Category: Journal Entry

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.

It seems I did not have to wait long into my stay in Njordr to see a vampire. The spawn was everywhere Friday night, and finally Saturday night, a true vampire was revealed. The man they call “Sigi” communicated his intent to handle the situation to me and I agreed, not knowing he meant that he was going to strike her in the head with a lump of silver. I have to hand it to him for his bravery, though it is becoming clear my services as an educator are greatly needed here. The vampire proved to be oddly amicable and did not attempt to fight back as the Eparch took her into custody nor when I confronted her. This development is fascinating, and I will need to pursue it further. She claims to want to liberate these lands from the grips of their old gods, and this may be true. Speaking with her further may prove fruitful in diagnosing what mortality and soul remains within the creatures after they are turned.

Charcoal scraped over the loose sheets of bark in front of him, blackened fingertips tracing the lines of tally marks and labels to the quiet rhythm of the rain outside. A quiet harrumph of displeasure is followed shortly after by the rumbles of “hmm” and “ahh”, as the line is quickly struck out and re-tallied based on the half-scribbled note slid into the ledger’s margins. Why did people wait to submit their plans for spring so late in the winter, when there was little time left for reconciling the records against the stores?

Sighing, Etienne took the opportunity to stand and stretch, adding blackened fingerprints to similar marks on his shirt as he twisted to and fro, seeking the subtle pop of joints and ligaments sliding back into proper place after too much time stooped over the desk. Spring was on its way sooner than expected, and that was the problem. Short winter meant flush storehouses and happy townsfolk, but less time for the soil to renew itself and feed the endless maze of root and vine that fed the land. They could clear away the deadwood, crop the bent and broken limbs to allow for healthy growth, but was the food there to fuel it? And that was before this mess with the wizard and his curse, sapping the lifeblood of the forest for his own purposes…

His gaze turned to the storm outside, seeing the rivulets of runoff worm their way back to the river. Everything was connected here, hung in a delicate balance overseen by the spirits and managed by the efforts of man and beast. How will things change, when the Mists finally fail, when the Standing People no longer have the strength to talk to the people and are left as deaf and dumb as the lion statue the townsfolk worship around? Tears well in his eyes at the thought, quickly brushed away with a careless hand leaving streaks beneath his eyes.

Realizing what he had done, tears quickly changed to mirth, quiet laughter bubbling forth as he sought out the basin to clean the coal from face and hands. Enough maudlin thoughts, he confirmed to himself, reaching for soap and cloth. We should be looking forward to spring, and the return of the sun. The town was growing ever closer together, the Circle grew in strength as Patrons were selected and blessings granted, and the near impossible had occurred in Grandfather Oak agreeing that their changes were for the best.

As thoughts shifted to Oak, a still-damp hand paused to reach for the scar over his heart, still pink and fresh even all these months later. Yes, perhaps now is the time to finally have that chat, now that the winter winds were giving way to the season of change…

It’s been so long since I’ve seen or heard from anyone at home. I was glad to see Thyre, she looked healthy, and it gave me a little hope that our village was doing just fine. I was glad to hear how she was preparing for spring product and what she was hoping for in the coming season. But her response made a piece of my heart twist horribly.

I miss the family tavern. I miss experimenting with ingredients, the excitement of new things to enhance Mom’s product. I miss seeing familiar faces of the village, the wandering souls passing through and stopping for a night, even the grumpy ones that sometimes were a nice distraction. I miss the stories, the drama, the connections people can share over a moment of peace and nourishment.

Worst of all, part of me actually misses Mom and Dad. I blame that drink test. I blame my opponent for being Thyre. Of all the people to show up, why her in the first place? Then again, why would anyone like her or I be in Runeheim?

The test was a bit entertaining at least. The first drink was sickly sweet like mallow root, that coated the tongue in almost a thick syrupy feeling that was hard to swallow. It was like medicine, not the best tasting kind, but I can see how it’d help someone. The second, it about burned my tongue from the spice of it, though it had a certain warmth and satisfying kick once the flavor settled. Then the third, perhaps the best and the worst. It tasted like home. A gentle warm, vanilla, and honey-like flavor. Like the feeling of being out all day in the cold winter, before returning home to a warm bath, and a freshly made bed to sleep like a bear.

That taste reminded me of the hard nights where sleep was nowhere in reach, and Mom was willing to stay awake with me until I could find peace. It reminded me of Dad, when he told me I’d be a good hunter when I caught my first rabbit, after a morning of frustration that brought me to tears over my first trapping lesson. He must have redone my trap while I wasn’t looking. Either way, having a dad like him, I had to take whatever praise he was willing to tear out of his stone heart when I could.

Part of me regrets letting Clemens join along. I appreciated his presence of course, I barely know anyone in Runeheim at this point beyond a name or startings of friendship. But I wish he didn’t finish the third drink, if it meant I got to hang onto that feeling for a little longer. But he had fun too, at least, I think he did. He’s always nose deep in some mage related business or whatever that I’m not really sure what he’d find fun in.

I think I need to start making drinks regularly again. Mom would be proud if she knew her little girl was making it big in Runeheim. At least, I hope she’d be proud.

