*Journal Entry
*Penned By Oliver TurnKey
When everything started I was determined to keep the Mori'Quessir woman.. A Ranger at arms length as Lolth's children are not to be trusted, and oddly enough tonight as I write I feel that Lady Amastacia felt the same way. Now after many weeks in the company of my new companions I have permitted some of my opinions to shift, based on the actions of an individual over the actions of a people and I am sorry to say that this is the first time that my father's advice and observations proved true.
I have tested her, as I am certain that she has tested me for I have no doubt of her intellect. In fact she is possessed of a quiet grace about her actions that is certainly admirable while still influenced by a vice or two that gentles Ellistrae's dark perfection. When she speaks she is rarely formal, never demeaning and always receptive. The sort of woman I would be comfortable welcoming among my kin.. If only they would stay their swords long enough to know her, though I have little trust that they would.
It is unusual, the kinship I have with her. My indulgence of Seldoforyama is of a different nature, like the responsibility I feel for my daughter. This new bond that is being forged between Lady Amastacia and I is rougher, more direct, the sort of thing that says to me that while we will definitely quarrel I will be able to trust her at my back.
At first I thought that it may have been romantic, through the teasing after the Vistani woman Valentina and after the nightmares that occurred in the Durst house. So I charmed her into joining me in a bath before retiring.
When the innkeeper escorted us to the small bath chamber there was little awkwardness as I took her measure and again I am sure that she took mine as we assisted each other in removing armor, we talked. Nothing tawdry and certainly we didn't discuss the horrors of the night before, nor did we discuss much of our upbringings or reasons we left our homes. But it was interesting to know that neither of us had the option of going home again. The deepest scar's cannot be seen on the flesh, and the worst wounds reveal not a drop of blood, like threads from the great Weaver I believe that this simple truth binds she and I together.
More recently, she nearly killed me. Amastacia was hiding a terrible and dark secret from the rest of us, my heart stills to think about her struggle in the time before it all happened. Now I should be writing about Castle Ravensloft and everything that lead up to it, but for the moment I am taking a step backwards. I want to see these people as they are, not through rain slicked glass. I don't want to watch, I want to touch them as they have touched me, I hate knowing what Amastacia went through she was forced to handle alone. In the carriage on the way to the castle she didn't even hint at the beast devouring her from the inside.
Rational Sidhion recognizes a betrayal.. Oliver however, Oliver knows that he would have kept the secret the same way the lady did. Now as she drifts quietly in the candle lit baths beside me I remember the sharp fear the streaked through my veins when she was finally consumed by the beast and changed, it was the heat of combat nothing made sense, the monster had just killed Seldoforyama then it wasn't alone. Amastacia struck, she landed a hard blow on the other and a glancing one on myself. The tone of the fight shifted as we slaked our blood thirst, she turned on me.. And for all the magic and blades at my disposal, the only one I could use was my tongue. Hurting her was unthinkable and though it almost cost me my life... I am not unhappy traveling together.
I trust her. I would take anyone who hurt her apart at the seams.
Thursday, April 27, 2017
Monday, April 17, 2017
Gidwin Bronzehammer
I am Gidwin, son of Toldwin, and servant of Clangeddin
Silverbeard, may His axe ever shine against our enemies.
I am a master of the forge, bending iron and steel to my
will and hardening my body with each strike of the hammer. The song of the anvil rings through the ages
among my people, and each of us answers it in their own way; but we are united
even in our differences, strong and stout as the bones of the earth.
I have marched with the soldiers of my race against those
who would see our strongholds plundered and our people scattered. I have lead those soldiers in battle, shared
their victory songs, and sang to the memories of those who did not return to
our halls.
Bronzehammer is the name given to me by my men, and it is
the name I bear to honor all of those I fought and bled with. My hammer is the instrument of my god, the
fire of his wrath and retribution. War
is where I was chosen to minister to my brothers and sisters, and it is in
battle that the truest heart is known, be it in valor or in cowardice.
Now I wander a land my people have never delved, and I seek
to wage war against a creature the likes of which I have never encountered in
all my years afield. Strahd is no devil,
as his people call him, he is something far worse: a virtual god in this
accursed realm. Five of us entered the
mists; I am all that remains. I fled for
my own survival, having watched my fellows slain in the blink of an eye. For days I hid myself, certain that the vampire
would soon discover me and slake his thirst with my blood. By the grace of Clangeddin I have lived to
fight another day; I have allies that seek the same thing I do. A day will come when Strahd rues the day he
let me slip through his fingers; and, on that day, war will come upon him like
the onset of an earthquake-violent and deadly.
