20 Mirtul 105
He was waiting for me in the lay-to, as I entered to rest. He was even more anxious than usual. He was single minded in his question — he asked about Mina.
Speak the Truth, always, even if it leads to your death.
I could not tell him that I didn't know — couldn't go along with the Jergalite's lie that a simple, young elven girl would even fathom to take her own life. I couldn't have made it believable even if I tried. And the futile way I tried to answer it indirectly just made the matter worse.
How can I tell him the whole truth, without compromising everything — without betraying what I try to conceal for myself?
In truth, I do not trust the words of the man whose hand slew my apprentice. I do not trust half of these folk that supposedly pledged the same oath as I. Those I did trust are gone now. And unlike some, a warm fuzzy feeling when I touch a piece of magical jewelry does not mean my trust comes either freely, or without condition.
By extension, it also yields the young bloods the Jergalite brought into the nest suspect as well.
The rule of law is good, so long as it is just, and those who enforce it lenient and understanding.
The more I ponder it, the more I think upon the offense that supposedly deserved death, the more questions I ask myself that no longer make the situation cut and dried, the more I am persuaded that Mina's death was an excessive, and tragic, waste.
This is not going to go away; the one others would say I should not trust, left wanting accountability, and justice. The one that I was supposed to trust is either gone, or soon to depart within the moon, to dwell upon the mainland in blissful unaccountability.
We are supposed to police our own; but who watches the watchman?
A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
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KregorRanger
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
10 Kythorn 105
The peace in the Bramble today, and the opportunity to spend it with Clara, getting to know more about the most enigmatic of our druidesses, gave way to a call of duty, as we both received messengers of an attack in the grove by the Drow crow shaper.
We both made haste to Heartwood to hear the details — both the High Druid and Archdruid were in recovery from having been taken down by Wicket. By the time we arrived, the wench was gone, and we were left picking up pieces and trying to reconstruct what had happened.
While we were assessing the damage, one of Mikasi's tried to spy upon the aftermath — no doubt to assess it for him. We stood her down, even as she denied any reason for being there, and made her leave. I told her to take a message to him, which she refused, of course. He should teach them to lie better, in addition to being his compliant playthings. The Malarite himself couldn't dirty his hands to be present, or even nearby, judging from the tracks; one less chance to make him a head shorter for good.
Stuck between matters, as our numbers still are thin, and Heartwood is going to be under a continuing siege now, as well as the Bramble with the growing gob activity — someone is fueling their growth. They have to be. T'is all tied together, and the folk of the wylds are the target.
Forest Queen, this is the absolute, worst time for the fallow season of nature folk. There has to be a harvest again soon.
The peace in the Bramble today, and the opportunity to spend it with Clara, getting to know more about the most enigmatic of our druidesses, gave way to a call of duty, as we both received messengers of an attack in the grove by the Drow crow shaper.
We both made haste to Heartwood to hear the details — both the High Druid and Archdruid were in recovery from having been taken down by Wicket. By the time we arrived, the wench was gone, and we were left picking up pieces and trying to reconstruct what had happened.
While we were assessing the damage, one of Mikasi's tried to spy upon the aftermath — no doubt to assess it for him. We stood her down, even as she denied any reason for being there, and made her leave. I told her to take a message to him, which she refused, of course. He should teach them to lie better, in addition to being his compliant playthings. The Malarite himself couldn't dirty his hands to be present, or even nearby, judging from the tracks; one less chance to make him a head shorter for good.
Stuck between matters, as our numbers still are thin, and Heartwood is going to be under a continuing siege now, as well as the Bramble with the growing gob activity — someone is fueling their growth. They have to be. T'is all tied together, and the folk of the wylds are the target.
Forest Queen, this is the absolute, worst time for the fallow season of nature folk. There has to be a harvest again soon.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
20 Kythorn 105
A day's journey with my apprentice, who is shaping up to be rather the star pupil — and my impressions confirmed the more we talked on the way. Discussions of balance, and how it reaches far beyond a forest — ours or any others, even beyond this isle. A sharing of perspective of the greater good, and necessary evil. Ayra is a young elf, much like others of her kin who wander their way onto our hilltop, but not impetuous like some. Practical, and prone to follow her own instincts when something is amiss. She is much like my Second, in that manner.
I am seeing a solution for my questions of who I should, and should not trust — at the very least, it's foundation. I've left the time spent with her, with no question in my mind, that she will be a part of that.
Meeting with the Commander afterward, I've also confirmed her own reports and suspicions of what's going on beneath her own streets, and who the perpetrators are — without even having to disclose my own sources. She is still one of the people I trust without question, and she is charged with keeping said streets safe from their lot. She deserves the knowledge.
She knows that my lost apprentice did not fall by her own hand, and she did not press for how or by whom. The fact that the one who felled her has gone offshore to some other place across the Trackless puts it out of both our hands to do anything further. And yet, it still eats at me that it happened with total impunity.
Be ever mindful of the consequences of our actions.
It says that traitors to the cause are deserving of death, and yet, who is the traitor to the cause? The oath is based on a principle that no fate can hinge on the power and authority of just one. This is the very trap that leads to unchecked power, and tyranny. If we cannot bind ourselves to the same standard, and would act upon our individual whim — judge, jury, and executioner — then what am I truly serving?
Speak the Truth always, even if it leads to your death.
The monk has threatened to reveal what he suspects, and what I futilely attempted to allay to him. Lies at this point will only exacerbate the issue, and make the Jergalite's own betrayal of the cause combust, and take others' shroud with his — including my own.
If he continues to press the matter, I cannot even trust others who bear this oath not to rally in the defense of their own shroud by simply silencing the one who would expose them.
What would I lose, in crucifying the one who truly brought this shadow of scandal, and threat of exposure upon us?
A day's journey with my apprentice, who is shaping up to be rather the star pupil — and my impressions confirmed the more we talked on the way. Discussions of balance, and how it reaches far beyond a forest — ours or any others, even beyond this isle. A sharing of perspective of the greater good, and necessary evil. Ayra is a young elf, much like others of her kin who wander their way onto our hilltop, but not impetuous like some. Practical, and prone to follow her own instincts when something is amiss. She is much like my Second, in that manner.
I am seeing a solution for my questions of who I should, and should not trust — at the very least, it's foundation. I've left the time spent with her, with no question in my mind, that she will be a part of that.
Meeting with the Commander afterward, I've also confirmed her own reports and suspicions of what's going on beneath her own streets, and who the perpetrators are — without even having to disclose my own sources. She is still one of the people I trust without question, and she is charged with keeping said streets safe from their lot. She deserves the knowledge.
She knows that my lost apprentice did not fall by her own hand, and she did not press for how or by whom. The fact that the one who felled her has gone offshore to some other place across the Trackless puts it out of both our hands to do anything further. And yet, it still eats at me that it happened with total impunity.
Be ever mindful of the consequences of our actions.
It says that traitors to the cause are deserving of death, and yet, who is the traitor to the cause? The oath is based on a principle that no fate can hinge on the power and authority of just one. This is the very trap that leads to unchecked power, and tyranny. If we cannot bind ourselves to the same standard, and would act upon our individual whim — judge, jury, and executioner — then what am I truly serving?
Speak the Truth always, even if it leads to your death.
The monk has threatened to reveal what he suspects, and what I futilely attempted to allay to him. Lies at this point will only exacerbate the issue, and make the Jergalite's own betrayal of the cause combust, and take others' shroud with his — including my own.
If he continues to press the matter, I cannot even trust others who bear this oath not to rally in the defense of their own shroud by simply silencing the one who would expose them.
What would I lose, in crucifying the one who truly brought this shadow of scandal, and threat of exposure upon us?
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
10 Flamerule 105
I met him in the Heartwood. After trying to summon him elsewhere alone, it is apparent he shared my own fear that he would be simply silenced. I cannot blame him; that is the way of his kin. it should not be the way of mine, yet I am not even certain I could offer him such assurance in this situation from any other hand than my own.
I’ve never bared my token, to anyone. And of all people, I cannot even fathom what trust he has unlocked in me to become the first. But he has put his own life on the line to save that of others; to aid me against those who threaten my pack, and the greater wylds of this isle. I was once persuaded to trust a scaler, who gave not near as much useful knowledge as he has. He deserves to understand why I would beg him to keep the names of those who shared my oath from being revealed.
I explained what I believed, about the oath, and my disagreement with the way things were done — how it violated the very core of why I pledged it in the first place. Then I made him a promise:
Never again. Not on my watch. So long as I have a say, or a hand, never shall one single being who bears the token upon this isle act on his whim alone to determine the fate of another.
We police our own... whatever it takes.
We parted ways with him giving me his word that he would bridle his tongue on revealing the names — at least in part. What that means, and whom, I reckon I will have to find out.
He asked me if the token was worth it — the grief and loss that had been suffered, and the toil I would go through to keep myself concealed, and carry the cause forward.
I told him, that t’is not about the token — t’is just a piece of jewelry. Nor it is about the folk who wear it — they are all simple, fallible mortals, no different than any other.
The principle, and the oath the token stands for, that alone, is worth it.
I met him in the Heartwood. After trying to summon him elsewhere alone, it is apparent he shared my own fear that he would be simply silenced. I cannot blame him; that is the way of his kin. it should not be the way of mine, yet I am not even certain I could offer him such assurance in this situation from any other hand than my own.
I’ve never bared my token, to anyone. And of all people, I cannot even fathom what trust he has unlocked in me to become the first. But he has put his own life on the line to save that of others; to aid me against those who threaten my pack, and the greater wylds of this isle. I was once persuaded to trust a scaler, who gave not near as much useful knowledge as he has. He deserves to understand why I would beg him to keep the names of those who shared my oath from being revealed.
I explained what I believed, about the oath, and my disagreement with the way things were done — how it violated the very core of why I pledged it in the first place. Then I made him a promise:
Never again. Not on my watch. So long as I have a say, or a hand, never shall one single being who bears the token upon this isle act on his whim alone to determine the fate of another.
We police our own... whatever it takes.
We parted ways with him giving me his word that he would bridle his tongue on revealing the names — at least in part. What that means, and whom, I reckon I will have to find out.
He asked me if the token was worth it — the grief and loss that had been suffered, and the toil I would go through to keep myself concealed, and carry the cause forward.
I told him, that t’is not about the token — t’is just a piece of jewelry. Nor it is about the folk who wear it — they are all simple, fallible mortals, no different than any other.
