The Writings of Artemis D'Assanthe

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Copper Dragon
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Postby Copper Dragon » Sat Jan 09, 2016 7:28 pm

Diary
Of the 30th day of Uktar, 1362DR.
A day before the Feast of the Moon.

It is an accepted etherological theory among the seniors of the Dome of Rose – and other Dawnbringers – that the Feast of the Moon is as much a solemn day as it is a dangerous one to the ones caught unawares.

The closer the days draw to the Feast of the Moon, the likelier that restless souls, or the remnants thereof, gain the strength to pass through the veils... I did not expect it to happen in such a form as I've witnessed, however, or two days prior to the Moonfest.

An elderly commoner – the grave-tender along the nearest end of the Laviguer Road – had gone missing, and his concerned acquaintances, bless them, ushered people to help learn what befell him. A group of Adventurers, me among their company, found it in our heart to investigate. Our humble but genuine-felt mission led to dark, dire ruins and worse. Thankfully, old goodman Ramin has been found and recovered... but the rest of our discoveries left me in private disarray.

There was either a curse or unholy blessing upon the ruins where we'd found the elderly Impilturan. I can only suspect the Lady of Darkness, the Lady of Loss to be its origin in one fashion or another, for the tricks on the mind that that location played with us – truly, it felt as though the very stones themselves sought to mock us, taunt us – the feeling I was left with was grief, sorrow, and guilt; tools and tendrils of the Nightsinger.

I saw my lady Olorea in those ruins. For a good few minutes I actually believed she was there. I wanted to believe it – for upon seeing her I knew I had missed her preciously since my departure from Athkatla. My surrogate mother, my mentor, my guardian; had come to visit me, or so it seemed, before she allegedly got trapped in those ruins. They say one can cheat an honest man but you cannot make a fool out of him: yet I do feel a fool.

Needless to say, it was not she there, but rather a – projection? An illusion? A manifestation of my greatest doubts and fears? For yes, lady Olorea is exactly that: my anchor to home, and symbol to all my qualms and second-thoughts. Should I have left home to bring Lathander's Light to a place so far away, and so deeply engrossed by the Triad's worship? Should I have taken up such a journey at all? Should my side not be at lady Olorea's, she who so supportively, so selflessly let me go my own path, and leave her alone in the D'Assanthe estate?

Lady of Loss, your tricks and cruelty are too cunning. I do feel homesick. I do feel crushing guilt. I do... doubt. But I will keep these close to me, and fading as the day's bright light is this time of year, I will seek its comfort, its counsel, its wisdom. I will focus on what I can do, and that is continuing the work, and writing a letter to Athkatla more frequently than I have. It was once my home; and still is, but Impiltur must become my new seat and new home now.



Of the 1st day of Nightal, 1362DR.
The Feast of the Moon passed by without further incident. May Lathander be joyful! No unrests or Myrkulite fiendishness reared up its ugly head. On a more city-scape note, it is apparent that the Triad's separate religions do not hold particular ceremonies at the time, in a similar vein to the Morninglord's church. As such, though, the Impilturan celebration of the holiday was more secular and earthbound, and there was little in the ways of galas. Wouldn't that have been fine?

My thoughts – and dreams – return to the ominous night at the old watch tower ruins I wrote on the other day. Such is to be expected however, and I am glad if my private, inner struggles are the only negative consequence to the whole endeavour: all other companions are physically unhurt, and of their emotional conflicts they have imparted little to me as of yet. Meanwhile the kind peasants that took old goodman Ramin in will care for him well, as will the local Adorned priest.

I attempted the Reverie last night. Indeed... it seems my encounter in the ruins triggered something, as I succeeded in sinking into the Reverie and I saw a childhood memory from it. I can see... how the elves can be so collected and calm, and some like Celith mayhaps solemn, when they have such a magnifying glass aimed at their very past, at their disposal. I feel as though I should have to make a quaint, serene observation about it as well, given how rare my attempts have succeeded so far, and given how strange the experience is (and likely shall remain to be). But it is difficult to put to words for now. The Reverie feels alien: mayhaps if I had known my father, if he were there to teach me, this would not be the case. As it stands the number of encounters I've had with elves – sincere, in-depth conversations that did not revolve around an expedition or Adventure by now – could be counted on one hand, or just a few fingers, so that their way of thinking, their way of life and this Reverie is an esoterical mystery to me. Likely it shall remain so for a while, too, but I am grateful for the contrast it provides me... and grateful for the vividity it has lent to my memory of lady Olorea's face and presence.
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 Jan 18, 2016 1:27 pm

Diary
Of the 4th of Nightal, 1362DR.