I am Gidwin Bronzehammer, and I swear before the gods that I
will not rest until Strahd is slain at my feet.
In Memory of a Half-Elf (Common)
Night had fallen, and the moon in its last crescent was lifting above the edge of the horizon like a fine bow awaiting its wielder. The small clearing would serve the nights purpose, though it was no Lateu'quar that had the High Elf assembling his comrades. This was a night to recognize loss, tonight would be the long awaited Lateu'waan for a sword brother.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for an Elf to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"You are Seen, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Corellon by your grace, grant..." He began then paused, trying again, "Corellon by your grace, grant" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama son of Elves, a Half-elf, his mother the Human wife and love of a Moon elf. This High Elf wants only to see his friend and sword brother to a place of light beyond the veil. It is my regret that we may not return him to his people, and more still that he will not find rest in the wild lands.
"Not of Elf and not of Man, we know not what welcomes him at the end of this journey. May you rest well young warrior, priest of Kelemvor. May your deeds have earned you a place at Gwyllachaightaeryll learn the sword skill with the departed Elves of Corellon Larethian. May we meet again.
"Hail Seldoforyama, a star did shine on the hour we met. The time we had was short, I hope that we meet again in the hall of our spirit father.
"Hail, there do I see my father.
Hail, there do I see my mother.
And my sister and my brother
Hail, there do I see the line of my people
Back to the begin.
Hail, they do call to me.
They bid me take my place with them
In the halls of Gwyllachaightaeryl
Where the brave live forever.
"Corellon by your grace, grant more than the eternal rest of mortals. Give Seldoforyama a final farewell with his mother and take him into your army, for he is brave, kind, one to think before he acts and all that Elves strive to become."
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for an Elf to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"You are Seen, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Corellon by your grace, grant..." He began then paused, trying again, "Corellon by your grace, grant" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama son of Elves, a Half-elf, his mother the Human wife and love of a Moon elf. This High Elf wants only to see his friend and sword brother to a place of light beyond the veil. It is my regret that we may not return him to his people, and more still that he will not find rest in the wild lands.
"Not of Elf and not of Man, we know not what welcomes him at the end of this journey. May you rest well young warrior, priest of Kelemvor. May your deeds have earned you a place at Gwyllachaightaeryll learn the sword skill with the departed Elves of Corellon Larethian. May we meet again.
"Hail Seldoforyama, a star did shine on the hour we met. The time we had was short, I hope that we meet again in the hall of our spirit father.
"Hail, there do I see my father.
Hail, there do I see my mother.
And my sister and my brother
Hail, there do I see the line of my people
Back to the begin.
Hail, they do call to me.
They bid me take my place with them
In the halls of Gwyllachaightaeryl
Where the brave live forever.
"Corellon by your grace, grant more than the eternal rest of mortals. Give Seldoforyama a final farewell with his mother and take him into your army, for he is brave, kind, one to think before he acts and all that Elves strive to become."
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
In Memory of an Earendil (Elvish)
Night had fallen, and the moon in its last crescent was lifting above the edge of the horizon like a fine bow awaiting its wielder. The small clearing would serve the nights purpose, though it was no Lateu'quar that had the High Elf assembling his comrades. This was a night to recognize loss, tonight would be the long awaited Lateu'waan for a sword brother.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for the Tel'Quessir to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"Amin elea lle, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu..." He began then paused, trying again, "Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama utinu en' Tel'Quessir, y' Elandili, ho atara i' Edan verne' ar' mela en' y' Ithil'quessir. Sina Cala'quessir merna ere' a' elea ho Mellon ar' megil toror' a' y' yamen' en' me'a tar i' fana. Ta naa amin regret tanya lye Lotesse il- entula ho a' ho gwaith, ar' ner sal' tanya ro will il- utua esta e' i' merka ndor.
"Il- en' edhel ar' il- en' edan, lye sinta il- mani creosa ho ie' i' tyela en' sina lema. Lotesse lle Quel esta nessa Ohtar, Amandil en' Kelemvor. Lotesse lle deeds caela earned lle y' yamen' ie' gwyllachaightaeryll istima i' megil curu yassen i' wanye Tel'Quessir en' Corellon Larethian. Lotesse lye omenta au'.
