Author Topic: Journal of Isaiah Bhalmont  (Read 206 times)

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RogueKnight

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on: February 17, 2021, 04:01:39 PM
[The prayers are collected in an old brown leather bound journal before being recited in open prayer.]

Blessings of the Promise unto thee, as made sacred between the Lord Departed and the Lady in Waiting. Set your gaze upon my prayers, and hear them as spoken word as I bow my head and kneel awaiting once more your presence. Blessing unto thee, this is the Promise.

I pray, I pray to celestial heavens of the radiant dawn, the eternal renewal of the Promise, and the unwavering faith of those who await the Sun's return. I pray, I pray for those beneath the banner of the Cornucopia. Goodly hin kind, who seek to venture willingly into the darkness to vanquish the evils of the goblinkin. Resolute in their path, they stride ever forward into the darkness, and battle against the evil that has twisted and deformed goblinkin into foul agents of the Hells.

I pray for their unwavering conviction, let is been seen by the Lord Departed and Lady in Waiting as their Promise renewed at the dawn, and let them be blessed by the radiance of the Promise. I pray them to be renewed in their rest on body, mind, and soul, for their fight shall be eternal, in this life and the next. I pray their resources be renewed, least their numbers dwindle and their battle forgotten against the evil that is the goblinkind and the demonic legion that controls them.  I pray for their safety in battle, and outside of battle for there is villainy that would seek to do them harm beyond the goblinkind threat. I pray they are able to care for one another, and find allies that will seek to heal those in their circle that have been afflicted by curses.

These things I pray,  to the eternal renewal of the Promise made between the Lord Departed and the Lady in Waiting. Faith is renewed, and prayers are spoken, the is the Promise.
« Last Edit: February 17, 2021, 04:03:17 PM by RogueKnight »



RogueKnight

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on: February 25, 2021, 04:50:55 PM
[The prayers are collected in an old brown leather bound journal before being recited in open prayer.]

Blessings of the Promise unto thee, as made sacred between the Lord Departed and the Lady in Waiting. Set your gaze upon my prayers, and hear them as spoken word as I bow my head and kneel awaiting once more your presence. Blessings unto thee, this is the Promise.

I pray, I pray to celestial heavens of the radiant dawn, the eternal renewal of the Promise, and the unwavering faith of those who await the Sun's return. I pray, I pray for the one known as Vuming. Tainted by the trauma of her past, present, and future she remains resolute in her standing against vile wickedness of the darkness. She walks quietly within the darkness, stalking and listening, seeking ways to defend the tide of evil that would crash against the walls of the Peerage to sunder all within. She has chosen a path many cannot walk, or live with, but does for the greater good.

I pray, I pray for her suffering to yield. As the sun rises, I pray it’s radiant light shines on the face of Vuming, and renews the vigor and emboldens her constitution against the vices that would wound her ability to thrive. I pray for Vuming to find peace, in body, mind, and soul, lest she be consumed by the darkness. I pray for her allies, I pray they have the strength and courage to walk with Vuming, and guide her through the darkness and into the awaiting radiance of the light. I pray to the Promise, I pray for one I would call a friend, I pray for Vuming.

These things I pray,  to the eternal renewal of the Promise made between the Lord Departed and the Lady in Waiting. Faith is renewed, and prayers are spoken, this is the Promise.



RogueKnight

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on: March 12, 2021, 04:16:51 PM
[The following diverges from the typical prayer format commonly found in the journal, and appears to be more a collection of thoughts.]

My mind has become overburdened with personal frustrations, and instead of accepting I am frustrated and have control over how I feel, I seek to blame the external reasons I have no control over.

Frobo passed away in a duel, a duel that should have ended the plight of the corpse defiling necromancers and their followers, but it ended in the death of a friend. I’ve allowed myself time to process this loss, and now I find myself missing the laughter and joy Frobo into my life experience. There is less laughter and joy now, as it now slips into a void where laughter and joy has no place to exist about me. I try, but it feels strained. Even when Frobo was serious there was a joy that surrounded the hin, and I admired him greatly. Frobo’s connection to his goddess was… I haven’t the words to truly describe it, but I was envious of his devotion.

