Monday, first day of Collection. Menel. Second age.
Long, grueling day. The crops are in an overgrow right now. Outside the plants are abundant and all of us must collect. And the more plants that are grown, the higher the quota that must be met. And the gyres are the hardest to collect. So myself and my sons were outside for most of the morning collecting. Today is Battleschool for my sons, and Forge for myself. Temple and Academy are in the days following and they need to be ready. Choosing, where my sons will find their true calling, is after the final day of Collection. The tests are rigorous and I worry for them. I don't want them in Battleschool and an Acolyte is out of the question... I want them in Forge so I can watch over them. But it's not my choice.
Saturday, The Choosing. Temple of Istalri. Second Age.
The Hierarch is anxious about Choosing. The children have all been through the rights, and they've been tested by the Inheritor, Sadron and the Blades, The Headmaster of the Academy, and the Benefactor. All that's left is the Zealot to see who's worthy of Temple. I remember my Initiation... It was the scariest moment of my life. The few of us that hadn't been picked by the rest of the Noldocora all in a line waiting outside of Istalri. The Hierarch walks in front of the line waiting for the ones worthy of the Branding. I remember the screams from the ones too scared for the Trials. But I was determined to finish. Now magma courses through my veins and fire burns in my eyes. And I get to watch and Brand the ones who's spot I was once in.
Friday, fifth day of Momentum. Third level of Darklands. Second Age.
I hear voices in the dark. I'm too far down to hear the life from Menel and I can hear the darklings in the distance. I have to get out. Sadron is ruthless. And with an iron fist the Blades led me down here. There's nothing. Just dark. I'm farther down than the spo'ophs and I feel like Amatsu is breathing down my neck. All I was left with was a torch and a seraph blade. And no way out that I can see... I have to get out. Slowly. Painfully. I can feel myself disappearing from reality. Aglarost seems so far away from me. Nothing is worth this. Nothing is worth the dar. I want to get back. I'll take a fire baptism and 10 rounds in the colosseum against the Inheritor himself than this. The creatures are coming. And I don't see a way out...