The World of Layonara

Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: Aphel on September 21, 2011, 04:17:41 PM

Title: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on September 21, 2011, 04:17:41 PM
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.
Title: A parchment
Post by: Aphel on September 21, 2011, 05:14:07 PM
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.
Title: An undated entry in the Notebook
Post by: Aphel on September 23, 2011, 04:18:59 PM
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.
Title: Undated entry
Post by: Aphel on September 24, 2011, 06:11:30 PM
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.
Title: Seventhday, Ninth Moon 15, 1487
Post by: Aphel on September 24, 2011, 06:12:17 PM
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.
Title: Undated entry
Post by: Aphel on September 27, 2011, 10:33:11 AM
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.
Title: A new page
Post by: Aphel on September 28, 2011, 06:12:51 AM
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.
Title: A to-do list
Post by: Aphel on September 30, 2011, 09:43:27 AM


A small portrait, showing a happily smiling Caly, follows.
Title: A sketch
Post by: Aphel on October 01, 2011, 02:25:30 PM
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.”
Title: An essay
Post by: Aphel on October 01, 2011, 04:22:15 PM
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.
Title: Undated Entry
Post by: Aphel on October 03, 2011, 07:28:23 AM
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.
Title: Fifth Moon 3, 1488
Post by: Aphel on October 09, 2011, 05:50:50 AM
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.
Title: Undated entry
Post by: Aphel on October 15, 2011, 12:32:08 PM
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.
Title: Undated entry
Post by: Aphel on November 05, 2011, 06:42:03 AM
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.
Title: A letter to Caly
Post by: Aphel on November 19, 2011, 02:50:22 PM
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.
Title: First Steps
Post by: Aphel on November 20, 2011, 10:38:20 AM
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
Title: A letter to Caly
Post by: Aphel on November 24, 2011, 02:28:36 PM
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.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on December 03, 2011, 02:19:25 PM
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.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on December 24, 2011, 09:26:27 AM
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.
Title: Wisp
Post by: Aphel on January 11, 2012, 05:11:25 PM
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!
Title: ~ ~
Post by: Aphel on January 28, 2012, 08:34:55 AM
He put all the things he would no longer need into a box, wrote a short letter and placed it on a certain desk before leaving again. Tying up loose ends. He tossed the box into the fire.



"Dear Instructor Min A'Litae

I would like to speak with you about the future of my studies at the Tower Academy. Should you see Tess, send her my apologies.
~K. Silverwing."
Title: ~ Dreams ~
Post by: Aphel on February 16, 2012, 06:34:00 PM
No matter how much he drank, the thirst was never assuaged. He watched the people and their petty everyday dramas, their desire to drink themselves into a stupor. Their weakness. Their ignorance. The streets and cities and villages and courts were filled with smooth talkers, opportunists and other kind of filth. Disgusting. Now he needed another disguise so nobody would expect him to be familiar with the Al'Noth, it was worse enough that he was an elf.

Why don't you go back to your kin where you belong, pointy ears?
Why don't you shut up and don't care, rose ear?
[/I]

Another night outside. Staring into the river the next morning at the reflection of a scared, ugly face of a broken, useless and disgusting man. He smashed his reflection and cleaned himself. Moving on, vagabond. Moving on.

That's the hurt talking, and not you.
Then you struggle, day and night, with the Dark One. Do that. Feel that. Feel the hate burning. Feel the chains and dream the dreams of a starless sky looming over wastelands.
[/I]
Title: ~ Shapes ~
Post by: Aphel on March 02, 2012, 11:47:59 AM
Krandor Hospital. Now. Regular reality (at least he was fairly certain that it was that way).

Faces, gray and black, not noticing him. For them, he wasn't here or there at all and the floor was cold under his bare feet, the window ajar and the building unknown to him. Something about it made him nervous, an instinct he struggled with since he woke here and had his world reduced to a bland, muffled environment lacking a certain something he couldn't pinpoint.
He sat down in front of a wall of faces with his legs crossed, and scratched his bandages without noticing, focused on the odd geometric taking shape on the parchment in front of him. He needed to be able to create thinner lines. Much thinner lines – how else could he even attempt to create a physical representation of an abstract and somewhat impossible concept?
And while his mind worked, physical discomfort was irrelevant and mental discomfort suppressed.

