Category: Journal Entry

The inquisition is here. The Circle may be leaving. The Grove is weakening. Chiropoler is stirring. And we are all so very hungry. I started coming to market on my own a littler over a year ago, nearly everything about me has changed. I am no longer a coward. A carry a sword and shield and run into danger. I have a group of people I call family outside of just Ma and Pa. I can say I contribute and have a name for myself in my own right. And I guess I’m also a Benalian now. I went from just wanting to feel like I was good enough to stand on my own to wanting to protect and better the community as a whole. A community that might not even be here come to much longer.

Right now it seems like the inquisition is appeased enough. They are holding the Owl’s Nest and definitely making their presence known. But also it seems like they are pacified in that a waking Witchking is a bigger threat to the world than a circle of Vecatrans living openly. But still, if the Witchking doesn’t kill us, then after he is dead the inquisition could rain fire and hell on all of us. I don’t know what their plan is, but I hope the circle gets out safe. The spirits are weakening, but I hope they have something left in them to help the circle get out.

If by some miracle, through, I am still standing after all of that, what will I do? Milo and Cadence seem set on leaving town. I don’t know how permanently, but seeing if I can travel with them might not be a bad idea. I wonder what Alphonse and Isabelle are planning now that they are married. I don’t know how much Alphonse supported his dad’s efforts to bring back his mom, but surely he can’t support that now, right? Now with all that would do to Isabelle. Fabron seems set on staying and taking care of his siblings, which seems about right. Can’t see him moving about the countryside with a bunch of little ones. At least until the youngest ones can live on their own.

I don’t think I want to stay. With how much I’ve changed, and how many opportunities would open up, it seems like a disservice to stay. I guess I can’t plan too far about what I will do when I leave, since I don’t really know what it out there. But I am excited for the possibilities all the same.

We just have to take care of Chiropoler, and then take make sure the inquisition leave. And then we will be free….

“So I guess you’ve made your final decision, son.”

“I’m sorry, Pa. It’s not against you and Ma. I just felt like I had to.”

“It’s ok, dear. These are frightening times. Your father and I don’t blame you for doing what you think you must.”

“I just feel like a family with Milo and Cadence, like I do with you and Pa. And I just couldn’t go on feeling guilty, or like I was doing something wrong for wanting to help Henri or Isabelle.”

Merle tried to hide it, but Hadrien and Sylvain could see the pain on her face.

“Ma, it’s not that I chose them over you. It’s just that they weren’t asking me to give up anything. They weren’t asking me to not love you two as my parents, and turn my back on you. In fact, I’ve heard the Benalians speak about how they want to do what they can to show that just because someone is Vecatran doesn’t mean they need to be hunted and killed. They want the Benalians to live with Vecatrans, and not treat them as enemies. And I don’t know if they’ll succeed, but I have seen them try to include everyone. And I wanna be a part of that. And if the circle here leaves the town, I am going to do what I can to find where they go and come see you guys again. I don’t wanna forget all you have done for me. You are still my parents, and I still love you. I just have such a love for them too.”

“That all sounds real commendable, son. But do you believe in the Lion God?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t believe in the Lion God any more than I truly believed in Vecatra. I knew Vecatra to be the earth around us. The trees, the animals, the stones. But I never could believe that the spirits were things to be venerated, or the crones as wise as they seem. And Isabelle said that man are all facets or pieces of the Lion god, so just as you can feel Vecatra as the earth, you can also feel God as the people around you. And that seemed to make about as much sense as me. I don’t know if I will fully understand their angels, or what happens to us after we die. But I didn’t really get that as a Vecatran either.”

“Hmm…”

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Merle speaks.

“Well, I guess we should all forget all that for now. It isn’t like any of us is going anywhere tomorrow. So let’s enjoy our company now, and leave what happens for when it happens.”