I came to visit the shrine. I had to see it before winter buried the path to it altogether; I had to see it for inspiration's sake, to feel close to Lord Lathander in that solitude, that fresh, brisque height, that master artist's painting that was the view out onto the sunrise. I also had to see it for practical reasons, taking notes. It will need mason's work on various pillars, the plaza, the stairs, the arc; tapestries for the interior and banners for the exterior; flowers for the summer, preferably sorts that grow well on that light brown soil and require minimal maintenance until the shrine's immediate vicinity becomes inhabitable. I must look into consecrating rites and protective measures – divine and mundane – to keep wildlife away, without having to rely on Aryen's workings in the region...

Ah, Aryen. We spoke at length; he is no conversationalist fit for court, but his heart is pure platinum. His birthday is around soon, he mentioned, and I will make stellar use of that tidbit of information. As soon as I return to civilised territory I will start on my fond little plan.



Of the first tenday of Nightal, 1362DR.

The Foothills – the hamlet Vlasta's wider surroundings – hold threats that grow hungrier as winter takes root. We've climbed one of the mountains within one day's walking distance of Vlasta; the mountaintop was claimed to be a sanctuary of the Stormlord's will, and mister Simhan commented at one point how we were fighting the tempest – oh, how right he was. But the battle for me started even before we encountered the Destroyer God's creatures. We had to climb up the mountain after all.

I was never fond of heights. I never will be, I suspect, though the Morninglord would be proud if I booked victory in this too, no doubt. In any case, the climb was steep and narrow, and my knees nearly buckled, or surely would have... but I went in the company of sir Jerek and mister Ornak, among others, who stepped right up to assist me with patience. Walk me through with no judgement, even if weakness and fear – in such a place more than anywhere – could spell doom. I was grateful, and know the only proper way to repay such gestures is through willing improvement. Strange mayhaps to some that I'd rather face the Unliving than attempt a mountain climb, but my faith in the Light and my Lord is stronger than my faith in my grip on slippery rocks could be.

This fear is easy to diminish in light of Aryen's confrontation however. We've found a den of hunters; shapeshifters who reverted from their monstrous form into that of their original, all too human state upon death, at least in the case of several of them. Many more retained their grotesque, half–beast half–man shapes even after being slain. I was unnerved by these, but I saw that Aryen suffered more profoundly than anyone else. He had become... vicious, coldly visceral at one point. I pray his sleep will be mercifully blank, and his next waking gentle. He will need the warmest of friends by his side, too.



There are notes following, regarding primitive map locations and one or two entries about the author's encounters near or in Vlasta: with a trader coming on his last round to Vlasta before settling in for winter truly; with the Chauntean priestess of the hamlet; with people they met on their way to Outentown and the errand–boys and messengers they employed.



Of the 18th of Nightal, 1362DR.

Aryen's birthday: a success.

My messengers and the innkeepers I asked had got a hold of Kallian, Celith, and even Hróin, as well as mister Sagi. Sadly the lady Elis could not be found, but I did recall how she was bound for the wild mountains; I wasn't going to send an errand–boy after her there. I had a moment of giddiness, befit more a silly girl than an established Dawnbringer, when I heard mister Sagi's voice first outside of Aryen's cabin door, and Aryen looking at me with confusion as to what was happening. Yes indeed, my surprise party – while undeniably humble and rustic – was a success.

In no small part thanks to the fine, acceptable attitudes of those gathered. Most notably Hróin and myself bound ourselves to an unspoken truce for the sake of the celebrated, and it is my hope that it might last a little longer than just one evening. But that hope is more about me and him and has precious little to do with Aryen, who also received a few excellent gifts, which pleased me.

Before everyone arrived, we had a meaningful conversation, and I'm happy that – despite his losses, hardships, and grief in life – he has found and made friends, and that he remains a respectable, if reclusive, man himself.
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 Jan 26, 2016 1:16 pm

Diary
Of the 20th day of Nightal, 1362DR.

