I find myself completely lost.

The answers, locked away in the folds of my mind.

I cannot trust it and yet I am forced to. I must remember the man I was, to discover the man – the soul – that resides in this flesh, should one still exist. I will start with what I know to be veracious; though it is not my true name I go by Vyde Embris. My age is still a mystery to me, but a very confused innkeeper appraised me as at least fifty years old, and yet… I feel the weight of a much older man on my shoulders.

Perhaps it is because I am Touched. A daemon has left it’s mark on me, a rough port coloured stain that runs across my clavicle without a clear shape. Despite my amnesiac state I can speak the Nethertongue with alarming fluency, and I hold within me knowledge of profane magicks. In my case, it would seem I was touched by an Ichor daemon. My blood is the source and form of any and all that I can perform.

My hand quivers… at both the thought of having lived in this unholy form for so long, and what I may have done with such a life. Does the Numen do me a service by sparing me from what horrors may lie within my past? Deep in my heart I know that cannot be true. Daemons and the Touched are excommunicated from the light of her grace, never to know the touch of the humanity that she created.

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And yet… I feel fear. I feel a longing. I feel a curiosity that should be foreign to my kind. When I search for answers deliberately it is as if I am rowing a canoe across a vast black sea, with no stars to guide me. I must let myself drift across the water, and only then do my memories return, like islands bidding me to run aground.

I am faced with a draining paranoia. What if I am to lose my memories once again, and be left rowing in the dark once more? I cannot allow this to pass. It is for this reason that I make this account. No matter my apprehension, I must write the truth that lies within my mind. What little has returned to me is like a lucid dream, as if I am brought back into those moments in time. My thoughts, my feelings, my deeds, all laid before me in a stark reality.

Only three days ago did I wake in a cavern on the shores of the eastern continent of Sylvand. Fortune has carried me to a tavern further inland called The Saltcliff, and allowed me to purchase residence for some time, as well as a bound notebook, ink and quill. If this misfortune that has left me bereft of memories had befallen anyone else I doubt they would’ve been as lucky as I. I don’t dare wonder why I carried such funds on my person. I must be patient. The answer will reveal itself to me in time.

As will they all, I hope. In the case of an untimely death or loss of this document, dear reader, know this;

The following is a true account of the Touched known as Vyde Embris. Let us discover the man behind this name together.