Category: Journal Entry

He is breaking his biggest smile right now, as he kisses Lucille’s hand gently before putting a promise ring his Cousin Fabron helped forge. Deep inside he knew that Lucille would be happy at the proposal but he still thought that he was beneath her. Her family sure thought so, even if Lucille constantly reminded Pascal that the only opinion that mattered was hers.

Pascal remembered how his parents would joke about him marrying her when they were children. He would get so angry back then because girls were gross and he didn’t want to marry one later in life. By the time he was a teenager he blushed everytime she would come around, her brilliant blonde hair seemed to almost blow in the wind to him. There was no reason why someone so beautiful inside and out would choose someone that came from a line of gravediggers and dealt with death for a living. Someone who had whispers follow him as he walked by.

And yet she chose him.

It still felt surreal that he was going to marry her, that she would say yes and that she would be the mother of his children. It felt like a fairy tale, the ones his father said never came true.

“Pascal…” she said softly, giving him the softest smile “come back to me.”

He would lose himself in thoughts sometimes, not that he meant to do it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to…it’s just…” he tried to explain, “it feels -”

“Like a dream?” Lucille let out a soft laugh before kissing his cheek “We are dreamers, the both of us. But we can make our dreams a reality, together.”

He kissed her cheek gently, letting the emotions take over him “I promise to protect you and our children, to hold you above everyone but God. To love you everyday and be thankful everyday you’re by my side.”

She let out a soft laugh, one that sounded like music to his ears. “Shouldn’t you wait until the actual wedding ceremony for your vows?”

“I’m not worried about it,” he embraced her and held her as close to him as he could “I’ll tell you every day how much I love you if I have to”

“Everyday? For the rest of our lives? That’s quite a challenge, let’s see if you can do it.”

There was amusement in her voice and her twinkle in her eyes as she playfully challenged him to but he did. And he continued to do it even after life and after that beautiful twinkle had left her eyes. Even after burying her. It wasn’t rare to see Pascal Rocheaux kneeling on his dead wife’s grave, whispering with all the emotion he could muster how much he loved her.

He just hoped that one day the words would reach her even in death

What are you supposed to do when confronted with the fact that you can no longer trust the best of your heroes. What can you do when some of the most important figures heading a war are so thoroughly compromised that there’s just no way you can trust their judgement. What can actually be done when the nobility itself isnt even human anymore.

I am terrified of what the future holds. A man with the authority to speak with the emperors voice is under the compulsion of a vampire who is dumb enough to admit what it is? What even is going on. How could it get worse? Oh wait. The Eparch actions speak to being under the same control, and we already know that one of the fire mages is under its spell as well. Realistically at this point the entirety of the Grym is completely compromised by whatever malevolent spirit is running around in the corpse of the Lady Dressler.
How in the absolute fuck did it come to this?

It had actually been a pretty spectacular night. My first foray into archeology had been a massive success. Just in time we discover a weapon capable of hurting a witch, who this deep into the cycle of the aulfander is nearly impossible to wound? Then we go and disrupt a meeting of heretics and Alu himself retreats, wounded by the weapon we found? A major success against these heretics was won, and we returned to the tavern to celebrate our success with drinks and stories and boasts.

We had known about the accusation of Dressler being a vampire. Quill had told us as much while skirting an obvious compulsion. The markgraff had been told and ordered us to investigate. quietly. Determine the truth and report back. As someone interested in the path of combating and resolving malefic this right up my alley. By pure happenstance 2 different rogalian experts on vampirism had come to the city. A basic test of silver was proposed to expose the truth. It had even been suggested at court but shot down. *by the eparch*

