Shivering Isles
Brief Journal
I decided that I had better start a new journal today. I haven't seen Ardwe in four months since he began restoring Ebrocca, and he's finally asked me to come spend time with him while he finishes the work. I know the death of his mother was traumatizing. I'm just glad that he'll finally allow me to be near enough to try and console him.
Cousin Garwedh should have returned from Ebrocca in time for my own departure today, but he must have been delayed. I was hoping to ask him about the conditions of the crypt in case I ought to bring any special supplies with me. No matter, I'm sure I can run such errands after my arrival.
I'm amazed at the scope of Ardwe's accomplishments here. The crypt is massive beyond anything I had expected. I realized that the death of his mother would appoint him Clanfather, but I didn't anticipate him to take the role so seriously. He feels a sense of duty in establishing this as a place to honor the family. I'm worried he may be distracting himself from mourning his mother, but I'm still proud of all he's done.
I'm glad Ardwe called me out here. He must have been so lonely by himself before now. He regularly complains of how empty this place feels. It must be difficult to pour so much effort into a thing that only sees use in a time of grief.
Today the supply wagon brought with it a bed for Ardwe and myself. I suppose he was trying to surprise me -- or at least quiet my complaints of using bedrolls to sleep on the stone floors, but I don't like the precedent this establishes. I was hoping we would move back to New Sheoth before his birthday celebration next month.
Why haven't we gone home yet? I've been here months, and I'm sick of the arid climate between these rock walls. I haven't seen or heard from the architect in weeks, and the sounds of construction have all but stopped. What possible reason is there to stay here?
I'm sure that Ardwe's sending out correspondence, but he doesn't admit it when I confront him. Just two nights ago, I was sure I heard a voice calling out from somewhere below, and not the usual rasp of our Argonian courier. If he won't tell me, then I'll just have to look through his drawers before he wakes tomorrow.
