Category: Journal Entry

The tavern is rowdy as ever. Drunkards, nobles, politicians and scum all mingling. Whispering. Trading secrets and coin and cons. Huddling together in conspiratorial groups, the comings and goings of Stragosa muffled by the songs of the bards in black, the Beggar Kings, regaling the lot of them with tales collected, dreamt, and conscripted. Music: the memory of the land.

B

This song is a good song
and
I see you grin, despite yourself.

For a moment they see me. See us.
For a moment none of it happened.
The fire is warm on my face
I feel the bench under me
Solid
Grounding

I taste the lust
Dancing at the corners of my mouth

Our skin is hot, alive
Our hearts skip
Skip
skipping
across the veil between here
And there

Here
now
In this single moment
I am home

F

I find you flickering here
You are almost
The color
Of living.

Living is
Sharp and grating–
Against the cool
The calm and the dreary
That is death but then
There’s you.

Infatuated with a song
That remembers us
And smiling
Like you were always wont to do.
Smiles are cheaper
Now
Somehow
And even in death
You are beautiful when infatuated.

Such as was
Always between us–
Sharp and stretched and scratched
Though sometimes tender–
No longer can I expect
The warmth
Of blood
Under the skin
We are nothing
And I reach out to touch you
As I had never had the chance
Before.

I like it here
With you
I long
For your eyes
To remember me
As they
Remember
Our names.

B

And the world is electric now
Beautiful fire from my fingertips to my teeth
Your eyes are so much more blue than they once were
I fall into them like the well of the sky

And then
I see a girl
Younger than most
In the corner of the tavern
And her eyes are mooney wide

I wave at her
And her lips part
In breathless
Awe

I see your eyes catch hers
Watch your expression shift
And shimmy
Like a cat
With too many fleas

F

I toss a wink like a coin
And gaping she gasps and blinks
And rubs the phantoms from her eyes–
We are gone.

And turning to smile this smile
Hard and bitter won
On you
I rise.
What freedom in Death, no?
Words are not words
And there is no breath here–
Nor gravity to hold me down
And my feet dangle
Toes
Inches
Above the table.

Stretching hands to you
Like olive branches–
How we fought in life
Like mutts over bitches in heat
But here–
I never got to dance with you.
Show me how you dance to our song.

B

And my grin goes walrus wide

I take your hand
In my hand
And my hand
In yours
And

And

And

We waltz the uppercut tango
And foxtrot through the fox’s den
I am you and you are mine
In this night sings
The Wet divine

This dance
Which is our first dance
It would have gone differently
Had we been constrained by meat

And Physics

F

Such things we are
Beyond
The dead Undying
Tossed in stormy skies
And howling
It’s not
So bad
Here
I can almost feel
Your hands
In on around tightly gripping
Mine.

How easy to
Collapse
Together
Where the music swells us up on drifting winds
I wish
I wish
I wish we had–
Oh well.

I can now
Lay my head
On your shoulder
And breathe in
This gentle crook of your neck.

B

And as we drift
Sideways and upwards
In this place
That is Stragosa
And is the black and starry sea
I hear the chords fading
And applause beginning to thunder thump
From below

I barely notice the tavern drifting away
A half remembered dream
From a life I no longer live

I hold you tight
My lioness
And our skin forgets how to be skin
We become
What all lovers would be
If they were not told
They had to be two
Instead of one

My heart and
Your heart
Beat

F

And beat–
Like living drums beat
We two
Dancing out of realm of gods
And beggars and kings–

B

And beat
Like wings beat
Into the sky and into dark
we fall
Careening up

B+F

What a brilliant fall it is
Of whorling clouds and singing seas
And dreaming dreams
Alive–

Are we alive?

Alive….