The principle, and the oath the token stands for, that alone, is worth it.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
26 Flamerule 105
T'was the Highmoon of Hammer that my friend Anthony became my brother of the Moon — after he'd been forsaken by his God, had his soul taken from him by the hellspawn in Benwick, and handed encased in a soul gem to a pacted witch, and finally almost lured into embracing the taint by the damned Malarite.
Til tonight, his soul was still in the witch's possession, and subject to gods know what her whim might have been. But tonight, there was rebirth.
He asked me to accompany him out to the hill, to the newly crafted altar to our lady, made by his hand, to tell me of his vision, and ask my aid in what must happen to complete his covenant.
He told me of the Shard who took him aside to another place, a place once known to me in my past life. In Our Lady's name, the shard had Anthony make vows against the deeds that had led him into pride, and arrogance in his life, and to bind him to the service of Our Lady, as a sword of peace.
He brought back with him a stone, and the instruction to gain a soul anew — no longer in bondage to another who held his former life in suspension. The task required one thing, rebirth.
My brother would have to fall, at the hand of one of his own, and be subsequently rebirthed by the stone. He asked me to do the deed. At first the wash of uncertainty was overwhelming. I was being asked to slay my brother at the foot of our altar, and somehow call upon this token he had just given to me, to restore life to a man that had been otherwise destined to die with no soul to call back to his body.
Still, I had seen Her grace stay the transformation when he was tainted with the black blood of Mikasi's doing, an intervention which first brought him into my Lady's faith. Why now, would I allow doubt to stay my hand, especially when the life he lived at that point, was doomed to be one of shackles that no collar could even equate to. For him, whatever the end result, it would be deliverance.
As he'd readied himself just before midnight, I took the Hornblade he himself had forged as a gift to me just a moon afore. And when he gave the word, at the last breath of his prayers, I felled him.
I tried to suppress the immediate rush of loss as I saw my slain brother at my feet, tried to remain calm on the surface, for the sake of my apprentice who'd happened upon us just before the Lady's pinnacle in the sky. With a silent plea to the Lady, I lay the stone given to him upon his now silent heart. In an instant, the stone was consumed, seemingly, and I saw my brother awaken.
He seems different, not just in his manner. I do not yet know the extent this rebirth has changed him. But I could not remain to assess beyond seeing him alive. The feelings it caused to take a brother's life were too overwhelming, in spite of him being restored. I left him to the company of Ayra. They are close as kin as well, she will take care of him.
My brother's life, much like my own, has both waned, and waxed anew.
T'was the Highmoon of Hammer that my friend Anthony became my brother of the Moon — after he'd been forsaken by his God, had his soul taken from him by the hellspawn in Benwick, and handed encased in a soul gem to a pacted witch, and finally almost lured into embracing the taint by the damned Malarite.
Til tonight, his soul was still in the witch's possession, and subject to gods know what her whim might have been. But tonight, there was rebirth.
He asked me to accompany him out to the hill, to the newly crafted altar to our lady, made by his hand, to tell me of his vision, and ask my aid in what must happen to complete his covenant.
He told me of the Shard who took him aside to another place, a place once known to me in my past life. In Our Lady's name, the shard had Anthony make vows against the deeds that had led him into pride, and arrogance in his life, and to bind him to the service of Our Lady, as a sword of peace.
He brought back with him a stone, and the instruction to gain a soul anew — no longer in bondage to another who held his former life in suspension. The task required one thing, rebirth.
My brother would have to fall, at the hand of one of his own, and be subsequently rebirthed by the stone. He asked me to do the deed. At first the wash of uncertainty was overwhelming. I was being asked to slay my brother at the foot of our altar, and somehow call upon this token he had just given to me, to restore life to a man that had been otherwise destined to die with no soul to call back to his body.
Still, I had seen Her grace stay the transformation when he was tainted with the black blood of Mikasi's doing, an intervention which first brought him into my Lady's faith. Why now, would I allow doubt to stay my hand, especially when the life he lived at that point, was doomed to be one of shackles that no collar could even equate to. For him, whatever the end result, it would be deliverance.
As he'd readied himself just before midnight, I took the Hornblade he himself had forged as a gift to me just a moon afore. And when he gave the word, at the last breath of his prayers, I felled him.
I tried to suppress the immediate rush of loss as I saw my slain brother at my feet, tried to remain calm on the surface, for the sake of my apprentice who'd happened upon us just before the Lady's pinnacle in the sky. With a silent plea to the Lady, I lay the stone given to him upon his now silent heart. In an instant, the stone was consumed, seemingly, and I saw my brother awaken.
He seems different, not just in his manner. I do not yet know the extent this rebirth has changed him. But I could not remain to assess beyond seeing him alive. The feelings it caused to take a brother's life were too overwhelming, in spite of him being restored. I left him to the company of Ayra. They are close as kin as well, she will take care of him.
My brother's life, much like my own, has both waned, and waxed anew.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
10 Eliasis 105
The rangers that I've drawn closest into my circle continue to prove that my decisions about them were not in error. My Apprentice has proven her knack for following her gut for a potential problem, without even provocation — perhaps more akin to my own instincts than I'd even ventured. Her concerns regarding some of the company one of her sisters keeps is concerning, and rightly so.
I know the rabble's affiliation below the streets, and my Apprentice picked up on it on her own rather quickly. But further ties to the former Asbyssal Queen's spawn and her own dealings in likewise shady business was a bonus of information to gather.
She's eager, and ambitious, and ferrets out details. This makes her an ideal candidate for bringing into the cause. I only hope her ambition unchecked doesn't land her into a place that Mina ended up.
After the time spent with her on matters, another day spent with my Second, in the Dreaming Tree. We strategized about the dealings between the Malarites and the dragon blooded witch, and what she had been doing on her own, and what we would do to curtail it going forward.
If there were ever one who I felt was of a perfect like mind, it is Aly'ne. There is an unspoken synchronization it seems, that we can both operate toward the same ends. And I need not even ask, or direct, she just acts. I need never question her motive, or her intentions. And why she does all that she does, not just for the pack, but for my sake, I am nothing short of humbled, and thankful to the Forest Queen to return her to my side.
It helps to have her aid, and to a point, her company; at least, I am not wandering the wylds of this isle alone, whilst I wait for the day I can bring my heart and soul back from the East.
Still I wait, and remain true to embrace my forever.
The rangers that I've drawn closest into my circle continue to prove that my decisions about them were not in error. My Apprentice has proven her knack for following her gut for a potential problem, without even provocation — perhaps more akin to my own instincts than I'd even ventured. Her concerns regarding some of the company one of her sisters keeps is concerning, and rightly so.
I know the rabble's affiliation below the streets, and my Apprentice picked up on it on her own rather quickly. But further ties to the former Asbyssal Queen's spawn and her own dealings in likewise shady business was a bonus of information to gather.
She's eager, and ambitious, and ferrets out details. This makes her an ideal candidate for bringing into the cause. I only hope her ambition unchecked doesn't land her into a place that Mina ended up.
After the time spent with her on matters, another day spent with my Second, in the Dreaming Tree. We strategized about the dealings between the Malarites and the dragon blooded witch, and what she had been doing on her own, and what we would do to curtail it going forward.
If there were ever one who I felt was of a perfect like mind, it is Aly'ne. There is an unspoken synchronization it seems, that we can both operate toward the same ends. And I need not even ask, or direct, she just acts. I need never question her motive, or her intentions. And why she does all that she does, not just for the pack, but for my sake, I am nothing short of humbled, and thankful to the Forest Queen to return her to my side.
It helps to have her aid, and to a point, her company; at least, I am not wandering the wylds of this isle alone, whilst I wait for the day I can bring my heart and soul back from the East.
Still I wait, and remain true to embrace my forever.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
***A draft of a note is tucked into the journal***
Our oath stands against absolute power, and as such, we ourselves should practice what we preach.
No one singular man who bears the pin, has the right to act as sole judge and jury over the fate of another among us. To allow it, is to allow another form of tyranny.
While there should be no mystery about what incident this relates to, it applies to any other current and future situation another tenet of our faith — that of policing our own — comes into play.
I shall reiterate it as I have said individually to one or more of ye — this is not a proposal, t’is a statement of fact. if we will not submit our individual judgements to the counsel and subjectivity of our brethren, then an entire tenet of our oath is a lie.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
Highmoon, Eleasis 105
The first good look I get at the dragonborn witch since she was scurrying around in our wood with the Malarite — and I see her with a congregation of mages at the tower. At first, I thought they had accosted her again for causing strife within, as she did with Elzi a winter past. But no, the morons in the tower have inducted her as one of their own.
At first, I was just incredulous about the whole thing. Yet, even my own alleged faith sister stood in the wench's defense. Then as the ground suddenly shook under our feet, during some astrological event, I at least saw the opportunity to deal the dragon wench a message for all her meddling in our woods. I reckoned she'd be less fragile than to collapse totally with a face full of shield, and I ended up sent away from the tower grounds.
Feck them all. Bloody morons — the biggest of all that Llorkh of an elf Willow who bears the darkened wench's collar and makes her treks up to Guldorand to shag with the Sharran. And she had the audacity to say that I have no honor and no regard for what is right. Bloody hypocrite.
So I've been exiled from their little introverted navel of a tower. I reckon they think that is somehow hindering to me, or perhaps they thought the settlements would follow suit. The Guard Commander already assured me that I've nothing to worry about. In fact, I have carte blanche to gut the bloody dragon witch should she decide to capitalize on being at our back porch and come to stir chaos in our woods. I fully intend to seize that opportunity, and the Tower can go to the nine hells.
Every last one of them, including the alleged Selunite who refused my call to talk to her alone. If she cares not to hear me, or see to reason with inviting this fey witch into their midst, she can wallow with the rest of them.
The first good look I get at the dragonborn witch since she was scurrying around in our wood with the Malarite — and I see her with a congregation of mages at the tower. At first, I thought they had accosted her again for causing strife within, as she did with Elzi a winter past. But no, the morons in the tower have inducted her as one of their own.
At first, I was just incredulous about the whole thing. Yet, even my own alleged faith sister stood in the wench's defense. Then as the ground suddenly shook under our feet, during some astrological event, I at least saw the opportunity to deal the dragon wench a message for all her meddling in our woods. I reckoned she'd be less fragile than to collapse totally with a face full of shield, and I ended up sent away from the tower grounds.
Feck them all. Bloody morons — the biggest of all that Llorkh of an elf Willow who bears the darkened wench's collar and makes her treks up to Guldorand to shag with the Sharran. And she had the audacity to say that I have no honor and no regard for what is right. Bloody hypocrite.
