Rarywey Cirrene the Moon Over the Empty Space

Role

Chapter 15

Have I found you? Have I found the one who will stay? I wonder what you would
think if my heart spilled to you. I love you, not as a lover...I think? It is
hard to say, but I have made strides because of you. I have been told what
hurts to let go of, and I have tried because of you. I have watched you endure
your own hurts, watched you grow, watched you wilt, watched you be reborn. I
have seen your soul blossom and I admire so deeply the rose that is you. I feel
I must protect you, however silly that seems. I know I can hardly protect
anyone, but the urge is always with me. You have always seemed so young, and it
is almost as if I wish to protect you from yourself. I hate that a flicker of
doubt should ever cross your brow. Do you know how beautiful and powerful you
are? I have felt jealousy--jealousy!--when Terenthial shows attention to you.
Am I envious of him stealing you away, or am I afraid he holds a dagger
specifically for the space between your shoulderblades? I don't know, I don't
know, and I don't trust it. This is so different, and just as strange, as when
my heart yearned for Gavoran. Is it safe? I shouldn't let loose a breath. It
could turn to a wind and blow this all away.

Role

Chapter 2

There was a routine to our days. In the mornings, the tavern had a dawn feast
which was popular with the working folk and military whod spend their days
foraging, hunting, or on patrol. We would wake at 4 and cook, eggs and
venison and pastries. I usually paired with my sister Lennha and we fulfilled
the baker's every whim. It was always hard work, but it didn't always seem
that way. The folk who ran the place were good to us, and they always made
sure we found time to breathe, or better yet, laugh. I think their hearts
hurt for what we had lost.

Let's see. The survivors: there was me, of course, and Lennha. I was perhaps
closest to her out of all of them. I still am. She always had an ear for my
doubt--I think it was because of her that I was able to fake my way through
as a spiritual sticking post for everyone. The three boys--two of them were
actual brothers--all years younger than I was. Cayothe and Gillvren kept each
other in check, they always got so many comments on how upstanding they were.
The one who was the youngest, Tychale, managed to be a holy terror. To be
honest he had no place in a tavern, he was truly still a baby then. We kept
him busy with pots and spoons, and he was usually good at fetching things.
To have seen him grow into the man he is now is perhaps one of my proudest
memories.

There have been more than a few takeaways from my time in the tavern. The two
I managed to cultivate into passion were music and food. You might not be
surprised how many travelling bards become eager to teach you something about
music when you offer to sing them a song of your functionally extinct people.

I couldnt leave before my kindred were ready, but I had known where I could
belong for a while. Perhaps its time for me to greet the Heralds.

Role

Chapter 14

I cannot cry. I have wanted to. I have prayed to my Lady in the rain to let my
tears flow, but the deluge that ran down my cheeks was all the doing of the
clouds. It would be such sweet relief, to taste that salt on my lips, to have
my whole body wracked with sobs. It would be such a lovely thing to wet the
floor with my tears and emerge from my cocoon of weeping feeling free and whole.

Hundreds of years it has been, time passing for me as it does for all Elves, a
long march through the years watching flames ignite and burn and turn to ash.
The air tastes sweeter to me now, now that I have accepted this is my fate, to
love and mourn cyclically until I am mourned myself. Still! Why cannot I cry?!
I can write as though I am weeping openly, I can tear out my own heart and
press it to a page.

After I published the Riverside Lament, Cedany asked me how many suitors I had
lined up for my hand. There's not a single one, and as afraid as I am of being
alone, I'm not sure I even wish for one any more. She also threatened to hug
me. Shamefully I realized how foreign the notion has become to me. I have not
desired anyone's embrace since Gavoran.

