Category: Journal Entry

I get a fair few folk who ask, why it seems like there are two types of Dunnick Families, an i always chuckle an tellem there a many more than just two Families, but i know what err on about.
Why they ask, do some have Mac before their Family name, while others don’, and why do some seem to drop the Mac when facy fucks be flying about.
its simple really.

Mac is a sociological artifact that denotes ones political beliefs in relation to the ongoing subjugation of Dunnick people by house Rennet. Acting as an oral or written indicator to both internal and external groups.

what? that not translate well to Gotha? ey, here let me try this a different way.

if a bessem lass says she of MacNeary, she’s telling ya that shes willing to lift her hand in open rebellion against House Rennet.

ya understand now?

aye? good so well go a bit further and see if your nother kind can understand some finer points, it could even be said that said lass trusts ya, if shes introducing her self like that.

How is that trust? why its a declaration, if ye have that Mac and Say it. you’re saying aloud you’re in rebellion, and in doing so trusting the bloke yer telling not to cause ya trouble.
Cause that’s what it could mean.

It also serves as a reminder to those who know, if they hear people openly introducing themselves as such. They know they best tread carefully if they hold with Rennet, and maybe they start thinking.
if there’s this many people, openly in rebellion against the house, mayhap its not as strong a house as people think. Maybe they think. There’s an opportunity.

And lastly, it serves as both a promise and reminder to all Duns everywhere,

Ill lift my hand and fight,
An while I still breathe,
There exists a hope,
Well see the day,
Dunland. Is Free.

-Butch Mac’Fergus

Xavier has come to Runeheim, it feels, only to give message of several disappointments. How much of it is actually father’s missive or my brothers’ opportune machinations I cannot say. The problems need wrapping up regardless, and I am glad to have seen Xavier, and that he may be staying in the Reich for now. I could do without the politics though. I suppose it was a slim hope that being beyond Rogalia would turn our sibling relationships into something less weighty. I will have to make sure Xavier does not get himself into trouble while he is here. The mark of anacrusis upon him was unwelcome, and I worry his straightforward mindset will lead him to conflict with the varied presences in the Reich, especially the mages and Drakes.

I truly cannot believe that a member of House Drake openly cast spellfire in the tavern. What madness is it that lends a noble to completely forget proper decorum, and then send in a commoner to attack a fellow noble? More weight against the Fire Guild’s actions. They seem to have little and less proper leadership. I have hopes that the new Court Mage will be able to assist in reining them in. I do not wish to resort to Xavier’s proposition of detainment.

The mystery of where the vampire’s thralls are getting supplies has been solved. The Dwarven roads were a thing of amazement. Large enough across to march armies, and so smooth as to expedite travel several times over. It was immensely refreshing to converse with a dwarf. The lack of underlying motives was extremely foreign, but the clarity of the conversation felt as if, at least, the intent of true progress could be made.

The almshouse, I hope, will be successfully built after this forum. Three towns raided by Rimelanders, one razed to the ground, more peasants displaced, and finally, maybe these people will see that mobilizing the Scum might be worthwhile. If they are not given the opportunity to protect their homes they will only be a poison to it, preying on the working classes and adding to the difficulties our soldiers face.

I am unsure if the leadership of Runeheim is ready. Marshal Stoneskin, for all his strength, loses himself in battle when he should be leading. One Master of Coin has given their name to a fae and is recovering from drug addiction. Another is an accused murderer of a noble. Night Warden Alaric is still compromised from his contact with the vampires, Father Erasmus is stretched thin already, and our newest addition is but one person. I know it is fruitless to hope for a true respite in this land, but Peace Day cannot come soon enough.

[A piece of paper rests on the battlements of Hrafnakastalli. It is folded to fit and bent from being kept in a pouch, and though the handwriting on it is all the same it is clear that it was written by different pens and at different times from the variety of inks and slants on the page.]

Frederick – No point in disciplining someone injured.
Penance for losing his sword will wait for some weeks. Only the second degree. Lenience for his youth. Need to pick Testimonium chapters to review.
Need to work on his alertness. Can’t relax, even in Valerian camp. The duty of a House Knight is to protect their sovereign – we are guardians.
Ask Felix about the Porters getting his sword back.

