Journal #50: Death's Champion

Planar travel always brings with it odd complications. For example, time is far more flexible in differing planes. The rules are ever-shifting compared to our normal sense of time that the Material Plane has. Sleeping was the only way I could think to track the ‘days’ here in Purgatory, as the sky remains in a constant state of falling twilight. If that is a rather good measurement of tracking time than Celuriel and I have been here for a little over a year. Which means hopefully The Lost Ones had dealt with the Harp.
 
This is going to be a confusing journal entry as I do not think I should explain this training chronologically. So segmenting my experience might be the quickest way to cover my training as Death’s Champion. Which includes the dreadful time I had to spend with the Steward of Skein. A large amount of my early time in the Boneyard was devoted to training with her. Later learning of the nature of souls at the banks of the River Styx and the River of Souls, I will admit that was the more interesting. A lot less painful as well. As it was not only the ‘soul’ the Psychopomp told me about, but the different types of Psychopomp within Pharasama’s Realm. Her courts had also been explained to me. As for my personal training with Pharasma, well it had started on my birthday when I had turned 125. I still do not understand why she would even want me to pass judgment on souls. It worries me as to why she even lets me. Skipping over the basics of midwifery, which yes I had to cover even being a midwife. Pharasma was the Goddess of Birth after all. She had also taken to give me secretary duty, as the Spire was large and complex in its design. My general thoughts on the Spiral's Edge the one city inside the Boneyard, as well as a few other things I would like to note about our time here.
 
For the love of gods starting on this year-long excursion to the Boneyard is going to be annoying. I guess the painful one is a place to start, the less I have to think about the Hearld the better.
Physical training was taken care of by Pharasma’s Herald. The Steward of Skein was for lack of a better term an asshole. Very few things she and I agreed on, I could probably count the times we had agreed on something on my right hand. Strange, how during my training I had the oddest sense of nostalgia from home. Especially with her very aggressive form of teaching. Odd that I had drawn a comparison between Pharasma’s Herald and most Drow Matriarchs. Exclude the evil nature and maybe the pointed ears and they were shockingly similar. At least in my opinion. Never saw her face under that steel helmet so I could not tell you if she had pointed ears. Not to say I was not curious mind you if you were stuck with this Psychopomp that long, you would be curious as well. Especially when the only emotions she displayed came from glowing red eyes.
 
This woman clad in plate, which has been adorned with skulls on her shoulder, gauntlets, chest piece, basically everything with a joint. A bit overkill if I were, to be honest, scary at first but after seeing her for Several weeks she lost the initial scariness. She had white wings similar to most angels, those too were covered in metal armor. This is not even the worst part, it was her blade. That is where the true fear came back. While nothing especially worrying or special about it, it was used with extreme precision. Apparently, in her free time, she hunts undead for ‘fun'. If she is even capable of having fun. I would be an idiot to not say her title of Herald is was not unearned. Perhaps only two or three people in my life were that were almost or as skilled with a blade. Though one might have been through the hazy memory I could only recall hazily from my childhood.
The moral of the story is I hate her, we never got along, but I can respect her.
 
I still am unsure of how she views me on the other hand. Given that neither of us could have a normal conversation without some dig at the other’s expenses. I often wondered what thoughts were hidden behind that steel helmet of her.
 
Silver was of little use to me during our sparring. Ironically this helped the Herald’s training as they spoke through our telepathic bond allowed Silver to distract me. Given Silver’s personality, I became very adept at ignoring they flirtatious comments directed at the Psychopomp and her sword.
She had forced me to train with every common weapon she could get her hands on. Of course, the dark elf knew and was comfortable with dagger, shortswords, and rapiers. Several comments were made about that little fact, which I ignored, some of them came from Silver. I think they were jealous I was much more willing to swing a shortsword than them. The other weapons she had tested me on that took a miserable time to gain any level of proficiency with. As she told me, I wouldn’t always have Silver nearby. That she wouldn’t train somebody who wasn’t willing to wield any weapon given any circumstances.
 
The sparring itself was clearly in the favor of Herald. I do wonder if I was not an Arcanist would I have had a chance against her? She noted my fighting style with a scimitar was a method common among Sarenrae worshippers and clerics. Which I made a note never to tell Ashlyn our paladin of Sarenrae that. How I had even picked that up, I will never know. Another side effect of my incident when Riven reforged that blade. The Psychopomp did not hold back, I have several new scars from our fights ones. Small ones at first but soon they became either bigger, or more abundant. At a certain point she had gotten so bored with our training, she tossed her blade aside and decided she would use her fist. Which lead to beat downs and bluish-black bruises on my ribs. She held no mercy in her heart.
 