Cedany and I were invited, along with the Orc Omugug, to Morius' church. We
went and spoke first to his avatar of pridefulness. I suppose if there is a
vice that merits praise it is pride. At its basest, pride is knowing one's
worth. It seems, however, that Morius' faithful fall headlong into the extremes
of their vices, to terrifying effect. I have no desire to return to that place.
His wrathful Elf had not a bit of reason left in her. She only wants to burn
the world because she herself cannot see how broken she is. We met Leimallia on
our second visit to the church, and perhaps she came to us because our anger
preceded us. Morius spoke to Cedany in my voice to deceive her, after she
repudiated him via letter, which is why we went back. We were not having it,
and we needed to have our say. I wonder if this is what Cedany had in mind when
she cautioned against my promise. I don't know whether the god of the vices and
his zealots are done with us. Aynwinria came to Cedany's defense, and she may
have drawn their attention away for now. I suppose we shall see.

Role

Chapter 13

Cedany did not deserve to be toyed with, and perhaps she was hurt more by my
confession than not knowing would have done. After my talk with the broken
doll, I felt a need to make sure those who are dear to me know it, and with
that came the need for honesty. Gristal lied to many people, but perhaps to
Cedany most of all. He probably also lied to me, but never about his dark
hearted nature. I did not think of her feelings at all when I made the wager
with him. I was simply enthralled by his daring, I wanted to see how far he
could go. I bet him the entire contents of my bank account that he could not
pinnacle in his guild without someone discovering he was hiding his
intentions. I won my bet, but only because Gristal himself was the one who
needed to confess before taking his own life.

After I told her, Cedany could not bring herself to be angry with me, which
is what I deserve. Still, I know I hurt her deeply. The grace with which
she accepted my confession was beyond mortal ken. Her forgiveness is divine.
I am so ashamed. She already doubts herself so much, and to think my stupid
selfish bet could have contributed to that makes me feel so low. She worries
her methods will not be looked upon favorably by the Fortress. I am not one
of them, but if anyone within that bastion of goodness is to listen to and
empathize with dark hearted folk, it must certainly be the duty of a Scribe
or Acolyte. I want so much to build her confidence. I owe her that much
at least.

I made her a promise, and she seemed to think it was unwise, but if that is
the case, then I deserve to suffer the consequences. I told her I will never
lie to her or keep something from her again, as long as I shall live.

I wrote this for her.

A Ray of Gold, by Rarywey Cirrene

A ray of gold drifts from on high,
Anoints my brow with glister.
Upturn my chin, view in the sky
The visage of Light's sister.
Blessed am I to know her kind,
And wonders she does sow.
For my soul is unrefined,
And sinner's urges flow.
My trespasses she forgave,
And still lent ear to listen.
I promise her until my grave
That truth will be my vision.

Role

Chapter 12

"The flowers you gave me are rotting
And still I refuse to throw them away
Some of the bulbs never opened quite fully
They might so I'm waiting and staying awake
Things I have loved I'm allowed to keep
I'll never know if I go to sleep"

There is something I carry, and only I can feel its weight. I haven't been
so sure what to do with it, so it is safe to say I have been doing my best
to neglect it. Is that the wrong way to go about things? I always thought
I should crawl out from under my sorrow and leave it where it lay. Now I am
told that I am it, it is me. I was summoned, so I came to Rahsael's
cathedral. My hangover had faded, and I was angry and sad and so confused.

The little talking, broken doll was there, and she wanted me to see how I am
blessed by loss. I remembered Maere once trying to teach me the same thing.
Maeneekoni was gentler about it, when I sought her counsel, but neither of
them ever imparted much comprehension. If nothing else, my talk with
Maeneekoni helped me understand the parallels between my faith and hers.

That was one of the first things I asked the doll. I do not worship the
Lord of Loss, so what could he possibly want with me? It does not appear to
be the matter of my faith that has drawn his eye. The little doll and
Maeneekoni both said we all belong to him. I suppose, in some way or
other, it is true. I have lost many and that is a fact which I do not hide,
but my matter-of-fact attitude may blind me to what that loss means. Without
it, I would not be me, and is not being me a wonderful blessing?