Vuming, as I learned was not her true name, was becoming a dear friend to me. I enjoyed our discussions in the market of Oarkrest, the small comforts of acknowledgement and caring. I understand she passed away in battle as well, and doing what she enjoyed, adventuring. I know we shared similar struggles, but there was more depth to her that I felt drawn to experience. Sadly, her time has passed, and I shall never know the depths of the friendship that was to become.

Priestess Cona, I feel comforted by her stalwart faith in the Promise, but I also struggle with the rigidity of faith in the Promise. I am so terribly envious of her connection with the divine, and at times I am angered by her reservation to not act but instead be distracted but the politics of the Peerage. I desperately temper my emotional responses as I bite my tongue to the point of drawing blood that now the taste of my own blood is invigorating. A furious anger dwells within my heart, and my thoughts darken. I feel if I was to finally hear the divine calling, my actions would be fury and rage, as I would call down the heavenly forces to smite all within my purview… indiscriminately. As a Lightwarden, Priestess Cona places her trust in me with all of her being, but what if I am not worthy.

The Shade of Sunpurse, the presence of his cold ethereal form sends a shiver up spine. Although I have only interacted within three times, he continues to make me nervous and unsure. He once mentioned being a mentor, and I know he did not mean to me specifically; it struck a chord in my being that has been missing since my previous mentor passed away. A being of great and immense power, I can see it and I can feel it, and find deep within my mind offering an unspoken prayer to him. I know he is not a god, but what mortal have I known or seen walks unseen among mortals as a god would? What mortal do I know that has been imbued with a form that is both frightening and awe inspiring? What mortal do I know that appears to have knowledge far beyond what any mortal man should know? I don’t know what to call him, but he appears god-like in many ways.




RogueKnight

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on: March 19, 2021, 02:44:56 PM
Plans?

It was not the plan to have Priestess Dagmara answer the call to duel Frank.

It was not the plan to have Priestess Cona attack Frank out of grief.

It was not the plan to leave Cathy to her whims.

It was not the plan to charge to the Tower of Solitude.

So many more things, and it was all not the plan.

It does not appear that everything goes according to plan. The Auld Promise, an ancient pact made between beings of Radiance and the Darkness, a promise of peace between two entities to always act in balance to one another. No, I believe I confuse the words spoken to me by the Shade and the Priestess, or do I simply interpret through lenses of ignorance. I would seek to find a balance between the two, but the Shade says this is a lofty aspiration that ultimately fails. The Priestess says we are in a constant state of redemption, and I should always aspire to be better.

I feel I am a protector of the people and a caretaker of the meek, but within me slumbers the call to action, where the means justify the ends. The Shade pities the Lightwardens, and I believe it is because we are ignorant to the truth. A truth he has found in all of his research, but what is true, we cannot witness the Auld Promise in its making then how are any of us to know the true faith of the Promise. Perhaps, I should pity both the Priestess and the Shade, because they have both given up trying to understand the balance, the Auld Promise. They have chosen the path easily travelled.

 



RogueKnight

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on: March 22, 2021, 09:57:12 PM
What choice do we, the Order of the Lightwardens, have in the matter of our fate. We are the stream of change rushing past the boulder that is the Peerage. In our lifetime, I will never see the balance of both the light and the dark, and I feel I am beginning to understand the words of the Shade. Yet, I will continue to persevere, but not for want of resigning myself to either the light or the dark. No, I will remain resolute in my path, ignorant and stubborn, I will trudge along like the oxen taking the whip to the back. It is a minor inconvenience, akin to the bite of horse fly, and then it is nothing more.

