Typically kept on the young priestess' person is a book bound in dark blue leather.
The cover is set with simple, lovely silver filigree, the image of a finely tooled crescent moon and falling stars set into its face.
Its pages bear a neat, feminine script, and the entries vary in length and content:
reflections, prayers, short notes, and even occasionally small sketches.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
The diary's first page bears its owner's signature—like the priestess herself, it is neat and pretty, but not without a playful touch of casual unruliness.
The Sword Coast
1354 D.R.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
As I kneel beside my bed to pray,
I reflect on that which I have done:
Perhaps why I walk beneath the moon,
Rather than the unforgiving sun.
I pray for the Lady's grace and empathy
To shine on my path and guide my way,
For I, too, have waned so many nights
And woken to the harsh light of day.
I pray to know mercy in my heart,
As I pray the same might be shown to me;
For I, too, will wax and grow full
And am yet who I am meant to be.
As I bow my head in devoted prayer
And seek the Maiden's guiding star,
I offer myself in humble gratitude
That She has seen me so safe, so far.
I pray to you, Our Lady of Silver,
That you can see my love is true.
While some might feel I have done wrong,
I pledge never to do wrong by you.
I pray: if you can, forgive me,
Though it may be others never will.
And where e'er it is you guide me,
I will follow, my Lady, still.
Last edited by LaceAndLeather on Wed Jan 24, 2018 12:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
I was walking through an open field at dusk, the grass swaying gently in the evening breeze. All the clouds overhead were swathed in gentle rose and the warm glow of day's last light, pastels setting in against the fading blue before evening took its hold and fair Selûne began to smile.
Feet bare, I wandered forward, though I knew not where, letting my fingertips graze each drifting blade in passing, tickling my skin. The distinct smell of blooming honeysuckle caught me by surprise—just like summers on the River Ashaba, when father used to take me fishing with Elias.
But then, as I walked, the sky grew darker, strangely so. The air around me grew cold, the grass whipping about in a now stronger wind, howling across the field.
It was not the promise of night that greeted me, but a storm, billowing clouds of purple-black churning overhead, blocking out the sky, lightning arcing from thunderhead to thunderhead like violent javelins of light. My dress whipped about me, and my hair was caught in my mouth, tangling across my eyes so it became hard to see anything at all.
Just before I woke, there was a familiar voice that whispered in my ear—but I can't recall ever having heard it. It was barely more than a hush, but as it spoke it was also somehow loud and resounding, clear and calm in my ears over the chaos and the din, the sudden cacophony of crashing thunder and the howling wind:
"This, too, you can weather."
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
Rania came by the camp, to speak of it—it seems no matter how many times we address "the subject," it's never quite resolved. I imagine tomorrow the High Lady will have words for me, as well, though I warned Rania fairly I'd have a few of my own in return if she plans to make a spectacle of me.
Do I even still want to undertake the Trials? Is the Halls still where I feel at home...?
It's a hard question to answer, but it presses on my mind tonight, as tomorrow it's to be a subject on the agenda. They have been home, since I arrived here; it's there I first laid my head, first met so many faces...other firsts, as well, that bring a smile to my lips. In the simplest way, the answer would seem to be "yes": it is, after all, the most established place of worship to the Maiden in the nearby region.
But here in the north, under the open stars, I feel so free. And with every night that passes, I realize even the simple choices aren't nearly as obvious as they seem.
It is, of course, my will to serve my goddess. No matter what, I will do everything I can to aid my Sisters in our works in the Lady's name, and to stand against the darkness. But so very many Silverstars are known to wander widely, free from hierarchy and apart from any proper temple, and I think I begin to understand why. Maybe that is my calling, the life for me...for us...?
I'd thought for the past few nights of speaking with Wren about I could be of further aid to the Northern Watch. But it does seem like, no matter what I do—no matter how much kindness I try to show, how helpful I try to be; no matter the awful past of her own I've looked beyond, in spite of what happened to my mother—she just looks at me like a mistake.Hismistake. (Or she just doesn't look at me at all...)
The thought of compassion is ever in my prayers: "See all other beings as equals." Goddess, am I trying, even when they do not see me the same.
And she's far from the only one. "You knew this was coming": Rania said that tonight, too.
I guess I did.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
Sometimes I cannot help but wonder if they assume their words are clever, as they slip from their lips like half-aimed arrows, careening toward a target they only think that they can see.
And then I must remind myself to keep compassion in my heart: for the wicked, always, but also for the spiteful and the hurting, for those burdened by anger and betrayal.
