You have been taken by the Mists

Author Topic: ♘ A Leather-Bound Journal - Aveyna L'Renzia ♘  (Read 6913 times)

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♘ A Leather-Bound Journal - Aveyna L'Renzia ♘
« on: December 11, 2013, 03:06:58 PM »
Click image for portrait link.

Name: Aveyna L'Renzia
(Meaning: Ave/yna - Hail/renewer)
Age: 181 Yrs.
Race: Elf
Sword-dancer/Cartographer
Origin: Faimoor, Eyfaris (Homebrew)


Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” ~ Samuel Johnson

Dance of Swords - Jeremy Soule (Aveyna's Theme)
 1. Artist
« Last Edit: July 25, 2016, 03:49:17 PM by emptyanima »

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A Well-Kept Cover
« Reply #1 on: December 11, 2013, 03:07:47 PM »
« Last Edit: March 13, 2014, 11:59:05 AM by emptyanima »

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Statement of Ownership
« Reply #2 on: December 11, 2013, 03:22:42 PM »
« Last Edit: March 13, 2014, 11:59:38 AM by emptyanima »

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One
« Reply #3 on: December 16, 2013, 10:18:27 AM »
[The journal is written in a flowing Elven script, not unlike water in its seamless flow. On each leaf, ornate patterns have been created with ink, delicate and beautiful. This detailed calligraphy and painstaking artistry point to a great level of care - and also time spent.]

                      It seems that Eyfaris, and all it holds, is lost to me. My training with the Westbridge Enclave will remain incomplete. But more than this, family. Mother, Father, my dear little sister, Nya. I carry you in my heart, your emblems on my sword. Memories. The grip is the colour you chose, little sister. Mother, your skilled hands engraved the blade. Father, you forged it. People speak of weapons that gleam with the power the Benevolents possess, or evil blades fuelled with Malevolent ire. But to press on, knowing that in some small way, you are with me, it is a comfort in these strange, hostile lands. Still, the darkness this place shoulders is made bearable by a few small lights, friendly faces and warm smiles, and conversations of seemingly small things; map-making, swordplay, home and family. It is more difficult when I am lonely. Still, as a new friend, Cassian, told me, there is still hope, and I will cling to that. This ‘Barovia’ is dangerous, werewolves stalk the roads at nightfall. They change their shape, and I am reminded that we can be monstrous. A thought tugs at me. Ahelitar, what will I do, now that I am snatched away?

Quote from: An addition written in fine, flowing script beneath the entry;
My word is my bond.
« Last Edit: March 13, 2014, 07:07:56 PM by emptyanima »

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Two
« Reply #4 on: December 24, 2013, 12:13:04 PM »
                      There are many new faces that are no longer strange to me. Zivon, Natassa, Hadrian. I have been lucky. I have been told of the horrors inflicted upon my kind, and they make me tremble. I would say that I know Hadrian best, at present, of all those I have met. We spoke for a long time. He has provided me with a means of steady income; I seek out herbs for him, and he pays me for my trouble. He has shown kindness in other ways. I told him of Eyfaris, what I know of the blade-dance, among other things.

I also encountered a man who reminded me of darker things, grief far too near to ease the memory. I made a promise, Ahelitar, that the first blood my love-filled greatsword would taste would be your killer’s, brother, the captor of your betrothed, she who now lives because of your bravery. Hadrian gifted me another blade, that I might keep my promise. Should I find a way to leave this place, or should your murderer be dragged here, I will fulfil it. I am fearful where I must show courage. I will steel myself, learn anew the blade-dance with this different partner. I will be ready.


« Last Edit: June 10, 2014, 11:24:44 AM by emptyanima »

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Three
« Reply #5 on: March 13, 2014, 01:10:17 PM »
[This entry retains much of the beauty of the previous entries, but in places shows hints of penmanship guided by a more unsteady hand.]

                      I feel so alone. Hadrian spoke often to me of how jaded he felt, how weary he was, and now he has slipped away. I spent a long while searching for him, but I am resigned to knowing that he is far beyond me now. I wonder if there is more I could have done. Others too, like Maethirion, I have not seen for a long time. Thankfully, Natassa is still around. I am so grateful to her, and to Kith, even to the wild, brash Mayeki for the company they gave me, the care, the healing. But even then, I feel outside them, different, lesser.

