Daolyth's Diary - August 1113

The rain has stopped, which lifts my spirits somewhat, as does the thought that I shall only have more night outdoors. I found a toad in my boot this morning, which had clearly decided the warm, damp interior was the place to spend the night. It croaked at me as I evicted it from the boot, I presume in protest.

Something must be done about the Elves, although I know not what. By "the elves" I refer to those not of my family, but from the various other factions and places, who have yet to show the same committment to empowering the gemstone. There are some who help, but most do not understand its importance or why it should be the focus of their energies. If the Elves would co-ordinate their research and efforts into learning about our history, then Apsenniel would have the stone empowered in no time.

Instead, most of the elves have no clue, not one jot, about who they are or where they are going as a people. I would tell them that, if I thought I'd be allowed to speak at the council without being interrupted every few seconds or have someone co-opt my thoughts and speak on my behalf.

It is very frustrating.

And why does it always seem to be Elves who favour the cardinal element of Evil, who seem most motivated rather than the rest. They will, inevitably, set themselves staunchly at odds with Apsenniel, which will only serve to stymie her efforts.

I may speak to Fama, see what she suggests. She listens to me.

Daolyth's Diary - Post Moot - August 1113

It is still raining. My boots are sodden and I am making slow progress as the road has quickly turned to mud. I've considered cutting across country, but there is little point before the bridge. Most of my gear is sodden and I cannot get a fire to light, but it is not cold. The night will be uncomfortable but survivable.

So I am alone with my thoughts, the ones at the forefront of my mind and the ones locked behind doors hammering to be set free.

I can understand why Lio-Ara fears what lurks within there and how I might view her as my memories return, but I do not think they will reshape me the way she thinks.

Although I do not presume they will be easily mastered.

But, I can put them to use and they need not all be painful.

Huinesse (or Sinelen to use what I suppose is his real name) had a son. What sort of father was he? What can I learn from those memories to help me be a father?

I do not believe for a moment that I will ever be a person who can live a life of peace and raise a family in such a fashion. I'm destined for battle and the end which inevitably accompanies that. I am certain Huinesse felt the same way, although it did end as he expected. How did he function as a parent given the life he lived? How did it make him feel?

Apsenniel, Lio and Lenia have all said that it is who I am now that matters and I can forge my own identity. They do not care about the man I was. This both relieves and saddens me, because I must know and master the memories of the Elf, Sinelen, also known as Huinesse.

If I do not, then I fear they will overcome me in circumstances I cannot control.

I already told Lio'Ara that I would demure from pursuing my memories if she thought it would genuinely cause her pain. I do not wish to cause pain to those I care about. I want to protect them. Not harm them. If Apsenniel felt the same, I would step back from this path, because I know she is worried about the harm it may do me. But that is my harm to master and face. However, if she felt it would harm her, I would walk away from those memories, even though I know it would cost me dearly.

I cannot leave the memories as they are though. If I do not pursue them, I must ensure they are locked away so that they cannot escape by accident and I do not know how this might be done.

Daolyth's Diary - Post Moot - August 1113

It is raining on Amnor, although I know it to be just rain. Azurlon has fallen and there is no need for further warning's as to Tatalus presence in Lantia. We know where he is and who else he has taken from us.

I have a long march ahead of me back to the Preceptory, but have not the energy nor the will to force it over two days. Instead I will endure the tedium of the journey over three days to deposit my belongings before heading north again to Hengist's hut. They suggested at Armengar that I take a ship round the coast, but I've had enough with ships for now. The sooner my transport circle plans are implemented, the better.

More faces to carve, more friends gone. Had Giblet not stepped into the transport circle on the Friday and all but begged me not to go after Tara, Everard, Mako and Tig, I would most certainly have joined them in death. As would everyone else in that group.

More faces, although I know not who would have carved them.

Instead just those four, plus one more of Nix. Bold enough to stand off against Bezerker of Squad D for the right to spend time with Mayhem. I would not say I consider her a friend, but she personified much of what it meant to be Lion.

At least I will not have to carve Seraphim's face, although why he feels indebted to me I cannot comprehend.

I have much to think about and the time at the hut will buy me that, as it justifies my absence from Camelot and council duties for a little while. But there is the matter of Azurlon refugees to deal with on my return and I must find homes for them before winter comes.

The walk will buy me time as well. No messages on the road. No leys. No imps. Time to think of what Hengist would do and about the choices I've made.

I'm reasonably certain he'd support my decision. A chance conversation at Nixmas achieved more with the Dwarf stone in the space of a few months, than we've achieved with the Elf stone in over a year. Thanks to my friendship with Yarl, pebbles began rolling and by the time of the moot, the dwarves had the avalanche they needed. I think Hengist would consider that more than sufficient committment towards awakening the Human stone and he would rather see me apply my energies where they can do the most good.

For some reason, I've taken to think of the good one can achieve in the world as a crack one is trying to lever open. In some places, you can apply force and the crack will widen, allowing good to pass. In other's, no matter how hard you try, the crack will not move. In yet others, applying force just causes damage no matter what you do.

