Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

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playerr2
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Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sun Nov 25, 2018 5:03 pm


23 Uktar 1354

It has been many weeks, since i left Chult from Port Nyanzaru to travel north again. Even though, i hate boat rides, i had no other choice but to take the pirate route to the sword coast - avoiding Amn because of the possible bounty on my head. That meant staying at sea for almost the entire trip, only stopping for land before entering Asaru's channel.

Today i finally set foot on dry land again, at the Docks of Baldur's Gate. I tried my luck finding some work at the docks, to stuff the whole these pirates ripped into my coinpurse, and make up for all the stuff that went missing during the trip. But i've seen my fair share of human toils to grow bored of it rather quickly.

After i let a street kid show me the city for a gold coin. Quite the tour he gave me, even though impatience can be most annoying in the youngest of humans, i enjoyed following him through the streets. He used so many little roads and side alleys that i almost lost him a couple of times, but it helped me gaining my bearings.

At the end of the tour he led me to farms outside the eastern gates of the city. Following his advice i hung around there for a while to watch the travellers and might brief acquaintances with a healer, and an oddlooking woman with wings. Something about her made me nervous.

The healer, a human named Percy Smith was looking for other travellers that would be in use of his powers on the roads, and very soon his efforts were rewarded. A traveller by the name of Thea arrived, looking for someone in need of coin to escort her to the Friendly Arm's Inn. So we teamed up together, Percy, the winged woman, and me, even though all agreed that THea would reward only me, as i was obviously the poorest member of the group. And even thoughi ended up falling behind and losing the group, and almost my life, Thea and Percy sticked to the agreement, and Percy came all the way back to give me the reward, of Thea's accomplished journey. They must've thought me very needy, and they weren't wrong. Still it shamed me a bit.

In hindsight it made me think a bit about my times in Athkatla, where i used to be exotic property to one of the richest merchant families, and how even as a slave i would count as more wealthy in the eyes of others than now, while in my own feeling i never felt richer. Maybe more reason to relieve others of their wealth, because i've seen more than a hundred ways of ending up in a golden cage. Most people here seem far too nice, and generous on their own volition, without much trickery behind it. Not in the city of coin, as the name suggest, coin means everything in Athkatla.

I made another attempt at the journey after my wounds had healed, this time with a pretty human monk ... right now i can't even think of her name.. Ashamila, Amashila? I might not remember her name but i will never forget those huge eyes, looking at me in a golden yellow. She served the order of the Sun Soul, under the deity of Lathander, the morning lord. Her fighting skills were impressive, often faster than my eyes could follow. I wouldn't want her to let me catch me on the other side of the law, as she, like most monks, seemed dedicated to uphold it.

We made it far past the Friendly Arm, to Candlekeep, where i still reside now, writing this Journal. I may not stay here for longer than 3 Days, according to city law, before i have to travel on. Luckily it seems that i have found a trace of the local elves.
In the Inn i have encountered one of the local Readers, a scholar of many fields, far complex for me to grasp. She was talking about stars and geography, calculations in the heavens that would help map out distances between places.. For me it sounded no different than looking into a magic ball to cover space further than the eye could see. But i never had the chance, nor much muse for so much studies.
And i think that what i ever learnt first hand experience more valuable knowledge than whatever i have read in a book. But i must now admit that the knowledgable Moonelf made quite the impression on me. Maybe this is part of the reason why i have descided to write a book myself, even if its just a journal.

After all that travelling i found myself talking quite a lot to Lafali'Atria, revealing the circumstances of my search and travels with her, and finding comfort in her empathy. She revealed that there is trouble in the elven settlements. Devils have been released in a castle close to where wild elves resided. The less martially inclined have been evacuated and are now living in a refugee camp in another settlement with kin of the sun and moonelves.

