Page from Van Richten's Journal
"For nearly two decades now, I have undertaken to investigate and expose creatures of darkness to the purifying light of truth and knowledge. "Hero" I am named in some circles; "sage" and "master hunter" I am called in others. That I have survived countless supernatural assaults is seen as a marvel among my peers; my name is spoken with fear and loathing among my foes.
In truth, this "virtuous" calling began as an obsessive effort to destroy a vampire that murdered my child, and it has become for me a tedious and bleak career. Even as my life of hunting monsters began, I felt the weight of time on my weary shoulders. I expect that those who think me a hero will change their minds when they know the whole truth about my life as a hunter of the unnatural. Nevertheless, I must reveal, here and now, the truth of my fate—and the fates of those I have loved.
I have related the tragic story of how my only child Erasmus was taken by Vistani and sold to a vampire. I explained how Erasmus was made a minion of the night stalker, and how it was my miserable part to free him from that fate at the point of a stake. What I have neglected to illuminate before, however, is how I returned to track Erasmus's kidnappers once more across the land—and the terrible choice that I made when I found them.
In fact, the Vistani took Erasmus with my own, unwitting permission. They had brought an ill member of their tribe to me one evening and insisted that I treat him—but I was unable to save the young man's life. In fear of their retribution, I begged the Vistani to take anything of mine if only they would withhold their terrifying powers, of which I knew nothing. To my lasting astonishment, they chose to surreptitiously take my son in exchange for their loss! By the time I realized what had occurred, they were already an hour gone.
Incensed beyond reason, I strapped the body of the dead young man to my horse and doggedly followed the Vistani caravan through the woods, naively allowing the sun to set before me without seeking shelter from the night. But when I found them and demanded my son, they replied that he had been sold to the vampire, Baron Metus.
A short time later, I found my dear Erasmus made into a vampire. He begged me to end his curse, which I did with a heavy heart. The darkness had torn him from my loving arms forever, and I foolishly believed that the curse had exacted its deadly toll. I wept until an insatiate desire for vengeance filled the bottomless rift in my heart. I set off into the twilight, in search of the Vistani caravan once more.
When I found that they had gone, I found the grave of the man who had died and carried his corpse with me, in search of his family or one who could tear the secrets from his dead lips. I searched for many months, alone and driven by the fury of the damned.
As I traveled, I was beset by undead that would have slain me, had not their master—a lich—intervened and spared my life, for reasons that I do not completely understand. He somehow detected me and, with his powerful magic, took control of a pack of zombies that wandered in the forest. He spoke to me through the mouths of the dead things and placed a magic ward against undead on me, then animated the dead Vistana and bade it tell me where I could find its people.
Unfortunately (I say in hindsight), the plan worked. I found the child-stealers, and my unwelcome entourage included a growing horde of voracious undead that could not touch me, thanks to the lich's ward. When I finally found the caravan, something inside me snapped. I released the zombies, and the entire tribe was eaten alive.
Yet the story had not yet ended. Before she died, the leader cursed me, saying, "Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!" Even now, so many years later, I can hear her words with painful clarity, haunting me still.
After nearly two decades of bloodshed and agony and loss, it slowly dawned on me that the Vistana’s curse had never slaked its thirst for revenge—and that all the true and stalwart friends I had come to know and lost were victims, not of ourtageous fortune, but of my own actions. True to the words of the dying Vistana, my life had been shielded from fate again and again, while those I esteemed above any treasure had taken my place!
When the horrifying enormity of my revelation swept over me, I railed bitterly at the cruel irony of my life. I contemplated deliberately ending my wretched existence in the most violent of ways—but, thankfully, patience and wisdom stayed my hand. Drained of all spirit, I cast myself into bed and wept, as I had not done since my former, blissful life was forever ripped from me.
But fate had not finished with me yet. When the dawn next came, it brought with it a man whose name invoked terror in me above all else: Arturi Radanavich, a sole survivor of the massacre I had perpetrated. Yet he came not to destroy me, but to heal me—and himself.
I learned that, in commanding the death of his family, I had cast a deadly curse of my own: “Undead take you, as you have taken my son!” As my hands had been stained with the blood of my friends, so, too, had Arturi been pursued those many years by the walking dead, leaving him an exile in the eyes of his people.
For one year, I traveled with him—learning the ways of the Vistani that I had come to hate, so that I could learn their ways and comprehend life through their eyes. When the year had ended, joy and despair filled my breath—joy at the realization that those I had dreaded as my longtime enemies had never truly been enemies at all, and despair for all the wasted years of bitter anger and resentment.
I offered my life to Arturi as forfeit for my crimes against his family, insisting that he must consider my curse on his tribe null and void, for there was little left to forgive. He drew a knife from his boot—but instead of delivering judgment, pulled his blade across our palms, opening them, then clasped our hands together until our blood mingled as brothers.
