These excerpts are taken from the Journal of Diamante Stillwind. They recount
some parts of his journey from the Basin, into the harsh Outlands of Lusternia.

16th of Juliary, 160 years C.E
I remember the longing, that deep, cold emptiness that caressed my heart as I
gazed back over the thriving pocket of this harsh world known as the Basin of
Life. From my position atop the cliff, I could see the broad expanse of the
forests that intertwined along its poles: the sprawling greens of the vibrant
Serenwilde in the North, home to those misguided by Sister Moon, my birthplace
and first love where I was no longer welcome, and in the South, the
magnificent woods of the Glomdoring, reveling in the renewal of death and decay
and their nourishment from such, the place which housed the Coven of Mother
Night, sweet, terrible Night.
On either side of the great sea, the churning masses of the wretched cities
seemed to thrive, the star of Celest shining brightly even though Father Sun
seared down from above, and the viscous smoke pouring from Magnagora, a dark
cloud hovering above the haven of the tainted.
I sat upon that outcropping, gazing fondly over the Basin as Father Sun raced
across the skies, foolishly chasing that which could never be caught. A sense
of peace and comfort overtook my thoughts as Mother Night revealed Herself to
the world once more.
I looked once more, and stole away into the darkness, moving through the
jagged peaks with some difficulty, never once looking back. My task was set,
Mother Night had commanded me, and there was no questioning Her instruction.
My eyes ached as the strands of aether that were so common in view faded, and I
could feel my connection with the forests and realms of the fae weakening, the
minds that were once within a thought's reach fading from my mental grasp.

But Mother Night was with me, and like a whisper, I slipped from the known
world.

23rd of Shanthin, 160 years C.E.
It is hard for those who have spent their years within the nurturing bosom of
the Basin to comprehend the barrens of the Outlands. Rocky canyons, nearly
bereft of life, spread as far as the eyes can see. I've been travelling for
weeks now. Had my own spark of divinity not been fanned beyond need for
material sustenance, surely I would have perished long before now. In this
Godless, harsh land, Father Sun rages after Mother Night, his rays ravaging
the earth below, and when He does rest, Mother Night's cold embrace leaves the
rocks frigid and bitter beneath my feet.
I am led to believe these dead lands have not always so lacked vigor , for the
bones of creatures unknown to me, skulls opened in some mocking laugh at what
they think is the futility of my journey, lie in the desert sands on occasion.
At times, when I pause to rest in the evening, my thoughts drifting back to the
Coven of Night, and moreso my beloved Nirrti, I can sense a presence, malevolent
and dark, both a comfort and a fright. I know not what this presence is: it is
certainly not Mother Night, for Her embrace is something quite familiar to me.

Roughly 15th of Urlachmar, 162 years C.E
It is a joyous day! Mother Night be praised! Nearly one and a quarter years
have passed since I departed from my home, and I am blessed with the most
gratifying of gifts. My beloved Nirrti has managed to make haste, tracking me
down all this way. It was unknown to me when I departed that she was heavy with
my child, and as Sister Moon hid and Mother Night enveloped the land in the
blackest of shadow, Mycah Stillwind was borne unto us. The birth was hard, and
even with my own magicks I could do little to ease the pains for my love, but
as is to be expected of such a fine woman, she endured through the eve,
caressed by the shadows. The child's cry echoed throughout the night, awakening
a new sense of purpose within me, renewing my tired bones with a vigor I'd not
felt in my youngest years.
He bears my eyes, that cold, granite gaze that takes in the world around him
with a calculating stare. His hair is still of the blond of birth, though I
imagine it will darken as the years come to pass. I cradle him in my arms as
Nirrti sleeps, exhausted from the ordeal, a deep swathe of shadows dancing
about wildly as my emotions run free. I sense in him an old soul, wizened
beyond even myself, though perhaps that is merely the overconfidence fatherhood
brings.
My darling Nirrti, she will return to the Basin to further the Harbingers of
the Wyrd, to enrapture those that stand against our forest with words that tear
at the soul. The child will come with me, I am confident Mother Night wills it
so. I hold him tightly, kneeling beside my sleeping mate, a hand falling to
brush her cheek lightly. She stirs, but does not wake. I whisper into her ear
words of passion, a final goodbye should I fail, before once again stealing
away in the Night, Mycah resting in my arms as the shadows lead my path.

