Category: Journal Entry

The midmorning sun shone through the near-barren trees, barely chasing away the lingering mists that clung to the forest floor. The running creek masked Valko’s footsteps, though he was already treading lightly – albeit leisurely – down the pathway through the ancient trees.

He’d intended, as usual, to skip over his daily responsibilities, though his pack was heavy with a few mining tools. They were something he’d tossed in there at the last minute before setting out, and certainly didn’t intend to use. Working on such a beautiful early-spring morning almost felt like a sin.

Had things in Luisant always been so complicated? As a youngster, he’d always tuned out the endless droning of the elders, only pricking up an ear when gossip was whispered. Politics bored him, and he cared little for the religious disputes clashing within the town as he found it easy to get along with most. If he really wished to weasel his way into an unfolding drama, he had no trouble batting his eyelashes to charm his way into a situation. He’d do anything (as long as he had an easy out) to leave with a good story.

Stories…

Perhaps he’s been searching in the wrong place.

The lofty fairy tales that he’d been seeking while he spent months at the edge of the Mists always seemed to elude him. He’d already perused most of the relevant tomes in the village and picked the brains of others in search of the stories that stirred his soul. Surely there was something beyond the borders of the village that was even more magical and profoundly inspiring. No responsibilities or obligations had been able to curb his incessant thirst for it, leading him into the swirling fog day after day, and late into the night. His soul yearned for the untouchable and mystical, something that would shake him to his core as if the very earth was rumbling beneath his feet.

But now, the world was quite literally rumbling beneath his feet – the stirring of an ancient being was a reality he’d have to now face, whether he was ready for it or not.

Stories, however lofty, are typically forged in some fact, event, or feeling. Even the tallest of tales carry wisdom, hope, victory. Did he really think he would find such a spark tucked away into a mountain crevice or trapped under a murky bog? That some benevolent creature of the woods would hand him a scroll for naught in exchange?

It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the others, though. He wanted– more-so now than ever– to give back to the town the life and sustenance that it had given him. And being there, in the midst of the action amongst his brethren, was the most inspired he’d felt in moons.

Perhaps, a quiet thought suggested, the reason he sought grandiose tales was due to how small he’d always felt. How mundane was the life of a textile monger, the daily drudgery of a merchant’s life. Yet was it really mundane, then, when those textiles protected those he loved from the cold or kept them cool in the late summer sun? When it protected them from the claws and fangs of the monsters that threatened them? When there was love darned into rips that needed repair, embroidery to show a little spark of the soul wearing the garment?

Even something as mundane as fabric holds stories, and it took the village splitting apart by the seams for him to realize that.

Valko felt a little miserable at the revelation, a rare frown creeping into his expression.

Ah, there!

Nestled into the bank was an excellent deposit of iron, just out of sight from the overgrown foliage it was tucked into. Even at a glance, Valko knew it’d provide good metal for armor or weaponry for one of the town’s protectors – and someday, perhaps even him. The thought dispelled the spiral of negative thoughts.

Gently, Valko scooped the moss that had been diligently growing over the stone, spreading the patch onto a nearby boulder to let it keep growing. He whispered a prayer of thanks to the forest for providing such a resource. He withdrew a small pick from his rucksack and crouched by the stone, settling, for the first time in a long while, into work.

Theo stared into the fire, bandages covering a fresh gash in his side that would certainly scar and his thoughts continued to race from the fight the previous night:

It should have been enough to have Primus help him!
Either I’m too weak to help, or Primus is too weak to help in any way that matters.
It can lead Suzette through a maze of meat, but refilling the pie plate or actually protection from the servants of its enemy, that’s too much to ask just yet.
Drugs were better than that, they helped me kill another one of those monsters and save the others with me.
It guided my blade just fine, but I felt no safer as it came for me.
Maybe thats why it hated me so much, why it was so intent on chasing me down-

It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t enough.
We must feed it, honor it for what it must become, give it strength that it may give us strength.
The handful of us isn’t enough to steer it quickly and the time seems to be coming sooner than we might want.
We need the others to do the rites, to make the offerings, to make it powerful enough to protect us.
I don’t know enough about ritual to do that, maybe Cole can explain some of it? Alphonse is probably better at it, but he is far too distracted to be helpful.
What can we do with that….memory, truth, legacy, a defender of the downtrodden, and avenger of wrongs. Something that will defeat the adversary.
I feel like I’m just waiting for the elf to betray us and yet I no so little about making a god that I can only screw it up I think.
Funniest thing about belief I’ve learned, thinking you’re going to screw it up is probably just as bad as actually screwing it up.