Eventually, she had picked her blade back up, the dull iron blade. As she deeming me expectable now, while I had been able to fight back with Silver. More than once I had to enchant Silver to be able to keep up. While I have never stuck a vital wound or even more than something Licia could cure with her spells. I had been able to harm the Herald. Or block her blade when it came arching through the air at my neck. It felt good that I was able to clash with the Herald. Though I had never won one of the fights, if I had wounded the Herald I took some level of pride that I had gotten better.
One thing I had learned about the Boneyard is wounds do not heal naturally. Something the Steward failed to mention, sure she got some twisted kick out of watching me the first couple of days as I came looking progressively more beaten up. Scars and cuts she had put on me. It did not take long before a psychopomp had told me about the Boneyard’s odd trait. Which for a short while the psychopomps had healed me after our match. Which only allowed the Steward to be more aggressive as she trained as she knew I would be healed by the end of it. Ice ran through my veins as the positive energy washed over me. The healing magic the Psychopomp guard was cold. It felt like a cold brand had been pressed over sword wounds to closes them. To seal them shut. The worst part is it lingered with me, like taking an ice bath and drying yourself off. The cold still clung to you. Even once it is over with I could feel it, the icy feeling outlining where the cuts had been. The chattering teeth became background noise for me. Some Psychopomp had tried to heal me immediately after the Herald and I was done and for a week or so this had been the case.
 
Dimensional Slide was the one ability I used often during our sparring. She broke my left arm during one of her correct predictions on where I would be. Slamming the broadside of her blade into the area as I reappeared. It might have been worse if I had not quickly blocked with Silver. Still, the force had broken my left arm. The lesson there is, I should use it often, but not often enough to become predictable. Another lesson was the more hurt area was, the colder that feeling was when it was healed. I had let them use magic to reset the bone healing it a bit but nothing more, that chill had lasted hours. Subjecting myself to any more than that, and I might as well have been an ice statue.
 
I had originally thought the chilling feeling was a side effect of the Boneyard's present on the positive energy. Given who rules here that might have been a reasonable thought. Well, that was because it was a Psychopomp who had channeled that healing energy into me. Not the plane warping the positive energy. I found that out by stepping into the Garden Anima where I learned that. Celuriel and I went back to our room in the spire. I was shivering as we made our way to the room. Being as stubborn as I was, I finally conceded to let her heal the rest of the bruises and cuts as blood had now started staining my shirt. Expecting another bath of chilled positive energy, it was much better. Unlike the psychopomps, it had been far more comfortable and warm. I pulled her into a hug after, knowing I was rather thankful she was with me here. As a year without her, I would have been miserable here.
 
After that, I started to ask Celuriel if she could heal me instead of the psychopomp here and around the spire. Funny how when she was a vampire she was near me because I was warm and kept me safe from dreams and nightmares. Now I am going to her because she was warm and I calmed her during her nightmares. That and Celuriel was more comfortable to be around than the general conductors of souls that had healed me before.
 
Back to the pain in my ass known as The Steward.
 
For a week or two, I had placed down the blade. I was forced into to telekinetically hold different 300 lb objects, iron, oak, bone, ice while doing different tasks. I was still confused about how she got the bone, but thought on it for more than a moment and decided not to ask. We started with balancing 50 feet in the air on a thin board. Another time either on the ground or on the board in the air, she would yell which way her blade would be arching to my face and I would have to dodge. While I would have to keep the 300 lb block from dropping. I am rather proud to say I only fell off only once dropping the telekinesis for a feather fall. The Steward also would not tell me where some of the strikes were coming. Later she had me block her attacks while telekinetically holding up a shield. Which was easier to move around than 300 lbs blocks but as soon as she started throwing spells at me. Well, Chain Lightning nearly killed me on several occasions. Lucky she never went as far as killing me. I do not think I could explain that one to Celu, she already wasn’t allowed to watch.
Angelic Aspect was a spell I had gained some level of comfort during my sparring session. Which aerial courses were made and I was drilled over and over again. Falling about a hundred feet if not more, as dealing with the fall was just as important as dealing with the control of the flight. This lead to probably my worst injures from The Herald. After she deemed my flight and aerial acrobatics passable (barely as she says), it came to aerial combat. I will not even try to hide it, I was horrible at it. I mostly cast spells at her. Silver remained mostly just a sword at my side at first. Adding the sword was horrible as my wings got in the way trying to swing at her. Having extra appendages, wings on your back is such an odd feeling.
 
Regardless of my piss-poor attempts to fly and fight. During one of our midair fights The Steward of Skein had disarmed me. I was paying attention to where Silver fell, I had forgotten I could have summoned him back to my hand without much thought. I was focused on not being skewered by her blade and lost my one way of defending against that. The Psychopomp had grabbed my arms and start flipping in midair dragging my body along. Spinning around she flung me down to the ground, which I caught myself nine or so feet off the ground. Two large steel boots dug into my chest and ribs. Connecting me with the ground leaving me with the sound of a sickening crack in my ears. Two broken ribs as I later found out. I snarled some Abyssal Curses at her as she got off my chest silence and watching. The training ended early that day, I stumbled through the spire in pain ignoring anyone who tried to heal me. I found the Garden Anima as I usually did, my teeth now gritting as adrenaline had started to wear off. I attempted to look as if nothing had happened, the Gardener had pointed me in the direction of the Spire’s library.
 