Luisant Journal Entry Game 12 — Colibri’s Daybook

Day 0:In case I die from this mistake, I want to write it all down, we all might die before the summer is out, but as my Grandmere used to say, I can only hold my own worry eggs in this basket, and not the whole world’s. I did the rite of attention and summoned the peddler back to come make a deal with me. I knew that getting something back lost in a deal would mean sacrifice. I planned for this, I knew what I would be willing to give and what I would not. The fae don’t play fair, so neither would I. They came to me just after we had come out of the thicket from rescuing Le Chat Blanc, the smell of death and rotting leaves still clinging to my skin. In a place of pure darkness, they whispered in my mind, ready to give me what I wanted for a price. First, I offered memories of a lover, but with the bonds to him severed by the Witchking’s minions, it did not hold enough value. They offered to take the memories of Axe in trade for those of Natalie, but without both of those parts, I knew I could never truly put her malefic to rest. We offered and countered, back and forth and finally, I offered them the use of my womb which Natalie had destroyed in her anger. They warned me it would be painful, but I thought that with the blessings of Willowbark, I would barely feel a thing. I made the deal. They were so eager to seal it and fulfill their part of the bargain that they thanked me in their haste. I caught them out and won myself a minor favor. Always be alert and never thank the fae. The consummation of this deal was wondrous, pain and pleasure comingled in a moment of sweet ecstasy. Then it was over. The seed was sown and they would reap their terrible harvest from me when the fruit was ripe.

Day 1: the pains were subtle at first. I only noticed them in pangs and flashes when I gave Willowbark’s blessing to others so they could find relief from their own agonies. The rest of that market went well, and I barely noticed a thing. I Found Natalie’s ghost in the forest, and with new refreshed memories of love and loss, I put both her and little Glycine to their final rest.

Day 3: Market finished quietly enough, though the pains became more frequent. As long as I kept Willowbark’s blessing, it was only minor discomfort.

Day 6: The Inquisition has come to Luisant and taken over what is left of the Owl’s Nest. The mean to root out the corruption but I don’t know if we can hide the circle, even with the looming threat of Chriopoler’s waking. There was another earthquake today.

Day 10: Tiphanie and I oversaw the haying today. The meadow grasses were cut and dried in the bright sun so the goats would have food through the winter. I hope we are still here in Luisant by then. The ground shakes more often and a foul smell rises from some of the cracks in the earth.

Day 14: The inquisition came to convocation today asking questions and demanding answers. It was all I could do not to scream at them. Lunette held my hand through the whole thing.

Day 17: It is clear to me now that is not a normal pregnancy. My womb has begun to ache and I vomit every morning upon waking then continue throughout the day. Even so, I am voraciously hungry. I fear it is the Witchking’s influence, because so is everyone else. I am so glad it is summer, and the forest is still lush and bountiful.

Day 20: My belly has begun to show and I’ve had to loosen my corset a bit each day. Everyone is hungry. Sophie says I’m eating for two and sneaks a little extra into my bowl of stew each night.

Day 25: I am no longer so glad it’s summer, the heat has become unbearable. There has not been a cloud in the sky in ten days. I worry that our crops may wither before we can harvest them. I pray to Vecatra that the rain may come soon. Marinette, Little Hugo, and I took the children to the beaver pond to swim. One of the toddlers almost got eaten by a baby gator, but Little Hugo rescued the child and killed the beast. Henri roasted it in the oven and at least we all ate well tonight.

Day 28: Blessed rain. A huge thunderstorm swept into the valley. As the clouds rolled in, it sounded like the whole court of trees was arguing at once. Went out barefoot and danced in the rain in nothing but my shift. Everything hurts, but I can still cope with the pain. I felt the babe move for the first time today, and it felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my womb. I gave another sacrifice to Willowbark and left it on their shrine. It’s nice to spend time in the grove with the circle, with the inquisitors in town, we’ve had to be so careful again.

Day 31: It’s been a full month now and Isabel says it looks like I’m about five months along. My belly is too big for my corsets now, but Tiphanie said she would make me a new one. I can no longer tie my boots, and Pascal has had to do it for me. The pain is getting worse. Lysenna carved me a little knobbly stick that I can roll my feet on when they cramp up. I am so grateful for my friends.