'The Tower'. Only particularly imposing objects can get away with names so minimalistic. All of my adventuring circle knows of it, has heard the rumours or helped to spread them themselves. An orcish stronghold; jutting out of the landscape like a fang or horn. Broiling and bustling with the monsters, who are powerful, relentless, lethal.

We tackled it.

It was a war of wills, theirs against ours. The Tower is a key to whoever holds it, and its defenders – like any force on the defensive – had the advantage of resolve: when one is being driven in a corner, one fights with teeth and nails. The assailants can only match that if their advance is steady and their stride unbroken. Which this day it fortunately was.

Whenever I see orcs, my heart skips a beat and shrinks, and terror clutches my throat. I am thankful that no one noticed it, for really there was little time and little chance to contemplate anything beyond the direct necessities: Is everyone still standing? Are there orcs around the corner? Is our exit still secure?

Everyone did stand, the orcs were pushed into the deepest recesses of the structure's basement, and our way out proved to be clear and unfettered. On almost all accounts we were successful – the victory nearly perfect. But only just nearly. Connor had been heavily wounded in the last clash.

We left the tower and returned to Sarshel to tend to Connor's wounds deftly and to lick ours. The endeavour revealed important information about the locale, which we discussed in the aftermath. For one, as the dwarf Hróin pointed out, the Tower has clearly been outfitted with arcane magic; gateways, enchantments, and ken to Summoning hidden there. For another, as the dwarf also pointed out, these arcane apparati were not orcish in origin, but rather left behind by a predecessor mage or circle, whose works were now harnessed and mastered by the orcs. For three, the Tower must be connected to underground tunnels, as no other access point is visible on the surface than the one we'd used, and yet orcs manage to fortify themselves without being observed or hindered across the countryside. All these combined lead to dangerous conclusions, which we should not – cannot – ignore. Sir Jerek has promised to turn to the Warswords, and for my part, I will visit the Halls of the Morning Light for knowledge and reconnecting with my superiors. It is high time to bathe in their wisdom again.



Of the 23rd of Nightal, 1362DR.

I'm well underway, having had the good fortune of catching a ship just leaving port last morning. I do not particularly enjoy sea-travel, nor do most sailors enjoy my feminine company for fear of the Sea Queen's fits of jealousy, but the winter snows are virtually impossible to travel through. I could tolerate the slow journey, but I do not intend to make my stay too lengthy on the Vast.

I muse on the possibilities of travelling this very same way, but instead of heading to Raven's Bluff I'd be headed west, for the Dragon Coast and Cormyr. I muse how it would be like to visit home. It is more a mental exercise than something I'd truly do right now: I'd like to imagine lady Olorea's surprise, Sergio's hussling-bustling urgency to get me raisins and lemon cakes, Rolan the stable boy gushing, missus Nelly's growing children spinning around her with more vigour than ever before. And in turn I imagine the reactions of the people I might leave behind – and wonder how well they would fare in months from now, until the time of my return. Aryen, Jerek, Kelda, Jonan, Ornak, Westin, Nathaniel... even Hróin, if only to ponder if he'd succeeded at last in finding kind loving support or if he finally dug himself a burrow.

All right, that had me smile a little too much to myself. But I'll lay down the quill as we're soon arriving!



In the next two entries, the author details her stay and interactions with churchmembers at the Halls of the Morning Light. Notable might be the mention of the names of Dawnmasters Corlius and Dostoy and the promotion of a certain Yakub to Dawnlord.



Of the 3rd day of Hammer, 1363DR.

My return to Sarshel was smooth – and initially delightful, as I dropped by Monument Court 8 in the hopes of hearing only good news. To my surprise and joy I heard good news and exceptionally good news! Sir Jerek and lady Kelda are to wed within the tenday! What's more, I was asked if I could officiate, in the Morninglord's name. Oh joyous words! Oh, He be praised! Naturally I would! But much and more has to be done before the ceremony, and for the whole day after that, and I would have it go no other way than perfectly – and so I offered my assistance. The two deserve no less than the best, and I will play my part in ensuring that. I will not leave this to the mediocrity of others.

However, beside the good news of the morning, bad news followed in the evening. At day's end – once I finished consulting and instructing miss Anneliese for the wedding-work, inquiring at the Sailor's Star for the feast, and going through the dockside merchants – I arrived at the Crowning Glory inn, my belongings safely delivered from port, and mister Klenthur shoved a letter in my hand. From mister Nathaniel... about his recovery at the Triadic temple; and about brother Westin's grave condition...