Alive as the storm sweeping the city
Alive as the wind tugging playful at trees
Alive as raindrops wetting knees
Bent in the grass to recover some overlooked treasure–
Alive as deer tip-toeing through brush
Alive
Alive
Alive as
Unseen night

I look to my hand and it is your hand
I hear my laugh
And it is your laugh
And know that skin
No longer contains the idea
That is us

Trees and rivers pass beneath
Millers, blacksmiths, bards
Each taking their path through the night

And we look down
And feel
The slow and ancient
thrum
Of the world

This place is our place now
The dark seas of unmaking
Will have to wait

Death is a forgetting
And we
Will not be forgot.

Januarius 604

Father,
Thank you for the suggestion about which family to place Arnhelm with. I will begin the conversation by raven. Do you think they would send a representative to Stragosa? I would like to meet personally with them, but my duties here preclude my leaving.

Along those lines, I have spent another half season at War with the Heretic beasts. I have taken their fortress and reclaimed my banner from Aleric. It is bloodied and tattered but I will keep it as such to remember those who I failed. By the time this reaches you I will have had the Inquisitors burn their Heretical stronghold to the ground. The taint of that foul place will be cleansed by the Light of God. This continues to be a long and frightful campaign.

I knew coming to this place was going to put us in dangerous positions and was prepared for it. I was not prepared for how difficult it is to get even the most basic things done. I had never thought about how much the common folk around Sonnenberg were invested in the community’s well being. Even with Sanguine’s attempts at building consensus there is much resistance to community based growth. This is a place of overwhelming belief in individuality.

I will be sending a letter to Mother as well, so tell her to expect a raven. I know that I could send messages here, but we both know she enjoys her own network of correspondence. I will enclose a letter to her from Arnhelm as well so she may judge his writing and educational progress, she will have insights of her own to help me guide him. You may also tell her that her teaching has borne unusual fruit here in Stragosa, a wandering spirit entered the Tavern last Forum seeking to battle wits. I was able to come up with some rhymes to move it on its way, so some of what I was taught of poetry did actually have some use.

I appreciate your most recent letter and look forward to hearing from you again. It is always good to hear about home, sometimes I dearly miss it and look forward to a time that I may return.

Reinhart

“We failed. We lost.”

These were the words that echoed through Renatus’ mind as he sat in his chambers, the lit candle bearing the seal of Mithriel allowing him to read his Testimonium. Once again, he found himself seeking to understand its mysteries, its lessons. Hours he had studied it in his isolation, but in that he had sought insight into the rituals of his Covenant. Now, he studied it with a different focus, trying to remember the message that the Ordo Croix man had shared with him and Ulvgard so many months ago.

“Benalus died for nothing.”

Were these the words spoken by a man in deepest despair and pain or by a man who knew a terrible truth that had been lost to time? The man had fought over six hundred years ago, before the formation of the Throne, before the formation of the Church, in the era of the Witchkings, but his words, they implied that he was there when Benalus had been slain by the foul sorcerers of old. Risen by foul rituals of the Lazarines, removed from his rest, the man now suffered again. Renatus’ heart ached for the man, feeling the violation that had been done to him in his own Meaning. He wanted to bring the man peace, but could he? He’d failed twice so far, his words and attempts to reach out and counsel falling on deaf ears, as arrows upon a fortress wall.

“The Testimonium is wrong.”

‘What do you know, my brother? What is it that I cannot see or understand that burdens you so?’ Renatus wondered as he turned the pages carefully, reading and re-reading every passage. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for his lack of finer education in the ways and histories of his Knighthood and Covenant. He saw the irony of his situation. In his attempts long ago to glean the truths of the Benalian faith in his turn from Aa’boran, he had sought long and hard, but now he wondered if he had stopped short. Should have kept going, sought longer and harder still? Now he raced to try to make up for lost time, and he could feel it was a race he was losing.

“I am alone. I will die.”

Remembering these words…their resonance struck Renatus like a hammer blow, and his study of the Testimonium slowed as his introspection grew. He had felt isolated since he’d come to Stragosa two winters back, and reflecting, it had not changed much. The number of Templar had dwindled, and though they were now reinforced by Tadeo and Sif, he felt more alone than ever. The Diocese had grown in the number of priests who stood ready to spread the light of Benalus, but Renatus felt as if that light did not touch him now.

