Who is Reader Klept?

Hello there.

My name is Klept — Scribe, Archivist, and Historian by trade, and, according to recent events, chronicler of chaos by necessity. I currently serve as a Reader for the Church of the Prophet* here in Dawnsheart, though my duties seem to have expanded to include documenting doom, cataloguing calamity, and taking notes on the deeply questionable heroism of my companions (and, occasionally, myself).

If you’ve arrived here seeking wisdom, you may be disappointed. If you’re after stories, or at the very least, a detailed account of how not to save the world, then by all means, read on.

* In case you’re wondering, a “Reader” is simply a person who has qualified to participate in the all-important ritual of deciphering the glyphs on the Prophet Rock each year during the harvest festival. It’s actually less “reading” and more “staring at symbols, sketching them badly, and hoping the archives hold a clue.”

I was found as a child on the shores of the Crystal River, wrapped in faded linens and reportedly chewing on an old leather boot. No one knows where I came from. No family ever came forward. The Church took me in, as they often do, and I was raised among ink bottles, candlelight, and the comforting smell of old parchment.

My mentor was High Reader Lorcan Tufulla, a man of extraordinary patience and even more extraordinary side-eye. It was Tufulla who first taught me my letters – slowly, and with the kind of expression usually reserved for stubborn goats and hopeless causes. But he saw something in me, apparently. Said I had “a memory like a snare trap and the potential to be either brilliant or deeply annoying.” He nurtured my curiosity, honed my writing, which he said resembled a spider having a seizure, and insisted I learn the sacred glyphs. I can now read them with moderate confidence and interpret prophecy with what I’d generously describe as mixed results. Tufulla says I have “flashes of insight.” I suspect he means that quite literally, one good guess every few dozen attempts. Still, I do try. And he hasn’t revoked my quill license yet.

According to the High Readers, this is a most holy task. One that must be undertaken with clarity, precision, reverence, and an unwavering commitment to truth.
According to me, it mostly involves ink-stained fingers, near-death experiences, and trying to spell ridiculously unpronounceable names while under siege or running.

The pages herein are a record of events as I witnessed them, or heard about them from increasingly unreliable sources. I have endeavored to chronicle what I could, when I could, under conditions that were rarely ideal and often actively on fire.

Some accounts may appear exaggerated. Others, incomplete. A few might have been written from memory, and one or two while concussed.

If you find errors, inconsistencies, or entire sections that appear to be the result of panic and poor penmanship… they are. I am aware. I simply no longer care.

Reader Klept,

Archivist of Confusion and Mildly Competent Witness

If you would like to contact me, for whatever reason, you can do so by clicking the button below