Hello World

My name is Jaxom Wyandotte, and I am a Holy Inquisitor of Sarenrae.  This journal is a record of what happened to me and my friends during our time in Kenabres and beyond.

We're currently setting off for Drezen, a small city inside the World Wound that was lost to demons years ago.  We ride with a small band of Paladins, to retake Drezen from the demons and hold it as a symbol of hope for the Fifth crusade.  We're along to be the specialists, the people who can solve problems that an army might not be the tool for.

A month ago Kenabres was attacked - I'm sure you've heard by now - and almost destroyed by demons.  Terrendelev was killed, and the Wardstone damaged.  Things were right fucked.  Me and some other people at Armasse fell into a cavern when that Demon lord attacked - Karramazov or something, the Storm King - and our city's Dragon's last act was to cast Feather Fall on us.  I think.  Shit got pretty sideways there.  We made it out of the caverns and back to the city, sorted out a few messes the demons left behind, and then assaulted the Grey Garrison to keep the demons from using the damaged Wardstone against us. 

But here's the thing - that's when everything changed for me and my friends.  We destroyed that remnant of the Wardstone - that formerly protected Kenabres - and in doing so gained some strange, divine power.  As a for instance, I never was one for writing or keeping my thoughts down somewhere, but I feel more introspective, more... I don't know.  Floating with the rhythms of the world?  That sounds weird but I suppose that's the thing going on.  Weird things, is what I mean.

I'm glad I'm not going through this alone - when I became an Inquisitor my job was to police the troops, make sure none of the Paladins were falling and the Crusaders were all on the up-and-up and all.  And other Military Police stuff.  Keeping everyone honest and effective.  When I used to enter a room of troops there'd be a certain guarded silence, but after a couple of drinks we'd all get along; shared experiences in the Wound and in the Army and all that.

But no longer.  We are... different.  There's something - it's not respect as much as awe, I think - in the eyes of the troops.  Our differences bleed out and show: we're just a bit faster, just a bit stronger, just a bit.... more, I think.

I suppose we also destroyed all of the other Wardstones, leaving Golarion open to the World Wound, when we broke that fragment.  It also destroyed a bunch of demons, and prevented the Abyss from corrupting a shit-ton of Crusaders gathered at the border.  That's all probably important, too.

Guess I should introduce my friends:

Vodka is another half-orc.  We knew about each other before all this went down - for its size, Kenabres was a small town in a lot of ways - but we ran with different crews, she and I.  She's fucking tall, doesn't say much, and lethal with her bow.  Used to be in the Scouts, I think, but now she's on the same fucked up path as the rest of us.  Nice to have ranged support, nice to have another blood at my back.

Mal has maybe seven more syllables in his name but I can't keep track of any of that.  He's a wizard and so far maybe you got a certain picture in your head, but Mal's iron.  Sure, the elf overthinks things and he'll slip into lecture mode at the drop of a hat, but I seen him go to town on a demon with that hunk of wood he carries around like it ain't nothing, when his spells ran out.  He keeps us fucking running, he keeps us fucking alive when the shit goes sideways.

Janessa's our token human friend, but she's all right anyway.  A priest of Iomedae who recently took the vows to become a Paladin.  She's kind of a scholar of some other dead Paladin - Yaneel something, I think?  I better ask her before I step on any toes.  Tougher than me.  If Mal's Iron and Vodka's steel, Janessa's Mythril.

I'm fucking lucky to hang with those three.  We're all different now but we're different together.  We're going into the World Wound.  We're going to sort some shit out.