(((Starting disclaimer: all contained in this topic is OOC knowledge for anyone who reads it. I just find this is a good way to give depth to Sepherim's character, and as such, it is his own thing. All he writes is heavily guarded, and only accesible via physical presence in his sancta-sanctorum, which is way too secret and guarded for anyone to access)))

Begining of the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the Ancient Age of Strife:

My name was Vorten Kystner, and I was born aboard a ship travelling from Amarr Prime to the Ammatarr region. Third son of the Kystner family, my life was never one of hunger. Quite the opposite. My father was the owner of Kystner Slaves Inc, a corporation that had ammounted a good deal of ISK by trafficking with slaves in and around the Empire. It owned a decent fleet of cargo ships, freighters, and other haulers that transported massive amounts of slaves to those places were they were needed, and brought back enormous monetary revenues.

I was raised as a loyal Amarr, taught in the greatness of the Empire, it’s traditions, and laws. We were God’s Chosen, and thus have the greatest of Duties to fulfill in order to be up to His expectations. Still, don’t believe I was raised in an easy going envyroment. Nothing further from truth. My father taught us discipline, pragmatism, and to fight for what we wanted... and I had to prove able in all of them continuously in order to go on. Trials, tests and punishment were continuous, but for that I thank my father, for I grew strong and willfull. I learnt the ways of the words, and how to further my objectives with them.

Still, as we grew a bit, my older brothers saw me as a threat. They wanted to inherit the corporation all for themselves, and new that I was too young to realize the maneuvering taking place in the backstage. But even my brothers weren’t completely aware of what was happening either.

They attempted to get rid of me by murder, and hired a group of assasins to take me out when I was in Nebian with my father. I was boarded by the four murderous individuals when I was walking past the Sykar City Cathedral, just under the golden stone archways of the sacred building. The four of them smiled, being just a kid as I was, it was an easy prey. Easy isk. I faced them with courage, but knew that my death had come. I was no match.

Still, when they were surrounding me, an elder man went out of the Cathedral and confronted them. Against all expectancies, he was not only able to defeat them, but did it with ease. The old man turned to me and I saw he was a noble person, for his eyes had the bright eyes of those that follow the true way of the Empire.

-Young one- he said-, remember this afternoon. It has been the turning in your life, and nothing will ever be the same. I am the Demiurge, and you will hear from me again in time. Use that time wisely, for you will need all your strength for what’s to come.-

Now, after many years, I can still recall the moment with ease. The power in his voice as he spoke, his ease of manners, his latent strength under the rich clothes. The noblesse that he transmited, the honor, the glory. He was all that the Empire resembled.

Still, back then, I didn’t really understand what that moment meant in my life. The strong pounding of my heart in my chest and the adrenaline rushing in my veins kept me from hearing the deep pounding that the turn of Fate’s Wheels had just completed.

(Continues)

I don’t know exactly what made my brothers change their approach. Don’t know why they didn’t send another group of assasins after me, or tried to kill me with venoms. Instead, they turned to my father. In an attempt to secure their succession and keeping me from any attempt at vengeance, they convinced him to send me away to study.

He faced me some nights later, and said that I should package my things, that I had a great destiny to fulfill for the glory of all the family. I had to leave, and go to the Nebiah system to join the Hedion University and be trained as a member of a ships crew. With time, I could come back to the family and help with the engines in our company’s freighters, or something like that. I didn’t hear to much, for at that age, all I understood is that I was being torn away from all I knew, all I understood, all I loved. My world had been shattered and destroyed, and the new one placed before me wasn’t precisely that appealing.

But something changed the turning of events unexpectedly, and only now that I’ve grown in age and comprehension can I start to see the mechanisms that moved then. I did go indeed to the Hedion University, but I wasn’t assigned to the studies my father had paid for. Instead, I was assigned to be Pilot, the most expensive and exclusive in the University, way beyond the economic possibilities of my family.

I was trained for years, learning to talk to the onboard computer, and to interface with the implants and body changes required to enter the pod. I wasn’t a popular student. Coming as I did from a merchant background, those of higer status looked me down, but I did not retreat infront of their insults. Instead, I learned the ways of the leader, and gathered around me a group of other lesser students, ****ed by the attitudes of those that came from better families.

I was near completing my studies when the news about the Emperor’s murder was known. There had already been important problems in the Empire before, and I had watched closely as the Emperor had been chosen and all that it did. But His murder was something too terrible. Too obscure. Too puzzling. I knew that something had to be made about it, but had no power to do so.

The union of our small group allowed us to progress and defend ourselves, and some of the group even made it to the end, earning their rank as free pod pilots as the years went by. I was one of them, and on the day I left the station I had taken a decision of importance. I left behind my name, and took a new one, a sign that my past was forgiven, erased, I had more important things to do in the future. Eternity awaited for me.

I so chose the name Sepherim. It was from one of the old scriptures and studies of the occult, one of those strange tomes I read in the University and never really knew how come the University had come to gather them. The studies of God. The Sepherim, each of the domains of reality. The whole existance. The base of the Tree of Life. That would be me from then on.

(Continues)

I left the University in my fresh ship, a new world awaited between the stars. The comunity of pilots opened their communications to my ears, and I listened. Heard about wars, heard about problems. I had been following the events in the Empire since I was a student, but hearing them first hand was very different than reading the news holoreels that reached the University.

It was obvious that it was time to act. And the action found me, before I could look for it.

I was approached by an unknown man in the Nakregde system. He just got near to me and, after greeting me, gave me a message from “an old friend”. Then left, with no answers given, but many questions displayed. Looking at it back from now, it all seems logical and obvious, but while you’re trapped in the vortex of life it wasn’t so clear. All that it said was that I was invited to visit Evergrey Park in Nakregde II to have a chat with that “friend”, that same night.

I took a shuttle down to orbit, and while I entered the dark stone city of Kal-Shatraak I couldn’t but stop my head spinning round. What had just happened? How could they know I would be there if I myself hadn’t known it until little hours before? What was happening? I couldn’t help but feel that my own life’s control had been taken from me, and I was a simple spectator to it’s events.

The park was nearly empty that night, and a lonely elder figure walked by a tranquil lake. He was unknown to me, but had a certain familiarity in his figures that I couldn’t place but made me feel uneasy. He turned to me as I neared him, obviously aware of my presence. There was something in his look, in his eyes. Something too familiar in them. His words were burned into my mind as if they were sculpted with laser.

-Hello Sepherim- he greeted me-, I’m Demiurge.-

I looked him in the eyes, and realized that he was not the man from my childhood, but he did have a strong resemblion of him. A brother, maybe? His words rang true, though, somehow.

-The time has come- he continued, never pausing at all- for you to fulfill your role. Come and walk with me, for We will ensure you can complete your Duty for the Empire.-

We talked for long that night, and the seven nights that followed. As he left that last night, I realized that I had been but a pawn all my life. I had been in Their plans since the begining. And I didn’t regret it. There was much work to be done. My brothers could have the stupid family corporation if they wanted, I was beyond richess. It was time for Duty. The Ordo Quaesitoris had come to existance.

