Category: Journal Entry

Aquila, The Home of Marco di Talmerin-

I think I was fourteen, the first time Marco asked me the question that would define me, define my life and guide every action I took, from that moment on. He sat me down in his study one night having just finished the books. The room was bathed in fire light. For just a moment, I was back there, in that small town in Etruvia and everything was on fire. I don’t know how long I froze for, lost in the memory as I stared at the fire, but it was Marco’s voice that pulled me back from the flames.

“Corvo?” His voice seemed far away, muffled as if by distance and barriers, “Corvo!?” This time it was louder and I was brought back to the present with a startled jolt.

“Spiacente, zio.” I cast my eyes down feeling the heat as my cheeks flushed red. It had been three years since I’d come to live with my uncle in Aquila. I served as his apprentice, learning all he had to teach me.

“Va bene, Nipote. Come, sit and talk with me a moment?” He motioned to one of the chairs. It was finely crafted wood, the seat padded with woven wool and soft leather, wrapped and tacked. My uncle purchased it from Umberto Viotolli, a master carpenter. Only nobles and the wealthiest of merchants could afford his goods. I took my seat, across from him and gazed at him. His bronze skin, gleamed in the light of the fire. He was a round man, but muscular and so long as I’d known him he had kept his hair in a tonsure, because he had always said, one very stressful year had caused it to almost always fall out.

“Si, zio. What do you wish to talk about?” I asked. My uncle fixed me with a serious gaze. He heaved a sigh and I half expected that I was about to get scolded for something I’d done, or forgot to do. Anxiously, I traces the lines carved into the sides of the chair’s arms; flowers and vines, the kind that were often stitched into the fine brocade patterns found on my doublets.

“Nipote,” he said, holding his hands and placing them atop his closed ledger, “there comes a time in every young man’s life, when he must ask himself what kind of man he wants to be. Your Nonno asked your Papa and I this same question when we were about your age. He asked us, ‘What kind of men do you want to be? What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind? How do you want this world to remember you?’” His gaze shifted, and his brow rose, ever so slightly as he asked, “So, Nipote, what kind of man do you want to be?”

The question had come, seemingly, out of nowhere. I was floored. Until Marco had asked it, I had never given any consideration to the fact that my life was, ultimately, in my hands. I could not forever remain an apprentice, but the gravity of that truth had never settled on me until that very moment when Marco put it into words.

“I… I think I would like to be remembered, zio, as a good man, as a man who helped others,” I finally answered. Somewhere, in the back of my mind I remembered my father. Though a merchant by trade, and one of the wealthiest men in our town, my father was never unwilling to help another. He lived and breathed by the words of the Testimonium and the idea of a divine brotherhood, and I cannot help but think that had he survived to raise me himself, I would be a very different man than the one I am today.

My uncle smiled softly, but it was a sad smile as he said, “That, I think, is your papa talking.”

Whatever my uncle might have been about to say was cut off as I added, “But I would also like to be remembered as a wealthy man. As a man who knew luxury, and whose family wanted for nothing.” My uncled nodded, with his hands still folded he leaned back slightly in his chair, resting them on his belly.

“Oh, Corvo,” his voice carried in it a note of sorrow, “I fear that you have chosen the hardest path. It is very easy to be a wealthy man, if you are willing to do whatever it takes. It is easy enough to be a good man, if you are mindful of what you do, and how you do it. But it is not so easy to be both of those things. Your papa was a better man than I am, and even he was not without sin. At times, both your papa and I would do a bad thing, in order to do many good things, and that sometimes earned us enemies, but if this is the path you truly wish to walk, if this is the man you wish to become, it is not enough to simply possess wealth and finery. Wealth is never the end goal, nipote. It has never been. Wealth is just a tool. All of the coin in the world, is just a tool. The trick is in knowing how to use the tool.”