Since his revival on the Miracle…he hadn’t felt the same fire in his soul that he had before. The memory of the Miracle reminded him of the fire that had coursed through his veins, that had seemed to burn on for an eternity before allowing him to breathe again. There had been flares of the spark within him his Forum, most strongly when he had spoken with Alonso and they had talked for long hours on the matters of Meaning and Purpose.

The cold of the room pressed in upon him, and he could not help the shiver. Not for the first time he wished he could return to Sha’ra. The mountain foothills of his home in Evren, the streams of snowmelt, the days spent reading the tongue of his people over a plate of dried fruit and delicate sweetbreads. The memories brought tears to his eyes and he had to close his Testimonium and try to control his breathing as the faces of his mother and father paraded before his mind’s eye. The sense of loss deepened as he reflected on that which had lost long ago. He tried to fight the feeling, calling on remembered conversations with Karsten, Adeodatus, Sanguine, Ansel, Aretaeus, Xyandriel, Lysander, Astrid, Azzam, Tu’luk, and Sif.

It didn’t help, and instead, it grew worse as he reflected on his life in the last year; attacked by Kaurlites, forced into isolation by a Commander who now longer held station in the region, slain by something he knew not, and brought back to serve and bury the dead of war while trying to stave off suicide, and his reward for this long suffering and sacrifice was to find no peace with a fire threatening to engulf his mind night after night with the screaming voices of the slain tormenting him in his dreams.

The tears flowed, his heart throbbed in pain, and he choked out the sobs as the emotions boiled over and he could not control them any longer. He recalled the lesson with Azzam, on how difficult it was to test one’s faith and grow it, and it was in moments of such turmoil that would allow a man to try to re-forge himself. He drew forth the gift that Azzam had given him, the golden letters reciting an important phrase, and he tried to rebuild his walls, but it was not enough. He brought forth the gift from Alexandria, the portrait of his love far away in Stragosa, and realized immediately the mistake it was, and the tears flowed anew. He knew in his heart the thing that he lacked, the thing he needed, the thing that had been taken from him all those years ago, and he wept for its lack. He offered a silent prayer to God, pleading for the strength to carry on. Without it, he doubted he could.

How do you keep the peace? What is the price for keeping the peace? And how do you know what you paid for will last? Nothing is certain, especially peace. This time the price for keeping the peace was killing a friend. I can go on and on about how it was an execution, but that does not help. It does not change it from what it really is. I had to murder someone who was doing God’s work. That was the price this time. To keep the peace, someone had to die.

But what lead to that conclusion? It was fear. It was the fear of what one side was capable of. It was the fear that they have done it before, and likely would gladly do it again. They wanted this man of God dead and there was no changing their minds. These soldiers of their liege mad their demands, and like that one man was sentenced to death. And by supper’s end, and the plunge of a sword, this man of god was dead.

My heart sank before the body hit the ground and slid off the sword. As the crowds gathered, dissension began to murmur. I knew it had to be swift counter that dissent if this was going to work. While that infant feeling of grief was swelling in my soul, I had to show strength. I had to try and have the resolve to finish what I had started. I had to quickly address that growing noise from the crowd. With quick and terse words that rumbling disdain for my actions rose. I was not proud of myself, but it was needed.

We took him to the church to prepare for a miracle. It was a miracle if this would bring lasting peace. But grief finally took complete control and I saw my work in the light. I finally see his body, lifeless, still, going cold. As soon as my rite was complete and his eyes shut, standing was impossible. I fell to the ground in pieces. My strength was sapped and so was hope.

I may have my friend back thanks to the miracle of Stragosa. But, I will always have the memory of killing him. I will carry that image of his limp body for the rest of my days. The final tally is that we are as we were when the day started. But I had to do something that I did not want to do. And that memory will be there, always. It will serve as a reminder for what this was all for: peace. Peace for all, but myself. That was the true price of peace. A little bit of myself had to go in order to secure it. A small peace, barely noticeable to most, but it is a piece of me. I don’t know how many more of those pieces are left. One day I fear, more pieces will be gone than I can live without. And that day, all of these peaces I bought will be weighed against me. And I hope it was enough.

