Tatianna's Journal

I was a young goddess when my life was irrevocably changed forever by the evil Lord Seluctruh. How old I was is impossible to know because it is difficult to tell time when you are immortal. The days and years, even centuries, as counted by the mortals, fold into themselves like paper envelopes and disappear on the wings of timelessness. There is no day nor night, no rising of the glorious sun to signal the beginnings of a clean slate of time, nor its setting to bring conclusion and the contented bliss of a peaceful rest. Of course as a goddess I did not know this, no, it wasn’t until I fell from the immortal realms and became a mortal that I learned of time and sunsets and the simple pleasures and pains of mortality.

My story of immortality is not like those of the other demi-gods, raised up out of mortality because of great deeds or mere whims of the gods. I was created from a shard of the shattered Darkstone by the greatest of all gods Tarin. In the chaos that ruled the world after the shattering, Tarin managed to salvage one piece, one tiny sliver of that magical, mystical rock and from it, I emerged, a fully grown woman, yet innocent in the ways of the gods.

Tarin named me Tatianna. Hidden and nurtured by his hand, I was unknown to the world, and even to the other gods. Tarin taught me all that he knew, gradually imbuing me with his powers. I looked upon him as my father, my creator, and worshipped him devoutly as my only god. What his plans were for me, I never knew because our lives were ripped apart. But I digress...

I was so very happy living in the immortal realm. Surrounded by beauty and serenity, I knew no other life. Crystal clear waterfalls tumbling down marble splashways, rainbow walkways stretching through perfumed gardens, glorious music tinkling to soothe the soul. It was my only world and I loved it there.

My companions were Tarin’s avatars, outstanding mortals raised up to assist him in his great work of creating and maintaining the world of Darkstone. I am afraid I was always in their way, peering over their shoulders and asking questions. Yet they were always patient with me, and looking back, perhaps in awe as they always bowed in my presence and jumped at my littlest command.

My favorite of the bunch of course, was Calondius, a fun loving mage who enjoyed playing practical jokes on hapless mortals when Tarin wasn’t looking.

“Look!” he’d shout to me, cackling and pointing to an unsuspecting cleric trying to wield a magical staff that would only shoot out paper confetti. Then he’d look suspiciously around as if Tarin were suddenly to pop out of the wood work and catch him blatantly breaking the no-contact-with-mortals rule. I’d collapse in gales of laughter and beg him to do it again.

In quieter moments I would sit at his feet and listen to tales of his days in mortality. He would regale me with spine tingling adventures of roaming the lands and casting magical spells during battles. I dreamed of being a mortal and fighting for the right. If I only knew....

From the arm of the exalted throne of Tarin I spent many contented hours by his side, observing the mortals in the land of Darkstone. They went about their lives, their wars and loves, trials and tribulations, in total oblivion to my existence. Some of them worshipped my creator and this made me happy, but many others chose other paths. Tarin watched over his land, answering the prayers of the faithful and teaching me the laws of godhood. As the supreme creator there were many demands on him, from settling disputes between the lesser gods to implementing new areas and races as they evolved. He was often gone leaving me free to play with the avatars and spy on the mortals. At other times the gods came to see him and then I was carefully tucked away where all I could do was watch from behind a scrying window.

Under Tarin’s tutelage and with Calondius’s help I began creating gardens, filling them with exotic flowers and plants. I spent what the mortals would call years designing each petal and leaf, experimenting with all the hues of the rainbow. Finally the day came when I was allowed to plant my garden in the real world.

This was such an exciting time for me as I had never set foot in the mortal realms. To walk on the ground and feel the wind in my hair, smell the scents of the animals and hear the cries of the birds. To me, this was a new type of heaven.

Oddly though, there was one area of the land I was never allowed to visit. Tarin refused to explain and only forbade me to tread anywhere near it. While I was not a child, and never had been, my curiosity towards this prohibited area consumed me as only a child can know.

Even though it was strictly forbidden, I began to venture into the lands of the mortals and talk with them. Disguised as Tatia, an elven cleric, I moved closer and closer to the area Tarin so carefully concealed from me. Along the way I met minotaurs and elves, gypsies and drawves. These people fascinated me as I gleaned information about my obsession. I learned that it was called the Shadow Lands by the locals and that something evil emanated from there.

In my innocence, having never met or seen evil, I had no concept of what I was dealing with. Having known only of the goodness of Tarin, I did not know how bad it could be. I heard rumors about another god, a god equal to Tarin in power, but dark and evil. A god called Seluctruh. This was blasphemy! Tarin ruled the world...or so I thought.