“Will you teach me?” I asked, I felt hope in my chest, that I could do this thing. With all of my being I believed I could do great things. At that moment, Maria entered the study. She was a courtesan in the truest sense of the word, and while not married to my uncle, she was his consort, and loyal to him. She slid her arm around my uncles shoulder, even as he wrapped his own about her waist. For a moment, they shared a look, which to me was a mixture of pride, and hope, and fear.

“Si, Corvo,” Maria said, nodding gently as they both returned their gazes to me.

“We will teach you all we know,” added Marco, “We begin tomorrow.”

-FIN-

Magic is a poor solution. That isn’t to say it isn’t a solution. That isn’t to say that there aren’t problems that it is necessary and useful to resolve. Rather, that is to say that rarely is magic the best solution.

Briefly consider this, suppose that we lived in a world where everyone was a mage, a magocracy as it were. What a wondrous world that might be. A highly educated world where Earth Mages brought in resources; food, minerals, lumber, and meat with a casual thought and buildings took shape from nothingness. Air Mages might create mechanisms for improved understanding of one another and communication. That world could have Fire Mages which could enable mechanics even Bakara had not previously fathomed. We might make it so that in that world, disease and insanity would be banished with a casual thought, no one would go hungry, and travel would be reliable and fast.

In a world where that magic was casually available, people would not fear it as much. They would understand that magic is a tool which can be used or not and that it is the wielder that is the problem rather than the tool itself. They would understand that those who used and abused their power for their own personal gain would be taken to task and held responsible for their actions.

That is not the world in which we live, as the truth is no where near so positive. People fear mages, not only because of the tools that they wield, but because of what the means by which they acquire those tools says about them. Mages are thought of as those who claim power because they can, for their own ends, at any cost, and that these tools give them the ability to dictate what is right or acceptable. They simply have tools which are beyond the ability of others to contest, or are so indispensable that the cost of doing so feels unacceptable.

People aren’t even wrong to believe those things. It is easy to ascribe the problem to the idea that those who are able to successfully join a guild rarely lack drive or determination, that those who lack such will crumble before their initial testing. The issues though are so much deeper.

Once you have broken through into a guild, time is rarely your own. Someone else will make decisions about what the guild needs from you and you are expected to obey. Some might joke that they could be asked to slay their loved ones, but comments like that come from a place of truth. Even if a guild probably wouldn’t do so directly without knowingly testing their commitment, that is in fact the level of commitment the guild expects. This corrupts one’s ideals, for you aren’t really in control of your life as completely as you might be and so you rationalize behavior you might personally not perform under the guise of being for the greater good or to help the guild along its path. How can those outside an organization like that trust you completely when they know you might be compelled by the guild to act against them or their interests, to betray their secrets, or the like?

If you are bright, you will then have to make decisions about what you want for yourself. Magic teaches people to want control over their environment, to subvert their weaknesses and enhance their strengths; that nothing is beyond their influence and power. For many this drives them to seek rank within the guilds, either to increase that power for themselves and to ensure they have autonomy to encourage others to seek out the particular interests of the mage in question.

Power isn’t a direct relationship to authority within a guild, but as a member of a guild, you have abilities that most do not. As such, you are expected to assist the guild in ways which are beyond what most would be capable of through mundane means. If you are studying magic most of your life, and you have a problem that you cannot resolve with your mundane abilities or would take an exceptionally long period of time or a large number of people, you are inevitably drawn to solve it with magic. If your current skill is not up to that task, you might push yourself to obtain more power. Thus the cycle continues of seeking power to solve problems to meet the demands of others, to gain authority, to obtain autonomy in your life.

We are then left with the fact that in gaining that rank by wresting that power from others who would seek to keep you from it, you will have already taught yourself how to take advantage of the talents of those below you, and so the cycle continues.

The mirage of the guilds is much more sinister than the truth. The Water Temple is foundational for the Sahirim for many reasons, but the most important is the lesson of knowing who you are and walking the path of Atma. Corrupting yourself and your Atma in service to the Temple is in fact a betrayal of the Temple and its ideals. You must make your own choices and follow your own path rather than blindly expecting others to make those decisions for you. Without centering yourself, you are left to float with the current, sucked in by the undertow of power, and will suffer at its whim. Instead you must learn to swim against these eddies.