—-My Own Blue Eyes—-

And you
my own blue eyes
I know you can hear me
You can always hear me
Every thought
Every fear
Every
Weakness
Belonged to you
But
You never saw me
Only a mirror
Of everything you wish you could be

Is that why you
always hated me?
Almost as much
As you hated yourself?

I will never forgive you
Not after everything
You did
Everything you
Never did
And now
You walk a sunlit path
For the first time in a dozen years
You Wear your own face

While you look upon my death hole
I watch your lips and
I cannot not feel the tender words
Dance across my skin
But I taste your tears stain
my grave
Like You
They are
brackish
And vile

Poor you
Poor fucking you
You pitious wretch
So selfish
For yourself
You could never see how I was
Myself
Selfless

The festering sun
Threatens to tear me from this world
A final time
And all you can see
Is what
You
Have lost

But I
Finally
see you now
Like you have never seen me

I am
always
watching you
protecting you
Saving you
Always
By your side
In your every thought
And every fear
You have shown me your love
My Own Blue Eyes
And I will show you mine

The shudders of the house shake, a whistling wind passing by. She blinks her eyes as it quiets down again. A cold storm is due this time of year.

She closes her eyes, listening to the howls of the wind.

=============

Wake up.

=============

Her eyes open. The light peaks through the windows, “Florence, it’s time to get up.” Her mother stands over her, speaking calmly, “You must get ready or they will leave without you again.”
Florence looks over to the other two in the room; her father still shaking off the last bits of sleepiness while her brother paces about the room gathering the supplies for the morning hunt. She sits up and begins to get ready herself.

=============

Florence rubs her eyes as she walks down the trail, a light dusting of snow spreads over the ground. She collects what is needed from the earth and then makes her way home.

The table is set up with vials and bowls, stems separated from their leaves, and powder spilt in miscellaneous places. Florence sets the new herbs on the table, it won’t be long till the town begins to stir this morning. She reaches up to tie her hair back and pauses- her fingers catch in a knot. Moving towards the mirror she grabs a brush and evaluates the tangles of her hair.

=============

“Florence.”

Her mother speaks her name as she slowly combs Florence’s mane, “Oh Florence.” The young girl holds onto her skirt, feeling the comb struggle and pull on her hair. Her mother puts the comb down, “I’m sorry love.” scissors replace the comb and Florence sniffles as she closes her eyes.

=============

Florence stares into the mirror, a smile across her face as she sets the scissors down. Her hand traces her shoulders, up the neck and finally towards her shortened hair. “Oh Florence” she whispers.

My Good Friends

I wait until morning
To see my good friends
And
I am so excited to see them again
And
Hear their warm smiles
And
see the melody of their laughter
And
They would see me
And
I would be real
And
They do not come
And
And
And

. . .

The smith is always smiling. He is happy to see me, happy to see everybody. He is my friend.
He has crafted a hundred magnificent daggers in a thousand beautiful shapes. Each a gift, each a seal of friendship. He would stand by me in arms and I knew my brother had my back.
But he is not here. He didn’t come.
Should I have let him burn?

. . .

The dawn breaks
An evil molten green
And spills like syrup
into the sickly sweet corners of the world

I want to stay
more than to breathe
But my shadow is too dark
And I cannot see the sun

Cobwebs and dust crowd out thought
And inch by horrible inch

I

am

G oNe

. . .

The Tailor’s needles and knives were almost as sharp as her smile. I loved her when she held a dagger to my throat. I loved her when she slipped bread from her parents caravan to feed her starving friend.
In those days there was nobody to tell us
That we couldn’t fly
So we did.

But when I finally let go, finally trusted her with everything I had-
She flew away.

Why do I keep trusting people when all they do is break your heart?

. . .