In a way, I understand—or at least, I do earnestly try to. In so many others, it is a trial, a challenge, an everyday reminder of the path I must walk, beneath the Lady's blessed silver light.
In that regard, I'm grateful for Rokh's company, when he visits the camp. I feel safer with him here (mountain of steel that he is), but I also feel he is perhaps one of the only who sees a person here beneath the calamity of circumstance. Beneath the target.
Some nights while I stand watch at the camp as everyone else is sleeping, I wonder while I look up at Selûne: were you once an outcast, too?
A poison? A blight?
But as I watch Her, I feel Her soothing comfort. I must trust in Her radiance, as She has trusted in mine. I can hear the song of moonlight in my heart, and it is Her light that banishes the shadow of doubt they seek to cast, even when I grow weary: "Know that all love alive under Her light shall know Her blessing."
I remind myself, when I feel strongest—when I wax and shine—that I am no venom. I am no fatal blossom, no strangling vine. The true toxin is malice, and its only antidote is love.
I will pray for them. Just as I pray for her.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
The north grows more dangerous still, though I find myself slowly coming to think of it as something of a second home. Where there is the bitter cold of Hammer, there are hands to keep mine warm, and where there is darkness, there shines ever above us the Lady's Light.
Many faces come and go from the camp of the Northern Watch—more, even, than I am accustomed to from the Halls or the Arm, which came as something of a surprise at first. There are a few I'd call friends, but more of whom I'm curious, even suspicious. Still, there is a great deal to be learned from the travelers that pass through, and more still from my companions in the camp.
Despite a rocky pair of tendays, Rania and I have managed to stay in touch. She visits often enough, and I know she's always there, should we need her aid. Change is coming for the Halls, but I trust in her sense of direction for what lies ahead—even if I don't find myself among their ranks in the months to come, I think she knows I am always here for her, as her friend and her sister in faith.
Rokh's occasional companionship is reassuring, and I'm glad to have grown a bit closer to him here, away from the clash of other interests in the south. I confess, I didn't anticipate to find such an open mind under all that grizzled steel. There's much I still don't know about him, and he seems to have a long tale to his name for the time he's spent here on the Coast. Perhaps I'll hear more of it, in the days to come.
Still, there are other friends who have chosen to keep their distance, or given me cause to. I remind myself that all things wax and wane; such is life. I'm grateful for the company I do keep, and every day brings new challenges that remind me I'm lucky to stand beside such capable men and women.
As for the others, and the rest, I can't say I find it worth it to expend the energy to fret and worry. Come what may, and say what they will—and they are, assuredly, saying plenty—I turn to the moon, for She is my true guide. I pray to the Maiden for patience and for grace, that I do not let their darkness turn my gaze from Her love.
I lay my head to rest most nights tired to the bone, but with a full heart, knowing the worth of why I—we—persevere.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
Lady, grant me grace and patience,
Like yours as you arc across the sky;
I bathe here in your silver light
To reflect and be reminded why:
Why it is I walk this path before me,
And how I know my purpose to be true.
Why I know when the night grows dark
I need only turn my face toward you.
Why, when whispers of doubt come calling,
I can turn a deaf and defiant ear;
For when it is your silver song I sing,
There is no other music I need hear.
Why, when the wicked and the spiteful
Succumb to the shadows of their pain,
I strive to greet them with compassion
And to keep my purpose pure and plain.
Why I know in the beat of my heart,
Whenever and however wide I roam,
That, wherever you shine down on me,
It is in your embrace that I am home.
Lady, with your grace and patience
I know I need not fear the night;
For so long as I look to the moon,
I, too, shall e'er shine bright.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
It used to be the sound of my mother's voice ringing through the house, bright and clear like sunshine in the spring. I still hear it, sometimes, when I sleep.
She used to glide across the kitchen, her lace apron tied about her little waist, to set a pie to cool there on the windowsill. It was embroidered, I remember, with little purple flowers—lilacs, maybe? I'm not sure what happened to it, but she was the prettiest woman in all the Realms with her hair swept up in a kerchief and flour powdering her cheeks from where she'd accidentally wiped her hands.
This is how I remember Mistledale in Tarsakh, from when I was young. This was home.
When everything changed, and Mother and Elias were both gone so suddenly, the house grew so quiet. So still.
Father would leave for the smithy before Lathander's first light, and I'd always be up to see him off when I heard his footsteps creaking on the floorboard. I tried not to be afraid, but every morning, I was sure to say goodbye with a smile, to tell him that I loved him—just in case it was the last time.