Armed with a new blade, gifted so kindly by a human woman named Tali, I roamed the western path which snakes from the municipality of Vallaki, beyond the gates that mark the path to the lands of Wachter, that I might offer assistance in softening the blows caused by banditry in the area, hitting them with the flat of my sword that they might not expire. I meant to fell only their leader, Alenxandru Arcos, but overwhelmed by the prospect of taking my first human life, I was not as involved in the blade dance as I should have been, and I found myself sprawled, bleeding on the floor of their cave, fearing that I had found my end.

But then came a man with a melodious voice and a strong sword arm, one that the humans might call a 'knight in armour that shines', and he brought me from the brink of death, but not before he had brought Arcos down. All that was left to me was to sever the head from his corpse. He spoke kindly to me as we checked the cave, gave me what the humans have, a nickname, calling me Fox. I know not how long I had been lying there before he found me, but when we emerged from the cave mouth, the land was mantled for rest. As we neared the path back to lands known, the man paused, a sound distracting him. He bade me to wait behind a large rock for five counts, that I might be safe.

He did not come by the fourth count, and I peered out seeking after him. I heard a dissonant, malicious laugh, footsteps, drawing nearer and nearer. Another man, with eyes that gleam like the cat's, garbed in a cloak created with human skin, a hood rendering his face shadowed. His voice was terrifying, his breath heavy, his sickness palpable. He incanted what must have been Malevolent magicks, for I found myself beyond my own control for a time. The strike of the whip, the scratches, claw-like, on my face, the bellowing commands. Beyond this, I remember nothing.

My soul robed itself in flesh once more, and I sensed light brushing my eyelids, sound returning to my ears like water bursts from a broken dam. It was then that the pain returned, the lashes writing themselves into my senses, the scratches on my cheeks seeming to form anew. The burden of shame formed and weighed on my chest. I opened my eyes and saw the man who had gone to protect me, worry and sadness etched in his expression. He vowed to find the man who hurt me. And finally, a face I knew better, a face I could put to a name. Natassa. With her help, and the help of others, I was led to Degannwy to be healed, to have my wounds cleaned and an ointment applied to help the healing process. I am deeply thankful for their help, and I find their company pleasant, and still, I feel alone.

Not all humans are the same... are they?

« Last Edit: July 19, 2014, 08:59:41 AM by emptyanima »

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Four
« Reply #6 on: March 17, 2014, 01:06:28 PM »
                      One day at a time, I find the burden a little easier to bear. I have spoken more with Natassa, and found her to be warm and welcome company. I spoke to her of Eyfaris, and the prejudices nurtured by the people there, for the one who is neither elf, nor human, but both. And yet, while I could never understand it, I lacked the bravery to show warmth to them. Here, I hope this will be different.

I have been working to strengthen myself, hone my skill in the blade-dance further. I assisted a number of people as they sought to restore the crypts to a place of rest. The dead are strong, very strong, and we were almost overwhelmed. I found myself making foolish mistakes as my armour tugged at my scars, and I was unable to be as involved in the blade-dance as I should have been. I left them before they ventured deeper, that I might not be a burden to them. I met others, kind folk, the small but sprightly Remo, and a man named Leon. I excused myself after a few moments, yearning for air.

I heard music then, and looked to see another of my kin, one whose name I learned to be Isenduril. We ventured to Degannwy at nightfall, and spoke the night long. He has lived far fuller a life than I, hinting at stories and events beyond my experience. I fear I may have saddened him at the last, but I hope to see him again.

Seeking to replenish my supplies, I found a merchant who speaks my mother tongue, and traded with him. He must have noticed some of the scarring, and when pressed, I relayed what had transpired. He gave me some trinkets quietly, that I might not be a victim again, for which I am grateful.

I saw him again one night, the path slick with blood pools, and heard murmurings of were-bats. He spoke sharp words when I wanted to remain outside and assist... but I saw his wisdom eventually. I hope I have not put a barrier between us. I cannot afford to alienate others in this place. I must stand by my friends, and I must be strong.
« Last Edit: March 19, 2014, 10:48:59 PM by emptyanima »

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Five
« Reply #7 on: March 19, 2014, 04:13:35 PM »
                      I am weary of victimhood. Fear consumes me like quicksand, and the more I fight it, the faster it takes me. To think that I could have rushed headlong into death - it is a troubling thought. She drew close, dragging claws over the stone walls in the dark. I pleaded with her not to hurt me, and she asked me why she should not. I could not keep my worries from spilling out. Not again, I said, I do not want to be hurt again. I told her of my attack, and she writhed with primal anger, and swore to help me. I was numb with fear, and led the way, for she wished to see the location of my assault. As we neared to the gates to the lands of Wachter, she told me we ought to wait until night fell. But when the land was cloaked for rest, the gates were locked.

