Eldon's Journal

I remember hills. And I remember fire. Those are my most prominent memories.

The memories of my childhood are fading. They’ve becoming blurred. I didn’t write everything down before I joined the monetary, so once I lose those memories…they’ll be gone forever. Voices were the first to go. Then smells. And now I’m struggling to remember faces. I don’t think I can recall little Norric. Paeula is a bit easier—I spent a lot of time in her company. My parents are fading quickly. I couldn’t remember them much when I was young, let alone thirty years later. I’ve tried to write down what I remember of them, but…I’m afraid it’s inaccurate. I’m terrified of forgetting.

I remember other things more. I remember the fire more than I can remember my siblings’ faces. I can remember the heat and the smell of smoke and the suffocating feeling that came with breathing in such flames. I can remember the pain of the fire as it burned me and the screams, oh Yondallah, the screams. They still echo in my dreams, occasionally. I think that’s one sound I’ll never be able to forget.

Occasionally I’ll still have dreams of being in the fire. And I’m running and I’m trying to find Danver and I can’t scream out and at one point I trip into flaming branches and my arms and chest, they burn. But then I can’t get up, and I begin to burn too.

I wish I could dream of my family more than I dreamt of the fire.

I fear that I can’t remember them much anymore. I try to recall what they looked like, sounded like, what smells drifted through out little home, but it’s all faded away like an old drawing. The voices were the first to go. Or perhaps the smells. Occasionally I’ll smell something that reminds me of early mornings, of Momi cooking, or the earthy scents of the garden Popi would tend to every day. But I never hear anything that reminds me of their voice. But worst of all, perhaps, is the fact that I can’t remember their faces clearly anymore. I remember that Paeula had a gap in her teeth and freckles, and she had a light scar from shenanigans she and Danver got into when they were young, before I was born…but I can’t recall exactly what her facial structure was, exactly what shade of gold her eyes were, or even if she wore her long hair in a braid or a simple ponytail. It’s all lost to me.

I realized too late when I had begun to forget. And when everything began to slip away from me, like time, I began to write. I wrote down everything I saw. Everything I heard. I described smells down to the tee, I wrote down every detail of a person’s face. I didn’t want to forget any of it. I couldn’t handle forgetting something so important again. So I receded into my writing, and in that way, receded from people, too. But I still had Corlen. I still reached out and tried to create these relationships. I aged more and learned to smile again. I managed to wake after nightmares without feeling sluggish. I grew accustomed to waking at dawn, to praying for the energy to continue throughout the door. I would look forward to sleep only to wake again, so then I could write and learn and focus on anything aside from the screams and smoke of the past.

But soon I found I couldn’t remain with Corlen. The more I learned about the evil that accompanied Vecna, the less I could allow myself to remain, even if Vecna was also a deity of knowledge. I fought with Corlen and he threw me out when I was still just a boy. I was lost and I was afraid that I would find no one else who would care for me—until I met Yondallah.

I didn’t meet her personally, of course. But I became acquainted with her through a new monastery in Sarrac, where I found myself after days and days of wandering. Ava, an elf, took me in, and she was quite kind. But I suppose after being scorned and abandoned by two people I had come to trust, I could never quite bring myself to call Ava anything more than my mentor. I grew apprehensive. I was uncertain how easily I could give myself unto others again. I continued to write and I focused far less on relationships with others within the monastery. I met them and I grew accustomed to always asking for names. Names are tangible. They cannot be forgotten as easily as voices or smells or faces—they can be written down. So I would always learn the names of those I met. For everyone has a name—everyone deserves a name.

But while I learned their names, while I wrote down everything I knew about everyone and everything, I can’t say I really had friends. And I certainly had no family. I had Ava, my mentor, but she never surpassed that level with me. We never grew terribly close. So I had no family. Perhaps it was my punishment, for not being able to help my family in the first place. Somehow, for surviving when they had not, I no longer deserved a family.

If I couldn’t have a family again, then I would make Yondallah my new family. Even if she never acknowledged me, I would devote my life to her. I would give my very being in her name, for she gave me something that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt security and safety and a bond that I hadn’t experienced since Danver severed our own, leaving me with an empty promise in the hands of a stranger at a monastery. Yondallah meant more to met than I could articulate in any my journals, and I was grateful for her always. She would be my family, my only family, until my life would eventually come to an end.

And then I met Remi.

It was supposed to be a simple job. I took odd jobs here and there to get money to fund my travels around Pyran, but I never expected to meet two people who would change things for me. We never even intended to remain traveling together, Remi and Jaceol and I, but we did. It was a matter of circumstance, which turned to a matter of choice. I bonded and meshed with Remi and Jaceol in a way that I hadn’t with others in a long time. Gorroc fit in easily as well, and he gave me a way to share my knowledge, and to learn more things. We all got along so well and I began to see them less as coworkers and more as friends. And, while I would never admit it aloud to them…they’ve become more than that, too. They’ve become my family. I wanted to travel the world with them. I wanted to traverse any difficulty with them, and I knew we could come out on top.

That is, until we encountered the fire at Falhill. I was foolish. I made far too many mistakes to count, and while my actions didn’t directly cause anyone’s death, I still couldn’t help properly. Remi and Gorroc returned bloodied and nearly ready to keel over. But the fire was still raging.

I wanted to help, but my mind was racing. The fire was suffocating and breathing in the smoke only sent me back to when I was seven, when I ran with Danver through the forest as flames tore at our skin and locked the memory of such a smell within me forever. I was certain that there was no one trapped in anymore buildings, and I was uncertain as to how much assistance we could provide when Remi and Gorroc were so hurt. I couldn’t risk losing them to their wounds. I couldn’t lose any more family.

And so, we left. And I would come to find that Yondallah viewed that as a poor decision, but…I don’t think so. If there was any other way I could have helped the village without risking my own friends, I would have. And if I could have given my life to save even one more person within that village, I would have done so without hesitation. I hope Yondallah realizes that.

For now, I’ll continue to pray and uphold my role as a cleric and follower of Yondallah. I don’t think she’s given up on me, and I hope she never does. But even if such a tragedy were to happen, I don’t think I would ever lost faith in her. She has helped me more than I can say, and one day, I hope to repay her kindness, through whatever means. But Yondallah is no longer my only family. I have another family to look after, and I’m afraid that if there is ever a time where I would be forced to choose between my deity or my family…I wouldn’t know what to pick.