The Writings of Artemis D'Assanthe

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Sun Nov 13, 2016 3:56 pm

Of the last tenday of Mirtul, 1363DR.

In the wake of the 7th day's events, the hands of many of us have been full. The injured, the terrified, and the dead have been treated with care; Sarshel does not lack misery but it also does not lack helpful souls. While the Triadists struggle and are taken into the firm embrace of lady Kelda, others aid in disposing of the rubble, discuss what has happened and what must happen, and yet others seek the Fiend. The beast that vanished into the night.

Citizens, seeing in the Temple's fall an unfathomable defeat, have taken to pack up and flee for neighbouring Dilpur and more distant Hlammach. In their wake houses have been left behind, abandoned, while the ones that stay despair. They need to feel that they are not powerless; a daunting task to bestow this on them when we, too, who faced the Fiend may feel just the same way. But neither we nor the common folk are permitted to stay idle; not by me. The morning sermons serve to inform and coordinate the people to take up duties, roles, responsibilities in the restoration efforts of both the destroyed sections of the city as well as on the wreckage left on their hearts.

And I?...

The Temple of the Triad has been sealed, and it resembles most a tomb, though I choose to see in its crippled image a reason for stubborness. Indeed, in the dawn that rose after the blood-filled night, I have forged a greater resolve, fiercer and clearer than in the years of service before. A confidence in the Morninglord that I have never thought to experience.

Some believe that faith, true faith, is complacency; perhaps even slavery, surrendering one's will to a higher power. Without understanding. Without character. That faith is a cane for a limping man; the ideals for the lost soul who cannot conceive a purpose for his own.

But this faith, mine, does not shackle me. It has not made me give up myself; nor has it made me weak. I am not the insecure lover seeking validation, nor the naive maiden needing direction. I am the leader of my cause, and my Lord that which enables it. I am the passion, the determination, the indignation, and my Lord that which empowers it. Our intentions are shared, our paths aligned.

And I have never before felt as close to Him as on that night. Despite the terror; or because of it. In the bottomless grief that came that morning after, my defiance rose, and with it came the clarity... the sheer, unstoppable, pure conviction that I was precisely where I had to be. And that Lathander would stand by me.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Fri Nov 18, 2016 9:52 pm

Several shorter entries follow, illustrating the author's alleged plans to "coordinate the people". Quick notes for contacts, merchandise and trade partners have been jotted down, but these are more often bullet points than coherent texts. Entries dated a month later suggest preliminary preparations for organising some event. Then...



Of the first tenday of Flamerule, 1363DR.

Scarcity of resources, produce and warm weather continue well into the most scorching month of summer. The gods did not lie last Midsummer Day when they had sent a deluge, heralding with this deed an ominous, harsh year ahead. The price of imported goods, particularly food supplies increases daily, alas.

Where summer flowers haven't had a chance to bloom, the bond between acquaintances persists, such as between my wayward friend Aryen and I, or he and the likes of miss Aleira Nemesk, to my pleasure. For all of Aryen's reclusion, he cannot quite escape my fondness of him; and this Impilturan woman, Aleira, seems quite a worthwhile ally as well. I have heard much of her community service in the past month in Outentown.

Community service, Midsummer: ideal to lead in the topic of my planned means to spite the cold weather. To my understanding, no Midsummer celebration is being devised at present in any nearby settlement. Impiltur, or the Triad, do not seem to consider the significance of this day with the same passion as we do in Amn (a most civilized country, we must continue to stress) or other locales to the west. That will be different this year - and I humbly hope there will be enjoyment enough to fend off the snows; be it for a minute or a tenday.



Of the 28th day of Flamerule, 1363DR.

A few more days, all seem to be in good order and place. I am reminded of the wedding in Alturiak: organisation brings with it such a thrill, even in this dark and exacting ever-winter.



Of Midsummer Night and Day, 1363DR.

Resplendent. Only one visiting acquaintance displayed glumness (which was almost infectuous, but still failed to be that), while all others have joined contests and feasting alike. Of Adventurer-friends, Marcellus the Harp of Cimbar (oh, how I had missed him!), Nathaniel Askovar, mister Jonan, Hjalmar Godefroy, miss Aleira, ser Merney Valroc, miss Wynna, miss Faile, and briefly miss Élisabeth made an appearance or took part in the competitions, and I was delighted.