"Aaye Seldoforyama, y' elen ume sila no' i' coiasira en' lye omenta. I' coiasira lye had nae ai, amin estela tanya lye omenta au' e' i' marde en' lye fea atar
"Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atar.
Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atara.
ar' amin seler' ar' amin toror'
Aaye, eller uma amin elea i' teema en' amin gwaith
n'alaquel a' i' yesta.
Aaye, ron uma yela a' amin.
ron bid amin sana amin yamen' yassen sen
e' i' halls en' Gwyllachaightaeryl
manke i' astald coia ten'oio.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu, ner i' oira esta en' firimar. Ona Seldoforyama y' meetima Namaarie yassen ho atara ar' sana ho e'a lle hosse, ten' ro naa astald, nostale, er now- n'ala ro tyara ar' ilya tanya Tel'Quessir moota natul-"
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
Oliver carefully placed the small hand carved chest at the center of their gathering, it would serve as a meager representation of the friend they had cremated within the walls of Castle Ravensloft, in contained the few precious mementos of a life cut short. Leening the fallen man's sword against the chest, he bowed his head in respect briefly before straightening. To look at those who had come out, he knew that they all needed this, but doubted that any of them wanted it as much as he needed it. Having been unable to properly pay respects to his own kin, Oliver's need for this went beyond words.
So he spoke, in a cool and strong voice, that was not much beyond his normal speaking tones.
"It is uncommon for the Tel'Quessir to be robbed of choice when the time comes for them to depart this realm. We retreat into the wilds, we become one with the wilds protecting our homes and those we leave behind through taking on a new form. We transcend, we become Ents, we become Dryads, or we cross the veil and claim our position of honor among the eternally young, among the Champions of Corellon himself to train within the hallowed halls of Gwyllachaightaeryll awaiting the time when Tel'Quessir should need the protection of that great force.
"Seldoforyama was stolen. His life claimed before it could be truly realized, and with work yet to be done. We who have stood at his side must now take up the tasks that once were his. It is under this united banner, with new purpose that we stand strong in the coming days.
"We do not mourn, for this life may return someday. Still, it is a painful knowledge, that we cannot yet celebrate the life he lived, a life that was what he chose, and a path that was what he desired.
"Silence is the way of change, at the heart of the storm you find stillness, on the eve of a great battle all who stand are somber. We enter the world naked and screaming. The same can be said for all races, in this one way we are equal. When we leave the world, no matter our intentions we have no choice but to go alone, and only a few know silence in passing. For those left behind however, there is always silence. The moment in conversation when we all pause sensing the phantom of our departed among us. Names that are painful when spoken, once joyous memories clouded. This silence is our communion with the winds of fate.
"And so when all is done, I shall return Seldoforyama's belongings to his father among the Ithil'quessir and I shall stand as his brother to sing the Song of Mourning."
Lifting a fine bottle of Elvish honey-wine, Oliver turned full circle, making eye contact with each in turn... even Katanalia, whom it was a struggle for him to trust. He poured the first glass of laure beside the small chest in libation for the departed.
"Amin elea lle, Seldoforyama."
He placed a token beside the drink, along with a stone polished to a sheen so bright that even beneath the slivered moon it sparkled. Turning he passed the bottle of laure to Amastacia, who drank deeply, laid a token of her own and passed the drink again and those present took turns laying tokens and toasting the dead. He continued shifting his words to Elvish as his tone took on the note of prayer.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu..." He began then paused, trying again, "Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu" exhaling he leveled his eyes on the hilt of Seldo's sword and smiled, finally the words began to flow.
"Seldoforyama utinu en' Tel'Quessir, y' Elandili, ho atara i' Edan verne' ar' mela en' y' Ithil'quessir. Sina Cala'quessir merna ere' a' elea ho Mellon ar' megil toror' a' y' yamen' en' me'a tar i' fana. Ta naa amin regret tanya lye Lotesse il- entula ho a' ho gwaith, ar' ner sal' tanya ro will il- utua esta e' i' merka ndor.
"Il- en' edhel ar' il- en' edan, lye sinta il- mani creosa ho ie' i' tyela en' sina lema. Lotesse lle Quel esta nessa Ohtar, Amandil en' Kelemvor. Lotesse lle deeds caela earned lle y' yamen' ie' gwyllachaightaeryll istima i' megil curu yassen i' wanye Tel'Quessir en' Corellon Larethian. Lotesse lye omenta au'.
