Solomon Lancaster/Lancaster's Journal
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
The Journal of Professor Solomon Lancaster, first entry.
I never believed in Hell until I experienced it first hand.
It was 1945, and the Allies had won the war. With victory, came revelation. The allies were shocked when it came to light that the Nazi’s studies into the occult were leagues ahead of our own. The call went out along the more esoteric circles of allied intelligence, and soon practitioners of all scopes of Talent were put into service for their country.
I have always been magically inclined. Even from an early age, I was able to weave simple sorceries. As I grew, i taught myself new masteries and techniques, but I lacked any formal training. When the opportunity arose for me to expand upon my Talent at the guidance of men and women who were to most little more than rumors or fairy tales, I seized it.
I wrote my Delores a simple letter stating that the war was not over for me, and that my return home would be delayed. It was then, I was off to Europe. If I'd know what fate had in store for me, I would have been more forthright in my letter. I would have told Leona my intent to marry her, at the very least. However, it was simply not to be.
The academy proved to be strenuous. We were pushed to our breaking points, and were encouraged to push ourselves further. My inherent Talent flourished and blossomed into the abilities of a full blown sorceror.
The ease at which I surpassed my colleagues lead to a certain hubris of character, and as a result I sought out more powerful magics to master. In retrospect, I was reckless and dabbling in things I did not fully understand, much less could control.
Never before was it more evident than the night two initiates and I attempted to bind the demon. The summoning went according to plan, and the beast stood before us in all its terrifying majesty. Once we began the binding ritual, however, the world seemed to distort and surge in otherworldly power and the beast broke free of the containment rune as if it were little more than a minor annoyance.
Were it not for the timely intervention of an instructor, the demon would have killed us all. Reality itself seemed to warp and shimmer as their magics collided. In the end, the demon was pushed back into the circle.
To this day, I remember the demon’s voice in my head. It was simultaneously the soothing coo of the seducer, as well as the vehement rage of the vengeful. “One will pay for this day’s arrogance” it said.
It was then, the demon lashed out and grabbed me, dragging me back to Hell with it.
Second entry
Let it be known that of all the descriptions of Hell passed down through the ages, in all forms of mythology, folklore, and religion, none of them are adequate. The reality is far worse than any written or spoken testament can properly convey.
Upon arrival in the pit, the human mind breaks. It is inevitable, and I was no exception. When I finally came to my senses, the denizens of the inferno wasted no time. I was thrown into an arena against an indescribable beast. I wish i could say I fought the good fight, but I cannot. I was torn limb from limb, only to be reassembled by means of foul infernal magic.
So it would go. Nightly, I would find myself pitted against some nightmarish creature, or some demon champion, and nightly I would be subdered, my body opened and splayed across the arena to the roar of the crowd. There were, from time to time, victories on my part, but they were few and far between.
Ironically, it would be the arena which led to my freedom. I was in place, resigned to my nightly dismemberment. As i looked across the arena to my opponent, there was a flash of recognition between the us. It was the same demon I had summoned that night. The same demon which had dragged me down into the pit.
Somthing struck inside me, and I made an oath. Even if i were to spend the rest of eternity being ripped apart, I would make this demon pay. I fought harder and more viciously than I had ever fought before, and the demon lay broken at my feet.
My times in the arena changed after that. I would stand victorious nearly every night, much to the adulating howls of the crowd. My victories would eventually earn my freedom. Hell loves an underdog, it seems.
Third entry.
I found myself in Paragon City, the very city in which i was raised. But not. The buildings were all majestic towers of steel and glass, gleaming in the sun like something from a science fiction serial.
Imagine my surprise when I found out the year was 2006. I had been in Hell for over sixty years. It seemed like so few. Whether time progresses differently in Hell, or if my memory of the time in the pit has simply become blurred together, I do not know.
Once better acclimated to this modern time, I naturally began to seek the fates of my loved ones. The news was mostly dire: both my brothers were killed in the war, my mother and father both passed away in the 1950’s.