With a lack of pairs for one event, even I found myself entering the fray for the Ropes of Rivalry, joining the bawdy brute Hjalmar. For all his uncouth ways - and his rude-turned-amicable debut at my Greengrass party - there is a charm to this Northlander, and not only that, but healthy contestant spirit too. We fared well against our opponents in the tug-of-war, in part thanks to my own arms, it is true!

It was no surprise that the title of Songmaster went to Nathaniel, although I found the dirge from ser Merney surprisingly moving as well, and Hjalmar's rally to... pillage and to fear his people... was certainly memorable. And may I leave it at that description. Amusing, however, that they coerced their contest-host, I, to sing also in the end.

Further titles too were given: the Mistress of Midsummer became miss Aleira, as Knight of Midsummer was annointed Hjalmar Godefroy, and the Midsummer King's honours sailed to the Damaran, ser Merney, upon whom it seemed Lathander, Tymora and Tempus all smiled that day.

And not a single flake of snow trickled from the sky.

A promising sign? I should think so.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Tue Nov 22, 2016 9:28 pm

Diary
Of the 12th day of Eleasias, 1363DR.

Trolls, in another corner of Impiltur than last I'd seen them. Last; last was a year and more ago where it was my first brush with them, though one would be thoroughly generous to call it a 'brush' indeed, for I stood in the ranks of the rear and watched others deal blows. It had been the first expedition I had partaken in, in Impiltur, and the first earnest overwhelming Adventure in my career.

Little has remained of the bafflement I'd felt then. And little has remained of the trolls now under our steel and torches.



Of the 2nd tenday of Eleasias, 1363DR.

This has been a wonderful tenday.

I have met a fellow Amnian: a fellow Athkatlan. He introduces himself by the artistic shorthand of Sonal, and oh, was I enthused - thrilled - to lead conversations with him. It was not only a treasure to hear my home again on his accent; he is also a delightful man and an intellectual soul. Will he stay as long as I, I do not know. Athkatla will be poorer for his absence, but Sarshel will be charmed indeed.



Of the 3rd tenday of Eleasias, 1363DR.

I have left behind the comforts of Sarshel in favour of seeking the frontier, whose centre piece resolutely stays the hamlet Vlasta. And while it seems that in the previous tenday I was blessed with a part of my past and homeland visiting me, ser Merney was bestowed a curse with a part of his own past coming to haunt him.

Our venture into a den of beasts was simple enough; miss Aleira Nemesk, mister Jonan, miss Élisabeth Duval, and the aforementioned ser Merney and myself, dealt with the creepers of the caverns with precision. The broodmother was a different tale. Our Damaran companion and mister Jonan took the fore, of course. However, the beast leapt unto ser Merney and tore at his armour - in vain - up until it managed to find a singular gap and stab him deep, and seek more weakness thereafter. Bloodied, knocked to the ground and exhausted after the battle, he still recovered quickly; in body at least. His spirit and mind were elsewhere.

Haunted indeed. Though the Morninglord's blessing calmed his thoughts; thankfully.

It has been my understanding so far too that he is a troubled man, although he has miss Aleira to lend him support; and this seems sufficient for him. I have offered to speak with him, this time and before, and he has politely postponed such. I trust he finds what he requires... or if not now, then he will.



Of the 1st tenday of Eleint, 1363DR.

People's doubts, people's fear, the dark gods' gloating. I had enough.

And he; he should not have drawn blood, nor life.

I am angry... as much at him as at myself. The Blackfinger had to be stopped, but I hold onto the belief that he could have, and would have, changed in his heart if we had more time. Time that I had not been given by this ally of mine; time that I had not foreseen making use of this way until it was too late. Brother Garrmin's letter reveals and confirms more of my suspicions, and that both soothes and saddens me.

Nevertheless, what is done is done.

