Aubrey Domergue's loquacious recountings of personalities and tales

[Pandip]

Our vision has been subsumed by the esoteric designs of a cult and the avaricious excesses of mercenaries who would sooner see us dead than successful.

I am beginning to fret that I am the sole pursuant of our interests.

And if that is the case, mayhap I am little more than the weight which drags us away from our destination - whatever that might be.

Whether it be through obfuscation from competing interests or my own stubborn reticence, I have completely lost sight of our purpose.

Now I am left to contemplate whether this is still worth fighting for.

Plain Text

Our vision has been subsumed by the esoteric designs of a cult and the avaricious excesses of mercenaries who would sooner see us dead than successful.

I am beginning to fret that I am the sole pursuant of our interests.

And if that is the case, mayhap I am little more than the weight which drags us away from our destination - whatever that might be.

Whether it be through obfuscation from competing interests or my own stubborn reticence, I have completely lost sight of our purpose.

Now I am left to contemplate whether this is still worth fighting for.

[close]

[Pandip]

Oh, Lyrist Aubrey speaks so sweet.
Her voice drifts down in rhythmic beat,
Through bellows wide, she fills the halls,
With words like waves-so grand, so tall!

She speaks and speaks, oh what a sight,
A thousand words before goodnight!
Her stories swirl, they loop and spin,
By verse or speech, she'll surely win!

The Cinquefoil Rose is her great pride,
A Lyrist true, so dignified!
To be Legate? Oh, one day soon!
She'll fly right over the moon!

Yet hush now, hush! She's drifting deep.
A queen of words, now fast asleep.
Good night, Grandma Aubrey!

Plain Text

Oh, Lyrist Aubrey speaks so sweet.
Her voice drifts down in rhythmic beat,
Through bellows wide, she fills the halls,
With words like waves-so grand, so tall!

She speaks and speaks, oh what a sight,
A thousand words before goodnight!
Her stories swirl, they loop and spin,
By verse or speech, she'll surely win!

The Cinquefoil Rose is her great pride,
A Lyrist true, so dignified!
To be Legate? Oh, one day soon!
She'll fly right over the moon!

Yet hush now, hush! She's drifting deep.
A queen of words, now fast asleep.
Good night, Grandma Aubrey!

[close]

[Pandip]

I cannot tell if I am crazy.

What is the difference between conviction and madness?

Plain Text

I cannot tell if I am crazy.

What is the difference between conviction and madness?

[close]

[Pandip]

I am so lonely.

But they hate me, these students. They abhor me. They want for my death, though they will not say it. They have become thralls to the beauteous lies they have been fed by the Sibylline Vine. And those selfsame Sisters think me a fool. What a thinly veiled effort Jamei made to ensure my death! It would be so convenient, for the nagging Lyrist to perish in a desperate plea for the approval of her lost pupils, no? But it will not be so. You must suffer my inconvenience a measure more.

I look back to those halcyon days of ignorance, wherein I was a meandering refugee with naught a measure of faith to my name. The only conviction I held in mine heart was desperation; an eager need for safety fueled an insatiable search for prestige. I wanted to be recognized. Known! Beloved forevermore! I wore whatever mask I needed in pursuit of many achievements. One more goal notched upon my belt. One more climb forward to reach a peak of prestige.

Then that stinging salve of friendship was laid across old wounds. And what medicine friendship makes! Easing that cough of many burdens; soothing the lungs that they might again breathe. The air tastes good amongst companions, when that mask is finally drawn aside.

Somewhere along the journey -- I know not when -- I knew in my heart that this quest was true. That there was a Paradise to be had. If not in these misty dreams, then crafted by calloused hands with righteous purpose. There is a world to fight for -- indeed, a wretched cycle of hatred to shatter and break! Not just for the sake of one's own betterment; but the whole of all.

What relief! What relief! When that growling ember of hope inherent in all our spirits transforms into a mighty dragon. When one person's song turns into a riotous and roaring Chorus! What relief!

Now my cup overflows with faith, but I am forced again to wear that mask.

That is the trick, you see. These victories are best shared with friends.

Yet, today I am not victorious; today I have no companions to share my glee.

What a miserable thing to scrawl onto paper. What a miserable state to be.

Plain Text

I am so lonely.

But they hate me, these students. They abhor me. They want for my death, though they will not say it. They have become thralls to the beauteous lies they have been fed by the Sibylline Vine. And those selfsame Sisters think me a fool. What a thinly veiled effort Jamei made to ensure my death! It would be so convenient, for the nagging Lyrist to perish in a desperate plea for the approval of her lost pupils, no? But it will not be so. You must suffer my inconvenience a measure more.

I look back to those halcyon days of ignorance, wherein I was a meandering refugee with naught a measure of faith to my name. The only conviction I held in mine heart was desperation; an eager need for safety fueled an insatiable search for prestige. I wanted to be recognized. Known! Beloved forevermore! I wore whatever mask I needed in pursuit of many achievements. One more goal notched upon my belt. One more climb forward to reach a peak of prestige.

Then that stinging salve of friendship was laid across old wounds. And what medicine friendship makes! Easing that cough of many burdens; soothing the lungs that they might again breathe. The air tastes good amongst companions, when that mask is finally drawn aside.

Somewhere along the journey -- I know not when -- I knew in my heart that this quest was true. That there was a Paradise to be had. If not in these misty dreams, then crafted by calloused hands with righteous purpose. There is a world to fight for -- indeed, a wretched cycle of hatred to shatter and break! Not just for the sake of one's own betterment; but the whole of all.

What relief! What relief! When that growling ember of hope inherent in all our spirits transforms into a mighty dragon. When one person's song turns into a riotous and roaring Chorus! What relief!

Now my cup overflows with faith, but I am forced again to wear that mask.

That is the trick, you see. These victories are best shared with friends.

Yet, today I am not victorious; today I have no companions to share my glee.

What a miserable thing to scrawl onto paper. What a miserable state to be.

[close]