Then one day while Tarin and I were together in his garden there was an ominous hissing noise like the rushing wind in the land of Darkstone. The flowers were singing a lilting tune, something new I had created just for Tarin and he was beaming at me with paternal pride. I turned in surprise to see a tall, pale man materializing before my eyes. His black hair hung jauntily over one dark eye and he brushed it carelessly back with a gloved hand. In that moment his eyes bore into mine and I felt my knees go weak. Such power, such magnetism, such force of character I had never met. When he smiled his slow lazy smile I gasped as two fangs protruded from his mouth. Instinctively I clutched my hand to my throat not knowing, even at that moment, that he was a vampire. I turned in panic to Tarin but he was unruffled.

“Seluctruh,” he said in a deadly calm voice. “I have told you never to come into my private quarters.”

Seluctruh! The evil god! So it was true. Here he was, not bowing and scraping before Tarin like the other gods but standing tall and proud, arrogance in his posture, defiance in his eyes. He strolled over to me, one hand on his staff the other held up in front of him, palm upturned.

“Yes you have, my friend,” his voice was low and quiet as he walked around me, brushing my long brown hair off my shoulder with his hand. He stopped and stood directly in front of me, one hip cocked and his booted foot tapping slightly as his eyes raked over me. I felt a tremor slide up my backbone, an undefinable thrill that felt at once wicked yet familiar somehow.

“We have an agreement. A pact.” he said to Tarin while never taking his eyes from mine. “We keep the balance of good and evil. Yet your pretty little one...” and he paused, looking at Tarin meaningfully. “Has upset the balance.” His eyebrow flicked upwards at Tarin as he resumed his perusal of me. “Very nice, Tarin,” he said with a slow evil smile. “Perfection at its finest.”

He ran a gloved finger down my cheek and across my lips. “Milk white skin, river blue eyes, rose petal lips.” His hand continued downwards with his eyes and I shuddered again when he wrapped both hands around my waist and pulled me in close. He pressed my head against his chest and I felt the fine lawn linen of his shirt against my cheek and smelt the sickening sweet smell of warm blood. I raised my hands to his chest to push away but he only turned and held me against his side. I threw an anguished glance at Tarin and saw, for the first time, anger cross his features.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tarin stormed as he crossed the garden in a flash of light. Grabbing my arm he yanked me from Seluctruh’s grasp and shoved me behind him. I tripped on the hem of my flowing robe and sat abruptly on a nearby bench.

“Tatianna...or should I call you Tatia?” Seluctruh said with a leer at me. “Is interfering in the lives of the mortals. Building up churches in the Bar-gith Forest, hiding knights and clerics who raid the Shadow City in broad day light.” He pulled off a glove and inspected his neatly manicured nails.

Tarin turned towards me: questions in his eyes, and then answers, as his all seeing eye pinned me like a butterfly on a board.

“Tatianna,” he cried out, his anguish real. In that instance Seluctruh brought up his staff and placed his hand upon the diamond tip. Incanting a spell, a blinding arc of light jumped from the staff to my body and I felt an electrifying jolt. Tarin threw his body on top of mine. And then there was nothing.

It was a cold, whiskered nose prodding my armpit that woke me out of the deep slumber. I leapt to my feet only to collapse from the stunning, astonishing sensation of pain. The pathetic little tiger cub (of the cold nose) flicked his tail in anticipation but I could only lay back down on the hard cold earth and moan. Looking up, I saw a gray sky peaking through tall, swaying leafy trees. I felt warm water on my face, sliding down into my ears and trickling into my hair. Raising my hands to my face, I felt, for the first time in my life, tears. Peering through my tears at my fingernails I found them torn and bleeding and in that instant knew that I was no longer immortal. A shaking overtook my body as sensations crowded into my brain. Fear, pain, coldness, loneliness, hunger, these were all new and terrifying.

“Tarin!” I bellowed, but only a tiny squeak came out. I stilled my mind and opened my heart to Tarin, offering up a prayer of supplication. The quiet echoed around the forest, broken only by great wracking sobs. I stopped to listen and discovered the sobs to be my own. My god was nowhere to be found. Reaching down to gather my robes around me I found them tattered and shredded beyond repair.

A leaf fluttered down from the tree above and landed softly on my face, its yellow and reddish tints telling me that autumn was on the way. Standing slowly, I lifted my hand and incanted a simple warmth spell but nothing happened. Panicking I incanted another spell, my fingers flying through the air. Spell after spell, my hands a blur, my lips thick with holy words, I worked my way through to the toughest and most complicated spells. Exhausted I collapsed to the ground. Not only had I lost my immortality and my god, but my magic too. I had lost my life.

