The Knight of Mystic Fire

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The Knight of Mystic Fire

Post by If Valor Were Inches » Mon Dec 04, 2017 8:20 pm

The Knight of Mystic Fire
1: The Fisherman


The fisherman found Lorina Phelenfelen nearly dead, a hand’s grip slipping on an ice shard she held onto with a slipping grip of her fingers. Far beyond her in the waters was the visage of a capsizing ship, the hull shredded by the sheer wall of iceberg.

The fisherman searched in his fishing crate, and threw her a line of rope he fastened onto the edge of the ship. Her eyes swayed to it as it lurched out to her, and switched, slipping from the ice and into the water. The fisherman grabbed the line and rope and pulled with his strength. She surfaced with a gasp of breath, and landed gently over the side of the boat.

The fisherman Lorina hugged the blankets they provided her against herself. He offered her a change of clothes after they exchanged names. “Best you get into something dry.”

He left her in privacy to steer the boat back to the city. He didn’t hear from her for hours, and just when he thought to check on her, in case she had perished like the other he had on board, the gnome poked her head towards the front of the boat. She looked worried, fearful. The fisherman knew her question.

“Did you see anyone else out there?”

The fisherman asked her where she meant. The gnome swerved her head and pointed to the long gone capsized ship. He turned to the second body he had recovered laying on a cot, and thanked himself for covering the face, and that the gnome had never curiously looked through his things. Still, his fingers instinctively pulled another blanket over the body as she looked out to the waters.

The fisherman knew she was a gnome, though his encounters with them had been pleasantly rare. She was different to him, almost appearing as a child lost in an unfamiliar world. Cold. Vulnerable. Uncertain. For her race he estimated she had only just become an adult, one that had never known death.

He would not be the one to introduce her. “I didn’t see anyone else. But there were lots of fisherman about earlier.”

It wasn’t entirely false. A few of them drifted far from the shores this time of year for fishing. The chilled waters made less risks of running into hostile vessels.

“Where are we going, Lord Fisherman?”

“I’m no lord.” The fisherman grunted. The word bristled him, but by the gnome’s expression he could tell she meant nothing by it.

He couldn’t’ help but gaze to the cot her dead companion lay on. Who was he to her? But the less he knew, the better.

The Fisherman turned, and pointed to the barely visible shoreline of the city. “Cordor. Plenty of people go there. Plenty of places to resupply.”

“But my companions, sire. There are eight others. I can’t continue my mission without them.”
He didn’t like that word. People with agendas tended to cause problems. It began to dawn on him she was a knight of some sort.

“I’ll be going back out to the waters. Watch the docks for my ship.”

When he let her off the boat, though, he didn’t return to the site. He rowed home, letting the gnome fade into the distance. He found a tree, dug a hole, and buried the other body he had on board.

The city would distract her enough. Enough that next he saw her, he could tell her the truth. She’d be warm and strong enough to hear it, then.

But the fisherman never saw her again.

Image
Lorina’s Journal, Entry #49


This isle I have ended up on is terrifying. A wild mage in the middle of a public area casted their spells and their magic was let loose on all the nearby denizens. It was by Mystra’s miracle that no one was harmed.

Most of my equipment was still on our ship, and with what I have heard infests the roads even during the day, I am wary of traveling without it, and have made do with what the local establishments have offered.

I’m so uncertain of what I am supposed to do. My current objective is to follow the suggested advice of locals and see if the local magi establishments have heard of any of my order traveling about, or if there is a priest or paladin of Mystra to help guide me and find my lost friends.

But I am on only one island. They could be on any other, or the seas, or worse. Yet I remain hopeful, I must! For I could not bear to know that I am alone.

