Day 1: I always knew it is the scholarly thing to keep a record of one’s research…especially when moving to a new region. Ever since I received word from my brother about my parent’s passing I have felt a combination of sadness and closure. A parent’s passing is always a sad time. However, mine both lived long and fulfilling lives and died in their sleep. A son could not ask for more especially in these troubling times. To delve deeper, how an old man and woman survived in the frozen north far from civilization baffles even a scholar as myself. I digress, journal. The estate has been left in my name being the eldest child and I must tend to it. Being abroad researching the arcane and facing dangers has been exciting. But it is a good time to perhaps settle down in my childhood home and make the best of things. Being in a secluded area will probably help out my own studies. I always did enjoy the tranquility of the estate. Tomorrow I make the move. ____________________ Day 4: After a rather uneventful journey, I arrived at the estate just east of Winterfell. Old Dietrick , my father, did his best to keep the place in shape. It needs much remodeling… the daft old man… placing staircases across the room from each other. I swear the old man had the design sense of an orc! Luckily Winterfell is only a quarter day’s walk away. Procuring supplies for the renovations should not be a hassle. My brother and uncle were able to scrounge up enough Minas for tombs to lay my parent to rest in the VonSchlicten mausoleum with the rest of the VonSchlicthen clan. I have always been weary of entering the mausoleum since I was a child. Perhaps it was just the thought of death that frightened me. I still think is my own sensitivity to the arcane forces that steered me away from there. I need to stop rambling journal. I have a problem with that. However, I did leave roses on their tombs. I hope their souls rest easy. ____________________ Day 6 Nothing too eventful happened today worth noting. However I did encounter my first brigand of the area. I was outside felling a tree when some rough looking northerner approached me. He said he had a message from the King. Unlikely. I have not had a messenger dispatched to me in 5 years and that messenger did not look like a filthy vagabond. Needless to say I entertained his game. He then pulled out a blade and demanded 500 Minas. I only had 60 so I could not meet his demand. However I told him I am a practitioner of the arcane arts, which is true, and a master swordsman , flat out lie. I threatened to decorate my mantle with his head if he dare try anything. Quite brave of me. I do not know what came over me then. I drew the handle to my iron herbalism knife from my robe to show a gleam of metal. I prayed to the gods he was idiotic enough he would think this was a sword. The brigand retreated. I informed the Winterfell watch and they are keeping an eye out. I must say I am rather proud of myself today. ____________________ Day 8 A dark energy rests in this place. I can sense it. My dreams every few nights are filled with visions of terror. Kingdoms ablaze, men, women and children being slaughtered by their own friends and families. I can almost smell the rotting flesh in my dreams… Yet I always awake to such a conserve scene. Outside a layer of fresh snow lay on the ground. The wildlife is awake and foraging for food. The sun is rising and a wave of calm flows over me. I have set up my father’s old herbalism laboratory in the basement and unpacked most of my books. Botany, Herbalism, Magical History, Alchemy. My standards. Of course I keep my books on the arcane arts tucked away someplace more discreet. It is just a book,paper and ink, but some visitors may find the sight of such a subject matter…uncomfortable. But I expect such reactions in this region. Peculiar, being that the Winterfell Mage tower is barely visible over the horizon. Oh how my grandfather would angrily rant about them. Apparently his grandfather [my great great grandfather] had some issues with those mages. I never bothered to ask why. Alas, the days I could ask Grandfather Gerhardt these questions are long gone. ____________________ Day 10 VISITORS! Today when I was remodeling the staircase I heard a knock at the door. An elf with a green tunic introduced himself as a member of “The Lost” a force dedicated to fighting the undead. They thought this land was deserted and started constructing a keep. I was escorted down to speak with their leader. There was some territorial worries but the keep was 100% off my estate lands. A rainstorm drew near and I invited them all and a Watchman from Winterfell named… oh dear… Catasis? I am always horrid with names. We shared lunch and drink and drink until the storm passed. So lucky I am to have a keep of defenders so close to my estate. I am much less worried about any brigands. But the most interesting part of my stay in the North comes from