2 Urlachmar, 125 COE

I brood here, in the corner of my dark and desolate cell, dwelling heavily on the
path I have chosen. These stone walls mirror those surrounding my Tainted heart.
The skin on my ankle has been rubbed raw by the iron shackle around it. A feeling
of dread saturates the air, suffocating me of my happiness. They have graciously
allowed me this journal and quill to write a letter before I reach my final
destination. I address it to all of Magnagora, and to the future descendants of
that corrupted city, so that they will not walk down the same well-trodden path as
I. For it is a lonesome one and those whose feet press down upon it will have
nothing save the many footprints of others before them. But alas, I must return to
the Portal of Fate where my journey began...

My head was spinning violently after I tumbled through the Portal of Fate. In my
hands I still clutched a leather journal, not unlike the one you are now holding.
Those last words echoed in the shallows of my subconsciousness. I can write my own
destiny, I thought. This was an appealing concept to an aspiring Mugwump and
flipping through those empty pages marked my first step down my chosen path.

It wasn't long before I became acquainted with this Basin of Life. Dedicated,
sleepless nights of research yielded successful results and I was reunited with my
family, the House Karjan of Magnagora. They welcomed me openly into their
lifestyle and I became one with the Engine. As a teenage Mugwump I though nothing
of the consequences of my actions, only of bathing in the glory, wealth, and power
that awaited my ambitions. While I was still new to the culture I met a young
Merian child along the Ackleberry Highway. He was lying in the dust, sobbing. My
questioning revealed that he was lost. On a family picnic he had left his parents
for a brief swim in the Shallach River. They had forgotten about him and now this
child needed to get back to Celest.

I was compassionate towards this dejected creature. His eyes lit up with joy when
I handed him a sugar cookie and agreed to take him home. But we had ventured no
more than two hundred yards when a blood-stained Magnagoran war party approached,
marching from the opposite direction. I recognized the Queen's Own Torturer
foremost in the group.

"What is going on here, Karlov?" he asked.

I explained the situation to them. Upon seeing the slimy scales of the child a
fire had been fed in their hearts. And my story did nothing to quell those flames.
In fact, it fanned them to a brighter intensity.

The Torturer's mouth contorted into a sneer. "So you're helping this fish find his
mama?"

I nodded, glancing down nervously at the boy who was now quivering in fear.

With a single snap of those tainted fingers, the Magnagoran seized the Merian.
Drawing two steel rapiers, the Torturer spoke loudly to drown out the boy's
wailing.

"Fish are meant to be cut up into pieces and cooked with a dash of lemon to bring
out their flavour. After killing angels all day, I'm a bit hungry."

The other Magnagorans grunted in approval. Chuckling, the Torturer snapped his
fingers again and the grunting ceased. He skewered the boy in two simultaneous
thrusts of his rapiers. A deathly silence hung in the air as Merian blood was
gulped up hungrily by the soil. I was shocked and stared blankly at the half-eaten
sugar cookie. The Queen's Own Torturer followed my gaze and crushed the remaining
cookie with his boot.

"Leave his body for the vultures." He turned to me. "What's the matter? Never seen
the innocent die? Let's go."

They marched away, leaving me to grieve for the child.

"I hope you found your way home," I whispered.

My family was waiting for me at the northern gates, scowling. Obviously the news
of my actions had reached their ears. That evening I received fifteen lashes
across my bare back and the next day I was forced to watch the Necromante writhe
and scream...

Please pardon my illegibility. The combination of my shaking hand and flowing
tears is something I cannot control. I must compose myself before my next entry.

3 Urlachmar, 125 COE

They days are getting shorter, or at least it seems that way from how quickly the
light changes. I suppose that a solitary window is better than none at all.
Outside I can sometimes hear audible shouts and rejoicing. Why couldn't this sense
of euphoria and perfection have guided me down a more appropriate path? One that
wouldn't have led me to my present situation...

It was not long after that fateful day that my new world began to shape me, as a
blacksmith does his latest masterpiece. Under the pressure of my relatives I
enlisted as a Grunt in the ur'Guard. Drilling, marching, and tactical strategy
consumed my existence to a point where I became just the shell of a Mugwump. A
shell to be filled with deception, trickery, and obedience. Thus I was vulnerable
and an onslaught of maliciousness contorted my features. From my fingertips to the
last of my fungus-infested toenails I tingled with my newfound power. My morals
were left behind - unnecessary and cumbersome baggage on my journey. They pierced
my wrist with an iron barb to signify my devotion to torture and evil.