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Re: The Knight of Mystic Fire

Post by If Valor Were Inches » Thu Dec 14, 2017 8:50 pm

2: The Mentor


This was the hardest moment of taking on a student, Sir Patrick knew. He had stood by the wall before watching quietly, saying nothing as he watched other knights make the announcement to emotional parents. Now it was his turn to stand over a gnome mother that was strong, like her daughter and father, slightly overweight, both holding their only just shy of an adult child, the only child they had. It was a goodbye too early for them. The gnome hovel he was in was small, and his head almost touched the ceiling. The wooden boards were simple, the lack of furniture notable, the only prominent piece the burning fireplace behind the wooden chairs the family was sat in.
“How long will she be gone?” The mother asked. Patrick had already told her, before he could answer again, the father spoke up.
“Can we visit her?” Patrick’s mouth didn’t even begin to move when the mother spoke up again.
“Is it safe?” The knight wondered if he could even get a word out when their daughter stood up.
“I want this, my mother, my father. This is my path.” Her words were quick. Her lips were nervous, but her poise remained firm as she looked to her family.
For a moment the Knight wondered if this was the right move as he looked at her face, her eyes closed as she waited expectantly for their response, a finger lifting to push back a strand of black hair. But then her eyes opened, and she caught his gaze, the same gaze he felt on their first meeting, when she moved to stand by his side against two men trying to provoke trouble. Now able to speak, his words were simple, answering the question they really wanted to ask.
“I swear, upon my life, that I will protect and take care of your daughter as if she was my own.”

She was a slow student, The Knight learned. But she never quit. Where others would grasp basics of the blade in three months, it took her seven. Where others could call upon her divine favor, she had only just shown the signs. And where others would gradually grow more comfortable in the presence of wizards and their art, Lorina had not grown any less nervous.
An accident with a stray ball of fire on the first day did nothing to help with that. The mage at fault apologized profusely, where they often would be rather snappy at their victims, but the damage was not in the burns she suffered, but that even those she trusted and serve could be a danger.
“She won’t pass the final test.” Sir Reynolds remarked as they watched her spar with another Mystic Knight out in a small courtyard, outside the temple they had been posted to serve. “You should break the news to her. She reminds me of Peter. Great heart, but not the skill. Became a fine farmhand for one of the local towns.”
“Perseverance is part of the road.”
“Honesty, too. Leading on folks might only hurt them. Think it over.”
Sir Reynolds excused himself to return to his duties, leaving Sir Patrick on his own watching her.
His student was not dumb, certainly brighter than the average commoner, but did not excel, and had failed her childhood dream of entering the prestigious Lantan University by one point. He assumed this struggle was why she had not attained any arcane skill, though it was not required for the Knights of Mystic Fire to have this knowledge.
The greatest importance was martial skill, but she did not excel in that either. And when she flinched at spellcasting would not be a convincing mark of courage, though Sir Patrick could attest to her bravery.
But her perseverance was unquestioned. He watched her take a blow in the courtyard sending her to her back. Others squires would have adjudicated, but she instead fought to her feet. A frown formed when he noticed the duelist lower his arms, signaling an end to their bought, and he knew, he too, did not think Phelenfelen would pass. “I can go on longer”, Lorina argued, but the duelist’s simple reply of “No” silenced whatever further retort the gnome had.
She peered up at Sir Patrick and made her way towards him hurriedly. “I didn’t see his shift in stance, I apologize Sir Patrick. I won’t make the mistake tomorrow.”
“I know,” He said. “You will be ready.”
But even he had some doubt now.

On the following morning he guided her to the testing chamber, then waited out the door, as it was customary for keepers to be absent from the test.
The four hours passed like a crawling tortoise making their way across a continent. He was accompanied only by the thoughts in his head. Had he supported her sufficiently? Was her slow speed an error of his instruction? Should he have listened to Sir Reynold’s advice?
Questions seeped and decayed the hope and confidence he had for his student, and he remained standing for all four hours, the single chair outside of the chamber door untouched.
When the chamber doors finally open, his student walking out alone, he looked to her face first to read the outcome. There was a solemn serious to her gaze as she looked up at her mentor, and he wondered if she noticed the droplets of sweat trickling down his face and into his facial hair.
After a second that lasted a minute, she spoke firm conviction. “I am Dame Phelenfelen, Sir Patrick. I am paladin.”
No god could have given him a prouder smile.