This world is a silent place
memories drift downward with the crisp smell of falling snow
How many of these were me?

My edges are slipshod and jagged
Unweaving and unwound
What I am just
melting in the thaw

But

I am not done here

You will not deny my story
I will not permit it
So

So last night
I went to see you
Tomorrow

And I taste the mothflame light
I hear your faces in the evening glow
A rattlechain dance of beer steins toasting
Smilies and smiles and warm hearthen fires
And I cannot help but smile
As I am come back to you
And we will laugh and sing and be friends once again

But

But

But

You look through me
Around me
And past me
And my heart drops leaden frogs into my guts

See me
Please
Just see me

Fucking Look!

I am real

Aren’t I?

But not one of you will claim the cold place at the table
So
Whether you know it or not
You do see me
But are too blind to look me in the eye.

Fucking
Cowards

. . .

The nights in the hall we shared
Were some of the best of my life
The alchemist cackled
High on her own medicine
While the gunsmith polished the beautiful brass
Of a new masterpiece

But of all of them
I trusted you the most
My brother in knives
You watched each of us when you thought we were not looking
As your hair grayed at the temple
With love
You are a better man than you know
And I am sorry you are so lost

But even you
Even you were gone when I needed you the most

She died
And I died
And we would be standing here still
If you had not abandoned us
To the alter of the vanity
And your failure

If you had been there with us
We would be here still

You will never find what you seek
You useless
Wretched
Fuck

. . .

I hear my song
It cuts through the dust
And makes me real

it is a good song
And the world goes from red to a soft waxy glow
I can disappear
Really, truly disappear
And for a moment, everything is finally right

Thank you

.
.
.

But
nothing
can last forever

And with the applause I awake from the dream
Of a world in which I’m still here

And fall hard and bloodied
In this too loud place
Where my mind begins it’s
kaleidoscope
Cracking
And now the world
Is forgetting my face
And my name
And if I was ever real
To begin with

. . .

My Minstral
when she came
You said nothing
Did nothing
You just disappeared

And let her swallow my heart
And my life

Keep singing my song
I hope it lets you hide from your shame

It’s no wonder you will not meet my eye

Yet

. . .

How?

My friends
How are you so happy?
Did you hate me that much?
To laugh and smile
And refuse to even see me

All While I cannot taste the rancid sun

I flee from this wicked joke
Back to the sky
Where the wind does not care
If I am alive
Or dead
Or never was at all.

What did I do wrong?
I tried so hard
I made so many friends

Didnt I?
I just thought…
Thats what you
Do
You make friends
You take care of your
Friends
And your friends
They take care of you

But
I am not real
And only real people get to have friends

I’m sorry
I’m sorry I wasn’t enough

For you
For any of you
If I had tried harder
Done more to be seen
Maybe I would have been
Worth
Saving

I just…

I I
Love Hate
You

A
L
L
So fucking m-

. . .

Oh dearest captain
I remember how you would jump
When I came silently from behind
And your tankard would fly
Spinning and spilling
casting ale to the winds
But we always smiled
And talked of distant shores
And distant dreams

You know

I never told you
But it was your hat that gave me the courage
To make my own

And yet you sailed away
Like all the rest

. . .

No

I deny you

This is not how I end
I will not fade
I will not be forgotten
I exist
I fucking exist

And you cannot steal that from me
Not anymore

My story isn’t done
I will not be denied!
My will shall be wrought upon the world
And all will know my name!

I am your good friend
I am savior of the poor
Diplomat and scoundrel
Wizard and buccaneer
Master and slave
Loved and feared

I am

I

am

I…

I am her smile
Sharp and
Undying
Even now

She calls me
To become unmade
And join her in the silence
And the dirt

I begin to let go
And the mothflame flickers

once

Twice

And I am ready

She is waiting for me waiting
To set sail
Where we will dance forever
upon our nameless ship
Through a vast and a nameless sea

And I am ready
I am

I

Am

Balthazar di Carrivaggo

I am the sky and
the lightning and
You will know name
From now until
The end of time