Category: Journal Entry

“Hadrien, these vegetables you brought back are delicious, but we do fine enough. You could have donated these to the town.”

“I know, Ma. I just like to make sure you and Pa are taken care of.”

“Well, we appreciate it, dear. Is everything ok? You’ve barely ate.”

“Yeah, life just got kinda complicated kinda fast, ya know”

“How so, dear. Tell me about it”

“Well, the gathering got kinda intense. Someone almost died. The spirits are asking for blood to cleanse some corruption, or replenish lost spirits, or something. I don’t know. And it sounds people are really willing to just give into them. And later I met some werewolves from a circle that just moved in. And they are kinda staying as wolves way too long, and killing people and things all willynilly. But they seem to know to balance the spirits more than us. But I the mother kinda had this hunger in his eye when he looked at me, and I was scared and tried to keep distance from him, which I think he took as weakness and then he scared me into staying still. And I think I held myself pretty well, but he could smell the fear. And then later someone got a vision on how to get closer to finally killing the witch king, and it meant we all had to gather basically inside him. It smelled real bad. There was some lady named Gabrielle who was apparently a saint. She seemed real mad though. And one of our spirits was there, and she seemed real scared. There were dead plant monsters. And then there was this beast that looked like he ate magic. And a lot of the town was getting hurt, and I had to keep a guy from bleeding out. I wanted to be there, but I also didn’t know why I was staying and not just running away.”

“Oh, honey. That’s a whole lot. If you don’t wanna go back, we aren’t gonna force you”

“No, that’s not it. The weird thing is that I really have come to care about the town, and I wanna help them. I have thoughts and feelings about what is going on. Our circle needs to consider how the town fits into Vecatra. And there is a just created sprit who apparently had limitless potential that some people in the town are trynna to make into a spirit of community. But the trees think they it’s corrupted and shouldn’t be accepted. But I don’t think that’s right. I think the town needs a spirit to look over it since the town is so much of apart of our life. And I was able to provide a bunch of materials to the town to help with projects, and to help feed us. But it just feels like I should be doing so much more. I should be speaking up more. I have friends who see a problem and just run at it with all of their strength, and believe, and give it their all, and I am scared just watching them in a corner.”

“You know with the way you two talk you could raise the dead. And we already have enough malefic around here.”

“Sorry for waking you, Pa.”

“Don’t worry about it, the bigger problem is you not getting up and doing something.”

“Huh?”

“You say you have all these feelings about all the shit going on around you. Get off your ass and do something about it! You’ve seen a woman when her skin cut off, bee operated corpses, werewolves, undead plant things, magic eating shits, a fucking crazy saint woman. And you can’t tell me you couldn’t have just walked off and avoided all them. You wanted to go to that shit, and you say you wanna brave all this and do what you can for the good of the town. But don’t just show up, fuckin do something. Obviously you are in good hands out there. Seems like you fell in with a good crowd, and no one’s died yet. Learn something from them, get good at defending yourself, and speak up. You can’t just stand in the corner and empty your pockets at people forever and think that’s good enough. Get off your ass and do something.”

“But what if….”

“No buts about it. You have more guts than you know, son. You’re life’s been full of scary shit. You had to grow up too young. You just have to learn that you are stronger than you know. You just gotta put yourself out there and trust in yourself. Follow your friends’ examples.”

“Hmm……..I think I know what I gotta do. I gotta go see someone. Thanks, Pa!”

Hadrien runs out of the house.

“You’re too rough with him, Sylvain.”

“And yet now he’s doing something about it. Now pass me his plate, no need for that food to go to waste.”

“Take me instead.”The words echoed in Corbin’s ears, days, weeks after they were spoken.
“They are more important than I am. Let me do this.”

His hands clawed into the soft earth, looking to pull away the dirt and soil that surrounded the chunk of usable iron ore.

How quick we all are to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others, he thought. Not that he could blame them. We all do that grisly math at some point in our lives. The more dangerous things become, the more often we are forced to make those hard choices: Who will live and who will pay the debt. Who will walk the path, and who will be the one to hold the line for the next several centuries. 

