreamfire has some issues needing resolved as well.

Now there's an understatement...:)

Since at least one person seems to be interested (if only in passing) I'll post a second journal entry later.

(Exerpts from the journal of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Feb. 12, 710 BC)
I have finally decided to build a home in the quiet town of Mordentshire after ten years of wandering this accursed plane. I have seen and done much, but there is still so much more out there. My time in Mordent alone has taught me a lot about the incorporeal undead and the nature of the Near Ethereal.

I've met van Richten several times in the past year. His hunt for vampires continues unabated. With each kill he seems to grow more and more bloodthirsty, eager to find his next target. I remember that feeling all too well. Vengeance and hate fill your mind, drowning out the pain. When you hunt it's easy to ignore the pain and misery, to drown it in blood and screams. Yet at the end of the day, it always comes back. I don't know if van Richten has yet made the mistake of salving his misery with drink, but it wouldn't surprise me if he has. I've been there, too tormented by my own feelings to do anything. It seemed so easy to hide in a bottle--until I got my companions killed because I was too drunk to fight. I've never forgiven myself for that, yet I still try and drown out the pain with alcohol. Gods help me...

(Exerpts from the journal of Alexander Dreamfire, Ludendorf, Lamordia, May 3, 710 BC)
Once more I cross paths with van Richten. This time, however, the strain of mindless vengeance is more apparent. The hunt for vampires has taken its toll and he is now questioning everything he once believed in so firmly. I doubt he will find answers soon; the pain of his family's death is still too fresh in his mind. This time I didn't try to discourage his hunts. Only he can stop himself now.

One interesting development is his expansion into the study of ghosts. It was just recently, at a countryside in called the Thistle and Bonnet here in Lamordia. He spoke of a ghostly carriage that appeared and thundered past--its inhabitants held in by bars of bone, the horses and driver skeletal. Now he plans to begin studying these creatures and has asked my help. I couldn't turn him down. He's already investigated one called The Laughing Man of Lamordia, a harmless if banal ghost that ruins fishermen's catches for months if driven off. Yet it's reportedly so boring in its speech that one can't help but fall asleep and forfeit the day's fishing.

Our first target is a tragic ghost called the Weeping Widow of Ludendorf. This is the reason van Richten is here, while I simply came up to discuss creating a trading post with the local merchants. Fate is certainly strange.

(Ludendorf, May 4, 710 BC 12:00 AM)
The following is a record of an interview between myself, Dr. Rudolph van Richten, and an anchorite from Mordent, Warden Alice Thatcher with the ghost of the "Weeping Widow of Ludendorf."
Van Richten: Good lady, what keeps you from your rest?
Weeping Widow: My husband. I have to wait for my husband.
Warden Thatcher: Good woman, your husband is dead. Lost at sea.
WW: He...he can't be! I can still see him, crying for help.
Alexander Dreamfire: Where do you see him?
WW: There, just off the shore. I can see him in the water, calling out for my help. But I can't reach him. No matter how hard I try, I can't reach him.
(Looks out at the shore) VR: Good lady, I don't see anything.
WW: He is there! I can hear him! He's still wearing the ring I gave him on our wedding day.
AD: A ring? What kind of ring?
WW: Silver, with a lapis lazuli and an inscription inside of it. I can see the lights of the dock glittering off of it from here! He is right there!!

At this point the Weeping Widow "jumped" from the boardwalk to the beach, where she promptly disappeared just feet from the water. Van Richten, Warden Thatcher, and I investigated this area afterward. To our surprise we saw a body floating in the water, only its upper half visible. I volunteered to swim out and bring it back in, only to find it was a ghost--the ghost of the Weeping Widow's husband! His remains lay scant feet below the surf, yet no one had noticed.

Upon extricating his remains and burying them next to his wife in consecrated ground, the pair appeared again. They told us how she had witnessed him being murdered by his partner as they set out of port from her balcony. His body was dumped overboard as she watched, and in despair she threw herself off of the balcony. His remains sank, but were washed toward the beach over the years. Their deaths being so close together in both time and space created a link between them. Only when he was laid to rest could her own spirit find peace.

This "partner" that murdered him still lives in Ludendorf and has grown wealthy off of the venture the two launched. His greed took two lives, and so I will be sure to deliver justice. Further, the same silver and lapis lazuli ring appeared on the wife's gravestone after they left, a gift to those that brought them peace. I let van Richten claim it, sensing defensive magic about it. May it protect him in years to come.
(End transcript)

Whoops. You're right. Changed it.

(Exerpts from the journal of Alexander Dreamfire, Mordentshire, Mordent, Jan. 27, 711 BC)
My drinking problem has cost another life--or I think that's what happened. I'm not too sure what the long term effects of alcohol are on an immortal's body, no matter how humanoid the physiology. But anyway, we were hunting a degenerate vampire as it cut a swath through lone farmsteads deep in the Mordentish countryside. None of its victims could turn into spawn; they were so badly bludgeoned they were like jelly. Entire families were left to rot, their bones shattered before they died. Rudolph calls this a corpse feeder; I've not seen something like this before. When I mentioned it might be a mutation of the vampire pathogen, I got blank stares. I forgot that even the most advanced cultures in this world have yet to hit upon the germ theory.

(Editor's Note: Recently we heard a similar theory touted by a Lamordian physician, but that was only last month. Clearly Alexander knows more than he is letting on, and his use of the words "this world" support later theories that Alexander is not human or humanoid. -- Gennifer Weathermay-Foxgrove)

When we finally cornered the beast in a cottage, a companion called Christopher Reanold, a rather skilled swordsman, and I both moved in for the kill. That's when I suddenly felt dizzy and disoriented, followed by nausea so strong I couldn't do anything but heave for what seemed hours. In reality it was more like a minute, but that was enough time for Christopher to meet his doom. The vampire snapped his neck like a dry twig. When I recovered myself enough to act, I let loose with a burst of positive energy and greatly hurt the creature. Rudolph used the distraction to drive it off, just as the light of the dawn began peeking over the horizon. Its death was fittingly painful.

After we had time to recover our wits, Rudolph told me this was not the first time a companion of his died on a hunt. It seems the man is cursed by something because half of those who've hunted with him have all died by the hands of the creatures they sought. This is a dangerous vocation to be sure, but the frequency makes me wonder. At any rate, we began the trek back to Mordentshire and I have vowed never to take another drink. Let Christopher's sacrifice be the last one caused by this foul habit.

(Editor's Note: While I do agree that giving up alcohol is a wise decision, I disagree with that it was the cause of his attack. We now know Uncle Rudolph was cursed by the Vistani he hunted down for kidnapping his son, Erasmus. It's possible this was just one of the manifestations of the curse. Alexander had abstained from drinking the entire time they hunted. There was no alcohol left in his system. Later reflection by van Richten of this very same incident, after learning of his curse and about fiends, led him to the conclusion that something was protecting Alexander. Namely, a reality wrinkle. -- Laurie Weathermay-Foxgrove)