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Tavern Night (Mother)

Another few journal entries I have found, written by my mother. - Iawen

Tavern Night
Jul. 20th, 1006

Iacob, Magus Bright, Lord Cain, Herald Rel, Ambassador Faelinn, Gideon and I all gathered tonight to break bread. Rel is finally home, but there really is not much time for celebrating. Lady Faelinn already went to sleep in the upstairs rooms. I write somewhat troubled while each of the menfolk talk about what they perceive will or will not happen in Fae, with Faerie in general, the Hill... all sorts of things.
I do not have much time before sleep calls me away as well... and then Dreaming. I honestly wish the Dreaming will not happen to me tonight. There are people there that I know, but I don't know how. There is even a tree-man there... but it's not Brohenna. And what's the scariest thing of all is that I feel that no matter what happens, I can never go back to being Bouquet. It feels fake... out of place... out of cycle... out of time?
I am worried.
I worry that my King will die.
I worry that my Champion (though they do not know it yet) will die.
I worry that those I love will be placed in a position they cannot afford to be in.
I fear I will lose my mind.
I fear I will lose what pure part of Faerie that resides within.
I fear I will fail.
...and yet, I am still going forth. I am still going to do my best.
Wish me luck, my Queen of Argyll. Kiss me once and bless our way. Kiss me twice and grant us a good day. Kiss me thrice, call it sound.
And do not wait up, for I will not be around.
So, it comes to this...
Jul. 26th, 2006 at 8:06 PM

There are a lot of things that no longer make any sense to me; and yet there I was, embraced by the mortal Queen Marguerite of Chimeron and of the Hill, known only to me as Good Queen Meg.

I experienced meade for the first time.

- I will pen more later most likely, but apparently I have visitors before I leave Argyll and head after Robin G.

What is this: Sandro and Varend? What could they want of me?
Going to write you a letter...
Jul. 29th, 1006

Left a letter with the Queen under the Hill. I wonder if she'll ever read it, now that Heron is gone. Well, technically he IS the Hill, but still...


In that letter, I made my intent known in a quiet yet official capacity, and oddly Faerie has embraced it whole-heartedly. Of course, this also means that I am back on Oberon's radar once more, and he remembers me: an InsectaFae D'Amandes UnSeelie Peon that he released from service at Feast of Chimeron XI. ...I still remember that day. I haven't seen him since... but that won't stop him. I already received an interesting letter. I may burn it, I may place it in the journal at a later date.


But now, I am going to put Mab on the throne. Right now, I only see one way of doing it, but thankfully many options are open, even if they're not the best 'way'.

And who says I have to do it only just one way?

Never fear, my Queen, you shall sit upon the throne yet.

And I know just who to draw near, if I can.
Strange Occurrence
Oct. 26th, 1006

I'm awake. Now, one would think that as odd to pen, but I wouldn't be now if it wasn't for Olivia, Duchess of Beauty, Queen of Argyll.

I don't know where she found me as of yet. I do know that I lie here in this bed in the Palisade, very sore and yet given creature comforts by her command: water, cheese, warm bread, tea and almonds. She said that my father, Magus Zeek McKrye, has been watching over me for some time.

...things are rather fuzzy. I'll most likely pen more later.

Thoughts on a cold, rainy fall night.
Nov. 29th, 1006

I finally have a chance to sit and collect my thoughts, and so I put them to pen...

Sarriette is dead.

Not in a way like others have died. Sarriette may very well cycle, but I don't have high hopes for it.

As one who was once the Chosen of D'Amandes(but then I became an Abomination in her eyes), I knew all along that one day I'd die for and with my Guardian. The way that Fae cycles work, it was the hope you'd go to a 'better place' with your guardian. That was our story.

Now that I'm older and have been forced through two cycles already in the mortal Realms, I see now better what I misunderstood about my family.

We're Insectafae. We were made by D'Amandes, who in turn was made by The Friend and The Best Friend - who are actually named Veryan and Sarah. Sarah was D'Amandes' mother, and Veryan the father. So Veryan, the Shadow, was/is my Oyaji (grandfather) and Sarah the Oyani (grandmother). Chosen are marked because they emulate not just one, but mostly all the traits of the Best Friend, or the One, or Oyani...Sarah. What they don't say is when a Chosen is born, they aren't Chosen then. They get to be Chosen because the old Chosen dies, or becomes an Abomination...Also known as a Rogue Child to all the Trees.
Sarriette didn't have a choice in being the Chosen when it passed away from me. She was the only one who could see it through, and if I am to believe the Duchess Kyomi's story, she did an 'okay' job of it.

...I'm not going to completely believe her story, as I never knew Sarriette for doing things 'okay'. She either threw herself into it, or did nothing at all. Sarriette was my sister (regardless of all the gender jokes made about us) and I loved her very much.

I do not think she'll come back as she was.

I do not even know if she'll remember me, like I remember her.

Domiyana is out there... somewhere. It was very interesting watching my family change. You see, at first Domi emulated me and wanted to look like I did: short, blue hair, some female-ish features, learns spells. But after Domi's first outing into the Realms...