Day 35: One of the Inquisitors started asking questions about why my pregnancy was progressing so quickly, but Teles and Allouette quickly talked them into another line of questioning. Fabron, Aurianne, Hadrian, Suzette, Alex, and I played dice after supper. The earthquakes rolled the dice for us a few times, and we pretended like Primus was playing with us. It was nice to laugh for a few hours when so many of the days are worrying and misery.

Day 37: For the last few weeks Valentin and Pascal have been working feverishly on the various weapons they are building to give us an edge against Chriopoler. They tested Valentin’s new gun, and he got badly burned when a steam pipe burst. Luckily, Sophie was able to treat his wounds. That woman truly works miracles with Lurian’s rituals.

Day 39: Fuck corsets. I can no longer wear anything but a shift and skirts. Etienne, Corbin, and Valko walked me out to the grove again so I could pray to Willow and her children for relief from the constant agony. It’s getting so hard to walk on my own and it’s almost impossible to shoot a bow with my belly in the way but I tried nonetheless. I will be so glad when this is done.

Day 42: Market is a week away. The ground shakes day and night. Everyone is ravenous and miserable though we are doing our best to make sure everyone eats. Between all that and the babe, I haven’t slept more than an hour or two at a time. Bas has been sitting with me every night this week talking with me and reminding me to breathe through the pain. Even with Willowbark’s blessing, It is hard to do much but sit. I’ve been making bandages with every bit of hemp we can find, hoping it will be enough for the final battle, Everything is coming to a head, and I feel like I’m not the only one who is about to pop. Sweet standing ones, I don’t know if I can make it through this. I don’t know that any of us can. I hope that Vecatra doesn’t turn her back on us for our folly in letting the Lion folk know and protect us. I pray we can all live to see the new year.

My darling sister, i am so sorry. I was young and impetuous and selfish, and though i did not sin against Vecatra, my actions hurt you. From that hurt you reacted, and you hurt me and your niece, whom you would never come to know. My darling Glycine, who never had the chance to move from a blessing of Gorse to the protection of Avalon Apple.

I gave up so much out of pain and loss and hurt. And my choices left me ruined. Without either you or Maxele to comfort me. Perhaps this was Vecatras plan all along. That by shedding the comforts of my maidenhood I might grow into my true calling as a mother of the circle now that I could no longer be the mother of my own child.

Enough rambling. If i write it all out maybe i will be able to hold on to it, even if this new deal with the fae goes sour like milk.

It all starts with us, sisters, born five years apart. I idolized you as a child. You were fickle in your affections towards me, as children often are. I remember When we were practicing building fires in the hearth, mama taught us to build mouse houses with a soft bed of fluff for the sparks, airy kindling towers for the walls, and no roof so the smoke birds could fly away. Clumsy three-year-old me accidentally knocked over my tower, and it fell into yours collapsing them both. But yours had embers and it lit the cat’s tail on fire. You were quick as a flash and put it out before she could run away.

We were playing in the village on the hill to the Owls’ Nest. and they had left some empty barrels outside after a feast. You convinced me that it would be fun to roll down the hill in one but you had to put the lid on so I didn’t fall out. You pushed me down the long hil and i screamed so loud. I threw up inside the barrel and you teased me because there was sick all over my clothes and hair when you let me out. I was so mad i cried, and you just laughed at me more. A week later I got my revenge and I threw your favorite doll in the privy. I never told you it was me who did it.

Mama died when I was nine and you were fourteen, and I remember you would hold me at night all that year and we would sing to each other as we cried, unsure what to do with our grief. We sang the prettiest song about a river when we buried her heart in the grove. Papa was never the same after that, he would drink almost every night, but you never let him hit me, even when i was bad. I remember putting salve on your back when he took to you with the hazel switch that one time we stained our good dresses with berry juice.

