Written in a precise, studied hand, this notebook is nontheless a cramped document, filled with brief notes and diagrams, alongside diary entries. One such entry is the following:
I had not expected such a dramatic start to my tenure as Court Mage. I have not yet even been introduced at the castle, but matters of import have walked right up to me. The young priest of the Four, Ciprian, was to accompany me to the local sawmill to deal with some minor administrative task. Arriving a little ahead of schedule, I met someone else entirely. A figure robed in green, with an all-too-familiar mien. The bloodstained scythe the stranger bore and the golden mask on its face could be none other than those once belonging to the late Zomactelonyvarix. Power twisted around them, if the skeletal dragon at their feet wasn't enough proof of their magical strength. I was sure there was only one person it could be.
"Rudyard, is that you?" I asked, but the figure ignored that name as if I'd not spoken.
Ciprian was less conversational, throwing every curse and imprecation his faith had for necromancers at the figure. But the stranger shrugged off them all, eventually ignoring Ciprian completely.
It was me they had come seeking. They had much to tell - strange rumours, things hard to believe. And ever the offer of alliance. All the while, I felt the chill of their power. It was all I could do to maintain a polite facade.
I didn't expect to also have to struggle to restrain laughter. Ciprian, braver if not wiser than I, kept up his litany of damnation against the stranger and all necromancers. Eventually, the figure raised a hand, and I saw the ripple of magic across the priest's form. He screamed, yelling that he'd been cursed, and cast his raiments aside. I recognised the magic, though - nothing more than the spells a mage uses to sharpen the mind and tauten the thews. Bursting into giggles wouldn't have suited the mood - but at least it eased the tension, for me if not for the Brother. Ciprian eventually regained his courage (and his clothes), which seemed to earn a grudging respect from the necromancer.
At last he parted ways, and I let myself collapse against the piles of lumber, heaving heavy breaths until my hands stopped shaking.
Excerpts from the Notebook of Larissa Aylomeinne
Re: Excerpts from the Notebook of Larissa Aylomeinne
Another series of entries from the notebook.
This note is surrounded by a lush infloressence of illumination - herbs, flowers, and wildlife in vivid inks form a vignette around the words.
Finally, after all my effort, mastery of inscription is at hand. And just in time - Brother Ciprian sought me out, seeking copies of his latest sermon. A curious, darker tone than I'd expect from a priest of the Four. Still, it'll let me put my new-found skill through its paces.
...
Our victory against the incarnation of Azamul seems to have taken more of a toll than merely the wounds we sustained. Nam fell, and was lost in the fortress' deep maze for some time, emerging chastened and sullen. And Khazamyr... I could see the allure the power lurking down in the deeps held for him. He spoke as if the strange crystal spires down there whispered to him...
...
I spoke to Khazamyr again, and he is definitely stricken. The cooler climate of Edana never really agreed with him, but now he coughs near-constantly, and I saw him almost collapse with one fit, even coughing up what looked like a bloody fragment of stone! His manner has changed, as well. I always knew him as a friendly, somewhat wry sort, but now there's an anxiety and bitterness about him. He spoke darkly of punishing his servant for some perceived slight, and became very defensive when I asked about what researches had been occupying his time of late. I'm sure whatever he brought back from the Fortress is behind this.
...
The City Library holds little hope for Khazamyr's affliction. All I could find among its stacks was one very dispiritingpassage in a treatise on the poisons borne in the rocks of the earth... Much like long-lost Theomar, I will not give up while some flickering of the Khazamyr I knew still remains.
...
The writing in this entry is weak and skittering, the ink smeared, in strong contrast to the precise hand of most of the entries.
I might not be suited to the front lines. I'd thought to assist in a dispute with the orcs of Burz'kal over the disposition of a valuable mineral quarry. The magician who came to face us, a shaman in their parlance I believe, was powerful indeed. Suffice it to say the quarry remains in Burz'kal's possession, and I'll have the bruises and cuts to remind me for some time...
This note is surrounded by a lush infloressence of illumination - herbs, flowers, and wildlife in vivid inks form a vignette around the words.
Finally, after all my effort, mastery of inscription is at hand. And just in time - Brother Ciprian sought me out, seeking copies of his latest sermon. A curious, darker tone than I'd expect from a priest of the Four. Still, it'll let me put my new-found skill through its paces.
...
Our victory against the incarnation of Azamul seems to have taken more of a toll than merely the wounds we sustained. Nam fell, and was lost in the fortress' deep maze for some time, emerging chastened and sullen. And Khazamyr... I could see the allure the power lurking down in the deeps held for him. He spoke as if the strange crystal spires down there whispered to him...
...