Tucked among the pages of the diary here is a copy of a letter, the author's handwriting. The mentioned letter from Brother Garrmin of Ilmater is elsewhere.
Spoiler:
Stoic Brother Adorned Garrmin,

May Lathander's light brighten your compassionate path.
For compassion is what filled your quill and sent your words my way, and I thank you for that humbly. You have parted information of Blackfinger Niall Laksoyr that indeed would spur scholars to thought, and philosophers; within his history lies many a lesson. To the ever-transcending, illustrious and redemptive church of Lathander, this lesson is that we are given a choice between light and darkness, between purpose and waywardness, between hope and hopelessness, each and every forthcoming day.

That Niall Laksoyr has so continuously chosen to err on the side of the latter, is as much tragic and frustrating as it is just the above - a choice; one for which others have had to pay, without the freedom of choice of their own. To not only accept but embrace that way of life cannot be forgotten, though I know, instead, you seek to forgive. It is forgiveness that the morning brings also, filled with Lathander's love, to those who accept a need for change - and decide to will it. For others, the Morninglord's sunspeared wrath - and the Broken God's and others' paladins - are ready.

Mayhaps, having spotted that regret upon the Blackfinger's face myself, I would have like to believe that his choice could have been altered on one new morning, through your brothers or mine, with enough opportunities and diligence.

Mayhaps, however unfounded the hope may seem, his passage from our midst indeed was accompanied by a change of heart.

Mayhaps, with our prayers to go with him, his spirit knows light, not only darkness.

May the Morninglord and the Broken God know for certain, even if we do not.

Everbright in friendship,

Artemis D'Assanthe, High Dawnlord.
Signed, 16th Eleint, 1363DR.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Wed Dec 07, 2016 8:48 pm

Diary
Of the 15th day of Eleint, 1363DR.

Miss Aleira Nemesk's self-appointed guardianship over Outentown proves impressive and fruitful. I make a note here of missus Daanna Pontek of Outentown also; a woman of broad stature and a broader smile, who approached miss Aleira with a request for assistance. Only her charm and larger-than-life aura can surpass and eclipse that smile of hers.

We provided her with help regarding her family's former holdings, off the more-travelled west road by a pond. It was not so surprising that the family had not returned of their own accord, and good indeed that they did not try prior to our visitation there. A pair of trolls had made their home by, or in?, the pond whom we defeated; but more than they, there seemed to be some otherworldly denizen at the site, invisible to the naked eye. If it was a spirit, it may have been of an elemental or fairy nature, and not one of the Aberrants, for it seemed neither hostile nor responsive to the Morninglord's rebuke. That explanation for now suffices, for the creature did not attack or hinder us.

Unieng warned us of the evil influence it might exercise, though the spirit left us behind and at peace. I will warn missus Pontek of the possibility that the creature stayed, unseen, though miss Aleira may be ahead of me on that already; and just as well. Ah, the warden of Outentown.



Of the 17th day of Eleint, 1363DR.

I do not enjoy being endebted.

Despite that, I agree with ser Merney; these boots were meant for me, or one of our faith.

Though they do not bear the Morninglord's rising sun in their decorum, and thus no physical proof exists of His blessing on them, their imbued nature is apparent. Their sheen and splendour, the faintest warmth they exude upon touch, and the vitality they lend to my stride are no make of mere mortal shoemakers; whether it was their craftsman that was granted a boon for his passions or a clergyman whose faith travels in this footwear, the harrowed stroke of one of our gods marks them. Who is to say? Mayhaps these boots come from the Dalelands where Lathander walked; mayhaps they come from His very feet, from the Time of Troubles, and with time His touch will fade from them.

That they were recovered from a reinforced trunk of smugglers need not surprise me - the value of these soles is hard to deny. But the idea has me scoff, even so. The gods have walked the face of Toril but a handful of years ago; this pair need not have belonged to any of them, but had the smugglers any awe for what they got their hands on? Had they any fear for transporting them and their other stolen goods? Or did they see only the handsome purse any temple would pay for these boots?

And a handsome purse indeed would have been offered to anyone. Coin was offered by me also to ser Merney upon his showcasing them to me. He did not accept, and - while he rightfully argued such items should find their way to the servants of the gods, and a Dawnbringer most fittingly - thusly I find myself musing... and in his debt.

