August's Journal

Tomorrow, it'll begin.
I am confident I will be the sole victor. If not, let this be my last remains, so that whoever finds this journal may one day win by my discoveries.
I've long burned the book that was filled with the spells that now have become second nature to me, but perhaps this will enlighten your way. You poor orphan, brought up by uncaring hands in the deadly world of Acheron. You've been bought since your birth, trained for a sole purpose: win's The Merchant's games.
You will think that your purpose is to gain a Wish. You are wrong. They have been lying to you through their hungry, bared teeth. The Merchant will consume you and everything you could ever Wish for as you grow weak and bold. The winners of the Games are here, but how much of them is truly, honestly, still here? How much of their being remains tied to their hearts?
The answer is that there remains nothing of those who once won the Merchant's Games. You will shake your head, name those who Wished to leave Acheron and never returned, or even those who did return to our graceless land. And you would be wrong again, dearest. The Merchant has long since devoured all they could become, leaving behind only what did not interest him.
I will not become like those heroes. I will remain known for the sole fact that I will remain unknown: the orphan who disappeared in the Games and reappeared when all were thought dead. I will strike through planes you can not even imagine, kill everyone in my way.
And if I don't. If I die tomorrow.
Then I will die free.
My name is August. They will not forget it.
AUGUST

“My life was forfeit from birth. I was born on the second face of the cubic plane that is Acheron. It is a land of eternal battlefields, where power is measured in martial and magical prowess, where riches mean less than your core ability to fight and kill. The metropolis of this face was-and still is, as far as I know, controlled and ruled by an entity named The Merchant. It is a being of deals of incredible power: all knowing, undefeatable, and oh so very hungry.
“I was given as payment to The Merchant, probably by my own parents. My life, freedom, and soul were theirs from the beginning. The Merchant collects people as people would collect pawns, and throws them all against each other every few years in a death competition called The Merchant’s Games. It’s deadly simple: throw in two dozen of ultra powerful battlemasters and see who comes out on top. Whoever wins gets a “Wish” spell. They are a celebrity, a legend, a source of power like no other.
“The Merchant collects children, letting them grow up within Their Citadel, cultivating their skills. Then, they are thrown in the Games against volunteers from the Metropolis. Of course, those who were the Merchant’s property did not have riches, talent nor a lifetime to prepare; the amount of times a child of the Merchant won the Games can be counted on the fingers of a sole hand. Yet, the Merchant loves the possibility that a wild ace may appear within his children, which would change the course of the Games in the most unpredictable way.
“My entire life, I spent knowing that I would die. My entire childhood was spent between books hoping that the slimmers of magic that I knew would be enough to survive the first few minutes of the Games. For birth, it was beaten in me that I stood no chance, and that my soul would join Acheron’s soldiers on the Eternal Battlefield. It was a countdown that could not be stopped.
“I only had two advantages. The first was that the Games always took place within the Merchant’s Citadel, which I knew every nook and cranny of. The second was that I was puny and small, so I would be horribly underestimated.
“My salvation came from a book which held an incredibly powerful spell. I’d like to think that most minds would not have understood the true potential of the spell and would have cast it aside, but not me. I learned the spell by heart and then burned the book.
“It took me years to master the spell. In a way, it was a better version of Blink. It allowed me, the caster, to enter the Ethereal plane for durations unheard of: hours, and then days, once I’d mastered it. There, I was hidden, untouchable, able to move and spy undetected.
“Knowing this could be the only way I could ever win the Games, I began planning, securing a hidden alcove with illusions and protection spells where I’d be able to hide during the Games for the few moments I would not be in the Ethereal plane.
“Then, I planned my way out. I made deals upon deals, met with hundreds of travelers and people, until I got my hands on an artifact that would let me travel to another location: an Inn in the material plane that acted as a gateway between planes. I did not use it yet though, for my life was still the Merchant, and I could not physically leave Acheron.
“And then I won the Games. I faked my death and hid the ethereal plane until they all fought and died around me. I waited until they used up all their resources, and killed the last two warriors standing with spells that they normally would have been able to resist. But they did not- how could they, when I was not even on the same plane as them?