‘Saint Gabriella’ could just as easily have been Saint Isabel, or Saint Cadence. Who’s to say they still won’t be. And who would he be to tell them not to them not to?. Henri thinks it’s his destiny to die fighting Coropler. How many other people are starting to think the same? and how quickly will those prophecies become self fulfilling given half a chance? Half the circle was already falling over themselves to sacrifice themselves in order to save one of their own, let alone the rest of town. None of them thought to try to settle the debt some other way.

Corbin grunts in frustration as the small chunk of iron ore he was working to remove continues to thwart his efforts by refusing to budge. Back on his butt he goes to wipe his dirty hands off on some nearby brush and reconsider his approach.
Sometimes you just have to pay the blood debt. Make the choice of who lives and who dies. The Stag dies to feed the town. The Trees die to make the wood we need to stave off the cold. Sometimes it’s an easy trade, sometimes it’s not. He knows whose life he would sacrifice his own for. There wasn’t even a question.  
After all the recent fun at his expense, just thinking of her was enough to make his face flush and push him back into the battle against this stubborn hunk of rock. Maybe if he chipped away at the far side? It still refused to budge even a little.

“No” he finally says to no one in particular, after a long contemplative silence of wrestling with the stubborn earth. “We can all face the coming trials with our heads held high, but no more martyrs. Either we all survive, or we all burn.” It was adorably naive and he knew it, but for just a moment he was content to let Sophie’s infectious optimism take over. 

This rock wasn’t budging. He had no way of knowing it wasn’t the scrap of easily accessible ore he thought it was, but was actually the tip of an impossibly large boulder buried much deeper. As such, the perfect metaphor was lost on him when he eventually gave up – assuming the earth just wasn’t going to give in on this day. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

“After defeating those undead you could be branded!” says Kotzell cheerfully, I’m not sure how branding works since I’ve never really looked into it so I’m not sure if he’s joking or being serious but my cheeks burn all the same. “Heimir the De-deadnator!”

“ah…I-I don’t think I can ever be branded…” I whisper it, almost a reminder to myself to not even think of dreaming of that.

“You can’t? Why not?” He looks truly confused

“The runes…”

“Oh” he understands immediately.

—–

I’m 16 years old when it happens, all my friends had talked about how important their rune casting had been and had bragged about what it had said for them after. The night before I had stayed up with them thinking of the most heroic things the runes could have predicted for me, all of the things we had guessed were only things teenage boys would have thought of as heroic.

The day is cloudy and miserable, I try not to read too much into it as I step in the elder’s room. Instantly everything is dark except for a few candles.

“Sit.” She instructs me and I kneel down in front of her, all of the sudden I’m not excited just very nervous.

A cold shiver runs through me as she casts the runes.

She doesn’t speak for the longest time, just stares at the runes turning them over in her hands. I can’t read her face and I refuse to look at the runes myself. Something in me tells me not to look.

She takes a deep breath and finally speaks. “From the beginning you were sure of who you were and where you were going. You once had the energy to cut away the old and un-needed. And it was that energy that led you to make the decisions you have made to this point. You are at a period in your life where you are opening up to something new. But remember, movement involves danger, while timely movement leads out of it. Your process will involve disruptions that will turn out differently that you had intended. Hoped-for outcomes will elude you and you will find yourself at a standstill. You will be harvesting the seeds you’ve sown, keep in mind which are thorns and which are beneficial. You may find life easier to find partnership and allies, but true friendship will elude you and you may lose what you hold dear to those undeserving. Your future is grim. You won’t see the growth that you once wished for, and paths that should have been open to you may be closed, disrupted by your past and what may come to haunt you.”

I am trying not to let tears roll down my face, I can feel her stare as I nod get up and leave.

Outside my mentor Ingvarr is waiting for me, my friends are there as well. Ingvarr’s face falls immediately as he sees my tears, I see him moving towards me to ask but I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. And so I run, as far away as I can from everyone until I don’t hear them calling my name again.

