Luz
Legacy: Pottery
Core Memento: ceramic swallow
Initial Durability: 3
Initial Tools: 3
Initial Mementos: 3
Entry 1 Dice Roll: E5 C2 I3
As I was leaving my town for the city I was compelled to visit the community workshop. The kiln in the center of the room sat colder than the grave with a half-glazed abstract form sitting inside but as soon as I touched it, it fell to dust in an icy sigh. The scarce fitful light from the glassless windows offered no warmth except from the memories of times when this room was filled with people creating, learning, coming together. In a small cabinet I found a stack of old magazines slowly succumbing to erasure and among them I found instructions for a glazing technique, something beautiful and strong. I carefully tuck it away in my pack, it's unlikely that I will be able to use it on my way but it's a tangible reminder of my purpose.
Durability: 3 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 3
Entry 2 Dice Roll: E2 C5 I5
As I trudge through this bitter cold my mind casts back to the same memories of warmth that were rekindled during my last visit to the workshop. The feel of wet clay in my hands, the soft glow of the kiln on my face, the ringing laughter of beloved friends in my ears, these things I cling to tightly. I feel the weight of memory in the very pack that I carry, filled with scavenged tools from absent friends. The cost of these treasured respites from the Frost is that I seem to feel the cold on an even deeper level, a cold beyond my bones.
Durability: 3 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 4
Entry 3 Dice Roll: E1 C5 I4
I find myself in a massive cavern, surrounded on all sides by mirror-like ice and the ever-present cold, but there is something else here, something alive. As I move my reflection casts out around me at crazy angles, distracting me from my path. I stop and watch the shimmer floating behind me in the ice, trying to let its features come into focus. As I stare my ears begin to fill with soft whispers of sanctuary and I feel my resolve begin to weaken. Suddenly the ice beneath me cracks and gives way and I tumble down several feet into a rocky indent in the cavern. Broken and bruised, I slowly collect myself and my belongings and slowly limp my way out of the cavern, haunted by the thought that the Frost itself was trying to stop me.
Durability: 1 | Tools: 3 | Mementos: 4
Entry 4 Dice Roll: E6 C6 I6
After walking in the ever deepening dark for days the sun suddenly bursts across the sky, a massive swollen cataract dominating the entire landscape. The wind is a bitter gnaw at my back carrying no sound but my own breathing, a small, fragile noise in a world that has forgotten how to speak. I stood on the outskirts of a factory, a crazy-quilt patchwork of concrete, steel, and ice scratching its way upwards from the asphalt. Somewhere deep within a grind of metal on metal is more felt than heard and I make my way inside. I had barely begun to search for tools, supplies, food when I heard a sharp scrape of metal and turned to see a figure with the rough shape of a human but made of metal and ice. I barely had time to react before it lunged at me. There was no running from a thing like this, a creature made of the world's sickness and anger. Instead I moved with a speed I didn't know I still possessed and tackled the creature's legs, rushing it forward as fast as I could. It roared in frustration before I slammed it into a wall at my full speed, its body sent into every direction at once as it shattered into rust and shards of ice. It takes a few minutes for me to calm my nerves, and I'm still in a daze as I collect some tools and head down the road. As I walk down the road I find myself staring towards a copse of trees off to the side. It's remnants of an old graveyard, the headstones mouldering into dust even before the coming of the Frost. As I stare it suddenly dawns on me that new graves have been dug here recently and my heart felt that it might break with this mix of elation and anguish.
Durability: 2 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5
Entry 5 Dice Roll: E2 C3 I2
I've been traveling along the edge of the old graveyard for a while, and the air here is different. Heavier, maybe. It's an ashen, desolate feeling, but I can't look away from these mounds. The sight of them fills me with a strange and quiet sadness, but also a fragile flicker of hope. I find myself stopping at one of the newer graves, brushing a bit of the snow away. There's a small inscription, a name I don't know, and a date I can�t read, but below it is a small drawing etched into the stone. A bird, a swallow. The fragile clay swallow in my pocket feels warm against my skin and I know then that I'm not the last person here. Not by a long shot.
Durability: 2 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5
Entry 6 Dice Roll: E4 C4 I4
The wind is a relentless, gnawing thing, and I've been walking for what feels like a week. It's all the same frozen fields and silent, dead forests. Then, just beyond a copse of brittle trees, I see it. A single, still-standing radio tower, impossibly intact. Its rusted frame reaches toward the sky, a monument to a world that once communicated with itself. My mind, so used to the lonely silence, struggles to process the image, to understand its meaning. I climb the first few rungs of the ladder, the metal cold against my gloved hands. I find a small, still-powered receiver in a rusted box at the base, and I hear it. A single, short burst of static, a whisper on the wind, a profound secret from the breaking world. The radio clicks off and is silent once more, but the message has been sent. It�s for me, and I know what I must do. I find a small pouch of radio wire in the rusted box, and I continue on my way.
