Cadence's Journal, Entry II

 A steady hand has penned this entry, each letter shaped delicately and as beautifully as though a professional scribe had written it.  This, perhaps, is what makes the content so unnerving.

I find myself with the undeniable desire to scream.

I have severely underestimated my situation - when Miles Campion told me I was foolish, he was absolutely right.

I am a fool.

I have all but signed my life away to these cut-throats, these thieves and ne'er-do-wells.  I may as well have, for what lies in store.

What is right is not ultimately what is right any longer.  If I do Right, by my Faith, I am betraying those I love.  If I do Right by my family, I'm betraying myself.

None of it matters.  Ultimately protecting Erikson and, now, my parents, was the right thing. 

If Erikson hadn't gotten involved in any of this in the first place Mother and Father wouldn't be

Let this journal be my confession, for I do not think I could bear involving another member of the clergy in any of this.

I have thrown in my lot with a group of murderers and thugs in order to protect my brother.  In doing so, I have endangered the rest of my family.  I can only pray they never quite discern their location, but I may have to do something else I had hoped I could avoid.  I may have to change some of the records at the Cathedral.  

Light forgive me.

They've assigned me to what they dubiously refer to as the Research Department.  It is lead by Natharai Ebonrook; I find that while he has a distinctly observant eye, he doesn't seem to show much interest in anything.  He assured me that he hadn't realized who my brother was when I asked him.  In that moment I think I hated him.

Light forgive me.

I had thought that the debt I shouldered would be substantial, but not at all what Ebonrook told me when I asked after a solid sum.  

Over fifty-thousand gold coins.  Over.  I don't make that much in three years of service with the Argents - I realized in that moment what I would be doing for the next decade of my life.  If I live that long here. 

Appraising gems and trinkets for criminals, which they will sell to fund their coffers, which funds their drug business, providing them 'products' to sell to weak, lost souls.. so they can dig their claws in and wring them out for even more gold.  It all comes down to coin, doesn't it?

Light FORGIVE me.