I return to the lands after a long absence--longer than the cycles have measured.

I could not be there to witness the Dark Lord's final defeat, nor the discovery of this strange new being. I have returned to find that there is no joy here, no celebration for so great a victory after so long a struggle.

Like so many others, I continue to train, to strengthen myself for an uncertain future.

Never had I ever imagined that the Gods themselves could be weakened. If there is anything that a mere human cleric might do to serve and defend our Gods, I shall.

I swear by my faith, by my strength and by all that I love..I shall.

Yesterday I told my younger brothers and sister my decision. Then we all fell asleep together in the Caer garden. It almost felt like being a kid again. It's funny: I thought they'd all be scared for me or something, but instead I swear they'd all come along with me through the door if they could! I have a terrific family.

Later, I thought about the graves in the far eastern mountains, and the memorial for the one brave citizen we couldn't protect on the mountain plateau. And I remembered my childhood--and realizing for the first time that a neighbor slain by one the evil demons would not revive at a life monument, as the adventurers do.

I don't remember anyone ever resenting that the gods would revive adventurers from death, but none of us. After all, adventurers defended us, and suffered great injuries over and over to do so. Still, I used to wonder---why not us, too?

But now, when I meet the eyes of my neighbors from Laleldan village, I see something in them I haven't seen since I became an adventurer. The risk that I and other adventurers who chose to join the incursion beyond the door is the same risk these villagers face without choosing every day of their lives, through every raid, attack and assault of the evil ones plowing through the village streets to get at the gleaming white walls of the Caer beyond: The fear of final death, now and forever.

Oh, I am so proud to be the daughter of Valornian "peasants". Their courage is unmatched.

A long solitude. Welcome. I return to visit the newly built temple. So beautiful...so hopeful.

And I return to the same strangeness. I should say...I'm the stranger. I'll never understand these people. But that doesn't matter.

The last few turns have made such a difference in me. I've been blessed with some amazing friends! We talked and relaxed and talked and swam and relaxed in the warm summer breezes and joked and laughed and....

....and for once I stopped tearing myself up for my failure to fit into the mold of the perfect cleric. I'm not, and I know I never will be. But there are places I can go and people who accept me and love me for who I am--mistakes and blatant imperfections and all. Isn't it time I let myself be happy for having them instead of tormenting myself about my flaws?

I've kept myself apart for too long. It's made me awkward and impulsive, and I've made mistakes because of it all. There is one mistake I am determined never to make again.

As for the rest--all those vows--by following them I've only succeeded in distancing myself from others. How could I ever imagine I could become a good cleric by doing that? Or even a good person?

Oh, journal..my secret confidant...no one will ever read what I've written to you here. But I'm not alone with you anymore. In fact, I finally, joyfully realize that I never really was alone.

I've thought and prayed. I've taken vows to drink nothing stronger than fruitflower tea. I've vowed not to perform any bondings, nor to ever be bonded to another. I've vowed not to enter any competitions with my fellow adventurers, not even for fun.

Up to now, I've fulfilled all those vows despite the temptations. But this ego of mine remains as it ever was.

... I took the cleric's way because I wished to serve, to help, to mentor, to learn to defend against and to defeat evil. And I'd hoped to gain the good will of all my fellow adventurers.

Instead, I try the patience and understanding of even the gentlest and wisest in the lands.

Perhaps--it's time I took a vow of solitude.

It's so long since I've had the strength or focus for this journal. The illness kept me down for nearly a cycle. It's so good to be up and about again, though I've still not regained my full health.

So strange....I see the world with new eyes, now. I learned very quickly as a new initiate that there are illnesses caused by the evil that stalks us all that even the wisest and most experienced of Clerics can not heal. But there are common illnesses that all peoples of Trinald must cope with that all the blessings and enchantments and healing magic have little effect on; illnesses that only rest and time and good healthy broth and the unwavering care by loved ones can cure.

It's a thoroughly taught reminder that adventurers are not separate or different from everyone else. We're all the same people.

I've spent many marcs down here now, wrapped up in my cloak against the chill air that slips down from the mountain plateau. There is so little we know about the Golden Age. I understand very little more than I did yesterturn, but I see things differently now.

I study the expressions carved into the faces of the ancient Gods and the people--the seven heroes. I study their stances and their gestures. Well, their mid-gestures, I mean. But in my imagination I can see them begin and complete those gestures. And I can feel a hint of their emotions in them and in their faces.

They are so much like our adventurers of today. They seem well-accustomed to their armor, their bodies taut and strong from training and war. They fought to keep evil and destruction at bay, to keep the world and their loved ones safe. Just as we do. And they honored their Gods.

I wonder, did their Gods give of their own powerful Life-forces to create a means of rejuvenation for these as ours did for us?

The thought that they had not is almost overwhelming. How much more courageous must the adventurers of that time have been? How much more determined? How much more strong and skilled to have accomplished the great feats that they did?

I find myself standing, now. My cloak has fallen to the rocky floor of the cenotaph, regardless of the cold. I stand to honor the lost heroes, and the lost Gods.

And I send a silent prayer from deep in my being, to our own Gods. I pray that we may have the strength and skill and determination and courage to enter through that dark door, to find the golden age weapon, and to complete these great heroes' most dreadful quest.

I've never been so long without visiting a trainer. Yet somehow it feels right and good that it should be so. I...It's like reaching deep inside and further outside, like the roots of a young tree.

This strange wonderful world has tossed challenges at me I had never expected. Some...I still don't know how to answer. But others have taught me of virtue and strength and will and, most importantly...of acceptance.

Even acceptance of rifts that may never be spanned or scars never completely healed.

Papa's back was to me as he sat repairing the nets, facing out toward the Lake and chatting with Hartnell. Sunrifter was just rising. It's light glittered on the breeze-swept water and outlined the Caer with gold.

He adventured with Mum throughout the lands long ago, before they settled in the sturdy old house by the Laleldan docks to raise a family. They'd tell the tales at the bonfire gatherings, along with others who told their own tales and of course stories of lost Kimald. Our lore and history all passed down around the bonfire on warm summer nights. Now that I've had my taste of adventuring, I begin to realize there must have been things they left out...terrors and failures they'd perhaps been forced to escape, or never able to return to overcome.

I think---I think that's what stopped me from approaching him that morning on the island: He'd know I must have faced terrors he'd never mentioned in his stories, and suffered failures. And I'd see that searching look in his eyes: Had I returned, unable to cope? Had the evils of the world--old evils and new--been too much for me?

At last, I began to understand what was drawing me back to him--to my Mum and my sisters and brother and--well everything I'd left when I set out to become an adventurer. And I understand why I couldn't run up to him, shouting for one of his big joyful hugs.

...This will be the last I write of my family and my life on the docks of Lake Valorn. As I turned away and strode back over the pier that golden morning, I knew that I was at last walking away from my childhood, and into my future.