Venneth van Buren's Journals
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Log Date 0

I am trapped. I record this journal as my last memoir so that if I may die, perhaps someone out there will find the last evidence of my existence. My name is Venneth van Buren, a representative of the borderworlds of the Aurastian Empire. My world was recently destroyed by a machine of Taurionian design. I have yet to see anyone else alive on this death trap. It was his fault. Faltimer. If I ever find him, he will pay for this.

Log Date 3

It's become difficult to sleep. I neglected to record it, but on my first day here I heard… something. The noise has grown louder over the past 4 days and I've finally been able to identify it: Whispering. Someone or something is whispering in the walls, and I have never been more scared.

Log Date 9

Medical drones. After a week of huddling in a small area, I finally ventured out to explore and found myself almost instantly face to face with a patrol of drones. The cubby I've found seem to be outside of their patrol zone in the maintenance tunnels. I kept out of their sight and snuck after them for several days. This hideous construct is massive and labyrinthine. I was eventually led to… a sight of horrors. Organic matter and previously dead beings were dissected and broken down to their most basic forms by the drones. I am relieved that they were all mutilated beyond recognition, or I may have thrown up and given myself away.

Log Date 50

It has been almost 2 months since my entrapment on this abominable ship. I've been exploring as often as I can, but it's been difficult. This place is on heavy lockdown and I have had many a close encounter.
If you're reading these journals, by now you'll have seen the green crystalline… veins, that run through this place. I am still studying their purpose.

The whispering is getting louder.

Log Date 103

I found a horrible sight today. I had neglected to record it before, but I identified a possible purpose for the veins. There are… spirits, flowing through them, as if standing in the place of blood. The whispering has gotten loud enough that I've been able to identify these spirits as the source. They run throughout the whole construct, lamenting all the way. They're trapped. Today I tried to free one of them by smashing one of the many quartz lights they flow through. There was a horrible wail and a black fluid gushed out, and a whisper in my ear of thanks. It was highly unnerving. I don't think I will be freeing any more.

Log Date 200

Flowing through the walls the spirits they never stop whispering whispering to me and lamenting and wailing. But some of them are different, some tell stories stories of places long dead and of places that have not yet been born. They fill my mind with a hideous inspiration.

Log Date… fuck it, who cares anymore.

I have not updated my journal in a very long time. Things have been relatively the same for an eternity, possibly literally. The drones, the veins, the whispering spirits. I have been trying to track the veins to their "Heart" with no success.
However, that's not the point of this entry. Today, things changed. We've crashed on another world, and a large breach in the hull opened nearby. It's lucky the repair drones appear not to report back to the construct and are remarkably flimsy, as I've been able to fight them off with ease. I'm going out into this world now, and I'll either die or be born anew.

Log Date 0

I reset my entry count because of my new location. This world appears to be called Toril and is populated by people who when compared to my own can be called primitive. Two strange men, they call themselves Trinidad and Fain, they worship my prison as a god and have already named him Maldemos, after the unit number plastered along his inside. ML-DM5. Hilarious. The fledgling cultists regard me as a messiah, a harbinger of a new age. I suppose I could humor them. Maybe with a large enough following I can discover a way to get rid of this despicable machine.

Log Date 30

After a month on this world, I noticed something odd. The whispering hasn't stopped, despite how far I explore away from Maldemos. While committing an act of petty crime to survive, I was attacked by a spellcaster of some sort. I wished desperately not to be hurt, and the whispering briefly grew in intensity. When I opened my eyes, his bolt had curved around me and he looked very confused.

I think I can use this power.

Log Date 93

I have been training a subclass of cultists who have taken to calling themselves the Blackrobes. I exposed them to the whispering as well, and they developed strange powers just as I. New and innovative ways of manipulating the fabric of magic that permeates this universe. I believe with more training and discovery, we might be able to defeat Maldemos. One of my most devoted followers, Ayame, has been elected as my speaker. It's his job to spread my coverup story of Maldemos giving this world a second chance.

Log Date 130:

The Blackrobes are stealing magic from the inhabitants of this world. Any way that works, I guess. Ayame's speeches have been updated.

Log Date 334

Today I saw him. That son of a bitch, Faltimer. His plans must have gone awry and now he seeks to destroy this world however he can. I will not let him.

Look out, Faltimer. I'm coming for you.

Log Date… I don't know

The world ended. Maldemos crushed it and everyone on it. I saw the Reaper with my own eyes, and then I woke up. Alive again, I saw a strange note. "Persistent, aren't you?" it said. Whoever you are, and whatever you want from me: Yes, I am goddamn persistent. I see how things are going to work now and I'm willing to play your game.

I will die a thousand deaths to afford this world a chance at one life.

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