Category: Journal Entry

After a long journey we finally made it to Runeheim. For the most part things were calm, and that should have been a sign that things were to come. Right before entering the town we came face to face with a group of Overtuner Minions that had a plan of attacking the town come morning. While some had to go down our Lady was able to talk one of the members down and let us pass through. Though a warning was issued all those who enter Runeheim are labeled as heretics. Our lady moved forward and so did we.

My first task of course was to make sure my lady was set up and ready for her time here. People seemed overall respectful towards her. There were a few that Sr. Sebastian had to put them into their place. BUT I quickly was able to find Miva! She was injured (nothing new here) but it was fabulous to see her again. I introduced her to my lady and was able to finally meet her so-called brother Clemens. Soon after exchanges were made the chaos began. Children screaming about needing help and of course Miva can not turn down a poor soul. The next thing I know her throat is being slit and chaos erupts. Can’t say that this town isn’t lively. It did not stop from there! I was able to help a group of lively Runeheim-ians with prisoners plus it was an all female mission which is always fun! This town may have so many things occurring, overall they all seem like all they want is to live peacefully. I trust my lady and know that this was the right move!

Even our own Knight Commander Julian was allowed to become a sheriff in town. Not only do I already feel so much safer but I know that Sr. Julian will do the job with honor! Sr. Julian was even able to feed our group, our allies, and a number of wards from the town. Sr. Sebastian even took less food than needed to make sure all the wards were fed. I am in awe of the dedication and the ability to care for others. It reminds me why I joined this family. Due to this I know I must do better, learn more and help the family and this community.

Speaking of community, the other local beastwise invited me to participate in their custom of creating bone chimes to protect their structures. This was very entertaining and I hope to be invited to more of their traditions.

In honor of our new home and allies when the Overtuner approached, our family joined the battle ground to fight for this town, to fight for our Lady and to prove our worth as House Rosenberg. Before this conflict I had personally never seen a Trebuchet. Watching as large rocks fell upon the battle was both impressive and terrifying. It was here on the field that I saw fellow Nordics really display their abilities of axes. While I have always been a gun wielder I have to admit that I was inspired by their courage and strength. I must start training with axes more! If I can fall a tree with them then I know I will be able to fall a man. In addition it was not surprising that we walked away all alive, smiling and ready to celebrate our victory.

My Lady Rosenberg has continued to work with me on the Gothic practice of being pious. It can be such a struggle but I will continue to work on this and not bring any shame to House Rosenberg.

While my entire life has been hunting and slinging drinks I never thought of what more I could do, what I could learn and how to fill my time outside of work. But with the guidance and encouragement of this family I plan to learn a craft. Since I know the woods better than most and can bring in leather and wood I plan to learn carpentry. I am excited to take on this new tasks and see what I can create. I also plan to start talking to those who have to go into the woods to collect materials to see if they would feel safer with an escort.

Godfrey was shaking the hands of everyone who had lent a hand to help the brave defenders tread more easily across the streets and alleys of Runehiem in the freak winter snow. When the booming voice echoed across the air, declaring itself king of the Njords, and the raging snowstorm began, the people rose up to defend their town in whatever way they could.
It started when a simple farmer saw the Southlanders beginning to slow in the snow. The farmer took his shovel and started to clear the road. Others followed, seeing what he was doing, and the effort spread like wildfire. The cry went out everywhere: “Shovels and brooms out! Clear the snow!” The people moved as one, and when the people move as one, none can stop them. In some places the shoveled snow was piled as high as two stories.
Godfrey had led a party of peasants in a hymn, a short sermon, and shouts of encouragement while they cleared the main road through the city, all the while thanking the Lord that his flock had not turned to fear or despair. He was so proud of them. Yet his mind kept returning to what the Brother Mithrahim had said, and he wondered how many would have to suffer in the coming days because of Overturner’s greed, pride, and need for control.

Mother had always said one should journal the new, that way we can look and see how far we have come. I have not put pen to paper in many moons. None of the hardships or lessons seemed valuable enough to document yet this, this definitely warrants an entry.

I never thought I would leave the shadows of the Red Keep. Even after mother died, and father disappeared I stayed. The only training and the only happiness I had was in those forest hunting. What else was I to do but figure out how to survive without them? Leaving was never an option. Yet here I am getting ready to set out on a new adventure following Lady Rosenberg wearing a rose within my hair.

