With a silent exhale, Ivran Chronicler completed his meditation. Nearby, he could hear his nephew stir in his cot. Arlen was family, but he was as far from an elf as any human. Elves had no need for sleep, but the boy was also half human. A small sense of remorse creeped its way into the elf’s soul. I am approaching my twilight years, and yet he will pass before me. Banishing his emotions, the Chronicler took a face of determination as he silently stepped out of the tent and back into the shrine.

Quietly moving from the room, Ivran gathered his notes and supplies for the day. With a flick of the wrist, he was back to a fresh page, ready to record his observations. But a tang of metal on stone caught his attention. “Samoset?”

Walking through the door with two tin cups in his hands, was the gunslinger. A crude man of low refinement yet his skill with firearms was undeniable. “Saw you come out. Id wager you didn’t bother eating?” Samoset chuckled. Ivran gave a half smile,“You would be correct. I have much work to do, and little time to do it.” With a sudden slam onto the table, coffee spattered the parchment that Ivran had set out. “Listen here, I got orders to keep you and the kid alive while you fiddle with a dead guys remains. That includes keeping you from starving.”

Ivarn glared at the gunslinger. “Tactless as ever I see. Were you not a direct agent for the Decemvirate, you would have been tossed out of the society years ago.” Throwing a bit of elven honey bread on the table, Samoset looked down on Ivran. “I don’t get paid to be nice. The higher ups have a job, I do the job, then I get paid for the job. That simple.” Ivran quickly finished the rancid coffee and dry bread then pulled a fresh sheet of parchment.

“I do not deny your ability, human. I do however want you to not reflect badly on our organization.” Ivran adjusted his cuffs and peered forward at the ancient broadsword on his desk. “Tough shit, elf. If you have a problem with me, Ill head home and you can take it up with the Decemvirate.” Samoset waited for a response but received none. Waving a hand in front of Ivrans face, Samoset scowled. “Already back in…”

Tuning out the drivel, Ivran began his work. The blade called to him. Details about these shrines were rare, intact relics even more so. WIth such a lack of information, the Pathfinder Society turned to the Occult to try and gain whatever they can. Specializing in Psychometry, Occultists were the optimal choice. Learning of the past through relics of a bygone era. Ivran in particular was of high demand as one of Kyonin’s greatest historians as well as a powerful Occultist.

The world around Ivran went black. All that remained was himself and the ancient broadsword. Looking into the reflection on the blade, Ivran reached out with his mind. “Show me his fate.”

The world reformed around the Chronicler. Like tiles of a mosaic falling into place. Flashes of battles and war raced by in an instant. Years flew by in seconds. When the images finally became clear, Ivran silently observed the Nameless Knight walking the road.

Author Vendon
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Game: Pathfinder
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