"Beg," she told me, "cry, plead, bribe, do whatever it takes to let you pass." I did not stoop to bribery, but I did beg, to no avail. The guards spoke to me so horribly, accused me of the most heinous crimes. The elves here told me a sincere, horrid truth - the natives view us with more than scorn. With my failure, the woman revealed herself, using the most horrid threats, and still, the gates remained shut.

She was not through with me. She turned from the gates, and lunged. I could not arm myself quickly enough, and she sank her claws into my neck. I felt myself grow weaker, weaker... my eyes sunk further into my head, my skin was creased with wrinkles and my hair turned white. I could not support my own weight, and fell to the ground with a cry. For a time, I saw nothing, but regaining myself, I dragged myself on hands and knees through the dark, pleading that no creature set upon me as I looked for places known.

Natassa greeted me as I returned, supported me, carried me into the closest building to attend to me. One of the men in green followed us into the basement, where he called to his goddess to heal me, and I regained my former body. Silver scars yet remain where she sank her claws... a small price. I learned that this woman is a creature known as a wight, neither living nor dead.

The next day, I was called to give report to the guards of all I had seen, and I was fearful of what they might do. But the woman listened closely, was not cruel, and I was glad. I mentioned my former attack, and gave what little I could remember of my assailant as a description. I fear they will not find him with it. Thankfully, the priest of Ezra who helped me recalled the man who rescued me, and will speak to him further. Perhaps he will recall parts that I have blotted out in fear.

Having done this, I walked with Isenduril to Degannwy, where we spoke a long while, and I told him more of home, and my goals. With the dawn came a challenge, which I accepted. A duel. I was wary of harming him, and it took me far longer than it should to be enveloped in the blade-dance. It was a close, hard-fought match, and I almost had him at the last, but with a final strong strike he floored me. The next time, he will not be so lucky. He helped me stand, and even carried me within to rest, even though he sounded a little out of breath by the effort. When one asked him how he had come to be in that state, he admitted, 'Besting her does not come without price.' We spoke a little further then, before taking rest. He is a mischievous spirit, to be sure, but pleasant company. This loss serves to strengthen my need for improvement. I must be ready, should he come.

« Last Edit: June 10, 2014, 11:27:52 AM by emptyanima »

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Six
« Reply #8 on: April 01, 2014, 12:03:52 PM »
                       My training has continued, with the gracious help and assistance of Natassa, Kith and Isenduril’s duel. Cousin Kith and Natassa were eager to watch me, to note the style I used, how I bear my blade, the dance the two of us conduct. They pointed out errors they saw, advised me on a better defensive stance, and it helped a great deal. I feel much more settled with this guidance, friendly and without malice, given freely by those I have come to call friend.

I wish all were so settled. My mind rages, and I am afraid. Leon came to me with confessions of love. It was no jest, as I initially believed. But with his whispers, his proximity… I panicked. I saw again the hooded figure, gleaming silver in the moonlight - as Leon appeared to me then. Could he have been the one to attack me? I told him to get away, I trembled, bolted for the door. If he is innocent, I am unsure how we will reconcile, knowing his feelings.

If he is innocent… I look about and each man is a possibility. I may be closer to my attacker than my sanity will allow. Where may I be safe? What if he strikes again?
« Last Edit: May 05, 2014, 10:07:29 AM by emptyanima »

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Seven
« Reply #9 on: May 05, 2014, 10:11:42 AM »
          It has been long since I last added to these pages. There have been changes. Isenduril, for one… his features seem to change before me, a quiet anger, a violent changing of disposition, and episodes that are almost like sickness. I worry for him. Thankfully, much of the time he seems to be as I know him. I will watch carefully.

I find myself angered and upset by the quickness with which others will leap to violence. Threats are sharp blades all too soon, but given a few moments, the ire cools, softens, melts. I’ll not always be present to bid those who fight to take a step back.