“And when the Merchant appeared, and laid a crown of gold and green upon my head to the cheers of Acherians who delighted in the bloodshed that I had emerged from, I Wished to be free of the Merchant’s influence.
“Oh, I wish you’d been there to see the fury on the Merchant’s face, to see him lose his hold on his precious new champion!!
“I used the artifact then, and traveled between planes, free of the Merchant, free of Acheron.
“My soul may yearn for the World Serpent Inn, where I appeared all those years ago and came to call my home, but I will never, ever negotiate my freedom for it. Beings like Strahd- like the Merchant- powerful creatures who take and take, and steal other people’s freedom- that, I will never follow.
“I will take down Strahd with you. Let us free this land from the one who believes controls all. I am cursed by one crown already- another could only make me shine brighter.

“I was not born in the Material Plane in the world you know as Faerun. I was born in Acheron, another plane, where battles rage for eternity. When I traveled from Acheron, I arrived at the World Serpent Inn. It is a place anchored to the Material Plane which connects it with other planes: a perfect in-between for travelers like me. But when I traveled between the planes, something went wrong. I did not arrive within the Inn’s rooms, but in a corridor filled with doors. I’d come to learn that those doors act as gateways between planes, but at the time, I was fleeing from great danger, and did not know so.
“In my panic, I opened the door in front of me. A nightmare dimension opened before me, and when I fell through, an entity of pain and despair received me with open arms and sharp claws. It tore through me in an instant. Had Michifer- the Inn’s owner- not realized an intruder had been wandering in the hallway of doors, I would have died.
But he saved me. Michifer grabbed me from Carceri and its scourge, Agony, and saved my life. My wounds were too great to be healed by magic alone, so he used blood from the World Serpent himself, Jormungandr, which twists and turns around the inn, keeping it between planes. He saved my life, a stranger who'd he’d never met.
“It took me years to recover fully. With this new magic in my veins, I found myself unable to cast some spells I had learned in the past, while others that I had never mastered came to me as easily as breathing. From my scars, snake-like scales grew, protecting me.
“I owe Michifer a debt I cannot repay. I have tried bringing artifact after artifact, treasures from planes I’ve since traveled, but he always refuses them. He granted me a new life, and the blood of a being much bigger than myself flows in me, and he still wants nothing from it. I’ll never understand him.
“Which is why- if I die fighting Strahd, or by another enemy in this cursed land, I want you to at least have a chance to survive. I want you to know one of the spells that saved my life countless times before and earned me this crown *August minor illusions the crown he wore at the Dinner, which is his Winner of the Games’s crown*, for if I cannot use it, someone else should.
“It is a spell similar to Blink. It allows the caster to enter the Ethereal plane for durations unheard of: hours, and then days, once I’d mastered it. There, you’ll be safe, able to escape Strahd. I do not think you will learn it in a night, but perhaps a week would be enough.
[August teaches Viktor the spell]

“Do you know what it feels like, to know your soul is not your own? To live everyday knowing that you’ve been glambled away, and that you will die horribly young? That anything you may do will never free you, ever?
“I do. It is a pain, a hurt that never leaves you. It shatters your heart and everytime you walk, it clinks like glass. I had to kill to escape Acheron, where I was born. I had to scheme, fight tooth and nail, only to reclaim my soul as my own.
“I will not stay here and watch you gamble away yours. If you wish to continue dealing with Strahd, I will not stop you. But Gods, I will not let you become a spawn. If you have to remain in Barovia, I wish for it to be as your own. Please, let me help you, friend.”

August and Van Richten first travelled North, to Luskan, before briskly making their way to Suzail. There, August led Van Richten to the World Serpent Inn, his true home. Michifer, the innkeeper, was welcoming, glad to see that August had survived his days in deadly Barovia. Their tales would have to wait for another day, though, and the two travellers disappeared early in the night to August’s room, hidden in a corner of the third floor.
Van Richten discovered a room that felt like August’s soul being reflected back to him: there was a green duvet over the bed, various strange jewels and metallic artefacts carefully displayed on the nightstand, desk and shelves of the walls in separate boxes, half-burned candles carefully placed at the corners of the furniture, and books places in specific, well-ordered piles by the bed. Hidden in a half-opened closet were clothes of green and gold, in various shades and styles.