Scum – Why do these Njords think being soft will solve anything? They need discipline and consequences, not food and infinite leeway.
[A scribble, less words and more frustration taken out on paper.]
Cannot be allowed to keep stealing and assaulting people.

Erasmus – Need to find a time to talk about his sword. When he’s not looking overwhelmed at solving all of Runeheim’s problems.
Need to do something for him and Euthymius. Some malefic they need killed? Someone I can command on their behalf?
Hard to imagine they have problems that aren’t Runeheim’s problems that I can stab. No rival counties. Rimelanders are Runeheim’s problem. What I hunt I hunt for the House.
If Erasmus would stop running out behind enemy lines – would be easier to protect him.

Peace Day – Rhyme. Graham? Alaric??
[A few ink splotches, like the pen was tapped against the page a few times, and a few half-started names scratched out. It’s clear this section has been a point of great deliberation.]

Write to Sir Gawain. Told the dwarves I would defeat Sven’s forces. Can we break the troops free of the vampires?
Abasement.

Troop training – Teach these northerners how real Rogalians fight. Finally.
Bring Jacqueline and Lorelei along to show them. They’re going to need to know how to run war games.
Pick Sergeants from the most competent – prioritize those with prior military experience. Line formations after. Focus most on how to deal with Karls.
Longbowmen – ask Ragnar about Dragomir military supply.
Another theft. Third this week. Have someone post warnings in the main hall. Gather the Sergeants and tell them what to say to their men. Latrine duty. Extra drills. Plenty of things to do to troublemakers.
Where are they even fencing belt knives and spare blankets?
The next person who gets caught stealing something will be flogged even if I have to get Guy to build the stocks for it

[The wind threatens to carry the page off, but Minona’s hand slaps down just in time to pin it against the stone. She grabs it, folds it back on the well-worn creases, and stuffs it back in her pouch as she goes to find Guy.]

Svart thought back and remembered his dream and the events afterward.

The White Rabbit and others had come to him with knowledge of the thing he would need to win against the witch and her minions. As she tried to tell Svart where it was, the woods grew dark and the witch approached and which caused her to flee. The White Rabbit who always spoke the truth was very skittish. The birds of the forest, led by the Great Owl, told Svart they would leave clues to where the thing Svart sought would be. It would be hidden in the wilderness inside their eggs and he should search their eggs. That was all they could say before the darkness ended his dream and Svart woke up.

That morning was as close as Svart can remember to being his birthday. Not sure which one. Somewhere over fifty perhaps by a year or two. Svart was born in that shack. The shack mother had me in and we lived afterwards. The shack Svart still lives in. It is much better now than it was. Svart has repaired it. Svart has nice bedding now. Nice soft smallclothes. Fine boots. A rug. A foldling fan. All that Svart has made.

Svart is better than when lived with mother. Svart is a man now and good at being hardworking and dependable. Just as mother told him to be. Svart still gets up early to clean the tavern and see if people had thrown away any items on the ground just as mother made me do. Till I do that, and head to the fields or woods to gleen what I can there, the day just doesn’t feel right. His mother would be proud to have all the items he had now.

Even then, the past never lets things feel right. His Love is gone. Killed by the Witch and her bandits obviously. Svart sometimes wishes she was just taken prisoner, but it has been so long. When Svart becomes King, it will never be as it should. His marriage and queen will have to be for strategy and politics.

Then something had happened before market. A sickness had come over Svart and all the people of Runeheim. A mark had also appeared on everybody including Svart’s head. The mages certainly had something to do with this. Fire mages particularly since it was their symbol. It was an ill omen.

Still, Svart had a treasure to find. Svart went into the woods. Searching all the places I know where to find bird eggs. There was nothing unusual with most of them. Most looked normal. Others were had a strange shininess to them. I broke them open but found only yolk. Still, Sart felt he was getting closer. Finally, a strange egg I did find. Shiny like gold. I broke it open and searched the insides. The yolk poured through my hand and left teeth. Wolves teeth. I knew where the treasure was, but to far to go today. Svart returned to the forum.

