Category: Journal Entry

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.

Alexandria closes the book that she had been reading aloud for the past hour and turns to the children sitting in a half circle around her.

“Just one more story?” One of the orphans asks.

“There aren’t any left,” Alexandria begins to get up, ” besides, all of you should be in bed. We wouldn’t want to upset Miss Maria.”

“If there are none left in the book, how about you tell us one you made up?” another orphan boy pipes up.

“Fine, I will think something up as you guys get into bed, okay?” Alexandria smiles and waits for the kids to get into bed. Once they’ve gotten in and are settled, she begins. “There once was a girl who was very strange. From a young age she was running around and getting into all sorts of trouble like sneaking into the stables, getting lost in the woods, getting muddy and playing outside with the dogs. She certainly did not fit in with her family and they definitely noticed. She tried her best to behave and do as they liked, but it was not enough and she failed more often than not. Her way of showing them that she loved them was too mischievous for them, too, such as when she would hide for hours in the dining hall only to sneak out and grapple her father in a hug during one of his warfare meetings with the adults. They were so tired of her. so sad was she and so she tried to change as to not disappoint them. It was never enough. She loved them, but being proper and prim seemed like something she was not born to do. She was so unlike her siblings.
One day her parents decided to send her away. She was sent off to another country. She tried and tried to get back. She even stole a horse! But it was no use. The kids in this new land didn’t like her either. They thought the way she looked and talked was weird, so they shunned her,” Alexandria says. As she speaks she gestures hand signs and paints a picture on the wall using the dust debris from the room and shaping it into figures with magic.

“So what did she do?” a little blonde girl with large brown eyes asks, her blanket pulled up over her nose as she watches from bed.

“Well, the girl was very lonely. During her studies, she discovered magic. The magic she went out into the world and used to help people–but they feared it. She would heal their wounds, build their houses, and help their crops grow big and strong yet still they treated her like an outcast… They shunned her.
She was cried most nights, ever lonesome. One day she wandered into the woods and she came across a still pond. She leaned over the edge of the water and peered down at her reflection. ‘Sometimes it seems as though my only friend is my reflection’ she muttered to herself. As a frog leaped and displaced the water, even her reflection vanished, even her reflection seemed to flee from her. Her heart ached something fierce. Finally, she came up with an idea. She crafted a blade and she headed back to the town,” Alexandria says.

“Was she going to hurt someone? hunt the mean people down?” One of the kids asks as he watches the figure drawn by magic move with a sword in her hands through the forest.

“No, no. She only ever wanted to help those people. She couldn’t change that now. Once she got to her room, she locked herself away. She took the blade and she cut herself in half, right down the middle!”
The kids all looked surprised as the figure on the wall took the blade and tore itself in two. Both halves turned to one another then reached out so they could hold hands. The frown and sad expression once painted on the figure’s face morphed into a smile as the two halves held hands and looked upon one another.
“oh, I get it, ” one of the children speaks up, “its so she would have a friend.” The figures on the wall turn to the boy and nod.

Alexandria turns to the boy as well, “So she would always have a friend.”

As Alexandria left the orphanage, she let out a deep sigh and turned her eyes to the night sky above. Her eyes became watery as she gazed at the lonely moon sitting in a sky of stars. Alexandria held out her arms as if cradling something and from her body a creature began to form. In no time a dark fox with silver claws and golden eyes was sitting in her arms and looking up at her.

“Aura, do you think anyone will ever actually accept me or will they always want me to change?” She asks the fox. Her familiar nuzzles her. “Yeah, stupid question.”

With that, they start the long walk home.

Luca woke from the nightmare with a start, his back recoiling briefly from the straw on which he lay. Nicoletta, one of the winsome Portofino girls, murmured quietly in her sleep before rolling over and sinking deeper into slumber. Luca should be so lucky.

Faerie lights danced in his memory. In their light he saw terrible beauties and sinister grotesqueries treated as conversation partners and drinking companions by his friends and betters. Paladins and knights, lords and ladies, blithely ignorant or dismissive of the only lore that could protect their souls. Maybe that’s what it was to ascend into the upper echelons of human society–to forget the ways of your ancestors and thus be cast away on the stormy sea of instinct and reason without the anchor of tradition to hold you safely from the rocks.

Perhaps it got worse the higher you got? Did La Principessa lead them into the woods because she was compelled to do so? Had her previous brushes with the fae planted hooks into her mind? Or had she lead her people into deadly spiritual peril of her own free will, on a lark? When she placed her bracelet on the Faerie King was it a desperate first strike meant to give her the leverage to protect them, or was it a whim? Or was it an earnest proposal? Who could tell?

Certainly not Luca. All he knew was that he now found himself and his closest friends under the uncertain aegis of the Queen of Summer. Maybe it meant nothing but a yearly tryste in the woods, a renewal of dark alien vows. But she’d made an off-hand remark recently, a desire to have a conversation about Hestrali forestry practices. She had some new opinions to share. Were they her opinions, or the Faerie King’s?

