Touching Base 3/10/23 Arilian's Journal
Oct 4, 2023 12:43:04 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Andy D, and 1 more like this
Post by carlosdosbrickos on Oct 4, 2023 12:43:04 GMT
The Journal of Arilian Evensong, entry 32
Well, diary mine, it has been a little over a month now since my ignoble expulsion from the glittering splendour of the Winter Court. Over a month of hopelessness, of hardship, and of deep, deep humiliation. A month of dragging myself wearily across this misbegotten excuse for a continent, in vain search of anything even vaguely resembling civilization. A forlorn hope indeed.
And yet, today, for the first time since my exile, something genuinely extraordinary happened. Something I can’t quite believe.
Let me explain.
Failing utterly to locate civilization, I had stumbled instead across a pitiful little settlement in the middle of nowhere named “Daring Heights”. If there's a bright centre to the multiverse (and there is; it’s called the Palace of the Winter Court), I now found myself in the town that it's farthest from.
I spent almost the last of my coin on food and lodgings that a month ago I wouldn’t have wished on my my worst enemy's hounds. Taking stock, I found myself in desperate straits; without an immediate source of income, starvation would soon become a very real threat.
That such a fate should befall the Winter Court’s Emissary Most Extraordinary to Kantas, Bearer of the Mordant Shroud and Seeker of the Clavis Ultima! Hah! That mocking title hangs over me like a pall, the most cutting of insults. The Clavis Ultima, or Final Key, is a child’s fable and a fool’s quest. The Mordant Shroud is, as far as I can tell, a particularly filthy blanket. This Kantas place appears to be some barren, blasted wilderness on the Prime Material Plane, of all places, and the only thing extraordinary about being its emissary is that I'm the only one sufficiently disgraced to warrant the role! And naturally, it comes with no stipend.
And so, faced with desperate circumstances, I did something rather foolish. I signed up with a band of “adventurers”, hoping that my courtier’s talents of facilitation, eloquence and diplomacy would serve me where my utter inexperience of combat would not. Like I said, rather foolish.
Early signs were not good. My companions (they called themselves Hariniss, Azier, Ronkk and Kem) were a motley bunch, seemingly more interested in losing money in games of chance than gaining it. And Fort Daring (if fort it can be called) was little more than a haphazard pile of battered old stones. Still, Commander Mire was willing to negotiate on our fee, and though the eventual sum agreed upon was a paltry one, beggars cannot be choosers.
Our mission was twofold; firstly to investigate rumours of some eldritch cult operating out of a farmhouse. Something about a Cult of the Eye of the Boar, or some such nonsense. And secondly to foster a greater sense of unity between the adventurers of Fort Ettin (that was us, apparently), and the slapdash gaggle of thugs, deviants and cut-purses that call themselves the Fort Daring Militia. Things were looking up; this was entirely within my remit, and by the end of the journey those grizzled, pock-marked yokels were eating from the palm of my hand.
Things went downhill with the reconnaissance of the farmhouse. The place was crawling with cultists, and my companions proved less than subtle, despite the Commander’s suggestion that we simply investigate, then leave the fighting to her and her band of hooligans. Before I knew it Kem and Ronkk had vanished inside the farmhouse, arrows were flying, and our militia were nowhere to be seen.
It seemed sensible at this point to alert our fellows in the farmhouse, and so I attempted to do so, only to find the place crammed full of wild-eyed, dagger-weilding fanatics. Fanatics who pointedly ignored my polite and reasoned protestations of non-combatant status, and who instead set about me with their wicked blades!
And it was at this point, diary mine, that something truly extraordinary happened. As I suffered one wound after another, as my courtly finery grew stained in my own blood, a terrible fury overcame me. I had been thwarted in love. I had been belittled and cast out by the Court. I had been dumped in this filthy, dust-blown wilderness and left to starve. And now I was being stabbed! By some shit-spattered peasant! The time for politeness and reasoned discourse was at an end.
For the first time in my life, I turned my back on centuries of courtly manners, on flattery and compromise. I lashed out in barbed insult, my words laden with a raw power I did not realise they could possess, and the man in front of me simply melted before them. Quite literally; blood flowed from his eyes and ears at their force, the very flesh sloughing from his bones. He died shrieking in agony.
And I felt something in that moment I don’t believe I have ever truly felt before; the icy thrill of freedom!
The rest of the mission passed in something of a blur; the rounding up of the stragglers, the securing of the cultists’ "magic stone", the Commander’s gushing appreciation for our efforts on the journey back, the silent admiration for my newfound power evident in the eyes of my companions. And of course, finally, payment.