However magic spirits attacked that night. They attacked and walked invisible among us infecting people’s minds with magic. The spirits attacked and the sickening magic built up in Svart until it couldn’t be restrained any more. Svart began to vomit out the magic. Svart was forcing it out when I heard somebody say “Don’t ask the magic monsters any questions. They know the answer to any question but it just makes them stronger.” Svart tried to get up to tell them to be quiet, but the urge to get the magic out of my body was too strong. Svart could not do anything but vomit and think of how they had just told the traitors and spies in Runeheim how to find out all our secrets.

The vomiting was stopping but it was too late. Svart laid there thinking about how everything he might keep secret from the Witch was now known. His love was gone. Svart’s allies would be killed or worse. She knew everything and it drove Svart into Despair. There was nothing I could do. All hope was lost. To save himself, I’d have to go into hiding. Give up my birthtright as king and my duty to his allies and friends. Others would die without Svart there. Runeheim might not even survive. Svart felt that this is what he would have to do to to survive for his own benefit. His friends in the wilderness. His subjects and allies in Runeheim. All have to be sacrificed for him to survive.

NO! No, Svart told myself. Svart would not be afraid! I was a man now. Nobody could make me do what I didn’t want to do. Svart was not a child now and could kill any who would try to make Svart do what he didn’t want to do. He could run and then extract vengeance as he did in the past. Svart could not abandon his friends and allies. The Witch could only feed off Svart giving up. Without him, there was no hope for the world against the Witch and her masters, the Witch Kings. Svart would not give up! Svart would fight. Svart would win or die! If Svart dies, my blood will go back to the land and give it power.

Svart finished vomiting and stood back up. The monsters had stopped their attack and were no longer to be seen. Our enemies had made use of them and lured them away asking questions of all our secrets. The bandits, the witch, the other countless enemies of the people of Runeheim were using them against us. The speed which the traitors in Rune Hime had worked was astounding. It was obvious that they must be ferreted out and killed as until they are, the Witch will always know everything.

The next morning, Svart left Runeheim. Svart went to where I needed to go, far away. The hilltop was wooded but empty. Svart looked all over. Going round and round the area to see if there was anything I had missed. But there was nothing there. It was gone. The thing the White Rabbit had sent him after was gone. Had they managed to move it before the witch got here, or did the witch get it? That is the question.

This entry is a sad one. The lady was hosting a fabulous tea party with the wizard. It was nice to enjoy a quiet morning of luxury filled with family and friends. Of course fate was determined to ruin my nostalgia. Sadly a few bears had wondered up. I was hoping this was finally my moment to make a bear friend, had they herd the rumors about me and come for snakes. After attempting to negotiate peace with the amazing creatures with food and kindness, we came to the conclusion that they where corrupted and had to be put down. This brought me great sadness even more it there intrusion offend the lady and my sister at the tea party

In other news I watched two of my allies get their thoughts slit in front of me, they survived. From now on all missions I go on will have post briefings to discus how we could do better.

P.S. journal I think I made a friend.

When midnight’s veil doth cloak the shrouded lands,
And owls cry out in ruined, ivy halls,
I seek thee, Sleep, with open, aching hands,
And flee the world within thy shadowed thralls.
Thou art no thief, but bring’st a peace so deep,
More fair than love, more true than daylight’s grace.
Each breath I take within thy house of sleep
Leaves dream-born roses blooming o’er my face.
Disturb me not, lest death itself ye crave,
For by my flintlock, loaded, sharp, and keen,
I guard this rest more dearly than the grave,
And curse the soul who dares to come between.
So let the wind wail low, the night be steep—
For none shall wake me from my hallowed sleep.

The sun hung low as the old fort bustled with the sounds of a new life—wood scraping stone, tools clinking, shouts echoing off weather-worn ramparts. A new structure was tucked up against the walls, though the stone matched the Fort surrounding it, its timbers new and still smelling of sap and sweat. The Valerian Porter’s new Warehouse.