I feel very much like I have been applying a lot of force to part of this crack and it will not move and now I must other stop or cause damage. I choose the former and will save my energies for where I can do more good.

Such as the potential alliance with the Vipers and my duties as the Voice of the People of Lantia.

And in the fullness of time, as a father.

As for the Elves, I fear that they are truly a lost people. The cadre of famine has fallen out of balance and is too greatly weighted towards evil now. There is no shared understanding of our purpose. The Elves do not listen when I speak and most seem only to care for their own interests or those of their faction and so we underachieve. Others have appeared to continue to drive forward the agenda of supremacy, which combined with the Elves favouring Evil, cannot lead to any good end, with so many indifferent to the other aspects of the cadre or any greater purpose. Certainly not an end compatible with my nature.





I am sure that the view my ability to provide power to rituals as an asset, but one that is taken for granted rather than valued. Certainly I cannot enter into a ritual circle with people who are willing to compromise me for their own ends. Rarely have I been so unnerved inside of the seal and never felt so violated by what occurred there.
 
I will continue to protect those that I care about, in the hope that they will keep the Elves on the path of light, but I have come to accept that this is not a task in which I am willed to succeed by those I want to protect. I accept that my faculties in this regard are limited, which is reasonable grounds not to call on me, rather than it be simple contempt for my concern. I will do what I can when and I can and no more, filling my days with other tasks so I do not have chance to dwell on this.

Still, I am saddened. I would have followed them to ends of the egg each day, facing any danger, if only they'd let me know.

And so I shall find other things to protect.

Hopefully with greater success then those I failed in the past, so utterly.

I had not wanted to confront these memories alone, but now it seems I must.
Idhrenniel waits and  those memories stand before me like a yawning chasm into which I must throw myself and yet I stand at the edge afraid to step forth.

Instead I shall walk in the rain.

Post Dobluthe - May 1113 - The Shores of Amnor

It is quiet here and I find myself enjoying seeing the hut in the new warm light of spring. Although I had hoped not to have to return here so soon again after Arrakech.

I'm carving a memorial to Jericho, the Wavesinger, into the walls of the hut to go alongside the others I added but a few weeks ago. Berzerker, Ripgut, Janus, Filff, and Prince Nethaniel. The intersection of our lives was all too brief, yet I cannot doubt my feeling of kinship too them. The natural instinct of the pride. The collective might of our fury.

I did not expect to return so soon.

And Winter's face shall soon follow Jericho's onto the walls.

I spoke with Queen Lenia, Crown Prince Caleb and Althea about this place. About whether there was someone else more capable to take up this task and why Hengist told me about this place?

“Because he knew you'd do it. Knew you'd carry on.”

Hengist was an extremely devious man, but even I have to wonder how he knew. I'd ask, but I expect all the Crowns will say is that the King was quite adept at judging characters or something similar. Of all the people I'd have thought he'd pick for this task, I would not have thought the “happy news elf” was amongst them.

And yet he did. So here I am.

Building a cathedral to our pain. Establishing a monument to transcend that loss into loving memory. A more likely architect for such an edifice there is not.

I am trying to focus of the events at Dobluthe in the sense of the grander scheme of things. The recovery of the Elfstone, the success of the dwarves and the destruction of Albion, but my mind cannot hold the thoughts in place. They drift away and are replaced by other memories.

Dreams.

The first night here I dreamed and I was terrified. Having no recollection of what dreams were, I woke in terror at the barrage of images and sensations that assailed me. They seemed all too real. All of the faces going back over the centuries. A millennia of pain replaying gradually inside my mind. Death after death after death....

The same dream every night.

Some faces stand apart from the others. There is no clarity and yet in the recesses of my conscious, their significance speaks to me. The sensation of betrayal that I have felt since Caras Estarwae remains and grows stronger with each passing dream.

And within all of this, I hear him calling me. Demanding that I let Darkness come forth and have his revenge. The offer is seductive. An easy escape from pain. But Apsenniel was right. I am not him and he is not me. What he was made to do against his will, is not my fault. Nor his. But I understand his anger. His rage. But I do not yet understand his loss or who he was.

That I felt there was a darkness within me should turn out to be a literal truth feels like a joke gone awry. Never would I have conceived that something so terrible would exist within me.

Yet here at the hut, I find my measure of peace in the solitude and the sunset.Perhaps Hengist sent me here as much for that as anything else?

As the sun sets, I feel the metaphorical tick of my pattern. I never noticed it before and now it is almost all I can think of when I rest. How long do I have? Years? Decades? Or is it only months now?

So I watch the sunsets and find peace carving into wood.

And so the Darkness within slumbers.

Daolyth's Diary - April 1113 - Mithras Preceptory in Mauritania

We have survived Arrakech and I am taking time to rest in the Unicorn's Preceptory before returning to Lantia and checking the leys to confirm all the Lions returned home safely. The transportation from the island prior to it's disappearance did not go according to plan and I was surprised to be one of the first ported from that place. To my relief, Apsenniel was transported also, but we arrived in Mauritania of all places and with a rather disparate group of individuals, some of whom proceeded to transport out to Teutonia.

