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From Atop the Summit, I Vow To Those I Could Not Save…

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

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The Mark of Recognition

During court it was decided that Mages would be required to wear an armband that signifies them as a member of one of the Guilds recognized by the Gothic empire. This edict was in response to complaints from some peasants that blamed mages for crops growing weird and other odd happenings.

While I agreed, that maybe a mage could be responsible for those things, this edict seemed like a poor way to handle this. It was reasoned that if Knights and Priests have to wear marks of their order, why shouldn’t mages? While I had some small pride in becoming a mage, others were concerned that marking mages would make them easy targets for malice.

It is a foolish thing, choosing to inflict violence upon a Knight or Priest is unthinkable for most of the citizens in Runeheim. Who would dare to incur the wrath of the powerful knight houses or go against the words of Benalus by attacking his devoted?

But mages are sometimes not afforded this protection. Some view mages as either heretics or heretics waiting to happen. Some view mages as perverters of the natural order, greedy men and women who defile the land with every breath they take. If a peasant decides to blame a mage for his crop failing and decides he has nothing to lose by stabbing the mage in the back, Would the guild swear vengeance for their fallen comrade? Or would a rival mage just see a threat to their power removed without their hands being dirtied?

I worry that this edict puts myself and the other mages dedicated to Runeheim in danger. I can only hope I fostered enough good will amongst the people in my Woodwise duties and my efforts in defending the town from the undead to feel safe with my back turned on people I’m trying to protect.

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Since You Left…

Severin stands at the grave of his wife, who died tragically, but of completely natural and explained unavoidable occurrence that did not result in a malefic apparition nor any dark secrets, just three years previously. He thinks to himself in a manner that seems to him as if he was speaking to her.

“My life has changed so much in the last few years. From a gatherer who spent most of his free time in the tavern to a knight of the new order serving the local Lady. Funny, my clothes are still just as patched. Still, my life isn’t the only one that has changed.

Esme is 13 and becoming a young woman. Rude things have been said about her by Yves friends. Not so rude that Yves or I would have to step in. While those boys think they are being daring, at this point they don’t know any of the concepts that would be really rude. It does bring attention that I need to have a woman talk to her. There are some things I just am not suited for trying to explain. I certainly am not ready for it. What I can do is try and make sure she gets what she needs for a better life. She has been taught the etiquette and Jovienne recipes, perhaps I can manage to get her a position in the castle kitchens?

Yves, now 11, is taking over his duties as my squire. I was worrying earlier in that day if he and his sisters might have trouble adjusting to my new status as a knight. However, with no prompting on my part, when a member of the community decided to find jobs for all the children of the village to keep them active, he declared he was going to be my squire. For now, he is managing my jerkin, boots, and other leather items. He is being taught how to care for my regular sword and bow. When I have armor, he’ll look after that to some degree and if my previous experience with knights means anything, more importantly, he’ll help me put it on and take it off.

Feyette is now 10 and corrects me, and rightfully so, when I act like she is still a younger child. She is the age now that I keep thinking Esme still is. She seems to have grown up the quickest and takes me by surprise the most in that since you have left. Perhaps I can take over my beekeeping and brewing to her, which would also mean what I know about apothecary skills also.

Finally, Bijou is now 17. First of our children as you called him. He is old for a dog, and has had a hard life at times. Especially recently with the things in the woods and trouble the kids have gotten into, that he has protected them from. He might not make it to see any of the children married even if he does not meet another troll. He has been watching over them better than I have in the years since you left.”