So I've been exiled from their little introverted navel of a tower. I reckon they think that is somehow hindering to me, or perhaps they thought the settlements would follow suit. The Guard Commander already assured me that I've nothing to worry about. In fact, I have carte blanche to gut the bloody dragon witch should she decide to capitalize on being at our back porch and come to stir chaos in our woods. I fully intend to seize that opportunity, and the Tower can go to the nine hells.
Every last one of them, including the alleged Selunite who refused my call to talk to her alone. If she cares not to hear me, or see to reason with inviting this fey witch into their midst, she can wallow with the rest of them.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
30 Eleint 105
Tonight was the night I let my apprentice in on my secret, after we'd discussed the activities of the Shadows' new cult in the city. Just she and I out on the docks, as I revealed the pin.
Her reaction wasn't so much of surprise, as it was, perhaps, gladness? Seems she'd been hoping to catch the eye of the troupe, somehow. But the monk had been elusive. We discussed matters of trust, and how neither of us easily open up, simply due to a piece of jewelry. As opposed to our moons of talking, working together, and her delivering information to me that I didn't even know I needed but I did. That's what builds trust. Camaraderie builds it. Mutual dependence builds it. So far, she's proven it, in spades.
So I put it to her in the way I've been intending: "Who watches the watchmen?" T'is a question of accountability, and learning to trust beyond a superficial level. And frankly, as I've seen it, one of the qualifiers for recent bucks who have been brought to the gallery is having bedded with their recruiter — including the Jergalite whose actions have put me down this trek in the first place.
My recruits will be my business, and my knowledge. She's understood completely what her tasks from here on out are. There will be watchers for the watchmen, and I've set the first of them to work.
Tonight was the night I let my apprentice in on my secret, after we'd discussed the activities of the Shadows' new cult in the city. Just she and I out on the docks, as I revealed the pin.
Her reaction wasn't so much of surprise, as it was, perhaps, gladness? Seems she'd been hoping to catch the eye of the troupe, somehow. But the monk had been elusive. We discussed matters of trust, and how neither of us easily open up, simply due to a piece of jewelry. As opposed to our moons of talking, working together, and her delivering information to me that I didn't even know I needed but I did. That's what builds trust. Camaraderie builds it. Mutual dependence builds it. So far, she's proven it, in spades.
So I put it to her in the way I've been intending: "Who watches the watchmen?" T'is a question of accountability, and learning to trust beyond a superficial level. And frankly, as I've seen it, one of the qualifiers for recent bucks who have been brought to the gallery is having bedded with their recruiter — including the Jergalite whose actions have put me down this trek in the first place.
My recruits will be my business, and my knowledge. She's understood completely what her tasks from here on out are. There will be watchers for the watchmen, and I've set the first of them to work.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
****A copy of a note tucked into the journal here***
High Druidess Mila Slain,
This past tenday the High Druidess Mila was slain by Witherdusk in a confrontation at the Heartwood. Mila was afterward physically nailed to the message board, with a message written upon her in her own blood.
The HIgh Druid was not able to be revived, there is no knowledge as to whether there will be any means to restore her. The Archdruidess as of the time of the event was unaware of the altercation and has not yet been reached.
— NIghtingale
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
8 Marpenoth 105
No word still of Mila, or whether the Fates, or the prayers of her Circle would bring her soul back to the prime. She was brutally slain by the buzzard humping Drow that continues to plague the Heartwood, purely for the sake of causing chaos.
I've known Mila since the times when Cassima was first making her power play for the Heartwood. She and Navira were friends, but while I admired the gentle wisdom of Navira, my senses grated against her companion from the start.
She was headstrong, sarcastic, intolerant, and she often put her actions and words before rational thought. Perhaps t'is why I grated against her so badly — I should have been looking in a mirror.
When Cassima's attempted coup by force failed, now more than ten winters past, and the druids all gathered in the aftermath, Mother Bear had tentatively named Mila her successor. The whole of the Bramble was in attendance at that moot — the first time we'd all gathered together in the Grove for a voice. We demanded an audience with the prospective successor.
Leave it to our crazy arsed High Druid Jihael to ding on Mila with statements and questions to the point she lost it — a loss of composure and fit of anger she said proved that Mila lacked the level head to be the figurehead of all the Druids. In her stead, a majority of the voices called for Navira to ascend to the title.
In truth, the control over the Heartwood was had in tandem between the two. Navira's calm rationale was oft offset by the grating of Mila's harshness. And a stand down in the Grove between Jihael and Mila following the first cleansing of Benwick, in which Mila sent the soul from Jihael's body with a single touch, drove a wedge between us yet again for winters to come.
T'is only since the Moot of the Dreaming Tree that an effort was once again made to bring us together in cooperation, and my heart and soul Catalin had no small part in leading me to make the effort. It was following this, that discussion with Stormwood explained the two druids' division of powers. Navira was the healer, the counselor. Mila was the defender of the Grove, the Seneschal — the one who would enforce the ways of their Circle and be the first protector.
She made good on her role. Now as yet another interloper would seek to walk in and claim the place of Archdruid, Mila gave it her all, and ultimately her everything to try and keep a defiler out of their land.
Whether it was a role she adopted willingly, or whether t'was the one thrust upon her, and that was part of the reason her hardness seemed to crystallize even farther, I reckon I will not know now. Perhaps if I'd looked past my own hardness, I'd have made the rapport better to find out.
It should not have needed to be her place. As I learned in my early days in the Unicorn Run, there is a role for all who tend the wylds. The Heartwood needs a Warden. It needs its Rangers to be organized and strong. They should be the first defense for the forest they call their home.
All they need is for someone to step up to the task. Let's hope the other crusty old ranger that I met some winters past among their fold takes my advice, and steps up to the task.
Lady Moonlight, guide the Heartwood Seneschal's spirit home.
No word still of Mila, or whether the Fates, or the prayers of her Circle would bring her soul back to the prime. She was brutally slain by the buzzard humping Drow that continues to plague the Heartwood, purely for the sake of causing chaos.
I've known Mila since the times when Cassima was first making her power play for the Heartwood. She and Navira were friends, but while I admired the gentle wisdom of Navira, my senses grated against her companion from the start.
She was headstrong, sarcastic, intolerant, and she often put her actions and words before rational thought. Perhaps t'is why I grated against her so badly — I should have been looking in a mirror.
When Cassima's attempted coup by force failed, now more than ten winters past, and the druids all gathered in the aftermath, Mother Bear had tentatively named Mila her successor. The whole of the Bramble was in attendance at that moot — the first time we'd all gathered together in the Grove for a voice. We demanded an audience with the prospective successor.
Leave it to our crazy arsed High Druid Jihael to ding on Mila with statements and questions to the point she lost it — a loss of composure and fit of anger she said proved that Mila lacked the level head to be the figurehead of all the Druids. In her stead, a majority of the voices called for Navira to ascend to the title.
In truth, the control over the Heartwood was had in tandem between the two. Navira's calm rationale was oft offset by the grating of Mila's harshness. And a stand down in the Grove between Jihael and Mila following the first cleansing of Benwick, in which Mila sent the soul from Jihael's body with a single touch, drove a wedge between us yet again for winters to come.
T'is only since the Moot of the Dreaming Tree that an effort was once again made to bring us together in cooperation, and my heart and soul Catalin had no small part in leading me to make the effort. It was following this, that discussion with Stormwood explained the two druids' division of powers. Navira was the healer, the counselor. Mila was the defender of the Grove, the Seneschal — the one who would enforce the ways of their Circle and be the first protector.
She made good on her role. Now as yet another interloper would seek to walk in and claim the place of Archdruid, Mila gave it her all, and ultimately her everything to try and keep a defiler out of their land.
Whether it was a role she adopted willingly, or whether t'was the one thrust upon her, and that was part of the reason her hardness seemed to crystallize even farther, I reckon I will not know now. Perhaps if I'd looked past my own hardness, I'd have made the rapport better to find out.
It should not have needed to be her place. As I learned in my early days in the Unicorn Run, there is a role for all who tend the wylds. The Heartwood needs a Warden. It needs its Rangers to be organized and strong. They should be the first defense for the forest they call their home.
All they need is for someone to step up to the task. Let's hope the other crusty old ranger that I met some winters past among their fold takes my advice, and steps up to the task.
Lady Moonlight, guide the Heartwood Seneschal's spirit home.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
18 Uktar 105
The buzzard made her way into our forest today. As I was gathered with my Second, as well as others of the pack, and our friends, the Drow made her way up the hill in broad daylight. She wished to talk with me about her right to be within the Grove.
It was hardly a good timing, as I'd already been accosted for a day by Angela on behalf of the tower, in an attempt to explain why adding a pacted witch and slaver to the Mage Tower was a good thing. The only thing our discussion profited, by the time we'd discussed Stormwind, and Jahrel, and Willow wearing Layla's collar, and her making excuses for Willow's frequent conjugal visits to Guldorand, was me concluding that my alleged faith sister's choices aren't done out of malice.
She's just an idiot.
Last thing I needed was a freakish feathersnatch feeding me a crock of shite about her intents, and how she's a victim of the Heartwood's intolerance. It was the same crock she attempted to feed to the Arelith Forest's Warden Jore earlier this moon, when she accosted him with a summoning spell, leading to a combined effort between the Heartwood druids, the Coran of Myon, and myself and Aly'ne to track him down to her lair in the caverns. Their Warden wasn't swayed in the least. And while he is far more impetuous and reckless in his actions than I, at least he tries to make a stand.
I reckon that was Wickett's latest tactic — try to subvert the rangers for support. It was almost amusing, the ticking spastic heap I reduced her to, when I verbally washed my hands of anything to deal with the Heartwood — not my circus, not my monkeys.
My words were empty, of course. I do care about what happens with the Grove with her threatening it. But I'm not going to give the wench the foothold to use it against me, and I am for certain not antagonizing her to bring her sorry arse to the Bramble more often. It was the better option, to claim indifference.
Gods. Two sunsets worth of shite to digest. Lady Moonlight, temper my impatience. Only that I may carry myself without feeling there are more folk I should deal a face full of shield.
The buzzard made her way into our forest today. As I was gathered with my Second, as well as others of the pack, and our friends, the Drow made her way up the hill in broad daylight. She wished to talk with me about her right to be within the Grove.
It was hardly a good timing, as I'd already been accosted for a day by Angela on behalf of the tower, in an attempt to explain why adding a pacted witch and slaver to the Mage Tower was a good thing. The only thing our discussion profited, by the time we'd discussed Stormwind, and Jahrel, and Willow wearing Layla's collar, and her making excuses for Willow's frequent conjugal visits to Guldorand, was me concluding that my alleged faith sister's choices aren't done out of malice.