It is not even that surprising Pharasma’s tower has a library, it had appeared endless. I roamed the towering shelves looking for some sign of her. Head-turning from side to side, see the only psychopomp holding books organizing shelves. It had been about twenty rows in where I had found her pile of collected books. Silently reading as a Psychopomp stormed away down the isles, probably having attempted to get those books back from her.
 
Dropping any false face I had shows I was in pain. I slide down next to her on the floor back against the bookshelf, piles of books around her. I had to explain what happened as I came back early to find Celu in the library, clutching my side. As I recounted to Celu what lead to this, and cursing in a reaction as she poked broken areas. She had healed me in the library instead of our rooms. I had remained there instead of returning to the Herald’s training room. The Steward had not said anything the next day.
 
In all the time I spent with the Steward I had managed to royally piss her off only once. At least I assume she had gotten pissed at me. Who could tell behind knows behind that helmet, those glowing red eyes? While I take pride in it, it was mostly accidental. Remember the curiosity of not knowing? Well, I almost found out what was under that helmet of hers. As our blades clashed with one another locking at the hilt, I used telekinesis aiming for her helmet as a distraction. To my surprise, it had worked but my hand covered her face. Then as I realized that The Herald’s helmet was telekinetically launched into the air, before I could even lower my hand. The Herald had moved it ungodly speeds to fling me across the floor with her fist. Cold steel gauntleted fists Swifty punch my jaw expertly knocked me unconscious. I can not say it hurt, as it was quick and painless. Well till I woke up. For reference, this was the only time she knocked me out, despite both of us knowing she could at any time.
 
It was a painful way to wake up, touching my jaw first before anything else. I was not even aware were I was We were in our room in Pharasma’s spire, and we choose to spend the night there instead of a room we had rented, but I’ll get into that in a second. It was probably one of the most restful sleep I had gotten in Pharasma’s Spire. Which is saying something because Celuriel and I found our room within the dark spire rather hard to get any amount of restful sleep in. My hand had rushed to my jaw as I tried to say something but found it too painful to speak that much. Thankfully, Celuriel had a place down her book and explained what happened as the Herald had brought my unconscious body to the garden.
 
Our guest room within the spire was not anything special. A room to sleep, a room to bathe and what I assume was a living room? It’s really hard to tell with the dark gothic style of the Boneyard in general. There was a table in that middle room as well as a couch, nearly empty shelves on a couple of the walls. There was still an every presence chill that seemed to linger around the building and our rooms. I cannot even call this place a building, spire or tower just makes far more sense. The gray-colored walls and dark sheets left a gloomy feeling in the air.
 
Both Celuriel and I had trouble trying to sleep. Restless and often we would find ourselves awake for some reason or another. I had probably seen her yawn more in the Boneyard than on the Material Plane. There had been enough nights where we sat there reading, or if she had a nightmare. If it had been a particularly bad night without rest I would pull on Pharasma’s Repose domain to at least ease her sleep. Thankfully Pharasma never commented on it, as this use of her power had to be known by her. She was likely aware of every time I used it, that and she was likely to be in the same spire. Our time in this room only lasted about a month as neither one of us wanted to say here for long.
Strangely enough, we were not the ones who came up with the idea to fix this little problem of ours.
When the two of us would wake up in that first month, I would go and train with The Herald. While Celu spent time in the Garden with Pharasma’s Consort, Mrtyu. I went on a bit of a rant as Celu told me who and what he was. I could not believe Pharasma, of all people, wooed him. The idea of that stoic and all-knowing Goddess being curious about a warrior dying with love on their lips was… I could not believe it. Regardless of having that scary image of a Death Goddess flirting with somebody aside.The idea that fixed our restless sleep came from Mrtyu in a roundabout way. As Celuriel had found out there was a single city within this realm. Spiral’s Edge, while spirits who are going to be brought back and psychopomps were among its denizens. Living people, often worshippers of Pharasma, duskwalkers, and the other outsiders were spread throughout the city.
And where there is a city, there is a place to stay. So once the idea was brought up, it did not much for either of us to agree on it. We would find another place to stay while we were on this plane. While the Boneyard was a near endless graveyard of crypts and tombstones. Our late ‘night’ travel to Spiral’s Edge was lucky eventless. As my last encounter with traversing on this plane was annoying. As a rogue Psychopomp had attacked us, scythe in hand. At least I assume it was rogue. Hearing a howling wolf was still a bit odd given besides Groetus the skull-faced moon, or the occasional Psychopomp in the sky. I had yet to see animals at all or even people. Just tombs and the dark spire looming behind us as we walked.

Spiral’s Edge a city of second chances or at least that is what it is called. Curving streets spiraled around the low buildings. Few buildings went past a second story unless they were a temple or some sort of estate. Keeping to the theme of the boneyards the building was grays blacks and a general dark theme. It fit with the gothic theme of the city’s architecture very much fit the plane well. Iron fencing with there spear-like tips that scrapped the unchanging sky. Those fences guarded most estates and people littered the streets pay no attention to us. I made sure my wrist was covered at least to avoid any problems in case somebody knew my spiral tattoo was more than an appreciation of the Goddess of Death.
 
