The Quest for Beauty; Diary of a Battle Ballerina

[InsomnesCanis]

A blonde sun elf has been seen semi-regularly checking on the golden sapling in the Glimmerwood. Its growth over the past seasons fills her with joy. She does her part, cleaning any trash previous visitors might have left, seeing the ground is healthy, the small animals fed and finding peace among the harmony surrounding it. Tonight, in the company of her young weasel and two rabbits who came for the lettuce she spares, the Elven woman sits by the tree's light and takes out a book bound in wood and wrapped in cloth of light-purple and silver linings. At the center of its front cover is an emblematic heart of gold. Opening the book in her lap, she produces a fine pencil and begins filling in the first blank page.



"Dear diary... This is how Diaries are supposed to start.
It seems only fitting to endear right away what one is expected to pour their heart into.
I am expecting an intimate experience of communicating with myself via your pages.
So first I'd like to thank you, dear diary, for having your pages blank for me, and for keeping these thoughts.
Most humans write them so they do not forget their thoughts, I of course do not have this problem, as any memory forgotten is but concentration and a few hours of Reverie away from recalling.
No Dear Diary, in truth, I am frustrated and feeling quite lonely at times by the lack of people who take love and the principles of beauty as an active force affecting Toril along the world's other metaphysical elements. And an even greater lacking of people who can adequately converse its language in any meaningful way. At least beyond rudimentary assessments of false dichotomies between romance, friendships, and lust in the case of love. And the false dichotomies of appearance, vanity, and being unjudgmental in the case of beauty.
All of those dichotomies are follies of course, as these definitions are meant to be thought about as different shades and colors on a canvas, or different flowers that grow in one's garden.
They exist beside one another and intermingle, they affect each other and often produce a unique element of their own. Like two colors making a third, or the aforementioned flowers cross-pollinating to produce a new species."

"This problem isn't found only in humans. The People too, those who live at the human frontiers, hardly have Hanali Celanil on their minds.
On its surface, it makes sense, surrounded by enemies who hate the Tel-Quessir for nothing more than our existence- that one's worship would reflect their need for protection.
Even I found myself growing more intimate in my worship of Tethryn Veralde that goes beyond those wishful fancies as a little Elfling to one day be his bride.
And trust me Dear Diary, my fancies for the Shining Prodigy were quite intense. He is everything I admire in a champion and caused my heart to flutter as a girl, daydreaming of someone like him besides me.
Now as a woman grown who had learned the true meanings of love, I understand the cause for such fluttering was the aspiration of the Elf I wanted to become, not the one I wanted for myself. Still, the memories of this naivety bring me joy to this day, and I enjoy sometimes indulging in this youthful wishfulness when interacting with my own nostalgia."

"Yet I am surprised that not more of my kin see the hidden error in neglecting Hanali Celanil in the process.
Hanali does indeed affect them whether they mind her or not, watching from the Evergold, tugging at our heartstrings to guide us.
But feeling only the byproduct of the tug, many relegate it to some obscure feeling that stands in dichotomy to reason.
Nary a thought is given as to the reasons of and for this feeling, let alone the metaphysical influence behind them.
They can grasp the need to understand how the entire body moves in combat despite the hand doing the striking, or how knowledge of all components is needed to cast a spell. But they cannot fathom the need to understand their hearts when making decisions with their heads.
I will not only write my frustrations of course, or this would not be a diary of love.
But I am frustrated and needed to let it out, and this is partially what you are here for, Dearest of Dear Diaries.
So shush! No complaining! We'll go flower picking later and i'll make you some cake and we can go on a ride... Wait. You are a book. Nevermind."

"On the other hand Dear Diary, there are those Elves, Humans (and demi-humans), Dwarves, Hins, and Gnomes;
Whose hearts are too big to contain, and guide them strong whether they know it or not.
These are beacons of light in this dangerous frontier, who fight for the alcoves of beauty and grace among nature and civilization we manage to carve out here. Spaced apart but ever-growing, between fiefs of foul gods, evil men, planar battlegrounds, terrible monsters, and the darkness seeping from the Underdark. They are the beautiful ones who remember to personify and know the good therein and tend to its grace, both internally and externally.
They who make the region just a bit of a better place, among them but not the only ones, my kin in Doron Amar and my found family in the Bladestone Foundation.
They, Niyressa, and Nuath Askaavar make it all worth it."


"I am Lylan'Synor Syr'Asiryn of Evermeet, the Tigerlily, aka Lily Summerheart, Ar'Tel-Quessir to the Great Elven Nation and Daughter of Corellon Larethian, Captain of Doron Amar's Mathora Velharn, Deputy Headmistress and fencing instructor of the Bladestone Foundation, Beguine of Hanali Celanil, Master Duelist and Ballerina of Stage & Battle, Sailor, Shipwright and Engineer, and anything I write henceforth will depend upon understanding the aforementioned to make comprehensible sense of my meaning."