She's just an idiot.
Last thing I needed was a freakish feathersnatch feeding me a crock of shite about her intents, and how she's a victim of the Heartwood's intolerance. It was the same crock she attempted to feed to the Arelith Forest's Warden Jore earlier this moon, when she accosted him with a summoning spell, leading to a combined effort between the Heartwood druids, the Coran of Myon, and myself and Aly'ne to track him down to her lair in the caverns. Their Warden wasn't swayed in the least. And while he is far more impetuous and reckless in his actions than I, at least he tries to make a stand.
I reckon that was Wickett's latest tactic — try to subvert the rangers for support. It was almost amusing, the ticking spastic heap I reduced her to, when I verbally washed my hands of anything to deal with the Heartwood — not my circus, not my monkeys.
My words were empty, of course. I do care about what happens with the Grove with her threatening it. But I'm not going to give the wench the foothold to use it against me, and I am for certain not antagonizing her to bring her sorry arse to the Bramble more often. It was the better option, to claim indifference.
Gods. Two sunsets worth of shite to digest. Lady Moonlight, temper my impatience. Only that I may carry myself without feeling there are more folk I should deal a face full of shield.
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KregorRanger
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- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
15 Nightal 105
Work against villainy and wickedness wherever I may find it.
My brother of the Moon met me upon the hill today to deliver news of his falling, having stumbled upon a rendezvous between Witherdusk and the Cyrist, Riscorve. Apparently, she seeks to conspire with the Madmen in order to further secure her hold against the Heartwood. Funny that an alleged druidess of the wylds would jump into bed with minions of murder and destruction as potential stormtroopers.
The extent of their collaboration and to what others ends still has yet to be known, but the alliance against the Heartwood is clear. Anthony is supposed to deliver the word to the druids, so they can prepare for what may come.
Work against villainy and wickedness wherever I may find it.
My brother of the Moon met me upon the hill today to deliver news of his falling, having stumbled upon a rendezvous between Witherdusk and the Cyrist, Riscorve. Apparently, she seeks to conspire with the Madmen in order to further secure her hold against the Heartwood. Funny that an alleged druidess of the wylds would jump into bed with minions of murder and destruction as potential stormtroopers.
The extent of their collaboration and to what others ends still has yet to be known, but the alliance against the Heartwood is clear. Anthony is supposed to deliver the word to the druids, so they can prepare for what may come.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
5 Hammer 106
The new year has dawned, and the sun set upon an era in the Heartwood. I was brought the news by multiple sources today, that the Circle has left the Grove.
They've mourned the death of one of their own, that was brutally slain and desecrated. They've nursed the wounds of the rest dealt by the feathersnatch freak. And they have now dealt with random attacks in the open by Cyrist madmen — attacks which have not only targeted the Heartwood folk, but some of my own kin as well, and anyone who remotely looks like a nature walker.
They're done nursing wounds for a freakish threat that continues to regrow heads like a hydra, much like her lech of a lapdog Mikasi.
They are tired of dealing with the death, and waste, and so I don't blame them for moving out of their home. In truth, however, the Grove is just a patch of land. What matters, is the Circle remain intact.
No matter what the buzzard humper may claim with her new prize, there is only one Circle, and it exists upon the consent of the true stewards of the wylds.
The new year has dawned, and the sun set upon an era in the Heartwood. I was brought the news by multiple sources today, that the Circle has left the Grove.
They've mourned the death of one of their own, that was brutally slain and desecrated. They've nursed the wounds of the rest dealt by the feathersnatch freak. And they have now dealt with random attacks in the open by Cyrist madmen — attacks which have not only targeted the Heartwood folk, but some of my own kin as well, and anyone who remotely looks like a nature walker.
They're done nursing wounds for a freakish threat that continues to regrow heads like a hydra, much like her lech of a lapdog Mikasi.
They are tired of dealing with the death, and waste, and so I don't blame them for moving out of their home. In truth, however, the Grove is just a patch of land. What matters, is the Circle remain intact.
No matter what the buzzard humper may claim with her new prize, there is only one Circle, and it exists upon the consent of the true stewards of the wylds.
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
15 Tarsakh 106
I’ve spent countless hours of broken promises, over how many sunrises I would stay awake, considering the future of our pack, and that of the displaced Heartwood fellowship that now clamors for a foothold upon the land against the rabble that occupy the Grove they once called home.
For the first time in so many years, since Cassima first sought to drive a wedge between the Druid Circle and our pack, I believe I’ve truly set down all pride and antipathy for my woodland kin to the North, to embrace the truth:
There is only one Circle over this island.
There should only be one.
There are multiple forests, each with their own needs and troubles, and each should indeed have its own attention and a voice in the overall welfare of the wylds as a whole. But the days of plentiful harvest, which we squandered upon reaching our own pack across the isle, and setting our own Druids to rival the Heartwood’s, It only drove the division deeper, and even the Moot of the Dreaming Tree was not enough to truly unify us enough to prepare any of the Maiden of Creation’s servants for the threat we face now.
Both of our fellowships have fallen fallow. And the Heartwood’s is not only displaced, but dispirited. There is only one way we can move forward, and the true better of the wylds flourish once again — we have to unite. Fully, and without question. To stand behind one Circle of Druids upon Arelith, composed of equal voices of the three forests upon Her, and all points that tie them.
Swallow the pride, move forward as the troupe of Rangers that tend a forest, and represent it to the rest of the wylds, as it first was, and should be.
Without a past, no being can appreciate what they have, and where they may be going.
Our pack grew from a simple outpost upon a hill, with a rag tag group of rangers that as oft butted heads with the Druid Circle and the Heartwood Rangers as much as worked in hand. How I’ve so oft tried, and wished to flesh out the history of this troupe beyond my own years beyond the scattered tales given to me some of its past Wardens, and those few who have been here for the years to remember. I wish I could somehow commune with Korab’s spirit to know what he felt were his own mistakes, and triumphs. I wish I could know all sides to every story that wove itself upon this hill.
Even I have been remiss at recording our own events in the first years I stood as Warden upon the hill.
I need to remedy this, before I shall pass this mantle to my Second, so that Aly’ne can truly know what she has, beyond even her own recollections and experience, and she can know the paths we might go forward in the legacy.
Within five more winters, Annalynne will come of her own age — the gift I was given of Elora’s heart. And within that time, I pray that along with Annalynne, Catalin also shall return to the isle, and we can finally call home the cabin that we have built with our own love and labors. I can rest my last years knowing I have left this forest in nothing less than the perfect hands that fate herself brought to my side.
Five more winters should be enough to chronicle the events which I have been remiss in putting to pen in full.
Five more winters should be enough, to see the unity of our wylds to completion.
Five more winters, and I can truly say the life that was given back to me — after dying upon the waters that presently separate me from my forever — has come its full circle.
I’ve spent countless hours of broken promises, over how many sunrises I would stay awake, considering the future of our pack, and that of the displaced Heartwood fellowship that now clamors for a foothold upon the land against the rabble that occupy the Grove they once called home.
For the first time in so many years, since Cassima first sought to drive a wedge between the Druid Circle and our pack, I believe I’ve truly set down all pride and antipathy for my woodland kin to the North, to embrace the truth:
There is only one Circle over this island.
There should only be one.
There are multiple forests, each with their own needs and troubles, and each should indeed have its own attention and a voice in the overall welfare of the wylds as a whole. But the days of plentiful harvest, which we squandered upon reaching our own pack across the isle, and setting our own Druids to rival the Heartwood’s, It only drove the division deeper, and even the Moot of the Dreaming Tree was not enough to truly unify us enough to prepare any of the Maiden of Creation’s servants for the threat we face now.
Both of our fellowships have fallen fallow. And the Heartwood’s is not only displaced, but dispirited. There is only one way we can move forward, and the true better of the wylds flourish once again — we have to unite. Fully, and without question. To stand behind one Circle of Druids upon Arelith, composed of equal voices of the three forests upon Her, and all points that tie them.
Swallow the pride, move forward as the troupe of Rangers that tend a forest, and represent it to the rest of the wylds, as it first was, and should be.
Without a past, no being can appreciate what they have, and where they may be going.
Our pack grew from a simple outpost upon a hill, with a rag tag group of rangers that as oft butted heads with the Druid Circle and the Heartwood Rangers as much as worked in hand. How I’ve so oft tried, and wished to flesh out the history of this troupe beyond my own years beyond the scattered tales given to me some of its past Wardens, and those few who have been here for the years to remember. I wish I could somehow commune with Korab’s spirit to know what he felt were his own mistakes, and triumphs. I wish I could know all sides to every story that wove itself upon this hill.
Even I have been remiss at recording our own events in the first years I stood as Warden upon the hill.
I need to remedy this, before I shall pass this mantle to my Second, so that Aly’ne can truly know what she has, beyond even her own recollections and experience, and she can know the paths we might go forward in the legacy.
Within five more winters, Annalynne will come of her own age — the gift I was given of Elora’s heart. And within that time, I pray that along with Annalynne, Catalin also shall return to the isle, and we can finally call home the cabin that we have built with our own love and labors. I can rest my last years knowing I have left this forest in nothing less than the perfect hands that fate herself brought to my side.
Five more winters should be enough to chronicle the events which I have been remiss in putting to pen in full.
Five more winters should be enough, to see the unity of our wylds to completion.
Five more winters, and I can truly say the life that was given back to me — after dying upon the waters that presently separate me from my forever — has come its full circle.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
25 Eliasis 106
There have been numerous occasions, since the Grove was vacated, that folk of the Heartwood have welcomed the invite to the Bramble to talk and discuss the present state of the Circle, and the wylds at large. These meets have ranged from the Archdruidess alone, to collective gatherings between our respective folk. Anything in the way of joint plotting to remedy the present situation has been scattered, at best. Navira is still mourning the loss of Mila, as much as she tries to subdue the melancholy, I can tell. My attempts at assurances and wit seem to offer some comfort, at least with a temporary smile.
Numerous mentions have passed between us during these times together that she and I should get away to talk one on one. The thought that perhaps a distraction from the myriad of emotions and opinions on what to do next, would offer us a chance to shed more of the superficial courtesies, and talk down to earth about our own visions and intentions, as well as the future direction that might help us all to thrive again.