I do not enjoy being endebted. But I say this with no grudge. Ser Merney has my gratitude; for this glance into his character, my appreciation.

Now, to see these boots make the trek to the Sunsong Spire, and to meet Dawngreeter Kaleb.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Fri Dec 23, 2016 7:43 pm

Diary
Shorter entries with notes grace the next two pages again. Thereafter follows an entry that is more sinister in its contents.

Of the 1st tenday of Marpenoth, 1363DR.

In Mirtul the demonic menace descended on the Triad's Temple in Sarshel. After its crash into the temple it has disappeared, but not without a trace, as there seem to be other demons waking and heeding its call one by one. Would that be possible? Are these the Fiend's seeds by design or by its nature? I know too little of its kind, and what the knowledgeable have told me - Kelda - does not yet help me predict where and what might come next.

There was mention of a slaughter of Stowside, an outlying hamlet, too brutal and wrong even for orc or goblinkin, and it lies by the Easting coast where such enemies have no foothold. There was also most recently the news of the Velvet Chantry's seal, the news arriving this morn, prompting my quill to gather these thoughts.

Preparation comes with difficulty, though Impiltur has its history, a Paladin Council and Knights of the Most Holy Order of the Shrike as its arms and armour also.



Of the 10th day of Marpenoth, 1363DR.

Dame Rannie Marrinson did not have to convince us at length to stand by her. The rumour of the Velvet Chantry of Songhall was proved by her to be true and worse. An evil rose amidst the sisters and brothers of the Chantry. She had been the one to discover the corruption inside, and was at the speartip of the band that volunteered to face it. To face a demon that had nestled itself into the Lady Firehair's abbey.

Within, the faith that should open mind and soul was twisted to blind and entrap. What was sickening for us to behold must have been heartrending for the Ruby Rose's knight.

Terrible is the evil that lures us with pleasure. Poor is the spirit that mistakes it for love. Yet truthfully, the Sisters and Brothers of the Chantry had made no such willing mistake, they had no choice in this; naught was their folly but their presence at the wrong time and location, exposed to a fiend's preternatural corruptions.

The demon was driven back. And while it will have left behind fear, it was not a primitive fear one; no fear of death or pain; but a fear of oneself, to what ends one could be driven through a play upon desire. Beautiful this demon was, carnal and lustful, enticing. We will know nightmares that leave us with craving and questioning our integrity. May we know better in our waking hours.



Of the 12th day of Marpenoth, 1363DR.

A sermon at the city square of what we faced was well-received. The Calishite Ilmatari by the name of Cassandra, whom I have met prior, in Eleint, has started to make a habit of strolling through the Sarshel city square for anyone she might assist - or for company, at times, I suspect. She was present at the Velvet Chantry at dame Rannie's side, and was here this morning during the sermon also. From among the company that had entered the Chantry, ser Merney was here as well.

He fares well, though admitted that the fiend's death had him feel involuntarily mournful - a twisted effect of its alluring, vile nature. Ser Merney would not be the only one in our band whose heart was tampered with by the demon, however; but the others, mister Ornak, master Elhokar, lady Gwendolynn, Adorned Cassandra, and dear Lori sought solitude or busy-ness elsewhere to keep their minds from it. Dame Rannie remained at the Chantry longer, and she and I both will send word to the Sunite vestiges that we know for consecration of the abbey. In the meantime, what warmth I could lend the Adorned and ser Merney, I did, inviting them to my dwelling in the Aquinicum.

It comforts me that I recognise a few Adventurers at my sermons besides the citizens of Sarshel: to see the likes of mister Ornak on rare occasions there, sometimes master Anton to come to debate on the ideas presented, mister Jonan when he is awake at that hour, or indeed recently more often ser Merney.

It comforts me to think my words, the Morninglord's words, might bring them, too, succour.

A demon may come to challenge this also, like one has come to challenge the Triad and now Lady Firehair's flock. But with each conflict we stand more prepared; each attack we meet more quickly; and in mine heart, Lathander feels invincible. Only I could fail, not He; and I shall make sure not to.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Sun Dec 25, 2016 12:58 pm

Diary
Of the 3rd tenday of Marpenoth, 1363DR.