The two of us strolled around the confusing spiraling city getting lost. Eventually, find our way to a nice tavern by the name of Hades Castle. One of the few builds with more than a second story. Its walls had been painted a dark gray, it’s shingled roof was a maroon color. Lamps hung outside emitting a dull orange glow on the cobblestone streets beneath our feet. It hummed with the familiar sound of life taverns often have. Compared to the echoing sounds of our steps that faded into a loud silence within Pharasma’s spire. Just having the background noise was infinitely better on my nerves.
 
We rented a permanent room, and after some discussion with the Elf manning the tavern. Convincing him that we’d be able to stay for a long while. Which proved to be true. Producing the coin upfront helped convince the Tavern’s owner. We were allowed some modifications to the room as long as we had paid in advance and made sure our payments were made on time. In truth, while we wondered about this new city, we had asked around for a place that commonly held people for a while. This is one of the few places known to constantly have people renting a room for more than a couple of months. Which would explain why it had more than a second story. Three stories to be exact. We had managed to get a room on the third floor. As that was where the more permanent residents were, according to the elven tavern owner.

Key in hand, we went to our new home, the fourth room on the left. We silently opened the door since it was already late. It cracked open to an empty room. Everything had a slightly lived-in look, which was probably the tiny layer of dust that covered the furniture. Easy to clean with a couple of simple spells. There was a middle room, furnished with a couch a table across from it, to the right of the door was a bar which had stools stood on top with a kitchen behind it. The cabinets above also had room for I assume book on cooking. Which to our luck there was a market for about four or five blocks over so that was nice. While Tavern food is nice, eventually Even in the dead of night it was a softer quiet hum to the tavern that kept us asleep compared to the loud haunting silence in the dark spire of the Goddess of Death. In the morning we get dressed eat then teleport back to our guest room in the spire. Going about our day a normal.
 
Our room over time slowly acquired small things that made it more comfortable to be in. It gained a sort of personality all its own, both similar and different than our house in Ironfalls. Books slowly appearing both which I was never too sure if stolen them, but I had tried to curb that habit as long as I near her. But her sleight of hand was getting better. As well as odd things Celuriel and I picked up when we choose to go out and explore Spiral’s Edges. Some odd knives as we had become accustomed to sleeping with sharp daggers under our pillows, and within arms reach. Gods forbid if somebody tried to break into our room, they would be in for a rude awakening.

A half-built construct stood on an armor stand. It was only half-built as when it had fallen apart in front of me. While at the reception desk of the Eight Courts, a clockwork creature had stumbled in the front door. Destroyed and already looking like it was missing half of its body. Asking for answers I could not give. His journey had been long and they suffered a lot in the quest for their creator to find it’s 'propose'. I gave them an answer as their mechanical life came to an end.
 
I had to collect the pieces and decided to rebuild the construct. Using an armor stand as a base, some nights spent a little time piecing the clockwork construct. Since I have never touched a construct before, it took a while. It was like a puzzle just larger and more complex. Even though I know I probably could not bring it back to ‘life’ at least somebody would remember them. Celuriel’s only comment about my construction project was “you really like fixing broken things don’t you”
My little interaction with reception duty will be logged after this entry as they varied. Anything from two demons in a trenchcoat, to a snake, an Angel who might have called me attractive. Flower language was so hard to figure out, buttercups and iris. I had to find a book on flowers to figure out what she said or possibly meant. Celuriel visited once, but only to ask what to read, as she had finished the books in the library she wanted to read.
 
While I would not call it an odd addition to our room, Celuriel expressed interest in dartboard she had found in the market (which had been replaced once because of extended use). Which hung in our room on the opposite side of our bed. But not for darts. She had bought smaller throwing knives six in total. The two of us would just silently throw knives at the board before bed. Despite my former life as an assassin, Celurial was surprisal had a damn good throw. Her grouping while all over the place at the beginning quickly grew smaller to about the size of her fist.
 
Like a normal dartboard, it had painted scores as well as those two rings. Prompted us to by another six, tying a black ribbon to on a set, and white ribbons to the other. Each of us took turns throwing one knife till we ran out. Then count up the points we had earned. If we felt especially lazy that day, I would simply mage hand them back to the bed. In the year that we have been here, neither one of us had gotten a perfect game. Which to us would be a score of sixty. While overall I had a more consistent score overall, Celu had the highest current score of fifty-nine. Which I was personally responsible for, I write this smiling but she was upset with me as she knew she could have gotten that perfect score. I had purposely throw my last knife to block hers grinning as I did it. I knew what I was doing. It made it nearly impossible for her to get her perfect score. A spell like true strike would have made the throw children play. Celuriel shot me looked as she aimed her last knife, taking extra care to aim for the sliver of space between the knives. She missed and the sound of a knife sticking into the board soon was followed a sound of annoyance coming from her.
She simply poked me with an annoyed look across her face. I was as she said, ‘erased’ from time. Only for half a minute as punishment.
 
