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[Another letter takes the place of the former.]

I have taken the first true step. A reliquary is to my hands now, bearing the ashes of a Twindari Saint, known in death as Sulayman the Martyr. His remains shall be placed within the altar of the shrine, that the place may be hallowed by his rest. This task is far from done, and the weight of my unworthiness remains. But let each deed be a stone laid right, and each breath spent in the building of something worthy of my atonement. I will not falter.

A letter is left for Sister Amelie among the lilies; a familiar hand, with sharp, narrow minims and an otherwise tight script wrought by what could only have been a trained calligrapher.

Hear, I have given long heed to thy counsel, Sister, and well did I weigh thy words. For certes, the passions, unbridled, may cast down even the most righteous of men. Yet mark me well that I am no such man of virtue; that grace is long fled of me, and mine own passions have rendered me undone. In threefold ways have I failed; in courtesy, in fidelity, and in manly valour.

Courtesy did I forgo in the blackness of ire and sorrow; I lent my thoughts to a spiteful tongue and took comfort in misery. There, sunken into that mire of old grief, I became blind to all fair hope that yet might abide in this dying world.

Fidelity did I betray, in that I forsook my liege lady; that Maiden to whom I was sworn, for in the depth of my despair I judged myself unfit to do her service true, yet who is to judge me unworthy besides her? And thus I had done her that disservice for my cowardice, garbed in the threads of a false wisdom.

And valour? Fie upon it that I have failed in all, for what knight worth the name turns his back upon honour, bounty, and devoir? None that bear that name rightfully. I have allowed this leaden melancholy to reign over me, a dark burden whose shadow hath stolen me from mine appointed path.

Yet say, what quest may there be to raise him who hath fallen so miserably? What labour might rekindle fire in Denain le Jonquille, who in sorrow cast aside his Rose?

This at the least he shall do; he shall cleave to the remembrance of another, for once, a solemn charge had been laid upon him by his brother in arms. To restore a shrine, long broken amidst those ash-choked chasms. That hallowed ground, beloved of those brothers quick and dead, he shall reclaim. He shall drive the unquiet shades from those paths, and as he labours, he shall muse thus:

What grief hast thou suffer'd, O Knight, that thy flesh yet standeth firm and thy spirit whole? Why dost thou sorrow, when to walk unto death with honour is thy glory crowned of a mortal life lived? Shall thy departed brethren find joy in thy flight and shame, or shall they decry thy name?

And when come the seventh day, if the sacred ground is made whole once more, then shall the knight himself be made anew. Else, let him be judged unworthy, and his virtue wanting, for if it cannot bloom in such a field, then let none be sown.

If this labour seems lacking, then give him leave to prove himself in some other trial. Bid him a greater toil and he shall take it up, that he might be redeemed not by word but by deed.

I think it's fine the way it is now.

 

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      viator
 hospitium      alacritas
nuntius curatoria salvator

we pray to you in our struggles
we who are lost
in hope of being found
deliver us

z          e s
e          u a
p          x b
h          i a
y          n a
r          e h

                      blessed is the guardian of the meek
                                              the thirsty
                                            the anguished
The Wanderer, Warad
I woke to wind and whipping ash;
what wretched sting of ashen lash;

to you we pray for safe passage, celerity, and the wind at our back

come heed my prayer, hear it fast;
or else I surely cannot last.

lodesman show us the right path and deliver us from iniquity

Within the haze of ashen dust;
a wand'rer tread on zephyr's gust;
Come unto me, so thus he poured;
our mother's tears, my soul restored.

cast aloft thy mighty star, let it be a beacon to the lost and weary

My soul forbade to walk the reeds;
that fleeting shade thus heard my plea;
swift praise I spoke, swift he to fade;
and into biting wind he stray'd.

by thy beating wings banish the evils which assail us in our travels

Where go you now, fair Jonquille.
a wand'rer has saved thee, now thou shalt
profer the mother's mercy unto another.

and grant us the mercy of kindness in this wretched age of age

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Will be less active for the next week and a half until midterms are through.

Caught the flu ontop of this so if anything needs me feel free to reach out. Should be back next week.

Will be less active for the next week and a half until midterms are through.

Lyrist Aubrey Domergue,

It is a shame, I should think, that time has not permitted us to meet on more than a single occasion. This I name tragedy; but we mustn't fret over these things. I have yet the time to learn from you, and to grow from your experience and acumen, but I have grown since coming into the College regardless.

So I ask you this; what would you have of me, that I seek your approval? I desire to wear upon my breast the livery of the Lost Hearth and to carry upon my shoulders that burden which joins it. I have toiled in upholding the honour of Grandmaster Elizabetha's Cinquefoil. I endeavored as a student towards works of noble verse. I have laid low Bashmukar, fought in the fell shadow of Abulmahhu, and I have stood for and shall continue to stand for equity in Ephia's Well, wearing proud that white lily.