But Delores. My dear Delores. She was alive. She was a resident in a convalescent home for the elderly in upstate New York. I rushed there as quickly as I could. I found her on a patio, taking in the sun and watching the birds, as was her way. Her body was old and frail from the years, but the light in her eyes and the way she smiled more than withstood the test of time.
We embraced and we talked. Moreso she than I, for I hadn’t the slightest idea of explaining where I had been or why I apparently had not aged.
She had mourned me, but ultimately moved on to live a full life. She married, and was a mother and grandmother several times over. I will admit to a moment of selfish jealously over the fact I was not the one she spent her life with, but given the situation I could not fault her.
It had occurred to me over the several hours we spoke that she never inquired why I seemed so young. I worked up the nerve to ask her. She said I was dead, therefore could not be who I claimed I was. She was convinced I was an angel taken a familiar form who had come to provide solace in her waning years.
So I would be. I visited her regularly over the next several months. We would sit and sip tea while she told me all the things her life had seen, both wondrous and terrible: advancement of equality among gender and race, youth both at home and abroad raising their voices against tyranny and oppression, even a man setting foot on the moon.
One night, as my visit wound to a close she asked I stay with her that night. I could not refuse. I sat up all night holding her hand as she passed away, peacefully and painlessly at 3:36 in the morning on December 16th, 2006.
Fourth entry
I have taken an apprentice. I see great potential in her, and she seems to weave the threads of magic with a natural affinity that rivals my own. She is unfocused, though in the course of her lessons has proven herself able to overcome that particular handicap.
I have taught her simple sending, and astral projection. During the latter, a form of astral armor seemed to envelope her. It appeared Norse in origin. To be frank, much the iconography in her mind is Nordic in theme. I suspected she may follow the Aesir, but denied such when I questioned her about it. it is an enigma truly, but ultimately unimportant unless it begins to hinder her lessons.
Fifth entry
I've been having strange dreams lately. Judging by the fashions of myself and others present, each dream takes place during a different era in history. However, there are two constants in each. First, the setting. An old european style keep. The other, a sword at my side. Specifically, a decorative black gladius.
I wake from each dream feeling as if there is some task I must undertake. Possible past life visions? Possible racial memory or magical compulsion. Will double up the wards in case of the latter.
Sixth entry
The dreams continue, albeit in greater frequency, and each more vivid than the last. I remember a recurring sigil, that of a raven and a spear. Subsequent searches through the usual sources have proven fruitless.
Seventh Entry
Much has happened in the past two days. It began with the most intense and vivid dream yet. I was atop the battlements of a keep, looking outward. It was pitch black beyond. I saw nothing, but I could hear things moving in the darkness. Wicked, whispering things.
My left hand was rested on the hilt of the gladius at my side. I could feel it, literally feel it in my hand. I felt the rough leather of the grip, the heft and weight of the weapon as I drew it.
I can't explain it. When I drew the weapon from the scabbard, it felt as if it belonged there. The things in the darkness screeched and raged at the sight of it.
I awoke then and the gladius was in my hand. When I grasped it, I felt something pulling me somewhere. The trek itself is still hazy. I entered some sort of fugue state. When I came to, I was standing before the gate of the very keep from my dreams. The iron portcullis was down, and to the right of the gate, there was a raised stone with a small slit carved into it.
Again, I don't know how, but I knew what to do. It was as fate itself were guiding my actions as I drew the sword and slid it in. Suddenly, the torches on either side of the gate blazed to life. The gate creaked and groaned as it slowly raised, ushering me in.
Eight Entry
I have taken a lover. Ironically enough, she is a vampire. When first we met, I stayed my hand. She seemed so..scared. She did not seem the remorseless predator I have become accustomed to dealing with. She was a young woman, thrust into a world she was not prepared for.
Of course, I did not fall for her that night. I kept track of her, and was rather relieved she followed her conscience. We spent some quiet nights with one another and things escalated.
When I am with her, I feel no darkness. I feel no burdens. I am no longer Archmage Lancaster, Steward of the Keep. When I am with her, I am merely Solomon Lancaster. I feel as if I live a normal life.