Extract from some of Sepherim's lost shiplogs, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

It was then, as I was lying in the green protein fluid, that a terrible news reached me. I had lost my latest body, and the clone I was going to use had some cancerigen mutations, so I needed a new one. Will it was grown quickly, my mind was held inside a computer matrix, ready to be inserted into the clone. And it was, as soon as the mind of the clone had completed its growth and my implants placed correctly.

My mind was then free to wander in the IGS as I waited for the rest of my body to grow. I was wondering from one room to another when a dark icon came before me and talked.

-Sepherim, a friend wants to talk to you. If you would please follow me...-

I had plenty of time to spare, so I did, and the icon lead me directly to an old man, who sat idly cross-legged under a grown tree, somewhere deep inside the Amarrian conference matrix space. He looked up at me, and I quickly recognized him. It had been many years since I had last seen Demiurge and still, there was no doubt that it was him, the man who had saved my life so many years ago. He spooke as I observed all in him.

-I'm sure you already know that some of the Ordo's members have chosen other paths now.-

I just nodded. Promethian's departure had been a tough strike, but there was no resent. He had to follow the path he saw best, it was as easy as that.

-On your quest for your Holy Grail- he continued-, you know you will need nine more knights. Your own Round Table.-

I knew what all those references meant. They came from very old mythology, and had something to do with honour, and a mission so wild that noone would deem it possible. Still, the complete sense of his words was beyond my understanding at the time.

-Seek in the light, for only those pure are worthy of such a quest. Come here: understand.-

Even now, many years later, I can't really explain what happened there. It was like when you download info from your computer into your brain, maybe about quantum physics, or the improved use of spaceship's guns. Still, it was deep and dark, secrets of old mythology that came back to face me. Knowledge of such things like the Quabbalah, and the Amarr Scriptures Apocripha. Dark words, that opened my mind to deeper and darker realities. The path to the Grail.

Then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving me standing under a quickly-dying tree. Putrefaction spread quickly in the matrix space, as if his only pressence was what had created the digital place in the IGS. I still remained two more days confined in my mind, away from my body, but he didn't come back. All he had to say at the time, had been said.

Excerpt from the diaries of Sepherim, First Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the Ancient Age of Strife:

It's been a few days since my last entry in this diary, I know, but I've been inmensely occupied. Since I met him in the Hedion University station, months ago, I've been trailing after little tidbits of information regarding Demiurge, in an attempt to understand what he expects of me, what is my mission, anmd why he chose me. I feel this little answers could shed some light in the planned destiny of the Ordo, so I've been devoting some time to it everyday.

Still, it wasn't until four days ago that I caught a serious lead. Somewhere to start pulling from. A start. I've been following that small trails for days now, and some think I've become a tad distant and hard to locate. But I can't tell them, not yet, what this is all about. Don't think I'll ever will.

I finally catched the trail in the Nebian system, in the outskirts of Empire territory. Ironic. The first location chosen for our headquarters. He was so near all this time! I gathered a small squad of marines, and left the ship in our office, taking a quick shuttle down to Nebian II. It took me a couple days there to track him again and restart the search, and that's why I haven't been able to write here in the last days. Still, today we catched up to him.

Demiurge, Lord Veer Causen, is dead. He has been so for the last fifty years, before I was born, even. All the work was for nothing, as I found out standing there, with acid rain falling on me. His tomb sat there, defiant, a tribute to mortality of those unwilling to use clones.

Veer seemed like the man so much! He had been an important member of the Imperial Families, back in the time, and so very little public knowledge existed on him! And then, the doubt struck me. If this Demiurge wasn't the Demiurge I'd known, who was he at all?

I left the planet filled in doubts. I still am, as I write this in the old fashioned way, it soothes my nerves. Is this a trial he has set before me? A screen of smoke and masks to test my hability? Or is it the first hint that the truth was darker than I thought?

Extract from Sepherim's letters to Kaileena:

Finally, the time had come to prove what I was worth. It was back when the crisis of the Bleak Lands erupted, before the times of the wars. The Ordo was small yet back then, and hadn't yet done anything important. It was yet a promise of what it would one day turn to be.

Back then, I listened to many comm channels in my search for info. It was then when Commander Lallara Zhuul, then leader of PIE, contacted me and told me that the Imperial Navy was gathering a fleet to participate in the Bleak Lands crisis, and offered me the chance to join such a fleet. It would be my baptism of fire, and the Ordo's too.

Of course, I didn't doubt in saying I'd gladly join them. The interview with the Colonnel in charge of the operation was something I'll never forget. I was quite nervous then, being in the presence of such high people as there were, and getting the info first hand for the first time. I had finally made it, I would be able to prove what the Ordo was and that our loyalty was more than words!

On the next days, we flew several times, and the Ordo participated in all the action to the fullest of its small capacity. It was a tremendously exciting moment, with that passion and ingenuity that all begins have, before the dark problems that the future brought. A promise. A sweet promise.

Extract from the diaries of Sepherim, First Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the Ancient Age of Strife:

I fell out of the pod and into the metal floor, vomiting bilis as I had never before. My arms ached from the tension, my eyes were damaged from trying to open them in the liquid goo, my arms were hurt from moving and bumping against something, my head ached from the stress of processing everything... but nothing hurted me like my heart.

It felt like it had died, and it's loss was too terrible.

I had heard their cries of death, of glorious death in battle, why I simply stood by my assigned gate keeping watch. Keeping watch! We couild have gone in and... do something! Yes, we would have died too, probably for nothing, but.... that reasoning is pointless, I know, but my heart hurts, and my head keeps on going through it once and once again. Like a viced circle.

After tonight's op, something has died inside me. Now I have seen the price to pay with my own eyes. I've seen laser tear ships and hulls, killing good men, loyal men. I will never fail, for my failure is a failure to them, to the Empire. I will prevent something like that from ever happening again, and if it does happen, I'll see to it being avenged adequately.

Tonight, for the fist time in my life, I really hate the Minmatarr... and I'll hate them for hours, for I know sleep will not come to meet me as much as I'd like it to.

Extract from the shiplogs of the Shadowrunner, Sepherim's Punisher class Frigate:

I have had a very interesting meeting tonight. Well, actually it was some nights ago, but have been reflecting on it since. It took place in the Maison, that digital space the Fraction put up. Interesting lot there. In any case, I still have a metalic briefcase, present won there, to prove it, with several delicious strawberries inside.

Small pause.

It all got me remembering those old times, back in the childhood. Even now, so many years later, I still find it hard to talk about them. Some say it's too common in pod pilots to have tragic stories behind. Well, in a certain sense, I am no exception.

I do have some good memories of my parents. Yes, my father was strict, and his insistence on learning good manners was always too heavy on us. But he was fair in his own way. My mother was kind, nice, probably the one to support us all. Her bussiness savvy was a great add to my father's own, and her way to treat us was always one to praise and sustain us. I still cherish as one of my best memories the times when we simply sat together and chatted, maybe while she prepared some of her loved tea, or while she reviewed some economic data.

Of course, my older brothers were another issue completely. Even before learning the concepts of ambition and heritage, they always bullied me. I was the one who had to do their duties, and and works, or else they maid me suffer for it. I still recall specially the Dark Games. That's how we called them, of course, though I guess they must have many other names.