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Profit

Risk and reward, to forces that balanced Ragnar’s life pulling upon him like weighted stones, threatening to topple him in either direction, I life without reward was punishing and cruel, hardly worth living, while I life without risk was indolent and tiresome, and created nothing of value. Ragnar pondered what his life has been these past months, and he found an imbalance, he’d always readily accepted risk, but often refused reward, from pride, or from carelessness. It was while he was pondering this that Lady Fafnir approached him “I want to make you my knight.” The words themselves were shocking, the unsettling sensation upon his body as she said them even more so. He’d heard much about the Fafnir’s many unpleasant things, he knew their Maxim, Sven had told it to him long ago, “Everything is Ours” a declaration that rang throughout the world, frightening, powerful, it resonated with Ragnar. He spent many hours thinking of the offer he had been made, he did not believe Lady Fafnir to be a good person, but her offer had awakened ambition within him, a fire that had burned to embers within him. The maxim turned over in his head “Everything is ours” or could it be: “Everything is mine?”He needed more in order to be able to protect those he loved, he needed power and influence to create peace in his home, perhaps he was making a mistake, but Ragnar had never been averse to large risks. It was time for reward, it was time for Profit.

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The Power of Names

“Ragnar Stoneskin, it is a simple name, earned through an act of bravery, an act of defiance, defiance of death. But what does it mean to be Stoneskin, are you a shield to protect those around you? no in that you have certainly failed, Death follows you Stoneskin, a list of names soaked in blood sits at your feet, Rolf, Hakon, Halbjorn… Esparei? Some sacrificed themselves willingly yes Stoneskin, yet if you had been stronger would they have needed to? Though again, perhaps it is arrogance to assume you could have ever saved them, perhaps you simply do not matter Stoneskin, and when you die your name will become dust, as the river erodes the mountain so too will you become nothing. You say that as long as you draw breath then you will push onward, I hope that has served you well, for it is all you can do isn’t it? Keep pushing forward Stoneskin and perhaps someday-” Ragnar threw a rock into the still water of the river, disrupting his reflection and quieting his mind, he looked at his reflection, distorting in the water, turning away from it before the water stilled. He walked away, the never-ending pulse behind his eyes driving him forward, as always.

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How Willow and Ash Found Their Place and Got Their Feet Wet — A Vecatran Folktale