August moved to the forest green drapes covering the back wall, and beckoned Van Richten closer. When their lover reached their side, they pushed away the drapes with a smile, revealing a large window taking up the upper half of the wall. Beyond the glass pane, a sight like no other greeted Van Richten, who had seen a lot but nothing like this. The thick, hard scales of the body of a gargantuan snake shone in bright, comforting light, twisting against the inn in a sea of stars. Its scales glinted and glittered just like August’s, only much larger and older.
“This is Jormungandr,” August whispered. “Their blood rushes through my veins.” Their fingers distractedly traced the outline of a scaled scar running up their forearm.
Van Richten stayed silent, taking in the sight of the entity, a being much older than Faerun, source of a different magic all together. August’s magic.
“There are only a handful of rooms here which have windows showing Jormungandr,” August explained softly. “Michifer gave this one to me after he used their blood to save my life.”
“It’s beautiful,” Van Richten breathed out, a hand on the window, the other against August’s back. It looks like you, they wanted to say. Strong, brave and alit with life.
Van Richten and August admired the being for a moment, close to one another. Eventually, August closed the drapes, undressed and invited Van Richten next to him. In the darkness of August’s room, kept safe all these months, they rested in each other’s arms. August whispered of Acheron, of the Merchant’s Games, of Agony, of everything that should’ve broken him but didn’t. He told Van Richten everything that he had not been able to in Barovia.
“I will never bring you to Acheron,” August murmured against the nape of his lover. Van Richten held him tighter. “And I never regretted leaving it behind. But, some mornings, I miss the way the morning dew fell on the desolate battlefields. In the light of the sunrise, the souls had yet to appear for the day and fight till sundown. Everything was quiet. There would be empty fields for miles, empty of all, and every broken sword in the ground shone like a different jewel. The wind would reach my face, and it would smell of pride and strength.”
“I understand,” Van Richten whispered back. They passed their fingers through August’s hair, which he’d learned had always been green, even in Acheron.
“When I die…” August started, their voice wavering. “I don’t know where my soul will go. Does Corellon claim all half-elves? Or would Jormungandr finally call on me, for the debt that I owe them? If so… I fear I will remain between the planes, part of something I barely understand. But most of all… I believe I belong in Acheron.”
“August, dear, you don’t know that,” Van Richten whispered back, pulling August closer to his chest. “Even the Gods do not fully control the ways souls traverse this world.”
“No, it’s alright,” August answered, shaking their head. “I… I won’t mind it, I think. Returning to Acheron as one of its eternal warriors…. It’s what I’ve always done. I’ve fought and fought so hard…”
“We’ve both seen enough bloodshed for many lifetimes, August,” Van Richten answered. “That does not doom your soul, nor your future.”
“I know, but… In my dreams, I only see the fields of my childhood,” August whispered. Hot tears began rolling down their cheeks, falling onto their partner’s chest. “I see Jormungandr, in the sky, twisting and turning through the fields. I know they will send me back to Acheron. I will spend eternity with my peers, fighting in those fields that I love so much. I just… I wish that I will be spending it with you instead, Rictavio.”
August’s breaths turned to hiccups, and his body began shaking. Van Richten closed his eyes, holding his sorcerer as tight as he could.
“Life is not all battles and blood.” Van Richten took a deep breath. “You are not going to die any time soon, dear. We killed a Vampyre. A God. We have decades of peace ahead of us.”
August did not answer. Van Richten kissed their forehead.
“We planned to take things small. To travel the world without hunting every nook and cranny. To see the Sword Coast. The ocean, like you dreamt of. We promised, remember?”
August weakly nodded within his partner’s embrace.
“And then, once we grow tired of the travel, we’ll settle down. Find a place for ourselves, away from monsters and vampires. Together.”
Van Richten kissed August again.
“And when death comes at our door, we will not be fearful, for the memories of our lives will sustain our souls even in death. I will seek you in the fields of Acheron, find you under Jormungandr’s all-seeing eye. We shall fight together in life and death. Side by side. As always.”