My heart dropped like a stone. I cannot go there – it is near midnight and they will need rest at this hour, not visitors – but I'm not sure I can sleep well. Certainly not unto the next day. The euphoria of the morning combined with this news in the evening, I'm wide awake and my heart, lifted high and then dropped down as it was, lies on the floor all over the carpet. Dear mister Nathaniel. Oh, how long is he already waiting for friends to come, to support? And brother Westin... the young Paladin, my charge. I was foolish, so foolish not to leave him notice, and I failed, both him, and in my responsibility as senior Dawnbringer in the region. I pray I will have the chance to learn – to rectify this and support him.
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 Jan 29, 2016 3:52 pm

Diary
Of the 4th day of Hammer, 1363DR.

Mixed feelings. Mister Nathaniel's warm and jovial nature is only dampened, not broken, in wake of what he had to endure. Lori came to visit him, for which I was glad: he had a friend near. Brother Westin's condition, however, with his high fever and the stubbornly festering bitemarks marring his skin, was painful to see. My sense of guilt doubled.

I paid the proper medical treatment; I understand that as much as Ilmatari would like to assist every man's afflictions, they cannot afford to do so. “Gratitude doesn't feed mouths”, I can hear Sergio say, an unfortunate truth in this case. I did not hesitate to fund the healing rites, and did not give way to Westin's objections afterwards, fair and dutiful as he is in spirit.

The lady Adorned Teresa reassures me that he will recover well and I'm convinced of the same. He is young, fit and devout.

I've promised him, however, that I will not let such occur again. I had not informed him of my leave to the Halls, and gave no indication that I would not be there at a time that he'd require it, mayhaps rely on it, and indeed I was not. That befits no Dawnbringer, much less the church's main representative on the Easting Reach. One could argue he was too eager to act too quickly, but that also would have been my task to foresee. The errors will be learned from; I have something in mind. I only wish I had come to this decision sooner and not at his health's expense.



Of the 5th day of Hammer, 1363DR.

I'm staying in the city, supervising the good progress of the wedding preparations. It also allows me to be in the vicinity if Westin might have need of me, or if mister Nathaniel would like company in the infirmary. The two activities – organising for a joyous occasion and standing by for two recovering brave men – take up the day's greatest part, and form a stark contrast to each other.

I had the chance to converse with Kelda, briefly, and her worry for the wedding is adorable – as well as just a little bit of a shame, if understandable from her. The Crying God's servants have such a difficult time finding joy; as if joy stood in the way of aiding others. She was sweet, though, in her reflections, and I find that these days she finds it more in her heart to smile – to laugh, even. It suits her so wonderfully.



Brief daily notes follow mainly about the wedding; Jerek's requests being met for the feast; the decorations for the ceremony and the theatre, and dresses, deliveries, the performer, the caterer, candles, flowers.



Of the 8th day of Hammer, 1363DR.

Lori approached me a few days ago about suspicious findings she had made, well south along the Royal Road. Lady Kelda and brother Westin joined our ranks, and while I wasn't going to break Westin's stride, I kept a watchful eye on his state. Over-exertion does more for aches than for good recovery.

Lori's findings proved critical – as I knew they would – and troublesome. The site she showed seeped with dark magic; with the unholy flow of necromantic energy, the very same that chained Unliving to the place. During the daytime, when the Morninglord's light beat down upon the site with life and purity, the aberrations didn't appear at all out there in the open, as is to be expected. We were forced to wait until nightfall to detect the place's magic and destroy its writhing, twisted thralls. We held a Wake, and worked in unison to lift the desecration from the soil, and I am convinced it was lady Kelda's faith and blessings that turned the tide of the battle – the battle between the site's seething, enervating unholiness and our will to harrow it. The Unliving are my Lord's true enemy, and they fear Him of all the gods the most; but in the mortal realm, here and now, it was Kelda's devotion, not my convictions, that brought an easier, quicker victory.

I've sent my letter – on Westin and mine own behalf – to the Halls requesting a copy of “The Light That Rises in the Night”. It was just as well that I'd recalled and recited a powerful passage from it, chapter seven, but more must be committed to memory and to heart should such an eerie night come again.

