Day 1

I was tasked with delivering the Armor of Pure Purpose yesterday; it is an artifact wrought by His Divinity the Emperor himself, or so I was told, as the only thing I received was a locked chest. His Divinity entrusted me with the knowledge of its purpose, at the least; a valuable ally to our goals in Ikesia has been condemned to a fate worse than death: Degeneration into a creature of congealed impurity. The Armor of Pure Purpose is to be as a new skin for this Ser Von Wickten, intended to return clarity of mind to him and grant him control over his new form. I was instructed on the procedure to help him don the suit, but His Divinity saw fit to lock the memory away until time comes to carry out the procedure. My head is pounding.

His Divinity granted me a Black Jade Crow talisman to carry out my task. When I spoke the incantation it unfurled into an immense crow, which carried me and my cargo to my destination at such a speed that my hearing has yet to fully recover from the terrible boom which came about when the creature reached its full speed.

It is a happy day; I have been promised the position of an official in a comfortable province upon my return.

Day 2

It carried me all the way to my destination with only one stop; never had I thought that the Blackwall reached so high into the heavens, or that it had gates that high up. I scarcely had to do anything besides hang on for dear life and think of my destination. The crow died on the spot when I disembarked; its body turned to dust and blew away in the wind, leaving only the talisman, now cracked.

Day 3

Those stationed at the outpost hailed me as their savior when I hefted the sealed chest into the ancient, mountain manor which they had fortified to use as a base. Had I only known the reason, I would have camped in the woods rather than accept their offer to stay the night. The screams and pleas of those boys carried through the gaps in the walls. They are etched in my brain, now.

Day 4

It was rancid; a chamber of utter filth, impurity tar pooling on the floor and slathered over the walls; it stunk of things I dare not detail in this journal. The stench coated my nostrils and still remains. The Impurity Elemental demanded “another boy-child” and a pile of those kesian alche-drugs before it would agree to let us put the suit on it. “Just one more for the road,” it said. I can’t take this much longer. Working with locust mutants and chimerae was less revolting than this; at least the things chimerae did to people ended at eating them.

I will leave the moment the donning ceremony is complete.

An imposing figure in the form of a nude man made of tar strode through the ancient mansion’s basement, chugging from a bottle of cheap alcohol with one hand while dragging a filthy, battered, and barely-able-to-stand Ikesian teenager on a chain with the other. A trail of this rancid tar was left everywhere in his wake, the supreme impurity of his being seeping into everything in his vicinity; the mold on brickwork grew into infestations in moments, the chains in his grip were covered in moss that had nowhere to come from. Filth fed upon filth and in turn blossomed. He thought nothing of the request that had been made of him, because in his current state, he didn’t think at all. What tiny fragment of humanity had remained within Von Wickten’s Impurity Elemental form had been smothered into silence the moment his hosts had given into his hedonistic demands.

The Impurity Elemental confidently stood where he was told to stand, even now blustering of how he would need “a new toy” and that “this one was getting too loose” as he tossed the broken shell of a young man aside. What words he used in between these remarks were too vulgar even for his Pateirian allies to stomach without winces and sideways spits of disgust, let alone to deserve transcription.

A chest lined with panels of blackstone and nearly completely wrapped in sealing-paper was brought before him, along with a new, Pateirian face. Even in his degenerate state, the remnants of Von Wickten’s mind recognized the attire of an Imperial Courier.

“You… You brought the suit that’s supposed to make it easier to think. Will it make it easier to fuck, too? Ehehehehehehhhh…”

Such deplorable, barely-cognizant phrases continually dribbled from the Impurity Elemental’s verbally incontinent maw; regardless of what the scraps of humanity within it meant to say, all was sullied without exception, even Von Wickten’s own words and thoughts.

The Courier looked up to the officers presiding over the affair, tacitly requesting and receiving permission to activate the chest.

“From four corners of the realm, the White Dragon’s divine wind brings clarity of purpose!” proclaimed the Courier, and the seals enveloping the chest burst into pure-white flame. Its blackstone panels fell away, the lid popped open, and a brilliant light erupted forth. Like serpents, from within erupted black tendrils which wound themselves around Von Wickten’s form faster than the human eye could see, wrapping around his form and by some unseen means immobilizing him where he stood, as if they stiffened once in place. The only reaction the Impurity Elemental could muster was a nervous, gurgling chuckle of: “Hrrhrnhrrrrhh… Kinky…”

These serpents were now plainly discernible as angular chains; extricated from the God Tomb beneath Mt. Rauja, and now permitted to serve their true purpose once more as the bindings for an utterly impure being.

A layer of the box flew off, and instead of more things flying out, the Emperor’s sneer of cold command was projected before all of them and his voice boomed forth: “NOW, LET CLARITY OF PURPOSE BE GRANTED TO THIS MISGUIDED SOUL. YOU ARE ALL TO OBEY THE BRAVE MAN WHO DELIVER’D THIS HOLY MAIL, FOR HE SHALL INSTRUCT YOU ALL IN THIS RITE.”

The projection vanished, leaving behind the next layer.