Author Topic: [Scattered Notes of Brie Cesmé]  (Read 2010 times)

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on: February 23, 2022, 04:27:18 PM
It was beautiful.

As they spoke, revealing what they knew, what they planned, it was like watching the sun crest over the horizon to slowly light up every blade of grass, every petal of the flowers in a garden. One by one. The light making bold colours shine brilliantly.

A seed I had planted some time ago had sprouted. A nut I had squirreled out of desperation had taken root.

I could have done nothing more--I could have stayed absolutely silent--and what I wanted would have been accomplished regardless.

It was mesmerizing to realize that even my own plans and actions were actively throttling what I had already, accidentally set in motion. Tendrils upon tendrils grasping, trying to choke one another. The chaos wrought ensured, one way or another, that what I wanted would come to fruition.

If I were a lesser person--if I had not become who I am now over the past few months--I would have been proud of the mess I made.

Beautiful, lively,
each flower coloured by blood.
A garden of ash.


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on: February 24, 2022, 07:24:52 PM
A tree disintegrated by time, in time?

Rocks whittled away by time and wind, turned to sand?

Existence itself, being grounded down?

From the ashes a new world is born?

You are losing your own existence because of the dance with darkness you stumbled in?

Time crumbles rocks into ash?

Time crumbles the world into ash?

Our entire world is like a rock and it is grinding into ash?

The world is out of time?

The world is timeless?

The world is the same despite the passing of time?

With time comes age and with age comes death?

You want to be fully brought into the world or time or both?

You want a world of darkness?

Darkness--the Nothing--is taking over the World and you want to escape it?

The Nothing is as inevitable as time?

The world is Nothing?

Life turns to sand?

Darkness is eternal?

Time brings death?

In time the world will die and be born a new?

The world is always changing, brought on by time?

Dead elves?


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on: February 24, 2022, 09:15:18 PM
"If the choice is between eternal obliteration upon death or a million years fighting in some devil's pointless war, I know I would like some semblance of retirement. "
"Retirement? Amusing."

"Should you desire, I can always write a contract for you or invoke you into my own under a new clause."
"No thank you. I meant what I said: I am looking forward to retirement one day."

Who knew achieving retirement would be so exhausting? I suppose all the exhausting work is why one needs retirement in the first place.

It was foolish of me to think that House Orza was the only obstacle in my way--the ring trials themselves not being counted.

The Coat has become more trouble than its worth. Another seed--another plan--planted just in case but it has taken root and is growing unpredictably and for completely the wrong reasons. A tangle of vines that I cannot pull from the soil. What does it even want with me at this point? We barely interacted more than a few minutes. It is free, is it not? Why does it still cling to me? What more does it want from me? Did it even want anything from me to begin with? What did I give it? Did I give it anything at all?  We have no agreement--it does not need me, so is it just toying with me? Or is it desperate because I was one who gave it some mote of attention?

Unless I am extremely lucky, I doubt I will find an answer or solution here. Not on this side of the Smouldering Peaks. Raiding Guiseppe's private room is an option--but also probably suicide.

I hope this city of Baz'eel is all it lives up to be.


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on: February 27, 2022, 11:11:25 PM
It seems I have been given a dose of my own medicine. I was not surprised with how Luciana had reacted–insulted, furious, hostile–but I certainly have a better understanding of how she feels now.

No one likes being pulled into things they were not foretold about. It somehow felt even worse considering the number of people involved. All of them giving me a mere cursory glance, already accepting my presence, not at all bothered that I had nothing to say and likely not at all objecting if I did decide to raise my voice.

Having other people make decisions about your life is an unpleasant feeling but it happens more often than we think, does it not?

Being on the run has been an adjustment, but not because I need to be careful and distant from those who would do me harm, but because of the people who care about me and do not want to see me in any harm.

My life and work has always been about taking risks. But it is different when those risks affect others. Seemingly, I could live with living dangerously and throwing caution to the wind. But I can not live with Sorcha being hurt because of me being reckless or hasty.

It is a strange feeling, putting oneself in a prison for the sake of another. But that is just a gut reaction, is it not? An inaccurate one. It is less a prison and more a plate of armour or some protective magic or a good hiding spot.

It is planning ahead to fulfill a promise. Something to make her happy. Which is something else I want to see for myself.


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on: March 01, 2022, 04:48:01 PM
"I have some familiar words for you Anders: I'd rather rub your face in shit."

How badly I wanted to throw Anders' own words back at him. It would have been delightfully entertaining. And cathartic. And honest.