Durability: 2 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5
Entry 7 Dice Roll: E1 C1 I1
The ice storm that began a few hours ago has only intensified. I find myself huddled against the side of a half-buried bus, its windows shattered and frosted over. It offers meager protection, but it�s a quiet place to catch my breath. I close my eyes and let my mind drift back. I'm in my workshop. The kiln is glowing hot, the clay is soft under my fingers, and I'm humming. The memory is so vivid, so real, that I can almost smell the earth and feel the warmth on my face. It's a source of strength. I reach into my bag, pulling out a handful of radio wires I found at the factory. They feel like a gift, a connection to a world that I thought was long gone. As the storm rages outside, I find a small box of matches, still dry in an old first-aid kit. I'll use them to light a small fire and rest for a little while in this fragile refuge.
Durability: 1 | Tools: 6 | Mementos: 5
Entry 8 Dice Roll: E6 C2 I3
I�ve been tracking the small, metallic echo for hours now, a faint grinding noise in the distance that seems to follow me. It�s a rhythmic, almost mechanical sound, a delicate, spindly thing in the silent world. The sound grows louder and louder until it�s all I can hear. I look down and the ground beneath me begins to shift and crack. I lose my footing as the world gives way to a chasm of broken concrete and rebar. I tumble, losing my bag. I scramble back up to the surface, but the bag is gone. I lost the matches I found earlier. Ashy regret fills my mouth, but I know I have to keep going. I lost a tool, but I�m still alive.
Durability: 1 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5
Entry 9 Dice Roll: E3 C6 I1
I�m walking through a place that was once a market, its stalls and stands now a tangle of rust and ice. I can see the faded signs of what was sold here. Bread. Vegetables. Pots and pans. I can almost smell the aroma of freshly baked goods and hear the voices of the people who once worked here. I stop at a collapsed stall that once sold ceramics and begin to sift through the broken shards of pottery. My little swallow feels so heavy, a lump of cold clay in my hand. I am so close to my goal, but it feels so far away. The wind whispers to me, a voice not my own. "Why are you here? What's the point? They're all gone." My mind, so focused on the past, feels fragmented, detached from my own purpose. I feel like I�m watching myself from a distance, just a small, lonely figure in a desolate landscape. I keep walking, one foot in front of the other, but I am empty.
Durability: 1 | Tools: 5 | Mementos: 5
Entry 10 Dice Roll: E6 C4 I5
I�ve been walking for days now, the city is a cold, indifferent presence on the horizon. My thoughts are a jumble of memories and fears. A harsh, intense feeling of dread has settled over me, a foreboding that grows with every step. I find myself on a small overpass, an old, rusted bridge over a frozen river. As I cross, the ice begins to crack. A massive, horrifying shape begins to rise from beneath the ice. It�s a creature made of metal and rust, a twisted amalgam of scrap and broken parts. It roars, a deep, mechanical groan, and I know I have to fight. I don't have many tools left, but I still have my wits. I run forward, a speed I don't know I have, and I use the radio wire I found to wrap around its legs, pulling it off balance. It topples over with a shriek of grinding metal, but not before a sharp piece of rebar tears through my sleeve. I feel a sharp, cold pain, but I am alive. I�m almost there.
Durability: 0 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5
Entry 11 Dice Roll: E3 C3 I3
I�ve reached the outskirts of the city. The buildings are so close I can almost touch them, but they feel like a world away. I find myself in a desolate, abandoned warehouse, its roof open to the sky. The snow is falling, a quiet, mournful presence. I find a stack of old journals, all filled with faded handwriting. I open one, and I see a familiar drawing. It's a swallow, drawn in the same style as the one on the grave. I flip to the next page, and I find a small, handwritten note. "The Frost is not just ice. It's a vast, watchful presence, pressing in from every direction." I am not just a lone traveler in a dead world. I am part of a larger story.
Durability: 0 | Tools: 4 | Mementos: 5
Entry 12 Dice Roll: E2 C2 I2
I've reached the city, and the silence is a deafening thing. My heart feels so heavy, but there's a flicker of a profound hope inside me that I can't shake. I find a narrow alleyway between two towering, silent structures, and a flicker of light catches my eye. I follow it, my heart pounding, and I find a small, hidden entrance. I enter a cavernous space, a massive hall that was once a subway station, now a makeshift home. There are people here. Not many, but they are here. The air is warm, the scent of woodsmoke and a faint hum of conversation filling the air. As I stand, stunned and silent, an older woman with kind eyes walks toward me. She sees the small, fragile ceramic swallow clutched in my hand, and a gentle smile spreads across her face. "A potter," she says, her voice soft but strong. "You've brought a piece of the world with you." I nod, my voice failing me, and I hand her the swallow. "It is for those who might one day build anew," I whisper, and with that, I know that I am home.