As someone who lives in the Stragosa valley, it is difficult not to be tempted by the power that magical tools allow. These tools have allowed me to save many lives, and so the cycle continues. Seeking tools to aid those upon their path toward Atma while permitting them the ability to solve the problems for themselves .

Magic is not inherently evil, but giving up your path in its pursuit is to lessen yourself.

(NOTE: the [[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[ Represents past memories]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]] )

“Oh there’s Luca, Hi Luca!” Florence waves with two fingers before Luca doesn’t appear to see her and turns his back towards her.

I choke on my drink, “That’s the third time he’s ignored your wave,” I slur the words mockingly as I can feel the second shot of spirits making me feel dizzy.

Everyone at the table laughs as Vieve offers us another round of alcohol.

I had missed this. Bonding with strangers hasn’t happened since I met him, a year ago.

It’s nice.

For a second I wonder why I don’t do this more often. And then I remember why I don’t

——–

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[Two years ago I lounge lazily on one of the tavern chairs.

“Did you want a drink?” she asks with her beautiful Dunnick accent. I grin and nod.

“A knight getting a drink for a scum? Now I’ve seen everything…” he sounds annoyed. Perhaps because of his advances towards her have been fruitless.

“She loves me. I love her. We do these things for each other.” I give him a mocking smile, knowing what I am trying to imply. Maybe that way he will finally leave her alone, I can feel she’s uncomfortable by him.]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

———

“We should dance!” Florence says and before I know it the Beggar Kings are outside playing beautiful music. I feel Rosemary grab my hand quickly and start spinning me around. I resist a bit before she grabs her sister instead.

The happiness that these people exude is contagious…

I watch as the Princess joins, her sleeves swinging wildly around. Not a single care in the world.

Rosemary grabs my hand again and this time I laugh. A genuine laugh, not the mocking ones I’m used to giving to everyone.

——–

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[ Two years ago I ask her if I could shoot her bow. She nods and stands behind me. She tells me how to aim and to hold my breath. Her voice is so gentle and it flows with a rhythm that is better than any song I’ve heard.

I let the arrow go and see it fly a few feet. My fingers sting, the arrow cutting through my hand as it flew away.

I let out a whine.

“That will happen sometimes if you’re not holding it right,” she laughs and her laughter is so contagious that I laugh at my own mistake. A very rare thing.

“I’ll stick to knives I think…” and I let out a soft genuine laugh. ]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

——-

“There’s something outside! It poked its head through!”

The thing knocks the door.

“Who is it?” someone asks cautiously.

“John…Hunter.”

I let out a snort and open the door to find nothing out there.

———-

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[Two years ago, I stand outside the tavern.

“Oi, are you coming or not?” John Hunter asks her, he sounds annoyed before walking away.

She looks at me, then at him. “Do you want to come?”

I scoff, “If he wants me to help he can ask me himself.”

She gives me a sheepish look before going after him.

I immediately wish I had swallowed my pride and followed her. But I don’t. ]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

———-

“You should go to bed.” the Dunnick guy says to me, I keep nodding off.
“No, I don’t want to go to sleep just yet. I want to see this night through.”

I get up every once in a while and check my companions are in their beds.

——-

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[Two years ago, I rise from my bed as I see her come in.

She gives a letter to another person. Says to give it to her family when she’s gone.

“What do you mean ‘when you’re gone’?” I sound confused, and I am.

I look into her eyes, there’s tears there.

“Be good Leonce…” She touches my cheek gently, comforting me.

And she leaves. I follow but she’s fast. She tells me not to follow her but I do…and then she just disappears. I don’t think I have ever felt that lost as I was when I she vanishes in front of my eyes. I walk the whole night trying to find her. I don’t succeed. ]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

———–

I lay down on my bed, it’s been a really strange night. I want to sleep but there is too much commotion outside…so I stay awake until sleep overtakes me completely. My sleep isn’t perfect but at least there aren’t any dreams.