It's very difficult to see how some losses could be blessings, however.
Rahsael's little lost thing did also manage to offend me terribly. Of
Gavoran, she said: "You got yourself an ideal lover. Someone who died
before he could shatter the image of him you'd built in your head." I was
still in shock from seeing his shade, and she had the audacity to tell me
his early death makes him ideal? I thought I was ready to move forward, to
finally drop the weight of his absence. And seeing him standing there faint
as a whisper brought all those faded emotions over me in a wave. Let the
dead rest, I pleaded with her. But it was not the doll nor the Lord of Loss
who brought Gavoran's ghost to me. I did it. My desire to release and
forget all this pain conjured his shade.

I must sit with it. I must express it. I must allow it to be me. It
always has been. And in that way, perhaps someday it will not feel like a
millstone around my neck.

*Lyric credit: Regina Spektor - The Flowers

Role

Chapter 11

I took the young Healer outside, away from the clamor at the bar. I
wanted to focus on her, to give her the attention a Herald Maybe deserves.
That is when I saw a ghost. Katiah came, but I barely registered her
presence. I followed the ghost, and he was gone. I swear I saw him. I
saw Gavoran.

Focus Rary! I forced myself back to the here and now, to Simonne. I like
her sort. She is sweet, kind, bright eyed and bushy tailed as they say.
Reminds me of Cedany when she was just a bit younger. They share the same
faith, so I think she will find her footing and someday be a wonder. I made
her a Herald.

The ghost lingered, silent, in the periphery. I caught glimpses of him
during my talk with Simonne. I thought I saw something else, something
terrible, something I can barely glimpse when I close my eyes. Eye sockets.
Flies. Focus Rary!

During all this, Gristal was losing his mind, alone in the shadows,
confessing his soul to Cedany. She thought him mad for some of the things he
was saying, but I know better. His deception of her was extensive. Did the
truth overwhelm him? I did not want to win our bet. Not like this. Another
gone. Please, no more ghosts.

Another drink.
Another drink.
Another drink.
To hell with all of it. The whole bottle.

Rest, Rary, rest.

Role

Chapter 10

Not now, no! Not after all this time. He doesn't deserve it. Why
not just rest, Gavoran? You don't owe me a thing. Perhaps I've lost
my mind. I'd rather be mad than cause his spirit to linger. There
is nothing here for a ghost.

It's difficult, I'm sorry, I've had a strange day. I tried to tread
water as long as I could. It was a remarkable feat, how high my chin
jutted. There was a new Herald to take care of. Gods, she must think
me mad after the show I put on.

There are so many things... I need to clear my mind.

A drink.

I am slower now. I can start from the beginning.

Today I woke to a missive from a young Healer, Simonne, declaring her
wish to become a Herald. I went to meet her and happened upon a young
dark heart Shaman, trying to shake her faith. They swatted it back
and forth for a while, and a few others joined us at the bar. It was
then that the first strange thing happened. A little porcelain doll,
dressed in black, with straw colored hair and blue glass eyes slid out
from beneath the bar. At first I thought she was a marionette, but
there were no strings nor any puppeteer. She spoke and said she was
there because someone had a hole in their heart. The Shaman identified
her as one of the Lord of Loss' little lost things. The doll turned her
attentions to me, said there was a place for me, instructed me to cross
over Despair. I am wanted. But why?

Role

Chapter 9

Am I lonely? Me, the High Herald of the Eternal Star, the mortal
embodiment of sociability? Why would I ever be lonely? Ethlerrereva,
I suppose she was a friend, let go of her blade and fell silent for all
time. Imogrezio, MY High Herald, did exactly as I feared and laid
himself to rest as well. And Ogae, I'm sure so few saw him as I did,
even he is gone too. So of course I am not lonely. Of course I am
not petrified of striding into old age while all my friends lie dead.
Perhaps now I better understand Gavoran's once frustrating choice. If
you do not connect with anyone, you cannot care if you must hurt them,
and more importantly, they cannot hurt you.