It was of this moment he thought back to, months later, as their ship was beginning to topple into the sea after careening against an iceberg. The mountain of ice had torn the ship in half, separating them from the rest of the crew. His first priority was to keep her safe. Jumping overboard would only buy them a short time in the freezing waters.
He had a single blessing to ward but one of them from them, at least for a few hours. And while he looked vainly for a sign of any others capable of surviving, his mind on who to protect was made up for him as his former squire turned knight lost her footing and began to drop into the water.
The words came out unconsciously, the spell acting instantly after, glistening sparks acting to shield her from the cold. His heart ached as he heard the splash of water, but no face to accompany it.
He only had a moment to hope that his spell was enough to keep to his promise he made her family long ago, before the sails came apart and crashed down on him.

Lorina’s Journal, Entry #50

There has been no time for writing, not even at the news of the confirmed death of my companions. There has been no time for reflection, and not enough time for prayer. For the last month, I have felt lost.

Not all has been gloomy. I have met another Mystic Knight named Meylinda Silvercrown. When I thought I would turn to her for mentorship, she instead requested the reverse arrangement, as I was senior. For the past several days, I have wondered how to do this.

But even better I have found friends. My roommates Glinda Glitterbrook, and Sakura Rune have begun dabbling in politics, the former as an alderkin, and the latter as mayor of the Dale, and I found myself following them into it as another alderkin, not for the desire to wield power or influence, but out of the want to protect and guide them. Lady Sakura I worry for the most, and I hope she always keeps advisors near her when she has company, to help her see friends and allies from cunning manipulators with self-serving interests. I also worry the old guard will try to lead her too much rather than let her lead herself, and forget that sometimes it is best to step-back, rather than being motherly over the new young leader. But that remains to be seen.

I have also formed a bond with Lady Archmage Whitehorn. I find envy that she and Alderkin Glitterbrook were both attendees of a school I had always desired to be accepted into, but still take great joy in being their protectors and friends, and hope they see me in a similar light. I have missed kin very much, but adventuring with the likes of Lord Demetrius and Lady Lodi has helped to fulfill that void.

With my new position as Alderkin, an advisor of Sakura’s specializing in festivities and crafts, as suprising as that is, I have several ideas, which will take several meetings. I hope I can manage all of my responsibilities with both Bendir and my goddess, without one becoming too heavy and neglecting the other.
Last edited by If Valor Were Inches on Tue Dec 26, 2017 8:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Re: The Knight of Mystic Fire

Post by If Valor Were Inches » Tue Dec 26, 2017 8:55 pm

3: The Lord of Mysteries


The local Lord of Mysteries hailed from the old guard of the church, during a time when the gods walked the lands amongst mortals, under the former Mystra, before her death and replacement by the current. The years of transition since were difficult. The new clergy was too soft, too forgiving, and too tolerant. And his current dilemma with them was the discussion of wild magic.

“When do we reach “enough is enough”? He asked his fellow priests. They were in the main temple chamber in the lands of Amn, seated at a circular table so all could see each other, he in the center. The other two joining him were both younger human women, in their thirties, haired tied or pinned back. He didn’t like either much, one with rather hawkish features and a scrunched up nose who disagreed with him on almost everything, and the one his left too quiet and soft-spoken for his liking. “A notable rise of magi across the realm have begun tapping into the raw weave. While its existence may be tolerated, flippant use will not.”

“If the Goddess did not want it used, she would not let it be used.” One of the two local Lady of Mysteries named Minerva argued. She was of the new guard. One of the soft. Forgiving. And the new guard would pay for those mistakes in the future.

“And the alarming reports we have received in the west? We agreed to send a contingent of nine Knights of Mystic Fire there. We have only heard back about a ship wreck. That is not chance, or a normal accident. The Raw Weave may very well be responsible.”

“Actually…” The other, quieter one to his left began. “Our diviner was able to confirm one survived.”

“Priestess Gordonia, your habit of not sharing information until the conversation is relevant needs to cease.” He could already feel the other priestess give him a sharp look as Gordonia murmured an apology. “Inform the mage to summon the survivor here. It has been nearly a year and I want to hear a progress report.”

She was eager to depart. Mousy, intimidated. The New Guard was an embarrassment. What did the goddess see in these people?

