Alaric's Journal

[Hierophant]

The First Day

On the first day I arrived to the outskirts of Ephia's Well where mine brother Galahad has found succor; on the first day, a pack of Melek unlike the Sibilant of the Rings.

These are malnourished, somehow more uncivilized and borne of penchant for cruel act less organized than their cousins. Not a historian, cannot say whether they are the very same, or a different breed entire. All that I know, is the same. They bleed all the same, that is.

They were ransacking an ambushed caravan and I had time naught to think clear, this did not matter. I have hunted these coldblooded cur for ere long and shall continue my work. I slit the throat of their only shield, and all that remained were skirmishers with slings and rocks, whereas in the Rings they would have used more rudimentary tool.

They are savage and even their accent is different. Their war cries unnerved me, and they struck me several times and battered me. Bruised me, bloodied me. I fought on, and soon I found myself in a tranquil dance. When it was done, I was surrounded by their rotting carcass, that smelled not of the sea but of things long dead anyway.

The vultures then came to pluck upon them, and I took six teeth to add to my trophy collection. Welcome to Ouroboros, where the snake eats the snake.

I only expedite their fate.

[Hierophant]

REFLECTION

The journey was harried by many a thing; weather, beast, monster, politics. If we had not separated, perhaps I may have felt excitement.

Instead I was in a lapse of unknowing, unknowing if my brother was hale or pale. Churning the crowds a smile and a laugh or three feet in the ground.

But I will always be here to protect him, for my hands are bloodied with the scum of the earth so his hands may hold a lute and a sword both and be the promised hero.

We both have good in our hearts, but his is feathered with a need to be liked, whereas I will do what I must, even if it means becoming a criminal in the process.

No Legate, no King, no Sultan will keep me from protecting those I love and care for.

[Hierophant]

Honoring Our Father's Memory

So I have done it, found myself in the very same cloak that he wore during the Siege of Ephia's Well. As is my want to do, self-destruction is often easier than healing one's tarnished soul, I had asked every question I might to irk my new-found teacher, Niranye.

She answered them with prudence, but I shall never shake the thought that beyond quests and heroes, mercenaries will always aspire for one thing and one thing only; coin, and surpassing the obstacles that beseech them whence it comes to coin.

They all weep for a Brooker whom met her end without 'due jurisprudence'. How far we've fallen from the ways of Dorvant's Peerage and the laws of the King in the Mists. There were no 'trials' or 'due diligence' in my home of old. Only ancient laws, tradition and the bravery to see such things through without qualm for whom might befriend the devil-worshipper.

I know little of the matter however, so I have been bid to find tutelage among the scholars of the city in discovering the machinations of the feared Djinn and 'Myth Magic'.

[Hierophant]

The City Sleeps, the Scald Awaits

Tesrin Hray 28, IY 7788

This is the sixth or seventh day, mayhap more, the keeping of time still feels a pointless thing. Dates and months that are upheld by superstitions and age old traditions alien to my upbringing.

I have many reasons to dislike the Banda Rossa. They are sellswords after all, and father always taught us to mistrust sellswords; use them as needed for petty tasks, but never depend or rely on them. They are cannon fodder, and give them no more than an inch in your home, else...

We already know the end of that tale, and the bed made for us that we now sleep in. What bothers me the most, though, is how we whom choose to still hold out hope for our Quest are damned and blamed and sold out as no better!

The Grandmaster was no more than an adventurous bardess, a songwright, a weaver of epic tale; ones I remembered well as a boy, and still do to this day. She has always been an antiquarian, you see. She was the heart of culture beyond the Vale in our dear Peerage, kept alive through song, dance and art; now she is the heart of chivalry beyond the few and despite it all, she has persevered and kept this banner afloat.

A banner that, by all means, had no right to remain afloat. Some might say it does not deserve the courtesy, where so many have fallen, now that we have made friend with the coin-hungry mercenary. What I say to that is far different. Mercenaries do not abide by morals, and why that's a surprise to anyone is frankly baffling.

So you damn those whom pay them? Would you rather the Red Band be selling their sword to Kha'esh, or /Qa'im/? Think what you will of them, I know I shall and will not stop, but you cannot deny that Elizabetha d'Auvergne has given them some sense of duty, if anything. A purpose beyond pillage and coin.

Those whom expect the best of the worst in short time and think themselves above it all are the ones whose heart shall be torn in two firstly. My heart has been broken thrice in ten years, and you do not see my sad face moping on the streets, curled into a ball of self-pity and self-righteousness. I find distractions. I slaughter bands of beast, monster and cretin. I argue with people I have a penchant of mislike for. I tell it how it is, even when it earns me the ire and strange looks of those with pompous, lifted chins and so called glorious, bright and great hearts.

I tire of it all, the constant bickering, the constant heckling, the constant high horse in a land where no knight-errant rides into the gleaming sunset with a happy ending, or a smile on his face; nor good folk to care for, and a people to preserve and save and keep safe.

Politics will destroy this city, and I have little to no respect for this so called Asterabadian experiment. Democracy, I can garner, is the surest path forward for our Quest to ensure the least resistance, to be rid of fetid and useless obstacles in an age where no King sits a Misty Throne; yet what we have instead is some flawed machination that gets folk killed and greedy.

So I'm going to fight like hell. Claw my way to the surface, to the end of a tunnel with a light at the end that I've lit myself. I don't care anymore, and if I have to hear one more speech about wisdom or the greater good, I shall surely spit in their face.