I don't want that for myself! I was once bound to a similar fate,
forever a virgin priestess, forever a woman apart from her own people
in many ways. I know, I know I was to be the sticking post, but there
is no playing favorites when you belong to everyone. I know we will
all return to one another one day, but in my sorrow I beg for just a
little more time with them in the here and now.

I find myself searching my old ways for answers, leaning heavily into
my faith to remember this is the ever changing way. I wonder if I am
supposed to like how it changes me.

Role

Chapter 8

"When I die, let the flames devour me
When I die, set me free"

We always burned our dead. There may not have been a ritual more
important. I think about them, the ones who still lived when we left, and
I wonder who built the last funeral pyre. I wonder whose bones lay picked
clean, unburnt, bleached by the sun. I feel like a coward. I should have
been there to perform their rites.

It was a celebration more often than not. We burned them at night and
drank until morning. We scattered ashes along the riverbank to feed the
new growth. Why are there so many notions about where the soul goes when
one dies? The paradise of Heaven, the punishment of Hell, eternity as a
broken suffering ghost? I suppose belief sends you on to the afterlife
you think you deserve. We believed--I believe that our time in a mortal
body is one of isolation from the cosmic whole. To die pieces your
spirit back into the eddies, and as you settle into that spin again,
another soul emerges, washed clean of the burden of its previous
incarnation, ready to be born and live and die all over again.

As I think about the endlessness of spirit, I must also consider the here
and now. I defended my choice to publish all the documents that have been
coming my way. I said I hush no one, and that these writings make history
that will ensure this blink in time is remembered. But so much of it is
petty public squabbling. Are these the memories you wish to leave?
Calling each other liars? At first I was entertained because it made
Ethlerrereva so upset, but it feels as if nothing of true value is being
offered in this unending exchange of information. Ah, but who am I to
judge? Maybe this is just how creating history looks, and the polish is
put on years after it is made. For now, there is the record.

*Lyric credit: Down Like Silver - Wolves

Role

Chapter 7

Ethlerrereva! I am so angry with her! She's always managed to be
completely infuriating, but I labored under the illusion that somewhere
inside her lay some semblance of empathy. Surely you cannot live as long as
Elves do and not allow yourself to connect with the emotions of others.
Someone told me recently that soldiers rarely survive with their empathy
intact. In response, I said soldiers need to be empathized with perhaps
more than anyone. Maybe one day I will try harder with her. For now, I
will be angry. What else do you do when someone you consider a friend says
another friend you have lost was a cancer upon Thera?

I made a wish upon a falling star in the Oryx Steppes some nights ago. I
asked to see Gavoran once more, and the ashes fell somewhere far away and
granted me nothing. And that's it, that's the heart of all my hurt. He is
gone, and whatever I hoped for us is gone with him. Some of these people I
loved, some of these people I put little slivers of my heart into, who
shaped me and knew me, were magi. These are the people with whom
Ethlerrereva shared enmity, and she celebrates their deaths because she is
a soldier and for them to die is a battle won in her eyes.

The Elder Prophet expressed gratitude for the Heralds and the space we
create in this world. I am so glad of it and glad I am here to oversee its
growth. It's strange to see how these cycles of my life repeat, and the
differences between them. I am not a weary child shepherding children in
the Mushroom Tree tavern any longer, but I am walking along the same
framework in a different chapter. The longer I live, the better able I am
to see into the mysteries of the waxing and waning, at least those that are
my own.

Role

Chapter 6

I recall Maere once inferring she had some lesson to teach me about loss. I
was terribly offended by it, and I told her there was no lesson she could
give me that I had not already lived. My early lessons were those of waxing
and waning, hard taught. Mortal lives shine bright and dim away, and that is
the way of things. But after all I have lost, I cannot help how my heart
still shudders to notice someone's glow becoming dim.

But where have I been? Treading the edge of a knife. Only time will tell if
or how I will be cut, but for now the future scars seem certain. I'm being
dramatic, of course, it's hardly that bad, but there are things that have
dimmed the light in my world. Friends have died or disappeared, and my once
hopeful heart wilts a bit every day that passes with no word from Gavoran.