A life is a precious thing.

I had been away for some time, finding rest in solitude. Perhaps foolishly, I believed that I had escaped the man, even if I had not moved far. It was a help, at least. I remain wary of the black-garbed man, and the voice that sealed my destruction.

I fear that shame will never shift. But I am stronger now, the dance is slick, and the chorus of the blade-song heralds the second death of those already lost.

I’ve yet to take a life. And I’ve no rush to do so.

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Eight
« Reply #10 on: May 15, 2014, 09:11:52 AM »
          My limbs are weary, but I have seen much, and learned more.  I have ventured beyond Barovian soil, to the sands of a land called Har’Akir. Such heat was new to me, as was the slight rasp in my throat, caused by the sand whipped into my face by the slight breeze. I envied those who wore lighter garb a little, I confess.
There were many there who had come seeking adventure, and I doubt any of them were disappointed. The dead that walk are far stronger than those I had encountered afore, and there came a time when I believed the danger was too great, and we would be overwhelmed. And as I lay on the cold, dusty stone, the dark ancient temple like a tomb, I begged that he would not find me here. It was doubtless an irrational fear - I have only encountered him once, long ago, on Barovian soil. It seems that memories will not bow to sensible thought.
Collecting ourselves, many left, having had their fill of danger. We were able to bolster our numbers, however, and continue to search the place. Among the dead, the danger, and statues given terrifying life, we found treasure.
The greatest treasure, I believe, was the challenge we faced and overcame. I feel much stronger for it.

It seems however that not all challenges are equal, and I have often found myself reliant upon others, having often become entangled in battles beyond my ability. I must temper my impatience, work slowly and with others, or I am doomed to fail.

I am saddened to report that not all has been pleasant. I was witness to the hanging of a man by the garda. His crime - the theft of a silver bowl. He was obviously suffering, and penitent. It seems so backwards to me that those who steal silver are hanged, while those who steal life and dignity seem to be able to roam freely. The sight of the man’s bulging eyes will not soon leave me.

Soon after, having sought refuge to calm myself, and leaving again, the garda gathered all present, believing one of us might have been witness to a crime committed. We were kept within their prisons, women on one side and men on the other, and remained there the whole night while we were questioned. I feared that at any moment they would beat us, for I know the cruelty they can exhibit. Thankfully we escaped such a fate, and sought air and freedom. I took a walk, explored a little more of the land, before returning to safety. I spoke with Isenduril for a long while.

Isenduril. The change is evident in him now, when he is not armoured. His back is covered in scales that seem to try and spread. When the light catches them, they shine iridescent. He tells me he will be monstrous. I asked him whether he will appear monstrous, or be monstrous, and he tried to assure me of the former. I hope that is the case. I have found myself… attached.

There is a taut danger in his movements, something aflame in his expression, and I doubt whether it can be wholly good, but I am unable to look away. It seems he is no stranger to this - where I dance with the blade, his movements, words… there is something orchestrated in them, and yet I believe them. I am too soft, perhaps, too sincere… but what I do not comprehend has taken hold.
   
How hopeless I must sound. I suppose he is right - I am a sentimental creature. And yet he sends mixed signals of his own. He is a creature that seeks quick gratification over attachment, and yet he has grown a little more tender. I confess I do not understand it myself.

I have begun working on smelting and smithing, the skills my father so wonderfully employed, that I might be of further use to others. It is a slow process, but there is something therapeutic in watching the ore ripped from the rock, piling into a tangible mound of accomplishments, before squinting at the bright light and heat of the smelter, before pounding the ingots into tools and weapons. It is not easy, but I am making progress. I suppose that sums up this entry - progress. I am no longer hounded as I once was, and I am meeting more, learning more.

Remo, Sharde, Isi… I add more to my acquaintances, and the list only grows longer. One day, I will escape his shadow.

« Last Edit: June 10, 2014, 11:28:39 AM by emptyanima »

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Nine
« Reply #11 on: June 05, 2014, 08:47:54 AM »
          My body was weary and overworked, as I sought improvement and strength and more besides. My reverie was long, as there was much for me to consider, and much more that I wanted to put aside. And now I am refreshed in body, spirit, and the will to press on.

I wonder how those I call friend are faring? How is Sharde, and Remo, and Natassa, Kith, and the rest?
What has become of Isenduril in my absence?