The wall across his bed was filled with representations - charcoal on parchment – of both organic shapes and geometrical shapes rooting in his mind and dreams. He arranged them without thinking, hoping for a subconscious pattern to emerge. Why and what it could tell he didn't know just yet. They were still haunting his dreams, and during the day they were two-dimensional on the wall across from him. He only needed to ask for more parchment and some charcoal, clean up, eat and other mundane tasks. He loathed them. And at night, he dreamed of impossible structures, cultures, faces and things he could not even give a proper name. It was reassuring to wake up and not see the Dark One's skull-shaped obsidian mask, to see that all angles and shapes were simple three dimensional and somewhat congruent to the axioms of mathematics. But there was always something odd about it, something he couldn't identify.

Maybe he should start from the beginning again to solve it.
Center. Back then. Regular reality.
Title: ~ Shapes ~
Post by: Aphel on March 06, 2012, 07:31:09 PM
Shapes.

The building was clean and quiet at night, and it had taken him quite a while to create a space large enough without making too much sound pushing the furniture and such away. With great care he handled the charcoal, such a brittle, tricky thing between his fingers. Faces and shapes from the wall stared at him, starlight from the window. He found it utterly frustrating to only have two dimensions to draw on, but he had not the means to build what was required. So two dimensions had to do.
Speaking and thinking was hard. He spoke slowly and monotonous, so he focused on something else then the drawing and let that what was not his mind draw.

We are nothing but shapes filled with pain and dreams, with hopes and blood and bones. I must not despise the shape or how it interacts with the other shapes. The vessels is not yet relevant. Behind vessels stand the great forces of the pan-universe struggling for supremacy in always new forms. It is a battle between what exists and what is yet to be born, between what never should have been yet always was and this which cannot be undone. It is into this that we are born, and in this struggle all morality loses its meaning, the question of good and evil is reduced to a simple choice: Survive or perish. Yet I must flee this and ascend from the pressure of surviving into the realm of understanding and creation.

And when he was finished, he stood in the middle of something barely on the edge of being visible. The charcoal reflected the light from the window a little bit worse then the floor, but still it was little more than a large, complex circle pattern, a labyrinth arranged in multiple sections. He immediately understood the symbols as a blend of various languages and the interconnectivity between the adjacent patterns both along the vertical as well as the horizontal axis. There was the Pattern of the Dark One, the Devourer archetype, that-which-has-no-name -
He spun around himself, feet on the cold stone floor. Patterns from patterns, symbolism, pattern axioms; this as well was language and he danced, for the first time, not caring about anything, past the charcoal lines on a starlit tile floor, arranging his drawings new.
Then he sat down in the middle of the pattern labyrinth and meditated until morning dawned over Krandor.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on March 22, 2012, 03:54:07 PM
He should never have tried to convince Feawen that he was fine and strong enough to go on a little stroll, regain his strength, see a little of the world, travel by foot – she had that certain concern in her eyes when she let him go. Eyes of a mother.
I am not supposed to have a mother.
He shuddered, could see them clearly before him now. Calys eyes, too. He missed those eyes as much as he feared them; he knew that he was nothing without them yet would never see them again.
And if he did, he would never again see love in them again. Meaningless baubles trying to deceive the mind with emotions that never really were reflecting in them. Gems. Gold. Love in the eyes of somebody else. Things he no longer believed in to hold any true meaning. Tools of power to bring ruin. Nothing more.
At night, he dreamed of fire, screams and wastelands under a smoke-filled orange sky. He dreamed of a black sword and the reaper, and the reaper was him. He dreamed of ultimate power, omnipotent  and all enclosing, the rush and the hate of the unwilling willing harbinger of the end of all things that appeared good and noble and just and so on -
The charred ground trembled under his boots with every step, the Dark One challenged him, the Bloody-handed One. And they fought, fought and fought over nothing more than ashes and who ultimately was right in a world abandoned by gods and mortals alike.
He woke with a bad taste in his mouth and nothing to drink nearby.

