Kaelan's Documents

[Aphel]

Kaelan's Notebook is a small, vaguely pocket-sized, sturdy book meant for traveling notes. The pages are irregular cut and appear to be of cheap quality. It seems that it is possible to simply replace all pages inside the book instead of buying a new book if there is no more free space left on the pages.
The writing is small, very small, but still easy to read.


Entry 1
Thirday, Seventh Moon 25, 1487
Tower Academy, Port Hempstead

Trouble on way to Hempstead, Center under orc attack. Met Sir Doesscha, but did not have the time to talk to him, he was busy.
Got accepted into the Tower Academy, my teacher will be Elohanna. Should I consider myself happy now?
I have a place in the dorm, need to ward my things. Went shopping with Elohanna and her friend Zira. Latter nice, Ilsare. Talks a lot. Cute.
Have to work for the Angel's Guild and Elohanna now to pay off the debt. Should collect raw materials for them.
Met a fellow student by the name of Breanna. Looks cute, but did not get to talk as Tess interrupted. Breanna studies Divination, maybe she could show me a thing or two.

Saw a shifty figure near Hempstead when I returned at night. Possibly elf, one of those fellows that dress themselves in black. Did not report him.

[Aphel]

It is midnight, and Kaelan sits alone in the dorm, studying the texture of the wall across from his desk. A piece of parchment lies before him, but the few lines of ink he wrote are long dried by now:

[strike]Thoughts about[/strike] On the Al'Noth

The Al'Noth is like a city, to which all roads lead. I can only describe my own, personal path, and I am not sure if I am in the City yet.
The Al'Noth connects all things, life and death, grief and happyness, love and hate,


Here the writing suddenly stops. The portrait of an elf follows, drawn with charcoal and quite some skill and devotion. It shows the face of a female elf that bears resemblance to Alazira.
He looks down on the drawing, and then at his charcoal-smeared fingers.
After Midnight.
Kaelan gets up, nearly knocking the desk over, slips in his studded armor and leaves the Tower Academy in an annoyed hurry, his face emotionless.

[Aphel]

Insights, remembered and learned by heart as future rules not to be broken:

One: Do not go shopping with an Ilsare unless you have unlimited funds.
Two: Those poor souls who only have wealth and how to fulfill their desires on their minds - might you try to open their eyes to the beauty lost to them.
Three: In the event of woman, figure out an exit strategy immediately.

[Aphel]

Traveled with Charlie, Katelyn, Robb, Calylith, Krym and Stiletto as translator at first. Very interesting. The heat wasn't so bad, and I learned a thing or two from them.
I need to speak with Caly again and try to get her talking about the Al'Noth with me. She has considerable skill in using the gifts of the Lady. And she might get me into trouble. Then again, I learned a lot from her already, maybe from staring at her. I am really hopeless, am I?


Small portraits of each adventurer follow, as well as some sketches of a wolf and a formian.

[Aphel]

We made it!

I don't know how long it took us until we finally reached Mariner's Hold again, but I will never ever go on a journey that unprepared! The swamps, the trolls, and even more trolls, the hiding in the Sun Kingdom...

Without Micus and Harrigan, we would have been food for the trolls more than one time. I was so low on components that I started to improvise with what I had at hand, that wasn't always nice but it worked pretty good in the end.
And we made it!


A larger parchment with portraits of all the adventurers that took part, with names written under each portrait, is tucked neatly folded between the pages.

[Aphel]

This is going to be the end of me. I can't tell if I am stupid, crazy or both. I should train, practice, learn and not stray. Women. Again. It's not like I should have learned some things by now.

[Aphel]

She is not like the others.
She is not like the others.
She is not like the others.
She will not be like the others.
She will not be like the others.
She will not be like the others.
She will not use me like the others, she will not think of me as a trophy.

[Aphel]

• Write report for Elohanna
• Purchase supply of healing potions and bandages and store them away
• Gather more raw materials for the Academy
• Buy an ox
• Make a collection of sketches
• Buy a crafting permission

A small portrait, showing a happily smiling Caly, follows.

[Aphel]

A set of small portraits in charcoal, depicting Jillian Stuart, Riley Alexander, Samantha Merrit and Alton Tealeaf. Every portrait has the name of the person depicted below it; and at the end of the page, “Haven Mines” and the date is written.


On the next page, Kaelan noted the following:

“Love; Emotion. Devotion, care and things I don't understand to write about. Flows through everyone, like the Al'Noth; and cannot be denied by ideologies, upbringing or conditioning.”

