



Map of the Cauthill Province of Endoria, Translated from Celestial

This is not the direct translation of the journals kept by Eran of Cauthill but rather a compilation of his life story based upon those journals. These memoirs are based off of the translations of E. Cauthill journals done by high Bishop of Lathander: Gregory of Hopsville. This work is my interpretations based upon the translations provided. The translations are going to be my first source as they come directly form the primary.

Winter 1473: The Date of the First Journal Entry

I could see the frost in front of my face from every breath I drew. The cold biting at my skin with its sharp needle-like teeth. Without hesitation I threw the shutters shut and glided across the room to the fire. Even here I could feel the cold penetrating through to me but it was at least tolerable. Grabbing a fur blanket and wrapping it around my back to collect the warmth from the fire and snuff out the cold, I realize that I am not truly alone in the room. Peering through the darkness in the corner are these deep black eyes, making the darkness on the wall appear to be light and lit. Just like that they were gone as if they never existed in the first place. I look back into the fire, knowing that the eyes will be back. They are almost everywhere, following me as I walk until I get the the chapel where they peer on from a distance, its the only place I can feel alone. I look back to the dark corner, knowing what lingers but unable to see it. I look back to the shutters of my window and see the moon peering in through the slits leaving a mesmerizing glow on the cold cracked boards on the floor. With shiver running down my spine I realize that the eyes are watching me, the presence of them merely burns my bones but I know that all they do is watch, like they know something I never will.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Startled, I jumped up from the floor as the door creaked open. Before me my father stood with his long wispy white hair reaching down to his shoulders. A faint white glow followed him with it radiating from his skin into the air around him. Face face was rigid yet soft, with skin that was perfectly colored. His eyes though were the biggest giveaway that he wasn't truly human as he had golden colored eyes as if he himself were that of a celestial. His body was a thin build with long arms and legs, with a perfectly defined muscles covering his body. As he walked over to me his lips curled into a smile as he latched the door shut behind him. He look over at me, "Eran," Exclaimed Arkal.

"Hello father, how was the trip?" I replied fearing that he would sense the eyes, but they were gone.



"I have something for you." He reached into his satchel pulling out something covered in cloth, "It is a bible from the Citadel of Lathander, I thought it might be of use to you in your studies." His hand reaches out handing it to me. "I also got you this," pulling a fillet knife out of his satchel, grabbing it by the blade and pointing the handle towards me, handing it to me: "You are old enough now to have your own knife for fishing. Now it is late out, you should be getting some sleep."



Grabbing the knife I look at it, its made of regular steel with our families crest etched into the base of the knife. I smile at my dad as I walk over to the bed, feeling the cold pierce through the fur blankets.

"I am going to get someone to come in here and stoke your fire and to bring in a bed warmer. It is a cold night with the wind blowing off the mountain. I will also ask them to hang some furs over the window to help keep it warm in here." soothed Arkal.



He walked to the door as I crawled into bed, pausing before leaving. He looked back as if he was about to say something but he stopped himself before leaving. I placed the knife on the trunk by my bed before pulling the furs up to keep me warm, letting myself slowly drift off to sleep knowing that the eyes were watching, waiting.

"Eran, I must thank yo for what yo have done. You have opened up the world for me to enter and enter I have. You have stopped fearing me once, but yet you have been looking upon me wearily." rang in my head as if whatever was talking was inside my mind. Burning in my mind I see the image of a dark shadowy figure being pulled by several ghostly skeletons. The figure moved towards me before I saw its eyes, its shadowy eyes. "I have watched over you through many lives waiting for the moment when you had freed me." The figure reached its arm behind its back, pulling out a scythe the length of its own body: "your death was swift!" Swinging the scythe, slashing my leg.

I jump out of the bed, covered in sweat. Looking around the room I see light piercing its way through tiny holes in the fur covering the window. I look around the room in panic but see nothing there except for 2 marks in the dust covering the floor right by my bed. The marks are shaped like that of feet, they look more like bones then they do regular feet. I feel a string in my leg as I stand there. Looking down I see blood dripping onto the floor from a shallow black cut, right where the scythe had slashed my in the dream. The pain from the cut intensifies into a burning sensation as a light builds from within the wound, almost searing it shut. Before I can even scream from the pain everything vanishes, and the last thing I see is the floor as I fall towards it.

I would like to thank everyone that took the time to read this. This is part of the backstory in one of my homebrew campaigns (taking place in another universe) so somethings have changed slightly but it has some overlap with the regular D&D Universe. The map was made in gimp. The introduction leaves many major plot points out and is instead the rough overview of the entire story. This is written as a biography from a scholar attempting to write the books on what happened during this time and in writing this I took many of the books I read for my university class as examples for ideas.