"Someone has to take care of your father." That's the last thing Mother said to me. And I did. Even when his hair grew as silver as his handiwork, and his mind began to fade, and he barely knew my name. I'd read to him by the fire at night, from Mother's journal, the one I never knew she kept, and help him eat his supper.
Nothing was ever quite the same, after she was gone. My father did his best to carry on, despite the sadness in his eyes that never left until he finally closed them one last time. But that was home.
And then I left it all behind—for what, I didn't know, other than a dream. Some people thought me crazy, I think, to leave the only place I knew and wander halfway across Toril. Maybe I was.
Looking back, at that final moment I stood at the bridge and looked out over Ashabenford one last time...to say I didn't know what I would find is a truth I didn't even begin to understand, then.
Of all the sights and all the dangers, there's but one that leaves me breathless, every single time.
I can imagine my mother's voice, the same one she'd use while she braided my hair for school. "Be careful with that boy," she'd say—but I'd know from the little twinkle of mischief in her eye, the same one I inherited, that she'd see the same thing for me that I do:
Home.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
Sometimes, when the days pass in easy quiet, it's not so difficult to imagine life carrying on this way: waking to the morning chill when the crackle of the campfire's drawn quiet and low, just glowing embers left to greet the dawning of the day. Heading to the river to draw clean water, or into town to bargain over cheese or buy more wine to make the nights a warmer place. Falling asleep content and smiling, wrapped in strong arms and tucked snugly into winter furs.
But then, I am reminded that these easy days come at the highest kind of cost, paid all too recently by those I'd see safe from harm.
And what the future holds is ever uncertain, in so many more ways than one.
I suppose in the way of news pleasantly alternative to the other sort that's become so prominent while spending time among the Watch, the Guide of Candlekeep has extended an invitation for a formal evening in the south.
One part of me is excited, another somewhat nervous. I'm not sure if it's to be a peace offering or a test of sorts; likely both, I presume. All I can do is accept the former humbly and rise to the occasion of the latter as best I'm able. Either way, I'm grateful for the invitation.
"Speak from your heart and then you'll know you're never wrong," as Mother used to say.
I do admire Alexandra. She can't be much older than I, if at all, but it seems like she's seen so much. I admit, I do look forward to getting to know her a bit better. There is such strength and inspiration to be found in the greatness of other women. She's so regal and intelligent—things I'm really not. And so lovely, too.
I wonder if Alison was, as well...or what became of her. I do try not to dwell on it, but if what Rokh says is true, I can't help but wonder at least a little.
But I suppose that's the way of things, isn't it? Not all days are pleasant, but there will yet be more that are, as assuredly as there will be more violence, more strife. And all tales have many chapters, have characters you've never even met if you open the volume halfway through. All things wax and wane—stories, too.
And I feel as though my own has only just begun.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
The moors make for a much quieter base of operations.
Along with dividing the ranks among several locations other than Bridgefort, the Watch is changing how they do some things—or I suppose I should say "we," since Wren and Max have officially invited me to their roster. No one's quite sure what my rank will be just yet, but I'm glad to continue to help as I have since the beginning.
Quil's also followed us into the moors when he isn't busy with his patrols, which I'm grateful for. His company is a comfort, since he's one of the first friends I made here on the Coast; I also like being able to keep an eye on him. He seems so sad, some days, and at times it's like he thinks he'll never belong anywhere. I just hope he knows he will always have a place in the Lady's Light.
Derik came by the camp, a few days past, and we traveled with him for a time. I've always liked Derik, and though he certainly wasn't as lighthearted with me as he once was, it was good to see him again. Small steps, I suppose.
Rokh's to teach me the elven tongue—or try to—but I might have to make some time to seek him out at the Keep if I'm serious about learning it, as often as he's tied up down there. (If it weren't for his obvious fondness for Alexandra, I'm not sure how they'd otherwise manage to keep such a man locked up in a library!)
As for Rania, I can feel the distance growing there. She's told me she would be in touch, though I suppose I could have expected it might have been mostly a pleasantry—especially with how busy her new role at the Halls must be keeping her. It eases my mind to know she has Serlhuni at her side, and I do wish them and the Halls success.
At least she was kind enough to send me warning north about who's been lurking up near Soubar.
Quiet, perhaps. But never calm.
Tess Ableton | Silverstar of Selûne{ Bio }{ Journal }