That has been some small part of life for the past year, Spiral’s Edge no longer had a confusing pathway to us. If we wanted to find the largest bookshop of books not from this plane. It was two blocks pass the market from the road where the quilt stand was. Which I had bought something from once and had to quickly stuff it in my bag of holding. The Pillars was the name of the store, which fit the build nicely as it had pillars of the book reaching to the ceiling. Stacked horizontally, apparently, every book in that pillar had a second in the store hence why they could afford to use it as a decoration piece. I was shocked at the variety of books in the store but found little time for reading outside of the text other teachers had me read on the soul. I did find some books of note that I found interesting, for one reason or another. I had to make sure Celuriel did not steal from the store.
 
All roads lead eventually lead back to the center fountain in the middle of the city. A mockup of Pharasma’s tower was in the mild, It was made of dark stone or at least that's what I could tell. As the curtain of water that shot out from the peak and down into the pool below made it hard to see any finer details of the fountain. It was probably thirty feet in diameter? Hard to tell, what was not hard to tell was the large number of coins that glitter from the lamps hung around the city center. Copper, Silver, Gold, and Platinum, the menting might be different and from different periods but the idea was still the same. Two children had ran passed us as we were coming back from a clothing shop, Celu had refused to give me back my jacket. She had staked her claim on the white leather jacket after I gave it to her when she had gotten cold while in the spire. The Children laughed speaking about something, their words lost in the city center, each clutching what I had assumed to be copper coins.
 
Four copper coins glimmer form the lantern light as they fell into the fountain with a plop, they were silent for a moment making their wish. They looked at each other, wish making concluded with broad grins. They laughed and disappeared to I assume create mischief or find their parents. Explaining to Celu why they would get rid of money for a false wish to Celu. As she had asked why they would do that. I could not come up with a decent answer for her to explain the waste of money.
In all honesty, I still do not understand why children seem to love tossing coins into fountains. After their wish was not granted the first time it does make sense they would keep doing it. Alain would ask for a copper any time he saw well or fountain. I guess even if he had not gotten a wish, the fact he was happy about it was endearing. Maybe that was the point. Wishful thinking? That might be a bit hard to explain to Celuriel so I passed when the thought came to me. It had been like a small glimpse into a life we would have once this was all over.
 
Often on nights where I was not completely exhausted from sparring with The Steward or a night we just run around the city I had to look over scrolls and dusty tomes. The Psychopomp that had been assigned to teach me on the banks of the River Styx had found and given me Pharasma’s holy book to start with. The Bones Land in a Spiral. This might have been the first time I ever had to read a holy text, it was a vague prophecy from long ago, useful information about helping with safe childbirth, how to properly bury bodies and other general things. While not a dry read completely, I found that mildly interesting so finished the book was not a chore.
 
Flipping through the pages, unraveling scrolls, and going through history books. While not often, as she was preoccupied with books she wanted to read. Celu had helped me study on more than one occasion, but more often just kept me company on rather long nights, or to convince me to sleep as it was clean I was getting annoyed at the readings.
 
Now is probably a good time to speak of my other teacher along the banks of the River Styx and the River of Souls. A couple of months into our time here Celuriel and I found ourselves in the Garden. The Steward was absent but in her place was a different psychopomp. Class of Psychopomp he fell into was a Memitim Psychopomp. A protected of souls and oddly could easily be mistaken for an angel as that would have been a good description of him. Pale white wings, dark clothes with the spiraling pattern across the sleeves. He had the build of a typical angel, icy white blue eye, his hair was long and greyish white. But not as if he was old, well he was probably ten times my age. Again Celu had stepped behind me as this one again brandished a Scythe. This was Samael.
 
“I was informed I will be instruction the young champion on the manner of the soul.” He spoke as if he were of nobility, now looking at the two elves that had entered the garden.
I remained silent. My eyes locked on the psychopomp.
 
“I am Samael, while our lessons are not bound by location. I fear what could happen if I leave the River Styx for too long, or on a regular schedule to someplace with Our Ladies palace.” Celu’s grip tightens on my upper arm, as the Adamantine scythe effortlessly cut through the air. It shone with a bluish light from unknowable runes across its blade as it arched silently down. It carved away a piece of the air revealing the black sands shores of the River Styx. The whole, in reality, as defined by a bluish-white light around the image. The Psychopomp looked at me expectedly.
 
Telling Celuriel I would see her later and be soon on the banks of the River Styx. Boot sinking slightly into the shifting black sands beneath me. Samael follows soon behind me. As I looked back into the rip in space, the view of Mrtyu and Celuirel disappeared as if the rift closed.

“You’re awfully silent, given what I have heard from The Steward of Skein. I thought you would be ‘louder’ like your companions.” Samael had said, his scythe now more like walking staff as he stood me. He was a head taller than me.

I deeply sighed at that muttering quietly “That because we drive each other up the fucking wall.”
“Well as I said previously,” Samael had started walking along towards banks “our Lady had deemed it the correct time for you to learn about souls and their creation.”
 