There is another rite to take place soon, though – a much more gladdening one. While we were out on the road and the plains, most of the commissions for the wedding have been completed, and tomorrow all will be set in place. I know it will be gorgeous.



Of the 10th day of Hammer, 1363DR.

And gorgeous it was. Their sincerity, their vows – the atmosphere, the festivities. The attendants' gowns, and a certain Braedon of Sune too. And some hazier memories in between... that might need careful inspection later.
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 Feb 03, 2016 5:27 pm

Diary
Of the 2nd tenday of Hammer, 1363DR.

The new year or winter's clutches brought quite many new faces to Sarshel; Adventurers and seekers of various sorts. What brought them, I wonder? The rumours of ruins and monsters? Or tales of other Adventurers' success? May good intentions guide them, at least, and I'll certainly have to keep an ear sharp for their doings.

I have met one Maera Thlantyr, a Selûnite, among the new faces that intend to stay. Of elven blood as well, but that and our blonde hair may be where similarities end. Nevertheless, Lady Firehair, the Moonmaiden and the Morninglord all represented in the city; it is a fine day while it lasts.



Of the 3rd tenday of Hammer, 1363DR.

This has been a more difficult tenday. The new and eager Adventurers have proven themselves to be daring, but far too confident in their numbers also. Nearly a year ago did I come to Impiltur, equally eager, though with the divine-sent alliance of sir Jerek and lady Kelda's party to bring me into the fray. I was anchored by their experience, shielded by their wisdom gained through hardships. These Adventurers however, while great in number, have left Sarshel more than once to cross swords with notorious foes, with little solid seasoned voices to accompany them. Did sister Jhasira meet her end similarly? Brave and brazen, confident in being legion?

I had seen a group seek out ruins that they heard could have been infested with the Unliving. I did not let them go without my prayers upon them, nor without cautioning them to flee if needed, but later they still returned wounded, and I did not blame them – I blamed me, who hadn't gone with them. I made the decision to head out on my own expedition elsewhere, so it was not a preference of idleness that kept me from joining them. But the guilt is difficult to hush.

I have spoken about this with lady Kelda – with whom in general I have spoken much, lately, to my great joy. Her clinic has just recently opened in the docks, and she has shared her plans for more change to come. I'm glad that she has such strength. I'm glad to see her successes, and am eager to see the ones yet to bloom, and bloom they will. There is many a prospect in the making, both among Sarshel's good merchants and the Adventurers, and I am privileged to be at the forefront, to fuel their progress.
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 Feb 17, 2016 9:52 pm

Diary
Of the 1st tenday of Alturiak, 1363DR.

The tides of winter turn.
Midwinter Day has passed,
and though frost and snow reign a while yet,
change brews, and light... sweet light swells.
Oh, how it soon ebbs.

This: is the morning of the world, each year washing over mountain and sea, city and no-man's-land, and even more than the world we tread – I see the new light and new year awakening mortal men. If only they would see what I see.

Some feel it, others are forelorn at the change of their fellows, and I? I was puzzled by one man, if hopeful and glad for him now and for the others.

Lady Kelda has opened her clinic upon the docks, and people in need of aid and willing to aid stream to it, stiff though some might be. Sir Franz Reinhardt has set down the first stone of the fellowship that we've embraced together. Dear Nathaniel Askovar has left Impiltur so that he could arrive elsewhere new and undiscovered. There are new faces of Adventurers in the city, and some old ones returned. And Westin Highridge – my greatest joy was to announce it – is no longer but a brother in faith. He is Dawnguard.

I was notified of his armour's delivery from the Halls of the Morning Light, for it was at my quiet insistence that he now received it. Westin has come to Impiltur to aid the Faith, to aid me also, and he was being tested from the first day onward: starting with the deliberate cancellation of the shipment of his equipment. Growth comes through perseverence, and perseverence comes through trial only, and Westin was to face Impiltur bare and unaided, so that he might rise above. Westin undertook the lessons in earnest, where anyone less-worthy would have been indignated at his superiors – and when his superiors claimed failure as their own, he was quick to take responsibility, humble but graceful. He has faced the Morninglord's enemies, defended the innocent, and made allies of goodly people. And in my morning prayers for guidance, Lathander showed me his image upon the horizon: it was an impression; it was a vision; but I knew it to be true, that it was time. He has grown... he has been bolstered since that first day in Uktar when we met. He was an initiate no more, and I had the privilege to utter it – to him, and to our brothers and sisters at the Halls of the Morning Light. He was now Lathander's.