There was but one task left to complete. Together, we journeyed to the wreckage of the Radanavich caravan, where we both had left it so many years ago. We burned it, defending its blazing husk as undead fell upon us—and when dawn shone over the ashes, there was nothing left there, for them or for us."
In truth, this "virtuous" calling began as an obsessive effort to destroy a vampire that murdered my child, and it has become for me a tedious and bleak career. Even as my life of hunting monsters began, I felt the weight of time on my weary shoulders. I expect that those who think me a hero will change their minds when they know the whole truth about my life as a hunter of the unnatural. Nevertheless, I must reveal, here and now, the truth of my fate—and the fates of those I have loved.
I have related the tragic story of how my only child Erasmus was taken by Vistani and sold to a vampire. I explained how Erasmus was made a minion of the night stalker, and how it was my miserable part to free him from that fate at the point of a stake. What I have neglected to illuminate before, however, is how I returned to track Erasmus's kidnappers once more across the land—and the terrible choice that I made when I found them.
In fact, the Vistani took Erasmus with my own, unwitting permission. They had brought an ill member of their tribe to me one evening and insisted that I treat him—but I was unable to save the young man's life. In fear of their retribution, I begged the Vistani to take anything of mine if only they would withhold their terrifying powers, of which I knew nothing. To my lasting astonishment, they chose to surreptitiously take my son in exchange for their loss! By the time I realized what had occurred, they were already an hour gone.
Incensed beyond reason, I strapped the body of the dead young man to my horse and doggedly followed the Vistani caravan through the woods, naively allowing the sun to set before me without seeking shelter from the night. But when I found them and demanded my son, they replied that he had been sold to the vampire, Baron Metus.
A short time later, I found my dear Erasmus made into a vampire. He begged me to end his curse, which I did with a heavy heart. The darkness had torn him from my loving arms forever, and I foolishly believed that the curse had exacted its deadly toll. I wept until an insatiate desire for vengeance filled the bottomless rift in my heart. I set off into the twilight, in search of the Vistani caravan once more.
When I found that they had gone, I found the grave of the man who had died and carried his corpse with me, in search of his family or one who could tear the secrets from his dead lips. I searched for many months, alone and driven by the fury of the damned.
As I traveled, I was beset by undead that would have slain me, had not their master—a lich—intervened and spared my life, for reasons that I do not completely understand. He somehow detected me and, with his powerful magic, took control of a pack of zombies that wandered in the forest. He spoke to me through the mouths of the dead things and placed a magic ward against undead on me, then animated the dead Vistana and bade it tell me where I could find its people.
Unfortunately (I say in hindsight), the plan worked. I found the child-stealers, and my unwelcome entourage included a growing horde of voracious undead that could not touch me, thanks to the lich's ward. When I finally found the caravan, something inside me snapped. I released the zombies, and the entire tribe was eaten alive.
Yet the story had not yet ended. Before she died, the leader cursed me, saying, "Live you always among monsters, and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!" Even now, so many years later, I can hear her words with painful clarity, haunting me still.
After nearly two decades of bloodshed and agony and loss, it slowly dawned on me that the Vistana’s curse had never slaked its thirst for revenge—and that all the true and stalwart friends I had come to know and lost were victims, not of ourtageous fortune, but of my own actions. True to the words of the dying Vistana, my life had been shielded from fate again and again, while those I esteemed above any treasure had taken my place!
When the horrifying enormity of my revelation swept over me, I railed bitterly at the cruel irony of my life. I contemplated deliberately ending my wretched existence in the most violent of ways—but, thankfully, patience and wisdom stayed my hand. Drained of all spirit, I cast myself into bed and wept, as I had not done since my former, blissful life was forever ripped from me.
But fate had not finished with me yet. When the dawn next came, it brought with it a man whose name invoked terror in me above all else: Arturi Radanavich, a sole survivor of the massacre I had perpetrated. Yet he came not to destroy me, but to heal me—and himself.
I learned that, in commanding the death of his family, I had cast a deadly curse of my own: “Undead take you, as you have taken my son!” As my hands had been stained with the blood of my friends, so, too, had Arturi been pursued those many years by the walking dead, leaving him an exile in the eyes of his people.
For one year, I traveled with him—learning the ways of the Vistani that I had come to hate, so that I could learn their ways and comprehend life through their eyes. When the year had ended, joy and despair filled my breath—joy at the realization that those I had dreaded as my longtime enemies had never truly been enemies at all, and despair for all the wasted years of bitter anger and resentment.
I offered my life to Arturi as forfeit for my crimes against his family, insisting that he must consider my curse on his tribe null and void, for there was little left to forgive. He drew a knife from his boot—but instead of delivering judgment, pulled his blade across our palms, opening them, then clasped our hands together until our blood mingled as brothers.
There was but one task left to complete. Together, we journeyed to the wreckage of the Radanavich caravan, where we both had left it so many years ago. We burned it, defending its blazing husk as undead fell upon us—and when dawn shone over the ashes, there was nothing left there, for them or for us."
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