Jheri: Journal One

Dearest,

A young girl fell into my custody today. I think you would like her. She is closed down, spiky and unyielding but I see things in her eyes that speak to unimaginable pain. In so many ways, she reminds me of myself. That’s why I started this journal, I think. You were always the best with children, especially those with scars that reach below the surface. Rasa has scars - her name is Rasa - and they tell me everything I need to know without her having to say a word.

The circumstances of our chance meeting are rather peculiar as well. I live in Širdi now, the capital of a tiny province in Morgul. I make a living fighting. I know you hate that, I’m sorry. It’s been eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and eighteen hours since you died and I am losing touch with who you were. But I have retained some of what you taught me - I am an expert in fighting demons, aboleths, and mind flayers because of you. You were so focused, so determined to eradicate evil - how could I not?

I digress. My reputation for fighting demons caused a party of hunters to knock on my door last night (it was eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and nine hours since you died). A demon - a Balor no less - was destroying a village. They had come as fast as they could, but it was already a day after they had encountered the destruction and Balors work fast. It was without a doubt too late.

Why did I go? I’ve been asking myself that for the last seven hours as I bandage her wounds, give her soup she will not eat, and ask her questions she doesn’t answer. I knew it was too late, I knew all I would find was death and destruction. But you would have gone. You would seek out death and destruction, and replace it with beauty and love.

That’s probably why I went.

I arrived less than twenty minutes later, using the methods I have perfected in many lifetimes of living up to what you would expect. As I expected, death and destruction reigned. What I didn’t expect was that they were active. Screams cut the air and fires burned that I thought had long ago gone out. I picked my way closer, cautious now. I am not what I used to be, dearest. I have to treat this body with care lest it fail me. Ahead was the demon, darkness crowned in flame and surrounded by a large pearly luminescent orb. I was confused for a moment, but the buzzing in the air told me that magic was at work. This Balor was not acting on its own - it had friends.

As I edged around a burned, broken shell of a building I noticed that there were people inside the luminescent orb. People running, people cowering, people lying at odd angles on the flagstones of the village. Faces don’t register through the shiny skin of the bubble, but expressions of fear and pain and desperation can be clearly seen. That is when I first caught sight of Rasa. Not in the mass of people but above, struggling in the shadowy grip of the Balor. So small she was barely visible in its huge fist.

I don’t need to get into details about the fight. I don’t want you to be even more ashamed of me than you already are. But I killed it, and it killed the people in the magical sphere. Every last one save Rasa, who I was able to shield and spirit to safety. And there you have it. Eight hundred and twelve years, six months, three weeks, six days and eleven hours after you died I followed your lead and rescued someone, only to find that person was as much like me as it is possible to be. I might keep writing in this.

I miss you.