I curled up in a tiny ball and burrowed my head in my arms. The little cub flopped down and huddled next to me, his scrawny body offering meager heat in the waning of the day. How long I lay there I know not, but as the sun slipped behind the trees of the forest the sound of thundering hoof beats jolted me into frightened awareness. I scrambled up trying to wrap my tatters around my shivering body. The little cub’s ruff went up and he bared his teeth, a low menacing growl emitting from his throat. My eyes darted around for some sort of weapon and I grabbed a fallen branch.

A large war horse thundered past me then reared to a stop and turned sharply, its rider leaning hard in the saddle. He cantered back to me and pulled his horse to a stop. The man was dressed in the most curious armor, his breast plate fashioned from leather and metal rivets and his head piece an unusual helmet of metal pieces that swooped down to almost cover his face. But most astonishing was his size. Even seated on his large horse I could see that he easily topped seven feet tall and the width of his shoulders surpassed that of any man I had ever met. Even the powerful minotaurs.

I dropped my measly stick, it would do me no good against this heavily armed warrior and concentrated on holding my tattered robe together. He leaned his arms on the pommel of his saddle and looked down at me. I could see grizzled gray hair sticking out from under his helmet and saw a flicker of compassion in his battle weary face.

“Well. What do we have here?” he said in a heavy accent. “You look rather worse for wear. Have you been accosted?” Numbly I shook my head. The warrior looked around the glade, staring hard through the trees, his eyes flicking towards the little cub cowering behind me.

“You should not be outside the city gates without an escort. We’re at war you know.” I didn’t know.

“At war?” I gasped. “With the Vampires?” He looked at me oddly but nodded.

“With all the hosts of the Undermountain as well as Korso...or are you from Korso?” his watchful eyes kept searching the lengthening shadows.

“Korso?” I stammered. “No I’m from...” where was I from? If I could get back to Windy Bluff and into Tarin’s temple he would find me there. “I’m from Windy Bluff. Could you please point me in that direction.”

“Windy Bluff?” he asked clearly puzzled. “There is no such place in all the land.”

“The land of Darkstone?” I asked just as puzzled. Everyone knew where Windy Bluff was. He shook his head.

“No Miss,” he said. “this is the land of Logthor and I’ve traipsed it from corner to corner and never heard of Darkstone or Windy Bluff.” I’m afraid my knees buckled and I sank to the ground in despair. Now I had lost my land and my only hope of returning to Tarin and Darkstone. What had Seluctruh done to me?

Much later I awoke to find myself lying on a narrow hard cot. Curled up at my feet was the tiny white tiger cub, his tail wrapped tightly around his body and resting on his nose. His pale blue eyes glittered through tiny slits in the meager light as he stared patiently at me. A short stubby candle sat spluttering on a crude wooden table, its light barely illuminating the sparsely furnished room. I wondered if I were a prisoner when I saw the small iron bound door fastened tight with no visible latch. The walls of the small room were smooth stone and held a small square window high above the foot of my bed. Through it I could see a yellow moon hanging low in the sky, resting its chin upon my window sill.

The moon! Those evil shards of the Darkstone flying through the sky, coalescing into the moon. Holding within its tides and gravities all the evilness of the world, the powers that feed Seluctruh and his minions. But this was not the moon of the Darkstone. This moon hung benignly in the air, no red shadows scarring its pocked cheeks nor dripping blood raining upon the land in horror.

Catching a sob in my throat my hand went instinctively to my neck and there I felt a heavy chain. I slid my fingers down and felt the jeweled cross. Sitting up quickly I pulled the chain over my head and held the pendant in my hand. My horror knew no bounds. It was Tarin’s. The large ruby winking at me in the flickering candle light bore testament to that. In all the eons that I had known him, he had never once removed his holy pendant. If I was wearing his pendant...it could only mean one thing.

Grief welled up and washed over me like an angry breaker in the sea. Holding the cross tightly in my hand I called out his name over and over, the walls ringing with the echoes of my sorrow. Blackness swirled around me, the darkest of despair, the deepest of pain, the cruelest of blows. Then suddenly I stopped. The cross had vibrated in my hand ever so slightly. “Tarin” I whispered. It was so tiny a tremor. “Tarin” I cried more forcefully. The smallest of currents seemed to quiver through the cross. Slowly I placed the chain over my head and holding the cross as I’d seen Tarin do so many times I chanted a cure light spell. It was weak, yet I felt it, like a feather tickling my cheek. The pure light of healing vibrating ever so slightly, fluttering near my heart. Tears of joy streamed down my face. “Tarin” I sobbed, holding the pendant close to my heart.

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