"Aaye Seldoforyama, y' elen ume sila no' i' coiasira en' lye omenta. I' coiasira lye had nae ai, amin estela tanya lye omenta au' e' i' marde en' lye fea atar
"Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atar.
Aaye, eller uma amin elea amin atara.
ar' amin seler' ar' amin toror'
Aaye, eller uma amin elea i' teema en' amin gwaith
n'alaquel a' i' yesta.
Aaye, ron uma yela a' amin.
ron bid amin sana amin yamen' yassen sen
e' i' halls en' Gwyllachaightaeryl
manke i' astald coia ten'oio.
"Hei-Corellon shar-shelevu, ner i' oira esta en' firimar. Ona Seldoforyama y' meetima Namaarie yassen ho atara ar' sana ho e'a lle hosse, ten' ro naa astald, nostale, er now- n'ala ro tyara ar' ilya tanya Tel'Quessir moota natul-"
The others stood watch like an honor guard, silent. It was easy to know who had understood his words and those who had not. Kristoff was looking at the mementos, Amastacia stood holding the bottle of laure, eyes resting as his had on Seldo's sword. After a moment her gaze met his and again she toasted, taking a swallow from the bottle of fine honey-wine. The others had been respectful, Nova's eyes glittered furiously, or maybe with tears, the newcomers, the dragon child sat cross legged on the ground and dwarf Cleric had his head bowed and eyes closed, his lips moving silently for a fallen comrade he had never known.
Sunday, March 12, 2017
The Dreaming - Tel'Coiuva'Kaimela
Oliver TurnKey's inner monologue.
In the aftermath of the Durst Home my companions and I took some time and settled, partially becoming complacent as we learned as much of we could about the darkness we would be facing. This I have already described. After my last entry while walking the town I encountered an old women vending the most delicious smelling meat pies, only one gold a piece. And I will admit that with the lack of light as well as life in this cursed land I suspected magic, I suspected subterfuge and even poison. I still don't know if I was right or wrong. Being uncertain isn't a condition that I am familiar with as such it has made me very uncomfortable. Reluctantly I purchased six, one for each of my companions and myself and an extra that I passed on to a beggar so I could test it for curse or poison. When the beggar devoured it and continued on his way I assumed them to be safe and free of immediate danger.
I assumed.
Sharing the pies with the others is where our next trial began, and as yet I have no idea exactly what it is that I have done, except fail.
I stopped first by the Inn, delivering pies to Kristoff and Nova. I spotted a fair haired young man nervous about the edge of the room but paid much less attention than I should have to him or my two companions, the other two accepted the pies back at the house, Seldoforyama performed additional checks for poison or spells and we all ate and retired.
That’s when things started going sideways.
There are things that intoxicate. It might be a rich wine, it may be a lover's perfume or a beautiful view. The way that we experience perfection is through our very imperfections, we become dizzy and imbalanced from the first brush and release our inhibitions, our petty concerns are lost at just the first brush, the hint, that drop of blood in the vast ocean of our senses takes our mind and bodies to another place and on occasion it takes us to faraway times as well.
Under ordinary circumstances Tel'Quessir in Reverie enter a perfect state of being, one with the world around us and yet our minds are removed to a tranquil darkness. We do not know dreams as the mortal races, we experience maur which is akin to a dream state, where we can relive past events or remember important happenings.
The night I shared the pies I retired for Reverie and it was not maur that claimed my mind, it was as though someone had looked into my heart and read from its pages my deepest longings and beloved memories, polished them to a bright shine and gave them back to me as one clear story that could break the heart of any man with its perfection.
To say that you must know of what I am speaking is a fallacy. First, you will know sorrow. And not just any sorrow, but the longing sorrow that comes with unfulfillment. Your soul will recall things that not even you can name, and it will want them back again. Sometimes, the old ways become an addiction, with all the problems an addiction brings: estrangement, loneliness, cravings the likes of which cannot be described. I have been alone for so long that the glimpse of menel that I was given consumed me.
Second, you will know confusion. The mind, for all it's wonderful complexities, is also limited by the emotions we experience. You begin to fabricate memories for yourself. The mind has always been able to do this, this power is a sort of magic given to us by the Seldarine as a means of protection. And there are a lot of things in this crazy world to be protected from, even yourself. In my experiences I knew that there was something amiss, they were my memories after all.. How could they feel this wrong? And yet, how could they be wrong when they were all I had wanted in the lonely Aeloulaev that have passed since I was forced from my Queen's side.
