Category: Journal Entry

It was a strange thing, to largely being able to ignore pain, but keenly aware of an irritation. It was the same with being afraid. He didn’t really get afraid anymore, but he felt concerns and worries. Those feelings were like cousins, or seemed rooted in the same bucket of… stuff.

The Friar hadn’t slept in months. Instead, he walked and prayed. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with someone wandering the countryside. Sometime with a family that he just happened upon. It didn’t really matter. He just walked and walked and walked. He was supposed to tend to the fringe anyway, so he did just that. All the while, the back of his mind replayed the last market over and over. It shouldn’t hurt, this feeling of being alone again. But it did smart a bit.

Dwelling on it wasn’t something the preacher could afford, so he just keeps walking.

“You were appointed what?”

“That’s right,” Valko hummed, chest puffed out. “Reeve of Trade.”

Ianthe rolled her eyes. “Ugh.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It means someone recognized my importance around here.”

“Teles certainly is generous…or desperate.”

Valko only sounded a little indignant. “Well, there’s been a growing need to organize the trickle of outsiders passing through Luisant, what with the Mists growing weaker.”

“At least you won’t go wandering off in them again.” Ianthe scoffed under her breath before admitting, “It is troubling, though.”

“Yeah,” Valko fretted. “Things have been rather hectic.”

Even if he believed he was competent enough, there was still a thread of insecurity that wove itself through him. Yet he clung to the feeling of being helpful, wishing to contribute all he could, especially when his superiors were busy with more pressing matters.

“Well maybe it will finally manage to keep you out of trouble. You may even come to be respectable– if you’re not careful.” Ianthe teased before a realization dawned on her. “Aren’t you not supposed to handle coin?”

Valko was, unfortunately, often in the habit of embracing the new, especially with so much change happening around him. He sought it out frequently. His passion had always oscillated between the archaic wisdoms of the past and those that the future held out as a lure. Presently, his inner pendulum had swung to the latter. It wasn’t like he was the only Vecatran to find allure in the modern, either. So much change wouldn’t really affect him, would it?

Still, Valko was not keen on losing his mind this early in life. He’d at least hoped for another decade or so before that happened.

“Uhm, well, technically yes. I mean, I can handle things in a pinch, but if it becomes a regular thing, I could really use-“

“My help?” Ianthe asked. “After everything, you want me to do favors for you?”

“Yes, exactly, you get it!”

“I don’t know,” Ianthe mused, checking her nails. “Why should I?”

Valko stooped just enough to look up pleadingly at Ianthe. “Pleaaaase? I can make sure you get your pick of fine goods before anyone else.”

Ianthe raised a brow.

“After the town is provided for. Great spirits, you think so low of me?”

A beat of silence hung over the two for a moment.

“Okay, yes, fair point,” Valko waved his hand, before taking a more sincere tone. “Please? It would mean so much to me.”

Ianthe regarded him sternly before a smirk twitched her lips. “Fine, I can help you.” 

Valko lit up. “You always were such a peach! Thank you!”

He reached to embrace her, but Ianthe shoved him away, turning in a huff. “You owe me!”

Valko stood there stupidly as he watched her stomp away. More-so than any semblance of pride at his new responsibilities, it was the ever so subtle softer look in Ianthe’s eyes that truly lifted his spirits.

I am new to faith.

From what I understand, there are many gods in the world, formed through the faith of people over time. For whatever reason, humans are better at channeling their faith into the world than other creatures, such as elves, and can do so much more quickly.

Benelians follow a spirit that seeped through the cracks in reality and merged with a white lion, led by priests devoted to various task-related archangels.

Vecatrans theoretically follow a spirit of nature which they seek to honor, led by a group of priests called Mothers who interface with a person who used to be human but is now merged with a spirit called a Crone, who communicates with the spirits on their behalf.

For most of my life, I thought that these religions were a method of control that “leaders” used to ensure people fell in line. For some, that was Father Vellete, Father Clement, Cheveille, and the like. They came with expectations of following a proscribed path. They knew best and would dictate that path to others in a way that none really disputed.

As those people have fallen away, replaced by Granny Jo, Isabella, Sophie, Henri, and Etienne, it has become much clearer that they are doing their best but also failing along the way to a degree unseen by those who came before. They even change fundamental truths about the faiths of the area to accommodate difficult realities which were in conflict with prior iterations. With a less clear understanding of the faith, I imagine that this will muddle the spirits and their power over time, much in the way we have struggled to properly shape Primus.