Ninth Entry
I pen this entry from a convalescent bed. Six nights ago, I was stabbed by a voidblade. The nature of the weapon such that wounds inflicted by it cannot be healed by magical means. As a result, Eclipse has been gracious enough to allow Cierra and I to stay at her apartment in Paragon until I am able to travel back home proper.
Slowly, I mend. I am now able to get around for small bouts of time with the aid of a walking stick. My mage staff has been serving the part adequately.
Tenth Entry
Things work in cycles, and once more my own path has crossed that of Hell. My former patron, the demoness Sthaziel has returned and found herself a powerful ally: Lordess Glasya Asmodii, Queen of the Malbolge.
I have found an unlikely ally in Glasya's mother, Lady Bensozia Amodii. It was she who first informed me of Sthlaziel's return and new found allegiance.
Admittedly, I am skeptical. I must arrange a meeting.
Eleventh Entry
I have long since operated under the idea that I am damned, regardless of my actions. Hell has already laid claim to my soul. Upon my death, it is assured.
However, it was that very damnation that has allowed me to stand as a bulwark between humanity and the more overt machinations of the Inferno.
Last night's meeting with Lady Asmodii raised as many questions as it has answered.
There is a war in Hell. On one side, the various factions and warlords who have kept the Hells warring among themselves since the creation. On the other side, the forces of Lordess Glasya, seeking to unite all the Hells under her banner.
lady Asmodii believes a balance between the two sides is the natural state of things and swaying too heavily one way or the other would prove disastrous.
Given that my soul is bound to Hell upon my death, it stands to reason that it would go to one side or the other. Further extrapolation would conclude I would teach that army my sorceries, thus upsettning the balance.
To avoid this, Bensozia has put me on the trail of the scion; a warrior of the cross named Sister Olivia, direct blood descendent of the Christ.
She has the ability to cleanse my soul of the things tainting it. It would render me a clean slate. The choice to choose heaven or hell, as any other mortal.
Perhaps the chance is worth it.
Twelfth Entry
I find myself plagued with doubt the past night.
When i was wounded, Eclipse found me. I did not ask her to send for Cierra. She asked me if I would like her to. If I truly loved Cierra, would her name not have been first from my lips?
Do I love her, or I love what she represents? A lover, some semblance of a normal life.
Perhaps the more pressing doubt is concerning Eclipse. She is my apprentice, showing such potential with her magic, taking to it with an ease I have seen only before in myself.
Initially, I took on as her mentor for the purpose of teaching her to use her power responsibly. Over the term, the focus shifted. I began teaching her combat magic, as it is my specialty.
I came to love her, as a teacher loves a valued and favored student. Or as a father loves a daughter.
I was forging her, grooming her to continue my fight after I am gone. She was to be my legacy.
I have no doubt Eclipse would readily take the mantle after me, but the fight is my burden. It is my cross to bear, and thrusting it upon another would be to doom them to the life I have lived.
The cycle must end with me.
Thirteenth Entry
Fatherhood?
Secret entry
((written on the back of the previous entry's page, in a jagged hand))
You've proven to be problematic, wizard. For now, I will lick my wounds and I will convalesce and I will spend this time dreaming of ways to punish those close to you. They will be pay, one and all: the vampire slut, the devil bitch, the little godling; all of them.
I will take control of you once again, and use your hands to raze every thing you care about to the ground. When you come to, your lover and your friends will lie broken and bleeding at your feet.
You will be a thing of legend. Your name will be used in the darkest corners of Hell itself by old demons to remind new blood that there are in fact fates worse than damnation. You will be forever remembered as a prime example of what happens to those who stand in the way of The Pit's desires.
Such immortality will be my gift to you.
Fourteenth Entry
I divulged everything to Cierra last night. About Sthlaziel. About Glasya, and what I feel I must do.
I grow tired of being a pawn in demonic power games. If I am to ever be truly free of the contract Sthaziel has over me, I have to be proactive.
The more I think on it, the less likely a peaceful resolution seems. I have to force a confrontation.