Once upon a time, when the world was brand new, Trees walked the earth like creatures, looking for their favorite places to grow. None could settle into the ground, and eventually, the many faces of Vecatra grew tired of the chaos and indecision. They called a meeting of all the Tree people so that everyone could claim a territory for themselves. As the day of the meeting approached, the trees all talked excitedly about which areas they wanted— Oak and Holly arguing in booming voices over which time of year was best, Fir and Pine arguing over the high mountains—until their voices sounded loud as the ocean.
There were two trees, however, who didn’t participate in the shouting and bragging. They were quiet souls, given to contemplation, and didn’t like the noise and competition of the greater forest. These two, Ash and Willow, had been friends since they were saplings, and so they wandered away to find a quiet place together.
It was early Spring in this new world. The snows were melting, the rains had been falling, and without trees in the ground to anchor the soil and slow the waters, fields, and low areas were beginning to flood. Rivers crested their banks, carrying away good soil and carving new channels. Willow and Ash, out walking together, discovered a deep channel with a river raging away at the bottom and stood together to watch. The waters raced and churned, for the river was in a hurry to reach the ocean. Ash threw a stick into the water and they and Willow watched it sail away.
“Willow,” said Ash, “I don’t want to go to the meeting.”
Willow looked at her friend. “Why not?” she asked.
“Vecatra scares me. How can I ask for what I want if I’m too scared to speak?”
Willow looked back at the water. She bent her head as low as she could and dipped the ends of her hair into the river. Her feet were sinking into the mud around her. Ash threw another stick.
“I don’t want to go to the meeting, either,” said Willow. “I bet the faces of Vecatra wouldn’t even miss us if we stayed here.” She had sunk to her ankles in the mud, and the cool earth felt good around her toes. Just upstream, a part of the riverbank gave way, and mud collected against the little dam she was making with her feet. Soon, water pooled and a little eddy formed. Ash dropped a seed into the eddy, and they both watched it swirl around.
Ash hopped to the opposite bank. “You should let your feet sink into the ground,” said Willow. “It feels really good.” So Ash wiggled their toes until they were buried, and then laughed as the worms crawled around the hairs on their feet.
“Willow,” said Ash, “you’re growing.”
And she was. She was growing strong and supple, nourished by the water and rich mud of the riverbank. Her feet sank deeper still, and she stretched herself further over the water. “I love this place,” she said to Ash. They looked very handsome over there in the evening light, their broad leaves glowing.
That night they watched the stars come out and shine in the still water near Willow’s feet. If they wished for anything on the evening star, neither said anything about it to the other. They had always been comfortable with silence in each other’s company.
The next day, all the trees gathered together around standing stones in a great meadow. At the appointed hour the many faces of Vecatra arrived—they came as a great, branch-shaking wind and as a shower of rain. Some came on the notes of a tune, and others in a twinkle of starlight. In the mighty presence of such company, how could the Trees keep up their arguments?
One by one the trees discovered their places and left quietly—some abashed and others with a short laugh, as if they were just learning their purpose in life. Oak and Gorse together took the fields and meadows, with Aspen close behind. Fir and Pine took the high mountains, along with their cousin the Cypress. Apple went on a long walk to keep a meeting she had with an emerging species of monkey and wound up settling near a mountain range in the center of the continent. Soon the meadow was empty again, and Vecatra saw that it was good. They just had one more stop to make on this early Spring morning.
Meanwhile, back at the riverbank, Willow and Ash were having a great time gazing at the surface of the water and trying to count the fish swimming by. It wasn’t until the small birds took shelter under Ash’s branches that they noticed that the wind had picked up and that thunderheads were starting to gather overhead. Ash felt their heart race, and Willow was nervously flashing the white side of her leaves. Thunder boomed, distantly yet, as Willow tried to tug her feet from the sucking mud.
“Willow,” said the River, in a voice like an echo from a deep cave, “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know! We missed the meeting!” She replied.
“I think Vecatra is coming to us,” said Ash.
“Ash, Willow, listen,” said the River. “Have you not already chosen your places?” Willow stopped tugging at her feet to consider the question as a light rain began to fall. “Am I not a worthy place to grow?” asked the River. “Have courage. We will face Vecatra together. Let me help you.”
And so Willow and Ash buried their feet even deeper in the mud, toes becoming roots and reaching into the river bed. Water filled their trunks and branches, and swirled around their knees. Willow felt the River cool her anxious heart, and a sense of belonging suffused her spirit. Ash took a deep breath and looked at their friend, and together they faced the growing winds.
“Willow and Ash,” boomed the voice of thunder. “We missed you this morning!” “We…we already found our place,” said Willow.
“We didn’t want to trouble you,” said Ash.
“Are you sure?” asked the Thunder. “We could give you any place you want.” “We’re sure,” said Willow.
“Why would you not face us?” asked the Rain.
“Oh, hush,” said the River. “Am I not a face of Vecatra? I knew where they were and we have chosen their place together.”
There was a pause.
“So be it,” said the many faces of Vecatra together. “all is as it should be, and as it shall be. Willow and Ash, yours are the waterways. Guard them well.” And with that, they left in all their noisy splendor, and to this day Willow and Ash stand side by side near the rivers and streams of the world, cooling the water in summer and anchoring the banks in spring. The rivers strengthen the trees, feed them, and carry their seed. All is as it should be, and Vecatra sees that it is good.

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On Seeking and Finding

The midmorning sun shone through the near-barren trees, barely chasing away the lingering mists that clung to the forest floor. The running creek masked Valko’s footsteps, though he was already treading lightly – albeit leisurely – down the pathway through the ancient trees.

He’d intended, as usual, to skip over his daily responsibilities, though his pack was heavy with a few mining tools. They were something he’d tossed in there at the last minute before setting out, and certainly didn’t intend to use. Working on such a beautiful early-spring morning almost felt like a sin.

