Journal of Father Etair
The strange crystal sits atop my desk. I cannot take my eyes from it. It is not out of adoration, or even fascination, but out of a tense, foreboding dread that never escapes me, not even as I lay in my bunk at night hoping that I have not doomed my young charges by bringing this cursed thing up from the underground.
Perhaps the most troubling development is how the crystal affects young Brother Wulf. This person sitting across the chamber from me is no longer my bright, friendly apprentice, but a heavy-eyed fanatic. The strange allure of the crystal has touched him on some spiritual level. He has not been to chapel in days. He has not bathed or eaten. He does not respond to his name, and when does take notice of the others around him, he does so with a gruff sneer. I grieve for him as one mourns the deceased. All day long he stares at the crystal, or plays to it with his whistle, making the swirling red surface flash. My prayers do nothing.
All my research, all of my training, none of it has provided the answers I seek. What is this strange substance and from where does it derives its magic? What created it and how did it come to be beneath our mission? Better yet, how I can I get dispose of it without hurting my dear friend? So many questions, but no answers come.
Perhaps tomorrow Mitharu will provide. He has yet to disappoint me.