Tonight, would have been one of those nights the intent was to take her away for said talk. And I set out at our arranged time toward Navira’s present refuge at the Myart Shrine,
As I set out, my paths crossed finally with my Second. I had no need to worry for her in the length of time we’d not seen each other, because her written hand assured me constantly of her well being, through her reports.
Aly’ne has been operating on her own, assessing through any means and contacts she could make, that our interests are covered — intelligence on the feathered wench who drove the Circle from the grove, her associations and goings; those of the dragonborn witch that cohorts with her; along with other unholy alliances that form are leading to the latest power play upon the isle.
We’d dodged a potential slug already in the latest election — we put out as much effort and pulled as many contacts as we had to try and assure at least one of the candidates did not get elected. How much of her defeat was due to our efforts, I know not and I don’t care. Only that we needn’t fear a hostile interest to our holdings for another year. I have ten moons to rest easy on the topic of city politics, only to once again sit sleepless over the fate of the grove.
Finding Aly’ne in person allowed us the time to discuss my thoughts with her. To tell her my thoughts of the Heartwood and finding unity with the Druid Circle, and how we could go forward, once the matter of the Circle having no true home was dealt with.
Yet again, she completed my own thoughts before I could even speak them, on more than one such thought. I am oft still amazed at the likened minds we share. And I oft am reminded that this young elven girl boasts far more wisdom than perhaps even her many years beyond mine could have afforded her.
The meeting with the Archdruidess turned from a simple one on one meeting to discuss unity — in fact completely distracted from it — to a gathered group, with the topic of how to render the present Grove irrelevant to all concerned. The idea presented by one of Myon’s High Mages was no small task, and could mean that some among us would either not survive the task, or at the least never be the same.
There was bickering, and pride, and nostalgia that threatened to get in the way, but in the end, there was a plan, and it would mean a new place consecrated for the true Circle to gather and preside over the island.
Talk of unity would again be delayed, as well as the one on one time I’d set out initially to offer. But the topic and solution that was reached in accord was needed, and was progress.
Heading back home, Aly’ne and I discussed the future of the Bramble, and my naming her as my successor to the hill. And what may happen if ill befalls either one of us as we seek to restore the sanctity of the wylds on the surface. There was no negotiating who will take the fall, should it come to one or the other.
“I’m not worried about me, Kregor. you've always been there watching, protecting me. I'm worried about if I can handle it without you.”
While I hope we both continue to draw breath for many winters, even if I no longer preside over the pack, she is the one with the years remaining in her still. We parted ways that eve, with her suggesting that I take solace in the pond before finding my rest. That something would be waiting there for me, as a gift.
I reckon I shall be bathing come the morrow upon my return.
There have been numerous occasions, since the Grove was vacated, that folk of the Heartwood have welcomed the invite to the Bramble to talk and discuss the present state of the Circle, and the wylds at large. These meets have ranged from the Archdruidess alone, to collective gatherings between our respective folk. Anything in the way of joint plotting to remedy the present situation has been scattered, at best. Navira is still mourning the loss of Mila, as much as she tries to subdue the melancholy, I can tell. My attempts at assurances and wit seem to offer some comfort, at least with a temporary smile.
Numerous mentions have passed between us during these times together that she and I should get away to talk one on one. The thought that perhaps a distraction from the myriad of emotions and opinions on what to do next, would offer us a chance to shed more of the superficial courtesies, and talk down to earth about our own visions and intentions, as well as the future direction that might help us all to thrive again.
Tonight, would have been one of those nights the intent was to take her away for said talk. And I set out at our arranged time toward Navira’s present refuge at the Myart Shrine,
As I set out, my paths crossed finally with my Second. I had no need to worry for her in the length of time we’d not seen each other, because her written hand assured me constantly of her well being, through her reports.
Aly’ne has been operating on her own, assessing through any means and contacts she could make, that our interests are covered — intelligence on the feathered wench who drove the Circle from the grove, her associations and goings; those of the dragonborn witch that cohorts with her; along with other unholy alliances that form are leading to the latest power play upon the isle.
We’d dodged a potential slug already in the latest election — we put out as much effort and pulled as many contacts as we had to try and assure at least one of the candidates did not get elected. How much of her defeat was due to our efforts, I know not and I don’t care. Only that we needn’t fear a hostile interest to our holdings for another year. I have ten moons to rest easy on the topic of city politics, only to once again sit sleepless over the fate of the grove.
Finding Aly’ne in person allowed us the time to discuss my thoughts with her. To tell her my thoughts of the Heartwood and finding unity with the Druid Circle, and how we could go forward, once the matter of the Circle having no true home was dealt with.
Yet again, she completed my own thoughts before I could even speak them, on more than one such thought. I am oft still amazed at the likened minds we share. And I oft am reminded that this young elven girl boasts far more wisdom than perhaps even her many years beyond mine could have afforded her.
The meeting with the Archdruidess turned from a simple one on one meeting to discuss unity — in fact completely distracted from it — to a gathered group, with the topic of how to render the present Grove irrelevant to all concerned. The idea presented by one of Myon’s High Mages was no small task, and could mean that some among us would either not survive the task, or at the least never be the same.
There was bickering, and pride, and nostalgia that threatened to get in the way, but in the end, there was a plan, and it would mean a new place consecrated for the true Circle to gather and preside over the island.
Talk of unity would again be delayed, as well as the one on one time I’d set out initially to offer. But the topic and solution that was reached in accord was needed, and was progress.
Heading back home, Aly’ne and I discussed the future of the Bramble, and my naming her as my successor to the hill. And what may happen if ill befalls either one of us as we seek to restore the sanctity of the wylds on the surface. There was no negotiating who will take the fall, should it come to one or the other.
“I’m not worried about me, Kregor. you've always been there watching, protecting me. I'm worried about if I can handle it without you.”
While I hope we both continue to draw breath for many winters, even if I no longer preside over the pack, she is the one with the years remaining in her still. We parted ways that eve, with her suggesting that I take solace in the pond before finding my rest. That something would be waiting there for me, as a gift.
I reckon I shall be bathing come the morrow upon my return.
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KregorRanger
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- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
***A freshly picked Lady's Tear flower is pressed after this page***
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KregorRanger
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Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
1 Marpenoth 106
I was met on the hill by Navira, with an invite to go on a buzzard hunt, to remind the interloper we’re still around. I couldn’t pass it up, so I agreed to meet with her at the rallying point, once I’d given an audience to my latest contact, dealing with the other thorn in my side, Stormwind.
I reckon the Silver Lady has seen fit to favor me with news out of nowhere. This young one had no background with the situation, and I’d given her no good motivation to keep bringing me the knowledge she has — knowledge which has also made its way to the Guard Commander — other than what seems to be her own conviction that there are plans far more diabolical in the making from the dragon wench and her fellows. I have a nice list of people, places and unholy ties the dragonborn is mucking with. At the very least, I’ll have good enough reason to put her down.
The Heartwood folk and I were to meet with the Coronal and others in Greyhammer to stage the hunt. Though, a lack of any sign of the self-proclaimed Archdruidess brought the plans of a hunt to a close.
Instead, I Navira and I took the opportunity for the trek and talk that circumstance had since intervened upon. Our final destination would be the Lake at Minmir. And our provisioning at the local tavern, and foraging along the way, took the semblance of a would-be picnic once we’d arrived and secured the area.
The talks we had along the way revealed far more beyond the superficial that had previously been between us, and seems we both started to see the similarities beneath. Both thrust into leadership when we’d not expected it, and even with little say in the matter. Both with a heart for those we counsel — sometimes more akin to parenting, and the wylds we hope to steward.
Nightfall, and the imminent threat of the feathersnatch and her cronies, persuaded us to seek refuge for the night within the Dreaming Tree. We touched upon our beginnings, and seems were both struck intrigued and fascinated that we’d both started lives that were far less rugged than that of a born nature walker. We agreed to share our respective tales of our beginnings come the dawn, and settled in to rest.
She slept peacefully, considering the losses she’d suffered in the moons leading up to this. I know not, truly, how close she and Mila were, and I’ve not felt the inclination to pry. And there’s the loss of her home, and all of her tragedies, taken together, have to be eating at her, wearing away her confidence as a leader. I know it did for me, in the midst of my own tragedies.
I cannot say or do anything to erase that; the only thing I can offer, is what measure of assurance and comfort I’m able. She is the Archdruidess of these lands, and as the Needle is to his Forestarm, I will stand behind that. In our combined strength, and bearing the weight in tandem, we will see things concluded for the better.
The picnic at Minmir didn’t come to pass. As we awakened in the morn, and I’d finished my own tale of my youth — the young city merchant’s son, whose own tragedies turned him into a hunter of black bloods — yet another messenger came to beckon her away.
We parted with the promise to try again another day, to finish our journey, and truly talk about everything that we’ve intended. The break was a refreshing one for the both of us — I believe we shall deserve another.
And we also parted as closer friends, and true partners in a task to purify our lands once more.
I was met on the hill by Navira, with an invite to go on a buzzard hunt, to remind the interloper we’re still around. I couldn’t pass it up, so I agreed to meet with her at the rallying point, once I’d given an audience to my latest contact, dealing with the other thorn in my side, Stormwind.
I reckon the Silver Lady has seen fit to favor me with news out of nowhere. This young one had no background with the situation, and I’d given her no good motivation to keep bringing me the knowledge she has — knowledge which has also made its way to the Guard Commander — other than what seems to be her own conviction that there are plans far more diabolical in the making from the dragon wench and her fellows. I have a nice list of people, places and unholy ties the dragonborn is mucking with. At the very least, I’ll have good enough reason to put her down.
The Heartwood folk and I were to meet with the Coronal and others in Greyhammer to stage the hunt. Though, a lack of any sign of the self-proclaimed Archdruidess brought the plans of a hunt to a close.
Instead, I Navira and I took the opportunity for the trek and talk that circumstance had since intervened upon. Our final destination would be the Lake at Minmir. And our provisioning at the local tavern, and foraging along the way, took the semblance of a would-be picnic once we’d arrived and secured the area.
The talks we had along the way revealed far more beyond the superficial that had previously been between us, and seems we both started to see the similarities beneath. Both thrust into leadership when we’d not expected it, and even with little say in the matter. Both with a heart for those we counsel — sometimes more akin to parenting, and the wylds we hope to steward.
Nightfall, and the imminent threat of the feathersnatch and her cronies, persuaded us to seek refuge for the night within the Dreaming Tree. We touched upon our beginnings, and seems were both struck intrigued and fascinated that we’d both started lives that were far less rugged than that of a born nature walker. We agreed to share our respective tales of our beginnings come the dawn, and settled in to rest.