The Nine Mystic Knights were part of this new guard, and he did not like them much either, but they were obedient. Many at least, saw his need for order and sympathized with his complaint of lack of control. Amn’s system of monitoring deviants of the weave was applaud-worthy, and he wanted the church to encourage governments to follow suit. The New Guard did not like the restrictions, citing complaints about access being restricted too much by wealth, but a good wizard, and a good merchant, had both discipline and self-control to acquire wealth and power without wasting it. Those who struggled could find a way if they were worthy.

He had hoped that their expedition into the Trackless Sea would bring about news of an answer on why Amn had not been stricter on magic use on the isle. Their deaths however had slowed this, and the survivor, whoever they were, had failed to write at all, which was unusual. He had a feeling either they had forgotten in a struggle, or it was one of the new blood not yet instructed in delivering reports, as that was generally the head’s responsibility.

He didn’t hide his disappointment when he saw the survivor appear when the door opened, Gordonia escorting her towards the table. The gnome Dame Lorina Phelenfelen, who had passed her test into the order by a single point. Lack of arcane ability, questionable courage, and a gnome. But she listened, and that gave her an edge of being more bearable than both of the Ladies of Mystery.

“Did Sir Patrick not educate you on how to communicate with your church?” He barked, a bit grumpily.

The gnome’s expression fumbled on her face, and she quickly bowed in apology, her face pained at her mentor’s name. The Lord of Mysteries regretted his tone.

“We all grieve for their loss.” He added, as if to pacify his earlier mistake. “But the world does not wait for us to continue.”

“I apologize, my lord.” The gnome sputtered. “But the mission instructions was never clearly given to me, it was not going to be discussed until we landed, and I was not told or knew how to contact anyone. There were no other priests of our faith on the isle.”

Lack of skill. And lack of know. It made sense enough.

“We are not angry, Dame Phelenfelen. We are glad to know you are okay.” Gordonia reassured her. This was only true for her, and perhaps the other Lady of Mysteries with them. The Lord of Mysteries was disappointed. And angry.

“And what have you been doing for the past year that you have not even attempted to return?”

He was surprised at the girth of her reasons. He had expected an excuse of uncertainity, or being lost, but nothing so active. He listened to her talk about the dangers of the roads, of a gnome infected in some unknown manner by a wild magic weapon, of rampant necromancy in the northern lands of Minmir, of a mage’s tower, a workshop, of friends and allies made in her fights, a beholder, local corrupt governments. He hid his interest in lack of response, letting Priestess Gordonia and Minerva lead the questioning.

“Adequate, but unacceptable.” The Lord of Mysteries interjected as Gordonia and Minerva’s questioning began to become exhausted of possible probing. “I expect better communication going forward.”

“Yes, my lord.” The gnome responded, another low bow. Polite. Non-argumentative. She took her criticisms well.

“Further, Do not let your other responsibilities interfere with your primary mission. The Greater Good is more important. Your primary mission was tol monitor the wild magi of this isle, and take swift action to any who become a threat to others.”

“Swift action, my lord?”

“Plainly, knight? Give them a warning, and if they do not cease? Kill them.”

He could read the hesitation of the knight and the glare of Minerva to his person. “If a Wild Mage continues to abuse their weave, killing those around them, they deserve the same, without doubt.”

“Neither I nor Gordonia agree to this.” Minerva spoke up. “Unless absolutely necessary rely on the law to fairly prosecute dangerous beings, and slay those only if doing so insures others are saved with credible evidence.”

“Hesitation or taking the time to judge the measurement of absolute necessity risks further life.” The Lord of Mysteries retorted. “But if Gordonia is agreed with this, I am outvoted. Observe. Report. And bring to justice each abuser to bring control and stability to arcanists using the methods available.”

The gnome gave a final bow, before this time being escorted by both Minerva and Gordonia, leaving him in the room by himself.

He didn’t like this softness. This hesitation of firm punishment. Swift, harsh justice would bring immediate order to the instability in the Trackless Sea. He would play their way for now, and take over after it was proven ineffective.

Lorina’s Journal, Entry #51


It was both good and nerve-wracking to have contact with my church once again. Sir Patrick had never taught me how to get in communication, or what our true mission was. After apologizing and giving my story of events that I had gone through since the shipwreck, they have taught me how to keep in touch periodically, and the purpose of our mission.

I have not seen or met with many users of the raw weave in the last few months, partially due to my constant travels and lack of staying at the tower to catch them.

