Aehwic Thundersnow the Neophyte of Premonition, Elder Maran

Role

Chapter 2

Dear Journal,

Life outside of Darsylon is...not what I expected. Shortly after setting out
on my own, I had made camp in the Mountains to the east of the green valley I
had called home, a bit off of the trail. The small magics I had learned from
scholars hired by my mother were enough to keep me comfortable--I could start
a fire, purify water from a muddy stream to drink, and set wards of wind to
alert me to approaching lifeforms...but it wasn't enough.

Thelaf alfesspfp afj....I ahfah walsdfllsa.ss.s...

Damn. My fingers grew too cold for a moment to keep writing, and I needed to
warm them in my armpits. I suppose I should note that the only belongings I
have left are the ragged clothes on my back and this pen and notebook...all I
managed to grab when I took a chance to escape. Apparently the bandits who
attacked my camp weren't literate enough to think it valuable.

It's sometime after dawn, and I managed to escape from the dark-clad men
with bare blades and black teeth, but not before they beat me bloody. They
LAUGHED the whole while, enjoying my pain. Luckily, I'm too cold to feel
much at the moment. I was forced to run farther up the mountain, and the
boulders I'm tucked in between are dusted with snow.

This was the evil in men my mother warned me about, why she had never
thought to leave Darsylon. Why my father shunned so much of society, instead
preferring the company of wild creatures. The anger I feel, at least, is
warming.

Despite my dire situation, I have a beautiful view of the mountains and sky.
The sunrise is turning the sky red, and dark clouds on the horizon flash with
lightning, like enervated bruises on the ceiling of the world. I can smell
electricity in the air, an unusual scent against the biting cold that freezes
the hair in my nostrils.

I've heard there's power in a storm, and I'm planning on doing the only thing
I can think to do--try to harness some of the energy blowing my way to shield
myself from the biting cold, so that I don't freeze to death. I know a true
frostshield is far outside my ability, but I've managed to at the very least
encase my fingers in frost...when the storm comes, I'm going to try to combine
this minor spell with that of the shocking touch, drawing from the storm's
lightning.

I pray to the Lord of Storms it works, or this will be my last journal entry
and my corpse will remain frozen between these boulders until the spring thaw.

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Role

Chapter 1

Dear Journal,

I left Darsylon today...but it didn't feel like home any longer. Mother was
distraught, to say the least, but resigned to the fact I couldn't stay. I
expected her to fight me on it, but I suppose an elven woman who would lay
willingly with a wildling human emissary expected that her own son would
also be dissatisfied with life in Darsylon.

I suppose we dealt with it in our own ways. She couldn't leave, but she
found a glimpse of freedom in the arms of my father.

I met him once, when I was old enough to remember, though I didn't know
who he was until long after he had left again. A shaman of the storm,
he was a passionate, wild-eyed man decorated with tattoos that sparked
my imagination--tattoos of wild things and places. I do not remember him
making any expression other than an easy smile, as he asked me trivial
things about my life. My favorite colour, what I enjoyed doing with my
time.

I think even then he had hoped, secretly, that she would let him take me
along on his travels, but High Elven society barely accepted me, and she
knew that once I left I would forever be barred from a life with her.

He was a man of vision, she said, which was why she was drawn to him to
begin with. Calling no city his home, he instead spent his time living
among the wild things, but visiting those within the more civilized lands
seeking...something. Perhaps he wasn't looking for anything in particular,
but instead doing his best to bring something to those he visited.

Mother said he spoke often of the purity of the wilds, of how he never once
met a natural creature that took joy in another's pain. Even those creatures
that relied on the violence of the hunt to survive did so not out of some
perverted animosity, but because it was part of the cycle of life and death.

In this, they were united--both were inherently good people, who wouldn't
stand for cruelty in any form. I hope to take the best of them both with
me out into the world...wherever I might end up.

Role

Chapter 3

Journal Entry, 35th Month of Nature,

It's been too long since I sat with this notebook. Much has happened, so I
feel I must write it before it is lost in the tempest that seems to occupy
my thoughts.

The storm magic worked, but it left me feeling...different. Where I once
felt vague unease in the wild places beneath the open sky, I instead feel
a wonderful sense of what I can only describe as anticipation...like I am
some conduit waiting for the next lightning bolt to ennervate me with
purpose.

I've been following the storms, lately, drawn by lightning on the horizon.
With my frost magic feeling strangely powerful, I'm no longer bothered by the
cold...it feels welcoming. Perhaps that is why I was drawn so strongly to
the Redhorn Mountains one evening while pursuing a particularly powerful
lightning storm.

I didn't know where I was, it was so dark, but the lightning seemed to flash
to guide my way anytime I lost the trail. I follow without thinking, because
thought seems to get in the way when I'm chasing the storms. They've led me
to beautiful sights and sites that I would never have found without them, and
this time when they flashed brightest they illuminated the white stone walls
of the Fortress of the Light.

As I gazed upon the penants of the Holy Brigade of the Phoenix, the tall pole
holdin the banner was struck by a forked bolt of lightning, blinding me for
a moment, and as I closed my eyes all that I could see was the afterimage of
a fiery phoenix.