———-

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[Two years ago she comes to me in a dream.

Or it was a dream to me, people have said I rose up and was talking to the thin air outside.

She looks unnatural, but her voice is the same. I don’t care about her long nails or white pupils. I should have asked her what she was but I didn’t. Instead I told her to stay with me forever. She says she can’t, that this is her goodbye.

“Just remember, no one here really cares about you. They say they’re your friends but they’re not. All of them.” her voice is filled with hatred.

She disappears before me again, for one last time. ]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

———

I get up early in the morning, I hear snores and no one is awake. The sun hasn’t risen yet. I get dressed quietly before heading to the lake.

Remembering the night before, the warmth I felt from these people…for the first time I think maybe there are some here that do care after all, and that is the most terrifying thought I’ve had in awhile.

It was your typical peasant tavern, started as a shelter thrown together around a warm fire with it being expanded as people had type and resources, with a place for the owner to serve drinks to the works after their workday was done, a little off the beaten path so that those who knew about it didn’t have to worry about being judged for getting drunk to dull the aches and pains of a long day. It collected all lower born types from the dedicated laborer to the guy running a dice game. A place you could go and mind your own business and usually everyone else minded there own as well. But tonight was not such a night unfortunately. So a lady walked in garb torn from running trough the woods, some mud splattered here and there, twigs and small branches tangled in her light colored hair. The place went quiet she calmly walks up to the bar and asks for a glass of wine. The bartender pours her one passing it across. “This one is on the house you look like you could use it” With surprising regality she smirks and nods her head in thanks and she calmly looks around the room for a comfortable place to sit preferably near the fire.
Then a large mountain of a man muscles strain his homespun tunic. “There is a spot here” as he pats his lap with a boisterous laugh. A calm fairly quiet voice floats out of the corner of the place. “I wouldn’t do that Jan, the Lady has clearly had a rough day. Go back to your beer.” Jan laughter turns into a scowl “We aren’t on the job save your orders for then. If you keep bossing me around I will crush you little man, I don’t care what hey say about you.” The place goes nearly silent, as Pierre stands up placing his hat on his head. The bartender’s eyes go a little wide upon seeing Pierre’s smirk, “Please no bullet holes…. I’ll give you a bottle if no bullet holes” the keep pleads. “The good, strong stuff” Pierre responds. The keep sighs in resignation and nods. Pierre slowly walks towards Jan, Jan getting madder at this exchange stealing the limelight from joke, as everyone feels Pierre’s presence through the room. The lady grinning at everyone’s focus of herself, calmly walks over to the now empty table a sits down to watch the show.
“That’s it” Jan bellows taking a running step towards Pierre stumbles in utter disbelief as the pistol that was tucked in Pierre’s belt is now not only in his hand but is perfectly aimed straight between Jan’s eyes. Jan stammers “but no bullet holes…” Pierre nearly smiles, Jan shivers as if the drained all the heat from the room.”I would loose out on a bottle, you would loose out on a lot more. Now go home, leave your beer.” Jan seeing the look on Pierre’s face, knows the fear of certain death turns and runs.
With a same flourish, Pierre bows to the crowd taking off his hat. Straightening his pistol is back in it’s holster as if by the same magic that made it appear in Pierre’s hand. “I should have said no guns, not no holes” The keep grumbles as he pulls out a bottle offering it to Pierre” “Oui your probably right” Pierre chuckles as he graciously takes the bottle, and heads back towards the table. Pausing to look back over his shoulder at the crowd, who decide it was a great time to go back to minding their own.
“If I may?” He gestures to another chair with is bottle. She nods “What kind of helpless damsel would I be to turn down a brave protector’s company?” she asks with feigned frailty He adjusts the chair so he can seethe door. As he opens the bottle filling his distinctive cup, then placing it midway between them. “If you are helpless, then I am a priest. I just figured with your lack of company you wanted a quite time without any expectations on your time or behavior. So congratulations, now you can share this bottle with me and that will be the last that needs to be said, when this bottle is done I either going to bed, or escorting you where you want to go as you wish.” He then takes his hat off setting it on the table, and relaxing into his chair, keeping an eye on the door and crowd. Letting the quiet be companionably instead of expectant.