A wild past few days, to be certain. The journey we embarked on, while planned in advance, seemed more like a dream - and mayhaps it was, for the landscapes we had to traverse and the sights we have seen would be ill-fit for anything else.

It was miss Aleira and Wynna that summoned us; their erstwhile friend ser Merney Valroc, Lucien Castell, master Celith, lady Gwendolynn Highblade and myself. A veritable group, certainly, with fields of expertise of a wide spectrum. The goodly gods know that this was needed, as we were destined for what turned out to be a wizard's tower. A place as if conjured from a fable and made grim, grey and real. Absurdly, I am not even certain it was in Impiltur.

The journey began not far removed from Outentown, and ended there also. In between, our path to the tower was laid out by the divine attention of the Forest Father; a curious deity whose agenda concerns me precious little, save for the strength that he lends to miss Aleira, and for the distant interest he may harbour in the ever-winter. I write this, though can't make assumptions of Silvanus' intentions; I know only with certainty that his vision of a verdant realm guided us onward, and brought us to where we needed to be, like a magic-wrought portal would. Led by a dream to a location that seemed just as dream-like.

Tiredness grips me while I pen this, and how could it not?

We wandered in there for days. Our supplies were dwindling.

Our thoughts, at least mine, dwindling as well, except for an increasing loathing of mages and their arcana.

But I will pen the conclusion: We surpassed all the traps, tricks and tests of that absurd den, whether they were only dreams forced upon our mind or true things. And we recovered very much true, palpable treasures for the struggle: hoarded trinkets from the absentee magus, and coins and lustruous gems. One gem was the one miss Aleira and Wynna were hoping to find: a spectrolite, a fine and precious sight to behold, and of significance to them. Mayhaps of significance to us all.

And yet that was not when I laughed, heartfelt and bizarre - it was in the middle of the tower, after we had been disheveled, bloodied, crushed, scorched, driven to our wits' end. When all we had left was each other's company, stuck on a riddle that we could only figure out after half a day (half a day!), with no way back... and only a dusty tutu to show for it.

A tutu that I had to put on.

Above and beyond all the other torture we faced, I had to be abused by terrible clothing as well.

Wizards and their vile towers.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Mon Dec 26, 2016 9:27 pm

Diary
Of the 30th day of Marpenoth, 1363DR.

Lady Kelda - Sister Kelda - returned. I finally spoke with her again. I finally saw her again; and in her I saw both the no-nonsense, straightforward woman that I had met back on the road by Outentown, and someone else, someone more. Mayhaps she has grown into that larger person during the year that I had known her already and it was distance that crystallised the changes. Mayhaps it was not that but what she had done in Thesk during her absence now. It was my friend that I met again, yet as I mention, it was also someone else, someone more: harder and more jaded, but stronger and more determined also. And she has not come alone, returning to Sarshel with Theskan refugees, and with the little Egra.

How much I've missed Kelda; how much I still miss Aryen. But I have no cause to mourn. Today was a day of reunions, not only with Kelda but with Lori also,... and a day with a disarming surprise.

He presented me with a beautiful gift. And with a careful question.

That Kelda knew about it before I'd even seen her has me chuckle. That I said to him I would be willing to give him the chance... has me conflicted.

Once the choice would have come blissfully. Today, just as dear Sister Kelda is different, so I am more than the girl that lived in Athkatla; more than the Dawngreeter that was on the road by Outentown nearly two years ago. I carry the word of Lathander. My first and last thought is Him. My actions reflect upon Him. My reputation - and all that embellishes or taints it - is His.

With the mere flick of a wrist, this man - any man - could risk harming much and more of me, and I will have my prestige, pride and piety be safeguarded fiercely.

Yet I said yes. Yes, I would be willing to try. But it was not Lady Love that spurred me.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
Joined: Tue Dec 01, 2015 12:11 pm
Location: GMT +1

Postby Copper Dragon » Tue Dec 27, 2016 7:12 pm

Diary
Of the 5th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

Ink could be spent on the troubles this group of Adventurers alleviated the last days.

Ink could be spent thusly, and somewhere the quills of scholars and masterful narrators such as Wynna Blackwing dance away on parchment to do just that; if not of our forays and quests to aid the people, then others'.