But time passed and we grew into young ladies. You were rail thin and dark of hair like Papa, and I filled out buxom and blonde like Mama. The boys would always come flirt with me when I sang and always asked me first to dance. It was you who gave me the name Colibri. It was meant to be an insult. That I would suck from any flower who would have me. I didn’t care, I took the name and made it my own and it got me farther than “Lissette” ever did.

When you and Axe got married I knew I should stay away from him, but we were drunk that spring, and you were the spring sovereign, and I was green with envy. We coupled together out in the woods and continued that affair for almost a year before you found out.

The three of us were in the woods gathering herbs, and Axe let it slip that I was pregnant. You assumed that the baby was Axe’s, which it may well have been, but I slept around so much then that the child could have been anyone’s. You flew into a jealous rage. I wasn’t kind to you and we screamed at each other while Axe tried desperately to calm us both down. It didn’t work, but he was never the persuasive one in the family. You picked up a large branch and slammed it into my belly, intending to kill both me and the unborn babe in my womb. I collapsed to the ground screaming and bleeding profusely as Axe tore the branch from your grasp to return the hit. Axe hit you so hard with that branch that it caved your skull in. I still remember the sickening crunch it made.

Axe dragged me out of the woods to get to a healer. He saved my life, though I lost the baby. I named her Glycine (Wisteria), but Isabel told me I couldn’t have children from that point forward. We snuck back into the woods several days later and made it look like your body was dragged off by a malefic. We buried most of your corpse deep in the woods and vow to never share the truth with anyone. We didn’t bury your heart in the grove. I still feel guilty about it to this day. We told people that you attacked me and our screaming at each other attracted a malefic. We said that Axe had to choose who to save and that your body was dragged out into the woods and never seen again. Everyone believed us.

I’m so sorry Natalie. You deserved better, and I abandoned you in my rage and grief. I am so grateful that we were able to forgive each other and that you have found your final rest. I will never forget hugging your ghost and sobbing, holding on to each other just like we did when Mama died. I will keep the bloodstained rose you gave me by my bedside until I too am buried in the ground with an apple in each hand.

Summer/ Fall 609 –

Never before have the two halves of me been working so hard for a common goal – my Mother’s eyes and mind fills my head, and ushers me at a blistering pace down a path of progress. Each day my war machine grows little by little, and I tremble in awe and fear at the violence that progress can wield. Yet I stand in control – this weapon will be used for the protection of Luisant – against the evils that lie inside and out.

My father’s heart and wisdom fill my mouth as I decree to Aspen my intent to become mother, that I may lead my people not in battle or in faith, but in the pursuit of change so that we may survive what comes. I have seen the way of the Vecatran’s of Dunnick – that they hide in plain sight by playing the role of traveling merchants. I know not of the ways of trade, but in tinker and craft I’m certain the circle could ply its skills.

I shall bring myself to bear against what lies ahead – that I may use the power of engineering and the power of Vecatra to protect my people. I herald in that which I have stood for since returning to Luisant: that the New ways must become the Old.

The careful text-books measure
Let all who build beware!
The load, the shock, the pressure
Material can bear.
So, when the buckled girder
Lets down the grinding span,
The blame of loss, or murder,
Is laid upon the man.
Not on the Steel — the Man!

But in our daily dealing
With stone and steel, we find
The Gods have no such feeling
Of justice toward mankind.
To no set gauge they make us —
For no laid course prepare —
And presently o’ertake us
With loads we cannot bear:
Too merciless to bear.

The prudent text-books give it
In tables at the end –
The stress that shears a rivet
Or makes a tie-bar bend —
What traffic wrecks macadam —
What concrete should endure —
But we, poor Sons of Adam
Have no such literature,
To warn us or make sure!

We hold all Earth to plunder —
All Time and Space as well —
Too wonder-stale to wonder
At each new miracle;
Till, in the mid-illusion
Of Godhood ‘neath our hand,
Falls multiple confusion
On all we did or planned —
The mighty works we planned.