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Credit for Tethrin's Original Art Here

[InsomnesCanis]

*up on the terrace of Doron Amar, Captain Lylan'Synor would lean against the wide stone rail with her diary and write, while she reflects against the river-view*
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"They don't stop coming, dear diary. New Elves looking for the people and finding Doron Amar, and many others I see who might find their heart with us still.
They cannot replace those we lost in the war. No Elf is truly replaceable, considering our numbers. But even had we numbered like Humans- No Elf is replaceable, considering my heart.
But at that caveat, I can't help but feel a little joy when I see the relief it brings these newcomers, that they have a place in this land that behaves so differently than anything they have ever known.
A gap of familiarity can often create a rift that vilifies them, through the misunderstandings that fall within it.
There was a new one today that Sirion and Elyssa drew from the road, Corellia. That reminded me of myself.. well not quite.. not myself, but a possible reflection perhaps of a younger me, but unrebellious.
Not timid by any means, that girl has a vital spark that displays joyous, active energy. An absolute delight to witness.
But a free spirit, shackled by the rigid traditions of the Ar'Tel-Quessir.
I remember when I was in her shoes, suddenly needing to pray on my own-
prayers that are intimate and introspective.
Rather than the hymns of the temples' congregations back on Evermeet, singing with this ethereal unison.
Writing about it now, makes me sort of miss it, as dull as I used to find them, and likely to find them again if I actually attended one again.
I was just as uncomfortable. But she stood through it well and seems determined to make the bloodline proud.
I expect she will fall on her arse twice or thrice, but I don't imagine it would stop her from getting better.
If anything, it will only empower her mastery.
She seems to take after Elyssa, modeling herself as a spell-slinging fencer. I am happy about it. Elyssa can teach her a lot.
Elyssa, Elyssa... I hope I didn't make a fool out of myself in front of her by saying how proud I am of having my blood.
I mean... It's not like I am a true Symbaern with a claim to their name.
But my partial blood relation means that they are at least part of the blood I am proud to be of.
She might find it insolent, or arrogant.. maybe even gouache, I just hope she did not realize I was talking about her, directly.
Yes, dearest diary of mine, I am very jealous.
She is everything I had wished I could be, how could I not be?
This isn't the sort of jealousy that feels bitter, Dear Diary. But rather one that makes me, as stated earlier, proud to share even part of her blood.
It's a sort of jealousy that inspires me to be better, to do better. To not fall from the standard she sets.
It does not make me resent her or wish for her downfall.
Instead, I appreciate her and love her all the more for her successes and endeavors.
Then I start dancing, Dear Diary, or think of Niyressa, or teach a fencing lesson...
And I remember all the things that are me, that Elyssa is not, that I could never live without.
Those which give me a strength that is uniquely mine.
Not for being distantly related to the Symbaerns, not for being a Syr'Asyrin, or Evermeetian.
But for being Lylan.
Niyressa would understand what I mean.
She has those perceptive observations about these things which uniquely make me, me.
She always manages to surprise me to find out all those things, which are the reasons she loves me for.
She loves who I am and what I am, she loves the way I look.
But she doesn't love me because I am an Elf, I could have been a human or a dwarf girl, and she would feel the same.
It is funny when I think about it, that she thought I would look at her differently when she transformed.
She is still in Neverwinter helping her Mentor, a few days are becoming nearly a moon's cycle and I am starting to feel the emptiness in my bed,
the silence of her voice in my ears,
the craving for her image in my sight,
and the scent of her breath in my nose. ...her lips too.
She has the best lips.
She is happy there helping Rebecca. She loves her to bits, and Niyressa is always happiest with magical challenges.
But I wish she would just come back already.
Adrian suggested I'd take a few days and go see her. And I kind of wish I could.
I think about it sometimes, just waving bye-bye to Mathora and letting them follow the course taking a few days' vacation.
But that is the old Lylan, the Lylan that was running away because she thought freedom meant no responsibility.
I am not that Lylan anymore. These days, the thought of leaving my post, my Mathora, or my Bladestones are thoughts too heavy to bear.
It was a tumultuous time, one I will share with you one day Dear Diary. But since I learned to lovingly accept that to care enough is to accept responsibility.
So I Send to her whenever I can, and pray to Hanali Celanil to grace me with more days by my beloved's side.

Niy oh Niy,
The flames of your red hair,
the beacon of my sky.
The wisdom and your wit,
forever will I pry.
I write this painting of us both,
that shows us low and high,
in a world made of color,
oh Niy, you are my dye.

I suppose, in the- "
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*Lylan stops writing and quickly closes her diary, when she hears Feleron's voice behind her.*