If that wasn't a sign from the Storm, I do not know what is...

I feel at times like a leaf being blown along by the gale, but it doesn't
feel to me that the wind lacks purpose. I don't understand a fraction of
the power gifted to me on that fateful night of ice and lightning, but
I will seek Lord Ergush, and perhaps he can help me figure out how I might
work to burn from the world the evil that perverts an otherwise beautiful
system, serving as a Squire in the Fortress, yet not lose touch with my
newly discovered sense of....oneness...with everything outside the walls of
that bastion of good in this world.

Role

Chapter 4

*This page of the journal is smeared with soil and looks as though it has
*gotten wet, the ink having run in places.*

Journal,

I found my way to the ancient copse of trees Lord Ergush has made his temple.
It feels strange to call such a wild God something as constraining as "Lord,"
and I told him as much. He said I could call him..."Uevre", I think it was.

A strange word, in a tongue created for the felar mouth, but I'm glad to
know it.

He spoke of the three things most important to him, of the spirit, of pride,
and the storm. That if I wanted to learn anything, I would need to learn all.

I'm intrigued by how he spoke of the way things are. A simplicity in how
each creature in the forest has a role to play, without...animosity...or
anger. The rabbit eats the grass, the wolf eats the rabbit, and the bird
flies...but why is it that way? Uevre wants to know.

I've spent a great deal of time sitting in the Virgin Forest, rife with stag
and wolf alike. The birds go throug their day, foraging, perching, living
their lives at a furious pace. They pay no mind to the rabbit. But...when
a wolf stalks the woods nearby, the birds pay heed to the wolf...AND the
rabbit alike. Harbingers of danger, the birds not only let their kin and
kind know about the predator...but the rabbit also listens. Uevre was
pushing me to find some simple way to explain this, but the more I observe
the more complex it seems. A great, complex plan...

Perhaps that is it? Each creature within the wildlands plays a part in a..
grand order, of which one small part is the simple "cycle of life." It
must go beyond this, however...it can't be so bare of emotion and empathy.
This order is not the austere order of the Empire or the Tribunal..it is
the order in the weaving threads upon the loom, so complex and perfect
that only the Gods could see the true pattern of the weave.

We mortals just struggle to sense the patterns...perhaps this is the
spirit. What connects me to the other threads.

I'm going back to bird watching, for now...with my eyes, and my spirit.

Role

Chapter 5

Journal,

Writing has been difficult in the past few years, what with the
additional responsibility I've found myself with as Marshall of the
Fortress.

All of my scrying in the ice never revealed this destiny, but the
future has never been clear to me beyond feelings, instincts. I think
sometimes the patterns I serve to help form those feelings or
premonitions, but it isn't as though I've ever seen anything so clear
as written words or even obvious images.

I DID manage to use the practice to play a joke on Lord Ergush, making
him think I had fortold his next task for me, studying the prideful
feelings of myself, my enemies, and my friends. In reality I had
simply had a long conversation with another young follower of his,
and the topic of pride had come up. Nevertheless, Uevre (the felar
word for leader or lord) was pleased with my explanations.

Now I'm to bring the chaos and wonder of the storm to five others, and
bring the tales back...in all the todo in the past few years, I've done
this many times over, but to bring this entry back to the beginning...

Keeping up with writing things down is not my strong suit when there's
a storm building. I itch to be outside, where the lightnings reach and
the cold winds blow.

*Aehwic

Role

Chapter 6

Journal,

I spoke with Uevre Ergush about Rogos, today. We talked about how
while both a wild beast and a giant might bear the same red taint to
the eyes of flame, they are two different sorts of evil. Eyes of
flame to now allow me to see clearly the soul of a man or creature,
just a general idea of their aura's energy.

The beast might have violent instincts, or evil tendencies based on
its birth, but more than likely they are rooted somewhere in survival,
hunting, for instance. There is no reasoning, no consideration of its
actions. We still would call this creature evil, though, for its
instincts are violent, and it is nothing but instinct.

A man might have an instinct for violence, tendencies, or whatever you
wish to call them, but they also reason through their actions before
acting on them. If one considers their actions and has an understanding
of how they affect others, and still chooses to act on their instincts,
that is a far different evil.

I believe the Maran should focus the majority of their energies on this
latter "form" of evil if you will--that in hearts of men.

That Rogos should feel drawn to reject the Reaver way, shows that he
is trying to follow his instincts, even if they go against his birth.
He is trying to live his life in a way he can be proud of, having come
to an understanding of how his actions and those of the darkness
affect others. If the shadow loses him, I count it as a victory
greater than simply destroying him. He will be a powerful example.

I will do as Ergush advises, and watch Rogos. Observe. Let his actions
be the judge. It is true he doesn't wish the purity of the light, but
simply to live as a Sentinel's spirit would. But his future is not
defined by the past, and I will be ready to be a conduit of the light
in any form I'm required.