We only of Creation
Oh, how luckier the bridge and rail!
Abide the twin damnation —
To fail and know we fail.
Yet we – by which sure token
We know we once were Gods —
Take shame in being broken
However great the odds —
The Burden or the Odds.

Oh, veiled and secret Power
Whose paths we seek in vain,
Be with us in our hour
Of overthrow and pain;
That we – by which sure token
We know Thy ways are true —
In spite of being broken,
Because of being broken,
May rise and build anew.
Stand up and build anew!

Summer 609 –

There are many things we do in the name of truth and justice. We will stand for these concepts, fight for them, kill for them, and die for them. Some see that as a worthy cause, some could care less – they are noble things to be sure, but only so noble as who they are wielded by – truth and justice are not a blade to be wielded to smite a foe, but a winding tapestry of nuance and discussion.

This past market I witnessed firsthand the dichotomy of this – firstly, at the behest of Aspen I sought to eliminate the Veneaux malefic known by me as “Truth”. This being who hurt my aunt and uncle by taking memories and forcing knowledge, who has tortured the Veneaux for centuries, who stood as anathema to Aspen. This I felt was just – but what wasn’t so was the method by which Aspen sought to do it – the murder of one who Truth abducted and sequestered and fed off their agony – the mother of Baz and the wife of Father Belette. She had not committed crimes against Vecatra or Luisant, but she stood as the most expedient way to defeat Truth, and so Aspen asked for her death. I refused – after all, the pursuit of justice should not result in an unjust act – and Aspen relented – I convinced a spirit that their way was not THE way.

But I would not stop there – for I knew that it was important to spread this message to the people of Luisant – I gathered those who have been wronged by Truth together, and though I had no experience with bow or blade we devised a plan and successfully killed truth. I knew that this was not enough – I told Father Belette of who I was and why I knew of his wife, and how we might save her, and that I would be willing to lay down my life to protect her against Truth’s torture or Aspen’s vision of Justice. I know not how he will react to his wife returning, but I hope he will see past his bigotry and hatred to see the truth – that a Vecatran, one who he has sworn to kill – managed to save his wife where he could not.

Secondly – the arrival of the Inquisition has left the town in a state of panic and dread – these monsters in the shape of men use the “truth” and “justice” they’ve been indoctrinated into as a cudgel to form the world around. I hold out hope that they may be shown actual truths, and actual justice, but I fear that their eyes have been blinded by the light and smoke of their pyres, and their minds poisoned by centuries of dogma and vile rhetoric that is unsustainable and will lead to either their downfall or that of the world.

I stand at these two pathways of truth and justice, trodden often by those misguided by promises of black-and-white morality, of simple solutions, of the justification of acts unjust and untrue, hidden by the banner of authority and power. But I don’t take these paths, I turn to those walking down these paths, and say that Truth and Justice are not what a person tells you, nor is it words on a page – Truth and Justice can never be one thing and one thing only – Truth and Justice are; forever and always, what the community will accept as truth and justice, and for an outsider to tell or force upon us their ideals – be they from the inquisition or the court of trees – is nothing short of colonialism and assimilation.

Luisant’s Truth – Luisant’s Justice – has and will always be its people, their ideals, and the community that binds them.

The sun beat down overhead, sending wave after wave of oppressive heat, leeching any free moisture from soil and flesh alike. Plants that should have been green and heavily laden with fruit and berries drooped, their offspring withered on the vine. The rivers and creeks, strong flowing only weeks before, lay stagnant and shallow, revealing flaking clay and powdering dust on their banks. The air that should have been filled with the songs of birds and the humming of insects lay silent, instead heavy and swollen with the angry static of a lightning storm waiting to spark. The Hungerer had awoken, and all of Nature suffered under his presence.

The first bits of his flesh turned to bark, those on his hands, were now covered with mossy growths and had hardened to the point that they turned the bite of insects and steel alike. Those that followed later were still soft, but he could tell that the atmosphere was accelerating the change, as if his Curse was aware what was coming and sought to have him ready for the challenge. If so, then it seemed that Grandfather’s gift was more far-reaching than even he knew. Still, the new growth across his torso itched, and only a good soak with cool river water from the few ponds left near the beaver’s dams seemed to ease it.