I know that he is a creature given to fickle fancies. I hope that another has not caught his eye while I have been unreachable.

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Ten
« Reply #12 on: June 12, 2014, 11:02:34 AM »
             I have been selfish...

Will you forgive me? I cannot stop watching.

I must immerse myself, shift my thoughts to something new, productive. More maps perhaps. I have not drawn one up for a while.


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Eleven
« Reply #13 on: August 07, 2014, 12:07:41 PM »
             I have been jerked awake.

I met with Isenduril, for the first time in several months - we spoke as we wandered through the forestry surrounding Port-a-Lucine, as the woods' wild abandon was limited by the straight, cobbled ways laid through, civilisation thrust through nature like a spear into the earth, disrupting the ground and dirtying the spearhead. I spoke of the slowness, the distance in which I am ensnared, rendering me like one of the Sithican elves of which I have heard, resigned to their fate and as such, like the shambling dead we so often put to the sword. I craved battle, the blade-dance, hoping it would restore some feeling of vitality to me.

Beneath the moon, we duelled, weighing once more the other's strengths, noting their weaknesses. I have improved since our last match, and was able to hold off his onslaught for far longer than before, and even to place a few well-handled blows, despite his quickness. However, he was ultimately successful, but I have come to almost accept such. Perhaps one day, I will have a victory over him in our friendly fights.

I remember little of what came after, only that we saw trouble ahead on the dark road. The next thing I remember after that blank was waking, surrounded by trees and the pitter-patter of friendly wolves' feet, as the rains came down upon us. I walked with Isenduril, for he was there when I woke, and together we walked the place. Isenduril had led us to Sithicus, to the city of Har-Thelen. A slowness pervaded the place, but there was much of beauty to be seen, of an eerie type, like the moon's sickly lustre on the water in the dark, above which blue phantasms appeared to hover. Pale statues bore record of heroes lost, lessons learned, sacrifices made for a greater purpose for, as one of the Sithican People reminded me, all sacrifices have meaning.

His words have lingered in my mind, and weigh upon me almost as heavily as the sadness of that place, that steadily weighed me down to one spot. I was encompassed by a melancholy that demanded expression, and I gave it voice in sung repetition of the city's name. Har-Thelen... the name is like a funerary dirge, suited to the low, solemn spectrum of sound as well as the lilting ghosts of sweeter syllables. It was no song that I knew afore, but seemed to born out of the burden of emotion, and having sung, Isenduril watching, I felt able to control my limbs, no longer held in a dangerous torpor.

And so, I have learned, that I must find my life's expression, a cause to which I will give myself ere my limbs wither from disuse and my mind decay beneath the whips of fear and doubt. Fate never smiles upon those who are as the dead.

I have since departed the bittersweetness of Har-Thelen, and the whole of the misty, sorrowful realm. I am grateful to Isenduril for his taking me there, reawakening me and reminding me of my strengths. I shall treasure well the gift of the dark leather braces he gave to me. I am cut off from the world I knew afore, pruned from it to grow again elsewhere.

May Fate give me cause to flourish.

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Twelve
« Reply #14 on: August 16, 2014, 05:32:10 AM »
             Perhaps I am a fool, but I enjoy this foolishness.

I have spent much of my time in Port-a-Lucine of late - a place of decadence. Isenduril seems to fit in well there, though I admit it was somewhat odd to see him dressed in a suit when he is normally wearing wicked-looking armour.

We shared a meal, and in the middle of it, he asked me to play something on the piano. I never learned, and showed my concerns. Thankfully, he came with me, showing me the basics, and once these were put aside, we played together. I found that I could hold a tune, provided I didn't stray too far from one end, and the more I relaxed, the easier it became.

Once this was done, we made the final touches to the clothes we will wear to the wedding in Degannwy. Nai is brave, to wed someone who is Not of the People. I hope all goes well - I shall make the journey shortly.

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Thirteen
« Reply #15 on: September 02, 2014, 07:47:58 AM »
             Much has transpired in these last weeks.

The wedding was quite the event, but was not free from controversy, for it was more than the exchange of vows. Nai, and her human companion, now share the Bond. They are aware of the pain and emotions of the other at all times. I hope it does not condemn them, for they look so happy together.

I entered a tournament held in the Wachter lands, one of a trio for the group melee, in which we were pitted against another three. I am unsure if I have ever endured such embarrassment before then, for in mere moments I was stuck down - I was unable to land one of my own before I fell.