Had things in Luisant always been so complicated? As a youngster, he’d always tuned out the endless droning of the elders, only pricking up an ear when gossip was whispered. Politics bored him, and he cared little for the religious disputes clashing within the town as he found it easy to get along with most. If he really wished to weasel his way into an unfolding drama, he had no trouble batting his eyelashes to charm his way into a situation. He’d do anything (as long as he had an easy out) to leave with a good story.

Stories…

Perhaps he’s been searching in the wrong place.

The lofty fairy tales that he’d been seeking while he spent months at the edge of the Mists always seemed to elude him. He’d already perused most of the relevant tomes in the village and picked the brains of others in search of the stories that stirred his soul. Surely there was something beyond the borders of the village that was even more magical and profoundly inspiring. No responsibilities or obligations had been able to curb his incessant thirst for it, leading him into the swirling fog day after day, and late into the night. His soul yearned for the untouchable and mystical, something that would shake him to his core as if the very earth was rumbling beneath his feet.

But now, the world was quite literally rumbling beneath his feet – the stirring of an ancient being was a reality he’d have to now face, whether he was ready for it or not.

Stories, however lofty, are typically forged in some fact, event, or feeling. Even the tallest of tales carry wisdom, hope, victory. Did he really think he would find such a spark tucked away into a mountain crevice or trapped under a murky bog? That some benevolent creature of the woods would hand him a scroll for naught in exchange?

It wasn’t that he didn’t care for the others, though. He wanted– more-so now than ever– to give back to the town the life and sustenance that it had given him. And being there, in the midst of the action amongst his brethren, was the most inspired he’d felt in moons.

Perhaps, a quiet thought suggested, the reason he sought grandiose tales was due to how small he’d always felt. How mundane was the life of a textile monger, the daily drudgery of a merchant’s life. Yet was it really mundane, then, when those textiles protected those he loved from the cold or kept them cool in the late summer sun? When it protected them from the claws and fangs of the monsters that threatened them? When there was love darned into rips that needed repair, embroidery to show a little spark of the soul wearing the garment?

Even something as mundane as fabric holds stories, and it took the village splitting apart by the seams for him to realize that.

Valko felt a little miserable at the revelation, a rare frown creeping into his expression.

Ah, there!

Nestled into the bank was an excellent deposit of iron, just out of sight from the overgrown foliage it was tucked into. Even at a glance, Valko knew it’d provide good metal for armor or weaponry for one of the town’s protectors – and someday, perhaps even him. The thought dispelled the spiral of negative thoughts.

Gently, Valko scooped the moss that had been diligently growing over the stone, spreading the patch onto a nearby boulder to let it keep growing. He whispered a prayer of thanks to the forest for providing such a resource. He withdrew a small pick from his rucksack and crouched by the stone, settling, for the first time in a long while, into work.

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We Aren’t There Yet

Theo stared into the fire, bandages covering a fresh gash in his side that would certainly scar and his thoughts continued to race from the fight the previous night:

It should have been enough to have Primus help him!
Either I’m too weak to help, or Primus is too weak to help in any way that matters.
It can lead Suzette through a maze of meat, but refilling the pie plate or actually protection from the servants of its enemy, that’s too much to ask just yet.
Drugs were better than that, they helped me kill another one of those monsters and save the others with me.
It guided my blade just fine, but I felt no safer as it came for me.
Maybe thats why it hated me so much, why it was so intent on chasing me down-

It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t enough.
We must feed it, honor it for what it must become, give it strength that it may give us strength.
The handful of us isn’t enough to steer it quickly and the time seems to be coming sooner than we might want.
We need the others to do the rites, to make the offerings, to make it powerful enough to protect us.
I don’t know enough about ritual to do that, maybe Cole can explain some of it? Alphonse is probably better at it, but he is far too distracted to be helpful.
What can we do with that….memory, truth, legacy, a defender of the downtrodden, and avenger of wrongs. Something that will defeat the adversary.
I feel like I’m just waiting for the elf to betray us and yet I no so little about making a god that I can only screw it up I think.
Funniest thing about belief I’ve learned, thinking you’re going to screw it up is probably just as bad as actually screwing it up.