Her name had been Rolana, and something in the back of his head told him that she once had a great future ahead of her, full with the miracles and wisdom and ability only the Lady of the Al'Noth could gift. Her world shattered and broken by nothing more than the old childish thirst for revenge and supremacy, because she had known something.
Kaelan got up and begun to sort his notes, research, think of his violation of the law, the smoke and the mirrors on this stage. No worth in trusting those that rule by the power of precious metal. If one poked around enough, he was sure one could eventually find those whose loyality wasn't for sale but could be rented for the right price ... and it was an old game, a game Those from the Deep honed to perfection. He could not take any chances. If there was a slim chance of this really...
He shook the thoughts off and felt his weakening body shaking. Ate a little. Continued to read and make notes. Move up, move on, survive. He was fairly certain by now that his time on this land was almost up, and he decided he would make it count. Just burn one time, brighter than any star, brighter than the sun – be a beacon. Just once. Make his life worth something by using it and living it well. He accepted death as the end of life, and humans pushed it away all the time. He never had been able to, not since the day the Old Man died in front of him. Death was the end of life. All those pleasure and immortality seeking people...they would never understand. He forgot some lectures of his youth when he had been with Caly, a weird attempt to heal them both at the same time. Make your life count, heal the wounds of others and your own. Create something. Do something that holds meaning. Do not idle. Do not sweet talk too much and teach if you can. Pass on experiences.
He pretty much botched all that in the recent time. Caly be Caly. He was not that weak anymore. He wasn't even the same person, as if he had one day shed his skin, pushed all that junk away that had possessed him.
He smiled a bit and looked at the drying ink, then back at the book. Turned a page. Her death would not be in vain, nor the suffering that died because some pointy-eared faction decided to act like a bunch of children. Hurt Elly, even. Nothing he could do to save her. They too, were perfectionists. Just that they were even less right in the end. He wondered, for a moment, if he was the only one who thought that way. Turned a page. Hm. That looked interesting...


It all had gone wrong so fast. The things he found, Elohanna suddenly disappearing, Millon fighting bravely, the woman thinking that he was an enemy, her death...
It was hard for him to forget pictures at times, he had to live with them, accept them haunting him. His mother told him once that she as well could not forget things so easily, and that it took a special kind of person to live with so many memories at once and accept that one sometimes had to do bad in order to do good. Kaelan understood. It was a burden, a heavy one. He would walk on nevertheless, just like his father showed and trained him to.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on March 26, 2012, 04:14:19 PM
He would never forget.
He would never expect anybody else to understand how it is, would nevermore explain or try to explain. The price he paid and would pay would determine if he was another one of those that could not stand it and never reach or cross that thin white line sperating common living things from intelligent living things.
He wanted to sleep, the desire was so bad that he just wanted to lie down and never get up again.
Endure.
Suffer.
Prevail.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on March 27, 2012, 04:50:34 PM
He had used his last piece of parchment and his last bit of dried rations a while ago. The grass was soft, warm, for now – a bright and warm sunny day. Climbing threes once had been easier for him, in a distant youth. His hands were sore from the rough bark, and he rested his head against the trunk for a moment, staring past the canopy of leaves. They would follow him. They would hunt him. So he just kept on wandering, walking, running, hiding.
Might find it by chance.
By remembering while walking.
He would learn to swim in this tidal wave of memories until he found what he was looking for. He couldn't allow himself to feel anything else. No. Nevermore. He was done with that waste of time.
Elly be Elly. She and her friends would be capable enough to do this, how was HE supposed to be helpful at all? He was a novice, instable at best and hindering anybody else at worst. He letters were sent. Lucinda's servants might or might not know now, depending on if the letters reached them or not and if they could believe him or not. He! Help Elly! He should turn himself in if he wanted to help her, she was twice his age! Knew things he did not want to know, was more experienced and more resourceful. Three hundred years! And she still acted like a child! Believed she had no choice!