Black as night. Its face was nothing more than a white bird mask. Nearly taller than the door as it loomed over the threshold.

And at the worst time of a woman to face a situation such as that. I should have remembered at least one of the tales Mom told me as a child. Tales of strange creatures terrorizing women and girls when they least expect it, and what was the common thread? They were alone and their guard was down. They’d freeze like statues, when they should have done something, anything to ward off a potential threat.

But those were just stories, meant to teach children basic survival skills. What does a grown woman do when she sees something out of a tale, in real life? Was it luck for me, or perhaps the figure just lost interest? I feel a little lucky at least, that hopefully it didn’t see me as a threat and moved on.

Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination. I haven’t been in Runeheim for long, but one would be a fool to not see the stress and pressure everyone seems to be under. Maybe I’m part of the afflicted, my mind playing tricks as a result. Nothing a good drink and time with familiar faces could fix, I’m sure.

Perhaps I’ll bother Clemens to ramble on about anything at me. So long as it heals my mind of whatever this cursed figure has manifested itself from. And if he manages to keep my attention.

“Hey ma, what do you think we’ll do if the mists lift?”

“Hmm, I don’t suppose I’ve had time to think about it. I suppose Etienne will talk to the Court, and we will figure something out”

“And you believe they will make the right decision?”

“Well, the Court has guided us this long, and we are all alive. And Entienne is a smart man. Why, dear. You have doubts?”

“I mean, some things happened last market that just left me with a lot of question. Just….So Apple had said the last season that, because of the circle’s commitment to the town, and the town’s commitment to the circle, that we were free to adopt Discord to replace sins of Bias. But this market the Court addressed the town in the tavern to have us prove to them that, I don’t know, we were worthy of having that change happen? I guess I just didn’t understand the confusion between the Court about letting it happen? But then Ashe got upset and left, saying she couldn’t stand by this change knowing how many of us died at the hands of the Benalians, and that it was not her way just to simply forget.”

“Well, some members of the Court aren’t immune to acts of impulse. Apple is the spirit who loves the circle the most, so it makes sense that they would be the most in favor of this change, even if it was not solely their call to make”

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. The Circle was really torn up about Ashe leaving, and reached out to try to talk and bring them back to the Court. But then Ashe had a list of demands for the Benalians to do to prove to Ashe that they accept us. But, haven’t they done enough?”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Haven’t the Benalians not bled for us? Haven’t they not been accommodating to our needs? Have they not turned their heads to our activities? When Jo was out in the middle of the tavern yelling ‘My people, it’s time. Let’s meet in our grove’, do you not think the Benalians were playing dumb, closing their eyes, and covering their ears to stay in line with their faith when they had Heresy? And the ones who could not turn their heads to our Mother, they were just shouldering that on their soul. What more do the Benalians have to prove? They could have hunted us a hundred times over by now, but we have chosen to live together for so long.”

“Ashe does hold the memories of the dead from before any of us could comprehend”

“But also our memories don’t work as they should. The mists, which the court tell us to work to strengthen as much as we can for our protection, takes our memories away. So many of us have walked into the forest to be caught in the mists and come back not knowing our families. Last market I found Chevreuil’s body. And Colibri, and, from what Cadence said, Entienne could not remember him. And I think that’s mists fault, and not them not caring about the old leader of our Circle, and, for Entienne, the old head of our family. Yet we are judged for not remembering or understanding how Vecatrans in the region were hunted? I understand that Ashe holds those memories, but that is not the situation we are living through, and the Benalians have done so much already. I am not sure why we are not taking more of a firmer stance toward Ashe, and saying we would love for Ashe to be apart of our community, but if they cannot live under this allegiance with the Benalians then we will remember them fondly.”

“It isn’t so simple, Hadrien. Most of us have lived with the Court our entire lives, and our parent’s lives, and their parent’s lives. Losing of the Court is like losing a close family member.”

“Yeah, I know I haven’t been with the Circle nearly as long as most, and even then I just stood in the back, and didn’t really participate. But we are losing the Court anyway. The Court has said when the Chiropoler died and the mists recede, the Court will fade with the mist. If Ashe wants to leave, and leave with what they believe is their dignity, then why not support that decision? And what are they going to do when the mists spirits fade? When Colibri said this market that Oak was a man who does not change easily, Entienne corrected her and said that the spirits were belief. So will we need to believe in new spirits and create a new Court, or will we be left on our own?”

“I am sure we will find our way. Vecatra will guide us through our crone and through Colibri and Entienne. It just takes a little faith”

“And I want to have faith. I just am not sure how much faith I have. There is so much I don’t understand. I am not sure why Nadia Kruezmoor had to pay for peeing on a tree in blood. I am not sure why Entienne says he cannot help with matters he does not see as pertaining to the Circle if we no longer take the sin of Bias, even though I am awfully sure he was in Gerard’s platoon when fighting the monster in Chiropoler’s bowels last market, and we do still take on the burden of Submission. I am not sure why I cannot help members of my community, like Cadence, Henri, Isabelle, and Sophie without being in Violation of Vecatra. I just don’t understand”

“Honey, were is all this coming from. You never had questions like this before”

“Ma, it just feels like when Chiropoler dies, and the mists fade, we cannot expect the Benalians to protect us. Even if the Benalians in Luisant are loyal to us, we cannot ask them to die to the world’s armies for us, because that will only lead to every dying. We cannot stand up to an army. And so if the mists fade, I can’t see the Vecatrans not receding with the mists and hiding in the forest, on their own”

Sylvaine looks up and speaks.