Sinking bare feet deeper into muddy soil, Etienne once more considered the task before them as he let the waters seep into his tired body, satisfying a thirst that he had been unaware of until it was sated. They had fought their way through the tunnels, across rivers of bile and pools of acid, through waves of parasites and rat-folk, only to be confronted with a solid wall of flesh and bone as the final barrier to the Heart, the source of the great evil and where their fates would be decided. They bore steel and song, the powers of faith from both traditions, along with the most recently developed weapons that they could forge…but would it be enough?

A single cry split the silence of the day. Falcon, a frog caught in his talons alighted on the smooth boulder nearby and began to eat his prey, before turning to consider the man (was he still a man?). The druid turned to face his friend and companion, the first spirit who had ever been willing to speak back directly all those years ago. “Falcon. How fares your range? Is there something I can do for you?”

Yellow eyes pierced into his own, unblinking and endless in their depths.
*Prey is scarce. The forest, afraid. The Court grows silent, and so the land waits.*

“Waits? Waits for what, the turning of the season? For the Court to make a decision?”

*Waits for you. For the People. To act, to decide. Will you succeed in your struggle, or will you fall? Will you retreat into the Other, or will you remain here in the Green?*

“We have already agreed to stay here, that running away won’t solve our problems and would be abandoning our purpose to Vecatra. Why then do you all wait?”

*The Mother asks what the Mother should already know. My, the People do love to talk, don’t they.*

A few quick pumps of wings, and then the talons, still streaked with blood and viscera, sank onto his wooden shoulder, the hooked beak beginnig to preen his hair, bringing order to the sodden chaos.

*The Spirits *have been*. The Spirits *are*. The Spirits *will be*. Locked in the cycle of the Green, as ordained by Vecatra in the beginning and playing our parts until all returns to being one in Her embrace. To Change, that is the gift of the People, one given alongside your tasks to Name and Question, to Steward and Prune. Of all of Vecatra’s creatures Man was given no special gift of claws, or fangs, or thick hides or furs, but of the idea What Can Be.*

*Hope. That is your gift, and your great curse. It can lift or destroy in equal measure.*

*And so we wait.*

Silence once more reigned in the shadow of the trees, even the burble of the waters seeming to fade as he contemplated the sudden deep truths he was given by his old friend, before a particularly harsh preen drew him from his thoughts. “Ouch! I know I’m more bark than flesh these days, but that’s no reason to go digging for bugs that aren’t there!”

*I’m hungry. Get me a fish.*

Laughter, unbidden and deep overtook him at those words, sending him into such a fit that he all but fell over and sending Falcon hopping back to the stone, squawking at the indignity of almost being thrown into the pool.

What did he have to worry about? After all, they would do their best, and what would come would come. Why waste what time they had left stuck thinking dark thoughts when they could spend it with their loved ones? Finally, he managed to control breathing enough to respond.

“Falcon? Never change, my friend.”

—

And so the rest of the day went: he set a line to cry and catch a fish; Falcon told him of the goings on of the forest and hills, of leshen and bee alike, and he felt the despair leave him and be replaced with a sense of peace.

What will come, will come. We know the task before us, so let us be about it.

Etienne tossed and turned, the heat and humidity meant that what sleep he did manage to get was fitful at best. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job, rising to splash water on his face at the basin before walking out of the bunkhouse to the front porch in hopes of catching a morning breeze.

The dream was back, the one he’d been having off and on almost all of his life, as far back as he could remember. He wasn’t sure if it was the vision at the Grove, the discussion of what Corbin saw while in the realm of the spirits, or something else, but for the first time he knew what the dream meant. He cast his mind back to his dream, long familiarity easing the task.