So that night, reveling in our victory, when the Lady Dressler appeared, and took an offered seat directly to my right at the head of the table, It seemed like moment was perfect. The very stars aligned to make it possible even. Our own miners had freshly mined silver in its purest form. An easy space to make a quick plan presented itself as the Lady engaged with Sir Sven to her right. They seemed engaged in compelling conversation and I saw my moment to motion the newly branded Sigi to my side. A quick command. Silver carefully brushed on the ladys skin, made to look purely accidental as a slightly inebriated njord navigated the crowded space behind the seated noble lady. I watched a minute later as the plan happened perfectly. A small space, an accidental bump. The *fraction* of a second that her mask dropped as i saw the faintest smoke rise from the creatures skin. Ill give the monster credit, for It quickly regained its composure. I laughed at some inane joke Sir Logain on my left was making at the time. I dont know if we sold it as entirely accidental, but I have to say that in the following moments, everything felt organic enough that it could have been just an accidental brush, and that no one had seen it.

At this point I have to say, I was feeling damn proud of myself. Task after task had been successfully completed this forum, and this was just another job done well. I went back to joking with my friends. Drinking and talking of our success in the field that night, our goals for the future. We had already invited the leader of the caravans to dine with us the next forum, and I figured why not make it a party. Put the Lady further at ease and make us seem friendly enough before what I assumed would be an eventual violent confrontation somewhere in the future. I was so caught up in my success I failed to hear what had happened only two seats to my left. As I invited the lady to dine with us the following forum disaster struck. Or more properly, Sigi.

Apparently the newly branded man had been busy having a quite conversation with Sir Logain, our new archibald provided vampire specialist. These two apparently decided what better time to try to *KILL* a vampire was when it was surrounded by everyone drinking and eating and relaxing. Even I was caught completely unprepared. I dont even recall seeing Sigi get behind her again. I just saw his fist and a flash of silver and then everything went absolutely sideways.

The vampire obviously on edge from the earlier brush easily intercepted Sigi’s attempted sneak attack.
Before anyone else could act the eparch had placed Lady Dressler under her protection and rushed her from the tavern.
They hid the vampire in the grym cabin. At this point I had moved to engage. Backup would be coming. If we could keep her from escaping the hunter would be able to have a shot still. The eparch angerly blocked my way admonishing me for wanting to kill the monster. Then ordered me on a fools errand to find the inquisitor. As if he would have cared about something that has nothing to do with heresy.

The situation ended up as a standoff. Lady Dressler talking to Sir Logain surrounded by half the damn forum. Explaining how she is somehow a good vampire and not responsible for the spawn. Anyone with knowledge of the creatures has rolled their eyes when I repeated that line to them.

I go over the sequence of events in my head, replaying it, trying to gather the most important details for a record. I have no doubt my actions tonight will come into question with both The Lady Vindicta and Mother Amelia. The situation is a terrible one. The knowledge is out and the rumors are already starting. Its going to be imperative to regain control of the narrative before it spins out of control. I have some ideas there but am in no way as expert of the ways of rumors.

Im terrified of what the future holds. If you had asked me before this had happened I was optimistic of the future. But now, not knowing who to trust, im terrified.

The old knight sat in the cold, wrapped in his thick black coat and waited for the sun to rise.

The Spring war season had been shockingly quiet. The Doghearts had disbanded rather than face him on the field. Guthar had been crushed over the winter. The Dwarves had been sequestered in their home, though no word on the progress of the Fafnir forces had reached his ears. The settlement of Runeheim was reasonably secure. The banner of the black fort flew over the cursed Fort that had caused the knight no end of trouble since its discovery more than a year ago now. All and all, the immediate surroundings seemed to be in a good place. So he had taken his forces East through the woods his men referred to as ‘Murder Alley’. The name was only partially in jest; most of the casualties of war had taken place in those woods.

While his troops has passed through without issue, Sven wouldn’t be willing to swear there weren’t still enemies laying in wait there somewhere. It had been a troubling stretch of land since his arrival in the Theater. However, with his fighting men and women successfully on the other side, the land bridge was finally in his sights. That humble muddy stretch of river was the key to this entire campaign. It was the lifeblood of commerce. It hid the dreaded serpents. It was an open gate between the Njordr and the Rime. If they could control the land bridge and build his chains on the river, the knight was confident that they could bring some security to The Throne.