There is much that lay ahead of us that is swift to come. The election for Sayburgh's seat, Bet Nappahi, and many other things besides. I especially wish to make myself a force for our Cinquefoil among the League of White, and rid us of these unsavory men who now fill the ranks of Vizier and Absolver and seek to wield it as a tool for their own ambitions.

Thus I bid, with the utmost respect; support me that I may better support you, my Lyrist, or lay for me a course I might pursue to that end. I think it would be better that we speak in person, but this is that my intent may be known to you. Call for me when it is convenient, or else, I shall always be swift to the quill.

Humbly yours,
Denain le Jonquille

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Ne'er shall we bow to tyrant's hand;
Nor wear the yoke of slavish chains;
Nor let the cunning, gilded grasp
enthrall the free in woven lies.

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Jonquille takes to rest, yet dreams of the garden are blighted by ash, and it is the Sabotage's sweet song which steals him from those terrors.

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mystes. fraudator. nyctelius. auxites. liber. lenaeus. protrygaeus. eleuthereus. soterius.

Antiphasis.

(hear our misdeeds that we may speak plainly what burdens)

The Sabotage, Gellema

(forgive that we fall into our desires and deliver us from them)

Upon my bed I lay to rest, oer twili(ght)
mantle did I crest.

(grant us fortune in all things)

a verdant sea before m
y eyes, reborn again in
deaths demise.

(keep our dreams restive)

Then swept the ash
consuming all, and bo
und me up in sorrows
thrall. I thrashed against
my captive chains, yet
slumbers shackles still
remained.

(stave away terror and misfortune)

Thus did the world
decay and die, til beat
soft wings o cadyssfl
y. their winestaind lip
s sang sweet to me ,
from torment was I
awoken free.

Where go you now,
Jonquille, kula has tu
rned from you and th
e ash grows heavy.

(we ask you this that you turn your sight
from us and spare us misfortune
libations we pour in thy name, o grant us this)

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A small package is delivered to the Priory, intended for Sister Amelie. Within is a hand-copied leaf from le Jonquille's Book of Hours, and a message written upon the verso of the page.

"Sister Amelie, favored by Kula,

Our journey those days ago inspired me greatly to recall upon a time not too long after my beloved Alieanor died, while I sought Ephia's Well.

An ashstorm came upon me where there was no where to shelter. I would have surely died, but a great squall sent forth a thundering storm of rain, that cast aside the ash and spared me what certainly would have been a fate most cruel.

It reminds me of what we strive for. That we shall prevail, or else the world will drown in this age of ash...

Humbly thy friend and helper,
Denain le Jonquille"

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An ashstorm threatens to sweep over Jonquille, but the intervention of Kula saves him from certain death.

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Fecunditas. Abundantia. Paucitas. Viridis. Caries.

Ishûn Araaei

The Wyld, Kula.

The storm of ash loom
ed far and wide, it swallow
ed life in rolling tide. its fle
nsing dust scoured land and

(holy is the shepherd)

(vouchsafe our protection from wretched ash)

stone, and drowned the dreams that
men had known.

(give to us splendor and plenty)

(holy is the lifegiver)

I fell upon my knees, undone,
no shelter found, no place to run.
yet as my gaze to night was cast,
the clouds arose and gathered fast.

(keep us from the hands of tyrants)

Not clouds of ash and deaths decay,
but storm and rain in fierce array.
it tore the ashen veil apart,
and saved me from dooms cruel heart.

(and preserve our souls against the malignance of
innovation)

Where go you now, fair Jonquille
rest is upon ye now and the nightmares
draw swift.

(Holy is the bloom and the flowering)

(come there the pilgrim and the graal. beseech you thy servan
ts that when life spill forth from blessed cup thy manifold
blessings shall too spring forth and cover the world in glorio
us viridian, your garden renewed for all the ages)

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Jonquille arrives at an oasis for rest, yet a djinn dwelling within the waters there seeks to deceive him, only to be revealed by lamplight shed.

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sacer. sophia. eruditio. veritas. revelatio. praescientia.

we beseech thy
guiding hand

Idris Thrice-Great

The Magi, Izdu.

(we magnify thy truth)

This voice so sweet then called to me
the mother came with grace to

(make steady my illumining hand as I pen these works)

see. beside the calm oasis bright,
stood she in robes of liquid night.

(shed upon me the lamp of thy truth that all wisdoms
 might befall me and verily I might know
 the knowledge which manifests in thy light)

She laid her hands upon m
y chest, and spoke in tones of
 silken rest. Cast off thy oath,
 let sorrow fade, embrace me
 now, be unafraid.