Fuck.

I guess we’ll get everyone to something and see where that goes.
I do believe that my family will be safe, that we will figure it out in the end, it just comes all too quickly and damned does this still hurt.
Who knows if another sacrifice would have made the difference.

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Nadja and Family

As the sun begins reach the western horizon, Theo paces through the woods as Aryeh checks his traps for rabbits and fowl. Cole continues to find mushrooms here and there along the hill as they continue far off the path.

Theo’s rant at the others can be heard from some distance,
“Should I even be treating Nadia like family? The more I think about it, the more I don’t think she even really cares about us. She just wants a family, friends, people to care about her after what the way her family treated her. She wasn’t really willing to turn her back on Zakhar, a man whom had wanted and tried to kill me while betraying her orders when he had given his word to her…

She isn’t really committed to this. Nadia was freaking out over Vecatrans even being in town, and yet managed to talk herself into going along with their plans so that they could make the mists expand and still couldn’t bring herself to hate Zakhar. She won’t be ready for Primus either. And you know…if she was committed to embracing us as family, that would be fine. There’s plenty of people who are Vecatrans whom I still call family and still love or don’t give a shit at all, but I just don’t think she understands what we go through. Her pain is different, our suffering is no different than anyone else’s in this place as far as she seems to be concerned. She just likes being snarky.

Maybe its the gaslighting the Benelians did to her. Its great to give up your total desire for power, but caring about the community of Luisant probably means you can’t even really bring yourself to take sides, even when you see people being wronged. I guess if you wanna be a goodie goodie and have lost your edge in the world, you probably don’t want to be like us, you probably were never one of us…

Someone will be happy to tell her stories about how its great that we are all a community of equals through their lying teeth-Ouch!”

Theo rubs his head as Aryeh points down the hill to where a large shadow seems to be. Cole shakes her head and leads them deeper into the forest, away from whatever creature may have been waiting for them.

“We should find a Willow tree soon, I gotta pee.” he mutters under his breath.

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Zakhar’s End – A Roast

Theo stands before the others of the House Chanceux, formerly the Undesireables, as they eat what food they have been able to acquire, a couple of birds that Aryeh was able to hunt, some berries that Cole was able to pick, and a few bottles of wine that Theo had grabbed from a cellar.

“Zakhar, the Fallen Knight is dead. Someone might try to give him last rites, maybe they even did, but let me say a few words about him.
Some would have him believe that he was a man of many virtues, Faith, Honor, Justice, Mercy, and Courage, but the world came to know better.
A Betrayer of his Faith – He betrayed the faith he openly adhered to in order to support a Spider Crone and do its bidding.
Dishonored – Betrayed the oaths of Knighthood he had sworn to his Lady in disobeying her orders.
Cruel – Tortured and beat a man for trying to steal food for his friends because they had none.
Deceitful – When caught and imprisoned for his crimes, commanded those loyal to him to attack members of the community, nearly killing Henri.
Cowardly – Kidnapped children to lure their minders into an ambush.

Zakar, Failure of the Kruzmores Knights, we are not sad to see you go. You were long a blight upon this place and may your failures be long remembered.

Let us also take a moment is to welcome back Cobalt and Frank after a harrowing experience of being taken by this creature. Nothing about what you went through was ok, and only through his death can we see that righted. I am sorry Frank that we couldn’t get you a new leg.

This moment through is truly about Cole, the one who ended Zakhar’s miserable existence. With Primus watching, we celebrate her for standing up for those who could not defend themselves and taking that moment of opportunity rather than leaving it to chance. Here here.”

The group toasts, with the kids hooting and hollering and Frank and Cobalt smile to one another excited to have finally gotten to see a monster die.