User blog:Ziharku/Log 7: Containment

Artifacts, one might call them. This is the armor donned by those with a burden much like my own. In each of my destinations, someone with similar armor was present, awaiting my arrival, or perhaps merely waiting, and as I approached their eyes looked upon me either glowing with anticipation, or with some form of pity. Each, a word or advice or warning. Such advice was well warranted before they sent me packing after that accursed day.

I return to the seer, but he does not recognize me. He offers divination. Confused, I accept, and the last that I remember is the glow of his eyes…

Again the prison that is not a prison. Again, the man with who sent me on my journey. He offers a blade, tells me to continue gorging myself. My tongue lashes across my lips though I do not move it of my own volition.