An odd conclusion to a sometime's harrowing campaign.

Yet it proved a valuable experience for me.

Saturday afternoon's resolution of the alchemical problem made me realise that I don't value my own intellect enough and that many people are idiots and need to leave me in peace. When I have quiet and space to think, the speed at which my thought processes can move amazes even me. I wish I had the ability to think on my feet as some do, but I wouldn't trade the ability to think things through absolutely for that. So that suits me best. Give me space. Give me peace. Give me all the research material without anyone fiddling with all the papers or misunderstanding what I am saying and I will get whatever it that needs be thought about, done.

I like the feeling of certainty at responding to the question "how do you know this is correct?" with the answer "because I did it."

Why have I not noticed this before?

Amidst the battle on Saturday night, Apsenniel and I found time to speak about the events at Caras Estarwae. The substance of the discussion is less significant as to how I felt afterwards.

I realise that whatever I will be in this life, it will never be someone who has a home and leaves a life of peace and quiet. I will never have a family other than that of my Order, my faction and my bloodline. As much as the idea of an existence indulging myself in hours of idle and engrossing research might appeal, the only reason it does appeal is because of its scarcity. I could never live that way indefinitely. It is not in my nature. There is too much to see and do in the world. Too much that needs to change. To be challenged.

I need friends and comrades for this. I need troops at my command. That is the sort of family I need.

The discussion with Apsenniel also made me realise I was wrong, hugely presumptively so, to think that I should be the only one to worry about the other's safety. To be the only one to put themselves at risk for the other. It is not my decision to make and prejudges that another should see me as less worthy, just because I want them to do so. I have to live and die by the actions as others as much as they do mine. 

I feel my confidence returning. A certainty I've not felt in some time.

Daolyth's Diary - High Feast of Surya

I am not proud of what I have done nor will it bring me any joy, but watching Apsenniel put herself in danger for my sake has become more than I can bear. I so desperately want to keep her safe and yet the thought of her imperilling her life to save me because I have fallen to keep her safe......it destroys me. I do not doubt that she would attempt to overcome any obstacle to rescue me and that...........is not acceptable. Not at the cost of her life.

Speaking to Red about Arrakech, I realised how much in danger we will be. How can I keep her safe, if she insists on coming after me while I try to discharge the duty Red has asked of me? I feel such fear at that thought. I cannot sleep.

When I entered the dream of the golden elf, I saw a world so bright, so beautiful, it overwhelmed me. I realised how far from her I am. How far from walking in light I am. Nin rochben en dae she calls me, yet I am weak. When I look at Rurik, at the Paladins, at Tyriel, at Lazarus and at Duibhre, I see capable people worth saving. That isn't me. I'm a shield, nothing more.

The fortune Taci'bien read for me told of betrayal. The pain in Apsenniel's voice when she thought of how she might hurt me, what others might make her to do me. That again was unbearable. Why should she be tormented by such thoughts when she has burden's enough already? I do not believe that she ever could do such a thing and yet...........and yet, she worries. It is too much.

It took a lot of alcohol to do what I did. Although not too much to make it impossible. Fitting in some respects that Taci'bien should be the means by which I debased myself. She seemed to enjoy herself enough not to notice my discomfort or feigning of delight. Liora seemed utterly oblivious. They hurt me, but probably less than I deserved. The experience was disturbing. Not even possessing the gratification of the women we'd buy after battle when I served with the Wolverines. I like Taci'bien and there is a sickness in my stomach about how I have used her. But it is done now and I have only begun to face the consequences.

The look on her face when I told her. I do not believe this can be forgiven and it should not be. To put me beyond betrayal and Apsenniel beyond guilt. At least I can defend her now knowing she will let me be unless circumstances permit an easy and safe rescue. That is a measure of peace. And she will feel no sadness when I am gone. Another pain spared her.

Maybe my presence on campaigns will keep her away? That is a comforting thought, but an unlikely reality, because she will go wherever she is needed regardless. Still, it could happen.


I have snuffed out the only light in my life for the sake of it continuing to burn for a world that needs it.

I can live with the consequences of my actions as long as she continues to live.

I will defend her as a shadow and then at least I will be half of what she thought me to be. Of the shadows. But not a knight.

I will miss her terribly.

Daolyth's Diary - March - Northern Taureanna

Snow? In March?

I'm regretting not taking the option of the transport beacon direct to Caras Estarwae now. I'm stuck atop a flet in a blizzard. Fortunately this flet has a shelter and I have supplies.

But I can barely see the foot of the tree, let alone anywhere else.

Daolyth's Diary - March - Northern Taureanna

Tariel was kind enough to perform the transport rite for me to the Taureanna circle, but could not be persuaded to join me for the high feast of Surya. I suspect that fact that I intend to walk to Caras Estarwae in part put her off, but I could sense her hesitance was more than that. A fear of the unknown? I was dismissive of it at the time, now I feel that I should've paid more attention.

For now, I am far from at ease.