The only real hiccup with his Spring had been the unpleasantness in the tavern surrounded the Lady Dressler and certain members of The Grey Company. He sighed at the recollection of it. The knight had been charged with prosecuting the war in the north. He was at war with literal gods, and every small victory came with a similar loss somewhere else. Truly, it was exhausting. Things would be what they would be, however, and he would accomplish little by worrying about it now. Things outside his sphere of influence was, by definition, something he couldn’t impact. Therefore, it stood to reason that devoting thought and worry towards it would accomplish little. In that vein, he elected not to worry about it now. Honey had a hard time going back in the comb, and this situation seemed to be one of those. At the very least, immediate violence had been avoided.

As the light of the sun starts to color the sky in the grey of pre-dawn, the knight sighed. In less than an hour now, his staff would rouse themselves from slumber. He would instruct his horse to be saddled, and the knight would journey back towards Runeheim to assist in the moving of materials from the outskirts to the farms for build projects. A truly spellbinding waste of his talents, but it was, he had been told, important to be at least seen attempting a penance for his violence in war. His niece had been clear with him; some people were unhappy with the good works he did for The Throne. The knight understood the troubles; the North hadn’t ever accepted a doctrine of total war. They were slowly learning his lessons. Eventually, he was certain, they would understand. Until then, he would strive to enlighten the populace, at the bloody tip of a sword if need be. And in the meantime, he would haul wood from one corner of the Theater to the other. Because that was the best use of a high born general’s time.

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

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

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

“The runes…”

“Oh” he understands immediately.

—–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seems I did not have to wait long into my stay in Njordr to see a vampire. The spawn was everywhere Friday night, and finally Saturday night, a true vampire was revealed. The man they call “Sigi” communicated his intent to handle the situation to me and I agreed, not knowing he meant that he was going to strike her in the head with a lump of silver. I have to hand it to him for his bravery, though it is becoming clear my services as an educator are greatly needed here. The vampire proved to be oddly amicable and did not attempt to fight back as the Eparch took her into custody nor when I confronted her. This development is fascinating, and I will need to pursue it further. She claims to want to liberate these lands from the grips of their old gods, and this may be true. Speaking with her further may prove fruitful in diagnosing what mortality and soul remains within the creatures after they are turned.

Charcoal scraped over the loose sheets of bark in front of him, blackened fingertips tracing the lines of tally marks and labels to the quiet rhythm of the rain outside. A quiet harrumph of displeasure is followed shortly after by the rumbles of “hmm” and “ahh”, as the line is quickly struck out and re-tallied based on the half-scribbled note slid into the ledger’s margins. Why did people wait to submit their plans for spring so late in the winter, when there was little time left for reconciling the records against the stores?

Sighing, Etienne took the opportunity to stand and stretch, adding blackened fingerprints to similar marks on his shirt as he twisted to and fro, seeking the subtle pop of joints and ligaments sliding back into proper place after too much time stooped over the desk. Spring was on its way sooner than expected, and that was the problem. Short winter meant flush storehouses and happy townsfolk, but less time for the soil to renew itself and feed the endless maze of root and vine that fed the land. They could clear away the deadwood, crop the bent and broken limbs to allow for healthy growth, but was the food there to fuel it? And that was before this mess with the wizard and his curse, sapping the lifeblood of the forest for his own purposes…

His gaze turned to the storm outside, seeing the rivulets of runoff worm their way back to the river. Everything was connected here, hung in a delicate balance overseen by the spirits and managed by the efforts of man and beast. How will things change, when the Mists finally fail, when the Standing People no longer have the strength to talk to the people and are left as deaf and dumb as the lion statue the townsfolk worship around? Tears well in his eyes at the thought, quickly brushed away with a careless hand leaving streaks beneath his eyes.