[Aphel]

On the Al'Noth

Preface

When I first applied for a place at Catena Campus in Spellgard, I was asked to write a small essay on how I see and understand the Al'Noth, which role it had in my life and why I wished to study it.
I barely remember what I wrote back then, nor did I ever see my essay again. Most likely it is collecting dust on a shelf full of parchments in an archive. Back then, my view on the world were strongly influenced by the education and training my parents gave me; and in the years to follow I forgot most of what I wrote in the essay. I had to learn some things again and others new. Once the ink of this essay's last letter has dried I again have to learn to understand what I wrote. This too is part of the Al'Noth how I see it: a flowing river, but while the ripples and drops, the reflections and waves seem to repeat over and over again, they all are different, individual and never similar to each other in past or present or future. It is the eye of the viewer that starts to simplify things; and then comes the mind with its need for abstractions and comprehension.
The following essay should show my current understanding of the Al'Noth and should not be thought of as ever finished or correct. I will begin the essay with the single line I remember form my previous essay on the same topic to remember where I came from and who walked with me on my path that lead to where I am now.


Thoughts on the Al'Noth

The Al'Noth is like a city to which all roads lead. I can only describe my own, personal path, and I am not sure if I am in the city yet.
The Al'Noth connects all things, life and death, grief and happiness, love and hate, greed and kindness; yet it is not found in any of these things.
When I was younger, my father took me to the mountains for another test. He asked me why eagles could fly.
I answered him that they could fly because they had wings and feathers and muscles, an that there was air that they could fly in. And since all of this was there on the same moment, they could fly.

The Al'Noth is similar. It is not a craft usable only by few, it does not have a will  to destroy or heal, it simply is there. And we can see it and say that the Al'Noth exists because everything is there that we need to see that it exists.
This is the true gift the Lady of Spells gave us: the gift of seeing that it exists and both curiosity and amazement towards it. A child looks upon the stars on a clear winter night, smiles serenely and laughs happily out of pure astonishment. A black sky filled with small, tiny dots of light. Why? What are those stars it sees? It doesn't care about these questions, there are no questions on its mind, the child is just amazed by the sight. Maybe it dreams of dancing between the stars then, without weight and the grace one only can have when dreaming with eyes wide open. If the stars are the Al'Noth; Lucinda is the child's mind that dreams while awake. Without the fantasy, stars would just be tiny, pale dots of light and nobody would look up to them in astonishment. Without Lucinda, there would be no Al'Noth and no understanding of the Al'Noth.

Those hearing the Heartsong share the same astonishment, and they try to pour it into works of art so others could share the emotion they experienced.
I simply wish to understand it, not as a whole, but what my eyes, my mind can show me. I will never understand it completely, my abilities are limited as is my time that I can walk on Layonara. Yet this does not lessen my astonishment or my wish to write down what I find so others might pick it up and find a piece to their understanding. And thus, while our time and abilities might be limited, the ability to read and write, to create something that attempts to carry on our understanding into the hands of the next makes us immortal. But it is the immortality of parchment; of buildings and sites of great power. Yet, the curiosity and astonishment will continue to exist. And so will be the Al'Noth, always just a bit outside of our grasping, our attempts to define, to study it.

To learn or teach the way of the Al'Noth, it is not required to be able to quote from forty different books after learning them all by heart.
Required is only astonishment, curiosity and the ability to pass this astonishment and curiosity, the humbleness and devotion on to others. Books and parchments are just written because somebody had an idea and wanted to preserve it. It is the idea that matters and has to be passed on, not the means of the idea's conservation. Learning just means the collection of ideas passed on to oneself; to connect them and understand the connection. If somebody tries to understand the connections between the things themselves, she or he studies the Al'Noth. And how he practices it is a matter of who the person is; be it to a good or a bad end, done in a humble or ignorant way. The path leads to, through and around the Al'Noth; and there are not two paths that are completely identical. The path itself is as much part of the Al'Noth as it isn't.
I do not claim to understand this myself, I just observed it when I studied how the Al'Noth permeated all things just as all things permeate the Al'Noth. If I ever will be able to bring these two sides together, I will have understood the Gift of the Lady a little bit more. Maybe understanding it means not understanding it, not bringing the the opposite sides together in a single theory. And seeing this, I must smile with astonishment.