“Merle, listen to what the boy is trynna tell us”

Merle pauses for a moment, and then a pain expression rests on her face

“Hadrien. If we do have to leave Luisant, you are coming with us. Right?”

“Ma, I……”

Winter 608/609 –

January – I think my father had a dozen names for that damn boar – Tusk, Ripper, Bastard, etc – his old bar friends certainly had hundreds of more colorful names as well. He was supposed to have weighed 200 kilograms, have teeth a decimeter long, and whose blood was nothing but piss and vinegar according to the tale. My father supposedly impaled it fully tip to tail yet it still managed to tear his arm off. I think about those stories a lot now – it seems to be the only thing anyone remembers of my parents. Supposedly, the boar’s jaw was on display in the bar for years, but after the fire the tavernkeep decided to put it in storage – he thought that with my dad gone no one would recall the tale – and yet it persists. So if he didn’t want it, I decided it would be better served in a new role – I liberated it from the dusty attic above the tavern, and saw the truth in it – a jaw around my forearm in length, a small pair of incisors, and stains implying it had been buried outdoors for awhile before being mounted to a tacky plaque. At that moment – I knew it would be a perfect tribute to Aspen – sure the jaw may not be from the boar, but that jaw is central to its story – a part of nature my father and his friends could point at and speak of how the wilds must be respected – of how the truth can become a tale, and how a tale can become the truth.

February – For those who have risen to it, responsibility is a gift – for those who have it thrust upon them it is a burden – The standing one’s powers are waning and the evil beneath the ground is stirring. The mists are weakening and our very way of life is in danger. To combat this, Aspen has granted me a stave of power – that should I determine it necessary, I can remove my circle from harm’s way. But doing so would leave the lion folk at the mercy of the enemy, whoever they may be. It is now up to me to decide when to withdraw and when to stand and fight – I do not understand the ways of the sword and pike, nor am I a grand healer – my only weapon in these dread circumstances is my knowledge, and yet – this is not a tool of knowledge, it is a tool of wisdom. With this gift, Aspen implies that they support my ascension to mother – I’m not as wise and commanding as Etienne, nor am I as loving and supportive as Colibri – I do not know what I can do to aid in these times, nor do I know how what the future holds for us. All I know how to do is run.

March – There were a number of strange happenings at market – the straight forward ones – Court of trees in the tavern, werewolf confusion and panic, and the descent into Chriopholer were at least experienced by the whole town – and all can agree on what happened afterwards (though in the moment the events were quite vexing). Yet there were two events in particular that were quite peculiar – the first I experienced myself along with several other gatherers – we stumbled upon a cottage in the woods none of us had ever seen before, being built of candies and baked goods – my musings on the structural implausibility of this were curtailed by a self-proclaimed “ginger-dead-man”, and the unarmed were quite literally forced to seek refuge in the hut. There we discovered a gruesome scene of blood and baking – following this we were able to escape the hutch and aid in defeating the confectionary foe. At this the scene before us dissolved to nothing, leaving more questions than answers – at least I wrote the recipe down, though I know not if it’ll ever be useful.
The second was a man of snow appearing during the stonewise – accounts say it was trying to assault the gatherers, and that it reacted to Étienne’s ritual eye-stone. These absurd events are… perplexing and difficult to explain – could it be fey? A strange malefic trick? Maybe a manifestation by Chriopholer? I don’t really see how these events could be explained by logic, so I may have to ascribe to absurdity and whimsy to make any sense of them.

I’m going to die someday. What do I want to leave behind? Three happy and healthy adults raised by Cadence and I, for sure. A great big hole in space where all disease used to be before I kicked its ass, hopefully. What else, though?
I think of the bandit who I spoke with at market, Guy. Probably a fake name, but who cares. He’s a bit of a bastard. But he could be better. He wants to learn to fight like me so he can be a better bandit. The old man always told me that it was dangerous to just teach just anyone to move like that. Like waves on the ocean. He only ever taught me. I told myself I wouldn’t teach anyone else. I use it to protect the people of the town now, and I’m glad I can. What if I could teach Guy to do it too? Two people who fight like me, protecting this town.
That could be my legacy. A group of people decades from now leaping from tree to tree, fighting the beasts and creatures of the forest to keep the town safe. I’d be honored to teach people if I could guarantee that. But I don’t think I can. I want my legacy to be protectors, to be people who defend the defenseless. I don’t want it to be a new scourge of bandits. All it takes is for Guy, or whoever I teach, to let it slip to the wrong person.
How can I make this decision? How can I rely on a bandit? Is it fair for me to judge him based on what he currently is, instead of what he could be? God, I have no idea. This is too much responsibility, I should’ve just stayed in the woods

I’ll give him another market or two.