Ink could be spent by me on this as well, today, with the bad we have faced and the good we have done, but my thoughts are elsewhere; not on the violence we faced for the carefree new day of others. Instead when all is still, my thoughts trail back to a simple word. Him.

It has been long since that word held me so subtly, so closely, unless it was of mine beloved Lord. It draws me in, 'him', for although I have been infatuated before; I have loved, admired, dreamed of men before; this is different, as I am the one being taken interest in. Even that in itself is not what is surprising; it has happened before. But not with someone as him.

A soldier, a knight, an executioner - a man with a convoluted, nigh-on twisted past, yet it is not the sweet and easy escape of a coinlady's arms that he looked for. He came to me.

As I wrote before, it was not Lady Love that spurred me to say yes. It was his unforeseen readiness to be so bare; the willingness to be more, better, whole again. And I can help him reach it. My fear that he would do my reputation any ill has subsided quickly; it only took a single conversation to realise that my guardedness was unnecessary. But in its stead a new faint fear came, the worry that mayhaps I will harm 'him' if I cannot see in him more than a wounded warrior that I as priestess must heal. Over this too, I'm sure we will speak.

And when all is still, my thoughts trail back to a simple word...
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
Posts: 537
Joined: Tue Dec 01, 2015 12:11 pm
Location: GMT +1

Postby Copper Dragon » Thu Dec 29, 2016 5:08 pm

Diary
Of the 6th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

We rode far south this day. The demon of the Velvet Chantry; the demon of the coast; they were followed now by a third one, a demon in the Royal Plains.

The long elusive lady Elis Cairnestone had learned of it and led the efforts to meet it. That I can write these words says enough; the demon was slain and the site where it had made its home, filth-ridden and reeking of despair, was cleansed. Not on Mielikki's behalf, however, whom lady Elis has served this long; but on Silvanus'.

The intricacies of her consecrating ritual escape me, and so long as it results in the peace and growth of the site anew, I care little which god of the wilds is called upon to protect it. Yet from my brief encounter with Elis just before setting out on our quest, I must conclude a change has taken place in her - and I muse; was that change a gentle shift or a sharp severance? The goddess Mielikki is the daughter of the Forest Father, and in eclectic tomes claimed to be subservient to him. Has the druidess been elevated to a higher calling by praying to Silvanus, or has she abandoned her previous path for another? Does she know pride to call on a greater god than the one before, or grief?

Others would compare their own circumstances to the ones they are trying to understand. Others would fail, here, for lady Elis' circumstances and her gods are far-removed from the everyday man's, and I too would fail to compare myself to her: the Morninglord knows no superior, no god mightier above Him to serve. I will find no understanding of her opinions this way.

And thus I will have to withold sympathy or gladness for her until, if ever, this priestess of the wilds tells me more of her change. In the same breath, I will not hold back on gratitude for our success in killing the demon. We have acted with precision and might.

It is a fair result. But in this battle, we - as Good often does - err on the side of retaliation. We await the fiends to appear, fight them with zeal where they emerge and keep the peace when they are silent. Although we see that they seem drawn to holy sites, mayhaps to mock us and our beloved beliefs, they offer no visible sign of strategy, only desire; no reason or cause, only effect. It is a frustrating state of mind, the knowledge that we must await their action in order to provide a reaction; even when we know we are not idle. We, and the Warwands, Warswords and Knights of the Most Holy Order all follow the threat closely on its heel.

Perseverently, we wait, we watch. Will it be a matter of patience and years? Will we all be beckoned to change before it is all over one way or another, as lady Elis was? Questions for us all to consider, though not to be intimidated by.



Of the 1st tenday of Uktar, 1363DR.

Discussions, congregations, and frequent expeditions - such has this autumn clad in ever-winter been like. I write little of them while each concern could fill a page. Winter's grip may have a solution, the demonic resurgence brings with it suspicions, studies, plots, searches for better tools and knowledge to face them, and goblinkin do not cease their hunger on our behalf.

In the midst of it, the days are brimming and I am spread precariously thin. Save for the morning training routes, it is in the late hours of night that I have time to meet him privately, and this he seems not to mind at all.

