Off the Edge
Fragments of the thoughts of the men and demihumans that served in the Viridi Guard:
From before the age of reason, a reflection on a mission to save Lady Ogleton.
It swung there. From a silken rope, braided in three colors. Red, gold and green. A tibia bone steadily undulating in the southern morning wind. At least we thought it was morning. There always seemed to be a sun in the sky without darkness for respite. For three weeks we scouted the edge of the cliff looking for some way down to the lake that should have been Candlemere. But it couldn’t be Candlemere, no more than the glowing orbs, sometimes two at a time, could be the sun. Yet the tract of the land was familiar to us even if it was somehow exaggerated.
But this, nothing really explained this. A complex system of pulleys and levers set over the course of the previous mile terminating in what swings above you. A human tibia bone. And bleached as it is it must have been here awhile. Which explains the rest of the remains lying below it: a grey cloak covered in moss, an amulet on a scaled necklace, a headband of woven owl feathers, and the cloak bound by a belt of stripped fur all sitting on top of a canvas satchel.
The satchel held a book that drew Darpan’s attention. Written by an ancient master it prescribed a series of rituals designed to achieve perfection. Long after Brother Roland identified the power of the garment’s accessories did Darpan study the tome. In it he found a peace unachievable by the knowledge of justice for his master. And so he came to emulate its teachings and that of Irori as our company crosses the first world.
Would that I could find such peace.