Felix, chief porter for the Valerian Porters, wiped his brow, setting down a crate and overseeing the final unloading of cartloads—grain, preserved foods, miscellaneous tools. He stood tall, his voice clear and commanding.
“Stack the rye near the east wall. It’ll keep cooler there,” he called out in Rogalt to the porters hauling the crates in. They made a sound of affirmation and moved eastward.
Gilbert, the warehouse’s quartermaster and poet laureate, was leaning against the wall near the entrance, his feathered hat shading tired eyes. “I still say we should’ve left the grain near the gate. Easier for offloading to the mess.”
Felix shook his head. “And easier for looters. No, we keep the stores where stone walls watch over them.”
He frowned, recalling what had happened while they were dealing with whatever those anacrusis… things were that the Fire Mages brought on them. He gave a small prayer of thanks his brother had been away from Forum for it.
He looked back to Gilbert “What do you think of the warehouse?”
“Fine place, Felix,” said Gilbert as he tapped on a ledger, the quill matched his hat. “Better than that leaky shed in Brackenford.”
Felix grimaced at the memory. “Only benefit was you never had a chance to nap in there, ‘it’s too chilly.’ Not like this last Forum”
Gilbert stretched in response to the memory. “While you were fighting off rituals and Rimelanders, I was preparing—for logistics, mentally.”
Felix shot him a look. “Sure. ‘Mentally preparing’ by napping through an assault.”
“I absorb the glories of war through dreams.” Gilbert grinned. “Victory’s exhausting, even secondhand.”
Felix sighed in mock exasperation. “You’ve got uncanny timing. One of these days you’ll sleep through a dragon.”
“Maybe I have. Hard to tell with all the snoring.”
They laughed, the sound echoing through the half-full hall. Outside, some porters offloaded the last of the barrels and began to move it into the warehouse.
“Besides, it gave me some inspiration, ‘I seek thee, Sleep, with open, aching hands, And flee the world within thy shadowed thralls.’” Gilbert clearly dictated as the two moved back into the courtyard, out of the way of the porters. Felix gave him the same look he always did when he shared his poetry. Supportive confusion.

“Strange to think this courtyard held bones and gargoyles just a season ago,” Gilbert mused, squinting at his ledger and making a mark as a porter hauled past with a barrel of dried lentils. “Now it’s grain, arrows, and some new wagons.”
“That and Java’s apology.” Felix shook his head in incredulity. “Say, you heard about that bomb Lucian got delivered to him, right? We’ll need to make sure to keep a real close eye on what’s moving into the warehouse.”
“That one that Peter delivered?” Gilbert shook his head “Disappointing to hear the people that Lord Xavier has surrounded himself with.”
“Ever the younger sibling, Lord Xavier.” Felix sighed, “I would have hoped he kept better company. Taking her Ladyship’s scraps does not look well on him. Hopefully he will be guided by her Ladyship in etiquette and constructing a reliable retinue. Did you hear about that carpenter he picked up, Brightwood? Used to work in the Port with Guy, claiming Guy was always his understudy. Haughty, a little unkempt. Honestly, I would have guessed he was drawn with my left hand.”
Gilbert visibly perked up at the news, “No, which means if it was true Guy would have mentioned it. He moving in the market already?”
Felix shrugged, “I’m sure he’s gonna be trying to show up Guy soon, something to watch for.”
Gilbert grinned, while there was some mirth there, there was something threatening about it. “It’ll be good to see him try.”
“That reminds me, we’ve got Peace Day coming up soon. You planning to make any peace this year?”
Gilbert shook his head “I made my peace last year before we left port.” he smiled at the memory.
Felix returned the smile “Ah, that fool’s gold you gave that mariner really did shut him up didn’t it. He had a great laugh about it after the shock wore off.” Gilbert raised an eyebrow to Felix, returning the question.
Felix just shrugged. “If anything, I’m hoping a few people come to me. We’ll see. If the Njords accepted something as ridiculous as Tressertag from the Gothics, I hope they took on a more civilized holiday like Peace Day. I’ve tried to… inform a few parties that the holiday is forthcoming though. I sincerely hope Sir Logain makes amends with Her Ladyship over his behavior.” He sighed heavily.

Gilbert leaned against the exterior of the warehouse, and tucked his quill and ledger away, having marked the last of the barrels entering the warehouse. “Word is your brother’s doing better.”
“Yeah,” Felix said, smirking as he looked past Gil, “He’s been working odd jobs—messenger, light hauling. Nothing that has anything to do with Magic.” A hand reached out and touched Gilbert’s shoulder, and two voices spoke in unison as the distinctive sound of a flintlock hammer being drawn back rang out, “Making himself useful. That’s how things get done.”