Luca was awake for hours ill-spared from sleep, finally falling back asleep as the first rays of light infiltrated the loft and Nicoletta crept out to her toilette and chores. Troubled dreams awaited him, dreams of faerie light and bracelets.

“Brother…”

The word floated through his waking thoughts like a cloud on a summer day. It was just a word, no different from any other in the myriad of languages he spoke, but there was such a depth of meaning in that word. Every language had different perceptions and understanding of the word; the Njord are very family and clan centric for their survival, the Rogalian nobility perceive brotherhood as a rivalry where you are a means to an end, but in the Shariqyn culture his experience was that the concept of “brother” is rare and not said lightly.

The foundation of the culture, the seven tribes, the naming structure, where you alert someone with first their tribe affiliation such that they may know whether you are friend or foe, does not encourage brotherhood. It is why he always referred to other Shariqyn as “cousin”. For one of them to call him brother, he could feel the cultural weight of it. A brother was someone who was accepted, trusted, depended on; and in such a fractured society, you depended on your tribe to protect you, to support you. You were distrusting of certain other tribes through either war, marriage, or circumstance, and the outsider you gave no trust at all.

For him, he had no claim to tribe, no claim to even be Shariqyn. His turning from Aa’boran to the ways of Benalus, to wear the cloth, to fight for God, he was as near an outsider as could be. His people viewed him with such disdain, barring him from his homelands. Even thinking on it, though he had no connection to it, his heart ached. “Brother…” That word felt as though it were cool water running over a hot limb, bringing peace and serenity where before there was pain and ache.

He examined why he felt this way; the awareness of his connection to others had been heightened when he had at last turned to the ways of Benalus, to worship God and to work towards the uniting of Humanity. He was ordained, having spent years examining the Testimonium and the Gospels for the insights to help others. He had fought with soldier, Imperial Knights, Templars and Paladins, bled with them and so forged bonds of comraderie and brotherhood. He had lived in a society where this brotherhood was offered freely and with no deceit, for this was the way of Benalus and the mission of the Church.

The more he looked, the more he came to see, that this brotherhood he had come to rely and depend on. They were true brothers in God, and he could rely on them, but the cultural significance was not there. The distrust was not there when he spoke with others in the Throne; it tainted every interaction he had with with his cousins of Sha’ra. For one of his people, who had reviled him, to call him that, to express sorrow, regret, and acceptance, it ran against the cultural norm in the extreme. It took courage and understanding for the person to have cast aside everything to call him a brother.

His mind still struggled to come to terms with it, but he felt in his heart a serentiy, a peace that he had not felt since he had been baptised and committed himself to God. Daily he spent time to listen to the Word within his soul to guide him, and it was rarely clear. Today, he felt it was crystal clear. He felt the hand of Benalus in this. With the first link, the chain is forged, and he felt that through this connection with Sir Tu’luk, the first link was made solid. His heart told him, the Word in his soul told him that his people would come to Benalus and God, and this was the beginning of how he would help them. With that, the feeling that being called “brother” shifted from what was the end of a road long walked in blindness, to the beginning new road into the light.

Opening his eyes, Renatus brought himself out of the long time of prayer he had cloistered himself to engage in, his heart lighter, his purpose focused, his course clear. “Praise be, glory to God, Deus Vult.”

The study to the manor is quiet. Books line the walls, casting small shadows by dancing candlelight. A cold sweat runs down the baroness’ forehead as her face lay in her hands. Elbows perched against her desk, doubled over forward in her chair.

—–

On her knees in a dried, yellow field of grass she screams. Tears are running down her face, and her hands are clenched into fists, pressed into the ground. Edward is standing beside of her. Folding forward, she grabs her scarred hand and clenches it tightly. It’s hard to breathe.

—–

A campfire in a forest with overcast skies. There are tents surrounding the fire in formation, but.. some of them have been torn apart and have collapsed. The fire illuminates the gore on the ground. Torn human bodies. Imperial colors. Something large, furred, wolflike is wheezing its last few breaths before Evelyn drives a sword through it. There’s so much blood.

—–

The same field as before, now covered in snow. Evelyn is here alone now. Gravity is different. The air is electric. Around her, the ground is scorched black in a radius with her as the center. Is she.. floating? Everything hurts so much. Darkness.

—–

A knock on the door jolts Evelyn from her thoughts. “Come in,” she says aloud while wiping at her face. Kalon, a njord man enters the room with a bow of his head. In a njordic accent he offers with a hint of excitement, “Baroness, I have the report from the bursary.” He produces a small leather-bound book. Evelyn gestures for him to come closer, and as he does, she takes the offered book. “Thank you so much, Kalon. I would be lost without you.”

She sets the book on her desk and opens it to read the contents.

With a hint of concern in the njord’s voice he comments, “Are you alright, Evelyn?” There’s a tangible silence for a brief couple moments before Evelyn looks up with a sullen smile. “Some bad memories.”