I spoke to Khazamyr again, and he is definitely stricken. The cooler climate of Edana never really agreed with him, but now he coughs near-constantly, and I saw him almost collapse with one fit, even coughing up what looked like a bloody fragment of stone! His manner has changed, as well. I always knew him as a friendly, somewhat wry sort, but now there's an anxiety and bitterness about him. He spoke darkly of punishing his servant for some perceived slight, and became very defensive when I asked about what researches had been occupying his time of late. I'm sure whatever he brought back from the Fortress is behind this.
...
The City Library holds little hope for Khazamyr's affliction. All I could find among its stacks was one very dispiritingpassage in a treatise on the poisons borne in the rocks of the earth... Much like long-lost Theomar, I will not give up while some flickering of the Khazamyr I knew still remains.
...
The writing in this entry is weak and skittering, the ink smeared, in strong contrast to the precise hand of most of the entries.
I might not be suited to the front lines. I'd thought to assist in a dispute with the orcs of Burz'kal over the disposition of a valuable mineral quarry. The magician who came to face us, a shaman in their parlance I believe, was powerful indeed. Suffice it to say the quarry remains in Burz'kal's possession, and I'll have the bruises and cuts to remind me for some time...
Re: Excerpts from the Notebook of Larissa Aylomeinne
A heavy ruled line separates this entry from the previous.
Councilman Warren convened the Council today - the first since my accession. I knew a meeting was coming, but the short notice took me by surprise.
The castle is majestic - radiating authority. It's easy to get accustomed to its presence on the edge of the city walls - until one is called within.
We gathered in a large dining-hall. Myself, Cedric of course, the Lord Commander, Brother Ciprian, in his role of high priest of the Four. Alban Lewis was here, representing the merchants and burghers of the town, and young Alaric Dawnshield, newest page of the Kingdom, attended upon us. Food had been laid on - though clearly in a bit of a rush. Magnus kept trying to send Alban to collect more ale.
I'm sure Cedric tried to skip Ciprian's invocation, but nothing would deter that man from a holy speech. Still, his prayer to Talathas was forthright and not uninspiring, even as he kept glancing to Magnus as if to goad the man into piety. (He didn't even glance at me - I dare say my not turning the dining hall into a necromantic focus was better than he expected from a wizard.)
The first matter of discussion was the ongoing spate of dismemberments. More bodies had turned up than I knew of - including one right on the altar of the Church. My expert opinion was that this was unlikely the work of a necromancer - the sheer waste of raw material would tend to rankle those artists. But necromancers were abroad - Rudyard, still ominously drifting about, and some new. Cedric presented the preserved head of a necromancer executed by the Lawbringer of Arandor - a figure known to the Lord Commander, it turned out, though not the prime suspect for the murders. He went through the methods he'd used to track down one suspect, turning the criminal's slip in attempting to disguise themself against them. I was impressed - I'd seen Magnus' martial prowess, but this was a new side of him to me.
The murderer had also apparently left notes, though with little in the way of demands or philosophy. They seemed mocking, lending credence to my thoughts that the murders were an act of provocation. All in all, there was little new to report on the matter, only a call to vigilance and swift reports of any further incidents.
The next matter was the matter of the Amereshi mines, in whose recovery I'd rather failed to distinguish myself earlier. The orcs, incensed that we had attempted to, in their eyes, steal the mine from them, had sent a missive to the King claiming tribute. The Lord Commander was adamant that the mines belonged to Mercadia - as was Ciprian. In fact the priest seemed more angry at this matter than the appearance of shredded parishioners on his altar stone. And the tribute the orcs had demanded? Substantial. A large quantity of expensive ore, and gold - but the most dramatic was their demand that Magnus, as Cedric gently euphemised, "present them with his eye."
It was no surprise that the Council were not eager to accede to these demands, and we discussed the possibility of war and how to approach it. Magnus was unmovable about Mercardia's claim to the mines, and the tactic of simply adjourning the meeting to go and take it there and then was broached more than once. Magnus held that the orcs could not be bargained with. But Brother Ciprian was even more fervid, claiming that the orcs should be exterminated as a matter of course, and bellowing that it was the will of the gods at every opportunity. Cedric had a more measured stance, reminding the Council that Edana was not without other threats, and bringing up that Mercadia's aspirations as a nation of laws and justice would require a formal declaration of war before any action against the orcs. For my part, I agreed - if we abandon our principles when it is more convenient to do so, they can hardly be called principles.
I mostly kept my thoughts to myself in this discussion. Tactics are not within the knowledge I have sought for myself, and the Lord Commander semeed to have a solid grasp of the practicalities. Alban didn't seem to have a great deal to say on the matter either, though it's entirely possible that his contributions were drowned out by Ciprian's increasingly unhinged pious bellowing. I'd always known him to be fervent, but I hadn't cause to fear the intensity of his faith until now. The sort of burning belief that gets turned against the innocent in the end.