discussion with the Watchman. I must say the physical appearance of this man made me uncomfortable at first. The watchman, as it turns out, is an old guard from Al’Khazar. The man is a fighter of the undead. He entertained me with stories of his days in Al’Khazar and told me horrible accounts of battles with the undead…. yes the undead! Now journal. My interest in dark magic… all academic of course… has been a thirst I could never quench. And here in my house is a man who knows more about the undead than any scholar. Did you know, that the undead can speak our tongue? They communicate with each other! Here my theories were that they all were puppets for some dark energy. Astounding! I knew the undead had the ability to channel the dark arts, obviously since that is how they remain “alive” but never to what extent. The pure combative magic the undead possess is frightening. The ability to conjure fire and hurl it with an explosive impact? Unheard of in these modern times. To only makes things more dire, they can raise fallen mortals as mindless undead to fight along side their new dark masters. The ancient VonSchlicten’s wielded such immense arcane powers. Greatest Wizards of the area hundreds of years ago. But to see such magic in today’s age? After the departure of magical powers from this realm many generations ago, the VonSchlicten’s only possess casual magical enchantments and incantations that are nothing more than glorified parlor tricks… The existence of such power in our realm is quite exhilarating, albeit, frightening. Once again journal I am rambling. I will not bore you with my family history. What is most exciting is that Watchman Catiris..Cathis…Ca… oh forget it… said he would take me to observe an undead portal. Oh yes I nearly forgot. The undead have built portals to enter our world. Alas journal, you must be exhausted from all this information. I will pray to find the strength to keep these thoughts from dancing in my mind so I may get a restful night’s sleep. ____________________ Day 13 ((The following entry is scribbled)) They are here. Dawn thunderstorm. Undead above in house. Hiding in herbalism laboratory in basement. Explosions. Heard voice of one friend charging up the hill, dead. Hiding journal in wall safe. Praying. ~Nitholaik. ____________________ Day 13 Part 2 I have recovered you dear journal! After sifting through the rubble I feared my personal belongings gone. Alas, I am glad to be amongst the living! I hope my scribbles make more sense after this: I woke up to a dawn thunderstorm, peculiar in a dry, cold environment such as this. I thought nothing of it and began work germinating seeds in the basement laboratory. Then I heard it, an explosion. I started climbing the stairs when I heard the voice of Balin Stor…dear I forgot his last name…one of “The Lost” leading a few others into a charge. Then I heard it… a deafeningly loud…yet silent voice… it called for “the fools to be sacrificed to Iblees” …is that the name? I am almost certain. I heard the sounds of a quick skirmish and a sense of dread..I could FEEL the darkness…. it was…powerful… Yet sheer terror swept over me when I realized my friends from down the hill have been slaughtered when I peeked over the basement stairs toward the front window…. Blue eyes… glowing like fiendfyre. His face… a gray, sunken and expressionless face… Wearing magnificent robes of Onyx and gold… I stood there frozen for a second. He turned to me and met my eyes. For a split second time stood still. I felt an energy…no…a power within me. Then with a booming voice that seemed to come from my own head It spoke, “Die for Iblees” The creature lobbed a fireball at me from the front doorway. With instinct I ran toward the second story balcony… the windows are all boarded up, there is no escape except jumping. The wall behind where I just stood exploded and sent cobblestone and timber in all directions. I ran up the stairs, out on the balcony, made the jump and twisted my ankle. I hurried with all my strength toward Winterfell. I should not have looked behind me but I did. I saw my childhood home ablaze and the…creature standing on the balcony watching me run toward the horizon. I ran and ran. My lungs were burning with cold air, tears down my face, nose running uncontrollably and my ankle was only getting worse After I arrived at the Winterfell gates I screamed for help. Immediately the guard mobilized and survivors of The Lost joined us. When re made it to my estate the house was in ruins. The robed undead mage missing. The soldiers pursued a rogue undead who was still about and dispatched him quickly. I did not see the “re-death”, but I much wish to see it for research. I made a futile effort to rebuild. Mostly out of grief. I did not want to accept what just happened. The undead attacked my small homestead…why? Did they know of my family’s history? Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Later that evenin