The Darkest of Days

Over and over, fingers worked to fold pieces of twine into concentric circles winding, around a shimmering bead placed in the center of the coil.  Scaalia and his siblings were busy winding the little sun charms that were traditionally crafted by their clan during this time of year.  This year supplies were short and so the charms they crafted were small but no less complex.  Their size was another reminder that the year had been tough and would only get tougher. 

Soon the snows would come in earnest to blanket the Lostwood.  With luck, the hanging of charms and the ritual prayers would remind the Sun of just how much the denizens missed her presence above the wood.  Hopefully after a time their devotions would warm her heart and she would brave the cold once again and emerge from the great cave that she had hidden herself in to melt the snows and warm the land once again.  It would take time, some years it took longer than others but those of the Lostwood knew that nothing with lasting power came quickly.

With this in mind they prepared for the festival on the darkest of days, when all the families of their clan would gather to celebrate.  It would be a day full of feasting and raucous celebration.  There would be a feast to honor the Sun when it was at its brightest to show their appreciation for the day light.  Following that the stories of their ancestors would be told, epic poems of how their clan had come to be.  As the sun set a great bonfire would be set alight to carry on the light of the sun and ward off the dark.  All around it they would dance and with the sound of their drums and voices they would call to the Sun to return to them, return life to the land, and end the harsh cold of winter.  The spirit of the celebration was most important; not the size of the fire, or the roar of the drums, but the love, and the joy of those who danced and sang.  As such the darkest of days was not so dark, and the light would only grow brighter as the year passed on.

Missed Deadline

No Post last week. My Grandmother passed away and I was attending a funeral and comiserating and re-connecting with family members I have not seen in a few years. There will be a post made in the 4 remaining days of this week.

Scaalia Bloodwood

Scaalia Bloodwood stood at the top of a small rise and gazed over the trees of the Lostwood towards the Citadel of Niallan. The citadel's presence was massive, a vast island of rock within the emerald green and tree bark brown sea. Eons of erosion had worn the surface of its stone towers to the same texture of any mountain. Even though the citadel was still miles off Scaalia could still feel it. It pulled at his senses whenever he was near. Faint as the perceptions might be he could almost see the Aether ripple and swirl around it even from this distance. Whenever he approached the citadel the faintest whispers of events from the last two thousand years played at the very edge of his senses simultaneously. They were like a faint echo heard but not distinctly discernible from the other sounds of the forest, except for the distinct impression of age that was left behind.

Scaalia's taloned grip tightened on the trunk of a nearby tree, the tips of his claws sinking gently into the rough bark. The wind picked up and tussled his mane. It carried the scent of travelers from outside the Lostwood - Humans from Braemoor likely by the smell of things. They would have goods for trading and news of the "outside" world as they called it. Scaalia began the decent back to the clan dwelling, eager to confirm the rumors that he had heard. News had reached even the heart of the Lostwood that the School of Seven Virtues had re-opened it doors to those who would take up the Path of the Hero. These traders might have information but there was only one way to know for sure. The spirits had told him that a journey waited in his future, he assumed that they had meant the trip, but something about that particular card reading hinted at more.

Learn more about the world of Seven Virtues: http://www.carusoking.com/sevenvirtues/Seven_Virtues/World.html

New Year

Well, this didn't go very well last year, so in the famous words of Monty Python "Start again!". Monday is the start of a new week, and is nearly almost a year from the last time I posted here. So... lets try this again shall we.

The Fall of Abelestran Bluesummers, Part 1

One foot in front of the other; this was the most important thing to keep in mind. If he did not keep moving he would be left with no choice but to face what had happened to his caravan. The images of carnage and destruction were burned clearly into his mind.

Families were slaughtered, torn apart like pieces of meat thrown to dogs. One unfortunate soul looked as if it had been smeared across fifty meters of rock. There wasn't much in the line of gore that indicated who it might have been, but there were enough scattered fragments of bone and what seemed to be either hair or fabric to tell that they hadn't survived. The most puzzling were the large splashes of blood on rock, dust, and sand with no bodies or remains of any kind nearby. He wasn't sure which was more troubling, the lack of remains, or the remains that were so easily identifiable. Abelestran had found the forearm and hand of thirteen year old Geneveve Truskani being picked at by vultures. She always wore a bracelet full of small metal charms that was given to her by Alehandro Belluskuro, a fourteen year old boy who fancied her. Alehandro's left arm had been found next to a ruined caravan wagon, his distinctive cord like tattoo still recognizable even though the end of the arm had been chewed up. In amongst some large shredded pieces of metal he found what resembled a torso dressed in the favorite outfit of the wagon master of the caravan, Bellasia Gerathurk. Abelestran had known four generations of Truskanis and Gerathruks, and five generations of Belluskuros. To have entire family lines wiped out in such a violent manner was simply grotesque. None were spared. Not the elderly nor the young.