The teacher under which I am studying is not sharing the same fate with me; moreover, her deity is not liked by mine. But do we not share the same astonishment for life and the Al'Noth? I leave the finer points of religious debate to those well-versed in such matters as I can understand the enthusiasm of somebody following Dorand, Goran or Aeridin for what they do. The enthusiasm is all the same, it just finds different expressions, and whether they like it or not, the Al'Noth is part of their enthusiasm as much as their enthusiasm is the Al'Noth. And as much as we are different, the Lady's Gift connects us all with all others, all things and non-things. Even the denying of this connection is not more than an extreme reaction towards this connection and part of all the connections itself. You might not like the world, but that does not mean it is not there, even your hate is acknowledging its existence.

The Al'Noth is, what it is and therefore is. I could think of a color for the energy that it is, yet then I would ignore that the energy is only a small, tiny part of it. If, at all, the color of the Al'noth is a mixture of childish astonishment, devotion and humble amazement. I don't want to paint it, I wish the study the Al'Noth because I see it and want to study it without concerning myself with the definition of what color the a certain paint has. It is representation of a perceived moment of something that is impossibly to comprehensively perceive and draw a picture of.
I study the Al'Noth because I am amazed by it.

[Aphel]

It is wonderful to have someone that can be trusted so much. I love her. I trust her. I want her to stay with me. I need to find ways to show her that, she that has everything already. I need to find a gift for her other than my own love. We can progress together in usage of the Al'Noth. I can give her back what she lost.

I love you, Caly.

[Aphel]

Traveled with Caly. Practiced spells and casting in combat. Need to train more, was very very close once or twice. I feel very safe when she weaves the Al'Noth around me for protection, maybe a bit too safe. I need to by a box filled with scrolls and lock myself up in the tower for a while to learn all the defensive and offensive spells needed. She might not like that (much), but it's how I learn spells. I need to learn them fast, too. I can't keep Caly waiting, and the lessons she is giving me about the Al'Noth and how to use it practically/by instinct with the equal precision of a well planned and prepared chess move.

About the other problem I cannot write here. I love her. It is me that loves her. She loves me. We part much to often, but that makes the time with her so much more precious and drives us to make the best of it. Words are tricky, I cannot convey in them correctly what I think and feel.

[Aphel]

Did we hurry to much; clinging to life now that we have found each other, keeping each other afloat? We are but driftwood in the Al'Noth, nothing but drops, myrad-faceted individual beauty yet vanishing once the mind is opened to the emergence of elegant beauteousness.
Yes Caly, I do corrupt you; let me show you what I behold and what I cannot say with words, let it infect you and shape you if you wish.

[Aphel]

Travelled with Alazira and a Toranite called Aedan to the Dragon Isles. I should learn more patterns to incapacitate enemies or quickly end a fight, but I still think remaining unseen is the best thing to do. We did not have enough time to learn about the places we visited.
Note: Next time, bring something against the Gorgon's breath.

A portrait of Alazira and one of Aedan follows.

On my way to the ruins in Silkwood, I met Ygraine and Grendola in Haven. They were rather friendly and it's really impressive that there are so many women that are more than able to give all these men stuck in their patriarchal world-view the heartattack they need.
A giant man called Tane joined us, and together we ran deep into the mines. Ygraine is some sort of spellgrower, or transmutation expert. Very impressive.
They fought good, Haven's citizen should be able to sleep in peace for a while. Afterwards, I traveled with Ygraine for a bit. She laughs a lot and; should I meet her again, I should ask her about transmutation.

A portrait of Ygraine, Tane with this toothless grin and Grendola follows.

[Aphel]

Carefully, he submerges the tip of his quill in the ink, watches how the   blue-black liquid soaks into the fine cracks and tiny fissures. So much thicker than water, so much sharper than any steel. Odd how often he never noticed that before. A bracing chill swept through his room, smelling of salt and wet planks. He looks at the blank parchment and begins to write.

My love

I hope this letter finds you soon and on swift wings so you will not stop to smile until I return to you. This is not my first attempt to write this letter and I am open to suggestions regarding how to address you in a letter. My sweet dream? My Evening Star? My love? Sometimes, the simplest feeling is hard to put down in words; hence this strange style of letter. The small, scribbled and nearly unreadable lines are what I felt when I wrote this, what happened and suchlike. It is strange to write of myself in the third person.

He smiles vaguely and leans back to think about what she might think once she met this last line. Would she think that he is pretending, that he is toying with her; as if actors on some large stage, that this all is but a show meant for her entertainment but without any meaning?
Tess, sitting on the small stone he enchanted with light, casting odd shadows over the parchment like a giant insect, smiles.
“You're writing it all down?”
He nods, looks back at the lines of amassed cryptic symbols and squints.