Klangiary, 164 years C.E
Memory fails me now as to how long it's been. I must imagine nearly three
years since I departed, for Mycah has begun to walk on his own, babbling often
indiscernable words. His fascination with my cauldron enlivens me, and I see
him steal away when I'm not paying attention, drawing out the shadows and
manipulating them in ways that bring satisfaction to a father. Mother Night
must have great plans for him indeed.
My body is sore, worn from the pains of battle today. I encountered a pack of
hunters, fearsome warriors moving about the wastes, their subtle movements
second only to those of Mother Night's adept. At first I was surprised by their
agility, moving about the unforgiving terrain with such proficiency, bearing
down upon me and Mycah quickly before I had a chance to react. The first blow
sent me reeling, the pain blinding as I felt my jaw fracture. Flicking a hand
to open the aether strands, I withdrew the bitter arnica and chewed upon the
bud to release its magicks, which weaved my bones whole once again. I threw my
hands up and implored Night for Her favour. Shadows swathed about my form, Her
dark presence became known, and She kissed my brow, the mixture of pain and
ecstasy coursing through my veins as Her power flooded about my body. I circled
around the group, furiously parrying the numerous strikes that came my way,
knowing that in time their blows would strike home, and with so many, at this
pace, I would fall.
Upon the wave of my hand, corporeal tendrils of shadow summoned my dark
cauldron to me. Casting a sidelong glance to Mycah, whom the hunters had not
yet noticed, I drew shadows from the cauldron, plunging the room into stygian
darkness. The hunters at first seemed unhindered, but as I willed the shadows
to thicken into a something material and binding, the world seemed to slow
down. My own efforts were hindered by these shadows, but such was of no
consequence: my home, my comfort, was in the writhing darkness of the choking
shades.
Comfortable in this environment of aeon, my mind formed mystical hexes as I
traced my hands through the air, cursing the men with rigid bodies and
tightened lungs. In time, I spoke the dark words of Mother Night, forcing each
of them to succumb to Her power as their lifeforce, mana, was drained from
them. I willed them to sleep with my hexes, pausing a moment to look down upon
these poor creatures, before striking my finger to two of them, reducing them
to nothing but worthless toads. The third I awoke from his sleep, gazing down
at the man whose body I had wracked with worms and rigid muscles. I knelt down,
my cold lips touching just briefly to the tender flesh of his neck, and in short
time, his essence was drawn into my body, strengthening me as he withered into
nothing but a pile of flesh and dead bones. Turning my attention to the cursed
others, I brought my foot down in a stomp of finality, a morbid sense of
pleasure coursing through my veins as their soft bodies squished beneath my
boots.
These hunters I had met once before, long ago. They had chased a brilliant
white tiger into the Basin of Life, and brought with them teachings of trapping
and animal companionship. Gathering what water they had, I let Mycah drink his
fill, before taking him once more in my arms and continuing on.
My journey is nearing an end, I can feel the item I seek calling to me.

Roarkian, 164 years C.E
The perils of this journey have left me weathered and greyed. My beard is
ragged and lengthy, unbefitting someone as perfect as Mother Night‘s own. I
have reached my destination, this standing circle of stones, rising from the
ground like testaments of endurance through the ages. Mycah’s calm demeanour
in this place is almost eerie. He walks silently, the silvers of his eyes
searching the surroundings in curiosity. A darkness falls over this place. A
sense of foreboding wrath pervades the air as I approach the dais that lies in
the center. Upon the obsidian altar rests a box, and my keen eyes clearly see
the myriad of powerful runes that float about its smooth surface.
A pain and coldness wracks my body as I lift the lid, darkness flooding from
the recesses of the container, plunging the area into a numbing void of shadow.
My hands shake visibly as I lift the item from the box in eagerness and fear at
the terrible power in my hands. The sphere is of solid ice, jagged and twisted,
radiating a menacing aura. Within the ice, a fulgin (fulgid?) blackness shudders
and courses as I raise it above the cowls of my tattered robes.
An immense rush of power shudders through my body, and my eyes fall shut as
infinite visions dance before me: a myriad possibilities lie ahead, the coming
darkness of Mother Night's terrible power enveloping the Basin in all its
glory. I draw my dagger, forged from the tears of Sister Moon, frozen in Mother
Night's frigid embrace, a gift from Her for my service. In a moment of fear, I
drive the blade into the sphere, the most miniscule of slivers breaking from
the whole. Mycah watches in utter silence as I hold the sliver to the pendant
about my neck, shadows enveloping the emblem as it fuses to the blackened
metal. A wave of infinite power swirls over my form, subsiding quickly. When I
rest the orb back in the box, the lid slams shut, and a shockwave of magicks
hurls my child and I from the circle of stones, though a buffet of shadows
cradles our descent to the earth.
"You have done well, Diamante. It is time to return to the Dark Forest, there
is still much more to be done," echoes the voice in my head, the biting,
terrible whisper of Mother Night.

And so I turn, taking Mycah in my arms as I run back through the wastes. There
is much ground to cover, but a sense of purpose and vitality courses in my veins
as the sliver of ice about my neck throbs with power.

Within the box, the terrible relic shudders in delight, Mother Night's cold
heart.