They were games in which we bet different things, always important ones. Simple games could include betting meals, or some minor object on probabilistic things, such as "raining that day", or a roll of dice. Anything served. But as we grew, games become more interesting they say... I say they became terrible. Specially when they were starting to notice that they had to get rid of me. We started to bet more important things, such as the meals of the whole week, or objects we cherished. And the games themselves become a bet, a gamble with the worst consequences. We played games in which terrible actions had to be done in order to succeed, from attacking others to accept being beaten. Worst, we started to play with death, specially when we discovered that one poisonous vegetable that grew in Sehmy System was easily mistakeable with one that wasn't poisonous that grew in Hedion. We would make them into pieces and then eat them on turn, until someone got sick. I recall that, one day short before the assasination attempt came, one of the other boys with whom we were playing died; experiencing someting so close to death was terrible and exciting, and I had nightmares for several days. Still, we played again afterwards, even though I didn't want to: they forced me.

Indeed, it was a terrible chilhood probably. It still made me the strong and determined man I am now.

Extract from the diarias of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the Ancient Age of Strife:

Why do such noble Houses as the Miyan and Danabi fight among themselves on such pety little things? I understand honor and glory, of course, but there's is a stupid battle, one to fight against themselves.

Yet, it has taken some meddling, some manipulation and some work, but we're in. I have arranged it so House Danabi's leader names me, and thus the Ordo, the ones in charge of creating peace with House Miyan. Still, the Miyan Lord is such a...! Arg! He's too fond of himself! Though he accepted my position without problem, his claims are impossible to obtain without a war. I'm afraid I'll have to be more intelligent than both to be able to solve this mess with the least blood shed, specially now that we're in the Crinsom Week.

May God guide us now, we'll need his divine inspiration.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the Ancient Age of Strife:

Eight Jaguar had just completed his signing of the documents that granted him entrance into the Ordo as an Acolyte when the alarm of my wrist went off. Something was just happening regarding the noble House conflict. The communication system was beeping strongly, and he checked it. A Colonel was gathering pilots to move right now, no time to wait.

I picked up my communicator and got in line with Myron Valkov. All of us would meet in Kor-Azor Prime, there was no time to wait. The cause of peace was a difficult one, in which we could not leave any opportunity. We took Eight Jaguar with us, debriefing him quickly while we paid attention to all that was said on several channels. It seemed as the communications had gone mad alltogether.

With ease, the small fleet of the Ordo Quaesitoris had assembled, a collection of small ships together with Jaguar's mighty ship. Hardly an impressive sight, but it already showed the strength of the potential of what it would become in time. We left, and the mission seemed simple: diversion, to guide some loyal Miyan forces out of their position.

Something went wrong then, terribly wrong.

When we reached the position, we were informed that the original goal was no longer the one that mattered. We were to engage and defeat the enemy forces. We were astonished! We, all the podpilots assembled, had gathered a weak but mobile force, we were not ready to engage! And then, Miyan forces showed their strengths, not only a Battleshhip, but also some support ships to go with it. A terrible and mighty sight indeed.

We never stood a chance. With little organization and wrong equipment, the destroyed ships gathered and only a few of us survived with more than the pod. What had happened? Had we been betrayed? Was it an error? Had we been sold? Was it simply a case of misinformation? Was the information lost somewhere in the chain of command?

In those crucial moments, just after the battle, all I knew is that I had failed my men. My ship was the only one standing, and that only because I had been expelled from the Fllet de to a communications problem and couldn't engage the enemy without CONCORD taking me as a criminal. Shadowrunner, my Punisher, had sustained severe armor damage, but no hull one. And yet, all my men had gone to the nearest station... in a pod. In my first fleet mission as second in command, I couldn't save them. I had failed them. They were dead and I... I was alive.

Tears ran down from my eyes even in the dense fluid of the pod, irritating them. But no, the day wasn't over. That dark day of tests, still had more to bring. And still, as much as took place that day, I had failed, utterly, and no good I did later would change that simple truth. I had failed at what I supposedly was: a leader. How could I guide the Ordo now? Where to? Death?

Extract from some of Sepherim's lost shiplogs, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

Some say I don't have honor, and I guess it's right. I always have thought that honor always gets in the way of duty, specially in our line of work. Honor is for those who can allow it's costs, and those have to be admired for it. Why do I think about it now?

Well, I just sent one of the officials out the shaft. I hate killing, but when someone tries to take the ship from you, such rebellion can only be met with death. The fault is indeed partially mine. I choose my men to be cult and intelligent, but they are no members of the Ordo and so, don't have access to what we really do and think. He thought too much on his own, and didn't have faith in me. Out the shaft.

The event that triggered this is probably most innocent in a certain way, but I can see they don't thnik of it as I do. A visit. A party. But of course, what's important is not wether I go to parties or not, but with whom I do. It took place in one of the resorts of the Verisum family, and terrorists, traitors and asssasins were gathered there. In a certain sense, I was quite a rare man in that group. People like Miss Naphtalia, leader of the Blakc Rabbits, or The Cosmopolite, one of the leaders of the Star Fraction, were there, among many others.

My second in command didn't understand. He'll have time to think about it in the afterlife, I guess.

Notes from the Editor:

I have been asked many times about the nature of this compillation I've been working on for such long time. Unrooting events from such old times, a thousand years ago afterall, and from a strange and shady figure as Sepherim is always complicated. Thus, instead of presenting a unified text corrupted by my own way of understanding this complex man, I thought it would be most interesting to collect the deeds and facts that took place in his life, as he himself gathered them. Thus, a few different fonts are used, and it's important to understand the difference between them. Too many other scientists and specialists question me about them, and so, for sake of being clear, I'll explain them here briefly.

Sepherim's diaries are the main collection. Usually they were written some time after the main events told there, so they are usually less emotive and more rational. They were recorded in paper and, originally, in a leather covered book, but have long since been separated and disorganized. Sepherim has always been portrayed as quite the rationalist man, and the fact that he becomes distant with his own experiences in these diaries show how reflexive he was, constantly re-thinking himself.

The shiplogs of his ships are usually briefer notes, taking very shortly after the action has taken place. They show us the more humane side of Sepherim, his doubts, pains and sorrows, without the distance he himself drew in his diaries. They have been compiled over a source many consider to have been faked over the centuries, and yet originally Sepherim was very paranoid in how his logs were accessible: afterall, none could access them from anywhere in the IGS as they weren't logged, and were physically transferred to his safe vault by his second in command; some come from an unidentified ship of his, while others are identified.

This collection of lost shiplogs, recovered in strange circumstances. Many people believe this things never took place, and it's never been possible to really be sure if they are a forgery or not. That's why many consider them irreal, mere apocrypha in his legend. Still, they bring some light into some of the more dubious and strange events in his life, and to sides of his personality some fear could have been true.

Finally I gathered a collection of his letters to different people, specially Kaileena. Strangely enough, no one really knows who this woman was, maybe it was justa pseudonim or a friend's name. We don't really know, but it is clear that this are the best texts to understand what was happening. Something between the diaries and the normal shiplogs, these letters offer us the insight of a man trying to explain himself to other, be it a trusted friend or maybe a lover. Still, there are hints of something else, small ones, but there present. Specially when he referrs to her as Autorictas. Is that a reference to her being one of his teachers? Or maybe a child's game? Or is it a reference to her profession?

