Rise of the Obsidian Legion: Entry 16

Lynch’s Journal #131

Before his destruction, my private conversation with Nathanos started off small. Why are us mortals flawed and the mistakes we make. What lengths we will go to protect the ones we love and the ideals that we hold dear. All of it reminded me of my path from the moment I left the past behind in Waterdeep up to now.

Then the lich revealed something that shook me to my core.

Everything the heroes of Red Larch have been involved with is just a small faction of a war being waged by the gods.

Nathanos tells me that Novak was much more than just The Leader of the Restless Hand. The copperborn was the champion of Vecna, the undead god of magic and knowledge. Everything that bastard was working toward was to aid his divine master in the resurrection of Nerull.

Opposing this lich turned god is the Raven Queen, a mortal who slayed Nerull and took his power over death in Faerun. And to make it worse, Orcus, a demon prince, has spilled his own personal war against the goddess against Vecna’s own forces.

After imparting to me his knowledge of these vastly powerful entities, Nathanos warns me on who to trust in the coming days. Sides must be chosen in the war and that we could easily find ourselves on the wrong side. The Sunbreaker warns me of Vax Ildon, champion of the Raven Queen, who has been seeking to claim his soul during this war. As for Orcus, the lich is lost on who champions his cause. Both the living and the undead worship the demon so any mortal we cross could be them.

I stand there with my back against the closed door. My body locks up as it becomes hard to breath. My head spins at the revelation. I find myself trying to imagine what it is like to even witness a deity. The thought of someone so powerful is unimaginable.

I approach the others in the smaller, adjoining library to tell them the revelation of Nanthos. As Lithia begin to speak chills run up my spine. The hairs on my body stand up. Her jaw elongates to a silent scream causing her eyes to roll. From it comes a voice I have not heard in quite some time.

The whispering gibberish has returned.

It grows louder as Amon and Balasar begin to take the same transformation. Thick, slimy tentacles slither from the depths of their throats. As one, they all point to a book shelf. Everything in my vision blurs violently except for one dusty tome. It calls to me in its alien tongue.

The leather cover is colder than the snow outside as I take it from its resting place. Some unseen force opens the forgotten book and rapidly thumbs through its pages, stopping on one of pure beauty. Curiosity and pleasure wash over me as I gaze upon it. Rubbing my forehead ever so intimately, I remember how it filled the void within me.

Such is the grand power of the yellow sign.

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