Isenduril provided little comfort, but he did offer help, further training. Over time however, I grew weary of it... the constant need for correction by him. There was an exchange of words, and in the dank sewers of Port-a-Lucine, we duelled. And though I bested him for the first time... the ground was uneven. It was a victory I could not enjoy.

Still, I owe him thanks. I feel that I can wield my blade more expertly under his tutelage. And even though he gave no comfort at that time, his prior words still resonate. Kind words.

There is one thing that weighs on my mind - the memory of one I met. I seek the thankful one.

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Fourteen
« Reply #16 on: September 16, 2014, 09:22:20 AM »
             I have certainly improved, but I must not let it go to my head.

[Maps encompassing much of Hazlan, as well as areas of Har'Akir and Dementlieu, are kept carefully within these pages.]

For a long time, I have been selfish in my endeavours, seeking strength above all else. I am more than my blade, and it would be wise for me to remember this.

I have been blessed with many gifts, and many friends. May Fate snatch them from me if I do not treasure them as I ought.

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Fifteen
« Reply #17 on: October 05, 2014, 11:41:56 AM »
             I have been roused from my stagnation, but I am embittered by it. I'll not be returning to Hazlan for a time, of that I am certain.

That child shall haunt me in reverie, the ritualistic chanting and the demonic beast it brought forth... they are burnt into my memory.

It is a conflict that seems to have raged for a long time, between rebel and magister. Nature is at war with itself. It is a place where conflict constantly bubbles, festers, grows.

I draw no pleasure from killing people. When pressed, I engaged the rebels, did all I could to render them in the place between wakefulness and sleep... but my hands slipped. I struck one right through his heart, saw the light in his eyes go out. My stomach turned as I withdrew steel from flesh.

Does this make me weak? I am... not weak.

I did not submit to death, and I did not bow to him. The Black Duke. I shudder at the thought of the devil, crushed as the cave fell upon him... and upon Ali, driven to extremes beneath the boot of his own father. A horrid, horrid business.

But I am stronger now. Even Isenduril sees it. How much he has changed. Those scales near fully cover him, his fingertips are claws. The gentle beating of those crimson wings accompanies his steps. But still he is the same elf. I hear it in his laugh and see it behind his burning eyes, the intensity of his gaze. I am given cause to shudder by the depth of my care for him, even though I know he does not share it. At least, I believe so. But can I truly know him? Do I truly know anyone? How many masks have my eyes looked upon and believed to be true?

And yet, that dream again... it is the third time it has shattered my reverie. I fear for him, what those who do not understand will do. He is strong, to be sure, stronger than I... but he is reckless, driven by his desires, no matter how destructive.

Three times that nightmare has come. I've blinked away the image of his head on the chopping block, tried to deny the words that come from my dream-lips. I must keep them hidden behind carefully chosen words, my own mask. But I doubt whether I can mask my eyes.

« Last Edit: October 13, 2014, 06:11:29 AM by emptyanima »

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Sixteen
« Reply #18 on: October 15, 2014, 07:16:56 AM »
             I have been busy. Slowly, slowly, the metal bends to my hammer. Soon enough, I'll be able to work steel. When that happens, I hope to sell it on, so that others might be well-prepared.

I had wondered what lies beneath the shaking halls of Dvergheim, and I know now, in part. I am grateful for the company I had - they kept me from what would doubtless have been a bloody death, had the alhoon had his way. Blood and sweat near filled my eyes as I struck the killing blow. A creature of such wicked malice deserves nothing less.

To engage in such a blade-dance was a welcome reprieve from the hauling of ore from place to place. I know now how it is I was first able to hold up the blade I wield - the practice came from assisting my father in similar tasks, the master smith that he is. I have learnt, as he showed me, that it is a far more enjoyable occupation with even one other's company. To share your successes and push past your failures.

I saw Hadrian again not too long ago. It was a relief to see him, knowing that the scope of this place has been all to keep us distant, and not any other, more nefarious thing.

I am, however, kept distant from something. Memory. At one moment, perhaps a week ago now, I found myself waking, confused, and aching, the body of a dwarf beside me. I remember nothing of what transpired, and I at first guessed that I had been overrun by monsters, dragged away to be devoured, only for the dwarf to stave them off before falling. But then, another thought filled my head, one I could not shake... had the man in black struck again? This thought, once conjured, seized my heart in its chest, and I was frozen by that same numbing fear once more.