The only wagon in the whole caravan that was left mostly undamaged was the one that Abelestran Bluesummers and his daughter Julianna inhabited. The wheels had been destroyed but nothing had been overturned inside. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, though slightly jostled. Julianna's favorite teddy bear sat prominently displayed in the middle of Abelestran's bed. Its innards had been torn open, most of the stuffing pulled from its insides. The majority of the right half of it's face had been burnt away and it's left leg hung limply only attached to the body by the barest of threads. There was a note underneath the bear scrawled in a child's messy handwriting: "I love you Daddy."

Abelestran walked through the driving wind, one off-white gloved hand held his wide brimmed hat in place. He stalked the Wasteland a grim, resolute figure dressed in black. With the collar of his great coat turned up and the hat pulled down close to his eyes the magics resident in the clothing came to life shielding him from the blowing dust and sand. Abelestran could sense the beast far ahead of him, the gifts of the Great Defender allowed him to perceive it. He knew exactly where it was headed. It had sent a message that it was coming for him, but not until it had destroyed everything that he cared about first. It was headed for his eldest daughter, Evangelene, in the town of Volag Mines. Thankfully it seemed as if it had not discovered where she was yet, as it was veering off course. Abelestran's body was sustained by magics, he did not need food, and he would find no restful sleep, so he continued to walk on.

Madrigal

No post this week as I was running around like a fool getting ready for Madrigal! Next Deadline Nov 2nd.

Findings from the Archaeological Dig at Ashin'Volag, Maraekesh

The following are transcribed excerpts from what appear to be diaries of Evangelene Bluesummers, a notable Post War era mystic. The documents were recovered at an archaeological dig site to the south west of what is currently Ashin'Volag, Maraekesh (map). The majority of the information contained within the diaries is irrecoverable simply due to the age and condition of the documents. Entries are displayed in chronological order.

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[Date unintelligible](1)

I am entering my fourth year of service to St. Alomimous the Great Defender. Compassion, severity, reserve, dedication; these are the major qualities of the Great Defender. It is a hard path to walk sometimes. It makes me wonder how my teacher has managed to walk the path for over one hundred and fifty years. He remembers the times before the Great War(2), however he does not speak of them often. Abelestran(3) tells me that in time I will grow to become a fine servant of [The remainder of this entry is damaged beyond recovery]

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Eversun: Day 4, (Cycle) [Remainder of date unintelligible](4)

We have a new addition to our family today! Abel and I found a baby girl in the wreckage of a small caravan. We called her Juilanna. She can't be more than three or four years old.

We almost missed her in our search of he battle site. The wreckage was pretty fresh, so we were on alert for any attackers who had lain in wait using the wrecked caravan as bait. The little girl was mostly buried under the sand and some debris which shielded from the elements. We dug her out and cleaned up her wounds as best we could.

She seems to be doing fairly well physically, though mentally she is probably still in shock. She seems to be mostly numb to everything that is going on around her. I asked my Father if I was like that when he found me out in the sand. He said it was much the same, though not exactly. Abel said that when he came across me enough time had passed since the initial attack that I was up and moving on my own. Sometimes I wonder how long [The remainder of this entry is damaged beyond recovery]

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Eversun: Day 8, Cycle 5, 103 AD(5)

Julianna is doing well. She seems to have finally adjusted to her new home and is beginning to open up to other people. It is good to see that she has not been traumatized too badly by the attack the took her from her family.

Father left for his pilgrimage(6) this morning. He will be gone for the next three days. I'm not sure how he can stand to go three days without food or water. I guess I'll have to figure it out though, he told me that next year I am to come with him if I am ready. I have a lot of training to do before I am ready for that. Well I suppose there is no time like the present. We're going to be waiting here for Father to return, I may as well start my exercises in the morning.

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1. Carbon dating of the ink used to scribe this entry places at -147 Common Era, one hundred and twenty three years after the start of the War of Elemental Power

2. The War of Elemental Power, better known to the people of that era as "The Great War" (See War of Elemental Power)

3. Abelestran Bluesummers, reported to be the sole worshipper of St. Alomimous who survived the Great War. (See: Abelestran Bluesummers)

4. Carbon dating indicates that this entry was penned with ink from the same time frame as the first entry, though its composition is slightly different. This entry was placed second in order after reviewing the contents.

5. AD in this case refers to the colloquial year designation "After Destruction". There was such large scale destruction during the Great War that some residents of that era thought the world would never recover.

6. This passage may refer to the "Journey of the Faithful". Records on the subject are incomplete, however it is known that worshippers of St. Alomimous would make an annual pilgrimage to a holy place of their patron. (See: Veneration of St. Alomimous)