More responsibility, an oath, and already more troubles. Leadership outside of my house feels thankless. I can’t weigh in too heavily, and all of these differing ideals make creating a system that runs itself impossible. These people must make decisions for the land they live in and take accountability. But really? A pub? Over almshouses? And after the aghast defense of the war trodden when I offered up the Conscription Prison as a solution to the Scum problem. You’d think I’d slit their mothers’ throat in her sleep. Shelter, food, and training. Structured so as to stave off the despair of sudden levies. What do these people want for those giving nothing back to society, unable or not? Granted, the bare logic of its name is perhaps too blunt for understanding outside of Rogalia. But it seems they think Scum all babes in the cradle rather than a threat to the working populace they are.

Somehow, despite this forum being more taxing than last, the arrival of Lorelei and Leonora made it seem lighter. Our cheer seemed four-fold with Lorelei returned, and the reliable silhouette of Leonora eased my worries. The news of vampires they brought with them was more than unwelcome. I cannot believe the creatures had hidden themselves so far north. The fallout of the battle at the Monastery and all those compromised leaves me worried. Should I be thankful this is an enemy I am familiar with? Or should I be dreading that what I believe I know is nothing in comparison to what is lurking here? The matter of Alu is already something I feel unprepared to understand. The man, thing, was struck down only to get back up, and even those native to this land seem to have no clear answer.

I can do nothing, but that which I can. We cleansed the Fort, and that, at least, is a worry laid to rest. We will be able to build up a force there and lay groundwork for stability. Men and arms will be needed whatever comes, and House Valerian will see that it does its part. Despite the Drake’s sniffing about. My guess is they will make some play for the fire mages which were abandoned at the Fort. Which, I am informed, they were told of last forum. If the foppish man they have sent is any indication, I fear there will be delays in all proceedings.

I pray that candles lit at home for Soldier’s Day stayed lit till the morning. Father Erasmus kindly blessed our candles for the event. It was an odd celebration visiting graves unknown to us, and without the stories connected to them shared around a fire. But something in the ritual of the Howling Flame and the oath made there held a kindred spirit. In the end, the fire burned hot all the same.

We arrived in Runeheim, and, unsurprisingly, were beset with a challenge before we could reach the township proper. Jacqueline found some respite in the fight, but its lack of an end left him on edge. Without Lorelei here I must admit I have let him run rampant. We both miss her, and nothing else but battle will temper him in her absence. Luckily, there came an end to his challenge. The branded woman, controlled by some Njordic thing called Alu came back. Unluckily, the other branded in town were also brought under Alu’s control, along with soldiers of Fafnir. We were able to stave off casualties, even amongst those under control, but it was a tough thing. The war front has led many to strike more than needed at time. With the supernatural mixing in with the humane I can’t say I’m surprised.

Besides this there was a disease of stone that moved through the populace. Unearthed from a fort which was broken open and revealed a crypt. I can’t help but feel as if this lingering despair is something that the members of House Randal felt as the plague swept over them. If I can, I will take it upon myself to take charge of the fort. It will relieve the strain on current leadership so they may focus elsewhere, and I am confident my people can lay this curse to rest.

Lady Vindicta Dragomir was poisoned at her own court. Do these nobles feel so secure they have no one check their food or drink? Especially when drinking with a Rennet. The play seems too bold to truly be done by Rennet’s hand. At least, not without someone else controlling it. What with the uncertainty at the time as to who would rule in this land, and now knowing Fafnir was compromised by a malefic. It all seems a mess.

Of all this I found solace in the woods. They are deep and ancient here. Not the clear cuts and new growth hastily tended to of Rogalia. If I could I would spend my days in them completely. To be without duty is a luxury I know I cannot afford, and so the woods become yet another among them. Here they have a ritual to stave off the cold bite of winter, so that the forest makes it through to the spring. The being that came upon us at the Grand Tree was cold, unsettling. I thank those that were with me for holding it off as I spoke the chant. I know Theopania suffered dearly for it. In the end we were successful, and something spoke to me with care. Perhaps the Grand Tree, perhaps my own pain addled and exhausted mind. If it was this, and not war and politics, how much more warmth would I have the luxury of bathing in?