The Lord of Mysteries seems more concerned about those who are doing the harm upon others than the harmed, and it was the Ladies of Mystery who inquired further about Lord Terto’s status. In truth, I still know next to nothing about his affliction. Perhaps Lord W.W. could go into deeper detail than what he has before, as I still do not notice much strangeness from him. In the meantime, I have finally obtained papers to be his counsel, and will see if that is good enough to start aiding him.

Lady Sakura keeps hinting at change coming to Bendir, though I have not witnessed much yet. Perhaps the meeting in a few tendays will reveal the beginning of Scarlett’s vision for Bendir. My only concern is the means she uses to get there. We agree on much, and so I have some belief she will get Bendir to a better place, away from its rather recently corrupt core and political upheavel that saw Lady Sakura unjustly outed by treason, and the culprit resigning.

Lady Sakura has complained much about tallkin as well. I do not share her views, though I am concerned the specific person lacks the ability to command others without needing to resort to threats because many others share Lady Sakura’s views. I have wanted to speak more on this to Lady Kera, and advise her to press the community to respect her choice of Sherrif Seel so he is not mistreated, or adjust her choice.

My martial abilities continue to swell. I am on the verge of being able to achieve Spellbreaker without the aid of magical items. This would be the tool I would use to carry out the Lord of Mysteries’ mission, though I pray I will never have to use it against a wild mage.

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Re: The Knight of Mystic Fire

Post by If Valor Were Inches » Thu Jan 11, 2018 8:12 pm

4: Duty before Love:


Wilkas Germund had always thought Lorina plain, giving her a look over during a dinner between their families at their family’s cottage. Black matted hair inherited from her father, tied into a braided tail, without cosmetic gloss or artificial pigment texture. Grey linen wrapped and covered her body from head to toe and she lacked the vibrant colors he was used to seeing from the other young gnome ladies of Lantan.

Lorina was not from there, though, the Phelenfelen’s as he had understood, hailed from Tethyr, near mount Phelenfelen, as her father was boasting to his own parents during their annual meet up between the two families. Wilkas was pretty sure mountain Phelenfelen was not the recognized name of it by the kingdom when he had studied its cartography, but he chose not to speak up, instead, asking Lorina to come outside.

“Yes, Lord Germund.” She began. Wilkas didn’t know where she was learning those silly mannerisms, but his mother made an aww sound instead.

“She’s so polite! But isn’t lord a bit much?”

“The Books I have been teaching her suggest to address everyone as your superior, to make the best first impression.” Mrs. Phelenfelen answered. Like her daughter, she was adorned in a rather plain green dress. It was hard to believe she was once the “Sweetheart of Lantan”, a traveling performer with a voice of sweet honey and pleasant ring that quieted crowds at taverns and elicited applause on stages. But it was hard to believe any story Mr. Phelenfelen told, a well-to do farmer who worked entirely without artifice and only employed actual workers. Quote “Golems turning on their masters” and “Poor views on non-wizards owning constructs” as cited reasons of his choice.

“Go on dear, I didn’t mean to stop you two.” Wilkas’s mother urged them on.

Once outside, Wilkas quickly grew bored with a game of Lantan trivia. He was baffled with how little she know of the homeland. “They will ask these things on entrance exams. You won’t make it to the prestigious university with ‘I don’t know’”, he mocked.

Lorina’s face became flustered. “I will take more time to study, Lord Germund.”

“Just Wilkas. You’ll be the joke of Lantan if you somehow got accepted. Maybe if you entered as a performer. Your mother pursued the arts there.”

“I wish to be a wizard, just like yourself, Lord Wilkas. Though it is a little frightening. Father has told many stories about how they become bad people.”

“Childhood friends don’t call each other lord.” He had retorted, but he knew it was pointless. “Most wizards are fine. Amn is just overly-careful about it.” He only recalled a would be practitioner getting hauled out of town for causing an accident by the cowled wizards months ago. “If you’re afraid of magic, maybe you’re better off pursuing the arts.”

She didn’t appreciate the remark. A twitch jerked at her eyebrow and her eyes leered at him as she puffed a sigh of air. “Mother taught me a little. But I do not want to perform.”