-next afternoon-
“I demand to see your leader” A messenger clearly high on self importance shouts at one of the peasants working on the finishing touches on the sewer. They point over at Pierre carrying some paving stone. “No not your foreman, one Mr. Pistolet. “Um he would know where this mister is your looking for.” The peasant smiles the moment the messenger stomps over to Pierre “Take me to MR.PISTOLET RIGHT NOW” the messenger shouts at Pierre. With a annoyed scowl and raised eyebrow. “You are shouting at him.” Pierre’s voice intentionally soft and quiet. “No, I am looking for the Renowned pistol duelist not some laborer” His voice dripping with condescension. At this Pierre sets down the paving stones. patting the dirt off his hands. “One in the same.” intentionally turning bringing his pistol in full sight. “Now I am doing something useful for the city, what do you want?” “Ah um, Lady Alexandra requests your presence, about possibly letting you earn the privilege of serving her household. So be as presentable as you can be.” Pierre chuckles “Your message is received. Scurry along, I will be there in the morning after I even take a bath”

The next morning as the household begins to awaken Lady Alexandra looks out the window towards the road. Wanting to make sure that things were not ruined by past interactions Pierre and Araga had. Just as the sun lightens the road, as if he was waiting for that moment just out of sight, he steps on to the road walking towards the manor with a sense of purpose. Lady Alexandra claps her hands summoning Sir Tulic, see in Pierre to the study, and on’t bother trying to disarm him, we have business, and we don’t need the hassle trying would cause. He nods as quietly steps to the door opening it as Pierre comes to it. With a head gesture Tulic turns inside, Pierre nods and follows, both have a hand on their preferred weapon. In the study Lady Alexandra sits with two glasses of her wine, a collection of morning food and two place settings. As the door opens “Good morning Pierre.” “Bonjour my Lady Alexandra” Pierre says with a bow. She gestures to the chair and glass “Please” Pierre’s eyes move about the room as he sits down. He picks up the fine glass and takes a gentle sip. “A fine vintage. Is this an offering to breakfast?” “Yes I thought you would enjoy good food while we talk.” “My thanks, and I accept.” Pierre’s manner shifting to an unusual formality. He picks up the eating utensils and places food on both their plates. He takes a bite off his plate chews and shallows, the pauses waiting for her to do the same. She smiles bemusedly as she does so. “So as my messenger said I would like you to join my house.” “I am sorry My Lady, that is business, this is a meal. I do not do one during the other.” “Ah yes Cappacian customs. Why is that no business during a meal, seems odd especially sense most cappacians prefer to do business around meal times?” “Well it is something we figured out. Meal times are a easy way to get multiple people in one spot. When business needs only the formalities doing it before the meal starts means everyone is interested in getting it done so they can eat. When starting new business do it after, because people are not irritable because they are hungry and no one really wants to fight when they are full, and just had a pleasant meal. No business during because if you are thinking about enjoying the meal you can not pay full attention to business or if you are thinking about business you can not give the meal the attention it deserves. A lot like kissing and riding a horse” Lady Alexandra chuckles “I wouldn’t think a peasant would observe what sounds like gentry formality?” “That is one of the large differences between Cappacian and the rest of the empire. The lowest have things and behaviors that in most other places are only luxuries. In door plumbing, wood or stone floors are the first two that come to mind.” Pierre pushes away his now empty plate. “Talking and teaching about your homeland isn’t business though?” “Well if the is a formal education on cappacian culture it would be. Not polite small talk between friends over a meal like it is.” Lady Alexandra pushes away her plate with some food left on it. “Now down to business” “Um please either finish your plate or have someone do it. I can’t let food go to waste.” She offers it to him. “Sir Tolic, I haven’t seen you eat anything wouldyou care for it” He offers. Tolic nods and sits down. “Wouldwe be bothering your meal if we talked business?” Tolic raises an eyebrow then shakes his head no.
Pierre reaches into his pouch pulling out two pieces of paper. “Here is the purposed agreement of me entering service to your house.” Lady Alexandra mildly surprised. “You had something written up?” “No I wrote it up last night after your entertaining messenger.” She nods and reads over it “Why two copies?””One for you to keep,and one for me.” “As I currently reside with my husband, I can not give you a room of your own to do with as you wish.” “That is fine for now, but you will have lands of your own I assume, and then that part you could honor.” “Agreed” She signs them both then passes the quill and papers back which he signs and makes a mark of a crossed pistol and rapier. “You sign and leave a mark?” “I wasn’t always literate, and that was my mark before I was, I use them both so both are valid” “Well then Welcome to House Vosslyn.”