And thus began the long process of learning of the soul. Often along the bank of the river Styx, rarely anywhere else. Regardless, I will attempt to summarize my lesson a best as possible.
 
The Soul is the life energy of a living creature. Each soul comes from the positive energy plane, with notable exceptions to this natural path. Souls, however, do not just pop into existence, primordial deities siphon off energy from positive energy plane to craft those souls. Which said Souls eventually find themselves a vessel while traveling the River of Souls. Then once that mortal vessel reaches the end of its life, the soul returned to the river to the Outer Sphere. Few gods have any power of this type of creation, I guess those who have the ability to manipulate souls.
 
There are exceptions as Samael had pointed out, Fey brings the most common exceptions. As a soul passes through the first world the remnant of the leftover energy from the soul produces fey. Samsarans of course also are an exception as their souls often reincarnate before their task is done, then they go to be judged after. Souls that are bound to be resurrected, often linger but find themselves in Spiral’s Edge if they were not quickly brought back. Lichs, enough said. Hell, when they have their hands on their souls, breaking the souls down so that they could use as some sort of currency in the form of Soul Fragments. Which devils, demons, and night hags, also use souls in a similar fashion.
 
Then, of course, there are souls that can be trap via spells
 
The exception being what they are, all other souls eventually find themselves in one place. The River of Souls on their way to Pharasma’s Spire to receive their final judgment. It was not a river, it more of a path the souls took to find their way to the Boneyard. You could see it anywhere in the boneyard as long as you could see the sky. The stream of souls that arched its way to the dark tower. Every guarded by fateful psychopomps. While from a distance it looked like a pale white aurora, if you flew up to the River of Souls it was colorful. With the different colors of people’s souls. Some in the orb shape of souls, or in the form of their previous life.
 
Overall these lessons were the most civil, and in all, I enjoyed them though they were sprinkled throughout my many other tasks. Much more enjoyable than the Heralds, and desk duty had been. Well, it was hard to say. Anything could pass through those doors.
 
Samael had also given those books I had taken long night pouring over. One of the older tomes being the classification of Psychopomp. I’ll just generally list the classes of the servants of Pharasma.
 
 
Ahmuuth psychopomps: Owl masked humanoid that mortal could often call upon to help them kill the undead, or usher them to the afterlife. Peacefully, if that can be arranged.
 
Aldea psychopomps: A swarm of Pharasma’s sacred bird the whippoorwills that are covered is a pale blue mist. They are in charge of reducing souls that are endangered, often from Necromancer attempting to manipulate souls and things of that nature. As well as False Prophets, but Samael hardly went into anything with Old Ones.
 
Catrina's psychopomps: Skeletons dressed festively which often have flowers in their design. One of the more color psychopomps, they are really in charge of lessening the general terror and the shock of finding out they had died. While not meant to comfort, they are meant to calm the souls down during this transitional period in their new unlife.
 
Ember Weaver's psychopomps: Often shawled and glowing these are the psychopomps that bring souls to the River of Souls, often information brokers with other psychopomps (Amuuth, esoboks, nosois, and catrinas) who look for lost souls.
 
Esobok psychopomps: Pharasma guard ‘dog’ so to speak. Smarter than an average animal, they are absolutely loyal to the lady of graves and are uncorrectable. This is honestly impressive but is often found as hunters of the undead.
 
Kere psychopomps: guards of graveyards that prevent the spread of taint in sacred places from undead and necromancers.
 
Memitim psychopomps: Angel-like psychopomps that guard the river of Souls and the Boneyard. Protectors of fallen souls, This was likely the psychopomp that attacked us years ago. Also, Samael was apart of this classification of psychopomps.
 
Morrigna psychopomps: The most human-looking psychopomps, their general job is to stop interference in the natural process of life and more specifically death. They are more often seen with packs of Esoboks while They hunt undead.
 
Nosoi psychopomps: Tiny four-winged auburn bird with black-tipped wings. They are also known as scribes psychopomps or death’s messengers. They record every death for mortals and keep the judgment that Pharasma gave them.
 
Olethros psychopomps: Spiral masks and white silken gowns these women carry bronze mirrors with them. Birth. Death and the fate of things in the balance between them are what that concerns them.
 
Shoki psychopomps: They collect linger souls that have not made their way to the river of souls.
 
Vanth psychopomps: A skeleton humanoid bird creature with blade wings, often called reapers or angels of death. Watcher of the River of souls, they are also scythed wielding reapers with the scary ability to sever the silver cords of astral travelers. The scythes have runes that match some of the oldest writing in the boneyards many tombs. Rarely this psychopomp dress for war but have ancient brass armors.
 
Viduus psychopomps: the librarians that wonder the Pharasma’s Spire. They focus on studying and writing down the lives of extraordinary mortals and things that are meant to be kept secret.
 
Yamarji psychopomps: One of the upper echelons of psychopomps. Final Judges, the grand magistrates and the important one “dragons who eat souls” as they are a cross between a crow and black dragons. They are the law lord of the Boneyards.
 
