In 13, third month of Henna, 1254. Year of the Bow.



  Curious. Four years ago I have this book in my bag, wrapped in a cloth. When Tharidris gave it to me, he said me that it was to write on it my thoughts, my desires, my concerns...


  Their sheets remain blank... until now, in which I find myself sitting here with a piece of charcoal in hand, while scribbling my thoughts and above all, my concerns, while I look to him, sitting there on a stump, peering into the shadows, totally alone...

  This is the third night that he is beside to us. It's been three days since we  allowed to accompany him... we don't really know where. Three days since he saved my life.





  Since twelve years ago I walk along the roads with Der'zail and Tharidris. Has been passed five since which Dhoassar and Ruam joined us.

  An uncertain life with more pain than glory, where we are left more often than beaten such as dogs, in body and soul.

  In the songs of the troubadours and minstrels are sung the deeds of great heroes who saved the face of this world, fighting to safeguard justice and all that...

  Our reality is quite different. We have fought to protect those who can't do it themselves, yes... But not are made songs in our honor. Does not, if Dhoassar and Der'zail are not under the disguise of an illusion enchantment...  
"Nefarious creatures are the dark elves and tieflings" is the popular opinion, but more ominous are the prejudices that the people have against what is not known.



  During all these years we thought having seen almost everything. Few things could surprise us, we told ourselves. But we were wrong...

  That fateful afternoon, in a shabby and dirty tavern in a horse town, where we were looking for evidence about strange disappearances and where we saw him for first time, we could not avoid surprise us.




  I recall the events... That figure dressed in black and covered in such a way that even you could see his face, sitting in the farthest corner of the inn, eating in silence...
And the ragged boy sitting by his side with whom he shared that meal, perhaps in an act of compassion, perhaps for charity...

  And I remember, with pain, that same child lying on the snow on his own blood puddled, barely a few moments later, when four horsemen with an infamous look, jumped over him with their horses in a gruesome act of fun, just conceivable for vile putrid souls.


  I recall the incident and I can't avoid a shudder when that hooded dressed in black put the corpse of the child in my arms, at the same time that he said me: "Take care of him" with a strange, hoarse voice...

  I could feel an intense heat emanating from his body, which melted the snow under his boots. I could feel his hatred for those men who were laughing unhinged... and that barely moments later were lying dead at the feet of that man, whom he had been slipped the hood during the few seconds that took his deadly dance.




And we were shocked... Because he was a dark elf...
Because on his forehead he wore a strange mark that shone as if molten fire had been poured over it... Because his eyes burned like hot coals... And because, when that brightness dimmed to off completely, we could see his true color... and a look of pain and overwhelming sadness in him.

  Somewhat in contrast to the emotionless voice with which he told us, whom or rather "what" were those four horsemen. When he spoke of the Servants... and about the disgusting forms of entertainment that have the demons of the Void.


  Maybe it was because we were the only ones who helped him to bury the child.
Or maybe because Der'zail ordered to ​​Dhoassar to break the spell illusory, showing them both as they were, dark elf and tiefling.
  Maybe it was because, after doing so, the inhabitants of that town rejected us as much as him, ignoring whatever we could be done for them in the past.
But when we told him that we were not willing to allow that those spawns walks free at ease, he hesitated for a second...
"If you so wish, go towards the west. But I warn you of your foolishness..."- he said, and then disappeared.


And we did...




  Who would have thought that we would be involved in something that even we fail to understand?

  I think we all, included to himself, we were sure which he was the hunter... when he was actually the dam and our presence served as unwitting bait. Several days later he was who found us, because someone wanted it that way.


Who was that strange witcher who kidnapped me to draw him?
Why, when the man said him those words full of contempt, he seemed to break into a thousand pieces?
Who is the one whom the witcher referred as "My Lord"?...



  Neither me nor my fellows we are able to know, but... Why we follow him, then? We could have gone away, forgetting all this thorny issue, back to our lives of "Swords purchased impecunious".

Why we not did it?



  I think that each one of us has our reasons for not doing. I have mine.
First, he saved my life... and not in any way. Himself stood in the way of fiery projectile that surely, I would have been reduced to ashes.

  He don't risked... He GAVE his life to save mine, because he had no way of knowing that the spell did not would kill him...
Because that's how it happened. The fireball did not kill him and I still wonder how it's possible that he had survived to such brutal impact.


  But that's not my only reason. There are other...

  While I'm writing this words, sitting at the warmth of the fire, hearing the laughter and murmurs of my peers, I look at him, sitting in a far corner, scanning the darkness with those eyes that seem like bathed in gold...

  I can't avoid to wondering what lies behind this dark elf that, as Der'zail said, is the result of crossbreeding and that obviously has been trained to kill.

  What truth lies behind the brand on his forehead and the myriad of scars across his body as the indelible mark of a horrible past.




  There is darkness in his within, much darkness. But I also perceive some light at the bottom of these golden wells that are his eyes, that reflect a sadness as I've ever seen.

  He seems to be struggling against these shadows, as if he were charged with an enormous burden that only he can carry.

  He remains taciturn. Keeping a strict silence about whatever has happened in his life, protecting us, perhaps, a secret that should not be said...

...And he seems painfully accustomed to solitude.




  Whatever the case, are many questions that we ask ourselves about him.

  Don't know where we are accompanying to him. We are not even aware if he really knows it.
One thing I'm sure: We're no longer behind to the Servants, or the minor demon, owner of the brand that those killers bearing in their necks. It's no longer rid the world of the presence of demonic creatures...
I think we're going to whatever have planned the one who has handled his fate, like he were a puppet.


  And here, while I write for the first time in my book of thoughts, desires and concerns... as I look to that dark silhouette, sitting alone on the stump...

I keep wondering...

"Who are you, Varaxe?"