As a child growing up hoping to be a priest my best guess is that I would travel to a neighboring country like Rogalia or the like. But my life has taken me to places I never thought possible. I have gone as for east as Shara, and as far west as the oceans of Rogalia. I have been to the northern frosts and I have been to the southern Gotha boarder as well.

Everywhere I go; someone writes a letter, dies, retires, or in some way opens a door for me to advance. I feel like I am barely keeping up with my own reputation, yet alone actually being that person. When I came to Stragosa I expected to die within a fortnight. Every Mithrihim that had come here either died, fell to evil, or just vanished. Aside from a templar Mithrihim, I am the longest Mithrihim in attendance in this four year long war. I expected that it would be my time to die.

But then something happened. Again someone left, and a void had to be filled. For two markets the Head of the Diocese of the Defiant Light, threatened to put me in charge as he went off and nearly gets killed. He even had another priest scribe down his wishes for it. I knew the man for all of a day before he was ready to hand over the symbols of authority here. By the third market, he was gone. A messenger left me his contracts and church resources. By the time the market began, the other clergy were looking at me like I new what to do.

I can’t claim to know what to do. But I do know what feels right and what feels wrong. Unceremoniously it was just decided that until someone felt I couldn’t do the job, I was it. I was a farm hand who couldn’t even remember what season to sow what seeds. But I never stopped working. I pushed myself to always move forward.

So yet again, I have to move forward. No one is really sure what that will mean, or how long I will have to do it. I will not let the people in the most watched province of the throne go without spiritual leadership. All of the Throne of God on Earth is watching this place. And somehow, this farm hand turned priest … is in charge of the soul here. Did I ask for it, I did not. Did I accept my role, yes I did.

Do I even know what I am doing?