Kaelan stretched his fingers. Once, in a time when he was learning how to kill rabbits with snares and hunt deer with a spear, when he realized that everything most civilizations were based on was the suffering of those that were not able to defend themselves or were vicious enough to be feared and left alone for the most part – he found a book in mother's shelf near the window. He read about how all the fighting in a life can break a man, how it was easy to succumb to darkness, how it was necessary that some decided to follow a path in their lives while others just lived. There were the path of the craftsman, the path of the artist, the politician, the healer, the scholar, the warrior. And the seventh path, the one that was followed by those who walked all the other paths but could not find a home in any of the other paths even after walking each of them for some time. The first page of the chapter about the last path did not contain any poem, he remembered. It had been empty.
He remembered the title.
“The Seven Paths. A meditation about perfection.”

Maybe it had been a dream. An illusion his mind crafted from various books and experiences.
Maybe it was real.

He wished he was a mightier hunter. Like the Folianites. Like his father. Like the servants of Toran. He envied them, so strong in mind and body. For him, there was no rest. No.

Kaelan shuddered and remembered his father's prayer spoken in the first gray light at dawn every day. His lips moved subtly.
Title: Re: Kaelan's Documents
Post by: Aphel on April 15, 2012, 03:46:52 PM
In one of his more lucid moments, that was when he was only hallucinating from hunger, he sat on a lonely stone in the middle of a forest clearing, the sun warm on his skin. There was one part of his mind that kept him going, one part that kept him busy while the rest argued over various issues.  
 He stood up and thought the trees were people, scholars in ridiculous fancy robes and gowns.  
 “In this day a-an-and hour, t-t-there is nobody a-a-at our side. W-w-we are, at best, all a-alone in a delusion, c-c-caught up in a m-m-magical i-ill-illusion that affects our m-minds.  
 But it is t-t-the unthinkable w-w-w-we are supposed to think. W-w-we s-s-should not waste our time with fancies a-a-and folly hope-belief. W-we m-m-must act, or we shall surely p-perish in a crimson red tide t-t-that rises from the Depths below. There is n-n-nobody on o-our side but those that s-s-stand next to you now. T-t-there is nobody we can trust. And w-w-we should not expect n-no help.  I a-a-ask but one t-t-thing of you: ladies an-a-and gentlemen, w-w-what are you prepared to do? A-are you p-prepared to pay the price for idle a-a-and sunshine years in h-honest tears and toil and blood?”
 Then he walked away, past them, without seeing the trees, his knees all weak and shivering.
Title: Diary Entry
Post by: Aphel on May 15, 2012, 03:05:59 PM
Slept little. Breakfast in the morning. Adapting to "civilisation" once more.
But I will never crawl again.
Title: Diary Entry
Post by: Aphel on August 21, 2012, 06:24:44 PM
Things could have been different – but can't they always? It's the choices I make in my life that defines who I am, so I will blame things on past decisions that went wrong in their outcome. But resentfulness is just a waste of time. I need to look ahead, because no matter what, that's something I can always do. Yet, still, it hurts. Words fail me, here, now and always – I wish I had the strength for the words of the poet or the prophet, yet, I do not. My own language is falling apart, leaving a stale taste in my mind. I am scared now. Of my own mind, of drawing, of using the Al'Noth. Of speaking, too.
I miss her, but I don't know who she is. I miss learning and study and roaming, and not worrying too much. See new places, eat new food. Travel. All that. But I am stuck here, with a mind not of my own I think, and a stone, and dark elves and all that.
Title: The man in the mirror
Post by: Aphel on November 24, 2012, 12:14:09 PM
He did not recognize the man in the mirror nor was he sure that mattered. He had slept better than ever before last night, but ...
The sharp edges of the man's face, the scar across it, the miscolored eyes, the missing tip of the man's ear - he was ugly, no doubt of it. Something utterly strange and alien to his expression - grim, cynically observing.
Kaelan looked on the tattoo, that mark of the Silver Guard, and dressed. He had burned a lot of softness during the laste cycles. Good.
It was time to look for something to do.
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