No matter what, this family has taken me in, and I will not let them down. While the journey will be long, I have no doubt in my ability to hunt and feed everyone and with Otto we should be able to keep everyone alive. Both Lady Rosenberg and Sr Leitner are extremely capable fighters so we should not have any issues dispatching any “problems” that might arise, though I rather they not get involved with minor scuffles. The journey to Runehiem does not bring me any fear but after does. Will we find a town that welcomes us? Will we find those who will bandwidth my lady. I have no idea what lies ahead of us. What types of beast will we come across may they be man or animal. No matter, it can’t be too bad right? Miva is there, and no matter the outcome it will be good to see her again.

To my Beloved,

To be pious is a constant battle against temptation, that we both know in our months together. But the further I North I have strayed the more I have been slipping into the sins of deception. Unwittingly, I had allowed a barrier between those who I cherish most and myself to grow…For fear or losing what I cherish the most.

You.

And while I do not wish to put you in danger, I am unable to hide anymore. I have told the two most important people in the world about you, my Beloved, in a confession of guilt. I have finally told them that the man who I am to be wed to, Lord Delacroix, is not who I have feelings for. Yes, he is to whom I am to marry if my fate is to continue to be written as a tragedy. But I will no longer pretend. When I talk of love, it is not the same as my marriage to Lord Delacroix.

My Lady’s advice was civil and proper and urged that my love be silent. But it has been silent for so long, I feel like I will burst if I do not confess to it! But, she is right. You may be put in danger if I state your name, even though I desperately wish to speak it. I will be honest with my commitment to the Jokeri House and my marriage, be honest that I see the touch of Lord Delacroix worse than that of the touch of death, and that he does not have my heart. You shall keep it, for as long as I live.

I do worry about my Brother. I am furious at him, much more than ever in my life. I would give anything for his happiness if it were the other way, even seeing you ever again (Though my love would obviously be felt from afar). But he chooses the rest of the family over me. He chooses the people who put him as a Spade, the one who raised us apart and punished us both. I confess that I would burn the whole deck of cards that is our family for my Brother. And I had believed he would do the same.

Obviously, as with all my letters to you, I will be keeping it in a journal. It is close to my person, and when I see you again before the marriage you will have them all, given as a diary, the unwavering token of my love before I must commit to my family’s requests.

With all my Heart,

Lorelei

Godfrey was loaded down by 2 buckets of water as he was moving through the city, greeting people as he walk down the road.
“Egill, how’s the leg? you need to stay off of it for a few more days.”
“Of course I’ll give you an atonement Helgi.”
“yes Wilhelm I’m still helping you fix your gate tomorrow”

so much to do and so little time to do it. Many people showed him the Lion’s Paw as he passed them, a few greeted him with his new title “Bishop”. He had wanted to live out his last few winters as a simple friar, to serve quietly, die quietly, and be forgotten, it seems that the Lord had other plans. He hadn’t had to claim that priest rank in many years and so far everyone he had told had accepted it (with one notable exception) , he was humbled by their trust. from the declaration of Runehiems apparent excommunication, the continued war, and his Ghost showing up at convocation, he was going to be extremely busy until he died.

I hate people who whisper.

A silence deafened the dining hall. Not even the sound of champagne bubbles fizzled life into the room anymore. Infront of her, on the golden spun tablecloth, a crimson satin box had been set down. An elegant black bow topping the gift.

“It’s a Peace day gift, Blair,” Gilbert stood over her, poise of authority in his weasel way. Yet, a mocking gentleness as he spoke towards her infront of many eyes, “Open it!”

A bottle of perfume laid upon a black velvet. She didnt understand- perhaps it smelled of a calming herb.

“Thank yo-”

He pulled out the bottle and showed the room his greatest kindness he’s ever shown toward a Dunn. The mist from the nozzle wafted throughout the room, an immediate familiarity hitting her nose.

The lingering scent on her husband when he remained out far too late.

A simple unknown scent laid in a mystery she never wondered. The mystery gone as an uproar in whispers erupted from the other guests.

————-

I hate being told what to do.

It was past the point of knowing who smacked who first. Or why. Blair had a bit of a temper problem.

The young twins locked in a strongarm match, dirty and equally bruised. Liam grabbed at the arm that was wrapped and locked around his neck. He twisted her forearm with natural strength and shoved her off his back.

Turning he lunged at her and they both rolled across the ground until he was ontop, pinning her arms to her side.

Blair screamed at him, red in the face, “Let me go!” Her legs kicked out recklessly.

“No!”

“NOW!”

“NO! Your just gonna hit me again!”

