Originally this was a blog for the setting of a RPG I was running, but after the death of my daughter the game came to an end and I posted about her instead. I doubt I will post anything here again, but I am leaving it open as a kind of on-line memorial.
City Tour: The Weeping Chasm
White Wizard's Tower
Monastery of the Silence
Hospital of the Guiding Light
I can see you're impressed. Hard not to be. I've had visitors stand in awe when they've seen the chasm for the first time, and still be here after the tour's finished and their friends come looking for them. Formed during the battle all those centuries ago, THE WEEPING CHASM stretches due West for roughly twenty-seven miles. It's about a mile deep, and at its widest point, about midway, it's easily five miles across.
Smell that? Blood, that is. It's the reason its called THE WEEPING CHASM: look closely at the edges. That darkness is the blood, oozing out of the torn stone. It drips down into the depths of the chasm; there're rivers of blood down there, so I'm told. You talk to the clerics, priests and monks, and they'll tell you it's the blood of all the gods that died here; the magi will tell you it's the blood of the Wounded World. I don't know what it is, but it's impressive, yes?
At the bottom of the chasm are the remains of that ancient city I mentioned, the one that predates even the battle. There are ruins down there, surprisingly intact, whole buildings in some cases; some have been explored, others have become lairs to dangerous monsters, while some are still to excavated. It is our main attraction, because there is vast wealth trapped and buried below; not only treasure from those ruins, but also the arms, jewels and devices of those Avatars that fell, their followers too. Men have come out rich as kings, albeit scarred from their experiences. Many don't come back out at all.
You descend into the chasm by that lift over there, the one on that jutting finger of rock. The lift is managed by the DELVERS' GUILD, which has amongst its members numerous adventurers, historians and scholars, explorers and magi. They charge a small fee to use the lift, enough to keep it maintained, but nothing extortionist. It's a good guild to belong to, both friendly and supportive, if delving is something you're interested in.
Notice how all the other buildings here are built? Strong stone, fortifications, barred windows and sturdy doors. They need them here. Sometimes, mostly at night, monsters will creep out of the chasm. The Watch deals with most of them, but it pays to be safe, to have well-defended buildings. No one in their right mind lives here, but then not everyone in this city is as sane as you or I. That squat tower over there, the one nestled against that IRON TOWER? The WHITE WIZARD lives there, as he calls himself. The Watch call him Greybeard; no one knows his real name. He's mad, lives alone, often accompanies adventuring parties into the chasm, or buying monster parts off them. They say he 'builds' things in his tower, experiments too; I've also heard that he's looking for something specific in the deep, but no one knows for sure.
Way over there, near where the wall stops, is the only church not within the TEMPLE QUARTER. Actually, it's more of a monastery than a church, because the clergy are definitely some type of monk. They name themselves THE SILENCE, and have all taken a vow of silence. More of a philosophical sect than a religious one, but they pay homage to several deities; mostly those associated with knowledge, enlightenment, and self-improvement. They're an odd sort, spending a lot of their time down the chasm, or in the catacombs. Ultimately, they seem to believe that only through silence can the truth be known; although what exactly this 'truth' is, they're obviously not saying.
The other buildings belong to the guilds, or the City-Watch, warehouses for the most part. A lot of valuable goods are stored here, safe and secure thanks to the presence of the Watch, the fortified buildings, and the chasm itself.
The funds we raised to dedicate an acre of ancient woodland and a memorial bench has now been completed, and the bench now sits in a wood near my hometown.
These are the maps of its location and how to get there. We won't be able to visit it for a good few months yet, but look forward to doing so.
Good news, for those who do not know, is that we now have a beautiful boy, my son Rohan Robert Forster, nearly eight months old, healthy and strong and amazing. It makes dealing with the loss of Millie easier.
This is him, from a recent outing to some nearby woods:
Happy Birthday Millie.
Love from you mum, dad, and your brother Rohan xxx
Yesterday was the funeral of our daughter. It started by the two of use viewing her body, which was so much harder than I expected it to be. She looked so different, so very much a body rather than the little girl who left us. Although it was difficult, and there were tears aplenty, I am glad we saw her one last time, if only for the sense of closure. The funeral itself was lovely, and it was nice to see so many of our friends and family in attendance, most of whom had to travel a fair distance in order to be there. Some of them we hadn't seen for years, as we'd lost touch with people with all the trouble of the past few years; so it was nice to reconnect, albeit under circumstances that we wouldn't have wished for. Lorraine wrote a eulogy for our daughter, which I thought I would share here. To our dear family and friends,
I just wanted to say a huge thank you on behalf of Simon and I for the outpouring of love and support you've given us over the last year, throughout my …
It is a year ago today that we had the funeral for our daughter, Millie. It was about three weeks after she died, due to the necessity of an autopsy, and it was on the Friday of my first week at work in my new job.
It was a strange and emotional day. We went to view the body in the morning, which I wish we had avoided, as seeing her lying there in her coffin... well, it wasn't our daughter. I could barely look at the body, and my tears flowed freely. I had thought it would give us closure, but all it did was remind us of what we had lost, and with hindsight I would've preferred to remember her as we saw her at the hospital.
The funeral itself was full of people and relatives we hadn't seen in an age. My childhood friend Phil managed to attend, and I hadn't seen him in years. It felt good to see so many faces, and the support they lent us was beyond anything I could've wished for.
I carried the coffin in. I didn't want anyone else to do it. I had to fight back …