Together with this, some tidbits of information and documents found elsewhere will also be added if usefull.

I hope this clears up the reading a bit. I'll add my own conclusions at the end of the book, together with an analysis of how it all affected the events that unfolded in those times, some of which still affect us now, so many centuries later.

Found in the secret archives of the Ordo, when some of the information on Sepherim was finally cleared, two hundred years after his death. Some consider this forged, because some answers seem unpropriate for the time before he left the University, yet all confirmations and investigations have revealed no such act of forgery:

[Psychometric profiling questionnaire to assess pilot stability. Analysis made by CONCORD prior to accepting a new pilot from taking his license.]

Describe the perfect room.
A dark bar, where information is exchanged. Interesting people to meet, and a certain degree of danger. Or maybe a room full of communication relays and information.

What is more important: status, personal gain or self-satisfaction?
None are really important, only a consequence.

What is the perfect time of day? Weather?
Night, with a soft rain that makes the earth smell clean and nice.

What era of history most intrigues you? What would you have been doing if you had lived in that period?
The Rise of the Empire away from Amarr Prime. What a glorious time of innoncence and possiblities! I would have been an explorer, for certain.

What kind of animal would you be?
An owl, or a snake, depends on what mythological perspective you have.

Describe the perfect mate.
I can't. Don't have time for that.

What is more important: honor or success at all costs?
Honour.

Describe your most vivid memory, dream or daydream from childhood.
My father's freighter ship. I remember being in the kitchen while my mother prepared some of her fine tea. One of the few moments of quiet and peace I had.

What is the perfect musical form?
Something powerfull and epic, classical though. The sound of electric tubas, and syncro-violines is unsurpassable.

If you were to go on an expedition what three items would you pack first?
My personal computer, a long-distance communications device, and some of my books of mythology (Including our Scriptures the first).

What part of your body best represents you as a person?
My body is but a carcass. It's my mind that matters, and that can't be a representation for it is the true thing.

What is your most recurring dream?
I don't dream usually.

What is the perfect vehicle? Colour? Options?
Vehicles are just objects. Don't have preferences with them as long as they complete their mission.

]Describe the perfect meal.
Something energetic and light. With tea.

What is your favourite colour?
Black.

How far could you be pushed before becoming violent?
I can't be pushed to be violent. I only become violent if I have to for greater reasons. Violence is the failure of the mind.

Describe the Creation of the Universe.
The Scriptures detail it pretty neatly, so there's no use in repeating those sacred words.

What is the purpose of war?
Solve the mistakes of diplomacy, enlighten the blind, and extend the Empire for His Glory.

Describe the perfect weapon.
Words can destroy empire while weapons can only kill.

In your last 24 hours of life, what would you most want to accomplish?
To be able to look back at the Empire and now it's stronger than it was when I entered the pod for a first time.

What is your preferred method of attacking the enemy: a full frontal assault or sneaking up from behind?
Sneak assault. Minimizes losses for both sides, but maximizes the effect.

What Gods could you have descended from (by your personality etc)?
This question is pointless. There is only one God, even for those that deny him.

What emotions are acceptable to display in public?
All can be shown, if you retain control of yourself. Etiquette should not be breached.

What is the worst crime a person can perform?
Fail on his duty.

Who is your greatest hero and why?
I don't have one hero, I forge my path on my own example. I do believe many other pilots are more enlightened than me, or other wise men, and learn from them, but wouldn't consider them heroes.

Is it more satisfying to achieve success or to strive towards it?
Both. To strive for it without achieving it is failing, but achieving it without learning from your own path is pointless.

What traits in others can you really not tolerate?
I can tolerate all traits, but a lack of education. And even that I can tolerate sometimes.

What quality in others do you respect the most?
Wisdom and duty.

Describe the perfect trap.
A half-truth.

What is sin?
The Scriptures are pretty clear on this issue.

If the FTL comms buzzed in the middle of the night, who would you hope it would be?
Don't have anyone special. News, important ones, though.

What do you fear the most?
Failing.

What is your most irresistible motivation?
Curiosity and duty.

((copied from Here since it seemed pretty interesting. Thanks!))

From the Diaries of Sepherim, First Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris in the Ancient Times of the Strife:

It's sad to see how fate deals its terrible hands of cards. How time strikes, and we are but mere tools in its hands. For time and fate are nothing more than facets of God. What is the message, My Lord? Why take away, instead of giving?

For that is what has just happened. Promethian Child has turned into a declared enemy of the Ordo. Promethian! Who was nothing less than the other founder! I should have seen it coming though, I saw him change under the influnce of the ISS. I saw him listen to the words of unfaithfull Amarr, and the words of unrespectfull foreigners. I saw him twist and turn, beyond the grasp of my hand, but he still remained loyal inside.

But then the ISS sent him out, on a wolf-pack, and he built the UDT for that. That was the end. At the head of his own men, the corruption of power grew inside, and made him forget all that had taken him to the PIE channel when I first met him.

And still, a small ray of hope existed, as he approached us to build an alliance. I put him again through the tests of loyalty and faith, weary of whom he seemed o have turned to. He failed them. He had turned to darkness, and his desire for light was tainted. He had become a traitor at heart, a heretic.

Now we have both declared our stances. Next time we meet it will be on the battlefield. And, still, my heart mourns for the price of my errors. I will have to solve them.

Extract from Sepherim's letters to Kaileena:

I must admit I'm puzzled. Miss Neferis, in an unpredicted movement, has given me one of her rings of Celebrity. Many seek them quite actively and I have done nothing to get them, and still there it is, the Inquisitio Haereticae awarded to me. It's strange.

There are much more noble and worthy pilots for such a ring. Gran Inquisitor Gaius Kador, for once, would deserve much more such a title. Inquisitio Haereticae.

I have replied the truth, I don't deserve it, and still Miss Naphtalia quickly replied to asy the opposite. It is a great recognition and honor, sure, but one I don't deserve. Why me and not Lord Kador, or Lord Archbishop, or Lord Graelyn? They have done much more to be celebrities, to the Empire, much more than me in my short time serving since I left Hedion University in Sehmy.

I link to you a reference to where that appeared. I knwo you trust my word, but still, I'd like you to reply after reading the original thread. I need your counsel on this, Autoritas. http://myeve.eve-online.com/ingameboard.as...D=457301&page=4

Have my best wishes with you, as always.

From the lost shiplogs of The Black Herald, Sepherim's Omen Class Cruiser, considered apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

Today was stressing. So much pressure, so much in game. So much to lose. We couldn't fail, not this time, not with what we had paid, the price and the work and blood. All for peace, all for the strength of the Empire.

The Empire should be proud of having such loyal paramilitary corporations as PIE, and Aegis Militia, and many loyal pilots that came to our aid as soon as we quickly exposed the situation. In the end, they wouldn't have been needed, since we met no opposition, but we didn't know back at the begining.

But what a terrible spectacle gave both Lords and Captain Burr. It was something to be ashamed of, only insults and stupid words. Menaces. At least the Empire will show the truth in all this, and we will be able to bring peace once and for all. Hope. Yes, this is the keystone for hope. Not that distant hope that existed at first, but a solid one, a tangible one, one that you can almost grasp with your hand. Peace might be here, and with it, one of our first steps towards the future.