Of course the runes would say that about me, it was ridiculous to dream of other things.

I stay in the fields far away from the village, I know Ingvarr must be worried about me and searching for me but I need time to myself for now. This is the time where I grieve the image of myself that I had dreamt of.

It’s night time by the time I get back, Ingvarr is by my side quickly telling me how the runes don’t matter and that I make my own destiny. I nod to him and give him a soft smile, too tired to argue and too tired to think otherwise. The truth is that now the seed of fear has been planted in my mind, one that has to grow overtime waiting to bloom once the runes comes true.

“It’s crazy when
The thing you love the most is the detriment
Let that sink in”

Two conflicting sides. Two different viewpoints. Both so clearly set against each other, both refusing to bend.
Both so similar in that regard.
Why is it she was always able to see the space in the middle? The grey tones everyone seemed unable to even acknowledge?

“Oh, ’cause I keep diggin’ myself down deeper
I won’t stop ’til I get where you are
I keep running, I keep running, I keep running”

Lysenna’s mouth tightened as her gaze fell upon the two daggers laid on the table looking as out of place as a fine tableware set on the rough old wood surface.
Neither were truly hers, and yet they had both come back for her hands to hold.
She didn’t know what to do with them. She had done what Willow had asked. She had done what needed to be done. She had finally laid her own personal night are to rest. And yet.
Between the spirits, the lionfolk, the town. They all had such narrow views of what any of them would truly accept. What would they do when they realized what she… Who she…
Shaking her head violently, as much to clear the thoughts away as to feel the movement of the cool air upon her face she turned on her heel and strode to the doorway. There the verdant trees and shadows seemed to beckon to her as they always had.

“They say I may be making a mistake
I would’ve followed all the way, no matter how far”

It doesn’t matter. All that mattered was keeping her family safe. And no one, spirit or saint, was ever going to make the decision of who her family was. Circle, blood, childhood friend. They were all her family. Shaking her head in denial of the shadows and their call she walked back to the table currently crowded as her thoughts.

Damn anyone who thought they could get away with telling her what to do. She reached out, gripping the strange hilts and slowly lifted them to eye level. Her eyes glinted sharp as the blades as she brought them to her side and tucked them into her belt pouch. If anyone thought they would stand in her way, well, they were about to find out exactly what she was willing to do to take care of the ones she loved.

“I know when you go down all your darkest roads
I would’ve followed all the way to the graveyard”

If the old swamp priest was being honest with himself, it had started with Friar Bullet. He knew that wasn’t his name, but couldn’t seem to remember names of late. The old priest had asked him about his conviction, and questioned why he had wanted to give up his things (such as they were) and walk the path of the penitent. Henri hadn’t had a good answer then, it had just felt right. There had been a light, just behind his eyes. A light he could only really *see* when it was dark and he shut his eyes. A warmth that he’d always known but never been aware of. It had warmed him and comforted him, and he’d known that it was the right path for him. Not many had understood it, but it had been more than a year now, and ole Henri, Friar Henri now, wouldn’t undo that decision for all the gold in all the world.

The sun had finally burned away the clouds, lifting the oppressive muggy feel and replacing it with the dry feel of a drafty oven. The sky had been a dazzlingly pure blue. The trees a crisp vibrant green that struck awe into him each time he saw them. A lone butterfly beat its seemingly too big wings and floated in an exaggerated up-down of their bobbing stride. In the distance, melodious windchimes danced in the breeze, their clanging bodies creating wordless music that delighted the senses.