Yet in a world where faith is so mutable and the realities of our situation so harsh, it is foolish not to turn to our creations for strength.

The story of Primus is unlike the other faiths of Luisant. Primus is born of several things, primarily a spirit of the Red Stag which watched over the forests of Luisant and the spirit of those in the area who have suffered for the hunger of the adversary. The adversary has brought great suffering, consuming lives, hope, and faith, but from that suffering, a new force emerged.

Primus represents the resilience and defiance of the people of Luisant. Unlike the rigid doctrines of the Benelians or the mystical reverence of the Vecatrans, Primus embodies the adaptable and indomitable spirit of the oppressed who refuse to be broken. Our faith in Primus is not about blind obedience or ancient rituals that we have long forgotten the reasons for; it’s about survival, unity, and the shared strength of a community determined to protect its own.

I have seen the toll that blind faith in gods and corrupted spirits takes on people. I’ve watched as once devout followers of the Benelians falter and as the Vecatrans lose themselves in their futile attempts to appease the Crone. But Primus is different. Primus is a god of our making, a manifestation of our collective will and determination. We feed Primus with our memories, our struggles, and our victories, forging a god that is as resilient and determined as we are.

When we call upon Primus. It is not as a supplicant begging for mercy, but as a co-creator, channeling our rage, defiance, and hope into something greater than myself. The rituals we perform are not mere traditions; they are acts of empowerment, binding us to Primus and to each other, building our legacy for the future with our memories and intent.

As I stand with my family, House Chanceux, I see in their eyes the same fire that burns within me. We are bound by more than blood or circumstance; we are united by our shared faith in a god that truly understands our plight because it is born from it. Together, we will shape Primus into a force capable of standing against anything that would seek to control or destroy us. In this mutable world, where so many have failed us, we have created something that will not. Primus is our legacy, our protector, and through our faith, we will see Luisant endure and thrive.

*Laying in a meadow looking at the clouds*

*Sigh*

What the fuck even happened? Everyone was on the same page. Pierre was going to take on a curse in order to cleanse the grove of corruption. It was decided and done. But then Etienne just decided kill a folkwise spirit on the behest of the fucking werewolves to resolve it? Hadn’t we spoken to the spider crone who said that doing so might be a ploy by the werewolf crone to empower the werewolf crone? So he isn’t too keen on working with the Benalians to work on town problems he doesn’t see as affecting him, but he will work with the fucking werewolves? So it will be easier for them to hunt and kill us? I honestly hope he doesn’t think that just because he believes in this truce the circle has with the wolves that the wolves believe they owe us any thought. He is supposed to lead us, but I haven’t heard from anyone in the circle who actually understands what he was hoping to accomplish.

The circle should be preparing to leave Luisant. I don’t know how they expect to keep their activities a secret when the mists vanish. I know they have an attachment to the land and the grove, and I understand their desire to try to keep the spirits around as long as possible, but we are going to be killed. And the spirits have said that their strength is weakening with the mists and they won’t be able to manifest anyway. I understand the spirits are manifestations of Vecatra, but they are not Vecatra herself, and we must remember while we revere the spirits, we worship Vecatra. Vecatra is more than just Luisant. I don’t even know how much we should be paying heed to the spirits. They hold power, but their word isn’t law. They don’t understand humans and what we need. They just understand their domain. I just feel like we have given them too much. Instead of keeping balance with the forest, sometimes it feels like some in our circle have given themselves up to the forest without question. Given the spirits too much power. And maybe that is the way to be a good Vecatran, but it doesn’t feel correct. The way they were begging for Ash to come back, and willing to give in to her demands, even if they were unreasonable. I guess there was some negotiation because we didn’t kill the Benalians. But if it was her choice to leave because the way we were progressing as a people was so against who she is as a being, then why not just let her leave?

I just. I just feel so disconnected from them. I don’t want to disappoint Ma or Pa. And I have tried to be a good Vecatran. I have tried to be there for the circle and attend the gatherings. Just don’t understand how they think. I don’t understand how they believe. I understand tending to the earth and respecting Vecatra’s gifts. But I don’t understand the spirits. I don’t understand the rituals. I don’t feel Vecatra outside of the earth or the trees or the stones. Just how I don’t understand the Benalians. They speak of God and angels and meaning and purpose, and I don’t understand what they mean. It is like they can feel something I can’t. At least with Vecatra I can feel her under me. How can you feel an Angel? It’s not like you can visit them. So I guess I am a Vecatran? Maybe not a good one, but maybe that is what I am. It’s just the point of a circle seems to be about feeling connected in our beliefs and connected to each other, and I feel so hopelessly disconnected.

