*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.
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