And finally, you will know Change. It is said that change is a good thing. Most times, your heart would argue with that. When lovers part forever, that is change and it brings pain and sadness, even if that relationship was bad and breaking up is the good way. It is so with anything else. Your baby turns one, you're happy and sad. After all, although your child is healthy and growing up strong as she should, she is no longer your tiny infant to suckle. There has been a gradual change, and it brought both emotions. I became driven in a direction I should have been wise enough to avoid.
In conclusion, beware the perils of memory. It is a blackberry bramble swallowed path. You're going to be nicked and are bound to bleed. You run the chance of coming away scarred, or your skin becoming too tough to absorb the next lesson. Learn not to skirt these dangers, but look through them and find the berries they protect. Sometimes they can be sour, most times they can be sweet. All will be earned in the right way and will be worth it. Trust your senses, if you have any reason to doubt your eyes, close them.
These are the lessons I have learned in this active dream that took over my reverie. Things that would have saved us all.. Had I not been so completely taken in by its beauty, weakened by the events in the house. I will call it Tel'Coiuva'Kaimela.. whatever spell was used to read my heart and steal my mind... It means the living dream.
In the aftermath of the Durst Home my companions and I took some time and settled, partially becoming complacent as we learned as much of we could about the darkness we would be facing. This I have already described. After my last entry while walking the town I encountered an old women vending the most delicious smelling meat pies, only one gold a piece. And I will admit that with the lack of light as well as life in this cursed land I suspected magic, I suspected subterfuge and even poison. I still don't know if I was right or wrong. Being uncertain isn't a condition that I am familiar with as such it has made me very uncomfortable. Reluctantly I purchased six, one for each of my companions and myself and an extra that I passed on to a beggar so I could test it for curse or poison. When the beggar devoured it and continued on his way I assumed them to be safe and free of immediate danger.
I assumed.
Sharing the pies with the others is where our next trial began, and as yet I have no idea exactly what it is that I have done, except fail.
I stopped first by the Inn, delivering pies to Kristoff and Nova. I spotted a fair haired young man nervous about the edge of the room but paid much less attention than I should have to him or my two companions, the other two accepted the pies back at the house, Seldoforyama performed additional checks for poison or spells and we all ate and retired.
That’s when things started going sideways.
There are things that intoxicate. It might be a rich wine, it may be a lover's perfume or a beautiful view. The way that we experience perfection is through our very imperfections, we become dizzy and imbalanced from the first brush and release our inhibitions, our petty concerns are lost at just the first brush, the hint, that drop of blood in the vast ocean of our senses takes our mind and bodies to another place and on occasion it takes us to faraway times as well.
Under ordinary circumstances Tel'Quessir in Reverie enter a perfect state of being, one with the world around us and yet our minds are removed to a tranquil darkness. We do not know dreams as the mortal races, we experience maur which is akin to a dream state, where we can relive past events or remember important happenings.
The night I shared the pies I retired for Reverie and it was not maur that claimed my mind, it was as though someone had looked into my heart and read from its pages my deepest longings and beloved memories, polished them to a bright shine and gave them back to me as one clear story that could break the heart of any man with its perfection.
To say that you must know of what I am speaking is a fallacy. First, you will know sorrow. And not just any sorrow, but the longing sorrow that comes with unfulfillment. Your soul will recall things that not even you can name, and it will want them back again. Sometimes, the old ways become an addiction, with all the problems an addiction brings: estrangement, loneliness, cravings the likes of which cannot be described. I have been alone for so long that the glimpse of menel that I was given consumed me.
Second, you will know confusion. The mind, for all it's wonderful complexities, is also limited by the emotions we experience. You begin to fabricate memories for yourself. The mind has always been able to do this, this power is a sort of magic given to us by the Seldarine as a means of protection. And there are a lot of things in this crazy world to be protected from, even yourself. In my experiences I knew that there was something amiss, they were my memories after all.. How could they feel this wrong? And yet, how could they be wrong when they were all I had wanted in the lonely Aeloulaev that have passed since I was forced from my Queen's side.
