The Journal of Lucius Noren, Twelfth Entry

July 17th, 2010

Nothing is well.

Yes, I survived. Bonitus is dead, small consolation that it is. My childer despise me, my client struck me in my own home, and I seem to be losing time. Though we succeeded in our military campaign, things at home are hardly settled. The Viscount Magistrate managed to discourage the Sanctum from destroying the bulk of our military forces as they returned from war, damaged and hungry. Still, the issue of the Ichor creature and the screech of Draugr in the street remain largely unresolved.

People behave erratically and hatefully toward one another. My Shadow has begun berating me in strong terms, I fear he grows tired of our arrangement. Sir Evangelos had nothing but scorn for me, though I rescued him from torpor, enslavement, and most likely final death of some sort. And Madame Desma… the things she said, I had not earned them. In each instance she covered for me in my absence, she knew I left her in charge because I trusted her, because duty to the Invictus called me elsewhere, and most of all because she knows I repay my debts. Even Master Zyper speaks out of turn in cruel words.

Nothing makes sense, and I fear there is a source. The Ichor has spread through the city, and barring further information, it seems the most likely culprit. Now, if only we could successfully managed to banish or destroy the thing. The Gift of Isis, Isadora has some explaining to do, and I fear she will not be sympathetic to my whining. Still, stranger things have happened.

Things are not well in the city. Even the Viscount Servia Julia Valens, Archon Major has the look of hunger in her eyes. We are a ragged bunch, torn by war, and I fear we marched off to victory only to find no safe haven left to us upon our return.



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