Sometimes I feel I am blessed to be born to this land, to be able to readily and easily find evil that must be destroyed.
And others, it seems my gifts are nothing but a vicious curse by some dark God, meant to put me against what is impossible. The land practically bleeds evil, being after being radiating it. If nothing else, at least it gives me some measure of safety, the gift to simply gaze, but it twists my stomach.
It twists it even more when I am forced to let it live. To speak to the most vile things, such as that knight. I do not know. Perhaps this land can be cleansed. I often doubt it, but it does not matter. I will burn what cancer I can from from this land.
My companions at least… Seem genuine in their attempts to end some of this suffering. I am still wary. I do not know their motivations, nor do I know how driven they are. And they employ such… methods. Necromancy… Yet the Necromancer does not worry me nearly as much as the priest… Not the quiet one following the blind, but the one… I do not know. I walked away from that room rather than see. Perhaps it was weak, and perhaps I should have stopped him, or at least seen what would be wrought by it.
At least I know I can trust my soulspark to watch my back, if no one else… I simply hope its glowing life is not snuffed. It deserves to have its essence returned to the ocean of souls in much… gentler ways.
I grow weary.