But I knew no good could come from such and my whisper to Daphne was already more than enough to make Sorcha anxious a hundred times over, like a doe picking up the scent of surrounding wolves. I will admit there is still something within the Ward that draws me, pulls on me. But I know it is a death trap at this point. A trap I should not linger near for too long

That House Orza was supposedly surprised by my betrayal speaks to my skills. Or their incompetence. How many times did I exchange not-so-subtle whispers with the likes of Kinsley in front of the Velvete? How many times did I walk into the back rooms of Glitt Hall? How many times did Sorcha and I scurry away into our private room in Ms. Minchin's boarding house for a tryst? How many pages of the letters I exchanged with Sorcha were leaked through my own idiocy? How many times did someone mention the Oldflowers or Lady Audrey and I could not help my face from darkening or my voice from faltering?

More than once I had other Orzans question my loyalty, intent, and place within the House: I was too diplomatic; I talked too much; I was not blood thirsty enough; I was a meek coward.

Yet none of them actually followed up. None thought to track and trace the sweet talking, duplicitous, and shadow-stalking woman who wore their colours yet was not quite the right shade of orange. None bothered to check what I was really up to. There were times when I was away days at a time, running rings behind their backs and yet none asked me where I had been. Quite a few people thought I double-crossed the Oldflowers, but none thought to check if I was liable to cross anyone else.

My betrayal was precipitous only if you kept your eyes shut, your ears clogged, and your mouth silent and not asking the questions that would have revealed my growing discontent and disdain.

People knew about Sorcha and I. Either because Sorcha told them (bless her trusting heart) or because they discerned the truth through their own luck, intuition, and reasoning.

Manfred once told me he did not care if I was planning to betray him. Clearly he should have.


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on: March 15, 2022, 03:09:13 PM
House Oldflowers.
   Lady Audrey Oldflowers.
      The Mongrelwoods.
         A cradle of stone and vines.
            The Lady.
               The Moon.
                  Its Long Eye.
                     All the Places Away from the Ward.
                        Looking Down from the Peak.
                           Sitting Beneath a Waterfall.
                                       Casper Quibs and the Dream of the City of Rings.
                                          The Real, Waking World.
                                             The Gardens Before the Dream.


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on: March 26, 2022, 05:33:54 AM
A collection of poetry among Brie's notes...


Where the green grass rises and falls,
Where the earth gently rolls and waves,
The sunlight shines and the breeze calls,
The hills shimmer in all the days.

There does a light wind dance freely,
There do the plants open leafs wide,
A carefree life and dream it be,
A place worry cannot abide.

It calls with eager hope and fervent promises,
It calls with enthralling warmth and tight embraces,
But, from afar, can the eye believe what it sees?
If not, at least there is still the sound of the breeze.

Shimmering (Revised)

Where the green grass rises and falls,
Where the earth gently rolls and waves,
The sunlight shines and the breeze calls,
The hills shimmer in all the days.

There does a light wind dance freely,
There do the plants open leafs wide,
A carefree life and dream it be,
A place worry cannot abide.

It calls with eager hope and fervent promises,
It calls with enthralling warmth and tight embraces,
But, from afar, can the eye believe what it sees?
While grasping hands may not touch what the eye sees,
There, at least, is still the soothing sound of the breeze.

The Black Sun

Gold lines the edge of this sphere dark and black,
Clear in day and mirrored by the night moon.
Cross the sky at all hours does it track,
All knowledge gathered for use far and soon.

Deep in quiet thought does it watch and learn,
To find hidden answers of mind and world.
With questions it pokes and prods to discern,
The intricate laws that governs the whorl.

But what it learned were not the true prizes,
But mere small things meant for books on a shelf.
Unsatisfied, the truth it realizes:
It must solve the mysteries in itself.

And so it turns its thoughts ever deeper,
For even black voids are filled with hunger.


Snow covered garden,
Hope is planted here, hidden:
Spring beneath the frost.

In Darkness

Truth is shed in light
But life is born in darkness:

Groats passed between hands,
Promises made between bands,

Pages trading facts,
Knives plunged into backs,

Drinks sipped alone,
Knaves beg to atone,

Drinks sipped with friends,
Confessions drawn by pens,

Warm blossoming courtships,
Kisses stolen from sweet lips.

Truth is shed in light
But life is lived in darkness.


Words, letters, numbers,
But what is truly tested:
Kindness and patience.


Terror grips the land in a burning grasp,
A poison worse than the venom of asp.
A witch walks, destruction left in her wake,
Dark evil needing resolve by a stake.

Terror burns the land in a black fire,
A poison that sickens deep to the core.
A witch walks, faced by one all admire,
Dark evil is chased by a blade of hoar.