She slept peacefully, considering the losses she’d suffered in the moons leading up to this. I know not, truly, how close she and Mila were, and I’ve not felt the inclination to pry. And there’s the loss of her home, and all of her tragedies, taken together, have to be eating at her, wearing away her confidence as a leader. I know it did for me, in the midst of my own tragedies.
I cannot say or do anything to erase that; the only thing I can offer, is what measure of assurance and comfort I’m able. She is the Archdruidess of these lands, and as the Needle is to his Forestarm, I will stand behind that. In our combined strength, and bearing the weight in tandem, we will see things concluded for the better.
The picnic at Minmir didn’t come to pass. As we awakened in the morn, and I’d finished my own tale of my youth — the young city merchant’s son, whose own tragedies turned him into a hunter of black bloods — yet another messenger came to beckon her away.
We parted with the promise to try again another day, to finish our journey, and truly talk about everything that we’ve intended. The break was a refreshing one for the both of us — I believe we shall deserve another.
And we also parted as closer friends, and true partners in a task to purify our lands once more.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
25 Uktar 106
So much destruction.
I’d not been on the hill for almost a moon, tending to matters northward. And I arrived back home to find it in shambles.
Everything that wasn’t nailed down upon our hill was wrecked, or missing. Every workstation, the altars, the message boards, even our plaque I’d carved upon the hollow tree with our mission. All of it was ruined. Down in the shelter, there were scrawlings and other markings, defacing where my kin would rest their head. Upon desecrated forest creatures, there was a mark branded upon their skulls.
Malarites.
This is going beyond what even Virgil and Mikasi and their likes have done in the times past. This was a systematic wiping out of bits of our hilltop that have been gathered here for decades, some of it since the Korabs first set upon the hill almost fifty years hence.
Without a past, no being can appreciate what they have, and where they may be going.
Ironic, how one of the things Navira and I discussed in the Dreaming Tree during our journey toward Minmir, was the tragedy of losing our history. Even in the loss of flesh and blood, our lives are fleeting, and temporary. But when we lose something that gives us a legacy, that is something that cannot be replaced.
Aly’ne happened upon the hill shortly after I arrived myself. She had just been there a tenday hence, and all had been well. Suddenly we both were stricken by the feelings that have haunted the Heartwood for the past many moons:
Loss. The destruction of our home. The apparent attempt to likewise dispirit us, and displace us from the place we hold as our refuge, as the feathersnatch had done to the Druid Circle with the grove. Destruction of things that were our legacy to pass on — much like lost records of the Grove that will never be recovered as Witherdusk destroyed them out of spite.
The very last crafting station that bore Olina’s mark upon it is gone — the one thing remaining upon the hill of hers, from when she gave her heart and soul to the Pack… and shared it with me.
Aly’ne showed the same calm demeanor and strength she often does, to set to making another message board, for the sake of leaving one for those who did this.
Already word has been coming to me about the likely perpetrators of the destruction — a young pack of Malarites that recently took to homing within the Bramble, also tainted by the black blood. The eldest of which is a dead elf who sold out her own blood to give her soul to the Elf Eater. She and her pack have caused no small measure of chaos about the Pax already — and their willing transformations betray the fact that their taint is not unintentional, nor accidental.
The Commander will take care of making sure they are kept out of the city proper, and now t’will be up to us to make sure they no longer set foot in the lands surrounding.
And to rebuild.
This was an attempt to cause us the same loss as the Heartwood has suffered. This is a war, against the Beastlord and His kin — including their freakish self-proclaimed Queen.
I am a Needle of my Maiden. I am a Sword of My Lady. If my blade need run with the blackened blood of my foes, so be it.
So much destruction.
I’d not been on the hill for almost a moon, tending to matters northward. And I arrived back home to find it in shambles.
Everything that wasn’t nailed down upon our hill was wrecked, or missing. Every workstation, the altars, the message boards, even our plaque I’d carved upon the hollow tree with our mission. All of it was ruined. Down in the shelter, there were scrawlings and other markings, defacing where my kin would rest their head. Upon desecrated forest creatures, there was a mark branded upon their skulls.
Malarites.
This is going beyond what even Virgil and Mikasi and their likes have done in the times past. This was a systematic wiping out of bits of our hilltop that have been gathered here for decades, some of it since the Korabs first set upon the hill almost fifty years hence.
Without a past, no being can appreciate what they have, and where they may be going.
Ironic, how one of the things Navira and I discussed in the Dreaming Tree during our journey toward Minmir, was the tragedy of losing our history. Even in the loss of flesh and blood, our lives are fleeting, and temporary. But when we lose something that gives us a legacy, that is something that cannot be replaced.
Aly’ne happened upon the hill shortly after I arrived myself. She had just been there a tenday hence, and all had been well. Suddenly we both were stricken by the feelings that have haunted the Heartwood for the past many moons:
Loss. The destruction of our home. The apparent attempt to likewise dispirit us, and displace us from the place we hold as our refuge, as the feathersnatch had done to the Druid Circle with the grove. Destruction of things that were our legacy to pass on — much like lost records of the Grove that will never be recovered as Witherdusk destroyed them out of spite.
The very last crafting station that bore Olina’s mark upon it is gone — the one thing remaining upon the hill of hers, from when she gave her heart and soul to the Pack… and shared it with me.
Aly’ne showed the same calm demeanor and strength she often does, to set to making another message board, for the sake of leaving one for those who did this.
Already word has been coming to me about the likely perpetrators of the destruction — a young pack of Malarites that recently took to homing within the Bramble, also tainted by the black blood. The eldest of which is a dead elf who sold out her own blood to give her soul to the Elf Eater. She and her pack have caused no small measure of chaos about the Pax already — and their willing transformations betray the fact that their taint is not unintentional, nor accidental.
The Commander will take care of making sure they are kept out of the city proper, and now t’will be up to us to make sure they no longer set foot in the lands surrounding.
And to rebuild.
This was an attempt to cause us the same loss as the Heartwood has suffered. This is a war, against the Beastlord and His kin — including their freakish self-proclaimed Queen.
I am a Needle of my Maiden. I am a Sword of My Lady. If my blade need run with the blackened blood of my foes, so be it.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
15 Nightall 106
Spent the week's ending once again with Navira, in an attempt to revisit the picnic that was interrupted before. I sent word to her via hin to meet me at Pathfinders' cabin.
Even before reaching the cabin, we'd both evaded folk wanting our attention, to the point she suggested lensing our way to our destination. T'was almost amusing, the way we both sought to avoid being farther tarried from our long denied solace. We both had things to discuss, and stories still to share. So I accepted the lense and we traveled the ley lines to Minmir.
The site of our picnic was, to put it mildly, some assembly required. We'd no sooner stepped out of the portal than we were beset by Talassan that had been going unchecked in the area. We both found ourselves rather vulnerable at first, then Navira changed her form — to one I'd not known she even could assume. I'd never seen her in a totem form before, and surely not even been aware she was so bonded by a spirit guide. She told me soon after, that t'was something she did not openly profess, indeed, saved the revelation for those she considered close. I reckon t'was her way of saying I'd reached that threshold.
Our fighting in tandem was initially, clumsy — as the only times we'd fought before side by side were the sally into Benwick with Ser Roland, and another venture upon the Red Dragon Isle. And those were with others to accompany. We pressed onward, as much to sharpen our tactics together, as to purge the site of our refuge completely of the Talassan scourge. It was a time to restore the balance of the land, to make it safer, and to hone ourselves for the future that we would stand together against the buzzard, and others that threatened the forests and the Circle.
A toast, to at long lasts.
Navira was actually one of the first nature walkers I met upon this isle, and the first of the Heartwood. In my early friendship with my soon to be Knight Master, Ser Caelyn, he took me to see the grove, at one of its times of bountiful harvest. Navira always seemed the calm, gentle soul even then. Young even, for an Archdruidess. Our time and conversation led me to pledge my bow to her then, as a Needle would to the Forestarm. Twas also the first time our acquaintance was cut short, as soon she would have to leave upon a sojourn to the mainland, leaving Mother Bear as her successor.
How quickly that pledge was sundered, by my own pride and arrogance, and the seeming indifference of the Circle in the wake of the Liberated Territories, and Cassima, and even after, the constant absence of a High Druid's presence over the Southern Wood for so many Winters. In place of the friendship, there grew a divide pitted us as rivals for the balance of the land, rather than partners.
A toast, to new friendship, and future paths shared.
This day, we two stood together for the balance of the land. We cleansed it, prayed, and purified it, and we were able to enjoy the lakeside with chatter of our duties, of our goals and purpose, and finally, of our pasts and common ties and the fates meddling in our past chances to twain our paths. The latter of which, again came to sudden disruption, as yet another hin broke our solace.
The High Magus needed a key piece to the plan to sanctify a new home for the Circle, and so, we made the journey back. We had to deal with the presence of the Dreadknight Thrule along with her, trying to meddle her way into the discussion, and being nosy as to what interest the Cyrists may have with Wickett and her hold on the grove. We managed to evade most of the Dreadknight's questions, for the more who know about the threat of what power the buzzard sits atop of, the more of a threat t'will be.
Afterward, with the key from Arborea in the High Magus' hands, I escorted Navira back here, to the campsite. While we spoke more on the return path, of the future path of our forests, and our paths in twain, there was still more we did not get to share. The snow was falling heavily when we arrived in the camp, and we sought the shelter of one of the tents lest we end up looking like snowmen ere we awakened.
Snowmen. We actually built one this morrow; t'was her idea after touching on the tale of her youth and her own beginnings, and her joy she once found in making them. The would-be picnic had again been sundered prematurely, but today ended with as much solace, and with the Archdruidess in as good a spirits as I'd have hoped the lake would afford. T'is the most at peace I've seen her since this madness in the Grove started, and hopeful. I reckon we both were, come our parting.
The toast to at long lasts, a to friendship that should have found its rooting long ago, and cooperation that should have never been sundered.
Spent the week's ending once again with Navira, in an attempt to revisit the picnic that was interrupted before. I sent word to her via hin to meet me at Pathfinders' cabin.
Even before reaching the cabin, we'd both evaded folk wanting our attention, to the point she suggested lensing our way to our destination. T'was almost amusing, the way we both sought to avoid being farther tarried from our long denied solace. We both had things to discuss, and stories still to share. So I accepted the lense and we traveled the ley lines to Minmir.
