The Shipwreck, William Adolphus Knell
Hosted by: Tunbridge Wells Museum
Three weeks after Nightfall, Year of Enlightenment 1021. By the Broken Coast, the Black Continent.
I sit for a while, and look at the title of this book, the date of this entry. I have not kept a journal in years. We were taught by the Order to keep a journal.
"To Record, Actions Right and Wrong,
for the Betterment of Process,
for the Betterment of the Black Hand,
for facilitating Our Ascension.
To be held in Evidence for all Time,
for Ourself, for our Brothers --
I did, diligently keep my journal. I recorded all actions. All the wrong actions taken. Unforgivable, Abominable -- Evil. I kept my journal until that one night, after which I could not bear to see on paper my own actions any longer. I am ashamed to say it took many more years, until I finally turned my back on the false teachings of the Temple, of the ravings of the Arch Primarch.
And then, walking as I did, on the most treacherous of paths, paying lip service to the Temple, all the while helping those I were to prosecute -- I could not very well keep a journal. Its discovery would have earned me the black mark, and swept me straight to the Cleansing Fire alongside those poor souls I would help.
But now, when Destiny has forced my hand, and I have openly declared my fight against the Temple, on this forsaken continent, I feel again obliged to write down my actions, for myself, for my brothers -- and for Man. These days, I am as much kin to Dis as to my companions, and I fear greatly that the young master should be left on these shores without some of my hard earned experience to guide is wrath against his transgressors. Those that in the name of the Good of Man have burned his family and stolen the lands rightfully his.
The task is daunting. So much has happened, so many crimes have been committed -- and the cruel winds that sweep Eria blows only stronger and faster; the Storm to End All truly is coming.
We came to this cursed Coast pursued by the Temple, and the very Deep itself. Forced onto the rocks by an unnatural wind, denied access to our destination, the ports of Wessel in the north.
We walk now among myths become flesh, having been saved from death by starvation, or death by the hand of the Orc -- by Flaman of the Fire People. It appears Fate has plans for the young master here in the South, I hope these fearful Beings of Fire can help him understand and harness his Gift. Dis knows we will need all help surviving our predicament and hopefully join up with the Host of Man, and maybe some day see the Shores of Home again.
It is these people that have graciosly given me Book and Ink -- and I will do my best to write down such things as may one day help in the Fight agains the two Enemies of Man -- the Ignorance Within and the Darkness of the Deep.
Perhaps, in time I will find the courage to record my own actions as Sensor for the Black Hand -- but I cannot yet think back to those horrors. I must look forward, and hope to do some Good here, among these enemies of our Enemy, that I might stand upright when the ferry man at last finds it in Him to grant me passage to that far, fair shore.
Storyteller's note: This is Written by Eirik S, and is from the Book of Awakening, a game running parallel to the Book of Reckoning.