Death and the Maiden(s)

11th day of Flamerule

The will of the gods is a strange thing. I suppose that is why they are gods, and we mere mortals serve their whims.

Tyr poited me at that creature like an arrow, filling my head with rage and holy fire. In truth I would have gone anyway. The creature slew Lachlan, raised the dead, corrupted the very fabric of the Fey. I could not let that stand. Still, I do not enjoy the sensation of being used, even by the god of justice.

I lay in the mud of that cursed swamp, bleeding, struggling just to keep my head from sinking below the fetid waters, and watched as again, the creature turned it's emerald eye upon one of my companions and reduced her to ash. As Sunday fell and I bled out, Coll's lifeless eyes mere feet from my own, it was Leocanto who saved us, his sorcerous beastform pulverising the gnome and freeing the Sleeper from whatever darkness he had planned for her.

After it was over, once the Arch Fey had departed, carrying with them Lachlan's spirit and restoring my friends from the grave, I stood for a while before the crude stone alter. Why bring me here and not give me the strength to stand against my foe? What was purpose? What was the lesson?

I may never know, but one thing is certain. I will not be bested like this again. The noblest of intentions are worthless without the strength to achieve your ideals. Power must be my mistress now.