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Journal (Tower of Secrets)

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Journal (Tower of Secrets)

Journal are two books that are written by Mabon, they can be found in the Tower of Secrets story step.

Location[edit]

Horn of Maguuma

Story involvement[edit]

Secrets of the Obscure story[edit]

Text[edit]

Routine Check on Mabon Market

It has been too long since I returned to Caledon to check on the state of the market. Ever since the birth of the sylvari, I've monitored the area as closely as I could without interfering with nature. But...I've had an urge to check in on their well-being. After Mordremoth, I needed to see how they were faring. It feels cruel that I hadn't checked in sooner.

I didn't wear my face, as I promised to Isgarren (should he find this account), but these are some of the few non-Astral Ward that know my real name. Who know who I am—despite presenting as an especially kind-faced charr. And Ofilia's scream when I rounded the path made the venture out of Amnytas worth it.

We only sat for a short while, watching travelers pass. Myrtle prepared us some fresh basil tea with just a pinch of buttermilk—I never tire of Tyrian cuisine. They were well, it seemed. Things in the Grove have been uneasy since Mordremoth's rise and death, but they were moving in a direction of peace. Some sylvari have left the shadow of the Pale Tree in search of what's next; others have lost faith, but even the Nightmare Court has calmed in the following years. Fewer attacks, at least.

We recounted our first meeting—that dreary day. Many of the sylvari still lingered within the warm embrace of the Grove, but Malbi[sic] was curious about the world. Barely a few months old, and one of the few brave enough to not only venture into the wild but live beyond the walls of their garden sanctuary. The market hadn't been established, but she called that little red bulb home.

I was headed back from the jungle when I heard her scream. The krait had found her little sanctuary. I expelled the enemy, and... Poor Malbi;[sic] surely she didn't know what to do with me either. Had never seen a charr before as the cease-fire was still recent, and even if I sculpted that identity to be as warm as possible, having a large feline stand before her was frightening nonetheless. When I convinced her that I was no foe, her face lit up with joy—the same curiosity I attribute to all their kind. Lovely, beautiful creatures.

My visit was cut short when I felt Isgarren's pull at the back of my mind, beckoning me back to the Wizard's Tower. I held my friends for a long moment. And then I left.

I won't take as long to visit them next time.

Aging Journal Entry

I've been within the walls of the Wizard's Tower for months now. Not all of my memories have returned since the ritual, and they likely won't, but the pit in my gut screams all night... I've little reprieve from what lies below the surface. Probably angry that I hid it all away. Isgarren says that he holds no grudge, but he's still guarded with me. Especially when it grows dark in the evenings; he usually crawls back to his chambers or resumes work elsewhere. I'd understand if he was always like this, though. All I can do now is try to be better than whoever I was before. But that might be a challenge, based on what I've learned.

I suppose Isgarren wouldn't have gone along with the ritual if there was any lingering distrust between us, since it keeps us together for the forseeable future. He could have also done it for personal gain... His "World Spire" isn't complete, after all, and he needed another pair of hands to work with the shadowstone. I wouldn't have been able to help him if I hadn't gone though with it. At least I'm making an impact.

Isgarren may be strange, but he is not bad. Nervous, maybe, and a little naive, but not evil. He did spare me that day, even though the mursaat gave him every reason to gut me before I could do the same to him. My people are cruel. What glimpses remain are...disquieting. Disgusting, even. Torture, suffering. Blood everywhere. What all did I do that I just can't see...?

All I've left of myself—my past self—that doesn't make me want to crumble into the abyss is her voice. I don't know who she is, but it might be the only flicker of anything that proves that I'm not inherently malevolent... "They are out there, in the Realm of Dreams. Our home. Our actual home. I see them sometimes, when I slumber." Her voice sounds like ocean waves, even if her mask is just a golden sheen smeared at the back of my mind...

Notes[edit]