I am afraid, Caly. Afraid to get lost in my own mind, of becoming impossible to understand; an enigma to everyone and even myself. What meaning do words hold, spoken or written? What do they symbolize, what kind of thought and what kind of feeling that came with the thought, created it in the first place even?
The longer I translate, the longer I try to understand languages, the less I can write about it and the more I realize that all my words hold their own and special and true meaning only for myself in the brief moment I write them down. I watched people talk, watched us talk even – and sometimes I don't understand what these people are saying. When I write it is only to organize, to calm my thoughts. It is much like drawing. Imagine me saying this all to you – it would take forever. I wish you to understand me as I do you at times. Sometimes, it's so easy to feel yet so hard to put in words. I know what you feel as I feel it myself or felt it myself but I cannot find proper words, words that are worthy and understandable. In short, I need to write a lot of lines on a lot of parchment.

He hesitates and looks at his notebook, bites his lip, dips the quill into the ink for more lines of symbols holding meaning for a split moment of time.

Since I joined school, I am writing my findings in a notebook, my thoughts and tasks and such. I will let you have a look the next time I am with you. I am unsure if you want to have a look, it might be embarrassing. But I feel that you might be the only person that should ever have a right to read it.
It's a small book with little pages, I have to write small, very small and very brief. To me it's like a stone table I can chisel something in that I must not forget or something similar. But every time I flip back a few pages and look at those that came before I met you and those that talk about us, I am no longer confident of trusting this stone table. It's treacherous to think I managed to fix my thoughts in there forever, that it was true there and not lied or simply wrong understood. Some things hold truth, while others are simply me being confused about myself or strange.

Do you understand now why I don't get everything across? I don't know exactly what some things mean, how I can convey them in the way that I intended. But I rather want to argue with you, write until my fingertips bleed than to give up and lose you. I rather want to despair and go insane over the words that are meant to reach you, to touch you, than to not have at least tried to do so. You are what you are and special to me, you're my everything and most of my thoughts at day or night deal with how I can tell you certain things, how I can explain to you what I feel and how much I like this or that or dislike this or that – I wish I could all tell you this without the stutter, without the fine differences and complicated words and languages, simply by look and touch and thought. Yes, I am that crazy, really – and I don't mind, because it's you, and that's all that matters, you you you my love. Even now I can see your eyes and your smile and want to smile and do things I don't know so you feel and understand what I mean. I am a dry person, sometimes, studying books, studying ancient things and keeping myself busy with useless activities instead of simply loving you – but you are my other part, the missing link, the missing understanding at times, the person that makes me realize what I won't on my own. I really want to be everything to you if you want to, and I want you to be my everything. Because we are two and one at the same time, we can do everything and understand who we are, who we really are despite what we hide from each other. Let's dance and dream and become who we really are, me, I need many words of my own but a single smile of you. Do you understand who I am, do you see what I am or who is me in the core of my being? Look into me, and let me look into you, and tell me your thoughts, unfiltered if you want, truthful, free like the wind that fills the distance between us now; but stars are above both of us now, we are living under the same nightsky still. I talked with Tess and will return to you soon,

With love, dreams and wishing to be with you,
~Kae

He looks up and waits until the ink is dry. Tess looks at the letter, thinking, before heading towards her spot on the shelf. Time to get some sleep, he needed to be up early tomorrow. Tomorrow.
What would happen tomorrow? He smiled and folded the letter.

[Aphel]

He bound his hair together with a small, colourful cord and reached for the small piece of parchment and the letter. One for the message board, one for Elohanna's desk.
After that was done, he packed his last books into his backpack and left, Tess sleeping in his coat's hood.


A note, pinned to the Tower Academy's public message board

Looking for people interested in history, culture, archeology and languages.

Offering language lessons in: Elvish, Gnomish
Looking for language lessons in: Dwarvish, Halfling, any other exotic language

[Aphel]

My star

I found myself unable to write you about my travels. Found out something about myself: that I want to study and teach, that I am scared of having a family and of writing letters to the people I love, and that the world is a place worth to protect, explore, study and teach about. My thoughts are with you, always, and I hope that you are alright and you see the nightsky's beauty as well whereever you are. I wish we could share that moment right here right now.


//Attached is a small picture of a doe and her fawn on a meadow, and a petal of a blue rose.