“How will you find me?” August let out, breath heavy.
“I will always know you, August,” Van Richten whispered softly. “I will recognise you anywhere, through planes and through time. I will find you again.”
August’s breaths calmed down. He laced his arms around Van Richten, hugging him back.
“But we will not die anytime soon,” Van Richten continued. “We have decades to live.”
“Together,” August added.
“Together,” Van Richten repeated.
****
Van Richten and August spent the first few months of their life together in Suzail. August, who knew the city well, was delighted to be Van Richten’s guide. In the day, they explored and rested, and in the night, they stayed at the World Serpent Inn. August showed a part of his plane-travelling world to Van Richten, who, though not interested in plane-travelling due to his experience in Barovia, was interested in the different folks who travelled through the Inn, and of course, August’s passion for otherworldly artefacts.
Once they’d fully recovered from their long months in Barovia, August and Van Richten planned a trip around the west of the Sword Coast. This trip would last them a few years, as they explored the many portuary cities of the Sword Coast and their delights. This long voyage satisfied August’s desire for knowledge and Van Richten’s wishes for a slower way of life. Though August had feared that Van Richten may drift away from him once the old hunter realised August’s selfish ways, it was not the case. They grew closer, and August let himself lean more on Van Richten for help and comfort. Those were but the first of many happy years.
They ended their trip in Luskan, where a lot of Barovians had settled after the fall of Strahd. After catching up for a few weeks with acquaintances, they travelled back to Suzail to settle down once and for all. August wished to remain somewhat close to his spellcaster peers, while Van Richten wanted a quiet life, so they settled on a simple two-story home on the edge of Suzail, but still within the city. August would be able to visit the World Serpent Inn as he wished, and Van Richten had the peace and quiet that they needed. It took a few years, but August found that settling down and finally taking time to breathe was what he needed after all. With his lover by his side to bring him back to reality whenever his past desires for power were sparked, August slowly focused on study of the arcane, instead of seeking it out.
Over the years, it was other spellcasters that began seeking August out, coming to their home for advice or specific artefacts. August decided to accept those who came by, and tried his best to help them - for a certain fee. During that time, Van Richten had begun teaching fighting skills to the youngsters of their neighbourhood. Over the years, their home transformed into a place of learning, Van Richten being more kind and open, while August was a more impatient but still devoted teacher. Though they never adopted children, they did care for their pupils, and came to consider them their children.
Decades slowly passed. August and Van Richten grew old together, safe and happy from most threats of the past, dedicated to protecting a new generation of fighters and spellcasters.
Eventually, Van Richten passed on in their sleep, as he was a few centuries older than August. August fell into despair. He mourned, refusing to see anyone. He may have wasted away until his own death had Michifer not showed up on his doorstep, a full year later, a child no older than eighteen in tow.
Michifer did not have to say anything for August to understand who he had brought along. The Merchant’s touch was all over the poor child, and August could almost see the blood they’d had to shed to win the Merchant’s Games.
August took the child in. They taught them protection spells, spells to disappear and never be found. Then, once he knew the child would be able to hide without the Merchant knowing of their location, August led them back to the World Serpent Inn.
August left the now adult in the Inn. There they’d remain until August was done. He left everything back at his home to the child from Acheron. Then, he called for one last favour from Michifer.
Michifer led him into the corridor of doors, where August had once appeared all those centuries ago.
“Are you sure?” Michifer asked as he unlocked the door leading to Acheron.
“It is what I’ve been born to do,” August answered. He walked through the doorway into Acheron, the land where he was born.
Legends differ on what happened next. Acherians speak of a great serpent descending on the Merchant’s Citadel, while others swear it was just a cloaked stranger with bright green hair who calmly walked up the steps. The fight that ensued would only be told through second hand accounts, for anyone who was near did not survive. The Citadel itself collapsed, turning into one of Acheron’s thousands of battlefields. In the end, only the one who was both serpent and man stood in the ruins of the home of the one who had proclaimed himself a God, the Merchant’s soul ripped apart by their fangs.
The sorcerer waited until the Merchant’s soul was dispersed by the wind. Then, they turned their back on the city, and walked into the fields of Acheron, never to return.