Ser Percival offers the shackles of the Auld Peerage, a ruthless belief that no man, woman, or being is worthy of respect, curdosity, and compassion if they are not human and serving one of the Noble Houses. I admire the accomplishments of the man, and how much he has achieved in such a little time. He moves with the speed of a race horse with blinders, and he hardly notices the people he tramples upon as he races forward to his goals. We can admire the man and his deeds, but what good is a man if he does not have the heart of all people. If the Lightwardens are to assist Ser Percival, we will be devoting our time to manage the wreckage that he causes that he will declare as justifiable progress. How much of our counsel will fall upon the deaf ears of a knight, and for this I have no answer.

House Sunpurse, they would shackle us with the chains of debt, a fate some would say is worse then servitude. What will the Lightwardens be willing to do when the Count or his Retainers come to collect their debt, but not in groat. I trust only the Shade of Sunpurse because I know of his secret, and even then speaking with him is akin to handling a viper. Sooner or later, you will feel its venom. Who else shall we be indebted to, House Velstra, House Orza, House Flevas, House Zheng, or House Giovanni. Who will call upon the Lightwardens, and request a debt paid will actions unbecoming of a Lightwarden. How often will threats be levied against our Order to remind us of the pressure of their boot on our neck.

A decision will be made, but in the end we will swallow our bitter resignation, and hold fast to the memory of what was as we prepare for what will be.




RogueKnight

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on: March 25, 2021, 07:46:29 AM
With words filled with the venom of a hundred hornets, I am lashed by her tongue, and made ill by the poison of her bitterness. Betrayal, I have not betrayed, by what twist of the mind would I, could I betray the one I love so deeply as if I gazed upon the Promise and made blind by the light. I sought to protect us for the darkness that dances and howls amongst the Choir’s songs.

The Shade is right to pity us, believers of the light of the Promise. The Promise shall cleanse all the darkness within and without, but we cling desperately to the memory of our departed members. We carry darkness of their demise deep within our soul, and we call out for Justice when what we truly want to give into the darkness and feed it with Revenge. I remember how quickly she spoke, how easy the answer of, “Yes,” passed her lips like the hiss of a viper. The Shade did not reveal darkness or cast away the illusion of the light, he merely watched as she… no we gave into our darker desires. We do not deserve his pity, but he gave it freely.

Each member sat at that table, listening and questioning, and then resigned themselves to Cona’s decision. Even somewhat drunk, it was too much, I wanted time and peace away from them, but I was cast out. Dismissed from the Order, I wept. Is what I said, was it what I did? What message did I convey or action did I do to demonstrate no other alternative, but to cast me away. I grieve, I have lost those I would call brethren, and would love like my own family. That is not to say that I don’t still love them, but our work is separate now.

Sober, I found myself a Lord to server in Ser Percival. He is a young man in need of guidance, and good people to stand by his side to face the horrors that would come knocking upon the Peerage door. I gazed upon the face of Knight’s of House Glitt, and I saw my legacy in House Parias. Perhaps one day a statue shall be commissioned, and a plaque will be made to inspire a young man such as Percival to serve. I spoke the words, and I became the first retainer of House Parias. Hopefully not the last either. I’d never seen such a young man revelry and joy before today, but it appeared a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Without flinching, I understood that weight had become mine, and perhaps one day I will not bear it alone.

I still grieve, the wound is deep and slow to heal, but I hear the song more clearly now. I still do not understand it, but I listen. The Shade should pity even more, because I am more ignorant than I ever have been. 

« Last Edit: March 25, 2021, 07:49:23 AM by RogueKnight »



RogueKnight

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on: April 01, 2021, 11:17:20 PM
Further and further I drift away from my prayers. The call of every man is able to find redemption is beginning to find no place in my heart. Sometimes the only redeeming thing a man can do is die. Take responsibility for the atrocities he has committed, and die for his sins. Murdering a man, creating undead abominations, summoning fiends and demons, casting changeling curses, and suffering the Ghylherd to live are acts that require a decisive decision to be made. A line must be drawn, and we must be resolute in holding that line lest the flood indecision consume us.