*Surrounded by white softness, mist beaded together to form a drop of water, before suddenly plummeting through the air, surrounded all the while by thousands of its siblings. Green fingers reached out to cradle them as they fell, some sticking to the leafy fronds, others swept aside by the wind to continue down, past the mighty trunks and outstretched arms to the black soil far below, before being drawn inexorably towards the call of those waters born beneath the earth and bubbling up to meet their siblings from the skies. Together they mingled and danced, entwining together to form first a spring, then a trickle, a creek, then finally the mighty river that branched into three forks: one that fed the bayous of the Louressaint, calm and peaceful above but full of life and struggle underneath; one that wove its way towards the great ravine at the edge of the forests, pouring down into the depths of the earth, hidden and secret to all creatures; one that churned and twisted upon itself, before seemingly ending abruptly in a deep pool beneath a circle of white oaks, all dark water with no bottom that reflected the night sky.

A voice called out, the words indistinct, and he was suddenly aware of himself as a creature again, somehow seeing all three rivers and their ends at once, and he was consumed with an urge to pick one to quench his thirst*–only to wake once more, sweaty and thirsty in that way only fitful sleep brings.

Three rivers. Three paths. Three endings. Which would they choose?

To return to the shadows now, after all they had done together in the sun? No, it would be unthinkable. To flee, to shed their Forms and Purpose to dance with the deathless outside of their appointed place and time? Not while he lived and wore the mantle of Mother.

No, they would sup on the waters of struggle, but those of home, and fight for that golden path that Vecatra had shone them as the answer to their question. It was the only way to not make all their efforts, and those of all who came before them, not be in vain.

The heavy gray clouds overhead rumbled, and a single white tongue of lightning leapt out to strike somewhere in the deep woods, the thunder that followed acting as the opening bell to a torrent of rain that finally relieved the oppressive humidity of the past weeks, the water cool and refreshing in the summer heat.

Svart does not like the spirits of the dead wandering around. Svart decided to go into the woods to get away. I like it better in the woods. Thinking is better in the wilderness. Whatever they want to do with the walking dead of the Dragomir, or its live walking sister, Svart would rather just not be a part of it.

Svart thinks Alar-Rick has given him some good information. He reminds Svart of Victor. Similar jaw line, but not as funny. Victor was always funny, and a good employer. Alar-Rick is neither of those things. I wonder what an Alar is? Some predator like a wolf perhaps, just like Wolf-Rick. What is a Rick? Something that can have the qualities of a wolf or an alar.

He did alert Svart of the woman that is in town trying to corner the market and make it a monopoly. I can picture her face, but not remember her name. That something would affect Svart’s perfect memory is a sign of witchcraft. Is she a servant of the Witch, or is the Witch trying to hide her from Svart? It could also be the mages using their wyrd magic for their own evil purposes. They often attack Svart and affect his memory with constant sustained psychic attacks. I will have to find and test her to see if she is an ally or foe to Svart.

It is good that Ragnar and the new guy, Gram, are the Master of Coin now. Ragnar is probably the only man with the reputation and dedication to get the job done. Gram wants to create a market and take over business in Runeheim area. He has a good head on his shoulders. We should arrange on a market, if just to promote our own businesses. People need their items repaired, and we need to sell things.

Calls came out from the woods in the distance. Men shouted commands as beasts growled.

“They are out hunting the Skogerblodi.” said the Old Fox on Svart’s left. The Old Fox had lived in the woods for a long time. It was missing one eye, and had lived so long it had two tails. Svart’s mother had told him about him when he was still a child.

“He wants to die.” said the Skogerblodi Monster on Svart’s right. The Skogerblodi Monster looked something like an Alar. His eyes shined with reflected light even though the sky was moonless.

“That is their duty to do. My knowledge of the woods is deeper and my duties lay elsewhere.” I inform my forest companions.

“What is that?” asks the Old Fox.

“Searching.”

”For Treasure?”

“I have found Treasure in the woods: gems, precious metals, and rare woods.

Still, those are not what I am searching for. That is something even more important and more valuable.”