I stall; having trouble with placing down the words that prompted me to sit here in the first place. Over the course of a tenday, in between duties, he has told me much about his family, where he'd come from, what he's done. The letters and notes strewn about his Sarshellan home, the glimpses afforded into his past before; not even the confessions of soldiers heard over the years could adequately rein in my disgust at some of what he confided.

He was made into a monster.

Swordsmen so often were, whether for king, coin or bread.

He said such things that made me want to hate him, for of all things that one can be forced to do, betraying hope and country... one's own country, I cannot abide by. I called him having been weak.

But all that it takes is a look in his eyes; carefully; past the soldier's hardness, to see a man too humble and regretful to deserve more punishment than life had alotted him, and too earnest and giving to deserve hate. What he once was is not what he is today. I serve the Morninglord because I believe in our right for new beginnings, and in the power of second chances. I know that he yearns for it... I know that he will find it and mayhaps already has.

Would he need a High Dawnlord, a lady D'Assanthe at his side for this? And, selfishly, arrogantly, what of me? I have not yet asked if it is only someone's counsel he needed, a willing listener, a friend to respect him and believe in his strength. I have not yet found the answer whether he is simply looking for a new home, with mayhaps nothing more than the tranquility of his garden once his friends and family are no longer on wild adventures. I will have no quiet, secluded abode, have no humble profession, no contentment in a private life ignorant of Evil. After all that he has endured, could that not be what he wished... what he needed?



Of the 12th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

...A kiss.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Fri Dec 30, 2016 4:57 pm

Diary
Of the 13th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

Recently, during one of our expeditions with Sister Kelda, dear Nathaniel Askovar, and Cassandra of Ilmater, we have recovered a staff of arcane magic. Our venture itself was fruitful in other regards, also, but with where we had found the staff we could have been rightfully concerned that it was in some manner accursed; but it is not so. Nathaniel is well-versed in the matter of magics, though you might not think so at first glance at him: you would see a clever young man, resourceful and bold, exotic, for he is far-flung from his home and people. It is the same far-travelledness that lends him the perception of a scholar, and of his arcane talents through mere sound there's little doubt. He taught us the value of this staff - a mage's creation.

Nathaniel and I were in agreement before we even spoke, the staff would need to be offered to a reliable mutual friend. We were in agreement, too, on who this should be.

Of wizards, we could all mayhaps talk for hours; and with them, days. Hróin, miss Pine and adored Lori have sat around the table with me in recent days, and will again, all regarding yet another mage - Noal Dagar.

It is hard to gauge what will become of him. We each seem to have our plans for him, yet the man is elusive, and I cannot fathom why the guards have not apprehended him so far. I pray for his soul.

Other news has come to me as well, from Brother Braedon of the Velvet Chantry; my one night lover from the Adler wedding, and friendly penned-acquaintance ever since. He seems in good friendship with Dawngreeter Kaleb, though dark was the time that brought them together - the Chantry's corruption had driven him to look for help and for allies, and he thought to find me at the Sunsong Spire. Dawngreeter Kaleb's letter reassured me; he could receive Braedon with full heart at the shrine. I... did not think to look for him among the Sunites when I had been at the Velvet Chantry, as we escorted the brothers and sisters out, but I am glad he is well. Not only now in days of worry, but also in the peaceful ones ahead - near or far ahead - I must remember for us to foster our churches' bonds, Lathander's and Sune's. Impiltur could only grow brighter from their allegiance.



Of the 15th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

This hay is going to be a nuisance. I know to whom I could give it away, though, at least.

The nerve.



Of the 16th day of Uktar, 1363DR.

He has told me of the butcher from the poem. I have seen the text before; it has quietly gnawed at me. Today, I asked and I was given an answer.

But we talked of more, still, for our conversations do not end in darkness, they never do and never must. Today, I have learned that he does not live for himself; not just for his friends; not just for a quiet life or for violence.

Today, I... looked at him and saw that I might... The last dot of three is large, a blot upon which the quill might have stayed longer. Well, I would not get ahead of myself. There are other matters, plenty, to focus on.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)


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