The waywardens near the transport circle were kind enough to provide me with directions and other useful information to ease my travels. Apparently my name is known to them, thanks to the waywarden I met at the Gorsedd and my appearance distinctive. They know that technically, these lands are my home and as such have extended me the courtesy of their protection while in Taureanna. I declined the offer of a guide, as I am not in the mood for new company, but their advice was welcome. Which places to avoid, which paths to use and how to recognise the trailsigns that locate the treebased flets they use to overnight in the wilderness. I am writing from one of these flets now. They are strangely comfortable and could readily accommodate a few individuals, with space for a fire. I am very grateful for the time spent alone on Amnor learning how to light the wretched things.

I also have iron, flint, tinder and other fire making tools in my backpack as a matter of routine now.

The waywardens were non-specific as to whether anything in the wilderness could climb up to these flets. That is not an encouraging thought. I seem possessed of an abundance of these at present.

Taureanna is beautiful, but the land is possessed of a strange melancholy that I can best describe as "autumnal" even though I can see the signs of spring everywhere. There is not the same sensation of restless energy that heralds spring on Amnor, with the wild and tempestuous weather. The feeling here is somewhere between serene and languid. Maybe the melancholy is what I have brought with me? for as I have said, I am not at ease here.

Indeed, I have a sense of foreboding. A strong sense.

I do not know what to expect of the elves of Caras Estarwae and the other members of House Beru'thiel. Will they meet the expectations of the other Lions and be vain, condescending and aloof? Will they be possessed of a sense of racial superiority that is likely to provoke the non-elves in attendance? Am I going to spend my time trying to defuse disputes between different races because neither side will see sense?

More than that, I wonder what they will make of me, given what I look like and what I am. Not that I am any more certain as to what I am. Which in turn will make it all the harder to explain myself if I am asked or what my purpose is here. Just because I am of Beru'thiel does not mean they will or should welcome me.

To bodyguard Apsenniel in the city of her people? A nonsense. Surely she is safest here of anywhere in all the heartlands. I am little more than a redundancy in the unlikely event that the city should fall and every waywarden, guard, elf and Gryphon, should be sundered unto the earth.

I am an advisor? In a city of Elves who are millennia older than I and remember times I cannot even begin to conceive of. What use am I, who can barely recall his own life? let alone provide meaningful discourse on past history. I cannot read any of the signs written in Elvish. My ignorance is staggeringly offensive.

I have no rank no authority. Clara will speak on behalf of the Lions and I am nobody's emissary.

There is a part of me that thinks it would be enough to set my eyes upon the tower of Caras Estarwae and then turn away and head back to Amnor. Where I belong and at least provide some small use to the Order, the faction and the people of Lantia. Perhaps if the sky is clear tomorrow I will see the tower from atop this flet?

But I will go. I promised I would. If nothing else I will sit in on the council meeting and hear what the other elves do or do not have to say. If necessary I will share my thoughts and that will be enough. I can always leave once that is done.

Some warrior. Some "competent elf." I am barely arrived and already thinking of leaving. But, I felt more at ease in Teutonia than I do here.

Sleep will not be easy.

Daolyth's Diary - October 1112 - Irem Day 3

The Irem campaign is concluded and the Jackals have emerged victorious, in no small part thanks to the visitors from the other nations. I do not recall a point in the battle to contain the demon to become the new warleader for Irem where Apsenniel and I were not fighting toe to toe with the daemon's bodyguards or the daemon itself. I expended all my power and had exhausted myself by the time the deed was done.

Yet I feel no sense of racial superiority that Rebraal might attest to. Instead I found myself looking at the elves resident in the Jackals lands with an increasing sensation of annoyance and disdain.

They do nothing.

At least nothing I could see. Perhaps they operate industriously beyond the spectrum of visible light, but somehow I doubt it.

I will not claim that I have never seen a more useless group of arm waving, small minded, vacuous, ineffectual creatures, because the reality is they are manifest in all races. But, I had expected better from other elves. Apsenniel spent a great deal of time, speaking eloquently and with great passion, about awakenings only to be met with an infuriatingly muted response. I hold a far higher opinion of Burnscar than I do of these wretches, but then I've always believed in judging on merit rather than sweeping generalisations of race or respiration for that matter.

I'm really not sure these elves are the ones Rebraal has in mind when speaking about "elven superiority."

Did I mention they wear scarves round their head hiding their ears? Apparently we're supposed to instinctively be able to tell that they are Elves. How does that work? On what basis am I judging their elvishness?

Grace? - sadly lacking. Any suggestions of healthy diet and regular exercise have gone unheeded.
Drive? - mostly non existent, possibly due to the aforementioned.
Wisdom? -  not exactly the most inspiring 'brains trust.'
Combat Expertise - if I were reliant on such individuals for survival in a battle, I'd surely be dead.

Perhaps I am being unkind, but I am tired, grumpy and have an endless amount of paperwork awaiting me when I return to the preceptory, so I do not feel disposed to kindness at this time.

I do not include Al-Reisha as part of this ineffectual collective, although she is far too suspicious for my liking and constantly having to reassure her of my loyalty to Caleb is wearing. As is re-emphasising that marrying a human is not grounds for judging anyone. Marrying an idiot human, yes, that would be grounds for complaint, but then I fail to see how that is different from marrying an idiot elf. Or any other sort of idiot for that matter. 