Domi didn't take it so well and now is decidedly male, much taller and wears his own armor that he got from somewhere. We met up in Paradise briefly and when I convinced him that I was, in fact, not in league with the Shadow and about to kill him, he warmed up to me.

Sadly, Domiyana's sense of direction is poor, much a human trait, and I have yet to see him since.

...I miss my family. Some are right here beside me. Some are lost to an earlier time I can barely remember. And some are going to be lost to me soon.

I can feel it.

And that scares me.
Yule is soon upon us.
Dec. 6th, 1006

This eve, Magus Bright and Herald Rel met briefly in Argyll with me to break bread (of a fancy variety stuffed with cheese). They then proceeded to sit and watch a new play that came to town here. I personally do not care for horrorific tragedies, so I have settled down with quill and ink to pen what comes to mind lately. I can hear the rehearsed screams of the first victim in the play, so I shall hurry along and attempt to not be too distracted...

The next time I will most likely be visiting my friends (I thought) was in a time of March, around when the Spring Equinox should be taking place. However, the Duchess of Beauty is sending me to Northern Paradise in a few weeks time. In the last winter month of 1007, she wants me to meet with others and see about some sort of Ice Mage named Tom Rhime. She has warned me to stay alert, stay warm, and to not be fooled nor charmed. I politely told my Duchess that my heart belongs to me and myself, but then she mentioned something strange.
"He currently has your face, you know."
No. I didn't know.
When in questioning why or how much 'he' looks like me, the Duchess asked me to 'do some research', so this very eve I will be sending off a few letters to people who may be able to assist me in finding out what I need to know. Namely, why a male ice mage of any power might want to wear a guise such as my face.

I pen this statement rather irritatedly, but it seems its been a common practice when I was away. If only I could trace down all those who have my face, and their reasons for it...

But then again, the thought chills me that before I was, there was another Bouquet. An InsectaFae, one I sort of remember who had my face before I. And then there was a young girl... a young man... a pretty elf...an old goblin... and then it goes further to another and another... and even still another...that is when my head begins to ache with a dull sense. A sense as though I am seeking to look upon things I should not. Lives I should bury and bury quickly.

It chills me terribly to my bones...and it's beginning to snow.
Tom Rhime - Tom Rime - Thomas the Rhymer
Dec. 17th, 1006

After spending an evening with Herald Rel, Commander BrightHammer and Brohenna, each has gotten on their steeds and left the Singing Dragon. I have gone further south and traveled into Paradise to find the quiet lodging I seek, and with hope to begin anew the task I am about.

The Lady Tarnisha was wonderful in giving me some information, as was Sir Guilliam of Grimloch. From what I can figure from their information is this:

- Thomas the Rhymer is a bard, or was a bard in Fae at some point.
- Tom Rhime, while close in name, isn't associated with the same man.
- Tom, however, doesn't have my face but instead has Lord Nero's, so he is a man(and I should not worry about running into another version of 'me'. ...this is an odd feeling of relief).
- He wields the power of Ice due to controlling 'a point' in the Realms that is very cold.
- He has an assistant that is also male, but no one knows the name.
- Tom is also a 'controller' or a 'Master' of two other points, leaving two free.
- One point is in the lands to the Deep South, known as the Lost Kingdoms. No idea where the fifth one is or what its called.
- The other points (if I have this right) are called Ice, Fire, Shadow, Death and 'something'.
- Tom Rhime had a fight with the Apprentice once, called Kestral.
- Tom Rhime doesn't like the Apprentice, whoever that is now (no longer Kestral).
- His other name, 'The Ice Mage' was given to him by another person.
- He can't stand being/exist at places and times hotter than a May Day.
- He wears a lot of blue and black.

In the end after penning this list, it does not seem like I have a whole lot. In fact, it seems more like his likes and dislikes...disheartening.

Once I have returned to Argyll, I shall send out more letters, then scribe one to be carried to the leaders of the Realms to see if I cannot garner more information for my troubles.

Duchess Lassandra came to visit me not too long ago at a gathering, and I knew it was her. I knew not as she had disguised herself quite well, but it was as if I just knew because she was there. Tis a strange thing to put to pen when one does not understand it herself. At any rate, the Duchess Lassandra made mention that things were happening, and ask casually if I was ready for them. I believe she was trying to make small talk as she readied herself in yet another guise in the Castle of Chimeron.

Am I ready?

How does one prepare for the unknown?

My father knows better than I what might befall him in the winter months, much to my chagrin. He pulled me aside for some strong drink, and then told me, "Daughter, there are things that people leave us upon their going-away. If passed down for generations, the things that are passed down become what is called 'heirlooms'."

After having him explain heirlooms to me, he then procurred a small steel puzzle from his pocket, and told me to take it apart. After many tries I was quite confused. Kowa Obe said there was no shame in asking for assistance in solving it, so I grabbed the elbow of the Dame Freesia of Creathorne. She was all too eager to help, and quickly we solved the puzzle.

Then Kowa Obe, when we handed it to him in two pieces, handed me my first heirloom.

The First Key To Bedlam.