It strikes true: the guided halberd's cold head,
Thus silencing the rage of the dark dead.
Avenged now are the lost and many dead,
This knight deserves to sleep and rest her head.

Halberd, Part Two

Stiff, strong, it stands high among the other trees,
Swaying gently, caressed by gentle breeze.
A trunk of unyielding wood,
Standing as tall as any giant rightly could.

But, strangely, this tree slowly begins to move?
With conviction and grit one would approve.
Atop remains only a single leaf,
A vengeful blade that cuts life short and brief.

Lumbering, the wood now shakes the very earth,
Carried by one greater than any of noble birth.
Beast, bandit, monster,
All foul things, slain so evil does no more stir.

And so, too, the other trees are awoken and rallied,
Following, realizing they are no mere hollow reed.
Lead by one so right and true,
The forest gathers strength and courage, too.

Calm is the night, after each battle that ends,
The forest gathers as close as friends.
Of greatness they can boast,
Because of one tree among many, indiscernible to most.


Layer upon layer, do I lay truth and lies,
All the while, I look upon with hungry eyes.
With care, the threads twisted into a single rope,
Telling them apart? I no longer have hope.

Reality twists and turns to my whim and will,
But have I trapped myself in this mad endless mill?
Truth or lie? I can't know. Every action I take,
Could be my waiting grave and my final mistake.

The world is as I say, but still all a mirage,
And I cannot tell if it is still real or fair.
Now that I fear truth could tear down all that I care,   
What good are the empty words that make this collage?

Short dangling legs,
Feet far from touching the floor,
Spirit in the clouds.

Into parts unknown,
Reveals how vast the world is.
And sweet dreams take flight.

Cold of Night

Set aflame, the mind runs wild,
Thoughts faster than a fleeing burned rabbit.
Panic looms like a dark, bottomless pit,
Body whimpers like a child.

But then the cold brings a gentle chill,
Soothing the brow so it can sit still,
And the mind enjoy some peace of will.

A swing goes amiss,
But we soldier on.

Meeting falls apart,
But we soldier on.

Arrow goes awry,
But we soldier on.

Foe a step ahead,
But we soldier on.,

Blow cracks through armour,
But we soldier on.

Love and friendship fade,
But we soldier on.

Pick jams in the lock,
But we soldier on.

Words fall on deaf ears,
But we soldier on.

We fail yet again,
But we soldier on.

Again and again,
Do we soldier on.

Halberd, Part Three

Quiet is the battlefield.
In steel-gripped hands
A halberd stands,
Signaling victory sealed.

Blood, bodies, empty of breaths,
Of friends strewn 'round
And foes now downed.
The world better with their deaths.

So, friends are celebrated.
Drowned in deep drink,
Sad thoughts that sink.
Lives given up as fated.

The righteous is resolute,
But not envied.
Many concede
They're unworthy of such fruit.

Three thousand four hundred and seventy seven, / A will so strong it shall not bend.

Three thousand four hundred and seventy eight, / Filled with a hunger that will not abate.

Three thousand four hundred and seventy nine, / Despite all, a heart so kind.

Three thousand four hundred and eighty, / May she achieve what should be.

Far and out of sight
Yet I feel assurance of
You being nearby

Destiny awaits
Beyond the land of dragons.
In the maw we go.

The View  from the Peak

The highest summit in the world
is a leviathan's sad grave.
The giant bones leads me to ask:
is any of this even real?

From the peak, I look down Kingsward
and see a desert bleached of life;
desolate, save for a gem in
the sands that reflect the moonlight.

I turn my eyes to the night sky
to see the moon among the stars.
These things may be unreachable
but I shall reach for the moonlight.

Halberd, the Final Part

The air is still, the light is dim, night hangs darkly.
Others have gone to rest or succor in the night
but one remains to stand tall and hold back the fright,
keeping silent vigil to fill her sworn duty.

While some go on quests in curious unknowns
and others to protect desperate loving heart;
she remains at home so trouble dares not upstart.
Thus, kept safe are reverent stones and ancient bones.

From afar sincere words of thanks are thought and said;
earnest and true though they may never be heard.
So hold head and halberd high, let it be conferred:
that this Knight deserves a gold crown upon her head.

The calm of a still pond, the chaos of a raging 'fall
THe rain becomes the stream becomes the lake
A million drops in a bond, each of water as is all.

Mountain, desert, and sea:
crossed in search of the foundation
which holds up this faint dream.
« Last Edit: March 26, 2022, 05:37:37 AM by Caster13 »