And finally, you will know Change. It is said that change is a good thing. Most times, your heart would argue with that. When lovers part forever, that is change and it brings pain and sadness, even if that relationship was bad and breaking up is the good way. It is so with anything else. Your baby turns one, you're happy and sad. After all, although your child is healthy and growing up strong as she should, she is no longer your tiny infant to suckle. There has been a gradual change, and it brought both emotions. I became driven in a direction I should have been wise enough to avoid.
In conclusion, beware the perils of memory. It is a blackberry bramble swallowed path. You're going to be nicked and are bound to bleed. You run the chance of coming away scarred, or your skin becoming too tough to absorb the next lesson. Learn not to skirt these dangers, but look through them and find the berries they protect. Sometimes they can be sour, most times they can be sweet. All will be earned in the right way and will be worth it. Trust your senses, if you have any reason to doubt your eyes, close them.
These are the lessons I have learned in this active dream that took over my reverie. Things that would have saved us all.. Had I not been so completely taken in by its beauty, weakened by the events in the house. I will call it Tel'Coiuva'Kaimela.. whatever spell was used to read my heart and steal my mind... It means the living dream.
Friday, February 17, 2017
A Knights Work
*Journal Entry
*Penned By Oliver TurnKey
The handwriting is graceful flipping in swift curves, the careful penmanship shows that the writer to care with his words, there is a bit of grit from where sand was used to dry the ink.
Writing about all that has happened is no easy task, it should be simple to pass details through ink to parchment however some time has passed and still my experiences have not lost there edge and every attempt to recall acts like a new blade placed directly to my spirit for tempering from the forge. I have thrice bathed, laundered my armor pads and polished my mail. The small rewards some how do not feel like they were worth the ordeal. Unable to calm my mind even in Reverie, I turned to planning out the finer aspects that may help us glean even the smallest control with this foe.
I digress. The house that we sought answers from was alive, of a fashion. The Durst family in a bumbling impersonation of true magic were able to build some sentience within its walls. Though it may have been at the cost of the lives of all in the family, a tragedy when viewed from the outside. Though Kristoff, the Half-Elf Wizard, and myself had something of a more intimate encounter. While exploring the house we were on the third floor when the spirits of the children opted to interact with us directly, in a very violent fashion that nothing in any of my study, nothing in all my experience could have prepared me. It was akin to entering Reverie, I was completely aware of my surroundings and yet had no control over my own words or actions, I was being ridden and driven by the spirit of a young boy, the bow was too terrified to articulate much and cried with great vigor while I was helpless I could see the occasional flash of his memories of being locked in that room where he and his sister starved.
It was such a shock that it took nearly an hour for me to push the boy aside and retake my body with the force of my own will. And all I can say is that it was an experience that no-one should envy.
In the time since I have had words with my companions regarding tasks that could strengthen our position. I spoke with Seldoforyama, the Cleric about creating a temple space in the nightmarish space beneath the catacombs of the Durst Home, gifting him with the offering of my old short sword for his Lord Kelemvor. I asked Amastacia our unlikely Ranger to scout the area and see about mapping or acquiring maps of the area. Nova our Bard to gather local knowledge and gossip by playing the Tavern, Kristoff will stay at the attached Inn while researching lore. I shall play my role as the Noble to line a few pockets in an effort to earn trust.
In this mess of Barovia I have never longed for the Halls of my Queen more, I wish to see the night sky clear of this cursed fog.
Hei-Corollon shar-shelevu, tie a' amin, vee' i' giliath Lotesse il.
(Corellon, may your grace grant direction to me, as the stars may not.)
*Penned By Oliver TurnKey
The handwriting is graceful flipping in swift curves, the careful penmanship shows that the writer to care with his words, there is a bit of grit from where sand was used to dry the ink.
Writing about all that has happened is no easy task, it should be simple to pass details through ink to parchment however some time has passed and still my experiences have not lost there edge and every attempt to recall acts like a new blade placed directly to my spirit for tempering from the forge. I have thrice bathed, laundered my armor pads and polished my mail. The small rewards some how do not feel like they were worth the ordeal. Unable to calm my mind even in Reverie, I turned to planning out the finer aspects that may help us glean even the smallest control with this foe.