It has since, with the help of others, relaxed its hold upon me, but the worry still remains. I must cling to the good. I am stronger, this is true. I have friends who wish to protect me, with blade and bow and wing...

My mask slipped before him, and I saw him tense. It was unfair of me to expect an immediate response. I know, and have long known, that he cares for me. Does it matter that he expresses it in different words, paints it in a different shade? I have his affection. Surely, that should be enough...

Perhaps he is more a dragon than he believes, for he has taken my heart, and added it to his sequestered riches, hidden in a deep cave beyond my reach.


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Seventeen
« Reply #19 on: October 20, 2014, 05:55:43 AM »
             At last, I have prevailed over steel. I forged Isenduril a bastard blade, among others. It feels wonderful to create useful things.

I feel stronger too, even if I did struggle against those black-clad undead. What matters is that we prevailed.

This is a weight off my shoulders.

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Eighteen
« Reply #20 on: November 03, 2014, 09:15:30 AM »
             I had in mind so many things I wished to say, that I would perhaps ease my pain. But the more I have thought on how to put these feelings into words, the more my clarity of thought has increased.

Perhaps, I dare say, a greater understanding...

I leapt too quickly too conclusions. And while I do not think I am wholly to blame for such, I have been harsher than I ought. He has never been himself at the coming of the changes. He is a harsher self. Thinking more clearly... I know that he has not lied. He has spoken with some transparency on his desires. It has been a foolish hope of mine to bend them to my own. But to have a little of what I want... surely that is enough?

Perhaps it is best to steer clear completely.... but I know how poorly I have managed such before...

I need a while longer to myself to consider all of this.

Natalie was a great help to me. She had kind words, stark to some of the offerings of others. Perhaps if they were to spend a day or so in my skin they might better understand. Still... I do not know them as I know myself, and surely I cannot expect the same. Yes, I think that this my problem.

I expect too much of others, and too much of myself.

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Nineteen
« Reply #21 on: December 14, 2014, 09:55:03 AM »
             It has been good for me to have such steady work and occupation of my hands and mind. I am grateful to Fade for joining me in this work. But now seems a good time to pause and reflect, and return to my work refreshed and ready.

There are many that I've not seen for some time. Time to make some time for myself, I think.

Then I can return to the forge. Perhaps soon, a venture to the silver mines would serve well. My confidence in my craft only grows. I feel lighter, better, happier than before. Time has worked to heal. But I must still be careful.

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Twenty
« Reply #22 on: January 11, 2015, 07:54:27 AM »
             I have returned to my work, and made much progress in it. I hope soon to venture to the silver mines, that those who ask my help can rely on me to produce for them what is needed. My arms are often stiff and sore, but I smile, because my work is honest, and I take pride in it.

I engrave each piece I make with a mark of three crossing swords, formed to create an "A", of sorts. I hope that others may see it on the armour and weapons of their friends, and seek the same. Not for the gold, I have plenty of that now. But to know that I can increase my reputation as a smith, and in so doing be of help and and assistance to others... that is greater than any sum of coin.

Still, there is doubt and cowardice in me. I noticed it most strongly when Sasha and Rand sought my aid. I remembered our last excursion, seeing that black demon rise in the circle... I could not bear to travel with them again, unless it prove too tempting for Fate. Sasha spoke of mindflayers, like the alhoon, only fully alive, and not the mockery of life it is. To know what they could do... no, there are too many who might need me. Is that a conceited thing to think? I hope that they survived it unscathed. If I hear that either of them fell to this... well, it shall be entirely my fault.

I am so grateful that Fade is here. It seems many of my friends are far away. And where is he? I hope he has not been utterly consumed by that blood he nurtured. It may be foolish, but I still care. But I cannot let my mind wander too far. There is too much to do.
« Last Edit: March 29, 2015, 04:53:06 PM by emptyanima »

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Twenty-One
« Reply #23 on: March 29, 2015, 04:59:48 PM »
             I have returned to my work once more, but have also found time for exploration and adventure. With the emboldening gifts of a skilled Benevolent, I went toe-to-toe with a dragon formed of shadow, and was victorious. One evening, as I rested from my work, I found myself telling this tale to some. They were incredulous at best, until I drew I blade I had sequestered from the dragon's horde. Two of them wished it, but lacked the coin I asked. I suggested they duel for it, and both were excited at the prospect.