The site of our picnic was, to put it mildly, some assembly required. We'd no sooner stepped out of the portal than we were beset by Talassan that had been going unchecked in the area. We both found ourselves rather vulnerable at first, then Navira changed her form — to one I'd not known she even could assume. I'd never seen her in a totem form before, and surely not even been aware she was so bonded by a spirit guide. She told me soon after, that t'was something she did not openly profess, indeed, saved the revelation for those she considered close. I reckon t'was her way of saying I'd reached that threshold.
Our fighting in tandem was initially, clumsy — as the only times we'd fought before side by side were the sally into Benwick with Ser Roland, and another venture upon the Red Dragon Isle. And those were with others to accompany. We pressed onward, as much to sharpen our tactics together, as to purge the site of our refuge completely of the Talassan scourge. It was a time to restore the balance of the land, to make it safer, and to hone ourselves for the future that we would stand together against the buzzard, and others that threatened the forests and the Circle.
A toast, to at long lasts.
Navira was actually one of the first nature walkers I met upon this isle, and the first of the Heartwood. In my early friendship with my soon to be Knight Master, Ser Caelyn, he took me to see the grove, at one of its times of bountiful harvest. Navira always seemed the calm, gentle soul even then. Young even, for an Archdruidess. Our time and conversation led me to pledge my bow to her then, as a Needle would to the Forestarm. Twas also the first time our acquaintance was cut short, as soon she would have to leave upon a sojourn to the mainland, leaving Mother Bear as her successor.
How quickly that pledge was sundered, by my own pride and arrogance, and the seeming indifference of the Circle in the wake of the Liberated Territories, and Cassima, and even after, the constant absence of a High Druid's presence over the Southern Wood for so many Winters. In place of the friendship, there grew a divide pitted us as rivals for the balance of the land, rather than partners.
A toast, to new friendship, and future paths shared.
This day, we two stood together for the balance of the land. We cleansed it, prayed, and purified it, and we were able to enjoy the lakeside with chatter of our duties, of our goals and purpose, and finally, of our pasts and common ties and the fates meddling in our past chances to twain our paths. The latter of which, again came to sudden disruption, as yet another hin broke our solace.
The High Magus needed a key piece to the plan to sanctify a new home for the Circle, and so, we made the journey back. We had to deal with the presence of the Dreadknight Thrule along with her, trying to meddle her way into the discussion, and being nosy as to what interest the Cyrists may have with Wickett and her hold on the grove. We managed to evade most of the Dreadknight's questions, for the more who know about the threat of what power the buzzard sits atop of, the more of a threat t'will be.
Afterward, with the key from Arborea in the High Magus' hands, I escorted Navira back here, to the campsite. While we spoke more on the return path, of the future path of our forests, and our paths in twain, there was still more we did not get to share. The snow was falling heavily when we arrived in the camp, and we sought the shelter of one of the tents lest we end up looking like snowmen ere we awakened.
Snowmen. We actually built one this morrow; t'was her idea after touching on the tale of her youth and her own beginnings, and her joy she once found in making them. The would-be picnic had again been sundered prematurely, but today ended with as much solace, and with the Archdruidess in as good a spirits as I'd have hoped the lake would afford. T'is the most at peace I've seen her since this madness in the Grove started, and hopeful. I reckon we both were, come our parting.
The toast to at long lasts, a to friendship that should have found its rooting long ago, and cooperation that should have never been sundered.
Last edited by KregorRanger on Thu Apr 30, 2015 2:54 am, edited 1 time in total.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
07 Alturiak 107
In a tenday's time, the buzzard will be holding her so-called moot in Heartwood. Those of the true druid circle and our folk of the Bramble had already decided we would make no presence, in order to deny any legitimacy for her claim of Archdruid.
Tonight, there was a gathering of folk of the southern settlements to discuss the same event, and to come up with a consensus on how to address the interloper's gathering. I was beckoned to the gathering, along with my Second, to discuss the implications of the feathersnatch's gathering, and how to address it.
To act as emissaries of the wylds, to convene in peace with the settlements.
Initially, I entered the gathering to a degree of chaos, as I'd sort of expected. I was called upon after my arrival to recount my experiences and observances of Wickett and her occupying of the Grove. Whether it had anything to do with bringing a better accord or not, I've no idea. In the end however, there was in fact an accord reached — none of the settlements would either attend, nor move against the moot, instead regarding the wench irrelevant. Preparations would be made to stake out all our holdings, in case the lack of attendance stirred the buzzard's desire for bad attention, and led her to lash out somewhere or another.
After the meeting, I was able to speak aside with Marcus, the Waymen Commander. While the original topic of my concern — that of the Malarite elf being in his employ — was already resolved and the lycan dismissed, The Commander did bring another concern to matter. Seems Elaine's taking of power in Wharftown as Mayor is causing ill will with the militia. If the story of her allowing a known thief free reign to her townsfolk's burgled possessions in exchange for information and services is true, then the militia is rightfully irked — t'is their job to protect the order and safety of the townsfolk, and it should also be the job of the Mayor.
According to Marcus, if she doesn't answer to accountability for her actions, the Waymen will walk. Considering the oath I know said Mayor has allegedly spoken, I pray she sees to reason.
In a tenday's time, the buzzard will be holding her so-called moot in Heartwood. Those of the true druid circle and our folk of the Bramble had already decided we would make no presence, in order to deny any legitimacy for her claim of Archdruid.
Tonight, there was a gathering of folk of the southern settlements to discuss the same event, and to come up with a consensus on how to address the interloper's gathering. I was beckoned to the gathering, along with my Second, to discuss the implications of the feathersnatch's gathering, and how to address it.
To act as emissaries of the wylds, to convene in peace with the settlements.
Initially, I entered the gathering to a degree of chaos, as I'd sort of expected. I was called upon after my arrival to recount my experiences and observances of Wickett and her occupying of the Grove. Whether it had anything to do with bringing a better accord or not, I've no idea. In the end however, there was in fact an accord reached — none of the settlements would either attend, nor move against the moot, instead regarding the wench irrelevant. Preparations would be made to stake out all our holdings, in case the lack of attendance stirred the buzzard's desire for bad attention, and led her to lash out somewhere or another.
After the meeting, I was able to speak aside with Marcus, the Waymen Commander. While the original topic of my concern — that of the Malarite elf being in his employ — was already resolved and the lycan dismissed, The Commander did bring another concern to matter. Seems Elaine's taking of power in Wharftown as Mayor is causing ill will with the militia. If the story of her allowing a known thief free reign to her townsfolk's burgled possessions in exchange for information and services is true, then the militia is rightfully irked — t'is their job to protect the order and safety of the townsfolk, and it should also be the job of the Mayor.
According to Marcus, if she doesn't answer to accountability for her actions, the Waymen will walk. Considering the oath I know said Mayor has allegedly spoken, I pray she sees to reason.
Last edited by KregorRanger on Thu Apr 30, 2015 2:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
16 Alturiak 107
Wickett's moot happened this past night. And as agreed by the wylds and the settlements, we stood our ground, and stayed away. I was joined on the hill by my sister, Jodie. We spoke about the meeting, and the decisions made, and she helped me resist the temptation to try and stealth my way into the moot, just to see who would come to stand for or against.
We decided to find distraction by making a patrol of the outlands. They were oddly quiet of the normal rabble — the gobs and their pets — but we had an unexpected visit, as we were jumped by a lycan from the trees.
At first, I thought it might be one of the new pack, that sundered our hill. But this was far too strong of a black blood to be one of those sucklings. I then reckoned it to be Mikasi, indeed come to cause chaos for his Mistress, for us refusing to show to the moot. He was strong enough. Took us what seemed forever to cut the beast down, with Jodie almost being shredded by its claws twice. Til we finally got it down, and it reverted to it's human form.
T'was not Mikasi. T'was a woman, I'd never seen nor met before.
That part of me that signaled to leave it be — to give it to the earth and let it be done — was doing so in ernest. But the mercy of my heart saw fit to give her a chance. We revived her, and gave her the chance to receive the cure.
At first, she tried to claim ignorance. But the half moon in the sky betrayed her — this was not an involuntary change. With some persuasion, she said she would agree to be taken to the cure.
Jodie left me with the woman at that point, and we journeyed to the nearest plant. Small talk along the way led her to talk of a family curse, and how she'd considered the black blood as a token for ridding herself of it. I argued otherwise, that the taint lies to those that bear it — whatever promise of strength, or power it can make to woo the desires of the infected, it will tell them.
More talk, and a murmured prayer that healed her fully of her remaining wounds, showed me that I was indeed escorting a priestess, of a goddess that she would not disclose. It also became clear that she had no intention of actually receiving the cure.
I tried to persuade her still, and she offered me the chance to turn and walk away. I refused. I would not turn my eye from a willing lycan, that would be a danger to others as she went on another rampage. My efforts to stop her fell short, as I felt the true strength of her favor with her Goddess.
The Night.
Another blasted darkened wench roaming our isle, and worse, with the taint of the Beastlord's blood. She made her escape that night, as I lay festering from her prayers with my face in the dirt. I won't be merciful next time, nor unprepared.
I am a Sword of my Lady, and I am a Needle of my Maiden. Goddesses, quicken my blade against yet another foe.
Wickett's moot happened this past night. And as agreed by the wylds and the settlements, we stood our ground, and stayed away. I was joined on the hill by my sister, Jodie. We spoke about the meeting, and the decisions made, and she helped me resist the temptation to try and stealth my way into the moot, just to see who would come to stand for or against.
We decided to find distraction by making a patrol of the outlands. They were oddly quiet of the normal rabble — the gobs and their pets — but we had an unexpected visit, as we were jumped by a lycan from the trees.
At first, I thought it might be one of the new pack, that sundered our hill. But this was far too strong of a black blood to be one of those sucklings. I then reckoned it to be Mikasi, indeed come to cause chaos for his Mistress, for us refusing to show to the moot. He was strong enough. Took us what seemed forever to cut the beast down, with Jodie almost being shredded by its claws twice. Til we finally got it down, and it reverted to it's human form.
T'was not Mikasi. T'was a woman, I'd never seen nor met before.
That part of me that signaled to leave it be — to give it to the earth and let it be done — was doing so in ernest. But the mercy of my heart saw fit to give her a chance. We revived her, and gave her the chance to receive the cure.
At first, she tried to claim ignorance. But the half moon in the sky betrayed her — this was not an involuntary change. With some persuasion, she said she would agree to be taken to the cure.
Jodie left me with the woman at that point, and we journeyed to the nearest plant. Small talk along the way led her to talk of a family curse, and how she'd considered the black blood as a token for ridding herself of it. I argued otherwise, that the taint lies to those that bear it — whatever promise of strength, or power it can make to woo the desires of the infected, it will tell them.