Cadence is talking about leaving Luisant when all is said and done. Maybe I will leave with her and Milo. Maybe I just need to get out of here and understand more of the work. She says I don’t need to stop being Vecatran. And maybe I don’t. But can you be a Vecatran just on your own? And can I call myself one if I don’t keep up with the practice and worship? I would be a Maiden without a Mother. I guess I would be less Maiden and more Orphan. I guess I have been one before and it wasn’t so bad. I’m gonna miss Ma and Pa, but it will be ok. I’ll find them again someday. But nothing needs to be decided now. Chiropoler first, then the rest of my life.

Milo grins as they stand back up. Blood is dripping down their death as they grin.
“I didn’t hear a goddamned bell!” They laugh, hands forming signs and channeling magic faster than thought. Dimly in the back of their mind a cautious voice warns them of the anacrusis, but there’s no time. A n anacrusis beast is tromping around the woods hurting people, and if their body isn’t going to move correctly on its own then they’re going to wrap the damn thing in strings of magic and puppet it like a fucking marionette.
The spells wash over them, strengthening their body, reducing the swelling in their joints, numbing the pain. It was temporary, they knew. Barely a hairs breadth from being psychosomatic. But they had a job to do.

Milo sat at a table with their wife and a few vecatrans. They resisted the urge to sneer. These fucking tree worshippers were barely more than screeching monkeys, throwing their shit around and calling it power. Why were they even talking to these things? It’s not like they had any good ideas, or like they could recognize a good idea if it was waving a banana in front of their stupid faces.
They feel their mouth open to say something, but their hands were faster. In less time than it took for them to breath in, their hands had woven the sign for Seal. With the final motion, they felt clarity come over them.
Empathy returned. The vecatrans were scared. Worried. A Mage had come to town and nearly killed their whole pantheon on accident. They felt unseen, they felt threatened. Milo could empathize.

They frowned, eyebrows furrowing. Such an acute and targeted lack of empathy. Their studies in psychology, both mundane and arcane, had warned of this as a side effect of Anacrusis resolution. They’d had quite a bit channeled out of them just last market. It had probably amplified their feelings of general annoyance at the vecatrans into a perceived lack of humanity. Not difficult. The disgusting creatures wanted so much to live like animals then why shouldn’t Milo treat them like-
Faster than thought, another handsign. Clarity returned.
They’d have to talk to Cadence about that later.

Milo stood quietly, bathed in darkness. Chiropolers lungs were horrifying, yes, but honestly no worse than the rest of him. Eventually it stopped being gross and just became What This Place Is Like.
Milo fidgeted nervously with a pebble they’d plucked from their boot. Their father had come again. Appeared in spectral form to remind them that they were a danger. But they were strong this time. They knew what they were worth.
“My body will be a prison for disease. The place they go to die.” They’d said. The word had leapt unbidden to their lips in the moment, but they were true. Milo was a natural at magic. They could manipulate disease like it was second nature. They’d already killed several just that market, pulling them from others and then locking them away until Sophie could burn them up. They weren’t a danger any more. The only thing they’d ever been good at was killing, and now they could even kill disease.
With a casual toss the pebble flew from their hands, guided not by magic but by their dexterity. It clattered against the far stone wall, knocking some loos rock from it and making a terrible clatter. The Anacrusis Beast stalking them from the darkness turned towards the sound and charged, buying their group a little extra time

Spring 609 –

The mists weaken around us day by day, and I fear not only for what our present holds – but our future as well. As hypothetical – say we do manage to succeed in our conflict against Chriopholer? What then? The mists will still recede, and the old conflicts of the lion folk will rear their heads again in our peaceful valley. There will come a time where we of Vecatra will need to once again fade into obscurity lest we be subjugated to the judgements of the outside world. I fear what will become of our friends amongst the town who do not share our views – will they be persecuted for suffering us to live? Or will they be given clemency?

There is a certain amount of wonder in my mind for places beyond the mists – I recall stories my father would tell, passed down from generation to generation – of the sea, of the mountains, of the wonders of the world outside our little valley and our way of life. This last market a group of traders and wanderers found their way through the mists to Luisant – a strange bunch, who followed the ways of Vecatra while still living amongst the lions. From them I obtained two things – the first was knowledge – that it was possible to live our lives outside the mists, that we can make ends meet – I’m no trader, but I believe a wandering tinker would prove useful to the outside world, and would be a good way to have a degree of anonymity. The second was a map – it depicted rivers, pathways, and cities, all outside our world – of the much larger world – of the world my father would tell me stories of when I was young.