Alexandria huffed as she broke into a run, heading away from the border of Prince Araga’s estate. For the last two weeks she had been cooped up in her room, with everyone and everything telling her that it was for her own good and that the baby was bound to arrive any minute. They had brought her meals, pampered her, brushed her hair, everything. It was too much for a creature of the forest like herself and she loathed the attention. Alexandria had tried to escape several times. All of those times, sadly, she had been caught and escorted back into the room by servants or Sir Tul’uk or a very grumpy husband.
This morning was different, though. The Prince was meeting with various members of the council and discussing the sewer project and Sir Tul’uk was, hopefully, out on some errand, for she had not seen him about. In the time between the bath the servants nearly forced upon her and the time she was allowed to spend in her garden, a measly thirty minutes, Alexandria managed to forge a distraction. As she left the room, she shed Aura, her familiar, from her body and let her spirit wander off with very specific instructions.
Just as they were about to enter the garden, the servants who were escorting Alexandria had seen smoke billow from the main hall of the dining room followed by a loud, shrill cackle.The second they disappeared, so did Alexandria. Behind her, she could hear cries and the bustle of many servants, likely trying to put out whatever small fires Aura had set, or so, she had figured Aura had set. The instructions had been more of permission, really, a “yes, you may eat the shiny chandelier”, a statement Alexandria never imagined she would have to say, let alone that she would be gifting her soul with permission for such a task. Either way, Aura had likely knocked candles from the giant metal object and set the table cloth alight. Alexandria would pay for it later, but it was a small price to pay for her freedom.
Despite being rather heavy and not at all well balanced, Alexandria managed to reach the garden’s edge, called for the plants to give her aid, and pulled herself onto the roof then over the other side and fell to the ground, landing with a light thud on a large pile of moss she had called forth. From there, she made a break for it and began to sprint as hard as her pregnant body would allow, making a beeline into the trees and across the busy Stragosa streets. All people and animals in her way were but obstacles and she danced around them, only once knocking into a person, though it was hard enough to make him drop a basket of fruit. She had no time for apologies now, though, and needed to get to the forest before someone returned her back to the prison.
Closely behind her, Alexandria heard a cackle and a howl and a wiry blonde with great ears of a fox, black with gold tips, and eyes of gold bolted up and alongside her. Shoving one leftover arm of the chandelier into her gullet as she ran. Aura, in the form of a small blonde girl, laughed again then proceeded to merge into Alexandria as soon as they crossed the border into the green brush.
Alexandria slowed as she passed through the line of trees, trying desperately to catch her breath while maintaining a steady jog. A couple dull aches spread from her back to her abdomen, but she paid them no heed. Pushing on almost another quarter mile, she finally could go no more and leaned against a broad pine’s bark at the edge of a large hill to catch her breath. She didn’t even notice the one man who had followed her from the street and into the forest, despite him not being particularly stealthy. Her head was elsewhere, the taste of freedom burning her lungs and urging her to leave all else behind.
When she finally did notice, it was because she had been struck by some sort of weapon in the back. A seal broke on her body, magic coming to life, and she whipped around, eyes glowing and teeth newly bared. The man, scared, dropped the knife he had been holding and fled immediately. In Alexandria’s brief carelessness and surprise, she had stepped away from the tree and as she stepped back to lean against it once more, found nothing beneath her foot. Down the hill she went, avoiding some of the trees and stumps, but not all as she tumbled. When she finally reached the bottom, she found herself on the bank of a creek, looking up at the hill and panting. The spell on her had minimized the damage to nearly nothing, but something felt strange.
Convincing herself that she just needed to get up, she rolled to her side and found her balance. The second she rose to her feet, there was a feeling of wetness running down her legs and onto the embankment. A bit puzzled and dazed, she looked from the water’s edge to herself, thinking it odd that she had managed to get so wet when having not even fallen into the water itself. Then it dawned on her, coming with it an alarming ache and a brief cry as her spell could not protect her from this sort of pain. The baby was coming. A slight panic seeped into her as she realized there was no way she would be able to get up the hill, at least not with out considerable effort, and that she didn’t wish to cry out and alert her attacker to her current dilemma, should he have remained close by or had friends. Now she was regretting her desire for freedom, if only a little, but was more regretting having not left anyone any clues as to where she may have departed off to. Another dull ache spread and became more menacing as it grew stronger and she staggered over to the deepest portion of the creek ahead of her and fell into it.
“Just another obstacle to overcome,” she muttered to herself aloud.

Something sired in the Ironbreaker, news of the north about another great battle now filled him with a mixture of emotions. The news was brought to him by a group of Njords that was trying to rough him up admittedly, but the news did seem genuine. it had been too long since he had been home, years of fighting in the south for the petty lords and ladies of Rogalia, then a long stop here in this Stragosa had softened him. He had only been reminded of his weakness by The Undying who had come with true northern fire in her heart. He had forgotten what it means to be Rimelander, had it been right after his branding he would have slaughter those poor fools who had tried to do him harm and wore their heads on his belt for the rest of market, but he had grown merciful and soft, he had eaten their sweet food, drunk their grape wines, and made friends with them. He was even willingly going to their Convocations.

