I arrived safely. I am one of the laborers, wearing the face of a dwarf. Dalthalto’s death has shaken procedures, but his daughter is fully in control here. Oddly, the servants here are well treated, even cheerful. She seems to have learned from her father’s mistakes.
Zahirah has a way of modifying the life around her. The temple grounds are lush beyond what the jungle provides. The farms grow with unnatural speed, even the labor of the women seems shorter. We heal faster in the temple, near her. Even the scars I earned in the war are fading. It frightens me, and I am not sure why. Something the Seer said, an ending of ruin and rot. The crops grow fast and lush, but they are not what they should be. It is subtle, but the farmers speak of it. What was planted is not truly what was grown. Her presence seems to change the life around her even as it enhances it. Plants grow faster, as to animals. What would humans become, exposed long enough to this?
I must be careful around her felines. They seem to detect something different about me. And they are creepy. Giving near-human intelligence to creatures as temperamental and predatory as jaguars is not a comforting one. Still, they are almost fanatically loyal to her. It may be that the magicks she used to create them bound them to her. I can think of few other reasons why such normally solitary creatures seem to congregate around her in worship.
Zahirah has a…lab may not be the proper word. Shrine may be more fitting. It is in the center of the temple, beneath the mosaic. There she has built some sort of…machine…something the gnome designed. She also has an altar where she communes with…something.
A spy was captured, one belonging to the gnome. Zahirah had him fed to the felines. They toyed with him brutally for hours before finally finishing him. They tore him literally limb from limb. I am doubly on my guard. I believe the Itotian slaves would turn me over should they detect my nature. They speak of her in tones of awe. In truth, I understand this. She has a presence to her inspiring a feeling I imagine a young wolf feels to the pack alpha. I too, desire to cringe at her frown and feel joy at her smile. It is hard sometimes, to resist the urge to please her. It is unnatural, not the same loyalty as we feel towards the captain. It has a falsehood to it, a small measure of fear. A compulsion, not a desire. Still, it subtly lends it power.
A name is whispered, among the slaves. Naeramarth. The great mother, the Primal, the original source from which the gods sprang and the energy from which they formed the world. An irresistible force of creation, and of change. Life, to balance death, the Seer said. Her purpose is to reshape and recreate life, and thus I believe she is also a force of destruction. The second apocalypse. As a force of awful fecundity, she can twist and warp existing life into horrible abominations. And the dead return to life with her power, but an aberrant life. Zahirah demonstrated this, restoring a dead slave into…something. An unnatural form of guardian that can turn the flesh to slime at its touch.
The gnome visited, although I do not think Zahirah was pleased by this. It did reveal something of interest. She does not have the artifact. She has power, do not mistake that. I dread contemplating what more her power could be if she had the artifact. It is a green stone, the size of a man’s fist, veined with black and silver. At some point, possibly the same time Dalthatlo fractured his, it was broken. The gnome possesses the shard. She believes she can use the shard to find the artifact. Obviously, the shard provides him with a power or protection, one she has not yet discovered a way to overcome.
The green comet will bring forth the blood moon, driving men to madness and even the most peaceful animals to violence. The light of the moon will burn the flesh of the undead as the comet grows closer. Healing becomes deadly as magic dies. The stars change, forming their own patterns to kill the magick. The power of life drives back even the solace of sleep, until death itself is gone from the world. Ruin and rot. My captain, the dreams. I think I am going mad.
The artifact requires a host, and will grant that host power. The first host is a pawn, it is the sacrifice of that host and a ritual that will empower the artifact. The keeper of the artifact will have no heart. The artifact will protect its host, granting it near immortality. Zahirah is not the host, my captain. She is mortal. Long lived, but mortal. She can bleed with mortal blades. The host will be protected by the artifact, to be touched only by fey iron.
She knows, my captain. She always has. I do not know how. I hope the magic of this book has been sufficient to get information to you. I can hear the felines, and they will soon find my hiding place. I am sorry, my captain. I cannot let them take me alive.