Soon afterwards, I was able to solve two greater puzzles by myself, and then others were solved with assistance from a woman named Orchid, a priest of Luna named Kelleburan, Captain Dahal of the Chimeron Militia, and Sir Zula Darkwillow of Folkestone. They were able to give hints and show me things in such a way that I understood them. The Duchess Lassandra also took a turn at it, and Sir Wil Craven McKrye joked that I should be given a harder trial. My father's response was that he was expecting to go home to the Palisade sometime this winter.

I hope I have not let my father down in my slow problem-solving skills. 'Practice makes perfect' I used to hear in the Bar and Wench when Lillia invited me over. Interesting place, that was...

But I digress. I now hold the Seven Keys to Bedlam. On the one hand, I feel honored that Kowa Obe would leave those to me, that he would trust me to hold onto them.

On the other hand, the thought of those keys near-by both frightens and amuses me, and I know not why.


I know why. I am just refusing to look at those answers right now.

Just a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Thoughts on a cold winter's night.
Jan. 29th, 1007 at The Lost Lake Tavern

...as I bring pen to parchment this early evening, I give thanks for my cot and its mobility. I have been struck down these past two days by some sort of chill, and have had to take lodging at the Lost Lake Tavern on my way to Northern Paradise. I am now behind schedule, and that makes me sad.

General Acacia is holding a contest yet again of fighting skill and more; right in the area that Harlest wants to launch his first action. So not only will we have Tom Rhime to deal with, but the Seelie Fae as well. I find it very interesting that this edict would come from the Loyal Branch Defenders now, especially given the dream that I had last evening. I can barely recall much, but the Queen Titania was there, but looked exactly like my sister, Sarriette, who is in the ground. I chased her down with the General Acacia at her side, and made some sort of vow, some promise. It got me in trouble with many, but I didn't care about reputation, it appeared in the Dream. I and a small band were successful at whatever it is we did, but in the end, did it really matter, for the Queen/my sister never spoke, only smiled kindly... I no longer have the Dream spell, so attempting to write down my dreams after being awake for a few hours doesn't help but hinder.

If only I could acquire the Journal of Sands...

If only their leader could be actually be found and cured...then a worthy opponent would be on the throne.

In the end, it matters what is best for Faerie, in a way. Faerie will shape to whomever IS on the throne. They go so far as to re-write History though they know it not, because by then in Faerie its not a changed History but The Way Things Have Always Been.

I know I would much rather have a sane, just Queen on the throne. So, until Titania can be found, what shall Fae do? Much the same as always, and then again absolutely nothing the same.

I don't believe Chaos has anything on my home, my people, my plane.

Or me.

I also received some mail today, one from an artisan wanting me to approve a picture of my Brohenna. Another letter was from a man named Arkan, one who I am only getting to know and remember recently. Sadly with the jumpstart given to my mind, I recall exactly why I don't have wings, and never will again on a cycle. Ironic, really, for I thought it was just for a cycle when I mentioned it to Duchess Olivia many moons ago. D'Amandes insectafae take having wings as a mark, a sign of being the Chosen. Maybe I should had paid closer attention to the Cycle, for both Sarriette and Domiyana were fashioned with wings, as was I. I gave mine up. I have no regrets except that I could not have done more to save Reeve and all those who were counting on him. But he is gone now, and I believe that even in Oblivion, another plan is hatching forth.

Or maybe that's just my way of thinking, having been on the Edge and all that.

I've already responded to Arkan's questions and will most likely send out the morning missives with the elf here. His name is Nihl and he says he's pretty good at getting messages to people in a hurry, but even the cold stops some elves. I agree. I once heard tale of frost elves, elves impervious to any cold or inclement weather, able to walk on snow as though weighing no more than a feather, and who suffer under a sun on a spring day.

I've never met one, though.

When all is said and all has come undone... when the sun and the moon and stars grow dark...I wonder: Will I still be Faerie?

So near and somehow still so far; what makes me who I am and who You are?
I guess I will be finding out very soon. I wish Harlest and everyone else I may be seeing their good luck and great fortune in battle.

To arms.
Packing Away Things
Jan. 30th, 1007

Sick or not, I am gathering up my things and paying the lodging fee...I hope Tom is accepting of my gifts.

I hope my chalices work after all this time. If only I could find the other Things...but the chalices for now are enough.

Much has changed, and yet I suddenly am going forth to Northern Paradise with no expectations, other than it will be cold. I have dressed accordingly, and I hope the things I bring with me do not crack. I can never repair them if they do, or if they were to simply be broken.

I find that amusing about these Things (my Things?) I find...sacrificed, destroyed, lost to time, and they will all find their ways back into Legend. Break it on a simple stone, or a hasty gesture, and they cannot be repaired. Thus is the strength and weakness, I guess.

...reminds me of Someone. Hmm...

If it is one thing that has never changed over the millenia within and about me...it is the Clouds.

I hope this 'Master' or Guardian does not sleep. He needs to awaken and remember his past, and quickly.

..I'm not sure why I penned that just now. I think its time to put this journal away.
Created by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 09-27-16 10:01 AM
Last Modified by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 09-27-16 10:14 AM