“Let’s hear it.” Wilkas insisted. A smirk crept to his lips. He noticed the heat creep to her cheeks and the twitch and squeeze of her fingers. The firm polite Lorina was nervous. “How about a song?”

She turned away from him in silence, putting her hand on a nearby bark of a tree, looking out over the hill. Ignoring him, he thought, until her voice conceded.

The sound tore the world away, draining it of all matter and sound but sunlight on Lorina and her voice. He felt warm touch his cheeks and stillness grip his breath. He had heard the tune before, Mrs. Phelenfelen having sung it once at one of their older gatherings. His lungs mimicked her pauses for breath, spellbound.

She wasn’t plain girl to Wilkas anymore.



She was reluctant to sing again after that. At each following family meet up, when it wasn’t too cold, he would make the request, and after a bit of prodding, teasing, she would give in. Soon meet ups were not enough, and he would seek her on free time, offering arcane study lessons for a bit of time. “Smitten” his mother warned, and he was smitten. Friendship became inseparability, then long nights snuck out for lessons at the approaching deadline for testing into Lantan’s prestigious education. They began on goal, with book pages turned tirelessly and quills breaking from over-pressing into pages, and then distractedly, with laughter and song and loose hands and things his mother would tease him for tendays if she knew.

When the deadline became mere days, talk switched often to the future. They’d both study the arcane, perhaps try a short stint at adventuring before settling down. They couldn’t agree on the count of children, but it was not an important detail right now. And she was not keen on the idea of studying song further, but he had plans to show her some of the famous artists there to try to change her mind.

“What if we don’t pass?” Lorina asked. It was soft enough that he almost didn’t hear it, and her eyes travelled away from the books of study to the window.
Her hands were cold when he reached over to squeeze one. “We will.” Her lips were cold, too, but he fixed that a moment later.



They had sent over a single Test-Keeper, a rather old and bald gnome who spoke with a slow deep tone with droopy eyes. It was indoors, on every subject, history, arcane, arithmetic, artifice, religion. They were separated in his parent’s home, in different rooms. When it was over, they waited separately too.

He wasn’t surprised when thirty minutes later he returned with an acceptance letter. What surprised him was when he went into Lorina’s testing room was that she was not there. He didn’t need to look at the parchment on her desk to know why.

She had been crying when he meet her next. There was consoling, and then changed plans. She could try next year. He could wait a year in Lantan working for one of the local master wizards or artisans. Her mood gradually changed, and soon she had cracked a joke. Before he left, they promised to write letters.

He told her about the grounds, about the artificers, the magic, the technology. She told him about home, his parents, and the farm. He ended his with a love poem, she ended his with a song verse.

Then one day, a letter came different than the others. “I am going to be a squire for the Knights of Mystic Fire!” she exclaimed in the first sentence. She put in a new location for the letters, and he began to be worried. They had not discussed new plans. There was no set time on her service. And he knew knighthood was service for life.

“What happened to Wizardry?” He wrote. “Knighthood means vows and oaths, a commitment.” He urged her to reconsider.

Her next letter came months later, and he was unsure whether to blame the expensive and difficult messaging travel, or a delay on her part. She apologized, but had written down a new plan, delayed children. Meet ups in the less busy summer months. She then pedalled to speaking about her mentor, Sir Patrick, and a fellow squire, Squire Ericka. He didn’t pay attention, but was already writing a hasty reply. He demanded she leave while she could. Love came before service.

He didn’t reply to her next response, another apology, like the one before, but no promised action. He got distracted with the other local students. Many were charming and alluring. He gave in to the harmless sin of speaking to them, then inviting them in. Then the innocent sin of touching them, and pulling them close. Sin that she did not need to know.

He got three more letters that year. She grew increasingly worried at the lack of correspondence. Was he okay? The last mentioned she sent word to his mother, which prompted a letter from her soon after. Lorina’s last letter went further to dare to ask if he had found another. She had apologized. “Duty comes before personal interests, but you are still important to me, and I will find time for you.”

But Wilkas no longer was waiting.



He didn’t see her again until a year after he returned. His parents had retired, and offered their home as they returned to the homeland. He brought back licensed magic and artifice, which Mr. Phelenfelen was still superstitious over.