It was a fine day, indeed. His ears still rang from the whispers of divinity that had occupied his evening. He often prayed at night, finding the solitude of slumbering bodies comforting. While others slept, he’d prayed. With all his might, he’d prayed. On the nature of sin, of spirits, of God and gods, on the Forest Folk and their Circle, on Primus the weeping god of the feast, on the nature of choice within sin, and on the truth of Heresy. The humble priest had been brought up in a dilapidated moss covered home in the woods, with its slanting floors and leaking roof. Grand questions weren’t ever anything he’d had to struggle with before. He’d listened to his priest, and prayed, and done as he was told. But the truth of the matter was more complicated. In his heart, he knew that the Church of Mankind had formed a sort of shorthand code for sin, making a complicated, nuanced problem into a stark black and white issue. It was simple and straightforward, something a child could easily understand. But the trouble with childish morality is that it stunted the growth of those that cleaved to it. As a people matured, they found the world full of fine colors, not just this or that. It was better to not live in ignorance, and that choice, of all the choices he had ever made in his life had been the most dangerous by far.

As the ringing in his ears had faded, and the colors and sensations of town swirled around him, Nadja Kroozie-more had leapt into his view. She had seemed frantic, hurt maybe? Her words had come tumbling out. At first, they’d made no sense. The forest hated her because she was a Kroozie-more? That didn’t make any sense. They wanted her blood, or Kroozie-more blood, or noble blood? It hadn’t made sense to him, but it seemed genuine to her.

“How can I help?” he’d asked, once he realized that understanding the actual problem was well beyond him. She had blinked at him and said:
“Can I be a Chasseur?” she asks, reaching out to hold his forearm with both of hers. There had been a genuine pleading in her gaze. She’d come to ask honestly. And how could he say no?

And just like that, he wasn’t the only Chasseur anymore. And then Cadence. And then Milo. He’d been alone, and now he wasn’t, and the world was a brighter place for it. It felt right to be a part of a family and watch it grow. It lightened his heart, as if lead had been pumping through his veins and it had been purged from him. He wasn’t certain how his feet remained planted on the ground.

The peace had stayed with him. As he’d ran through the woods to head-off the red-hued huntsman. As folks had argued about the proper course. When the community marched into the mines, shoulder to shoulder. That peace had stayed like a great fluffy cloak wrapped about him. The blood that had trickled down his leg and palm, the fearsome face of the monster that tossed folk around like so much kindling. The poison spewing tree. The bloody visage of Gabriella. The glowing skull of Primus, sad and rejected, speaking in images and feelings. All the while, calm.

Fortified by family, community, and love, the Friar was centered and the light was pure. The faint red that he knew waited for him there was distant again. Like the layered light of a sunset, the dangerous color was just one of the symphonic voices calling him, the others so sweet.

He walked without fear through the night, though he thought that if he wished it hard enough, he could have flown.

Can a person who’s lived a life of sin be called good? I’d thought for a long time that the answer was no, but ever since I came to Luisant I’ve been reconsidering. How could someone like Cadence ever be called anything but good?

She inspired me to be a protector, instead of a killer. I watched her shield the lives and happiness of others with her body and soul, to sin so that others don’t need to. To kill so that people like Henry can save. It took me a while to figure it out, but I followed her example. I did my best to be by her side when things got dark so that I could see how she would shine, so that perhaps I could catch some of her light and learn to use it like she did.

I now see her for the rest of what she is. Someone who’s taken on more than they’re sure they can handle. Someone who rises to meet the challenges and expectations of the people around them, who pushes themself beyond their limits because it’s needed, who will burn themself at both ends if it means saving their community. Someone who is Just. So. Tired. She’s been chosen by her community to be their voice of reason, their rock, their sword, and their shield. What an Honor. What a Tragedy.

I know that she can’t keep it up by herself. The people don’t see me like they see her. I didn’t grow up among them, I don’t blame them. As much as I want to help her, I can’t take these responsibilities out of her hands. But I can stay with her when she’s overwhelmed. I can watch the town while she eats. I can hold a sword for a while, no matter how poorly it fits in my hand. I can be there when she feels alone. I can’t take this weight from her, but I can do my best to bear it alongside her.

I’ve never felt love in this way before. I look at her and I don’t feel giddy or nervous. My palms don’t sweat, my knees remain still, I feel none of the storybook romance tells. It was not love at first sight. Nor second, nor third. It was and is respect. Trust. It is knowing that I can show myself for what I am and not lose her, and the hope that she knows the same of me. Love like this isn’t measured in romantic notes or poems of adoration, but in the times we’ve set our jaws and faced the dark, and the sounds of our boots as we cross the bridge to protect our people.

