⚜ Mathias A. Duciel - La plume d'acier

[_Kaz]

Name: Mathias Amadeus Duciel
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: Mid-Thirties
Ethnicity: Dementlieuse
Height: 5'11"

Mathias Amadeus Duciel was a rather unremarkable middle-aged man with a face reminiscent of a wallflower. One might as well call it forgettable, or unusually familiar for no particular reason. The blue of his eyes had a paternal twinkle to them despite the fact that he was clearly no more than his mid-thirties - most likely rundown by heavy stress. The beard he wore was well cared for, trimmed and combed with hints of grey hairs, and if one leaned closer they could catch the scent of some minty cologne that more often than not disguised the smell of a stronger beverage.

He carried himself with the restless composure of a soldier watered down in the wariness and care of more vulnerable individuals, with oftentimes paradoxical body language that made him difficult to pinpoint. The military coat he wore was an expert patchwork, with many holes that had been sewn and jury-rigged together to remedy to the wear and tear of the ages. A Fleur-de-lis was embroidered on the leather patch of his left bicep, slashed and poorly fixed but nonetheless standing in dignity.

He walked with a noticeable but suppressed limp, using a sturdy black cane with an ornate golden pommel as a crutch.

[_Kaz]

The leather book was battered and bare, unattractive and bland from its cover though the intricate steel leathers nailed into it could be considered ornament. It was stained here and there by fingerprints of ink and the dark coffee print that betrayed the past location of a cup that sat atop it. These were the writings of a rambling has-been, and he kept them close to his heart.

[_Kaz]

Ma chère Aurélie,

Let me begin by apologizing for not having visited you recently, I have been out of touch with some parts of myself and home has made me weary. Since your departure I have noticed the colors seem a lot less saturated to my eyes, how strange is that? And I do not recall the sky ever being so steely and barely blue. Apples are not vibrantly red anymore, but some shade of redwood, and now that I think about it they do not grow as sweet and crunchy as they used to. Perhaps a bad harvest this year, who knows.
Regardless, my ink is not infinite although I wish I could write to you forever, but a wise woman once told me that some days are made for reminiscing and I believe today is one of such.

Do you remember way back when you used to teach me how to wield the sword in your father's yard? I remember every defeat, every ounce of pain and every laugh. I could never best you, and I never had a talent for swordsmanship so I tried to convince you that the quill could cut deeper than the sword. I like to think that over the years, you'd grown to take my word on that. Speaking of, for the past weeks I've been trying to recall that poem I wrote you years ago on the subject, and I think I've succeeded. Note to self: I should truly begin to name these but finding a good name is a process I can't force.

"A little ink, a word, a pearl
Butterfly to a hurricane
And thus is the power words
Little wonders to keep us sane

To be read time and time again
The same feeling, just as intense.
Turn the page to avoid the pain
Or close the book to forget

But a spoken word is not such
Once breathed it can travel much
To stain the book of another
With ink of blood to pierce the aether.

A sword may rend flesh and spill blood
But the quill can stop a heart's thud
A cut spirit bleeds just the same
And spills demons you cannot tame."

I do not know how long I will remain in Barovia, but I promise I will bring you a bouquet of the most exquisite of flowers
to pose upon your resting place when I return, and not a day will pass that I will forget to water them.

'Til I join you in death,
- Mathias

[_Kaz]

Swords of the Core - I
The Mystery Saber(Cutlass?)

I came in the possession of a rather interesting sabre that I have been practicing with. It is not a patent I recognize thus we can scratch Borcan and Dementlieuse origins but according to the man who gave it to me it may very well come from Blaustein, which I could understand given the shorter blade and slightly broader blade that could qualify it as a cutlass rather than a sabre, and thus a more interesting weapon in close quarters, like say on a ship - I would need to consult Master Aangel's treatises to verify this impression but simply put, if techniques and maneuvers targeting the legs cannot be done due to lack of reach then I can safely call it a cutlass.

It is to note that it appears to be one of many mass-produced weapons, due to the simple and efficient riveting of the steeled crooked basket-hilt that is utterly devoid of ornaments. The scabbard is also made of steel but its particularity is the sturdiness and inner padding that reminds me of the design found in the scabbards of heavy cavalry sabres. Why would a weapon like this require such a strong scabbard when it isn't used on horseback?

What also points to its maritime origins is the enchantment that was placed upon it. Holding the sword allows one to breathe underwater without issue and I have run the test myself and can confirm this to be true. Astounding, but given the terrain I find myself in I doubt that will come in handy. I think it is likely that this enchantment was added post-manufacture and would not be found on other copies of this weapon.