*sigh*

It would be nice to state one's position before the accusation of being "a conclave elf" is levelled at you. I'm still not sure what one of those is or how many limbs it should have.

Daolyth's Diary - October 1112 - Irem Day 2

I nearly died. Alone. In the dark.

And she came for me.

I had failed her. The last thing I remember before my senses left me was seeing her fall to the ground from the daemon's magic and then I went away. I couldn't keep her safe. I failed her. I failed her. 

And then I fell and remembered nothing.

Nothing until I felt her arms around me, holding me up, telling me she couldn't do this without me. She hadn't come along, Fama and Anaeus were there, along with some of the Jackals. A formidable rescue party for one such as me. When did I acquire so much worth?

We did the only thing we could at that point, we carried on fighting. A force to be reckoned with. When we both fell a second time trying to defend Anaeus, the Jackals referred to us as "the elves." Apsenniel and I have set ourselves apart, although I had thought that was through dint of her actions and intellect, rather than my own.

Later, after all the battles were done, relaxing in our tent, Duibhre of the Accord referred to me as Apsenniel's "Elven Knight."  An unexpected compliment and one I was very touched by. I do not know if I have what it takes to be a "Knight" but I will give it my all in body, word and deed. I will find a way to be stronger protector for her, as much as an advisor and thinker.

The discussion with Burnscar, the unliving Skaven, made me reflect on how much some are prepared to sacrifice for the sake of a cause and the ones they care about. Apsenniel could barely bring herself to look at Burnscar, yet I found myself oddly touched by her self-sacrifice.

To what extreme's am I prepared to go to? Would I be willing to become something reviled by those I care about in order to protect them? To be hated and feared because one loves others more than oneself?

I do not know what I will become. All I know is that now, right now, I will die to keep her safe.

Daolyth's Diary - October 1112 - Irem Day 2

I am bone weary, for it has been a long day so far as Irem fell under attack shortly after sunrise. I was one of the few, the very few, in camp at the time the first waves of unliving assaulted us. At that point, I had thought perhaps my journey to the land of the Jackals would be cut very short indeed. Despite the presence of the Jackal's war leader and one other, I had not felt quite so alone in some time.

Fortunate, I suppose, that my warding spells were able to deflect the blows of the unliving, at least at first. Then I found myself struck hard from behind and assumed I had missed foes sneaking round behind me.

Instead it transpired to be a fae, dressed in the drab grey of the Accord, who Apsenniel had amusingly described as "the murder fae." I struggled to find my humour at this point, as being on the receiving end of murder during a pitched battle will do that to even this cynic. I compounded my annoyance by breaking my chant to inquire as to what prompted the assault.

To his credit, the Fae was apologetic. Apparently he had mistaken me for some sort of "dread overlord of the unliving." This is a compliment of sorts, although somewhat worrying at the same time. I've never really thought of myself as a "dread overlord" before or even considered that my appearance might provoke such a reaction. I will reflect on this further at a quieter moment.

Apologies concluded, the battle concluded, with more of the Jackals and other visitors making their appearences. By the time Apsenniel arrived, I had been fighting for quite some time and had expended a good deal of power. Her arrival cheered me somewhat, although she did gently chide me somewhat for my battle zeal. I took this with good grace, as the comments were well founded, although under the circumstances, about an hour too late. Of Squad D and Henry Kane there was no sign until some time after the battle, which was unfortunate, as the shield wall of the greenskins would've been a comfort. Both the squad and Henry seemed confused at my exasperation and exhaustion. This led to something of an "argument" between myself and Henry later, regarding my faculties as a "bodyguard" to Al-Reisha. Given his absence for the entirity of the morning's battle, I did not take kindly to such criticism and my have been immoderate in my use of language.

The day continued in a similar vein, with my growing frustration at the general inadequacy of the Jackals as a martial force (with but a few exceptions) and that most of the work appeared to be done by visitors. I was particularly struck by the effectiveness of the Accord, who fight with a mix of great finesse and brutal simplicity. The one they call Marius is deeply disturbing and of very quick temper. I have made a mental note to avoid offending him or indeed avoid any conversation at all. Their leader, Duibhre, at least seems rather more tractable and thoughtful. Other vipers, included the Starcraft and the House of the Serpent, also fought with considerable vigor, although I find Remus intensely, intensely annoying. He seems to derive amusement from viewing women as mere chattel. I am quite sure he is some way from what could be considered "sane" even by my standards.

Lady Fama remains intriguing. She possesses great intellect, but is emotionally quite detached. I find a strange complusion to test my mental capacity against hers, although I've yet to find a subject on which we might be equals. Interesting.

I am resting now or at least Apsenniel is. I believe the intent is that we should both recover our energies, but I find I cannot rest here. But I do feel at peace.

Watching Apsenniel at rest is a new experience. I have grown so used to her striding purposefully and everything she does she conducts with great vigour. I had wondered from where she derives such energy and it would appear she has a faculty for rest that I do not. I am somewhat envious.