The contrast with that to sir Jerek's change... is great. He and his New Morning is what puzzled me. He has shed the Lady Love's mantle of paladinhood and has donned the devotion of Ilmater. He has turned away from the very Lady that had blessed him so, trusted him and loved him. Would Sune have let him go, knowing that love is what drove him from the goddess and into the arms of Kelda, and mayhaps her god? Would Lady Firehair's priesthood shame him, knowing that he didn't simply lay down the sword – but would want to raise it in the name of another?

My self, upon learning his conversion through others' whispers, was shocked; my ego soon contemptuous. The shining warrior whose presence I admired, in whose church I have always found alliance and common ground; he turned away from that which had made me relate to him effortlessly, had elevated him to such heights, granted him such grace. Somehow, childishly, I felt the fool – betrayed, and my mind was quick to look for excuses in denial, and then for disdain in anger. Serve for so long, only to cast it aside?

No, at first I did indeed not understand. We haven't spoken about this, he and I, and I wouldn't have the presumptions to address him openly. I wouldn't have had many kind words. At first I thought him weak, for it would only be some mortal weakness that turned me away from Lathander right now, I believe, and foolishly I first thought that that could be the only reason for anyone else. But mayhaps it was strength; and courage; and wise insight that turned sir Jerek's path. Mayhaps in the light of his blooming love with Kelda, his path was clearer than it ever had been, and he saw that although Lady Firehair loved him, and he Her, he was meant to change... to grow.

Yes, with Midwinter Day behind us and spring ahead, I have seen many an awakening. And felt theirs as my own.
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 Mar 11, 2016 6:14 pm

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

More work was done in the houses of merchants than out in the dark recesses of the world; it has been a calmer, yet intriguingly an equally exhausting period. More have I done to advise and to encourage the economical actors than I have challenged monsters, beastly or in human guise.

The tendays fly by, but the invigourating rays of daylight also blossom earlier, and give in to night later. Spring time is heralded by nature's trumpets and flag-bearers, by the songbirds and budding flowers. It is the first time I witness the waning struggles of winter in a land like Impiltur; where grey, snow and mud seem as stubborn and still as the country's residents, but it shall not last long now; it shall not last long now.

I haven't had much time – nor desire, overtly so – for introspection, and I suspect the following days will be similar. Spring may not look the same in every country, it is still the prime time for business engagement, discussions, and revival, and thus I can see the future for at least a little while ahead – investment and support in refined spaces. I did catch myself looking out the window and pondering what battle I was missing; what endeavour were my Lord-given spells not used for, but I welcome that restlessness rather than feel restrained by it. It is an inner promise: that nestled as I might be in welcoming halls, my heart calls to act beyond the safety of the walls soon enough.

Strange, that some might not understand; that some do not know, or forget, that I am not a priestess confined to helpful words and preaching wonders. Sometimes they have me forget it too; but never for long. Like lady Kelda or Maera, we are not mere priests. We are Clerics, though the word is ill-suited for the Common tongue, so easy to confuse with clerk, and so little used by the common man. We do not only serve the people and their needs for guidance; we serve our gods and goddesses as emissaries, we work Their will through strength of arms and the magic They give us. This I feel no more keenly than when I sit listening to the contractual debates. This I remember when their cups of wine would have me set aside.

The Vernal Equinox shall, at least, provide a good excuse to stretch my legs and walk some miles. I do hope the Awakened from the Halls of the Morning Light will arrive safely and on time.
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 » Sun May 15, 2016 3:49 pm

Diary
Of the 13th of Ches, 1363DR.

The Fellowship of the Tower is small in number, but it is just a seed right now, barely surfacing from the warm soil of Idea and Thought. There are interested parties drawn to it, and I had the pleasure of meeting one just today, thanks to Kelda's invitation. Thomas Paige; a young Impilturan, a future arcanist. That latter had me arm my mind in advance, but being introduced to him has dissolved my firmest wariness. Mages: who would have thought that I would find more than one friend in them? Thomas is young, he is enthusiastic, his good intentions shine brightly through his eyes. If all Impilturans were so blessed!