(By the way, not everything you dislike is heresy, Ciprian. Voting against the declaration of war isn't heresy. Heresy is when I say The Four are a manifestation of the Eight Virtues, coalescing from the thought-space that lies beyond our mortal understanding of the world. I shouldn't say that to him in person.)
When I left the meeting it wasn't clear which way the Kingdom would turn. Cedric would present the advice of the council to the King, and by his will the decision would be made. I can only hope history won't determine that I had a part in the birth of a bloody war.
Councilman Warren convened the Council today - the first since my accession. I knew a meeting was coming, but the short notice took me by surprise.
The castle is majestic - radiating authority. It's easy to get accustomed to its presence on the edge of the city walls - until one is called within.
We gathered in a large dining-hall. Myself, Cedric of course, the Lord Commander, Brother Ciprian, in his role of high priest of the Four. Alban Lewis was here, representing the merchants and burghers of the town, and young Alaric Dawnshield, newest page of the Kingdom, attended upon us. Food had been laid on - though clearly in a bit of a rush. Magnus kept trying to send Alban to collect more ale.
I'm sure Cedric tried to skip Ciprian's invocation, but nothing would deter that man from a holy speech. Still, his prayer to Talathas was forthright and not uninspiring, even as he kept glancing to Magnus as if to goad the man into piety. (He didn't even glance at me - I dare say my not turning the dining hall into a necromantic focus was better than he expected from a wizard.)
The first matter of discussion was the ongoing spate of dismemberments. More bodies had turned up than I knew of - including one right on the altar of the Church. My expert opinion was that this was unlikely the work of a necromancer - the sheer waste of raw material would tend to rankle those artists. But necromancers were abroad - Rudyard, still ominously drifting about, and some new. Cedric presented the preserved head of a necromancer executed by the Lawbringer of Arandor - a figure known to the Lord Commander, it turned out, though not the prime suspect for the murders. He went through the methods he'd used to track down one suspect, turning the criminal's slip in attempting to disguise themself against them. I was impressed - I'd seen Magnus' martial prowess, but this was a new side of him to me.
The murderer had also apparently left notes, though with little in the way of demands or philosophy. They seemed mocking, lending credence to my thoughts that the murders were an act of provocation. All in all, there was little new to report on the matter, only a call to vigilance and swift reports of any further incidents.
The next matter was the matter of the Amereshi mines, in whose recovery I'd rather failed to distinguish myself earlier. The orcs, incensed that we had attempted to, in their eyes, steal the mine from them, had sent a missive to the King claiming tribute. The Lord Commander was adamant that the mines belonged to Mercadia - as was Ciprian. In fact the priest seemed more angry at this matter than the appearance of shredded parishioners on his altar stone. And the tribute the orcs had demanded? Substantial. A large quantity of expensive ore, and gold - but the most dramatic was their demand that Magnus, as Cedric gently euphemised, "present them with his eye."
It was no surprise that the Council were not eager to accede to these demands, and we discussed the possibility of war and how to approach it. Magnus was unmovable about Mercardia's claim to the mines, and the tactic of simply adjourning the meeting to go and take it there and then was broached more than once. Magnus held that the orcs could not be bargained with. But Brother Ciprian was even more fervid, claiming that the orcs should be exterminated as a matter of course, and bellowing that it was the will of the gods at every opportunity. Cedric had a more measured stance, reminding the Council that Edana was not without other threats, and bringing up that Mercadia's aspirations as a nation of laws and justice would require a formal declaration of war before any action against the orcs. For my part, I agreed - if we abandon our principles when it is more convenient to do so, they can hardly be called principles.
I mostly kept my thoughts to myself in this discussion. Tactics are not within the knowledge I have sought for myself, and the Lord Commander semeed to have a solid grasp of the practicalities. Alban didn't seem to have a great deal to say on the matter either, though it's entirely possible that his contributions were drowned out by Ciprian's increasingly unhinged pious bellowing. I'd always known him to be fervent, but I hadn't cause to fear the intensity of his faith until now. The sort of burning belief that gets turned against the innocent in the end.
(By the way, not everything you dislike is heresy, Ciprian. Voting against the declaration of war isn't heresy. Heresy is when I say The Four are a manifestation of the Eight Virtues, coalescing from the thought-space that lies beyond our mortal understanding of the world. I shouldn't say that to him in person.)
When I left the meeting it wasn't clear which way the Kingdom would turn. Cedric would present the advice of the council to the King, and by his will the decision would be made. I can only hope history won't determine that I had a part in the birth of a bloody war.