Where does my energy come from I wonder? How do I keep going?

She looks so peaceful at rest and so free of care and worry, and I know she worries and cares a great deal. The world seems quite ready to place burdens upon Apsenniel's shoulders and she is unwilling to share them, for fear of burdening others. Does she not realise how much I and others want to aid her? Another puzzle. 

Time enough to ponder these mysteries later. I hear the alarm bell sounding in the Jackal's command tent and already there is the sound of movement in the woods outside the tent.  I would leave Apsenniel here at rest if I could, just to know that she is not carrying her burdens for a little while longer. However, I cannot leave her unguarded and asleep in the middle of a fight.

If we proceed cautiously, I'm sure everything will be fine.

Poetry - Within The Cage

It lurks, languid within the bars of its cage
It hungers, craving both to feed and be fed upon
It gnaws, at itself when no others are in reach
It craves, the sensation inflicted and to inflict
It licks, the teeth and wounds marked on flesh
It wants, skin to be torn and tear upon beauty
It thrashes, yet wishes to be constrained
It strains, for it wants to lash and claw
It begs, without humility and subservience
It bites, showing no yielding mercy
There is only the darkness of contempt

Daolyth's Diary - October 1112 - Irem Day 1

Apsenniel is here. In Irem, the City of Brass.

I had not expected to see her again so soon and here we both are, in a war zone and there has been much in the way of battle.

The sensation I felt at the Gathering, the completeness, the peace. I feel that when I fight alongside Apsenniel. There is a kinship between us, a co-ordination of movement, that cannot simply be by chance. Neither of us could be considered to be merely "adequate" fighters, but together the whole is far far greater than the individual parts. I do understand how this has come to pass. There is a mystery here I've yet to unravel.

I feel somewhat guilty that I am not devoting as much attention as I should to guarding Al-Reisha, but Squad D are present as is Knight-Captain Henry Kane, so she is not short of immediate protectors. Besides, I spend most of my time in the frontlines with Apsenniel fighting against incoming threats, which is arguably protecting Al-Reisha as much as everyone else. Indeed, it appears that the guests of the Jackals fight a good deal harder than the Jackals themselves. I have, on few occasions, found myself wondering as to what purpose some of the Jackals serve, as they appear to have no useful function.

Given this paucity of talent, I am certain more than ever that I am in the right place and that I cannot simply entrust Apsenniel's safety to that of others. I do not think I would forgive myself if something happened to her.

 

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 October - Emmerix Campaign

My excursion to Emmerix was brief enough as the Lions had the situation there well in hand.  I was somewhat trepidatious at what I would find on arrival and whether Henry would transport me into the middle of a battle in progress, but all was quiet. I left Henry hiding in bushes near the transport circle, still muttering nonsense about socks.

I was not entirely sure reception to expect from the Lions and I was surprised, as well as touched, by the warmth which greeted my arrival. I had not thought myself so well liked or understood by the people's of Lantia and this has caused me to look on them in a different light. Elspeth introduced me to a senior member of the armourers guild as the Lions resident "expert" on awakenings, which rather caught me off guard. However, she then supplied some very agreeable port, which settled my nerves.

Squad D were their usual effusive selves in their greetings and offerred a collection of noxious greenskin beverages which I accepted with good grace, but only pretended to drink. I've found this approach works best.

Prince Caleb and I entered into a long discussion on a number of issues, which was momentarily interrupted by the sudden and tragic death of the Lions High Healer, Elrood Brond. Murdered under mysterious circumstances. I took the opportunity to mention the memorial of Hengist's hut to Nethaniel at this juncture, in the hope he would be inspired to journey there and record Elrood's likeness. He seemed interested, although somewhat confused. I will speak on this further with Nethaniel at a future point.

Aside from Caleb requesting I escort his wife Al-Reisha on campaign in the Jackal lands of Irem,
there was little more needed from me on Emmerix. I dispensed what equipment I had been able to bring from the Order's stores and where I could, provided magical reinforcement to those I felt needed it and allowed the resident warlocks to syphon what power from me they could.

With no one else at the preceptory to oversea the affairs of the Order, I had to return to Amnor, but I did so with regret. I appear to have more of a home with the Lions than I had thought.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 October

I have returned home to the preceptory after an uneventful days hike across Amnor.

Where is everyone?

I know that Gaelstrom was planning to begin moving the Order out to Neapolis, so his absence and that of Raze, the pack and a few others, is hardly a surprise.

But almost none of the other crusaders are here!

Where is Estragon? Astraea? Rayaz? Tariel? Rideon?

I eventually tracked Henry down in the armouries, who was, typically, confused on a great number of matters including the whereabouts of missing socks. Henry rather mistakenly assumed I'd come to assist him in his undergarment search endeavours and it took me some time to persuade him that this was emphatically not the reason I was here.

Besides, who looks for socks in an armoury? I fear Henry has taken one too many blows to the head or the abberancy he acquired attempting to become a paladin has permanently addled his mind. Regardless, getting him to the point at hand took rather more effort than I felt was necessary.