Quite vividly my memory recalls a significantly tragic experience from the past.
The city officials had decreed a raid to be led on that day against the Village of
Shanthmark. At that time the aslaran village was under the rule of the Celestians
and their holy waters. We traveled along the Great Southern Highway stealthily. It
was dusk. The mountains in the west cast a benevolent shadow across the Basin.
After passing a small farmhouse we arrived at the threshold to the village. Our
weapons came to life. Soft whirring sounds cut through the breeze as the blades
sliced at the five Cavaliers of the Light. Five bodies slumped to the ground.

Those poor aslaran never stood a chance against steel and enchantments. For the
Engine had cast the die of Fate against their favor. One by one the cat-like
creatures were sent to their doom, and I found pleasure in that. Every drop of
blood was another drop of wine to quench the insatiable thirst of the Taint. Every
scream of agony was another scream of the Necromante in his grueling torture. And
every severed head was a severed trophy for the glory of my city.

When we reached Adaeze in the Lodge, my Commander ordered me to enter the room and
kill the mystic. I opened the door quietly. Her back was to me but she knew I was
there. She always knew.

"Do it," she whispered. "Have your satisfaction."

My training had not equipped me to deal with a situation of this caliber. I had to
honour her request. My arms drew the scimitar back and with a yell I swung it at
her head - and stopped. I couldn't do it. Something held me back, but it didn't
matter. The Marshall ran her through, the moist blood on his longsword joining its
kin in a messy reunion.

We started back down the stairs and out the hallway. Magnagora was victorious once
again. Everyone except me was in high spirits. As we passed under Adaeze's room,
crimson blood seeped through the floorboards, staining the carpet. Drip. Drip.
Drip.

4 Urlachmar, 125 COE

Even with me in this prison, it remains lifeless. I am not worthy to walk among
the living, yet I am too stubborn to mingle with the dead. The dead...

It had been during a Nexus weakening. Aboard the "Tainted Fist" we waited to
strike. Controlling the emphatic grid module, it was my duty to notify the Captain
of the first opportunity to attack. Finally it came and I issued the order
hastily. But he was wary of our odds. The Captain attempted in vain to reason with
me, trying to appeal to my logic. So I ran him through. If he could not aid the
Engine, he was a useless peg - and I was quick to dispose of useless things.

But as the life escaped its bodily container and his eyes glassed over, I felt a
twinge of guilt. Who was I to take life but not give it? Sadly this thought only
crossed into my conscious briefly before it was replaced by my original mindset.

I didn't even possess the decency to bury him properly. Forgive me...

5 Urlachmar, 125 COE

I am to be executed today on the charge of crimes against the Basin. Fear has long
since left my feeble soul. Following the Shanthmark raid, I vowed to never again
let compassion into my heart. But here I fail that objective. I was just another
cog in the Engine, turning against my will. Now that I think about it, my life has
been a whirlwind of wrong steps, of wrong choices. And I need to establish
reconciliation with myself and located a path to goodness in my final hours. I am
not hopeful.

Light is coming from outside my cell and I hear the unmistakable sound of
footsteps on the stone and the metallic clank of keys. So this is my farewell.
Signed, Karlov.

5 Urlachmar, 125 COE (later)

As a priest in the Celestine Seminary, I feel obligated to record the events of
this mugwump's last few moments.

The guards brought him up to the Pool of Stars. A crude gallows had been
constructed there. Citizens of our fair city looked with pity upon the Tainted
one, another lost soul. The lined the streets with their holy presence. A small
procession of candles followed silently.

The Merciful Judge spoke the charges of the accused as the hangman tied the noose
around Karlov's neck. Tears rolled down his cheeks and flowed as if trying to get
to the Pool of Stars. Enunciating clearly, one of the Celestines' priestesses
blessed the mugwump with a benediction. Angels from Celestia flew gracefully
overhead and heralded the coming of the sunrise. The knot tightened. In unison the
Cantors engaged in a rhythmic chant in the Merian tongue. Karlov looked around at
this spectacle of blissful rapture. Blinking away his tears, he shouted, "The
Light has brought me back!"

The door dropped and bare feet swung lazily back and forth. And a single iron barb
clattered to the stone.