[Aphel]

He set the letter ablaze and threw it away, a flame in the dark. Shivering hand, gestures gone – he focused and reached inside. Nothing. He tried to give her all, told her everything – and she took everything away, every bit of pride, joy, care, love. Everything. There was no pattern that he could focus on, nothing, nothing.
He bit his lip, unable to weave the most simple pattern, the one that he learned first. He started to shiver, opened his mouth to scream in panic – silence.
Portal, half rejecting him even.
Hempstead.
But the door was locked, he beat his fists against it until the pain was overwhelming him, even in this state. He fell down, leaving bloody marks on the door, curled up into a ball and cried.
Whirling darkness spreading like mycel through his mind and thoughts.
I am going to kill her, make her suffer and vanish into blackness.
He shivered, something inside him rebelling against it, against the madness that slowly got a grip on him, clenching a fist around his thoughts, the raging power so sweet and seducing. He got up, slowly and awkward as one half fought another one.
Nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing.
Howling, his head thrown into his neck, embracing darkness. What was left? One side reached for the last, crumbling defenses, the memories of learning, of studying, of trying to understand the world, but this was useless, meaningless, falling apart in a thousand impossible shaped shards, vanishing.
One side against the other.

You make them suffer, because it is what you do, it is your destiny. Prevent yourself from falling into darkness, prevent others being hurt as well!
And the blade, iron, he remembered the day he got it, bought it - made his first mistake – as it pierced his heart, taking surprisingly a lot more strength than expected. Pain, but it would fade, he could take that.
Stars above him, he looked down, not to show his unworthy face to the goddess.
Red.
Red.
Red.

[Aphel]

An empty shelf and closet, collection dust where once his journal had its place between stacks of parchments on applied Abjuration and Illusion. A lonely inkwell on a deserted desk, its cap glued shut by dried ink.

[Aphel]

Hiding, waiting with the face against the wind. Waiting for them to approach with burning hunger, no room for error now. He licked his lips, relied on instincts. Closer. Just a little closer.
And then the hunt was over before it had begun: separating the weak from the flock, then finishing the stalk. He was so hungry he eat was he could right there and then, dragging the rest of his kill to his hideout, roasting it slowly over the small fire. Working against time and the changing weather. Carving a new spear, hardening the tip in the fire. Shivering in the rain until sleep came and buried him in darkness.

The water pierced thousand needles through his bruised skin. The gray elf growled.
Ignore it! It is weakness! Your body can easily take this!
He pressed his teeth together until it hurt. The sun inched over the horizon once more, ending the night. Birds sung, otherwise it was silence but for the small river.
Returning to the fire, eating a bit of the deer he had hunted before, then break down camp and march on. Onwards. Always onwards.

Sometimes he hear laughter or a whispering voice, sometimes it sounded enticing but mostly it was cold and mocking. He learned to hate it, push it back with all the aggression he had. There was no room for weakness, all what was weak needed to be purged from his mind and body. It was hard but ultimately rewarding work for he would be weak no more. And then he would be superior to all these petty creatures crawling from day to day, so easily bent, broken and deluded to do the bidding of far their far more advanced masters. It made him laugh that it had been her who opened his eyes after all this time. How seductive even  magic has been! Knowledge! Ha!


Waking nightmare, walking horror: he, clawing into his mind with hideous laughter; he, torturing him until all pain would have been bled out and burned away all the irrelevancy.


At dusk, he found the overgrown ruins of an old tower which was at least some sort of shelter from the rain. The roots he had found in the soft soil near a creek he ate raw, and it tasted like nothing, was hard to chew and swallow. But it would keep him alive. No more hunting. No.
He shivered, pulled his knees to his body and stared into the gray curtain, seeing them. They were dancing, swirling over the rain-soaked, muddy meadow in all their splendor, coated with jewelry from diamond, gold and decadence.
Her cold laughter as they talked, their empty eyes mocking him. He saw her dancing there. There with all the others. He would never see her again.
Never.
Ever.
He got up and walked towards her, stumbling, falling into the mud. And when he looked up, she still stood there, all dressed up and fancy with that “I am rich and pity you foolish pauper” look in her eyes.
All his fault!
He showed his teeth and growled, dirty and shivering stood before throwing his head in his neck and roared his rage, his hate out into the rain. He walked back to his shelter, running on instinct now: the indoctrinations of his father, the urge to survive.
You are more powerful. You will prevail.
Prevail and dominate!