We marked out an arena, and when they were ready, the fight began. A fine fight, to be sure, won by a woman called Margot. To her, I gave the flaming rapier. To Aer, the one who had placed second in this duel, I gifted a fine lute in consolation. We had gathered a small audience, and the duels continued. I faced three, and won three, which stunned me more than any other. I have come far from the she-elf who stumbled through the mist.

But I must not be large of head. No, I must continue to work hard. Soon, perhaps I can form a group to conquer the silver mine, and offer gilded weapons to those who seek them. For nothing truly worth accomplishing can be done without blood, sweat and tears.

I find myself missing you, more often than I would care to admit.

Father, mother, my dear sister... would you be proud of me?

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Twenty-Two
« Reply #24 on: April 14, 2015, 06:07:49 AM »
             Nicaeri. This is where I and a man by the name of Henri LaValle were taken this night past. A village in Barovia, so they say, but it is not one of which I've heard.

I was about to head inside for the night, when mist began to pool, and I heard a voice crying for help. I sought the voice's source, and it led me into the woodland. Not many moments later, a man appeared in the mist. A man who needed help. He took my hand and the mist rose about us. For a while afterwards, I wandered through a misty plain, the man seemingly vanished. Not much later, another appeared, the aforementioned Henri LaValle. Together, we followed the road that came into view, and this is when we reached the village.

They were distrustful, wary, as Barovians often are, but we soon realised that they had been cut off from all others for a month or so. They are trapped, and were confounded by our presence. They were, as expected, wary of my being an elf, but by the end of our visit, it seemed of little importance.

Not much later, the man who had called to us returned, and we learned his name was Damian. All being assembled, we learned much of the place. One thing is certain - the village of Nicaeri is in great peril. Terrible beasts called Takolman, with rending claws and chilling roars, have been preying upon these people since their entrapment began. Several have died and many have been injured, but there is no escape for these poor people. Their history is a bloody one, their chapel left in ruin by Terg warlords, while their Head Man, Petru, fought in the Count's Army. Their priest spoke of the gods, though he did not go into detail. I admit I believed Barovians generally apathetic to religion. But it may be connected to just how lost they are. Later in our visit, Henri asked them for the date, claiming the mist had disorientated him.

They believe it is the year 351.

Neither Henri or I told them of the true date, not wanting to cause them any undue stress. Especially after what we saw. While we met with the Wise Woman of the town, she offered us a horn each, that when blown, should bring us back to Nicaeri, if her theory is correct. Presently, a woman ran in and fainted on the doorstep. We went to aid her, and a word passed her lips.

Takolman.

Henri and I ran outside, hearing the woman cry that the barn was alight. Reaching the barn, it was indeed aflame. And within, the poor little boy Salincu, who had recently lost his father to the beast. In front of the barn, stood one of the horrendous beasts, more frightening than their words had described it. As it moved to harm the boy, Henri and I charged in and engaged the beast in battle. It was quick for its size, and heavy in its blows. Leaving Henri to hold the beast a moment, I ran into the barn and took Salincu into my arms, before sitting him down by a rock a little way off. As I ran back to continue to fight, it was already coming towards me, and the battle continued far too close to the rock.

Partway through the scuffle, the creature lunged out and crushed the poor boy's head against the rock, killing him. Despite our best efforts, we could not slay the beast, for it vanished into the mists. Petru and Damian were grateful, however, that we had chased the beast off without any more harm being done. I was tearful and bloody.
It seems I am fit to protect no one. Not poor little Salincu, who died when he should have lived, could have lived, if I had laid him down but a little further away. A life snatched away by a monster, just as my brother's was.

My sadness and hate for this beast fuels me, however, fuels the both of us. While I wish we had met under better circumstances, I am glad to have met Henri LaValle. And there is much for us to do.

Quote from: Defending Nicaeri
             I have promised to gather the following for the people of Nicaeri. I must find Fade, and Rin also, for I will need their help.

~ One hundred quivers of arrows.
~ Weapons for each inhabitant, about one hundred again.
~ Enough wood for a dozen barricades.
~ Herbs for the making of poultices.
~ Healing tonics.