Maud's Journal

[Maud]

The idea of a 'journal' thread periodically updated came from a First Age forum site.  I think it's an inventive way to keep fellow players up to date on what's going on, provided we can keep information separate (i.e. if you learn a secret here your character doesn't know, don't use that secret in-realm).  I hope everybody embraces the idea!

These fuller entries may not be in chronological order.  They're all written by me, any alleged speech by other characters is based on actual conversations.

[Maud]

The Start of a Journey

The Census of 1070 covered the vast reaches of the province of Parrius, Jewel of the East, in a time of continued prosperity, but temporary peace. The magistrates made the rounds as far north as the small village of Astrea’s Delta, the resting place of the Goddess of Wisdom, where a certain craftsman recorded his household as, ‘a daughter, Maud’. Although weaned on tavern tales of the Western Isles, I was to be a craftsman, like my good-hearted, if stubborn father, or so it would have remained if not for a fateful day.

Ethanius, our village mayor, discovered my talent with words one day when he came to collect rent past due from a drunken farmer at the tavern. Enchanted, he insisted the monks of a nearby monastery educate me, a luxury my father's income could not afford. Not to be denied, the mayor afforded the full cost, and I delighted, left my father's house. As the seasons arrived and departed, my talent blossomed where beauty failed to develop and my father gave up hopes of ever seeing me married off to a prospering merchant, or even a youthful shepherd with an expanding flock would have done for him. Given I secretly wanted to travel to Parrius and become a famous sage, failing to attract a man suited me quite well indeed, but alas, it was not meant to be.

Raids were frequent in those days, but seldom so far north. That autumn brought outlanders within the walls of the monastery. Inebriated, they lashed out, at first verbally, at the monks who housed them, convinced they sought to undermine the city by holding allegiance with western forces. They later burned the vast collection of tomes accumulated by the monastery, and ravished the farmland of her harvest. Several of my father’s pieces were destroyed in the process, a loss from which his mind never fully recovered. ‘Pagan images’ the strangers called them, torching the good fortune charms set in fields to evoke the blessing of the goddess. My father aged as I saw him, he was like a drowning man…he didn’t survive the winter.

Wide-eyed and alone, I sought out Parrius. The city stood out as a sprawling giant, a bastion amid a sea of farmland. In those days, as I am told remains the custom, the youth are subjected to a series of trials called Accolades, that once completed, turn children into adults. No exception to the rule, Maud the commoner was one such as these, humbled in rags amidst the riches of the court. Despite pleas for aid, I was ignored for the most part and left to make my way in the world. My father never approved of the mayor’s indulgences, he desired me to follow his path as a craftswoman. Resolved to at least fulfill my father’s last wish if not my own, I traveled the long highway to Mercinae, and boarded the ferry for Springtown.

[Maud]

...or so it would have remained if not for a fateful day.

The Tragedy of Odele and Illyan

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Woe the day the forests cried,
Woe the year sweet Odele died,
Woad was she, fair and lithe,
Woad are all, the Greenwood sithe.
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In the eastern and northern provinces of Parrius it is customary to throw atop poles carvings of the Goddess Nature, or of scarecrows, to ward off the mischievous antics of the forest folk.  Superstition was a way of life for the farmers of the north and an artistic hand was considered blessed.  So Illyan the Woodcarver was prosperous, though he did not believe in their stories.

Like his father before him, Illyan was a carver but greed consumed his young heart, a lust for living and living well.  He dreamed of moving to the big city, the jewel of the east, Parrius, and away from the marauders which plagued the land and felled the best of the forests.  Illyan planted trees to replace the old growth--not to appease the forest spirits like his father taught--but because he saw the value of keeping a steady supply of wood to replace over time what he felled for his keep.  But discontent lingered in his heart.

Illyan woke long before the other woodcutters and walked the length and breadth of the known forest, seeking new targets for his axe.  One morning he came to a medium growth and noticed it seemed higher than most he had previously discovered, for it grew alone, atop a hill.  He swung his axe to strike the trunk, then paused, the blade slightly marring the bark.  Instead, he laid down his axe and scaled the tree and took in the expanse before his eyes.

The line of trees was broken by the winding stream, an ancient boundary the villagers revered for beyond it lay the realm of the forest ones.  On his side of the bank, the trees were scattered and patchy at best, beyond the stream, they were virgin, untouched by his axe and ripened for harvest.

One day he made the mistake of wandering too far, too long after dark he came across a faerie brew, an intoxicating scent  of Furglewort.  He remained with a maiden fair, Odele was her name. And in the morning, he remembered nothing. Together they were blithe and bonny, but each morning, he remembered nought Until one morning he had a vision he met an old woman who told him to sip this elixir which would help him remain awake.