Fuck.

I guess we’ll get everyone to something and see where that goes.
I do believe that my family will be safe, that we will figure it out in the end, it just comes all too quickly and damned does this still hurt.
Who knows if another sacrifice would have made the difference.

He is breaking his biggest smile right now, as he kisses Lucille’s hand gently before putting a promise ring his Cousin Fabron helped forge. Deep inside he knew that Lucille would be happy at the proposal but he still thought that he was beneath her. Her family sure thought so, even if Lucille constantly reminded Pascal that the only opinion that mattered was hers.

Pascal remembered how his parents would joke about him marrying her when they were children. He would get so angry back then because girls were gross and he didn’t want to marry one later in life. By the time he was a teenager he blushed everytime she would come around, her brilliant blonde hair seemed to almost blow in the wind to him. There was no reason why someone so beautiful inside and out would choose someone that came from a line of gravediggers and dealt with death for a living. Someone who had whispers follow him as he walked by.

And yet she chose him.

It still felt surreal that he was going to marry her, that she would say yes and that she would be the mother of his children. It felt like a fairy tale, the ones his father said never came true.

“Pascal…” she said softly, giving him the softest smile “come back to me.”

He would lose himself in thoughts sometimes, not that he meant to do it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to…it’s just…” he tried to explain, “it feels -”

“Like a dream?” Lucille let out a soft laugh before kissing his cheek “We are dreamers, the both of us. But we can make our dreams a reality, together.”

He kissed her cheek gently, letting the emotions take over him “I promise to protect you and our children, to hold you above everyone but God. To love you everyday and be thankful everyday you’re by my side.”

She let out a soft laugh, one that sounded like music to his ears. “Shouldn’t you wait until the actual wedding ceremony for your vows?”

“I’m not worried about it,” he embraced her and held her as close to him as he could “I’ll tell you every day how much I love you if I have to”

“Everyday? For the rest of our lives? That’s quite a challenge, let’s see if you can do it.”

There was amusement in her voice and her twinkle in her eyes as she playfully challenged him to but he did. And he continued to do it even after life and after that beautiful twinkle had left her eyes. Even after burying her. It wasn’t rare to see Pascal Rocheaux kneeling on his dead wife’s grave, whispering with all the emotion he could muster how much he loved her.

He just hoped that one day the words would reach her even in death

What are you supposed to do when confronted with the fact that you can no longer trust the best of your heroes. What can you do when some of the most important figures heading a war are so thoroughly compromised that there’s just no way you can trust their judgement. What can actually be done when the nobility itself isnt even human anymore.

I am terrified of what the future holds. A man with the authority to speak with the emperors voice is under the compulsion of a vampire who is dumb enough to admit what it is? What even is going on. How could it get worse? Oh wait. The Eparch actions speak to being under the same control, and we already know that one of the fire mages is under its spell as well. Realistically at this point the entirety of the Grym is completely compromised by whatever malevolent spirit is running around in the corpse of the Lady Dressler.
How in the absolute fuck did it come to this?

It had actually been a pretty spectacular night. My first foray into archeology had been a massive success. Just in time we discover a weapon capable of hurting a witch, who this deep into the cycle of the aulfander is nearly impossible to wound? Then we go and disrupt a meeting of heretics and Alu himself retreats, wounded by the weapon we found? A major success against these heretics was won, and we returned to the tavern to celebrate our success with drinks and stories and boasts.

