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.