I digress. The house that we sought answers from was alive, of a fashion. The Durst family in a bumbling impersonation of true magic were able to build some sentience within its walls. Though it may have been at the cost of the lives of all in the family, a tragedy when viewed from the outside. Though Kristoff, the Half-Elf Wizard, and myself had something of a more intimate encounter. While exploring the house we were on the third floor when the spirits of the children opted to interact with us directly, in a very violent fashion that nothing in any of my study, nothing in all my experience could have prepared me. It was akin to entering Reverie, I was completely aware of my surroundings and yet had no control over my own words or actions, I was being ridden and driven by the spirit of a young boy, the bow was too terrified to articulate much and cried with great vigor while I was helpless I could see the occasional flash of his memories of being locked in that room where he and his sister starved.
It was such a shock that it took nearly an hour for me to push the boy aside and retake my body with the force of my own will. And all I can say is that it was an experience that no-one should envy.
In the time since I have had words with my companions regarding tasks that could strengthen our position. I spoke with Seldoforyama, the Cleric about creating a temple space in the nightmarish space beneath the catacombs of the Durst Home, gifting him with the offering of my old short sword for his Lord Kelemvor. I asked Amastacia our unlikely Ranger to scout the area and see about mapping or acquiring maps of the area. Nova our Bard to gather local knowledge and gossip by playing the Tavern, Kristoff will stay at the attached Inn while researching lore. I shall play my role as the Noble to line a few pockets in an effort to earn trust.
In this mess of Barovia I have never longed for the Halls of my Queen more, I wish to see the night sky clear of this cursed fog.
Hei-Corollon shar-shelevu, tie a' amin, vee' i' giliath Lotesse il.
(Corellon, may your grace grant direction to me, as the stars may not.)
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
So, they have arrived...
They have arrived...
Over the years, I have taken many consorts, turning all of them. I feed on those who live in Barovia, but they offer little in nourishment or comfort. All of my beauties were above reproach in their appearance but none matched that of Tatyana, my eternal love. Many adventurer's came and fell at my hand. It is the thrill of the chase that I live for as I am certain a suitable heir to my kingdom will never come.
These five new visitors have all come in search of something. They arrived this morn with my messengers but they knew not whom they served. It matters not they serve me for I have allowed them to remain just as they have not come against me. This, save for their ability to leave this cursed world, is exactly why their existence remains. The visitors, they are such an odd bunch. Two half-breeds of human and their version of immortal known as Elf, a full blood Elf, another full blood Elf but of a darker variety than I have seen before and a demon woman. Ha! They bring a demon to slay the devil? I will watch this group closely and keep direct notes on each.
First, the "holy" male is the most striking of their group as the "armor of..." whatever he deems as his god protects him. He will soon learn I am god here. The battle is hard fought but I always come up as the victor. This one will be no different and I shall relish the victory over his false god. His being a half breed alone makes him unworthy of attention from his god, therefore verifying its falsehood. yet his magic still continues to work and so, I am again forced to believe there must be some form of hierarchy in their world.
Next, the dark elf seems as an outcast yet, this one is proving the most deadly. Her eyes glow as though by some strange luminescence is occurring. These types typically do not last a week in my home of Barovia. If this one fares the same fate, I shall be most disappointed. I had hoped this collection of oddities a finer place in the depths of my castle. She, above the others, is the most welcome to my home. She alone understands what it is like to be feared and hated simply based on appearance. Am I so different that my pale skin repulses as her dark skin frightens others?
The lighter skinned full blood is most obvious a fighter. Why else would such a high borne bother with weapons? His birthright seems to have been his own undoing as my dear Valentina took him to her bed the very first night they arrived. He must have been lacking for comfort from the rest of the group. Either that or his royal nursemaid suckled him from her tit for so long, he forgot the etiquette of courtship. No matter, I have other plans for this one.
The half blood who carries his book was by far the most interesting. His way with words brought my to tears of laughter as he and his group stumbled through the home of death. If at no other time than the possession of his body by the little girl made the laughter turn to fits of the same. His mind, his greatest weapon, all controlled by a spirit of ten years of age. His voice, her words, the thoughts of that accomplishment still brings a bloody tear to my eye.
Finally, the demon. Such an odd character for these four to have brought. Seemingly, her eyes lie only for the songs to be sung in their inevitable demise rather than the stories of success. A talented little demon she is but to face against the devil himself will require more than talent alone. I do believe I will make this one my play thing. How I would love to have the demon sing the song of her fallen friends in my court. Force her to remember all that I have done and will do to them all whilst watching the tears flow as she regales of my glory.
Glory... it is all that remains for me now, until I find my reincarnated Tatyana. Little do they know, I have already found her and soon, she will be mine!
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