But this change in me occupies my thoughts entirely, drowning out all other considerations. I have a great deal to think on tonight, diary mine. A very great deal indeed.
Well, diary mine, it has been a little over a month now since my ignoble expulsion from the glittering splendour of the Winter Court. Over a month of hopelessness, of hardship, and of deep, deep humiliation. A month of dragging myself wearily across this misbegotten excuse for a continent, in vain search of anything even vaguely resembling civilization. A forlorn hope indeed.
And yet, today, for the first time since my exile, something genuinely extraordinary happened. Something I can’t quite believe.
Let me explain.
Failing utterly to locate civilization, I had stumbled instead across a pitiful little settlement in the middle of nowhere named “Daring Heights”. If there's a bright centre to the multiverse (and there is; it’s called the Palace of the Winter Court), I now found myself in the town that it's farthest from.
I spent almost the last of my coin on food and lodgings that a month ago I wouldn’t have wished on my my worst enemy's hounds. Taking stock, I found myself in desperate straits; without an immediate source of income, starvation would soon become a very real threat.
That such a fate should befall the Winter Court’s Emissary Most Extraordinary to Kantas, Bearer of the Mordant Shroud and Seeker of the Clavis Ultima! Hah! That mocking title hangs over me like a pall, the most cutting of insults. The Clavis Ultima, or Final Key, is a child’s fable and a fool’s quest. The Mordant Shroud is, as far as I can tell, a particularly filthy blanket. This Kantas place appears to be some barren, blasted wilderness on the Prime Material Plane, of all places, and the only thing extraordinary about being its emissary is that I'm the only one sufficiently disgraced to warrant the role! And naturally, it comes with no stipend.
And so, faced with desperate circumstances, I did something rather foolish. I signed up with a band of “adventurers”, hoping that my courtier’s talents of facilitation, eloquence and diplomacy would serve me where my utter inexperience of combat would not. Like I said, rather foolish.
Early signs were not good. My companions (they called themselves Hariniss, Azier, Ronkk and Kem) were a motley bunch, seemingly more interested in losing money in games of chance than gaining it. And Fort Daring (if fort it can be called) was little more than a haphazard pile of battered old stones. Still, Commander Mire was willing to negotiate on our fee, and though the eventual sum agreed upon was a paltry one, beggars cannot be choosers.
Our mission was twofold; firstly to investigate rumours of some eldritch cult operating out of a farmhouse. Something about a Cult of the Eye of the Boar, or some such nonsense. And secondly to foster a greater sense of unity between the adventurers of Fort Ettin (that was us, apparently), and the slapdash gaggle of thugs, deviants and cut-purses that call themselves the Fort Daring Militia. Things were looking up; this was entirely within my remit, and by the end of the journey those grizzled, pock-marked yokels were eating from the palm of my hand.
Things went downhill with the reconnaissance of the farmhouse. The place was crawling with cultists, and my companions proved less than subtle, despite the Commander’s suggestion that we simply investigate, then leave the fighting to her and her band of hooligans. Before I knew it Kem and Ronkk had vanished inside the farmhouse, arrows were flying, and our militia were nowhere to be seen.
It seemed sensible at this point to alert our fellows in the farmhouse, and so I attempted to do so, only to find the place crammed full of wild-eyed, dagger-weilding fanatics. Fanatics who pointedly ignored my polite and reasoned protestations of non-combatant status, and who instead set about me with their wicked blades!
And it was at this point, diary mine, that something truly extraordinary happened. As I suffered one wound after another, as my courtly finery grew stained in my own blood, a terrible fury overcame me. I had been thwarted in love. I had been belittled and cast out by the Court. I had been dumped in this filthy, dust-blown wilderness and left to starve. And now I was being stabbed! By some shit-spattered peasant! The time for politeness and reasoned discourse was at an end.
For the first time in my life, I turned my back on centuries of courtly manners, on flattery and compromise. I lashed out in barbed insult, my words laden with a raw power I did not realise they could possess, and the man in front of me simply melted before them. Quite literally; blood flowed from his eyes and ears at their force, the very flesh sloughing from his bones. He died shrieking in agony.
And I felt something in that moment I don’t believe I have ever truly felt before; the icy thrill of freedom!
The rest of the mission passed in something of a blur; the rounding up of the stragglers, the securing of the cultists’ "magic stone", the Commander’s gushing appreciation for our efforts on the journey back, the silent admiration for my newfound power evident in the eyes of my companions. And of course, finally, payment.
But this change in me occupies my thoughts entirely, drowning out all other considerations. I have a great deal to think on tonight, diary mine. A very great deal indeed.