Apparently, despite my precise instructions that I was to be contacted via imp about the Order's movements, a number of the bretheren have gone on campaign with the Lions to Emmerix to deal with the time elementals once and for all. They have gone without me and seemingly without a number of items from the Order's stores!

I am very vexed.

Fortunately Henry is capable of performing a transport rite and while we have to rush now, I still have a few days to make it to the Armengar circle and transport to Emmerix. The other's have travelled first Camelot to rally with the rest of the Lions, before shipping out to the island and secure the transport circle there. If my calculations are correct, I should arrive once the beachead is well established.

Still, we're going to have to hike through the night to make up ground. Henry won't like that. 

Tough. I'm back now and there is work to do.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 18

I felt an odd twinge of emotions as I looked back down the hill toward's Hengist's hut. I'd finished what I set out to do, both in terms of physical tasks and reflecting on what I was to do in the future. I've restocked the log pile and the larder to the best of my abilities, but will need to return in the spring with assistance to resow the vegetable garden.

My business here is done for the moment, but I feel conflicted at departing. There is such peace here, but I know the purpose of this place is not to be one's sanctuary from all the world's ills. Hengist did not retreat here indefinitely and neither shall I.

I finished my carving of Hengist two days ago and resisted the urge to render him with his face resting in his palm, as much as the thought amused me. I've tried to capture his good humour and energy. The drive which his leadership brought to the faction and his keen mind.

I finished the carving two days ago and since then I've found myself staring at blank pieces of wall and wondering if my face will go up there one day and who will carve it. I worry that perhaps I am the only one who knows of this place and who will continue it after I am gone? Yet, I do not know how to begin telling others of this place or what occasion might warrant my doing so.

In my heart, I also know that I do not want to carve more faces into the wood of this hut, although I fear the continuation of the task is inevitable. At least, as the walls of the hut are a memorial for the Lions, I might be spared the pain carving one face into these walls, but that would mean I would only create a memorial somewhere else. I was staggered by how profoundly the emotion struck me that this was not an event I wished to live to see.

It was that revelation that prompted me this morning to gather my things and prepare to leave. I have promises to fulfil back in the world and I will meet those promises or die trying.

But, more than anything, I have a purpose beyond that now.  

Something beautiful to live for.

Someone to protect beyond all other things.

I looked down the hill one more time as the morning sunlight scattered across the waves and felt its warmth caress me in the dappled light playing through the trees. I will return here when the need arises, but now I have work to do.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 15

I've been watching sunsets. They are brief here on the eastern shore of Amnor and the forest cuts them off before the sun dips below the horizon. Despite this, I find respite in watching the shadows of the trees lengthen and the sounds which accompany the transition of day to night. The world goes to its rest and I take a moment to relax from my day's labours, such as they are.

Carving the faces, the memories, makes me think and sunset is venue for my thoughts.

What did they die for?

Grimaldus gave up his life for me, probably not expecting to or really understanding why.

Fenris died fighting on the wrong side of a battle that should never have been fought and because of the incomptence of another.

Neantog died whilst leading the Lions from the front, as she always did, only to fall and be taken into a void gate by the time elementals before anyone could stop them.

Sylvia died in the same battle, doing what any good follower of Mithras would have done in her place.

Thermopylae taken by Cornellius the Vampire on that terrible night when all hell broke loose out of the ritual circle. I'm certain that was not how she would've wanted to go.

Hengist - willingly sacrificing his lifeforce so that Lenia might live.

I wonder what it is that will kill me in the end. Or what it is that I am willing to live for above and beyond anything else. I made a vow to Hengist and Lenia, which drives me, but does not feel like living. Activating the human stone is the right thing to do, of that I am certain. All the races should have the opportunity to awaken if they choose, otherwise we further risk alienating humanity and precipitating more conflict that Hengist was keen to avoid. 

I'm driven by this task and I will live to see it done, but I do not feel "alive" for it.

No, that is a different sensation altogether and one that I have been taking pains to isolate in my memories as to when I felt it last. 

The last time was in the battle against the time elementals at the Gathering of Nations. I felt it then. And it wasn't just the joy of battle or the anger and fury driving us to take revenge against our fallen King. No, this was something else. I cannot yet explain it other than a peace I have no otherwise known before. A rare completeness of spirit.

All I know is that now, while I am here in solitude, I do not feel the same way.

Daolyth's Diary - 1113 February (flash forward)

I have come to accept that the world expects a lot more of me than I may be capable of giving. Yet, I have no choice but to rise to the challenge.

I have all sorts of reasons to live that, but a year ago, were unknown to me.

Chief of these reasons now appears to be "to stay alive to keep others alive."

I had never thought I might care so much.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 12

I have been at Hengist's hut a week now and my confidence as a fisherman has grown steadily. I am now unwavering in my confidence that I am not now, nor will ever be, one who fishes. Various crustaceans. Now those are a different matter. I've various collected, killed, eaten and been pincered by all manner of armoured semi-aquatic organisms. While painful, the crustaceans at least can be hauled out from under rocks and require no coaxing onto hook at the end of a length of line.