When she knocked one day she looked like she had before, except a sword was strapped to her back, and her hair somehow worse for wear, now covered by a feather hat. She was also armored, a true warrior, something that seemed so foreign to her. Her form was stiff and disciplined, hands folded behind her back. Her bow and greeting of “Lord Wilkas”, made him tremble.

Their shared silence was broken briefly by a baby’s cry and shushing within his home. He fidgeted with his hat, typical wizarding wear he had earned while in school.

“I came to offer my congratulations, Lord Wilkas.” She pulled her arms behind her, revealing a parchment scrawled with song verse. “To sing to the child. I do not sing this anymore, but, sing for her, and let it be passed on.”

He wanted to ask her why she stopped singing, but only managed “Thank you”. He wanted to invite her in, but only managed to stand there. He wanted to embrace her, but only watched her excuse herself, citing an expedition to some island named Arelith with her other knights.

He wanted to say wait, but instead, he said “Goodbye”.



Lorina’s Journal # 52
Between each entry, so much work and events happen, and I struggle to notate it all down. What is important to recollect? What isn’t?

A short while ago, I was released by the Hawk’in by Sherrif Seel. I was disappointed, upset, and later embarrassed at how he went about it, and I fear he does not understand that is my grievance against the Hawk’in’s lack of accountability, conduct, and care for those they impact. But I was too focused on Terto’s trial to do much more than complain, which was a success, despite its hilly road. The goal that I had truly wanted, a display of earthkin unity and cooperation, proof that the “Earthkin Alliance” was not dead, set in stone by the fair and just verdict. Terto lives, with a chance of redemption, and the alliance is a step stronger than it was before. The Grotto’s participation could have been improved, but that is Lord Wotan’s responsibility to find a resolution.

I now work to draft a government and legal structure which is almost complete. Broader and less Alderkin roles, with a more regulated council, and exiles treated with more seriousness so they are not abused. I am excited to show her and the others I work with the finished product.

There’s still so much work. Glinda has asked help with a project in Guldorand, and there’s mutual Hawk’in patrols to commence. Not to mention a group activity with the Wardens to think of.
Unfortunately, Lady Sakura has turned my hair pink rather than the black I wanted for the Safeday. At least it is free of tangles. I hope I am not laughed at. Maybe I was panicking too much and not being grateful, but as Lady Estavia says in her book, First Impression is very important. I’ve asked Wotan to be my companion for it, which I find odd for myself to do. I still think he should consider marrying a Svirfneblin to help unite the Grotto, and if he does I will be understanding, Duty before personal interests.

But Lady Meriam has taught me much about balancing these so the most good is achieved. Maybe there is truly a way to be selfless and find a little bit of personal fulfilment in one’s own wants as well.

Lastly, Mr. Buppi has warned me about Lady Elder, but I cannot be as unforgiving. Everyone deserves redemption, a second chance, but redemption’s flaw is that it can be exploited and manipulated. What would it take for her to prove she has changed? Or is Buppi right and she will continue only to seek her own interests? I believe she will be successful with her aims, but I do hope she proves the worriers wrong. Perhaps a cautious middle ground could be taken.
Politics, always trying to please two sides. I am not sure why I elected to get into this. Why is doing good so complicated by politics?

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If Valor Were Inches
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Re: The Knight of Mystic Fire

Post by If Valor Were Inches » Mon Feb 12, 2018 1:38 pm

5: Lady Estavia
Mrs. Phelenfelen was sorting through the house clutter. Lately she had slacked on the housekeeping, and with her husband while willing but poorly skilled organizer, she had taken it upon herself to sort through hoarded belongings that were at their end and others she could earnestly never give away.

The card from grandfather was kept, the painting of Phelenfelen Mountain (Formerly Felen Mountain or Phelen Mountain) kept, the old lyrics from her first performance on the stage kept, but the second discreetly discarded in a pile when she peeked at the saucy verses she had written. These keepsakes would go to her daughter one day, and there was nothing wrong with suggesting a far more pure image than was the truth.

Then, at the bottom of the pile, she picked up several pieces of notes on top of a book. She recalled the cover all too fondly.