He is one of the only Adventurers in Impiltur that has faced danger but has not yet been marred by misery. It was refreshing – more than that, it was heartwarming. He is Impilturan – and as such worships the Triad as serves their tradition - but in him I saw a spark of the Morninglord, one I had not thought to see in a young man from outside the faith. Our paths will likely not cross often; he is a student of Songhall, for one thing, and he has a family on one of the outlying farms, so he will not be oft seen in the city, and surely even less when I am also in it. But my instinct was clear... pure: if it were in my power, that flame of joy would be kept alive in him and fostered, protected as a fierce mother would.

As for the Fellowship... Franz Reinhardt, Kelda and Jerek Adler, myself, and a small handful of others comprise its first members and allies. Will there be more? Certainly. Why else would we have seen the need for it in the first instance? Still, it is undeniable – we approach this with a quiet calm rather than the soaring energy that a Dawnbringer's circle might, but that is just as well for the time being. Further plans will be made, goals – milestones – set down, all in gentle, due time.

Unrelated to all that, the Song of Dawn is within ten days – and oh! Do I hope that familiar faces will attend it too! I aim to find mister Corker in the coming days, as we need to recite the verses again, and it is such a shame that mister Nathaniel will not be there to lend his voice to it, nor mister Sagi. No concern, if still a pity; there will be new voices this year, no doubt.


A few short entries interlace these pages; the author has apparently made frequent visits to Sarshellan citizens. There is an entry spared for 'the apartment hunt', placing down notes, locations, and furniture, and the people with whom the author would have to further inquire. The next more significant entry has been decorated with flower- and sun-motifs along the frame of the page.


Of the Vernal Equinox, 1363DR.

Out of Impiltur's so-called Adventurers, Anton, Aryen, lady Kelda, Thomas, Dawnguard Westin, Miss Blackwing, Mister Corker were just a few who attended. And how our song rose to light the day!

First kisses, first rites, and first encounters; these remain fresh forever, don't they? The same will hold true for this occasion: being the first Song of Dawn that I held there with lovely people and siblings in faith, there, at the Silverwoods shrine.

It will not be called forever so: in fact, though its old name is lost to me, the shrine will not remain obscure and anonymous. The Song of Dawn baptised it anew; even the snowfall stopped and Lathander, glorious and loving, shone through the clouds. No, the shrine has earned itself a name. The Sunsong Spire is how it ought to be etched in new memory!

Ah, inspiration.

I will let the fellow Dawnlords know around the morning meal. For the time being, we all need a good night's sleep. The trek up to Vlasta has been pleasantly exhausting.



Of the 3rd tenday of Ches, 1363DR.

The lingering winter hasn't been kind to Vlasta – danger abounds here, there is much to do (always, if one looks for it). Master Aleks has been a resolute ally here, and it would seem that mister Jonan has made an almost permanent residence up in this village. Mayhaps he only returns to the city for good alcohol? I jest, of course – it is no doubt for the ladies.

As much as I used to dislike the raw, rural-yet-frontier-like character of this hamlet, I'm glad some of us find our way up here, be that many do so seeking tests of mettle, glory or sunken treasures. And I muse: had I not found my love in the Morninglord's light, would I have been the same? Mayhaps. I could see myself becoming an Adventurer, but without a goal and god to light my way it seems like a wholly different person's life. I likely would have delved into the bogs of Amn, then, rather than this forsaken swamp in the middle of mountains and nowhere. I would have sought monsters to defeat for the sake of my homeland, artifacts to recover, people to befriend. But Amn fares well, statuesque and firm. This place needs the Adventurer's ilk more than home ever could.
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 » Sun Aug 21, 2016 12:55 pm

Diary
Of the 9th day of Tarsakh, 1363DR.

From Outentown our band of miss Fenneken, mister Anton, Jonan and Lucien set out after having been warned by the Gur fortune teller of the village; warned us of wolves, ravens, and someone lost in need of aid. It was as abstract as fortune tellers' words so often are, but it was clear that she forespelled someone's death.

Could something so vague not become truth? That is the technique of soothsayers, the ones who do not learn their truths through the gods; they speak in riddles and blurred, broad phrases that will inevitably catch reality. That is not to say the Gur goodwoman didn't mean well; her intention was to spur us to action, not to make a profit. And indeed, as written above, her words did prove right.