It is not that I lack the patience to sit quietly and fish, I just appear to lack the necessary means of persuasion that encourages a fish to willingly end its life by obligingly impaling a hook into its mouth. Also, my tendency to read or write while fishing has led to some of the catches going unnoticed and, rather than wait for me to deal with them, have simply swam away.

I fear some of the nicer fishing hooks and line that Hengist kept stored in his hut may be irretrievably lost.

Lighting of fires, within the controlled environ of a fireplace, has steadily improved. Having a controlled supply of the necessary materials (which I have replenished), plus a helpful handbook titled "Don't burn down my hut, ya feckin eedjit,"has helped. I do not doubt my late king loved his faction, but it is also clear to me that he had a realistic appraisal of our abilities or lack thereof.

There is also a small plot of land on which vegetables have been grown. This has required some tending to, which again has not been facilitated by my lack of expertise. Regardless, root vegetable matter has been harvested and cooked. Well. Boiled. Mostly.

On the matter of hunting wild animals for food.

No. I do not wish to discuss this.

Despite these set backs, my time alone here has given me chance to think. There is a serenity and a melancholy to this place, a sensation instilled in part by the memorial nature of the carvings on the walls. I have turned my hand to a few of these, where I remember the faces well enough. The half orc features of Grimaldeus, who sacrificed his life to rescue me from a void gate, were easy enough to render. I had not thought much of him until his final hours when, unexpectedly, he turned out to be both competent and brave. I'd always assumed he was an idiot, even by the standards of a half orc. Occasionally I am not disappointed to be wrong.

Fenris, the Reaver, was harder to do justice to. I will miss how happy he looked whilst hunting foes through the woods and nowhere else did his spirit seem more free. Capturing his bestial nature, his wildness, yet his sense of camaraderie. I knew him well and perhaps longest of all the Order of Mithras, and yet a simple likeness in wood seemed insufficient. Eventually I decided to render an image that captured his spirit best, if not his likeness.

There are other faces to carve in the wood. Some are harder to do, because my recollection of them is not as clear or, like Fenris, a simple likeness would be a disservice to their memory. Knight Captain Nir-Tan-Og was more than just a warrior, but a clear guiding voice on the battlefield.

When I come to the last face I shall carve here, I want to have honed my skill. He deserves nothing less.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 5

The wolves kept following me today as I moved through the woods, but kept their distance and so I had no reason to chant. Regretably, my wandering through the woods after dusk cost me my sense of direction. I decided to trust on instinct and strike out in a general direction that felt 'right' and hope for a clearing in the woods so that I might draw upon the sun to guide me.

It was early afternoon that I had my first indication I might be heading in more or less the right direction, slightly to the south east, rather than east. I changed course and headed eastward to the cliffs.
 
As the woodland started to slope down towards the cliffs, I noticed the wolves peel away at speed, as if something had startled them. 

I cannot explain what happened next, but I knew then that I was very near my goal. I felt something, a presence, not wholly disimilar to what I felt when I first entered the Mithraeum and found my ancestor. A presence both familiar and yet new to me, something strangely primal.

Then through the trees, I caught sight of something moving in the shadows. A large beast, but this was no wolf. In the afternoon light I glimpsed gold and dark markings and a sinuous, yet powerful form. I sensed that it was watching me, that it had been waiting so I would know I was in the right place.

I moved towards it, but it only slunk further away into the trees. Yet as I did so, I found myself on a path that went down towards the cliffside. Not a well trodden path, but it had the air of being maintained.

I followed it down through the woods until the trees thinned and I came at last to the cliffside and the place I sought.

A house or hut, which was in part rebuilt from an old imperial manor.  Structurally sound and doors and shutters both in a good state of repair. There was no marking outside the door to indicate whose home this was, but I knew. I also knew what I would find within.

I stood outside the door for what seemed like the longest time as the sun set.

Eventually I stepped forward, undid the latch and let myself into the interior.

As I had been told, above the hearth was written the name MacConnell. A note on the table simply read "Be Welcome."

Then I looked around the room and my eye was drawn to the woodwork and what had been painstakingly, lovingly, crafted there.

And so my first act upon reaching the home of Hengist "Jaguar" MacConnell, my King, was to weep.

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 4

I spent most of the day making good progress, as the weather was fair and the ground along the shore firm going even as it rose to the cliffs. I felt confident that I would reach the next ruin marked on my map today.

I wasn't aware there were wolves on amnor. This proved inconvenient.

Also, fighting a pack of wolves is not nearly as practical endeavour  as fighting people.  I am once again grateful for my power and how I can shape it, but chanting constantly for two hours until I reached woodland, was extremely tedious. Eventually the wolves stopped harrying me, but I have taken the precaution of finding a defensible position to spend the night, the fortuitous discovery of an abandoned woodsman's cottage.

I have no shortage of wood for a fire and it is mostly dry, which mercifully spares me my more comedic efforts at fire lighting. I find myself reflecting as to what degree of woodcraft Apsenniel possesses and whether, should we be placed in this sort of situation, I will once again find myself humbled by her seemingly unlimited resourcefullness.

I should at least be able to light a fire without exploding wood everywhere. This is getting embarassing.