Today I start looking for others like myself. It is only sure that some of them have awaken. Descendants of the Verge. My mind is now constantly invaded by feelings of anguish, confusion and fear. At the same time distant voices mumble words I still can’t hear with clarity, but I sense an urge for gathering. They try to approach me while I try to understand them. Though, once I start focusing on the message, it seems to vanish because focus now makes my inner energy circulate faster. My hands burn as if they were made of pure electricity. My thoughts disperse and my brain becomes a blank canvas ready to bring form to these new powers I barely begin to understand.
At my reach there is a scroll. A silly spell I could never manage to perform. Generating a spark strong enough to light a candle embedded with absinthe at the wick. I concentrate and perform words and gesture. My fingers go numb and the color of the room seems to change to a brighter tone. I aim at the wick. It starts draining my energy and I start feeling drowsy. I have to stop before I faint. Another failure. But something different has taken place. The air is surrounded by a fragrance unknown to me, but I immediately realize I sense brimstone. Only Magic can produce such smell, so Magic must be finding its way back into Myridian. There might be dangers ahead, but the rewards must outstrip them. It would not make its way into the world again were it not to bring hope to the remains of our civilization.
I shall print my story in scrolls and lurk about the borders of Spellenrune. Uninviting places to a cleric like myself for sure. Doomed by sin, but if there is any information one might need, that’s a good place to start looking. One copy will be handed to each individual whose energy speaks to mine, and within these copies there will be clues left as how to get in touch with me. If I can not make it back to this journal, may the one who finds it continue my work from here.