We had known about the accusation of Dressler being a vampire. Quill had told us as much while skirting an obvious compulsion. The markgraff had been told and ordered us to investigate. quietly. Determine the truth and report back. As someone interested in the path of combating and resolving malefic this right up my alley. By pure happenstance 2 different rogalian experts on vampirism had come to the city. A basic test of silver was proposed to expose the truth. It had even been suggested at court but shot down. *by the eparch*

So that night, reveling in our victory, when the Lady Dressler appeared, and took an offered seat directly to my right at the head of the table, It seemed like moment was perfect. The very stars aligned to make it possible even. Our own miners had freshly mined silver in its purest form. An easy space to make a quick plan presented itself as the Lady engaged with Sir Sven to her right. They seemed engaged in compelling conversation and I saw my moment to motion the newly branded Sigi to my side. A quick command. Silver carefully brushed on the ladys skin, made to look purely accidental as a slightly inebriated njord navigated the crowded space behind the seated noble lady. I watched a minute later as the plan happened perfectly. A small space, an accidental bump. The *fraction* of a second that her mask dropped as i saw the faintest smoke rise from the creatures skin. Ill give the monster credit, for It quickly regained its composure. I laughed at some inane joke Sir Logain on my left was making at the time. I dont know if we sold it as entirely accidental, but I have to say that in the following moments, everything felt organic enough that it could have been just an accidental brush, and that no one had seen it.

At this point I have to say, I was feeling damn proud of myself. Task after task had been successfully completed this forum, and this was just another job done well. I went back to joking with my friends. Drinking and talking of our success in the field that night, our goals for the future. We had already invited the leader of the caravans to dine with us the next forum, and I figured why not make it a party. Put the Lady further at ease and make us seem friendly enough before what I assumed would be an eventual violent confrontation somewhere in the future. I was so caught up in my success I failed to hear what had happened only two seats to my left. As I invited the lady to dine with us the following forum disaster struck. Or more properly, Sigi.

Apparently the newly branded man had been busy having a quite conversation with Sir Logain, our new archibald provided vampire specialist. These two apparently decided what better time to try to *KILL* a vampire was when it was surrounded by everyone drinking and eating and relaxing. Even I was caught completely unprepared. I dont even recall seeing Sigi get behind her again. I just saw his fist and a flash of silver and then everything went absolutely sideways.

The vampire obviously on edge from the earlier brush easily intercepted Sigi’s attempted sneak attack.
Before anyone else could act the eparch had placed Lady Dressler under her protection and rushed her from the tavern.
They hid the vampire in the grym cabin. At this point I had moved to engage. Backup would be coming. If we could keep her from escaping the hunter would be able to have a shot still. The eparch angerly blocked my way admonishing me for wanting to kill the monster. Then ordered me on a fools errand to find the inquisitor. As if he would have cared about something that has nothing to do with heresy.

The situation ended up as a standoff. Lady Dressler talking to Sir Logain surrounded by half the damn forum. Explaining how she is somehow a good vampire and not responsible for the spawn. Anyone with knowledge of the creatures has rolled their eyes when I repeated that line to them.

I go over the sequence of events in my head, replaying it, trying to gather the most important details for a record. I have no doubt my actions tonight will come into question with both The Lady Vindicta and Mother Amelia. The situation is a terrible one. The knowledge is out and the rumors are already starting. Its going to be imperative to regain control of the narrative before it spins out of control. I have some ideas there but am in no way as expert of the ways of rumors.

Im terrified of what the future holds. If you had asked me before this had happened I was optimistic of the future. But now, not knowing who to trust, im terrified.

The old knight sat in the cold, wrapped in his thick black coat and waited for the sun to rise.

The Spring war season had been shockingly quiet. The Doghearts had disbanded rather than face him on the field. Guthar had been crushed over the winter. The Dwarves had been sequestered in their home, though no word on the progress of the Fafnir forces had reached his ears. The settlement of Runeheim was reasonably secure. The banner of the black fort flew over the cursed Fort that had caused the knight no end of trouble since its discovery more than a year ago now. All and all, the immediate surroundings seemed to be in a good place. So he had taken his forces East through the woods his men referred to as ‘Murder Alley’. The name was only partially in jest; most of the casualties of war had taken place in those woods.

While his troops has passed through without issue, Sven wouldn’t be willing to swear there weren’t still enemies laying in wait there somewhere. It had been a troubling stretch of land since his arrival in the Theater. However, with his fighting men and women successfully on the other side, the land bridge was finally in his sights. That humble muddy stretch of river was the key to this entire campaign. It was the lifeblood of commerce. It hid the dreaded serpents. It was an open gate between the Njordr and the Rime. If they could control the land bridge and build his chains on the river, the knight was confident that they could bring some security to The Throne.