I struggle with the new identity of being a Retainer of House Parias. I must be cautious of every spoken word, every subhuman I meet, every walk into the Ponds, and everything else can be twisted and misconstrued by the Retainers of Greaters Houses. Although I am not afraid to generate the needed movement of a goal or plot by speaking out with more authority than I truly have. I know my Lord, Ser Percival, is a keen politician with an intelligence and wisdom far beyond his years, and if I have to take a beating or two along the way, so be it. The Retainers of the Greater Houses play at being Lords and Ladies of the Peerage engaging in one pissing match after another whether in person or through the sendings. Each Retainer calls for duellos for the most trivial matters, and then howl and prance about as if their duello moved the Rings. Duellos mean nothing, and engaging duellos over trivial matters is childish and unbecoming. Sadly, when children are unable to control their emotions, they lash out with physical violence, and Retainers are grown men and women acting as children.

I am Ser Percival’s first Retainer, I have taken my oath to him very seriously, and as I watch the Lightwardens it hard to see them being able to draw the line and adhere to their oath to our Lord. The Lightwardens hardly respect my station as their senior, and continue to look to Cona as their leader. I do not know if they understand the magnitude of how their willfulness to go against the morals and values of our Lord and the traditional beliefs of the Peerage Ward will reflect on Ser Percival. If the Lightwardens truly wish to continue as they did before swearing their oath to House Parias then they will have to act in more clandestine manners.

I have drawn the hardline, and will stand shoulder to shoulder with my Lord. I will be resolute in my decisions, and take responsibility for my actions. I accept who I must become, and I shall not let faith dictate what must morally be done for the greater good.




RogueKnight

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on: April 08, 2021, 04:51:49 AM
Frobo, gone. Dagmara, gone. Cathy, gone. Lexy, gone. Nicha, gone. Valdis, gone. Wulf, gone. Thor, gone. Marent, gone.

I know where some of these individuals went, and some have all but vanished. The Lightwardens joining House Parias was far too much for many of them, and bending knee to traditions and decorum of the Peerage Wards beliefs, even I struggle with them. Once again we are few, no, we are individually alone in our path, and these paths diverge. I find myself watching as Cona and Percival walk away forging their own paths regardless of loyalty to one another, and I look to my path. My path is overgrown with tall trees, surrounded by bushes and vines barring my way, and yet I have no desire to walk it. I want so much to follow Cona or Percival, but I can’t have both and neither seems to truly need me to follow them. There is House Parias and there is the Lightwardens, but they are not one in the same, and I feel I belong to neither. The colors of my armor and cloak feel empty of meaning, and the duty I have is to be a shadow in the sunlight of Heroes.

Perhaps this is how it feels to be the Shade, to fade away and lose all sense of self, but it's hard to pretend I know anything about the Shade plight. Perhaps it would be better to walk as a beast. I would know my place in the chain of life. I would run freely, hunt all I see, bare young of my own, and then grow old and die. I think my life will be ended by another’s blade, likely some Retainer will take slight, and challenge me to some meaningless Duello. I will fall on that blood stained bridge where many like me have fallen. My blood will seep into the wood, and my body will be cast into the druthers to humiliate the memory of me. Perhaps Cona or Percival will still be alive to fish out my corpse, and see it burned upon a pyre, or perhaps my lifeless body will bloat and turn before finally sinking beneath the foul waters becoming just one more skeleton a Necromancer will fish out for their own nefarious reasons. I honestly cannot tell which of these fates is the worst.
 
I attempted to have something that is all mine, a Gentleman’s Boxing Club. Sadly now that the Spinning Groat is closing there is hardly anywhere one can hold a civilized collective of men testing their metal by engaging in fisticuffs. Certainly in the Ticker you learned to swing your fist just as fast as you could learn to walk. Fisticuffs is a far more civilized way to settle disagreements when the disagreement is trivial, and doesn’t need to result in the other person’s death. I believe I will have to put this idea on hold for now, but that only makes the pathways before that more bleak.

I don’t think anyone will ever remember me, when I don’t even know who I am. All I will be is… Gone.