Author Topic: The Brother's Chaeonen: Vulcren  (Read 99 times)

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Duna

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on: March 25, 2020, 02:03:41 PM
It lingers here . And I try to recall whether this was simply a constant cadence that has always been, but I cannot say for certain. This scent of death that is carried from a ring beyond and visited upon us in the Ward. It is a certainty, even when I and my brother were boys, that death is never too far. I can remember losing friends of tender young ages. Some robbed by disease. Others, unstable beings of terrible power. And worse, the changelings that prey upon us all.

I have watched from a silent corner of the ward for many years. Perhaps that is a sin I must atone for. To be so willfully subject to my own insecurity and selfish impulse, as to pass the responsibility that others of great strength and measure would be so kind as to do what I believe in. There were many that I admired, but dared never to interfere or consider myself worthy of offering service to. Yes.. A terrible crime, even unnamed.

The Velstran must smell it on me. It is, perhaps, why she seemed eager to capitalize on denying me passage into the fold as a retainer. And yet she offered me a way all the same. A curious move. If it was her goal to both humiliate me for her own gain, and yet take credit in gaining me as ally- I do not think it wise to allow it.

My brother will see this settled. And I will be relieved to allow him the displeasure.



Duna

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on: March 26, 2020, 09:43:30 AM
He is upset with me, no doubt. My younger brother, who is both gifted and cursed with the ability to weave enchantments and devastation. The latter, more so than the first. But I cannot sit any longer than he would otherwise have bid me to. How many of my fighting days do I yet possess? And in this hour, where the skies rain angels and changelings continue to spread their territories far and wide.

On the hunt, we were taught to be careful with each step. To take care as to not alert the enemy to our presence. To soak our leathers in deer piss, and cover our faces with mud and grease. And so we have been careful for all our lives.  I do not fault him in breathing in a comforting rythmn. To always look to the wisdom of what we have been taught, and how we had survived. But we have also had much time to consider.



Duna

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on: March 27, 2020, 01:59:07 PM
It is a rare thing, to be able to find rest in the yard of my Lord Norbert's endless feast. But admittedly, I am not gifted with the sweet embrace of good rest and replenishment. And so, I carry the debt with me each day.

The priestess at the Shrine of the Lady-in-Waiting. She cast a cleansing spell over me, and bid me to take her word in advisement. To cleanse my soul of wrong and darkness, so that I may shed this skin of ill. And I could see the look upon the young, and pretty Joyce.  A look of horror, but she could never know just how terrible it truly is. I felt a compulsion bubbling in my stomach. Like fire, a rage. That I should kill this priest for her words, and the distress she caused this woman. It was as though, she could see beneath the metal and the taint that has shamed me my entire life. And now brings it forth, to the surface, and beckons me  that it could all be gone .

All gone. Eradicated. Like peeling the flesh from bone to reveal that it was all but a dream.
Stupid child of a sun-whore.

What wondrous world does this fool think we live? My "darkness" was never something I asked to be visited upon me. When I spent weeks, swallowing my own puss and blood, and wondering if I should survive it at all? What man asks for this curse? When women and men, alike, look upon my face and lose interest in their freshly  minted supper, and have nightmares of it long after they've run screaming from my presence. And that's the blazing I felt in my gut and heart when this is what I'm told.

Dreamers of summer afternoons and comfort. Should I get the chance, I'd show this priest her own heart. Dripping and spewing. Writhing and pulsing in hand. The veins that strangle and provide her the means to vomit such insight upon us all.



Duna

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on: March 29, 2020, 02:37:04 PM
We ventured through on of the sunders of reality that many are so eager to know. I had always been curious to see for myself, but not the time nor patience to dedicate. And yet, would I have known better finery if I had? It seems almost entirely impossible that such things are a blessing, and not the precursory warning that  the realm teeters on the edge of it's end. 

There is much within them that garner the prospect of death for a man seeking wealth and goods to barter. The prospectors are possibly no different than the common sell sword. Waging quieted warfare upon unsuspecting tribes and clutches of creatures for their flavored artifacts and baubles. I've heard it told on the lips of travelers that they study these things to better understand the worlds of which they come. I can appreciate the pursuit of knowledge against ones enemies. After all, the angels and toads seem eager to spill upon our realm for bloodshed and excitement alike. And perhaps not even to gain a foothold in our realm, but simply to take what they may. 

Well. My brother and I are surely thankful for the opportunity for practice. To fight, and to fight along side a one Winespill who, much like we, have taken it upon himself to swear his oath of loyalty to the Peerage officially. It, apparently, wasn't a priority for this lad. He spoke at length about the division he was caused by his forgotten nature. A boy brewed and born in the slums of Ticker Square. Never once acknowledged or treated with any measure of dignity by one half of what brought him to purpose. I sympathize. Though, what good are my sympathies to anyone. My father treated me more of a memory than a living boy after I was sundered by the Beast. Marked and branded forever, as the hunter's son who the changeling savaged.


This boy will never know my sympathies.



Duna

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on: March 29, 2020, 07:37:47 PM
[A self portrait is displayed on the next page.]