"Captain's" Log, Eighteenth Entry

I'm not entirely sure what I expected of a place called the "Great Cleaving" (you cannot imagine how many vulgar japes I've had to suppress on the way here), but it wasn't quite like this. The scope of it is enough to floor you before you notice how constantly it seems to crack and fissure, as though it's always growing and changing. The sense of power and danger here is tangible, and I mean that in a very literal sense. I'd compare it to the feeling of having a blade at your throat - a feeling yours truly altogether too familiar with - but the thing is you can actually feel tiny, invisible razors pressed against your skin here. Not a cut - just the threat of a cut. The anticipation. I would be lying if I said I didn't find the sensation invigorating. I couldn't imagine spending my life here, but I'll admit that there's nothing like the threat of death to make one feel alive.
 
The journey through the Cleaving was tense, but blessedly short and uneventful. Kurag itself reminds me of a blade, all sharp edges and jagged points. The walls, oddly enough, remind me of the hull and keel of a longship, the sort we build back home. That is where the similarities end. Oriq warned us that this place was full of hard folk, the sort that could withstand the living with the sensation the Cleaving's aura impresses on people, and I see now that he's right. The entire time we've been here, I don't think I recall seeing anyone we passed on the street so much as crack a smile. But that might not be the place's fault.
 
We were told at the gates that Kurag is under siege by a faction of traditionalist insurgents, all calling themselves Fadrul. Foreigners, particularly Araxians, have been poisoning the city, they say. Kuroth has forgotten the old ways, and they must force the outsiders from their lands, lest their cherished way of life fade into history. The same song is sung in a hundred different lands in a hundred different voices, but the words are the same, and they're as stale as the first time I've heard them. I'll admit, the idea of preserving tradition isn't completely alien to me, but where I come from change isn't a question; it is a fact of life. Our identity *is* change. You either flow with the current or you get swept away in the undertow.
 
I can't say I like what these rebels are planning, and by the looks we got in the street they have no love for outlanders like us, but it's better if we don't get involved. There's the scent of blood on the wind here, and I'd sooner be gone before the storm comes.
 
We're staying with an old sage named Rudan who came to search our cart and our cave at the gates. He noted the worm skull we're using as a chassis, and said he'd have questions for us if we met him in his abode. The skull he was interested in, beyond doubt, but he had more to say to us than that. He knows about Caeli's new patron, the "Guardian" she speaks to in her flames. He knows about the Pieces of Eight, but if he knows much more than we do, he has yet to enlighten us. And he gave us a warning. That we were fools bumbling into something dangerous, something we couldn't begin to imagine. When he asked who we were working for, we had to convene to decide how much to tell him.
 
It was at this point we had to fill Oriq in on the details, and in return he gave us quite the talking-to. We're out here in a land we don't know, seeking artifacts we know nothing about, meddling in forces we can't even begin to understand. I'd be more indignant if his assessment of the situation weren't so damnably accurate. Admittedly, I could say it's hardly our fault we've been stumbling through the dark without a torch - it's not like we haven't tried turning up answers, but until now none of our searches have borne much fruit. But I'll confess we might not have been trying has hard as we could have been to get a full grasp on the situation. For my own part, none of this business with the Guardians seemed to involve me, and it didn't seem right to press our employer for answers in her state, but the problems our ignorance has created are becoming more and more apparent. He's right; at the very least we should start trying harder to wise up before we step in something we don't like the smell of.
 
We confided the condition of Van Hal'essa to him over dinner, and he seemed relieved that we weren't working for someone called "Cessation." He described her as wearing a veil, and the first person we thought of was Morticia, but he didn't recognize that name. When we mentioned Melody, he muttered something about "Creation" - and it does tie in with Caeli's theory that the "ignorance" she was told to seek might be a person. We couldn't much more out of Rudan, he says he needs to think before he decides whether or not to tell us more. The whole conversation put me ill at ease, but it seems like Caeli has it worse - can't blame her, getting a shock to our system like that. And besides, this place is dangerous. I ought to stay up for a watch with her, keep her company. It's tough to be alone when night's black cloak hangs above.