Imogrezio sat me down one day and asked if I would like to become High
Herald. I said it felt like he was trying to give me an inheritance. He
still lives, but the title was passed on to me. The worst part of it is I
have not seen Imogrezio since.

Are they going away for good? I admire these men for different reasons,
but if I am not worth even a farewell to them, I have to wonder if that
admiration was misplaced.

I am still deciding what being a High Herald means to me, how I will put my
unique stamp on fulfilling these duties. I've told those interested, pledged
or not, that I will meet them on their terms and times. Really, I intend to
bend over backward to ensure the purpose of the Heralds is known and
embraced for those who would truly shine at the Star. I see that as the
minimum of what I can do. There are shelves to fill in the Hall of Heralds.
What will my legacy be?

In the meantime, and to avoid sounding so mopey, where things ebb, they flow
elsewhere. There are new friends, like Ogae and Lirinildria. It is a gift
of a Herald to draw into their circle such vastly different philosophies and
personalities. Such friendships have seeded a change in my own principles.
My moon-worshipping naturalist parents certainly did not raise me to become
buddy buddy with an Anti-Paladin. They would approve, however, of
Lirinildria. And here I am, bold enough to make my own choices.

Role

Chapter 5

Imogrezio said I wear my heart on my sleeve. If that is how my self
expression is seen, so be it. I've been thinking a lot lately about honesty,
and it was Lady Daphedee who first turned this crank in the machine of my
thinking. Perhaps it is the best way to be. I suspect I am left vulnerable
to manipulation because I tend to assume everyone is being honest with me.
I hunger for stories, to know people and to understand them, but
opportunities for this to be done organically do not always present
themselves, and my questions often stop at a wall. I am coming to appreciate
the differences between people I encounter, and I have learned I must be
patient for some of them to be forthright. In particular, the Imperial High
Priestess comes to mind. When first we met she had hardly a word for me, and
now there is more familiarity, and with that, more words.

Still I find myself puzzled by overt hostility from strangers. I asked
Laurandt if this is a symptom of being dark hearted, to dismiss and threaten
someone before even knowing properly who they are. He supposed it differs
from heart to heart. I asked if he gets to know his enemies, and he said
only if they let him. So there you have it, my wall is not a particularly
unique wall. Not long after, I witnessed venom spat from the mouth of a
lightwalker at Gavoran in the form of a vehement distaste for magic. I'll
admit to having fun arguing with her, but beneath that the hot white fire
in my belly raged: You do not even know him.

There is a song from my youth that encourages some measure of certainty in
an uncertain world:

"I am but a part of this
All I am is all I give
Everything that comes to me
Comes as sure as I will breathe"

The priestess of my tribe, she was called Ghydda, would often gently remind
me that what I sought would turn up as long as I remained open. I pray: Oh
lady, oh silver light, my beating heart can feel the witch-hour breeze.

*Lyric credit: Ayla Nereo - All of This

Role

Chapter 4

I have a dilemma. I am smitten with a man. He is a perfect gentleman, and I
sense an old soul. It's not hard to know why I am so taken with him. At first
meeting I found him fascinating. He lives by a difficult mercenary creed. To
paraphrase his own words, he must be in the world, but not of it. Friendships
and bonds of love must be forsaken. He said I am making living by his
difficult creed even more difficult. I respect his way of living, as well,
and that is why it is so difficult for me. I can sense we are drawn to one
another. I would close the gap. I would thrill in his embrace, but for him
this is forbidden. He admitted he fears his creed might one day put me in his
way. He said if it did he fears he would falter. Is it wrong of my heart to
soar at those words? Am I truly respectful of his ways?

I have never faced the trouble of desiring someone. I was brought up to
remain chaste, oddly enough. My tribe looked to the moon as mother, yet
expected lifelong virginity of its priestesses. I am young for my kind, but
I have still had centuries to bother with being deflowered. Even so, there
never was time, or the desire.