The yelling match continued between the MacCraig twins before Blair spit up at him. Liam recoiled in disgust and she took the opportunity to worm out of his grasps.

He righted himself right as she wrapped around him and grabbed his wrist, she now forced his own hand to smack himself, “you’re hitting yourself, dummy!”

“ENOUGH!”

The voice of their father boomed across the yard and they froze in place.

“Blair, let go of your brother and apologize.”

“But I didn’t-”

“Blair! Did your other ear not hear me? Let go of Liam, and apologize. Now.”
She let go of her brother and shoved him in retaliation. Her anger getting the best of her as she gave a false apology.

“Blair Aileen Mac Declan of Clan MacCraig!”, at the declaration of her full name Liam let out a cheeky “ooooo” and she balled her hands into fists, “You apologize to your brother this instant or-”

“Or what!?”

————-

I hate people who whine.

The pub was loud and full of life. Blair had gifted a keg of mead to those in attendance and this night no cup ran dry.

A genuine smile crept on her face as her people sang, danced, and gossiped with freedom. Blair herself was plenty of drinks in- only the barest fog of tipsyness, tickled her senses.

The world was wrong, but right now, things almost felt right. Only a little cigarette was missing in this near perfect moment.

She stood outside and stared up at the stars, her smoke the only cloud in sight.

“Can you believe the Rogalians brought up drudges, right infront of Liam O’ Craig?”

Blair leaned back on the building and inhaled the cigarette till it was at its end. She remained calm but couldn’t help but reminisce on how obnoxiously weak the town sounded bringing up something so vile. She lit another smoke and shook her head.

————-

But I’ve learned the importance of whispering.

How on the battlefield in the brush, looking across the field, the glint of my brother’s eye- the only silent message I needed.

The whispers of our men to eachother as we make our plans to ambush the enemy who threaten my new home.
—

Ive learned to listen to the demands of freedom.

My brother is an inspiring leader. I may not always agree with him but he doesn’t demand of me what he wouldn’t do, or hasn’t done himself.

This town may go through many struggles but there is a balance in the give and take of this place. A demand of me is a need for our people. For freedom of us all.
—

And I am learning to understand these needs, they deserved to be voiced. Whining or not.

It isn’t easy, being the Inheritor of a Moorsword. People often lump us in with Branded Men and Mercenaries and even those shitty slaving Amir. But we’re different. My name is powerful, yes, but not in the way that the others are. To a Branded Man their name is their Brand, and their Brand is everything. To a Mercenary it’s their reputation. Their name should strike fear or awe, so that they can sell their services at ever higher rates. But the name of an Inheritor isn’t like that.

An Inheritor must respect and call out two names. The first is our own. It is the person who wields the blade, the person who has inherited the hopes and legacy of our people. I am Liam O’Craig. I bear the responsibility of rallying our people, of shepherding them and protecting them. I am brash, and loud, and always ready to fight for the downtrodden. I am a… mostly reformed criminal, leader of the Ordough Croy, brother of Blair Mac Declan of Clan MacCraig, an Inheritor in her own right. And I bear the Blade of Sorrows.

The Blade of Sorrows is quite large, even for a moorsword. It was once part of an even larger blade, before it was broken in two. The smaller piece was forged into the blade my sister carries, the Blade of Woes, and the larger was made into my own blade. The Blade of Sorrows did not always bear its name, but what it used to be called has been forgotten. It was borne before me by another member of Clan MacCraig, Caiden Mac Cameron. Borne by another member before him, and another before them. Generations of MacCraigs have wielded it, and suffered it’s curse.

The curse of the Inheritor of the Blade of Sorrows isn’t literal. Rather, the curse is one of duty. The one who bears it may never step foot upon Dunland. It is their curse to range far from our beautiful islands, to search for allies in a cold and uncaring world. The bearer of this blade will die in foreign lands, on a quest that so far has been fruitless.

These two names are what define me. I am not one of them. I am both. I am Liam O’Craig, Bearer of the Blade of Sorrows.

But I am also William Mac Deirde of Clan MacCraig. I was raised in the Highlands, mostly out of reach of Rogalian occupation, though not untouched. They often raided our villages and the land around them. Burned our fields. Stole our people. We were labeled criminals for the crime of living as our own people. Those they took were forced to work their fields or their docks, beaten and forced into small workshacks. No property of our own, no homes, no family. Even our beds were shared with two or even three other people, as we were forced to work in shifts round the clock. It was horrible. And I would know, I lived it. Drudgery, they call it. But anyone who’s lived through it will tell you it’s slavery by a different name. A kinder name, one that doesn’t offend their precious Pontifex.