There is so much more to do in the Empire...

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of the Strife:

Today, Miss Laerisa showed her softer and weaker side to me. Actually, it was one of her men that contacted me, thinking I was the proper man to talk to her. It's strange that she trusts me so much, and that his man would resort to me. Touching and rewarding, yes, but strange still.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm finally starting to find my place among the loyal pilots in the Empire. That would be a great achievement, indeed. I guess time will tell, but still, I can't help but wonder on my place in all this. My duty has always made me stand weary of weakness in the rest, but her weakness was pure. How can I sepparate both? Where does the limit between light and darkness lay? When will weakness guide someone to greatness, and when will it make him stumble and fall? How to discern the difference before it is too late, and is it possible to change that in time?

Too many questions for which I have no answers yet. But the question, as always, is the starting point. The key. Time will give me those answers, I'm confident in that.

From the lost shiplogs of The Black Herald, Sepherim's Omen Class Cruiser; considered apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

Tonight we cross a trial of fire.

I look at the chamber in which the Ordo members once met, at the round table where we sat, and see it empty. There used to be ten names for the chairs placed around them; names, functions, positions... Now there are only two left. All built along this four months has been lost. At least what regards to personnel.

No, that's not fair, not all... but almost.

We will go on and strive and grow, because our mission is more important than ourselves. It goes beyond and far. We will prevail in the end... but I start to question is we will ever have ten sephiroths...

From the shiplogs of the Black Herald, Sepherim's Omen class Cruiser, considered apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

Tonight we have failed. The first big mission of the Ordo and it ended in defeat. Why, my Lord, are you testing us so hard lately? But no, I know God has nothing to do with it, human actions are behind it all. As always.

There is a brief pause in the recording, for the clock jumps 3 minutes and 14 seconds to the future when it continues.

Sigh. Okay, I'll start from the beginning, I guess. Lord Darabi defeated tonight Lor Miyan. And Lord Miyan has accepted the defeat of his fleet, and announced that he surrendered.

Noise of something being hit and falling on the ground. Damn it! We had our first trial here, our first grand mission: bringing peace to both Houses for the better of the Empire... Well, I guess they are in peace now, but a bitter peace that one is. A peace imposed by laser, and the responsability of a leader who has seen truth be insufficient.

We have paid so much, and suffered so greatly to bring a noble and honorable peace to them... Sigh I guess it wasn't enough. We will learn, and strive on. We will not fail next time.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient Times of Strife:

Patience has paid off, and Faith has so too. God proveys, I know, but sometimes it is hard to listen to those true words. I guess that's why it's a Trial of Faith... at least, the long tunnel of the Times of Cleansing is behind us, and a bit of fresh air comes into our lungs.

I must admit there were times I thought all had failed, and it would be better to close the doors of the Ordo and join some other corporation. Or even retire from pod-piloting at all; with the few millions I have, I could have created a small business somewhere and started anew... I must admit that the soft and reasuring presence of Sardoniac helped me remain in my path... as well as the shadows I see in the future.

Yes, shadows. Storm clouds that cover the sun, that take away the light. A time of trial awaits the Empire, and I know the Ordo has come just in the moment to help us go beyond it. There are dangers others don't see, they're too... pure. No, it's not a matter of purity, but that word will have to suffice for now. They have their role to play in the future of the Empire, but there are cracks others have to take care... the Ordo is here for that...

I'm getting carried away. I guess that looking again around the table and seeing that, once again, there are names inscribed in the places.... and that finally there's diversity and that... I am definitively getting carried away. But there is hope for that dark future, a small light in the darkness, gathered around a round table.

Historical/archaelogical information:

Different studies and comments on studies of other figures of those ancient times show that Sepherim was quite a peculiar man. Little clue is given as to why he is that way, but I can try to point out to some small details which can shed some light on how he was.

one of the most recognizable facts in Sepherim's way of life was the fact that he didn't drink alcohol. Some say he had a liver problem, others that he didn't like it, and other's that it was his offering to God. That point is pretty unclear from so long ago. In turn, he seemed to be a man who always had a teapot near; his renown for making good tea and knowing all kinds of different types of herbs and origins was very extended in his time, as well as the fact that he always offered a prayer to every tea pot he made. Probably in remembrance of his mother.

Another well known detail in his personality was that he was a very formal man. Even when someone asked him to call him by his name, he usually rejected, and continued to treat him formally. This is probably due to his father's teachings, since we know his father came from a very traditional Ni-Kunni merchant family. Still, it is worth to note the fact that Sepherim used the normal cathegories, but in a strange fashion: he was known to treat pilots of his time (like the theologian Archbishop) by the title of "Lord" instead of "Mr", and he caused some problems with some minor Holders on occasions when he treated them by "Sir" or "Mr" instead of "Lord". It is obvious, though, that some kind of organization existed in his mind, though it has been lost through the tides of time.

Finally, the last clear trait of his personality that has reached us what his extreme curiosity. Beyond his work in the Ordo, Sepherim was a curious man by nature, some would say even too curious for his own good. He would ask about anything, and hear with interest, even if it had nothing to do with his life in any way, just because it was important to somebody. His knowledge of strange things was deep specially in history and myth, even knew (or claimed to know) some myths and stories from before the sealing of the EVE gate. There was an exception, though: ironically enough for a pilot, he couldn't stand the long discussions about ships and ship-fitting, and was known for knowing quite litttle about ships at all. It is hinted in several places that this curiosity got him into severe problems on many ocasions, but those stories have been lost beyond what is recorded in his own texts (compiled here).

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris:

I guess chance always knocks on your door when you are least looking for it. Even more, when you are looking in another direction completely. I had left the Ordo's space issues for a couple days, and descended to Mabnen III to gain access to some valuable contacts for our current operations. I have always hated the pressure and the pull of gravity, how it claims us like a sinking ship, like the vacuum outside the station... and this time it was no exception. But this time it has been worth it!

Not only because I gained access to those contacts, and because I was able to see the Ordo work without me directly present, but also for the achievements obtained in these days by it! And more! The first good news was the expected ending of the war. It was on our sight since not so long ago, but it was becoming clearer by the day. The Spearmint Rhino Gentleman's Club only bothered us and hindered our pilots on the first couple nights, and after Brother Sardoniac's intervention, they left us alone. It was obvious that the war would be cancelled, and it's costs stopped. We still aren't completely sure about who started it, but it does seem that rebellious members inside the Union of Dutch Trading were behind it. In any case, it will probably bother us no longer.

I must admit it has been a strange war. They declared their intentions of wiping us for their contracter, while our only intention was to evade them and remain with all our operations working as usual. Except for the first night and for a couple lost ships, truth is that we have completed our goals without problem, and their losses have even been more expensive than ours. A strange war indeed, truly a strange one.

But, then again, taking this all into account, I believe it would be appropriate to note a victory for us. We completed our objectives without problems, and they remained far from theirs. We even were able to work on many other places at the same time. Indeed, this is a glorious night.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of the Strife:

Our first war has come and gone. A curious one, brief and... peculiar. Our enemy was the Spearmint Rhino Gentleman's Club, a mercenary group who declared war on us on the benefit of an undisclosed third party. They outnumbered us nearly five to one, with people with years of experience... we were no match.

