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Description
From the journal of Storm Warden Bennid Morrow

**********************

The fertile soil of Vaelica fades to a gray, jagged moonscape as one journeys to the eastern coast. The storms that are a barely visible gray line elsewhere almost touch the cliffs. Ruby lightning flashes, lacing through black clouds and sometimes striking down upon the wild ocean. There are times in the middle of the night that the land lights as if from a glorious sunset.

My family is shocked that I took a posting as a Storm Wardem, but with the pay that I receive from the King’s Army for this six-month enlistment will easily buy a prime piece of farmland South of Vael near Silver Lake. The Fae near Silver Lake seem to tolerate business with the Kingdom and it’s subjects. We promise not to bring iron implements and machinery into their sacred groves or Faery Mounds, and they promise not to teach out pigs to talk.

I wait two months for my ceramic composite armor before I go to the Warden post at Horn of Sorrow. The heavy metal armor of an older age will never do in an area ravaged by lightning. The circuitry of the armors sensory devices were interlaced into complex runic glyphs that draw upon the earth’s strength to ward evil.

The ceramic staff is a marvel. Blessed by one of the court druids and submerged in a sacred moonlit pool on at the peak of Mid Summer’s Eve, this staff shatters steel with a single hard swing.

It takes five days to journey to the Horn of Sorrow. The electrical disturbances created by the great storm interfere with most engines of flight, so my platoon arrives by horse. There is no happiness in the coastal land, only a yielding resignation to the battering assault of the elements. In the central lands of Vaelica, it is easy to forget about the great storm; but here it is as vast and as consuming as the endless ocean. It makes me wonder if the rest of the whole earth is wrapped in this torment, and we are very soon to follow.

Four years of storm, and it seems to come no farther. The Storm Wardens stand vigil, and it seems so utterly pointless.

****

My patrol is at night, and I find myself watching ruby threads of lightning dance over the ocean. The clouds glimmer and roll with such energy that it seems that it could almost form into something. I spend endless hours trying to imagine the shapes that form.

Our scientists call the red lightning quantum tears in reality, the priests and druids call them the work of dark spirits -- I think that those wise men really don’t know anything at all.

Lately, the storm calls things from out of the dark ocean. Long drowned sailors and fishermen will wander to shore looking for something -- their lost souls or whatever. The Wardens will immediately beat them down and then scurry off to a temple or grove to get all of the evil cooties scrubbed off . What superstitious idiots.

I just came upon one last night. A man with a ragged beard and grey skin, soaked in seaweed and bits of deep debris. I didn’t let him close; but from what I could see, it was if he were lit from within by a flickering red lantern. Traces of red light from his eyes and throat and the faded glow of bones and ribs worked their way through his cold grey flesh.

It was so funny, it were as if her were trying to tell me something, but only the dribble of salt water came out. He beckoned me to follow him -- I had nothing better to do. We finally made it to the edge of the sea, and there he stopped and gestured toward the deep cold ocean and looked at me with those strange glimmering eyes.

I don’t know what lay in wait down there, but that strange creature and the dancing ruby threads of lightning and thunder gave me the oddest feel, almost lightheaded. I just took a swing, smashed his head, and was done with it. That tiny flickering fire that made him move faded to nothing, The ocean took in his cold gray form.

These things are harmless. People get so wound up in their own fears that they lose all sense of perspective.

*******************************************

This was the last entry found in the journal of Storm Warden Bennid Morrow. It has been over a week since Warden Morrow failed to report back to barracks after his night watch. The investigation into his whereabouts is still open.
[link]

Description
From the journal of Storm Warden Bennid Morrow

**********************

The fertile soil of Vaelica fades to a gray, jagged moonscape as one journeys to the eastern coast. The storms that are a barely visible gray line elsewhere almost touch the cliffs. Ruby lightning flashes, lacing through black clouds and sometimes striking down upon the wild ocean. There are times in the middle of the night that the land lights as if from a glorious sunset.

My family is shocked that I took a posting as a Storm Wardem, but with the pay that I receive from the King’s Army for this six-month enlistment will easily buy a prime piece of farmland South of Vael near Silver Lake. The Fae near Silver Lake seem to tolerate business with the Kingdom and it’s subjects. We promise not to bring iron implements and machinery into their sacred groves or Faery Mounds, and they promise not to teach out pigs to talk.

I wait two months for my ceramic composite armor before I go to the Warden post at Horn of Sorrow. The heavy metal armor of an older age will never do in an area ravaged by lightning. The circuitry of the armors sensory devices were interlaced into complex runic glyphs that draw upon the earth’s strength to ward evil.

The ceramic staff is a marvel. Blessed by one of the court druids and submerged in a sacred moonlit pool on at the peak of Mid Summer’s Eve, this staff shatters steel with a single hard swing.

It takes five days to journey to the Horn of Sorrow. The electrical disturbances created by the great storm interfere with most engines of flight, so my platoon arrives by horse. There is no happiness in the coastal land, only a yielding resignation to the battering assault of the elements. In the central lands of Vaelica, it is easy to forget about the great storm; but here it is as vast and as consuming as the endless ocean. It makes me wonder if the rest of the whole earth is wrapped in this torment, and we are very soon to follow.

Four years of storm, and it seems to come no farther. The Storm Wardens stand vigil, and it seems so utterly pointless.

****

My patrol is at night, and I find myself watching ruby threads of lightning dance over the ocean. The clouds glimmer and roll with such energy that it seems that it could almost form into something. I spend endless hours trying to imagine the shapes that form.

Our scientists call the red lightning quantum tears in reality, the priests and druids call them the work of dark spirits -- I think that those wise men really don’t know anything at all.

Lately, the storm calls things from out of the dark ocean. Long drowned sailors and fishermen will wander to shore looking for something -- their lost souls or whatever. The Wardens will immediately beat them down and then scurry off to a temple or grove to get all of the evil cooties scrubbed off . What superstitious idiots.

I just came upon one last night. A man with a ragged beard and grey skin, soaked in seaweed and bits of deep debris. I didn’t let him close; but from what I could see, it was if he were lit from within by a flickering red lantern. Traces of red light from his eyes and throat and the faded glow of bones and ribs worked their way through his cold grey flesh.

It was so funny, it were as if her were trying to tell me something, but only the dribble of salt water came out. He beckoned me to follow him -- I had nothing better to do. We finally made it to the edge of the sea, and there he stopped and gestured toward the deep cold ocean and looked at me with those strange glimmering eyes.

I don’t know what lay in wait down there, but that strange creature and the dancing ruby threads of lightning and thunder gave me the oddest feel, almost lightheaded. I just took a swing, smashed his head, and was done with it. That tiny flickering fire that made him move faded to nothing, The ocean took in his cold gray form.

These things are harmless. People get so wound up in their own fears that they lose all sense of perspective.

*******************************************

This was the last entry found in the journal of Storm Warden Bennid Morrow. It has been over a week since Warden Morrow failed to report back to barracks after his night watch. The investigation into his whereabouts is still open.
[link]