Realizing what he had done, tears quickly changed to mirth, quiet laughter bubbling forth as he sought out the basin to clean the coal from face and hands. Enough maudlin thoughts, he confirmed to himself, reaching for soap and cloth. We should be looking forward to spring, and the return of the sun. The town was growing ever closer together, the Circle grew in strength as Patrons were selected and blessings granted, and the near impossible had occurred in Grandfather Oak agreeing that their changes were for the best.

As thoughts shifted to Oak, a still-damp hand paused to reach for the scar over his heart, still pink and fresh even all these months later. Yes, perhaps now is the time to finally have that chat, now that the winter winds were giving way to the season of change…

It’s been so long since I’ve seen or heard from anyone at home. I was glad to see Thyre, she looked healthy, and it gave me a little hope that our village was doing just fine. I was glad to hear how she was preparing for spring product and what she was hoping for in the coming season. But her response made a piece of my heart twist horribly.

I miss the family tavern. I miss experimenting with ingredients, the excitement of new things to enhance Mom’s product. I miss seeing familiar faces of the village, the wandering souls passing through and stopping for a night, even the grumpy ones that sometimes were a nice distraction. I miss the stories, the drama, the connections people can share over a moment of peace and nourishment.

Worst of all, part of me actually misses Mom and Dad. I blame that drink test. I blame my opponent for being Thyre. Of all the people to show up, why her in the first place? Then again, why would anyone like her or I be in Runeheim?

The test was a bit entertaining at least. The first drink was sickly sweet like mallow root, that coated the tongue in almost a thick syrupy feeling that was hard to swallow. It was like medicine, not the best tasting kind, but I can see how it’d help someone. The second, it about burned my tongue from the spice of it, though it had a certain warmth and satisfying kick once the flavor settled. Then the third, perhaps the best and the worst. It tasted like home. A gentle warm, vanilla, and honey-like flavor. Like the feeling of being out all day in the cold winter, before returning home to a warm bath, and a freshly made bed to sleep like a bear.

That taste reminded me of the hard nights where sleep was nowhere in reach, and Mom was willing to stay awake with me until I could find peace. It reminded me of Dad, when he told me I’d be a good hunter when I caught my first rabbit, after a morning of frustration that brought me to tears over my first trapping lesson. He must have redone my trap while I wasn’t looking. Either way, having a dad like him, I had to take whatever praise he was willing to tear out of his stone heart when I could.

Part of me regrets letting Clemens join along. I appreciated his presence of course, I barely know anyone in Runeheim at this point beyond a name or startings of friendship. But I wish he didn’t finish the third drink, if it meant I got to hang onto that feeling for a little longer. But he had fun too, at least, I think he did. He’s always nose deep in some mage related business or whatever that I’m not really sure what he’d find fun in.

I think I need to start making drinks regularly again. Mom would be proud if she knew her little girl was making it big in Runeheim. At least, I hope she’d be proud.

Black as night. Its face was nothing more than a white bird mask. Nearly taller than the door as it loomed over the threshold.

And at the worst time of a woman to face a situation such as that. I should have remembered at least one of the tales Mom told me as a child. Tales of strange creatures terrorizing women and girls when they least expect it, and what was the common thread? They were alone and their guard was down. They’d freeze like statues, when they should have done something, anything to ward off a potential threat.

But those were just stories, meant to teach children basic survival skills. What does a grown woman do when she sees something out of a tale, in real life? Was it luck for me, or perhaps the figure just lost interest? I feel a little lucky at least, that hopefully it didn’t see me as a threat and moved on.

Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination. I haven’t been in Runeheim for long, but one would be a fool to not see the stress and pressure everyone seems to be under. Maybe I’m part of the afflicted, my mind playing tricks as a result. Nothing a good drink and time with familiar faces could fix, I’m sure.

Perhaps I’ll bother Clemens to ramble on about anything at me. So long as it heals my mind of whatever this cursed figure has manifested itself from. And if he manages to keep my attention.