(holy wisdom holy father holy wisdom)
(truth and purpose everlasting)

Then rose a star with blaz
ing light, and stripped away the
 djinn from sight. It shrank,
 its veil in tatters torn,
 and fled beneath the depths
 forlorn.

(Idris thrice great among all the gods
grant me master thy discerning eye
guard me from the treachery of that which
comes not from this world but enters through the next)

Where go you now, fair J
onquille. Ash beats heavy anon.

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A series of letters written but never sent, by Denain le Jonquille to his master, Selsi.




Plain text:

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Beloved Selsi,

O master I write to you out
of shame. For I have not bee-
-n forthcoming of the entire
truth. For I have told you th-
-at I am, or was, a knight.
But I have been reminded a t-
-ruth in my travels with your
Sister Amelie of Kula.

When I arrived to the well
it was a knight I embodied
but that honour has never be-
-en bestowed upon me. The De-
-nain who fled the Peerage W-
-ard was no retainer, no knig-
-ht. I was a boy of twelve su-
-mmers. A boy training to be-
-come a junior archivist of rig-
-hteous and good service to t-
-he King. For years I did not
recall my youth but your sist-
-er in exacting wisdom saw t-
-hrough me my past when I
spoke of my illuminations.
She knew me then for the arc-
-hivist I was meant to become.

So I will tell you why I am
so full with shame. my mast-
-er was swallowed in the noth-
-ing and I was a boy scared a-
-nd alone. But the lady I have
told you of came into my life.
She was no noble maid I was

pledged in honour protect.
No. She was much like me, a
child, an orphan of the Ward.
For she served in the vale and
polished the cookware for Lord
Norbert Velstra. Her name was
Alieanor and I loved her dearly.

We took solace in friendship
in those frightful days as the
drill became our hope and salv-
-ation. I recall still Elizabetha an-
-d her speeches from those da-
ys. But when we came upon th-
-e great mountain and Lord Ber-
-nard and his noble Glittsmen
laid down their lives to the las-
-t, Alieanor and I were lost to
the tunnels and by some mirac-
-le emerged late, but that cinq-
-uefoil host was none to be found.

There that we came into lig-
-ht was not the Sultan's great l-
-and but elsewhere. Eight long a-
-nd grueling years we were los-
-t wandring. Eight long years d-
-id I recall the Ward and the st-
-ories I read. I became a knight
for her, Selsi. For Alieanor.
But no matter how I tried, fa-
-te stole her from me. and in d-
-ying breath she bequeathed in
new purpose, you.

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Jonquille is assailed by a company of bandits, but a miracle of the Axe drives them from his path.

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gloria. bellum. proelia. decora. ferrum. sanguis.

most high is the
lord of battle

agasius arrowsnap

Agaslakku, Warrior.

A band of thieves upo
n me closed, my fate see
med grim, my death foreposed.

(the axe the claxon the clarion)

(I beseech you in victory against my foes who are unrighteous)
(defend us in battle, be our protector and guardian)

Should I submit to dooms fell
breath or fight against the grasp
of death.

(grant protection in righteousness and truth
to these Thy servants against the enemy
rising against them)

I held my vow with iron will,
my blade rose high, my heart st
ood still. With hungry eyes they ru
shed to slay, but thunder roared t
o bar their way.

A claxon blared across the sands,
a clarion cry with bold demands.
The bandits turned, their courage dr
owned, for Axe struck fear where
cowards bound.

Where go you now fair Jonquille.
an oasis ahead, yet all is not as it se
ems. Wisdom become ye noble knight.

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The first of nine poems (with margin notes) detailing Jonquille's encounters with aspects of each spoke of the Wheel on his journey to Ephia's Well.

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The Mother, Baara

(you poured out your mercy upon the world)

The demon's eye burn
ed high above, and scorched
the sands with heat unloved.
beneath its gaze I fought to
stand, yet struggled oer the
searing land.

(thy boundless fount slakes our thirsts)

I raised my head in humb
le plea, grant forth thy mer
cy unto me. O mother, wea
ve thy shadow deep, and lull
 the burning beast to sleep.

(have mercy on us o goddess pure have mercy on us)

She drew her cloak across
the skies, and shrouded ea

(we beseech you mother now and at the hour of our death take away
our thirsting pain and cloak us in sable, relieve us our suffering
so that we may venture onto the reeds in your serene peace)

(cast aside the demons gaze. thy sacrifice born of love
 we magnify thee greatly for thy suffering on our behalf)

(hear our pleas)

rth in midnight guise.
the moon shone down with
silver glow, I breathed reli
ef in  cool repose.

(we beg thy kindness)

Where go you now,
fair Jonquille, Ephia is no
where to be seen, and the ro
ads abound with danger.

(Holy mother overgod
you are above all the spokes
let us glorify you as do all the gods
let us embody thy mercy
and act in temperance that our works
are well pleasing to thy sorrowful eyes)

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