Thus we planned a running campaign. Their contractor would soon decide it was not worth it. And it was so indeed. They only ever appeared the first and second night, and after almost no results, left us alone for the rest of the night. They took a couple of our small frigates, but we even took down one of their tech 2 ships, much more costly than all of our ships.

In the end, they just retracted the war and left us alone. A strange first victory, but a victory I guess.

It is curious how this entry is recorded again in his diaries, being so close to the previous one and seemingly only repeating it. Some say he had forgotten he had written the other in the midst of their first war victory, while others speculate on the possibility of the existance of a false diary, of which some pages would have come into the mainstream diary along the centuries. I'm afraid it will be hard to know what is truth and what not in this case.

From the diaries of Sepherim, First Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient Times of the Strife:

Lately I have caught myself thinking of myself like an old man too many times. I don't know why, but other fresh pilots from the university no longer feel like "my kin, my group, my generation" and instead feal like younglins. I don't identify myself with them anymore, and see in them attributes I have lost with time: pull, innocence, eagernes... Why has my innocence left me?

I remember, not so long ago, when I was eager about everything. Asked questions about the most stupid things, went from place to place just to look, commited small and meaningless errors and achieved useless victories. Where has all that gone? Lately, I find myself answering questions more than asking them, remaining in a few places with duties of severe consequences, haunted by the errors of the past, and with my curiosity turned into a fine stiletto instead of the broad weapon it was at first.

Is that good? Does it mean I have matured as a pilot? I guess so. But I'm not sure I like it. Why did it happen? Was it the result of the trials time has placed before me? Was it due to the responsabilities the Ordo has placed before me? Does it make me a better Keter, or it instead takes the drive, the pull, out of me? Well, at least it seems like I haven't forgot how to make questions afterall...

I know those questions have great importance to myself, but I can't see the answer yet. Too many things remain hidden from me, and it is becoming frustrating. Demiurge is one such thing, but not the only one. And we still lack the power to complete our goals, our mission. Sometimes it seems like we will never have, but then I just take a small look into the past and remember how we were not so long ago and it becomes obvious we have advanced much.

Maybe I am jut in a more depressive mood today.

From the lost shiplogs of the Warrior of the Crown, Sepherim's Harbinger Battlecruiser, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

I was talking today with Mr. Dragonis about his re-insertion into society after his long time... away from it. And it came to happen into the discussion that he didn't feel back at home, and his bonds with the out-of-the-pod bonds were pretty shattered due to his absence. One of those, which he missed, was his own daughter, Alexandra Godschild, who was closer to Amann than to himself; in fact, he didn't acknowledge him at all. Thus, I offered to talk to her, and try to get her a bit closer to him.

Off I went back to Oris, which is good since I had a couple things to buy to finish setting this little beast I fly on (and there are still some more things to work on it yet, seems like I will never finish). In any case, I took a shuttle down to the planet, and visited a small i-Kunni teahouse casually. To be honest, I had already heard of the excellences of this fine establishment from before, from the lips of both Amann and other members of his house. And it was up to such a high reputation, I even bought some nice and rare herbs to bring back with me.

In any case, I knew she would come in sooner or later, and she was easy to recognize. Even in her mid-fifteens, she has the look of her mother, which I've seen in photographs, but also the eyes and lips of her father. There was no possible mistake. Luck did help me a bit, I must admit, since she took seat in a table next to me. And I say only a bit, since some of my own superior members of my tripulation were occupying most of the other tables, so she would sit near to me.

I was having a fake conversation over the comms, designed to lure her attention. Some swift mentions of talks with Amann were enough to catch her ear, and to tell her I knew her uncle well. Hopefully, she would have heard of me too from her uncle. It is easy to impress a fifteen-year-old with a little knowledge of who she is: the aura of being a free pod-pilot is usually enough to draw the attention of most Holder-sons, who believe themselves tied to the world and their duties.

I almost smiled when she took sit at my table and directly asked how I knew her father. I made her wait, seeping my tea calmly (such fine tea deserved it!) and then introduced myself formally to her, making her eager for my reply. She introduced herself, but in a rush, and then I replied to her questions, after seeping the tea again. I told her about the times Amann and I had flown together and a little bit about my work in space defending the Empire against the enemies of it. Of course, she hadn't heard about the Ordo, but that was to be expected. I told her some of our battles in space, told her about Brother Joshua even a bit.

Her eyes were open wide. She had certainly heard about Brother Joshua and his meeting with Lord Kor-Azor. I told her I was in the meeting between Lord Darabi and Lord Miyan, and even showed her a couple holophotos. Of course, I only told her as she asked, making her want to know more, and never showing myself of. She had to feel she was in control, as she was used to, but only to the limit wher another strong individual was, one that didn't fold exactly to her rules and desires: me.

We talked for quite a while before I mentioned Mr Dragonis at all, as if I didn't realize she was her daughter. Obviously, they didn't share secondname, and it wasn't so publicly known, so it was easy to believe. Her face did become darker in a moment, and her mood had changed. Of course, I pretended not to notice, and did mention that noble pilot, and a few good things about him. The appropriate things to catch her attention.

Of course, as expected, she didn't remain much longer, and excused herself, never saying she was her daughter. But the appropriate seeds had been planted on her. Not today, maybe not tomorrow, but those words would remain in her forever, written like burned fire. Of course, she wouldn't believe them at first, and would negate them completely. But, by doing so, she would have taken the first step into change: seeking to confirm that negatiive. That would, hopefully, lead her the right way, to pay more attention to her father and, in the end, acknowledge him as the man he was. Hopefully, with much longer time, wounds would heal.

And, in the worst-case scenario, I could always drop by for some more tea.

From the Diaries of Sepherim, Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of the Strife:

Today I've been in a strange mood. It seems like today it is a deja vu day, another circle completed in this long spiral that is the story of the Ordo. Same old, in a new form. It has been positive, and negative.

Negative because we just lost another Acolyte. Deenai Nyx wasn't apt for becoming a member of full right, and thus has been expelled from the Ordo. It hasn't been easy. We don't have many pilots, and with everyone that we lose, part of us is lost too. Hopes, dreams and plans are sent into Oblivion, and set to square one to start again. Over and over again. I have seen it too many times. I know that it is not easy to complete the initiation, it is meant that way precisely to make only the most appropriate full members of the Ordo, yet still...

To complete that strange feeling, today I was able to finish the preparations on my new Royal Paladin. The Battlecruiser is ready to take the place of Warrior of the Crown, lost in action some days ago. And yet, I can't feel excitement about it. None at all. It has taken me all these days to get a new one, but it just feels like a replacement, a patch to cover my errors. No real advance, just another circle in the wheel.

I feel like we are going nowhere. I know it isn't true, but only if I look back I can perceive all that we have done in these months. It has not been little, true, but I feel like we should have done more already... ah, damn, I said I was in a strange mood.

Diary, close.

From the lost shiplogs of Royal Paladin, Sepherim's Harbinger Battlecruiser, considered apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

It has been a sad ending for a night, and I'm sure I won't get much sleep either. I had just been fighting Smurfete for her training, everything seemed to go smoothly, and had docked my Punicher and entered this ship for a rutinary check of its setting, to confirm a couple ideas I had had.