More talk, and a murmured prayer that healed her fully of her remaining wounds, showed me that I was indeed escorting a priestess, of a goddess that she would not disclose. It also became clear that she had no intention of actually receiving the cure.
I tried to persuade her still, and she offered me the chance to turn and walk away. I refused. I would not turn my eye from a willing lycan, that would be a danger to others as she went on another rampage. My efforts to stop her fell short, as I felt the true strength of her favor with her Goddess.
The Night.
Another blasted darkened wench roaming our isle, and worse, with the taint of the Beastlord's blood. She made her escape that night, as I lay festering from her prayers with my face in the dirt. I won't be merciful next time, nor unprepared.
I am a Sword of my Lady, and I am a Needle of my Maiden. Goddesses, quicken my blade against yet another foe.
Last edited by KregorRanger on Thu Apr 30, 2015 2:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
***copies of notes tucked into the journal***
Stormwind reported to be involved in brutal murder of innocent. Heart cut out, body drained, necklace of green scales left around victim's neck. Body impaled.
Stormwind reported to have sacrificed an innocent. Purpose: aiding another in becoming undead. Innocent reported to be miner — "butchered."
Two separate reports, but likely the same event. Refer to "Palemastery Ingredients," document, likely related.
(unsigned)
Stormwind seen in company of Drow and kobold in Shadowvar trading post, just aside from the portal. Drow female, blue dress, beret, longsword. Had to be reminded of Shadowvar neutrality.
Archmage Amana was sent to investigate.
*detailed redacted notes about a growing cult, its members and status*
The Tower has renounced their protection and asylum for Stormwind for reasons not made public. They have posted this information in Cordor, the Tower grounds and Wharftown, at least.
(unsigned)
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
19 Ches 107
My sense of distrust rarely fails me, and seems it hasn’t yet again. As I spoke to my Second down in the shelter, we were joined by my once apprentice.
Apparently, the talk the Waymen Commander was to have with Wharftown’s mayor did not go well at all. The aggression has escalated to the point of another confrontation, in which a hellspawn was summoned to slay Nyx, for no other reason, save her being betrothed to the Commander, and by his side.
“Your mate is gone. You will have to do.”
She was revived in captivity, with an ultimatum of servitude and loyalty. Her refusal has put a price on her head, according to their promise, so large that a paladin would take the bounty without question.
My Second is likely a target as well, perhaps because they suspect I’ve been using her against them, They’ve shut down her shop, and severed any other connection she had to the village.
Those who answer the call to personal power, can no longer hear the song of Freedom, and are a traitor to the oath.
In Marcus’ place, they’ve placed a willing lycan, who’s been the lapdog of Drow, and as I have dreaded, he likely now bears my third oath, despite my objections.
Holding control of the village with threats of death, and terror; contracting assassins, and giving thieves access to the townsfolk’s homes in exchange for services.
Work against wickedness wherever it dwells, always mindful of the consequence of your actions.
Their eyes in the Tower had almost two winters to deal with the fey witch in that was harbored within — right on the doorstep of the forests she sent Mikasi into. He said he would have my back. He said he would take care of it. As I was cast out of its grounds, he promised me knowledge.
It took me, and my own eyes, two moons, to do what he has failed to do in two winters. Either he’s a sad, sorry sack of an excuse for one who took the oath, or he’s a rogue one.
Reckon which I presume.
I’ve been stabbed in the back, and betrayed and had everything taken from me that I cherished on the mainland. I do not breathe still, by basing my trust on who wears a pin.
I am now sorely outnumbered, and out-gonned. And my recourse is a fossil who is too impotent, or just willingly ignorant, to stand against this ream of new blood that don’t deserve to bear the oath.
My apprentice was in despair, knowing full well who those who were seeking her death are supposed to be. Her own hopes of someday finding us to be among us, dashed in the wake of corruption. My Second had been lost, and kept ignorant of that one thing I still kept secret to her.
They both deserved to know. They deserved to know that there is, at least, still one on this isle who bore that oath, who lives by it.
The revelation hurt Aly’ne. I had to explain to her why I would keep this from her, for so long. Because I didn’t want her to become a target. Because she would stand to those principles so strongly, and hold her fellows to it, that she too could become a threat — and disposed of. I lost one apprentice to the whim of a single man who allegedly bore the same oath, on his own hearsay. They would not have Aly’ne; they will not have her.
Nor shall they have my apprentice. While she gave her all to the Waymen, there is nothing for her there now. She’s one of our pack again, and now the both of them know fully who I am, and where I stand.
I tire of holding secrets from the very ones who have earned my trust, while the ones I’m supposed to trust, I’d dare not turn my back on.
I’ve a few more folk with whom to remedy that mistake now. And once t’is done, I'll have the eyes I need, regardless of what else may come.
My sense of distrust rarely fails me, and seems it hasn’t yet again. As I spoke to my Second down in the shelter, we were joined by my once apprentice.
Apparently, the talk the Waymen Commander was to have with Wharftown’s mayor did not go well at all. The aggression has escalated to the point of another confrontation, in which a hellspawn was summoned to slay Nyx, for no other reason, save her being betrothed to the Commander, and by his side.
“Your mate is gone. You will have to do.”
She was revived in captivity, with an ultimatum of servitude and loyalty. Her refusal has put a price on her head, according to their promise, so large that a paladin would take the bounty without question.
My Second is likely a target as well, perhaps because they suspect I’ve been using her against them, They’ve shut down her shop, and severed any other connection she had to the village.
Those who answer the call to personal power, can no longer hear the song of Freedom, and are a traitor to the oath.
In Marcus’ place, they’ve placed a willing lycan, who’s been the lapdog of Drow, and as I have dreaded, he likely now bears my third oath, despite my objections.
Holding control of the village with threats of death, and terror; contracting assassins, and giving thieves access to the townsfolk’s homes in exchange for services.
Work against wickedness wherever it dwells, always mindful of the consequence of your actions.
Their eyes in the Tower had almost two winters to deal with the fey witch in that was harbored within — right on the doorstep of the forests she sent Mikasi into. He said he would have my back. He said he would take care of it. As I was cast out of its grounds, he promised me knowledge.
It took me, and my own eyes, two moons, to do what he has failed to do in two winters. Either he’s a sad, sorry sack of an excuse for one who took the oath, or he’s a rogue one.
Reckon which I presume.
I’ve been stabbed in the back, and betrayed and had everything taken from me that I cherished on the mainland. I do not breathe still, by basing my trust on who wears a pin.
I am now sorely outnumbered, and out-gonned. And my recourse is a fossil who is too impotent, or just willingly ignorant, to stand against this ream of new blood that don’t deserve to bear the oath.
My apprentice was in despair, knowing full well who those who were seeking her death are supposed to be. Her own hopes of someday finding us to be among us, dashed in the wake of corruption. My Second had been lost, and kept ignorant of that one thing I still kept secret to her.
They both deserved to know. They deserved to know that there is, at least, still one on this isle who bore that oath, who lives by it.
The revelation hurt Aly’ne. I had to explain to her why I would keep this from her, for so long. Because I didn’t want her to become a target. Because she would stand to those principles so strongly, and hold her fellows to it, that she too could become a threat — and disposed of. I lost one apprentice to the whim of a single man who allegedly bore the same oath, on his own hearsay. They would not have Aly’ne; they will not have her.
Nor shall they have my apprentice. While she gave her all to the Waymen, there is nothing for her there now. She’s one of our pack again, and now the both of them know fully who I am, and where I stand.
I tire of holding secrets from the very ones who have earned my trust, while the ones I’m supposed to trust, I’d dare not turn my back on.
I’ve a few more folk with whom to remedy that mistake now. And once t’is done, I'll have the eyes I need, regardless of what else may come.
Last edited by KregorRanger on Sun May 03, 2015 9:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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KregorRanger
- Posts: 462
- Joined: Mon Sep 08, 2014 3:42 am
Re: A Ranger's Repentance - The Journal of Kregor Boldheart
10 Tarsakh 107
A meeting called in the nest, with only a few in attendance. The one who failed me in the tower sat there smugly as I challenged both his actions in Wharftown and his inaction against the dragon witch. Surprisingly his defense, and his challenge against my own performance were countered by another around the table — one I'd not anticipated seeing there.
I never touched the pin in her presence. I'd not even known. All I knew were the winters' time of deeds she'd done what she could for peace and balance. One of the more level headed folk that I've known, and someone that I would consider to be truly good.
The wizard stormed out of the meeting, as he found himself ganged up on and censured. Instead of letting him walk away and pout, the monk in typical fashion went after him to console him. My insinuation of possible corruption was largely ignored, as I'd figured.
I should have known, when I was told that Ossian would be allowed the solitary judgement of his lover on the mainland for his deeds, rather than a tribunal of peers which, we not only deserve, but should require. True judgement is reserved for those considered outside the fraternity.
We police our own.
Ironically, I might even be the one to come under judgement — having some of them question my loyalty. But my loyalty is to a principle, not a token, or the people who bear it.
Trust is earned. I'm secure in my own path, and choice, and I have the accountability of others whom I do trust — who also bear the same principle behind the oath. If I cannot comprise the watchmen of those who take the oath, they will still be watched.
A meeting called in the nest, with only a few in attendance. The one who failed me in the tower sat there smugly as I challenged both his actions in Wharftown and his inaction against the dragon witch. Surprisingly his defense, and his challenge against my own performance were countered by another around the table — one I'd not anticipated seeing there.
I never touched the pin in her presence. I'd not even known. All I knew were the winters' time of deeds she'd done what she could for peace and balance. One of the more level headed folk that I've known, and someone that I would consider to be truly good.
The wizard stormed out of the meeting, as he found himself ganged up on and censured. Instead of letting him walk away and pout, the monk in typical fashion went after him to console him. My insinuation of possible corruption was largely ignored, as I'd figured.
I should have known, when I was told that Ossian would be allowed the solitary judgement of his lover on the mainland for his deeds, rather than a tribunal of peers which, we not only deserve, but should require. True judgement is reserved for those considered outside the fraternity.
We police our own.
Ironically, I might even be the one to come under judgement — having some of them question my loyalty. But my loyalty is to a principle, not a token, or the people who bear it.
Trust is earned. I'm secure in my own path, and choice, and I have the accountability of others whom I do trust — who also bear the same principle behind the oath. If I cannot comprise the watchmen of those who take the oath, they will still be watched.