Psychopomps Ushers: Unique psychopomps that have transcended their form class. Potentially independent with the power of a demigod. Funny enough I did find out The Herald is not an Usher.
 
A few times we spoke and had lessons outside the River Styx. It had been far more civil than I thought it would have been. When I received new readings I would have to study, that lesson would take place on a balcony on the spire looking at the River of Souls. Other angel-like psychopomps floated near to stream of souls heading to the tip of the spire. I could not fly for prolonged periods of time being that I lack wings. Then the next time we would speak Samael would ask me questions in regards to the books. Which meant I had to spend several nights reading dry texts.
 
It had been on one of those long nights of reading the books Samael gave me that I learned that I could look at souls while they still were in a mortal vessel. To explain souls are orb-like but can take the form of a person if that chooses.
 
I had turned to Celu one night, having just gone through a rather long chapter on the ‘Color of Souls’ and got curious. Was it even possible for me to even see Souls? Closing my eyes drawing on Pharasma’s power. Blinking as the world had lost color, the walls of our rented room were now monochrome. I had thought the lights had gone out, as this was similar to my Darkvision until I had looked at Celu reading.
 
“I just figured out how to look at souls, everything’s grey save for yours” I had told her.
 
Her attention now taken away from her book “what is mine like? nothing let me see my own before.”
“Well, it about this big” I placed my fingertips together as if I were holding a ball maybe six or seven inches across. “It’s a colored orb in the middle of your chest. The center was a deep crimson color but near the edge softened mixing with a scarlet color.”
 
I was surprised it had been that simple and I had not thought to do something like this before. Then again I had been hesitant to use her powers, the consistent thing I had done with my champion powers was help sooth celu’s nightmares. Besides that, the passing of the trapped souls and whatever I had done in that mindscape had really been the only thing I had channeled her power for.
 
See that is the odd thing about souls as I found out. Souls are colors that have meaning to them. Unless the soul takes the form of their previous mortal vessel, but more phantasmal in nature. While in the spectral depiction of their former life, the soul does not reflect that color. Instead, they have an aura around them, reflecting the color of their souls. If the Soul had fallen in combat, the injury that had caused the death would also be emanating a sort a glowing aura as well.
 
Given the state of my soul, I did not look. While curiosity did want me to. A broken soul is a complex thing to explain.
 
Given that I had taken several nights to write then, three at this point. While I had robbed her of her perfect score, she got a sixty last night. She made sure I documented it here.
 
I guess I should speak about our birthdays, as I had forgotten about mine as it has never really been a holiday I celebrated often. Pharasma seems that mine would be a good time to start my judgment of souls. I had completely forgotten about my birthday, as when the Goddess of Death calls for you. It is in your best interest to answer her. I had to judge souls with her, this like the other training did not happen every day. As my time between, judging, training, studying, and desk duty was relational. I would never know what the next day would bring until we walked into the Garden that morning.
 
I will give a vague overview of what happened as somebody's judgment is not to be written down in a journal like mine. Pharasma judged the souls alongside me, correcting me as I misstepped. I questioned their live, religion, choices while taking a bit on this, this action took less than an instant for Pharasma. As expected.
 
At first, the souls were random, farmers, soldiers, merchants. Anything and everything was told to judge as I stood near the Death God. Then it became more difficult, which leads me to believe Pharasma had been cherry-picking the soul after a while. Soon the souls which more complicated matter had appeared in front of me. They were meant to be emotional, Pharasma had been trying to get me to feel something. She wanted it to obscure my judgment. It had worked once in a while, but I learned to look at things objectively. Or try to at least tried to, a couple got me. Pharasma quickly corrected me. Her attempt included Young lovers killed by their partner, younger children lost to illness or childbirth. The illness hit harder. Then as the souls seemed to have similarities to my story, my life. A young man raised as a hitman realized this life was not for him but was killed by his family. Another tragic loss from illness, but instead of moving on. They turned on the world but was killed while being caught by some adventuring group.
 
There was only one soul that I judged that I knew personally, they were the last soul I had to judge according to Pharasma. The Goddess of Death had my attention before I had to judge this soul. Across the echoing throne room, my name had been spoken making me turn. I was stunned, as I not expecting them. I had a hard time falling asleep that night, new information had been swirling around in my head. Annoyingly unable to shove them far into the back of his mind.
However, judgment waits for no one.
 
While neither one of us had really known when her birthday was, I chose to celebrate her birthday as the day we took her from her tower. As I felt that was a day, as good as any to pick. Which I pinned down to twenty-eighth of Arodus. Over the past couple of months here in the Boneyard. I had slowly started to acquire a couple of items from around Spire’s Edge that I thought she would like. Hiding them away in a bag of holding, or having bought a couple of books where one had not stood out more than any other.
 