The only real hiccup with his Spring had been the unpleasantness in the tavern surrounded the Lady Dressler and certain members of The Grey Company. He sighed at the recollection of it. The knight had been charged with prosecuting the war in the north. He was at war with literal gods, and every small victory came with a similar loss somewhere else. Truly, it was exhausting. Things would be what they would be, however, and he would accomplish little by worrying about it now. Things outside his sphere of influence was, by definition, something he couldn’t impact. Therefore, it stood to reason that devoting thought and worry towards it would accomplish little. In that vein, he elected not to worry about it now. Honey had a hard time going back in the comb, and this situation seemed to be one of those. At the very least, immediate violence had been avoided.

As the light of the sun starts to color the sky in the grey of pre-dawn, the knight sighed. In less than an hour now, his staff would rouse themselves from slumber. He would instruct his horse to be saddled, and the knight would journey back towards Runeheim to assist in the moving of materials from the outskirts to the farms for build projects. A truly spellbinding waste of his talents, but it was, he had been told, important to be at least seen attempting a penance for his violence in war. His niece had been clear with him; some people were unhappy with the good works he did for The Throne. The knight understood the troubles; the North hadn’t ever accepted a doctrine of total war. They were slowly learning his lessons. Eventually, he was certain, they would understand. Until then, he would strive to enlighten the populace, at the bloody tip of a sword if need be. And in the meantime, he would haul wood from one corner of the Theater to the other. Because that was the best use of a high born general’s time.

“After defeating those undead you could be branded!” says Kotzell cheerfully, I’m not sure how branding works since I’ve never really looked into it so I’m not sure if he’s joking or being serious but my cheeks burn all the same. “Heimir the De-deadnator!”

“ah…I-I don’t think I can ever be branded…” I whisper it, almost a reminder to myself to not even think of dreaming of that.

“You can’t? Why not?” He looks truly confused

“The runes…”

“Oh” he understands immediately.

—–

I’m 16 years old when it happens, all my friends had talked about how important their rune casting had been and had bragged about what it had said for them after. The night before I had stayed up with them thinking of the most heroic things the runes could have predicted for me, all of the things we had guessed were only things teenage boys would have thought of as heroic.

The day is cloudy and miserable, I try not to read too much into it as I step in the elder’s room. Instantly everything is dark except for a few candles.

“Sit.” She instructs me and I kneel down in front of her, all of the sudden I’m not excited just very nervous.

A cold shiver runs through me as she casts the runes.

She doesn’t speak for the longest time, just stares at the runes turning them over in her hands. I can’t read her face and I refuse to look at the runes myself. Something in me tells me not to look.

She takes a deep breath and finally speaks. “From the beginning you were sure of who you were and where you were going. You once had the energy to cut away the old and un-needed. And it was that energy that led you to make the decisions you have made to this point. You are at a period in your life where you are opening up to something new. But remember, movement involves danger, while timely movement leads out of it. Your process will involve disruptions that will turn out differently that you had intended. Hoped-for outcomes will elude you and you will find yourself at a standstill. You will be harvesting the seeds you’ve sown, keep in mind which are thorns and which are beneficial. You may find life easier to find partnership and allies, but true friendship will elude you and you may lose what you hold dear to those undeserving. Your future is grim. You won’t see the growth that you once wished for, and paths that should have been open to you may be closed, disrupted by your past and what may come to haunt you.”

I am trying not to let tears roll down my face, I can feel her stare as I nod get up and leave.

Outside my mentor Ingvarr is waiting for me, my friends are there as well. Ingvarr’s face falls immediately as he sees my tears, I see him moving towards me to ask but I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. And so I run, as far away as I can from everyone until I don’t hear them calling my name again.

Of course the runes would say that about me, it was ridiculous to dream of other things.

I stay in the fields far away from the village, I know Ingvarr must be worried about me and searching for me but I need time to myself for now. This is the time where I grieve the image of myself that I had dreamt of.

It’s night time by the time I get back, Ingvarr is by my side quickly telling me how the runes don’t matter and that I make my own destiny. I nod to him and give him a soft smile, too tired to argue and too tired to think otherwise. The truth is that now the seed of fear has been planted in my mind, one that has to grow overtime waiting to bloom once the runes come true.