It will be done. It may not be the 'dream' spoken of, with rainbows and green meadows, but it will be done. It will be better than this, and it will be with a Rose brandished in my clutches or naught. The Grandmaster shall awake from her stupor, or she shall not. I will not damn her regardless, for it is anyone's free will to embark on their own ordainment and be the change they wish to see. Even if it must be carved bloody and screaming from the hands of MAD MEN and SYCOPHANTS.

A new blade is in this city, and this blade may not gleam like the others; it is rather rusty, and untempered yet; but it is a blade, and a willful blade at that. Let the dance begin.

[Hierophant]

[A page is torn out, and it is followed by another entry]

[Hierophant]

Mirage in Defeat

Kanon Kray 9, IY 7788

The past fortnight has been a blur. I have narry had the time nor the willingness to pen thought to parchment, and yet the longer I serve the Cinquefoil Rose the deeper entrenched I find my sorrows in hoping that one day it is worthy of the Orentid spear that drove itself into my father's back.

My brother has been absent of late, awash in drink and splendor as he enjoys our father's legacy. He was gifted his helm, and I have pretended not to be envious. But now I see perhaps it was merely a ruse to make him docile. Galahad enjoys things that shine, but I would much rather see what shines beneath the Rust.

On my travels I have met many, but of the few that strike me as most particular, are those men and women of faith;

Krata of the Shield-Shattered, whom convinced me that Agaslakku was my Lord and Savior. That each battle I fight, and every shoulder I offer, is for Him and His love.

Azim of the Waradim, whom granted me counsel when I did not ask, and then again when I did ask. Pestering self-righteous man in my ear and now among my best friends.

Kate Ashford, though I have found myself parting very quickly from your friendship in secret, I admire your persistence. You keep Azim humble.

Katya, my colleague, and Saria too; strong women, noble, that remind me of my sister before the world tore her innocence from her and made of her a fickle sorceress that follows Gal and I around now like a specter and a constant reminder of our lost mother, whom she bears the most resemblance to.

Ashur and his brother, Ash Talker. They are like few I've met. They enjoy the Hunt, and when I travel with them I feel most alive, even more so than when I am on the battlefield. They know what it is like to live a life beyond four walls. They are not like Marcellus, who dared speak to me those words, 'Without these walls, we are nothing'. I lost much respect for the man that day.

Vorazol Ekret, Priest of the Keystone, is a man I still do not fully understand. I have vowed he is no murderer, and why this cannot be seen as true by others is awash; they are so quick to wish upon him a broken existence. Though I cannot call him a friend just yet, I found myself by his side last night, willing to assail another friend of mine to keep him safe.

I did not enjoy either of their words, but such is why I follow the Prodigal Brother. I really do not care much for the Wheel, nor the Dome. I respect Faith, and I am learning. It makes this city feel more like home when you participate and open your mind to it. We are have been ordained as the Wheel's protectors, and so I shall do my duty.

But onto the matter at hand, as I hold agape this wound upon my broken arm, mending quickly by the aid of the Waterbearers. It is good not to hear Martyrs' bell toll and the scent of cinnamon and myrrh, but instead the sounds of water dripping and splashing, and the sooth that comes with. It was not the battle that wounded me true that night, but the rumors, and the events of the earlier day; the words of Dariush Khoramdin, a man from Arslan with a grudge set upon the Cinquefoil Rose. The accusations laid by Legate Argent upon the Sisterhood.

I shall contemplate these words, and study further the Drink. Perhaps I should ask of it, but I am ware of being forced to sip it. They say it is a cup to remember, but I have nary forgotten my tutelage of old. My father fought and died for this banner and I shall not let it slip into the hands of sycophants and weaklings whom need a crutch to remember what they should never have forgotten.

[Hierophant]

Lift Thy Chin

There has been much doom and gloom these past few days, and I have even been battered by creatures and monsters never known to me before. Trudged through the shit, watched a comrade utterly melted by Orcan fireballs and I woke up today, bruised, sore and bloodied, but alive.

I woke up for the first time in a long time feeling rejuvenated. I felt like I had slept soundly, and the bags beneath my eyes no longer felt so heavy. My eyes seemed more blue, like before, and I felt a Gildecrown.

Such is the stories of Agasians evermore, I walk a lonely path, but I am not alone. There is hesitance at times I cannot quite place my finger on, but there is also boldness and confidence. My new position in La Banda Rossa has never felt more comfortable. I know the stakes now.

Aurelio d'Lyon saw my treachery befitting disbarment, and the Sisters of the Sibylline Sisterhood deemed it my destiny or some such to stray from the path of a Balladeer. Mayhaps because they can see only few come along with loyalty in this Rose, with designs to redeem it in all its glory.

Here I was, once terrified of glory, of seizing the moment, of being pragmatic; now, I know there is no other recourse and this does not change that I do these things for what I believe is right and good. What is necessary for this world to be a world worthy of our children.

Ingway said he'll be long dead by the time there's a lush Bel-Ishun to rest easy in, and mayhaps he is right. So then what is the point of hesitance? He enjoys the saying, never say die.

Then let us never die. I am not burdened any longer by the shadows of the past, nor the stains of the now. All that matters is that I wield my sword high and continue my efforts to make war, be it on the battlefield, in the streets of Ephia's Well or in my fickle head.

I'll not muddy these pages with what has transpired the last week. From now on, these pages will be reassurances that I am on the right path, even if others do not say so.

Cyaxares, I come for you, and I know you are watching. I will not rest easy until this city belongs to the Cinquefoil Rose as promised long ago.