I don't speak much on my true family. Before the plague, we had love and
togetherness. We danced below the full moon at perigee and our voices rang
to her in a chorus of worship. How beautiful it all once was. Then I watched
my parents wither under the eye of our healer, perplexed and withering
herself. It is too painful. I think the worst part of it all was hearing them
cough at night. The sound became wetter and wetter, and there would be blood
soaked rags to scrub in the morning. And one by one they each stopped
coughing. Then it was only me in the tree we called home. I started this
mantra then, to keep my mind right and combat despair: I am glad to live.
I am glad to live. I am glad to live.

Perhaps I fear as Gavoran does, that fate might conspire to ask him to end
me. I told him I understand, and I respect any difficult choice he has to
make. Change has a way of being both sudden and cyclical, and split second
decisions must be lived with for the rest of your life. It may be
disrespectful of me, but I simply ask that if my name finds its way into
the pages of his book, that his arms find their way around me first.

Role

Chapter 3

My first real, vivid memory of pain has to be my tattoos. My mother and
father had tried to prepare me for days. They said I was important, and that
important girls had to be big girls. They said the priestess was going to
give me the rest of the marks of my destiny. They said I had been born with
one, but more must be added to indicate my significance. I remember staring
into our priestess' eyes, her face lined so heavy with age and seeing a
strange spark of something, perhaps hope, perhaps pride. Her moons were red
but faded from the years. Two on each cheek, marking her as someone holy.
My mother and father sat on either side of me with their heads bowed,
clasping my hands in theirs. I shut my eyes and let the priestess do her
work. When it was over, the whole of my face was red, not just the tattoos.
A mess of blood and tears and ink.

To think I knew who I was and who I would later be back then never fails to
give me a chuckle. We were children of the moon, if we knew one thing it was
that change is constant, but the familiarity of the cycles blinded us some to
reality, I think. Now I'm not who I should have been, and I've decided to
pursue a different take on my fate. Some of understanding it comes from
trying to understand others, and being a Herald truly affords me that
opportunity. There's still some part of me that yearns for my old, appointed
destiny. I think it makes its way into my food. There, it's at least
genuine, palpable. It brings joy and comfort, which I think might be just as
good as a sense of philosophical certainty, at least if we're concerned with
living in the moment. Perhaps tending to the tangible and the now is the
best we can really do while inhabiting a Theran body.

Role

Chapter 1

Five of us came to Evermoon that night. It was raining, I remember, and the
dying had sent us to the city gates. We couldn't understand then why our
world had suddenly collapsed. We had been an isolated tribe, in and around
the fringes of Ar'atouldain, drinking of the river of memory and praying to a
goddess who no longer spoke, but never quavered in her monthly sequence. We
had minimal contact with the people of Evermoon. I was taught they saw us as
eccentric as a whole, but their priestess had a fondness for our faith, so
she would insist we be treated fairly even as we shunned true society.

It was a plague that sent us to Evermoon. Five children who had never shown a
symptom, who had not yet succumbed. We were banished from our tribe because
they were dying, and even with our immunity, we were far too young to truly
care for ourselves in the woods. I think, also, those who remained wished to
spare us the horror of witnessing any more deaths.

In Evermoon they found us work in the tavern. We had to earn the generosity
of our benefactors. I came to think of the others as my family while we were
there, even though we weren't truly siblings. They looked to me for
spiritual guidance. I was marked. I was destined. I was still just a child
who had lost everything. What was I to do?

When my mother and father and everyone I had ever loved had still been
alive, they brought me as a newborn to our holy woman. She took one look at
my left arm and knew the mark on it meant I was destined to take her place
someday. And this is how I was groomed since that day. Instead of my
destiny, I found myself playing holy woman to a congregation of four
traumatized children in a little kitchen behind a bar. Suffice to say it
changed my faith.

But we grew up, each finding our niche in our new, strange world. One by one
we left. I dont think Evermoon could ever have truly kept us. Still, it is
a place of safety, near enough to where the moon touches the land. Near
enough to the river that will someday wash away the memories of my heart.

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