Journal Entry – Inquisition

The Inquisition is here, and they are here in force. They hold the Owl’s nest. People could not keep their mouths shut and they know if not everything, then close enough to it to damn us all. If we do nothing about them, then the best we can hope for is horror and watching friends and family murdered after we have defeated Chiropoler. I don’t see a good way out. At least with Chiropoler our choice is simple, we destroy the monstrosity or we die. So let’s take a look at our options.

Throw ourselves on the Mercy of the Inquisition, and repent for our so called sins.
If we do this, we might be able to save the most devout Benalians. There is a chance that doing this would save myself, Sophie and Julienne. Doing this would also doom any of the Circle who couldn’t flee, including Pascal. Not to mention that Sophie would never stand for it. Doing this is a Cowards option.

Flee the inquisition before Chiropoler is defeated.
If we delay until the inquisition is fully engaged fighting Chiropoler, we will have our best chance. To flee. If they are hurt enough in the fighting they might not even be able to properly pursue us. That could give us enough of a head start to separate and get to some kind of safety. The only upside is that this present a reasonable short term chance for most of Louisant to survive.

I have concerns about this option. The inquisition defeating Chiropoler is by no means certain without our aid. While they are no doubt capable warriors, they do not have the experience we do in fighting our way through Chiropoler’s body. We cannot leave until we know that an awake Chiropoler is not left behind us. If the inquisition does win, I suspect they would come after us all the harder for letting them fight it alone while we ran. This also feels like a cowards choice.

Flee the inquisition after Chiropoler is defeated.
It is possible that the fight against Chiropoler might do enough damage to the inquisition, that we stand a chance of escaping afterwards. With sufficient preparation, we might be able to flee to safety. Fleeing gives us a chance to preserve life without sacrificing inquisition lives.

The problem with this plan is that a focused inquisition would have a much easier time running us down. We must assume that they have the advantage in terms of logistics and communication. We also only have a vague idea of where we can flee safely. There is no guarantee that waiting to flee will work. Of the available plans this has one of the lowest chances of working. However, it is ethically acceptable, and is one we can at least attempt.

Convince the inquisition that we are right.
This is possible in theory. Anything is possible in theory. If this was to work, it would be the best option both from a moral and a practical standpoint. Practically speaking, our chances of pulling this off are nonexistent, laughable really. Even trying is likely to bring about the worst response from the inquisitors.

Fight the Inquisition.
We could fight, even being significantly outnumbered. We have potential allies they would not be prepared for and we know the land. We also have capabilities they will not be prepared for. Mages, the rites of the circle, recovered ancient weapons, newly designed weapons and whatever capabilities are still hidden from me. I think we would have a chance against what they have in Luisant.

But this is a bad plan. People would die on both sides, and I find the very concept of killing Benalians for our own benefit repugnant. Even if it would be self defense. I also know Sophie would hate it. Worse than that, I don’t think it would do any good. Even a clear victory would just bring more and more people hunting for us. Eventually we would lose. This should only be a last resort, and only to buy time to implement a better plan.

Throw the Inquisition after a better target.

If we could convince the Inquisition that there is a better target, they might leave us alone, at least for a time. This plan has many problems. First, the inquisition will not be easily fooled. Any target we send them after will need to be real. The only viable targets I can think of are Chriopoler, the Werewolves, the Spider Vecatrans and the Vecatran traders. Beyond Chrioploler and the werewolves, I don’t believe revealing any of those groups would be practical or ethical.

To an extent this is what we are already doing with Chriopoler, as they have to prioritize a resurrected Witch King over anything else. Most other plans will take time to implement and will benefit from distracting and delaying the Inquisition. So if we need to buy time beyond focussing on Chiropoler we should let them know about the werewolves.

Restore the Mists.

This is probably the best overall solution, especially if we can manage any control of the mists. It preserves our way of life, holding the community together. Of course I have no idea how we can accomplish this. We know very little about the original creation of the mists, beyond the fact that it involved both Benalian priests and a Vecatran circle.

Even given our ignorance, I think we need to pursue this goal while also expecting to need to follow another plan.