So illyan took the elixir and supped of it and again, when he met the faerie folk, they offered him drink, only this time, he pretended to be asleep and remembered all. And when Odele lingered a final time to look at him, he caught ahold of her garment, and refused to let her retreat to the trees and so he discovered she was one of the trees, a dryad.

She promised to come to him beyond the dance of the harvest, if he would let her go now, so he did, on condition she gave him a token of her vow. She bestowed upon him a stone necklace in the shape of a wolf's head, then disappeared.

They met in secret, and eventually her suspicions ceased and melded to love.  She gave him the choicest pieces of wood for his carvings and taught him to respect the Forests and its inhabitants.  But he could never be one of them. Then one day the Lord of the Forest discovered them together.

He decreed that he must die for his discovery of Odele and the forests, and for the use of the magic wood. Odele softened the heart of the Lord of the Forest and saved Illyan.  He gave her unto Illyan in marriage but cursed her, saying, her heart would forever be twain, half in forest, half in land.  She did not understand this in her naivete and married Illyan.

Illyan prospered as the wood truly imbued magical properties and blessed the fields of the villagers.   One day, the dryad presented her woodcarver lover with a daughter who was of unnatural intelligence.  Her bright eyes saw much for one so young and she inherited the love of the forests--like her mother--and the love of creation--like her fathers.

Years past and raiders came--strangers who knew nothing of  the ways of the forests.  They burned the fields andfelled many trees, just shy of the annual rites at Harvest.  Odele was torn, and fled to seek company with her family--whom she did not know had survived or not. 

In making that decision, she entered the forests, only to be pursued by a raider looking at her lustfully.  In desperation, she prayed to the Lord of the Forest, and lept into a tree, forever transforming into a Rowan.

Illyan searched for days for his bride but she was nowhere to be found.  In grief, he pined away, his prosperity dwindling.  Ethanius, a local mayor, saw the potential of the young girl and in compassion raised her as his own.  The following winter, Illyan succumbed and perished, lovesick for his Odele.

[Maud]

The Birth of Moire


**Removed due to too controversial of a nature inside realm. Moral: Always trust first instincts.**

[Every Seer in Avalon]

Well done, and not a bad idea. I look forward to your next entry....

[Maud]

Resolved to at least fulfill my father’s last wish if not my own, I traveled the long highway to Mercinae, and boarded the ferry for Springtown.

Springtown was in the throws of war, hostility increasing with its darkling neighbor, Thakria, City of Miracles.  The Craftmasters, however, were open-armed and welcomed me into the folds of their lore robes.  A decade I spent amongst them, learning and eventually teaching, a quartermaster and guildswoman, and briefly, offered the coveted position within the city as a Minister, which I turned down.  Despite the friendships I had made, and the guidance of my mentors, Fatalus and Talisker, my heart felt out of place, seeking…at the time I did not know what.  But as Fate weaves our destinies, again, a knot in the loom introduced a new path.

Perhaps not the brightest of ideas, but one morning I decided to march myself up to the southern gates of Thakria, alone and unarmed.  Little did I know that Hecritor, Crown-Prince of Thakria, prowled those gates…with a sneer and a swift cleave of his broadsword I fell like the staves of my profession, empty and void of power.  My spirit rose from my body, helpless I watched the Prince turn away, his lengthy strides carrying him farther and farther from my body towards some distant city disturbance.

“So this is what death feels like,” I mused, and struggled to grasp the concept, unsure what next to do.  The air rippled before me, shimmering as the air itself parted to form a gateway before me, a hand extending to grasp mine, a faint voice, insistent, saying, “Come”.

Entering this portal the road to Thakria melted away and I found myself in a lush forest, my spirit hovering before a middle-aged woman.  Raven-haired and dark eyed, she examined me before muttering an incantation in a foreign tongue, and I jumped back.  Surrounding her green robes bright apparitions appeared, the spirits of nature and danced about me, filling my being with a power beyond comprehension.  A searing cry and the lights flickered out; opening them I felt whole once more, the heaviness of my body bound to the earth proof enough of my mortality.  The woman in green had disappeared and I found myself alone.

The following months were spent more and more within the forests, exploring, searching for answers.  “Who was this woman, my apparent saviour?”  “What motive had she to aid me and leave, wanting nothing in return?  How had she even known of my death?”  Over time these answers were answered, and I came to know the woman as Astlebe, an animist of the Northern Greenwood, of the Grove.  She had a presence about her, at once both welcoming and wary; those dark eyes seemed to appraise me and carry the answers I longed to discover.