Tightening his armor as he left the Blackjack hall he had a mask of displeasure on his face, with the words of a Gothic Noble still ringing in his head “Anyone can legally kill you Bjorn”, He smiled let them try. After all he had done for this place he was and always would be an outsider after his death for the town, and his constant fights to keep everyone safe last market he had lead the charge into battle and was the first into battle, but they still only saw the painted outsider, of course that is his path. To struggle was his people’s way, struggle was their purpose, we have laid it all on the line so we could keep our freedom from the rulership of soft southlanders. The Throne had everything to their advantage but for the last 30 years his people had kept their lands and their ways whole, with axe and shield they had turned back southern armies, they had been laid low first by the ice and snow then finished like an exhausted deer that had been ran down by the wolf pack.

Now his heart was pumping fast and sounds and voices pressed against his ears until it hurt his head. He tasted and smelled blood and realized he had chewed his lip again. His eyes were moving fast and searching for a enemy to slay, the crowed streets with their noise and smell only heightened his fury and bloodlust, he heard a scream in the distance and his mind took him back to the night of slaughter were he unleashed upon defeated foes and got to know the darkness within him. A man dressed all in black like the rest of the people around him asked him if he needed a priest Bjorn laughed in his face, the man scurried away saying something about sins.

What do sins matter for a Branded Man of the North? Sins are how you mark the world with your power and will. the only sins that matter are sins that could tarnished your name, that is what his father had taught him as a boy. That is what they could never understand, or refused to understand. still shaking with rage he walked into the Metalli building ignoring all of his friends and walked to only consent good thing in this entire world, his forge. tossing extra fuel on the fire enjoying the blast of heat and sparks he channeled his endless rage into his work, and the world was drowned out in a blast of metal on metal and the roar of flames.

Dearest ———-,

I wake every morning to a room covered in feathers of black and red.
The darkest of feathers remind me of home- a familiarity.
The red give me unease- they move freely alone, without consequences.

I still do not eat breakfast-
in hopes to hear you scorn me again.

While out on the Earth I feel it shake
A mother bear who has lost her kin- she has adopted me,
teaching me a lick of pain and protection.

I watched as that branch whipped my skin,
thinking it will harden like bark.

I still pick herbs– hoping–wishing to hear those voices again.
while they evade me, two friendly grass sprites encourage me.
And while I need no teachings- their kind words accompany me, smiles that are true.

I hope you are following-
you taught me everything up to here.

The tavern is full every night-
I myself have been caught dancing. So many offer their hand.
Only one holds a true beat. Asking me for trust in return of favors- allowing me to lead these rhythmic circles.

The wolf in the corner of the tavern asks me to watch them sleep
I accept- it’s claws dried with months old blood, the luster gone from its eyes.
“Do not worry Florence, they will be gone soon” he whispers in my ear.
The bear speaks with him often- they have adorn me with a fur coat of safety.

Many crowns have kissed my forehead
A radiate golden asking of honey- fitting for its sweet song
their right hand visits often, helping me to smile- I wish they would stay.

In their attic a great sword and beautiful necklace are displayed.
A necklace once worn gives a feeling of wine washing down the throat- it is pleasurable.
While the sword has on many occasions taken to my hand and led me home- it is honorable

Looking out this window I can see the two.
Siblings I envy who dance with great joy- smiles blessing their beautiful faces
A past memory of my arrival, not yet knowing how dark it can get here.
Two outside and one in. Is this fair?

But I will always return home,
A single empty glass with a bow around the stem decorated the table.
My first gift- I was hasty to drink it. Do I regret drinking it, or not drinking more.
There is a lust for it but the consequences deem too expensive for my shallow pockets.

Before I console my bed I look into the mirror,
An impersonal spade looks back- this is and is not me.
Could you believe that? Opposites sharing a reflection- is this my —–

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

The writing abruptly stops, “Hm?” Florence glances up and across the table.

“Florence.” Walt speaks, he sits directly opposite from her with his hand gesturing towards the table. The pen in her right hand drops as she reaches into her basket- 3 sealed pieces of parchment appear.

“Bjorn. Balthazaar. Two silver reward, each.” she passes the contract around the table and their meeting continues.