*Aehwic*

Role

Chapter 7

Journal,

I meant to write in you when I found my first gray hair, but that time has
blown in and away again like a storm in the night. Fully half of my head
seems to be covered in gray now, though the vanity in me still thanks mother
for the elven blood that keeps me mostly free of wrinkles.

Scrying comes more easily now, especially after I've gotten to know someone
a bit...the signs are clear more often than not when I seek out a potential
pledge's future in the ice. Uevre Ergush would just say it is because I am
understanding them more deeply. I can see that this is true, but what a grand
joke it would be if it is my subconcious creating the images I see in the
ice to fit the narrative I've created about someone in my own head. I like
to think that it is a little of both...some of my own capacity, and some of
the Storm's Light helping me glimpse what might be.

Zah...Zah takes his toll on me. I harbor no resentment for the death I face
at his hands, nor should the rabbit feel anger towards the hawk that eats it.
It's the distraction he creates for the others, the pain he causes those who
he hurts just to hurt me. The Squires and Scribes, the Tara'bal. He is, I
say again, a rabid wolf who has gone outside of his normal hunting grounds.
His pack should cull him, but I'm afraid the entire Village has grown more
willing to shed blood for the sake of shedding blood. Mage or not.

My truest hope lies with the Squires who come to us through the less usual
means. It seems our pledges, by and large, seek to be Pathfinders, and I
already know what sort of future with the Fortress they will have...I have
seen it time, and time, and time again. I know what they will ask of me,
and when, and how many might die in the process of besting this dragon or
that lord.

It is the others, those priests of the less frequently worshipped Gods, the
Solaths and Guvlegs, the odd ones who came to us through some...special
intervention...that give me the most hope. I can easily believe that the
Light will work hard to bring about what must be, so if it brings us
someone unusual or odd, or from a long distance, it must be for an unusual
and important reason.

Enough rambling, for now, I need to drill the new Squires on avoiding the
traps I set outside the gates, before someone almost drowns in quicksand
again.

Role

Chapter 8

Journal,

Apparently I am now Captain of the Brigade.

Retirement from Leadership was relaxing while it lasted. I knew stepping
down as Marshall was what was necessary - I had seen it in the ice that
when Drissa passed, I needed to move aside for another Marshall...

What I didn't realize was that the Light was simply nudging me into where
it needed me...the Captaincy.

Lord Korsgaard surprised me by offering the position - I had no thoughts on
the matter until he broached it. Content to advise, I had been relaxing
into being an Elder of the Fortress, free from worry that my every action
or decision would have implications for our entire Family.

I have always said I am exactly where I need to be for the Light - so long
as I remain open to the signs. It seems, now, the Light needs me as Captain.

I'll do my best to honor Drissa's memory and fight the war in a way she would
fought it. It isn't going to be easy, so used to training the others in
the Fortress' defense. I'll have to stir myself to greater action, lead the
charge, and most importantly, set an example of what a Maran can and should
be in a world where we are so sorely needed.

Light...I'm starting to feel old age is just around the corner, with all of
its new trials.


Captain Aehwic

(This sounds so strange to my ears, yet...I hope it becomes as comfortable
as being called marshall once was.)

Role

Chapter 9

Journal,

After more than a century in this War, I have finally made a mistake.
No longer am I able to stand near a Squire or Maran who is rocked by
guilt and offer only theoritical niceties on making mistakes and living
with them.

Now, I must figure out how to live with my own mistake.

Tia and I were pursuing Girf, through the Prosimy, when a young Girl
stepped in front of my Flare intended for Girf. That dark priest, so
fond of hiding in the trees, had been giving us quite a fight and I
found myself fatigued, losing focus, and then...

I feel as though I am being torn slowly apart inside, the slow turn of the
meat grinder's crank eating my innards and making food seem unpalatable.

This conflict within, is unlike anything I've felt. I KNOW beyond any doubt
that this is a moment I need to lead by example. I KNOW the good I have done
for the Light is a mountain compared to the single anthill of my mistake...but
to that girl, to that girl's family, it is an entire mountain range of grief.

I judged Naevar so harshly for prostrating himself, for crying, and showing
such...weakness isn't the correct term...perhaps lack of resolve towards the
difficult parts of our war.

Well, now I understand. I wish to scream, to cry, to rage against the sky and
snow. To take back the spell that ended the young girl's life. It distracts
me throughout my day, this feeling, and causes me to lose focus and doubt my
own place.

Light, please give me the strength to hold the faith. Faith in myself, that
I am a Good man who has bad days, not a bad man doing good things most days.

Faith that I am who the Light needs me to be, and that I am but a mortal, who
may make mistakes but is greater than the sum of his failures. Faith that
I can continue to serve the Storm's Light, and lead by example.

I do not know how to begin to forgive myself...Perhaps I do not deserve to be
forgiven, perhaps this is the burden of the Maran, the difficult pain that has
no physical manifestation.

I need to work on accepting the fact that I am imperfect...yet that does not
make me any less valuable a tool for the Light...and that has always been my
purpose in this life. I need to set an example that inspires.


Aehwic.

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