Lady Estavia’s Book of Etiquette

By Estavia D’Cabello


She knew it by hear, having read and indulged in the work several times. The first section was on manners:

1: When a chair is offered by a gentleman, sit promptly, so as to not keep the man waiting too long.
2: Don’t talk with your mouth full.
3: Dress Tastefully. No flesh should be exposed from leg, hindquarters, bosom,midriff or any other untasteful exposure.
4: Do not disturb or visit the neighbor or friend between the hours of nine and nine, unless an emergency.
5: Graciousness: Do not offer just a simple greeting of “hello”, be formal and polite.
6: She respects all with a proper title. If Lord and Lady are too much, Mr. and Ms, or occupation, are acceptable.
7: Give compliments with sincerity. Do not say something that you do not mean, insincerity is easier to read than you think.
8: Your word is your bond. Keep your promises.
9: Vulgarity has no place coming from a lady’s mouth. She abstains from foul crude language.

There were other sections, notably courting:

1: Chastity is the essence of purity. Flesh indulgences are for the wed and children-ready, not the maiden.
2: Be a good listener and conversationalist. Do not stare off, or read your tome. Give him your attention.
3: Appreciation: Being a lady does not mean being snobby. Have a heart of gratitude.
4: Your time is precious. Your duties come before everything. A gentleman will respect this and not ask you to places on a whim. Courting should not be convenient.
5: Maintain proper titling. Formal, chaste endearments can replace titles, but they should never be dropped except in pure privacy.

And Housekeeping:

1: A home should always be welcoming. Avoid the drab and ensure a pleasant nest.
2: A clean home is a healthy, safe home for your family.
3: Mice and spiders are evil. But do not screech, but handle them “professionally.”.

And dress, and proper movement in dress, even proper vocabulary and schedule. Most of these were in her single book, but a few had their own books, short guiding scripts.

Recently Lorina had written, asking for a copy for interested friends and suitor. So she set the book in a third pile. But this one would be special. Mrs. Phelenfelen wrote a little note on the first cover, about how proud and happy she was, and how she went to find the author herself to have a signed copy just for her loyal commitment to proper etiquette.

She then quilled on the book’s cover in a signature Estavia D’Cabello, before wrapping it up and preparing to send it along.

Image
Lorina’s Journal #53
Note: Consider a personal lock on future diaries, Lady Sakura has shown herself to be a curious snooper.

I have grown leaps and bounds since my arrival. I have found power and love, friendship and a home, purpose and fulfillment, and finally something worthy to make of a life’s work. There is ever, however, conflict, splits, and issues at hand.

On one side there is Mr. Terto, a gnome in stout belief that he has been wronged by the earthkin alliance, and that our kind have had the short stick. His look to Andunor as the solution, and his supremacy view of our race lends little to sympathy, but there is truth behind the unpleasantness of his words, never reaching the ear due to the unpleasant sight of his personality.

Then the other is my love, who believes in the ideals I cherish, of alliance, of unity, and of finding a more peaceful way for our people through Bendir. It is a share belief of mine, but I am skeptical that Bendir or the alliance have done enough. Their lack of inclusiveness in government decision-making, and so far lack of any justice system reformation, is credit to Mr. Terto’s point. They see the acute problem, but not the chronic.

There is also Bendir’s current government, who believes itself better than the last, though I see again that the acute issues are arguably fixed but the chronic, the underlying, long-term grievances, ever remain unresolved and they remain ever inaccessible. They are very defensive to my criticisms, and cold to offers of assistance. Or perhaps I did not communicate my point across well enough.

Sweeping changes do not come from elections or plans or written papers. They come from individuals, the people. In my time finding politics an annoyance and obstacle in doing good, I have engaged too much into it. I almost envy Lady Glinda in this way, who finds a way to push on her projects without it’s bearing, no matter the danger, or darkness, or concern of friends. Perhaps I will try to make some time to help her, after of course, I figure out a clothing design that would correct the lack of boar modesty. An entire species of animals could be saved from their lack of clothing in the process. Perhaps wolves could be next if it is successful, particularly with Squire Mabel’s new choice of form.

If Governments and politics are not the way, then friends and individuals must be the way, and I can only hope they then understand who they represent.

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