Following her directions and the strange signs she referred to, we trekked along the Laviguer Road before straying off the path. We came across a shepherd - felled by arrows. Later on we learned that the man had been slaughtered by hobgoblins, who fortified themselves in the nearby hills.

Upon encountering the shepherd, I partly wished the Gur woman had been with us instead of Fenneken.

Of her gifts I do not wish to make written notes. One day these words may find themselves in hands for which they were not intended; Fenneken's honed skills are not for them to read. It is enough to say that in such moments as on that expedition, I felt we could not have been perceived as greater opposites despite our common goals. Likely no one suspects that the two of us have spoken about this matter, thoroughly and deeply.

Likely no one would understand, either, why I trusted Fenneken when our party's member, mister Anton, was singed terribly by a hobgoblin snare. Still, I trusted her; asked for her aid; and hoped she could provide insight in what could be done for mister Anton. It was no longer a question of medicine or healing arts, in which I could have stepped up in a heartbeat, but one in which she could glean an answer. Alas... that I did not see she wanted to do more than find an answer. She wanted to find a solution. Her own.

I should have foreseen it in her words like I'd foreseen the meaning in the Gur woman's warnings. I should have anticipated her initiative and steered her clear of it. I did not, and mister Anton paid the price for it.

Anton has been recovering and lady Kelda has been tending to him – my decision caused the man pain, and caused the lady Adorned to spend more resources. While I have since then spoken to them both, and to Fenneken also, and any discord smoothed out... it will not be so easy for me to forgive and forget my shortsightedness of that eve. And yet involuntarily a part of me that has lived for so long in Amn demands hatred to boil for the arcane and uncontrollable. But I – and Anton – have only myself to blame.
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 » Sun Sep 04, 2016 8:04 pm

Diary
Of Greengrass, 1363DR. Mine birthday.

Snows have not calmed nor settled. Cold yet persists, and in darker hours prayers are uttered for past mistakes, present burdens, future challenges. But on this day; on Greengrass; none of that weighed upon the spirit. The world is indeed full of peril, but mine home – my newly furbished home in Sarshel – will serve as one small pocket of joy.

Because joy my friends and this city, these people, deserve to be reminded of.

A housewarming was hosted; invited friends and welcome strangers came. Quite many who had not been requested to come arrived; yet that was no hindrance, but a boon. Throughout the eve my heart was brimming and bright, providing for these guests. While all may have gone quiet in their departure, it is a silence of fulfillment that illuminates these walls. A fitting way to celebrate my birthday as well, is it not?

Mayhaps memory, like a seed of warmth and life, will go with them – mayhaps memory will only fuel me, but fuel and feed me it shall. Marcellus' performance; Aryen's shy smile; Kallian's dress; Celith's grace in dance; Kelda's sincerity; Jerek's courteousness; Hjalmar the Illuskan brute crashing the party only to serve it with a gesture of goodwill; Lori's charm; Perry's good manners; Jonan's attire; Fenneken and Wynna, Westin, Franz, Ornak, Casavir...

My thanks go to Him, Lathander, knowing this may have been the first; but surely not the last to conjure light in grey times.



The entries thereafter are short and pertain to business and acquaintances, meetings set up in the author's home and noted down for further use.
However... one entry soon after was written differently. It is in stark contrast to the positive musings about Greengrass. It is and feels dreadful. Within the same tenday as Greengrass comes an entry that may seem written by another person, if not for the same handwriting.




Of the 7th of Mirtul... of nightmare and destruction, 1363DR.

Of darkness, thunder, the tearing of sky and stone.

Of horrors my Morninglord protected from, and whom were vanquished, but with only a chorus of screams, wails and tortured souls to sing our praise, to greet us as the trumpets greet the victors.

Of blood, rubble and ashes in our clothes, on our tongue, stuck as stubbornly as a curse never to be washed off.

Of hurt, devastation and despair.

Bodies, twisted and desecrated.

Pillars and roof, crumbled.

Stricken faces... Hopelessness.

Rebuttal. Strength. Purpose. Purpose. What the city will need now more than it ever did.
Plays:
Artemis D'Assanthe, Dawnmaster
Udhana, the Kinless
Dhovainithil, Silver Elf
Jhasira of the Bai Kabor, Dawnbringer (deceased)


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