I could not give her the entire day, as my morning activity was to watch the front desk. As soon as we made it back to our room in the Tavern, eventually cooking dinner and making a cake. Which honestly I had such a hard time frosting the damn thing. From my bag of holding I had pulled a folded dark quilt wrapped around something square. Her present. Her present was rather simple, it was a thick leather-bound book with gold leaf lettering. Myths and Legends of the World: Aletheian Edition a book series of a team of writers collecting the early myths and legends of countries. However, they were more stories to tell than historical events. Something a bard might tell in a song or story, I had picked it up when I was flipping through this thick book and saw Eurydice and Orpheus myth. Being that these were the names we took in Tenaerul. I had wrapped the book in a dark green quilt with slightly brighter green three-pointed knots and around the border was a similar knot design.
 
At first, she was slightly confused at the cake, until I explained why. She told me that I am not missing mine this year, apparently, I was not allowed to be selfish about this. Unless Pharasma pulls me away again on my birthday I had thought. The two of us spent time in our bed reading from her new book. We had started with that myth of Eurydice and Orpheus, as neither one of us knew the myth. Curiosity had been the reason to start there. Given the fact that the two of us had our names replaced with theirs during our time in Tenaerul. Soon it became too dark for her to read, so instead of lighting the table lamp, I read. Which being a drow, her vision was not as sharp as mine in the dark. She listened sipping on a mug of hot chocolate, as she used her new quilt to keep warm.
Now the funny thing about that book, Myths and Legends of the World one night that we read that book. Now though it focused on our empire, it had spoken about early Istralar. While we had read this book together it was on the second or third time we had sat down to read it, that something had caught my attention. More specifically it spoke about the world's first anti-paladin, the twisted fusion of elven paladin and some long-forgotten god. Now, this was common knowledge, or at least as common with somebody who had an education, looked a little into the history of the gods or the world.

That was not what had caught my attention. The Antipaladin was the one who started the Worldrend. A combination of god-given power and arcane power, their attempts might have been successful. The force of the fusion of Divine and Arcane magic backlash had ripped opened a hole in the material plane. Exposing him to the Source and Void. Which was the inciting incident. That both created the fusion and drove them to insanity. I paused for a moment, looking at the page. I paused my eyebrowed furrow as I reread it over Celu shoulder.
 
Setting down my drink, I got up to go over to our bookshelf. Where was it, My finger ran across the spines of several books. The Bones Land in a Spiral, no that one, Boneyard Ecology, nowhere was that book. My fingers eventually fell upon a book simply called Divine Politics. An encyclopedia of most common gods and how they connect to one another and their relationships with one another. Samael had given this book to me rather early, I had nearly forgotten as I had read it months ago at this point. Pulling the book from the shelf I sat back with Celu. Thumbing through the page till I found a similar passage on the Antipaladin and the Worldend. It was about a page and a half. My finger glided down the page as I skimmed looked for something.
 
“...and through the blending of Arcane and Divine magic, the insidious fusion of the Antipaladin was born. The cause of the Worldrend. An unseen side effect from combining magics as well as exposing the former elven paladin and forgotten god to the Source.”
 
It failed to mention the void. It just mentioned the Source.
 
I flipped the book around my finger on the inconsistency. Celu had already turned two pages past the second on the Worldrend and The Fusion. Showing her the issue, she turned back to the page. While we talked about it for a little while, both of us returned to reading her book. However I had looked into a bit, there was not a definitive answer to what they had been exposed to. It had been either The Source or the Source and the Void, no book had a solid answer. Though given what we have dealt with I would not doubt for a second that the Void had been involved. As it could easily explain the insanity. While I am not sure it could explain the fusion but the Unbroken March had a similar combination in that spider-like creature.
 
But another thought had occurred, The Shards of the Void were forged from the Void. Talinde had been able to track these Void created objects, using that scepter however some of them had Talinde had not been able to say definitely that it was a Shard of the Void.
 
So what if had been Shard of the Source?
 
The Source was the pool of true magic, at least that is what those Runed Blessed Dreamers seemed to think.
 
Could it be possible to forge a weapon from the Source? To have a weapon that could deal with the Shards of the Void.
 
This is rather hypothetical of course, I cannot even prove this on inconsistent books and loose connection I’ve drawn. Given how dangerous the Void Shards are, I cannot imagine a Weapon made from the Source would have a better outcome.
 
Still, I think if worse comes to worst, at least finding out if this is possible might be beneficial. Especially as we eventually run thin of options for disposing of the Shards of the Void.
 
The ritual under Castle Umbra might be helpful if the ruins and symbols had been left unaltered (which would be a miracle and damn near impossible). Maybe I would find a way to alter it, change it to pull from the Source to forge something, instead of the Void. Perhaps we could if they had any notes left over from the Bloodwalker Riven. Perhaps find out who constructed the ritual, better understand what took place, and what it took to bring forth such a powerful force as the Void. Besides the sacrifices of the plane touched beings. Still, at a certain point, the Lost Ones are going to run into that problem, we cannot keep smashing two Shards of the Void together to destroy them. We have to find a consistent way to destroy them. I just wonder what the cost might be if this would be possible.
 
Just the thoughts of a tired dark elf.