A rift was developing within the craftmasters, my guildmistress, Rhapsody, refused to trust a young man who showed much promise in the ways of a Loremaster; despite the sincerity of his name, which was Honourbound.  I was no novice to love having courted a young warrior of Parrius, and been admired by a ruggedly handsome ranger of Mercinae.  I found it distasteful, unsatisfying, until I met Honourbound.  With a deft caress and a winsome smile he wooed me away from my warrior and into his arms.  He all but won body, heart, mind, and me before his disappearance…like most craftmasters, he was a miner, and one night, disappeared into the darkness, not to return for several months, injured to the point of death and spirited away to the Houses of Healing.  The rift between my guildmistress and myself did not heal in his absence, if anything, I felt justified, righteous even.

Vexatious, I sought the comfort of the forests and the guidance of my bosom friend, Astlebe.  She began to explain the ways of an animist to me, bringing solace and clarity, and peace.  But there was trouble within the guild, the animist guildmaster was a dotty oak tree, a Doctor as well, frequently disappearing into the forests for long absences, and troubles within the guild remained unresolved.  Once a friend and welcome guest, I was shut out, in reality, an outsider like all others, and my heart ached to help in some way, waiting for an opportunity. I resolved to put it behind me for now and concentrate on my studies and it was during that time I had my early introduction to the deities of Olympus.

Though I doubt the scribes of Avalon would record for posterity such an event, the memory at least cast an imprint upon my heart, the introduction to Genesis, god of Time, on the highway to Parrius.  With the chime of a grandfather clock he appeared, bathed in a luminescent glow, and requested my assistance.  I don’t think I could have spoken to deny him if I could, my jaw had dropped from shock.  Nodding, I followed him onward and assisted him in testing what he called, “mapping”,  a way for novices to flee in time of war.  As abruptly as he appeared he vanished again, but I bore his favour and come morning woke feeling stronger and healthier than ever before, the effects of the blessings of Olympus.  My second of the three encounters at that age came when I met Wraith.  Tremulously I approached him, requesting on behalf of my guild, new doors.  Of course no one bothered to tell me Wraith is a big softy, in mock sternness he examined the place where I wanted the changes made and instructed me what commodities would be required for the project.If I’ve learned anything about Wraith over the years, the only thing that sends him scowling is bringing up the “accident with the potions”.

Now, a certain animist named Gahlahas had at that time retreated to the woods for a period of contemplation, and called me to his side, to help him “rid of some items”.  He felt he had grown too materialistic, and I aided him in moving and redistributing the wealth to friend and foe alike, and in return, he paid me accordingly.  Poor fool I was, had I known the truth, I would have stayed far, far away, Astlebe tried to warn me, but I turned away from her, my eyes focused on the treasure before me, the opportunity to earn the commodities needed for my project.  Besides, Honourbound was well and helping…what harm could arise from it?

Imagine it if you will, a canoe over-laden with thousands of iron, leather, tin, wood, gold.  All for the taking, my joy at the find was equal to my horror at the discovery the goods were stolen, an offense made to Rhadamanthys, god of Compassion.  My third encounter with a divinity of Olympus...and I awaiting condemnation.  Pleading my case, I begged him let off my companion, whom I had requested aid me to speed the process…no wonder the old man had been in a hurry.  “Please, Lord, stay your hand from him, it was my fault, my responsibility to bear the brunt of your judgment,” I sobbed, awaiting his decision.  You’ll forgive me, Reader, if I neglect to describe what happened next…some mysteries are best left unsaid, but after that day, I learned respect, and to be wary of crossing deities, heart heavy at angering him.

The project finished, and having achieved the Stave and Rune-kits of my profession, the others smiled at me, congratulated me, but I felt empty.  Somehow, over the years of study I had come to a decision, a course I could not sway from, nor did I want to.  I would leave, and seek out the mantle of Druid, even if it meant losing everything else, there was no other road.
Astlebe was thrilled; one night under the stars she confided to me, “You have the potential, Maud, don’t worry.  I’ll teach you, take you under my wing.  You’ll be up there with the greats”.  Despite her confidence, I was less sure of myself, I had yet to be accepted as a Sapling, and there was no sign of it occurring with the Doctor’s sabbaticals.  Finally, the day of my interview came, and my friend gave my hand a tight squeeze, but she frowned, her eyes sensing something beyond, something I could detect but not define.  I felt myself whisked away from her, borne on the wind, propelled high above the clouds into the stars themselves, deposited thus, hovering in the realm of Elatar, god of the stars...where awaited my interviewer, Rhadamanthys, god of compassion.

Written by my Hand, the 14th of Cloudburst, 1138.