But before that part of my life I was just a boy. Raised as best I could be given the circumstances. My father took more of an interest in my annoying sister, but that suited me just fine. My mother raised me to be strong, to speak truth to power, to look out for others. I was always a big kid, stronger than folks around me, and no son of Deirdre O’Craig would be a bully. I led a little band even as a kid. Me, my sister, my cousins. We mostly marauded the streets and fields and forests around our homes, waging our little mock battles and “raiding” sweetbreads and berries. As we got older we fancied ourselves little radicals in our own right, and by our teens we were lifting from Rogalian shops down by the harbor. Our parents and our clan were the Templars of Dunland, so we became the Ordough Croy. I came up with the name, I thought it was clever.

But my life wasn’t all rebellion. I helped harvest the fields, Blair helped our dad with hunting and trapping. I argued with my parents incessantly. My mother was often frustrated by my willingness to disagree with her, but I think she was also always proud. I learned to read, found I loved it, and I took up an interest in anything I could get my hands on. History, Law, Nobility. Even the more focused history of our clan. I often wonder to myself, if our land was free, would I have been a scholar instead of a warrior? I think so. I would find a life of study surrounded by books and scrolls and manuscripts fulfilling.

Then our village was raided. I was taken. I was forced to work. For about three years, I think. Then I led an uprising. I took what my mother taught me, the courage and leadership and inspiring words, and I wielded it like a blade. I stole our freedom back. Myself and a hundred other “drudges” stole a Rennet Brig and sailed to the Isle of the Sky, home of the Clan MacLeod. They took us in, on their island of towering cliffs, far from where the Rennet could reach us.

We were sad for a long time. Despondent. We were made up of people from all clans, even the lowlanders. Turns out the Rennets don’t care if you swear fealty to them. But we were past clan divisions. We were all united in our sadness, and then our rage. We learned to fight, then. Really fight. How to tear down a building, how to make sure ship planks caught fire, how to destroy infrastructure and make an unbreakable occupation as painful and costly as possible. That was where my Blade came into my life.

I don’t know why I’m writing this down. Maybe it’s therapy, maybe it’s to remind me that I’m more than my Names. Maybe it’s so I can hold on to the human I am in the shadow of the Symbol I’m becoming. I don’t know.

The gulls cried overhead as the docks near Runeheim came into view. Sygrun had traveled south to meet with the Sea Wolves but returned with salt braided into her hair. They had greeted her with style? Her memory was a painful blur of drinks, songs, and laughter.

How did they drink so much?

When she came back to her senses the ship had long since set sail. In a moment’s panic she remembered this was Ormhildr’s domain but the captain had joyfully remarked she hadn’t been chosen by fate as the voyage’s sacrifice when they had drawn lots the first day out to sea.

The sea wolves had laughed, an earth mage adrift in the sea. What a gift.

The first few days had been pure misery as she adapted to the rhythm of the waves and wind along the coast. The deck pitched unevenly beneath her, and her stomach had rebelled against every motion. When she tried to steady herself with earth magic the ocean answered with a swell that nearly threw her overboard. The Sea Wolves had roared with laughter, calling it the sea’s lesson: no ground beneath you, no certainty above. But they sang together with voices rising like a storm bolstering her spirits as she learned to walk steadily across the deck.

Now, finally, her boots met the wood of Runeheim’s pier, and the world tilted beneath her. While the earth remained steady, her feet were still lost in the memory of the waves. More laughter followed, as she stumbled like a newborn fawn toward more solid ground. The smell of old smoke and brine clinging to her clothes.

“Finally”, she thought.

Her knees crashing to the ground as she dug her fingers into the dirt along the edge of the road. Feeling for the pulse of the land under her hands to calm herself with its reassuring stillness. It did nothing to ease the empty ache within her chest, but for the first time in weeks she felt the world stop swaying. This momentary peace so rudely interrupted.

“Hey, Sygrun Sea-worn, saddle up. It’s time to head for Runeheim.”

Alfred and I are making one of my favorite meals today! Spaghetti, meatballs, garlic bread, and a fresh greens salad!

The kitchens here in Runeheim are a little tighter than the kitchen at the Fort. The steam mixes with the smells of the herbs on the bread, hardly a better smell than fresh garlic bread! We boil the pasta, heat the sauce and the meatballs and get everything out to the table, all is well! Alfred hears some kind of commotion outside and takes his enormous skewer to go investigate, I’m sure he’s fine… Let’s get the House fed!