I’m still not quite sure what our plan for dealing with Chriopholer is – we keep delving deeper and deeper into the caverns, performing tasks that feel like we’re helping it rather than hurting, and while it confuses me, people much more competent and/or confidant than I say it is the right thing. I’m not sure what the town guard can do to it – there are many beasts and monsters living within, which they can surely help with, but I feel that their swords and pikes would be but toothpicks to it. My uncle and I currently labor towards larger weapons – devices that can launch wood and steel with great force – enough to topple stone, yet I fear that still is not enough. I know that Auriane is working to create bombs, that could be more promising, as could whatever ancient lion device that cousin Isabel is working towards. I still worry that our efforts may be in vain, but really – what else can we do other than fight it in our own way?

Aspen came to me near the end of the last market – they would like to see me become a mother, provided I can aid in the destruction/ dissolution/ whatever descriptor is applicable to the demise of the ancestor entity known as “Truth”. I have not met them, but I have heard the tales, and how they stand as anathema to Aspen’s will. I know not how an encounter with them will end, how it will change me and the people of the Veneaux family, but I do believe that the only way to fight them is with a greater Truth that can persuade them to end their cycle of using the truths of the world to harm others. I may create a weapon that can end Chiropholer, I may find a way for my people to live safely in the outside world – but if I can’t lead that weapon to and in battle, and if I can’t lead my people to safety, then what good is it having these devices and ideas? While things are moving faster than I could have possibly have imagined, in a vector unseen to me, I think the only way forward is to have the strength and wisdom of the standing folk, guiding my arrows, my voice, my people – Me.

Svart had been in the woods searching. First, to find the blocked paths. He had gathered what he could, and then returned to find the rest of the stones needed for repair of the broken cairn. They cairn couldn’t be fixed without Svart. Svart wondered if those were what THEY had told him to seek, but he did not think so. There was still something else to find. But first, he would rest.

Svart got up from my rest. It was time to go to court. He usually misses court, but he needs to fulfill his duties and know what is going on in his city. He gets up from his bunk and puts on his best tunic, and dons his regal wolf-bear cloak. Satisfied that he is looking his best he heads to court.

He tries to enter without making any sound and stands in the back. Still, when he enters a hush spreads through the room as the various factions realize Svart is there. Those that followed the Witch’s orders knew fear and began to worry. Others wondered what it meant. Knut, Svart’s friend and ally, gave a nod to Svart knowing he was there to support him in court. The room tried to regain its composure and continue with its conversation.

The Mages tried to befuddle his attention. They had been casting spells on Svart to keep him between markets from remembering that they are mages. However, Svart is overcoming their enchantments and is able to remember now. The green mage had switched to a blue outfit to try and enhance his magic, but Svart saw through his attempts. Svart was becoming immune to their spells and remembering who they were.

Various issues were brought up on monster hunting at court. The mages wanted to be put into a position of handling this as they could manipulate it for their own advantage. Knut saw through their lies and made it a matter for the fighting men like us. The matter of the Master of Coin was brought up. Ever since Victor had been manipulated by the Witch to make bad decisions, nobody else had been able to handle the city’s coin as well as he could. Svart has always paid his taxes. Svart is hardworking and dependable. Others, like the Gothics must not be pulling their share. Looks like they might have Ragnar work things out. He’d sort things out. He’s a good Njord with a sensible head on his shoulders.

Thunder rumbled overhead. Black clouds hung low and swollen, ready to burst and release their precious cargo to the thirsty earth below. Spring was here, and the rivers ran rapid with the thaw, carrying life from the rills to the swamp and beyond. Bird calls and the chirping of tree-dwellers blended into a song of life, growth, and green that swept him along its current as he strode deeper into the forest, eyes near closed as he listened for the song.

‘This might be our last Spring.’

The thought came to him unbidden, yet undeniable. The Mists were all but spent, the Court reduced to whispers and final blessings granted through shrines despite the restoration of the Grove and the leylines beneath it, and Etienne could hear it in the song of the woods. There was life, yes, but life fed by death. Growth, at the expense of something, some*one* else. The green shoots reached for the sun, but their flowers and fruit seemed…lacking in some essential element, leaving them hollow and unfulfilling in the stomach.

