The world they once knew is gone. Gathering the remnants of their people, they head east, away from the cataclysm, in the hopes for a better future elsewhere. However, they are heading into a world that is unbeknownst to them, and they can only guess what lies ahead.
It is now 368 days of our exodus. The horrors that we have witnessed on our journey have been many. Images that I’d rather forget, much less describe, will be burned into my consciousness and haunt me forever. But I will continue to repress them and look onward into the future, in the hopes that I, and our people, will once again know peace.
What else can one do than to hope for a better future, lest you lay down and die in defeat? which I have seen many do. Completely and utterly giving up on the future. I don’t blame them, however. I’m not ashamed to admit that the thought had crossed my mind, as well. For what do I possibly have to live for? when everything that I know, and thought I knew, about the world that was shattered by forces that I, nor anyone else, can explain but the acts of god all mighty?
Some believe that Lord Avos is testing us, while others believe that he have abandoned us. I don’t subscribe to any of those statements for who are we to interpret his infinite wisdom? That is to say, if such a man truly exists? It doesn’t matter, however. For those that have survived, they look toward the future, how bleak it may be. Hence I write this journal, to document a new beginning instead of our demise.
The lands to the east are are truly wild, dense with ancient trees that tower high above our heads; unexploited by human hands. There is no road to follow either, only a small path that is leading us in the general direction of our destination — a mountain both tall in legend and hight, that separates the known with the unknown. Our hopes are that once ascended, the cataclysm will be unable to follow and we will once again know peace.
Sometimes we encounter small villages along our way, small hints of civilisation represented by the smoke from their campfires. We send emissaries whenever we are able, and the people often accepts our offer to join as they are aware of the impending danger. But there are those that refuse our invitation. I do not know why they would as they should be aware of the destructive forces of the cataclysm by now. The smock blackening the sky and the smouldering flames that illuminates the horizon in the west.
Though, I do not morn for those that are left behind, for these eastern folk are as wild as the forest they live in. A land not claimed by neither tribe nor nation. What else would one expect of a people living at the edges of the known world, by the foot of the mountain that separates this world and the next.
I myself is not familiar with this land for I come from the land furthest to the west where the sea is plentiful and the beaches are beautiful. But I refrain from recalling too vividly my former homelands for the pain such memories cause is unimaginable. Nor do I have any inclination of writing it down for I could never, with mere words, do justice of its beauty.
No, it is better for it to be lost by the ages. To focus on the prospects ahead rather than what we have lost.