Our wedding is as we live our lives; brief, blessed time carved out between crises almost six hours later than we’d intended. It’s no less special for its impromptu nature in my eyes, though. More people show up than intended and I feel that pit of fear rise in me. Alphonse’s magic steadies me, and Cadence quotes a curt and harsh line from the Testimonium. An insult to anyone else, but it puts me at ease. Henri asks us our vows.

I’ve never been one to put my feelings into words. And I don’t believe she is either. But we don’t need to be. Perhaps our vows seem strange to others. Harsh and pragmatic. Rude, even. But we know what they mean.

Don’t die. I love you. I trust that you will take care of yourself as you care for me. And I will care for myself as I care for you.

Kill Chiropoler. I will face the unknowable and stare down impossibility at your side. I will be at your back when I’m needed. I will be your strength when your arms falter. Nothing can defeat us if we are together.

Don’t be a bitch. I don’t trust easily. Relying on others is the hardest thing I can do, but I trust that you will be there for me. I put my soul in your hands of my own will. Do not hurt me.

We test our vows in the tunnels less than eight hours after we made them. I pull songs from my youth that I’d long thought forgotten to bolster her spirit, I cut off flanking routes for smaller threats, I distract the skull-monster so she can cut at it with impunity. I stand next to her as her family Saint blesses us, and I can’t help but see a similarity between them. Iron will and indomitable courage. I see what happens when someone gives too much of themself to protect their people in Gabrielle, and I resolve myself to not let the same thing happen to Cadence. I’ll be by her side when the end comes. We’ll face it together.

Teles flips through his notebook, searching for the tax collector’s name.

There is a section with music notes, a section for town issues, a section for people. Between the dance calls and the dossiers, there are always blank pages.

…
Do lions eat daisies?

Which witch is which? The witches switched!

one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left. one daisy left.

My house is fallen, it’s naught but rubble.
each stone moved is one less trouble.
each stone carried off by a riddle,
one step built for a mind less brittle.

……….

Teles looks up from his notes. “Ah, bonjour Aurien my cousin! Have you seen Cezanne? I think she has my pen.”

“You are my temperance and he is my conviction.”

Love is vastly complicated and terribly simple at the same time. I weigh every interaction I have constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Careful considerations about longevity and trust wrapped up in self doubt and insecurity. The butterflies and pleasures of lust make convincing points in the moment but true commitment is something else entirely. It’s the forming of one soul, in all its flaws and indiscretions. The assumption of aligned ambitions on the things that drive you both. And beyond that, it’s the continuous active choice to consider the happiness of someone else alongside your own, a commitment to the endless effort to maintain a relationship when things are rougher than one hopes.

I was surprised when Milo asked if I would marry them. The jokes based on the rumors had somewhere along the line become, not a joke.

I’d be lying if I didn’t have feelings for them before this. That I had hoped it wasn’t just a fleeting joke but happy at the laughs none the less. But my feelings were not the feelings of a giddy school girl. This became extremely apparent when standing in front of Henri before our chosen family. I do not stand there smiling and giddy but rather concerned with my decision and slightly guilty for the burdens we will now share. But I am satisfied that I have made the right choice. I am happy and content. It’s a deeper love, something core to who I am, an endless spring of compassion for this person.

My love is that of respect, trust, and conviction. It’s the moment when I feel doubt when facing a foe only to turn to see him beside me. The feeling of safety washing over me as we step forward together. It’s the way he is always there when I am exhausted about to give it all up. Sitting beside me uneasy in the tavern for my sake. The way they say they believe in me when I feel unsure about my path forward.

I meant to say much more at our continuously postponed wedding. I wanted to say how I trust them, how I offer them my loyalty and how I will always be there when they need me. That we together are better than we will ever be apart.