If I can somehow capture Queen Glasya and hold her ransom for the contract, it would force Sthaziel to act. Best case scenario, she gives up the contract to save face with her Queen. Worse case, she refuses and the rest under Glasya's banner force her into it, or destroy her. I remain optimistic, yet pragmatic.
Now. How do I capture a Queen of Hell?
Fifteenth Entry
My soul -and my future- are finally mine.
There is much to recap. Far too much for this journal. But in short, my attempt to kidnap Glasya was met with failure, and ultimately wound to my contract being transferred from Sthaziel to Glasya.
In the end, it took a ritual and the body of myself from an alternate dimension to free myself. In short, I slowed my own life functions to the point of near death, causing Kryxarras (the symbiote's name, as I later came to learn) to panic and flee my body and soul for that of the other's.
Kryxarras was not pleased at falling victim to our ruse. It seemed the demon was prepared to battle Maxx, Cierra, and Myself at once, until Maxx simply reminded him that he would now be sought by Glasya and her forces, as he belongs to her now. The symbiote may be a near mindless and primal brute, but he was reasonable enough to know that he had to run.
Glasya can pursue him from one end of creation, and they can kill each other for all I care.
Sixteenth Entry
Cierra still grieves her mother's passing. She is far too proud to let me see her cry, or display any sort of outward weakness. I cannot fault her, for I am subject to the same.
I remain here for her, though I try to give her space. There are times, however, when I feel inept at providing solace.
She is brave, and strong. She has never seen darkness like I have. She has never had training in combating it. Yet throughout the entire ordeal with Sthlaziel and Glasya, she remained at my side. She was resolute and never wavered.
I will be the same for her.
Seventeenth Entry
I spent time in the company of a rather interesting individual the other day. A woman named Fyre Melons. A sex worker by trade, but a philosopher by calling.
She, one of her friends, and myself went to the Matrix room. As always, the fount there left me reeling. I was able to maintain my composure, but was glad we left when we did.
Miss Melons and I returned to Atlas Park, and we talked at length about sex and morality, and I was left feeling rather invigorated on an intellectual level.
I miss the long nights of philosophical discourse I used to have.
My work as of late has been entirely too focused on pure academe and martial theory.
I need to get out more.
Final Entry
I have created pockets of space and time to act as safe havens for those I care about for when the world ends. I have sent out ravens with lockets for use as keys to Eclipse, Rue and Bensozia. Cierra, Constance, Andras and Slade have been given theirs in person. There is little to do now, but wait.
During these quiet times, I find myself thinking. About places, about people, about deeds. With utter solemnity I see the faces and remember the names of men and women who have fallen at my side. I recall fondly the scent of lovers’ skin as the world fell away, and for a few blissful moments, we were the only two beings in the universe.
When I was a younger man, Master Triios once asked me if I believed in God. Then, I was too inexperienced to have an answer, and far too brash to care. I’ve done much in my life since. I have tread both Heaven and Hell and held conversation with gods both benign and malevolent. I have found them all lacking. I do not doubt the existence of God, but I do not believe in him. I find the idea of worshiping the heavens, the stars, or the fires of hell nothing short of obscene.
There was a phrase Master Triios made me memorize: quod in omni vita facimus in aeternum resonat. “What we do in life echoes in Eternity” Long since have I known the translation, but it is only now, in this world’s twilight, that I truly understand the meaning.
Fate is not some predetermined outcome. It is not some guiding hand. There is no fate of men that is not forged by their actions; their passions and hopes.
Perhaps then, it is this which is the true power possessed by humanity. For no power of divine gift, mutation or technology can compare to the ability to grasp destiny and forge it to one's desires.
As this may very well be my final entry, I have seen to it this journal and my notes be copied and disseminated to the usual chantries and freeholds.
Nunquam timent nocte.
-Arch-Magus Solomon Gabriel Lancaster, Cygnus Tytalus, miles Triios, bani Darklight, prima studiosa tempestatis, Warden of the Raven Sword, Pilgrim on the Profaned Road, Dancer in the Twilight Mists, The Reaver, The Half Hell-Hearted, Shield against the Darkness, Trickster of Devils.