And then the news entered my comm unit. My father died today, a few hours ago, in a hospital somewhere in Simbeloud. My older brother, Redoran, will take his place and guide the family business, but I know that Tretas won't let that be so simple. They had both worked together to get me out of the way, but now they will fight over the power itself...

And mother, what will happen to her? The informaton says that they will take care of her, but I can't be sure of that. Of course they will do it publicly, but they will be too centered on their pety fights over the family bussiness to help her in this time of weakness. But I know I can't bring her here either, she is in her own trial in a way, and the Ordo's atmosphere will only depress her even further. This is not a place for a civilian, and already young Lady Godschilde is showing some smaller effects of it, how much more would a depressed woman be affected by it?

And, to worsen it all even more, I just can't bring myself to cry on his death, or in all the implications. Too many deaths are on my back already, and he seems so far away... like another life, millenia ago, taken away from me without my consent.

Maybe I should attend the funeral tomorrow, maybe I shouldn't. They won't understand me, they won't accept me, they won't like me to be there... no, I'll face alone my ghosts, in the night, during the Hour of the Witch.

From the medical records in Mabnen Station. Supposedly the treatment procedures for Sepherim, after his mysterious reapperance in Mimen:

Patient: Name erased
Number: 23343323-AX
Current state: coma.
Injuries: severe head wounds; severe leg wounds; severe spine wounds. Trauma, shock.
Additional notes: doesn't respond to treatment.
Measures to take: order a 3356-Abra leg for replacement of his right leg.

Personal entry: we located the pod pilot in his pod, almost unconscious. How he made all the voyage in the shipwreck he was flying and in such a condition is a mystery to me. We needed almost ten minutes to clear the way from the airlock to his pod, and the scene inside the ship was so terrible it will haunt my sleep for my years to come. Only thirty two of the crew members were alive and recoverable, and four of them didn't reach the hospital. The pod pilot was almost unconscious when we retired him, and the pod still sending out strange signals into galnet. The Ordo member that entered with us, a frightening looking man, heavily implanted, checked many things in the pod as we were placing the pilot in his transport-unit. Seemed to be erasing something. And when we headed to the hospital unit... all roads were empty, no one to see.

Something wasn't right in all this... I have heard rumours of this... organization. But this is not something I want to be involved with. But it seems like it is something I don't have a choice about...

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, in the ancient times of the Strife:

I awoke this afternoon with my head hurting like hell and was told I had been in coma for quite some time now. Putting me up to date was quick, since no one knew what had happened since we dissapeared, and no logs remained of it. Problem is that I don't remember either. There is this pain, in the back of my head, that seems to have taken away those weeks from my mind, like if the horror that lies in there was too much to bear while conscious.

I am too weak too. My frail body lies in this room's bed and I can barely move it. Eveyrhting seems strange in it, specially the metal leg that takes the place of my original one. I thought, at first, about replacing it for a cloned leg, or maybe for a cybernetic one that wasn't so obvious, but I have decided to leave it like this in the end. It reminds me of the price we have paid, even if I don't know how we paid it.

But my body will return to strength with a couple day's work in the hospital's gym. What worries me is my mind. I am weak, unfocused, and I have to admit that quite depressed. Not only because of the loss of my memory, though it cuts like a knife and burns like laser fire, but also for the price we have paid. All of them are dead, I've been told, all that had come with me on our mission, whatever it was, are dead, and I was responsible for them. Whatever happened, I didn't do well enough.

The doctor sais that tomorrow I can start working in the mental exercises and the simulator, but only a little bit. He doesn't say it, but he is worried that I won't have the willpower required for podpiloting, that I won't be able to return from the connection. That I will be mindlocked.

And I, alone in the bed, am afraid of it too. Too many ghosts to come with me into the pod, we can't fit in there all together.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of Strife:

It's been two days getting back in the pod just a few hours, because Doctor Falden won't allow me to remain more in the pod. He is afraid that the presure of combat and dialogue with the enemies of the Empire might draw me into mindlock, and so, into the permanent coma that all studies of pod piloting fear before going through the trial of their first flight.

And I must admit I understand and share his own doubts to an extent.

I am not the same, and I can feel it. My confidence is vanishing, and I comit errors I am not used to. My own Harbinger took some structure damage tonight as I was going through some easy beta level missions in Mabnen with Chief Librarian, and as a result, one of my crew members got carried to a hospital with serious wounds.

I am not the same, my new cybernetic leg reminds me that constantly. And I fear I won't be able to recover completely at all, and rebuild the Ordo as I should. It is no small task at all, and I'm not sure I have the willpower to do it as I had before.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo, back in the ancient times of Strife:

One year. It has already been a year since I founded this organization with the help of Promethian Child. It seems like it was a millenia ago. So many thins have happened, so many are going to. I look back to those days, read the entries in the diary, and I barely recognize myself anymore.

I no longer am that young and eager pilot, anxious to know everything and save the Empire from danger. Now I have grown old, some say wise I would only say knowledgeable, and bitter. Pain has molded myself into a man that knows much more than he should, and has paid the price for it.

From all those that have passed through the Ordo in all this time, only names remain. Promethian Child, lost so soon, turned into an enemy for example. Irish Ranger, who left to pursue his own road away from us. Or Amann Karris, who joined Opus Imperium. And so many others, whose names are engraved in the Book of the Gone, who sacrificed their lifes in service to the Empire and the Ordo. Even those who's deaths remain a mystery inside my own mind, a mystery my cybernetic leg continuously reminds me of.

Only three of us remain after so long. Three sephiroths. Sardoniac, who is half the Ordo in his own right; Smurfette, who has just accepted taking the place of Netzaj and is becoming ever stronger. And myself, drowned under the weight and pressure of sins and errors, of acts so terrible that secrecy is the only thing that can save the Empire from knowing too much of itself.,

Ignorance. How much people ignore in their common and quiet lifes! How the world really works, what stakes are at a balance, what changes every time a pod pilot enters war. They see us only as idols, but we are closer to fallen angels than true guides. Even the few real beacons of hope are not absolutely pure, as Aegis Militia's own history with the foundation of many of the Blood Raider sects proves.

Sometimes I look back to my innocent self, long lost, and dream about becoming it again. Forgetting everything, tearing away from my responsabilities or placing myself at the orders of a higher one. Having no responsability other than myself and my crew, not a whole Empire that weights heavy on my shoulders. It is too much of a burden for a man.

But it is senseless. It is a road that leads nowhere and I know it. I may have become a bitter old pilot, taught under the crimson laser fire the high price everything requires... but that is exactly what I have to become. The Ordo doesn't need an idealistic zealot with no brains who thinks in terms of good and evil, it needs a strong man who can guide it in a real universe full of dangers.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and think I can trully be that man. Sometimes I feel like I will never even learn to get near that. Only time, the ultimate judge, can tell. But I will do my best, for the Empire, for God!

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of the Strife:

Yesterday was a long and busy day. But a fruitful one. Maybe the line of Darkness extends itself, but we're fighting against it with all we can, in our way. I don't remember being in my pod for so many hours, taking care of the bussiness that the Emperor Family needed from me.

And to end the day, I assisted to the opening of a new lounge. The Vimora Gate. It was an interesting night, though I admit I was way to tired by then to enjoy it as I should have. But quite an interesting group gathered there.