Already the Hungerer’s restlessness was visible, the effects of it waking resulting in the constant gnawing in the gut, the weariness in the bones. Would their winter stores make it to the first harvests in summer? Each ration stretched shorter and shorter by the day, and if nothing changed, the elders would be reduced to eating pine shoots and grass soup by the end of spring.

Finally reaching the Grove, he paused to take it in: the mushroom circles and carefully tended herb plots; the newly crafted shrines in their place of honor; the canopy overhead stretching out shadows to protect from sun and rain alike. It looked much like it always had, but for how much longer? Without the Mists, if they were to survive the Beast Below, what sort of a future would their children have? One of hiding and secrecy, the Grove reduced to a place of secrets and lies instead of joy and laughter?

He looked at his hand, once again overgrown with bark and moss much like his Patron, the temporary reprieve from the granting of the patronage faded like a dream. It was a visible sign of their Oath, a reminder of one possibility for the Circle and Luisant, and one he hoped wouldn’t be required. He *wanted* to trust in kith and kin, in the spirit of cooperation and comradery that had been built up these past few years, but was he right to make that call?

The clouds above gave out, no longer able to hold up under their mighty load, and the pale morning turned to a sodden gray as the heavens wept. Tears of joy and relief, or tears of sorrow he could not tell. Perhaps it was both, and rightly so, as his own tears mingled with the rain as it fell, each one a silent prayer for wisdom that he was unsure if it would be answered, but needed to be made nonetheless.

Hakon is gone.

I knew it would happen someday. A violent man usually meets a violent end, but should not have been like that.

Vulnerable, alone, ambushed not by men but monsters in the bunks we sleep in.

Sigi slit the throat of one of the vampire spawn. The other tried to charge at me but Sigi held it at bay.

I invoked stone spear after stone spear at the thing. Each laced with hatred and fury at the beast that feasted upon my friend. Eventually one hit the beast in the heart and it went limp.

But it was far too late. Hakon was barely alive. Paler than I’ver ever seen him. He only had enough time to gasp his last words to Brother Erasmus.

I slammed a wall with my fist. Tears welling up. Fury roiling. Despair grasping at mind.

I didn’t have time though. I had a mountain to conquer. Miva could see it painted on my face. She handed me a small bottle. I knew what is was. It wasn’t an ordinary brew. Something to cope with the suffering.

I chugged the thing. It tasted awful, but I barely noticed. I left the bunk and went through the tavern. I must have terrified the Eparch as she nearly drew her sword upon me. Clearly the death of a friend casted a darkness over me. I suppose it was a natural reaction, as in that moment I was a good man preparing to war with demons. I had a mountain to climb.

The archmage tasked us with a mystery. A complex ritual of magic that required skilled use of both incantation and hand signs to channel great arcane power. He provided us the material for the circle and instructions. Java and Sygrun constructed the sigil. I volunteered to perform the ritual.

When the circle was ready. I took a deep breath. I had the steps clearly in mind, the incantion on my tongue, and my hands flowed from sign to sign with a grace I didn’t know I had. An twisted thing appeared, incomphrensible shape and arcane light. The archmage asked it questions I had no understanding of. Then when he finished he gestured to me to ask my questions.

I had none… I had climbed the mountain to save my friend from his curse. I failed. Why was I here? Facing this arcane thing?

Then it tried to pry into my head. Tried to surface old fears. I grit my teeth and barked a snippy question to halt its advances into my mind, binding it with the circle. Eventually Java suggested a question and I asked it. I got an answer I didn’t understand. I sure hope Sygrun remembers what that thing said.

We no longer had questions. We really should have thought harder before we started the mystery. I starting to channel energy to dismiss this thing and end the ritual, but I was weary from it’s psychic assault. I had to beg Sygrun to enter the circle and lend me just another ounce of strength. She did, and the beast vanished into the evening air.

The Archmage was impressed with me despite me berating myself for my recklessness. “You’ve become very adept despite your short tenure as a wizard”

He remarked at Java knowing the boundaries of her ability and lightly scolded Sygrun for not being brave enough to enter the circle with me. He made it clear that together we three mages can do much more together than we ever could alone. We had reached the summit and impressed its owner.

If only Hakon could see me now. I wonder what he’d say? I think he’d be proud of me.

I think he is proud of me. I’m am a talented mage.

I am one of the best mages in Runeheim.

I vow to all those I could not save,

The Night Malefic will run when the good man goes to war