I should trust my instincts more. I was beginning to wallow in despair. I was beginning to lose hope despite that feeling of enthusiasm I had before venturing further into the deeps, as I stood before that runic doorway. Alas, for it would be many days of further searches and slain foes, still revealing nothing useful to me, even as the evil continued to grow stronger. A few moments where I was certain death had come to call, only to be saved by miraculous circumstances each time. A stone from the ceiling striking down a putrid skeleton as it raised its sword for a final blow. A room with a lockable doorway standing empty while I flew from battle, providing me a few moments rest, with a chest of arrows replenishing my depleted supply. A final desperate shot finding its mark even as I collapsed in exhaustion, finishing off the final foe.
Yet still I found nothing.
And then, when all seemed lost, and I stood upon a thresh-hold backed into a dead-end crypt by a legion of shambling undead, I saw it. A shining miracle among a pile of broken stone. A familiar sight to me, as I had trained on such devices before. It was a rifle. A weapon that had only just started to see use in the Kingdom before I had left. A new piece of technology that I never thought I would see within this blasted mountain. Yet there it was, glowing with a power of its own. As if the gods had decided I had proved myself and gifted me with the chance of my own salvation, even as the horde bore down on me with bloodlust in its collective appetite.
With a cry, I lunged for the weapon, grabbing it by the stock and skilfully flipping it into my hands, my finger finding the trigger as I had been taught to do from the time I was a child. I glanced up and cried out again for the first malodorous wight was upon me. With an instinct born of countless hours working my body to the point of death, I began to fire.
And fire.
And fire.
All consciousness seemed to leave me then. All I can remember for the next few minutes is a sort of greenish blur of ichor and bile. The decayed and lifeless flesh of those monsters sprayed outward, coating everything in its vile stench. I choke now just thinking of it. When I came back to myself, there was nothing left. That horde that should have been the end of me had met its own end instead, and I stood there, chest heaving, rifle smoking and let out a feral roar of triumph.
From that moment on, things began to come to me more swiftly. I discovered caches of gear and armor, brimming with enchantment. I continued to find weapons even better than the ones I found only a few floors before. My skills increased ten fold as I found ancient tomes of knowledge that showed me how to do things I could only dream of before. The gods, I believe, have finally decided I am worthy.
Still, I have not found what I came here to seek. I am certain, however, that I am meant to. I no longer wish for my son to have a father. That desire left me as I scratched out my survival here in these caverns. No, for what he's put me through, Bastion will not live, if yet he does. My quest now has only one purpose. One outcome.
One of us must die.
- Journal Entry of Karyna Arbalest
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