All in all, though, it was a tiring day. I hadn't had such a long one in ages, and my head pounds still today, even after the sleep and all. And the trip to the Matari starbase doesn't seem like a "light" duty. We'll see, much work ahead... will our duty ever be fulfilled? Will we ever finish with the enemies of the Empire?

No, it won't. New duties always appear. Or else my life would be senseless. By now, this is all I know how to do, all my life. All my small universe.

From the lost shiplogs of Crown Avenger, Sepherim's Harbinger Battlecruiser, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

The Ordo is organized again and ready. The doors have been swung open again tonight, and we are retaking active recruitment. It will be draining, of course, as it always is, but it is a necessity if we are to carry out our mission.

Still each time I see a new application, I can't stop but think that in a year, that pilot may not exist anymore, definitively, due to an error in my command. Like what happened then. But I know that I have to be able to overcome that... someday.

In any case, "God provides", as the Scriptures say. Lucius Vindictus has joined the Ordo tonight, directly into Acolytenship. A good omen, indeed, a very good one.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient times of the Strife:

It's curious, by this hour we should be in war against the Stane's Raiders, a small Minmatarr terrorist organization. Everything was set, the votation had been announced to the Council of Sephiroths, and then, the last piece of information came, making everything shake to its roots.

They were only a training corporation, and would never accept to retire their wardecs, so it would be impossible to meet our objectives. And, further on, they didn't engage in combat, only ran and ran from every enemy, except when they felt really superior... and when that came, they usually were destroyed mercilessly.

There was no need for the Ordo to intervene at all. No purpose nor sense. Now we have to locate who their mother corporation is and, maybe, we can go after them. Still, I can't help but keep watching my back today, more than usual, thinking that a Stane's Raider could be there.

From the lost shiplogs of Crown Avenger, Sepherim's Harbinger Battlecruiser, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

I sit here, dictating to you, because it is not wise for me to undock right now. I've been a few days away from the pod, and I have returned to see that we are deep in war. Three terrorists have wardecced us, the members of the corporation so called Disturbed Amarrians, a group of deranged assasins who follow a mad man. But yet, deranged as they may be, they are both skilled and well trained. A threat above our level.

It is strange how the tides of fate go, to be honest. After months without crossing Ashar Kor-Azor's path, seems like this conflict will bring us to meet again, as the Blessed Sisters of Amarr have been wardecced too. Ironic, don't you think?

The recording makes a small pause, for some seconds. Then is retaken with the sound of someone taking a chair and placing a cup of ceramic on a table. Probably tea, because that is what Sepherim usually drinks.

The young ones are eager to fight, and I can't blame them. I too would love to just undock right now, and start firing the guns in my ship on the enemy's hull until it broke into the vacuum of space. But that would only get me and my crew dead. Patience is the key here, and time plays to our advantage. So, time to wait and organize other things meanwhile.

It is going to be a long night. End recording.

From Sepherim's Diaries, back in the ancient times of Strife:

It has been some long days. As sad as it may seem, in modern times of technology and all, I've been ill for too long, and lying in my bed, away from my pod. The universe keeps turning, and I barely have access to the public channels in the IGS, and such bulletin boards. The Caldari have problems with CONCORD in one end of the galaxy, on the other seems like some small Blood Raider cults are on the move, and someone claims that someone has sneaked Freedom Fighters inside Amarrian stations. IGS is full of the same crap as always.

At least, I've been able to get into the pod briefly to check on my internal communications. The doctor didn't allow me more than a few minutes, but at least I've confirmed the Ordo seems to grow steadily and that is good, we even got Forric back. And the Disturbed Amarrians have dropped their wardec, so we are back at peace. That is good, with the new members, there is a lot of training and work to be done.

And I still will probably be in bed one more week...

From the Diaries of Sepherim, First Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, back in the ancient Times of Strife:

Finally, I have taken the Crown out of its docks. It has been long since it has been there, waiting for me, but I needed to learn a couple things before I could take her out. But now, she finally is in space, under the light of the suns of Amarr.

Well, to be honest, it was only a small while, it is docked again and waiting. I need to take my time to choose the best crew members I can locate, and decide how to fit it. A full command ship is tempting, but would rely too much on the rest of the Fleet. A strong command ship and combat ship is another option, but... I don't know, I'll have to think it over the pillow.

But just to remember the feeling and all the options... well, tomorrow I'll retake the work on it. As of now, time to return to combat in the front lines, in the Bleak Lands. Well, at least the campaign is marching forward and fine, according to the few news the Navy will share with the rest of us.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, from the ancient Times of Strife:

Another ship went down while in service in Providence. Another Punisher destroyed by pirates and heathens. It's not precisely the first nor the second to suffer such a fate. And Brother Rramar's cruiser went down this time too, more lifes to add to the price we pay. Price we pay in the lifes of good men, in blood, and suffering, time and duty. A terrible price, all for the wellbeing of the Empire.

And what does the Fleet do? Nothing we can see, fight invisible battles with the Defiants in space! And it can't even handle CONCORD to give us permission to fight in the ADUs when they are under attack in safe-space! I have been orbiting during minutes an enemy ship destroying one such installation, incapable of opening fire due to CONCORD! What sense is there in that?

I don't know, I only know that the Empire asks and we give... but maybe, sometime it should arrange it so we could work with ease.

From the diaries of Sepherim, first Keter of the Ordo Quaesitoris, from the ancient Times of Strife:

Isn't it strange how sometimes the universe turns its wheels. From the shadows, from the nothingness, I today received a call from a ghost. A personal comm line opened and Cecean was on the other side. After being lost for more than a year, he is back! We just completed the Entrace Rite a small while ago, and he is an Acolyte again. I still can't accept he is back, someone from such a long time ago! Even before Brother Sardoniac! Strange the twists fate brings...

And I also have been given a great honor tonight. Lord Rodak compared me to a nauarchus, which is a high title inside the Manu Dei. I still believe I don't deserve such a comparison, but... well, I can't help but feeling proud about it. I am human afterall.

From the lost shiplogs of Crown Explorer, Sepherim's Punisher Frigate, considered Apocrypha in front of his own diaries:

I don't know, I am not feeling too well lately. It is not an illness, or anything like it, and it is hard to explain what it exactly is.

The voice stops for a few minutes, during which a figure moves in the room and picks up and leaves a couple objects.

Ahh, well, I should try to explain myself. It is a feeling. Like if my stomache was closing or something like that. Yet I know it is nothing physical. So it is just a feeling, a sensation. Like if someone was watching me or something like that. A bad sensation.

Something is wrong somewhere. Maybe there is something I have overlooked in my latest underground investigations, because nothing seems wrong either in the Bleak Lands or in the other zones we have pressence. All seems well, in fact the Bleak Lands and the 7th Imperial Fleet seem pretty tranquil as of late. And yet I can't rid myself of this sensation. I can feel it in the back of my spine. It's not that I have psychic powers or anything to detect wrongdoings in the Empire (I wish I had!), but my instincts aren't wrong usually.

I have to keep a closer eye around me then. It has been long since I noticed that my follower had stopped trailing me, but maybe he is back. I'll have to restart my routines for locating chasers, though if it is the same man, it will serve only limitedly.