Later, my oaths clash as I walk down these tunnels made of ribs. I worry that I will break my vows, that I will fall in battle and leave my family alone to pick up the pieces. That Henri will sacrifice too much without me. Alphonse won’t continue towards the person I know he can be. And that Milo will lose himself trying to finish what I started.

We speak about self sacrifice as though it’s easy and maybe it is when it is just us that we are sacrificing. When we don’t stop to think about the despair and void we will leave behind with our departure.

As the skulled face bites through my armor attempting to tear away my flesh while I can not pull away I realize I may have misjudged the situation, have I broken all of my vows so quickly? The world stops for the briefest surreal moment and I can hear the words,

“Spurn a man who would lie, who is lax, who is lazy; any man or woman who abandons a sworn oath is a coward and base; and shun he who rejects responsibility, and shun he who allows injustice to transgress unchallenged.”

So I plunged the dagger that Lysenna, who somehow must have foreseen this moment, gifted to me into its side unwilling to leave this injustice to my family unchallenged.

As the creature drops to the ground, he is standing there, my conviction, asking if I am okay.

Solfyre puts down her quill and allows the ink on the paper to dry. Leaning back in the creaky chair of the small kitchen at her grandmother’s house she takes time to simply stare off.

“Is something troubling you? You’ve been so… quiet and unenthusiastic. It’s not like you,” her grandmother says, placing a plate of sweets in front of Solfyre.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, grandma. I don’t even know if I have much of an appetite,” Solfyre says as she looks at the plate. The warm scent of baked berries and shortbread fill her nostrils and her stomach grumbles audibly, betraying her. Her grandmother takes a seat beside her and raises an eyebrow.

“Fine. You know that I’m a beacon mage? the ‘love mages’, as it were.? Well, aside from my adoptive family, you, my mother, and my father… well, I don’t know if anyone else can or will love me. Hell, I got stood up by the one who possessed my heart, rejected by my longtime crush, AND rejected by a ghost all in one forum. I think perhaps I am not lovable outside of my family and I just have to be okay with that. I’ll probably die in some battle or another anyways so,” she shrugs, “it’s probably for the better. Anyways, I made a local chapter of my guild here so I suppose I will simply focus on that.”

Solfyre takes a steadying breath and fortifies her resolve so she can force a smile, “it all sucks, even the guild stuff because one of the firemages refuses to cooperate with things because he often believes himself more wise and intelligent than all those around him. It’s all upsetting. Ugh… but I won’t break. I can’t afford to.”

Her grandma listens and puts a reassuring hand on her back, “honey, anyone who doesn’t return your love isn’t worth it. You’re a fighter and can be wrathful, but I also have seen you sacrifice so much for people who won’t do the same for you. Perhaps you need to focus on those who would and those alone. As for the one who can’t be a team player, well, then let him go. He will be worse off for it, but that is his decision. Loners exist, you don’t need to include those who make things more difficult for you and who don’t want to cooperate.”

To make a point, her grandma sweeps some of the hair from her left shoulder and traces a couple of scars from when she was tortured in the place of other captive women who had been held prisoner by Rimelander raiders. She also traces another left from a battle in which an uncooperative member of her fighting unit had left her in a bad position and she’d almost gotten killed.

“You’re not wrong, grandmother, you’re not wrong.”

“Would you like me to make the chicken soup you like?” She asks Solfyre. Solfyre’s stomach grumbles again as if to respond, the traitor.

Solfyre looks to her grandma rather embarrassed and nods, “yes please? I have to write a letter with Hans, but I should be back in time for dinner. Anything you need while I’m out?” Solfyre stands from the table and heads towards the door.

“For you to be happy, dear one,” her grandmother replies sweetly.

“I will try,” Solfyre smiles back. With that she closes the door and slips away towards the woods rather than directly to where Hans would be. Tears fall from her eyes, but no sounds of sorrow fill the air. No one could see her cry, especially over such a selfish thing as to want to be loved.

And so, before heading to see Hans, Solfyre sits in the woods with her thoughts for a while letting the tears fall unbidden, washes her face in the creek, puts on a pleasant expression, and heads off to complete her duties.