I've descided this refugee camp to be my next destination. Maybe there is something i can do to help, and maybe i can find out more about the wild elves...
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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playerr2
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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Mon Nov 26, 2018 7:11 am

24th Uktar 1354

The journey proved to be more difficult than expected. Bandits and Gnolls stalk the roads along the sword coast, and make it difficult to travel outside of a group. In search for companions, i made my way up north back to Baldurs Gate, where adventurers would gather outside the gates. I would also require more coin to make it up safely.

At the fire place on the Eastern Farms, i bumped in the lady from the day before, without wings this time. It was a good opportunity to thank her again for the bow that she gave me on the day before. A formidable weapon that had ensured my safety on the roads between Candlekeep and Baldurs Gate. Turns out, she is an performance artist of some sort. I observed her for most of the day practicing her lute play, when another lady showed up. I thought her human at first, but, as it was revealed to me later, i know now that she is Aasimar, touched by celestial blood like the monk from the day before.
Shiera was her name, i think... She wore an impressive set of armor and shield in colours of white and crimson, and just the way she would carry herself in it, had something inspiring about it. The shiney armor made me think that she might be a helpful guardian like Percy Smith from the day before. People who present themselves in such honourable composure often just wait for a chance to be someone's savior.
There was a sage not far off the City Gates where the Trading Caravans camp out, that offered some gold a reward for bones of slain undead from the nearby graveyard. I am not a great monsterslayer myself and am really not fond of undead, ever since that incident with Neckbreaker Nuri, so a helpful warrior like Percy was just what i was looking for, when Shiera came along. But when trying to taunt her into helping me, i underestimated her rank and ambition. She is a seasoned warrior and not on the look-out for petty opportunities to prove her worth, so when i told her of my aversion against fighting the undead, she sneered down at me, and advised me to rather concern myself with work more suitable to myself then. She would not be teased into helping me, by trying to put her honor in question. Most curious for a young woman such as herself, to already be so full of purpose that the hunt for glory in random opportunities for battle is no longer necerssarry. It proved determination. But the way that she refused - the way she spoke to me like a weakling that looks for others to fight his battles, infuriated me, making me the provoked one.
My failed attemps to get her to be my undead slayer were not entirely fruitless, nevertheless. A tiefling, who had observed the conversation prepared me for the graveyard with some powerful enchantments. The power that i she placed over me felt excilirating. I just flew over the graveyard and shaved it of undead like a scythe over a grainfield. But it also made me aware again, how much i will depend on the help of others, if i ever want to make it to the woods at the foot of Dragonspear.
The Tiefling came to me at the graveyard as i was about to leave. She advised me to consider not to be too fast to give up on Shiera's help, as appearantly i mistook her arrogance for refusal to help. Really, she wanted to offer me training, empowering me with proper advice on how to handle my own battles, instead of fighting them for me. I told the Tiefling that i would consider it, and i had to promise not to let the Aasimar know that she had spoken to me about it.

Shiera was still there when i arrived back at the fireplace. There was also a female Orc in a pink armour, talking about knighthood in very crude common. Shiera was questioning the orc, in a bit condescending but friendly manner, a bit like humans would speak to their children.

That is when i realized, how foolish it was to try and tease this woman into a task under the promise of proving her worth. That's when i figured, that even though she seemed a stranger to these lands, she must've had some sort of rank somewhere in the world, where she is used to command and have young soldiers prove their worth TO HER. Not the other way around.
i prove rs
When she left to explore the Area around the city a bit, i followed her and spoke to her again, apologised for mistaking her for a simpleton of a knight,... sort of. And she in turn apologized for her dismissiveness and harshness. Turns out, my second impression was right. She has experience in commanding others at war and also prepare them for combat. To gain her help, it now seems clear that i will have to prove my worth to her, starting out with taking lessons at combat and strategy.

She also gave me a flask, one of those one of her soldiers would wear, a pair of light boots, that used to be her dancing shoes and a promise to assist me with more training if i show enough conviction to learn. I was never fond of proving my discipline to others... still, in the little session that she gave me today, i have learnt a lot about positioning and thinking ahead for battle, coming prepared. So in turn i offered her to help her in her search for the Red Knight, the Lady of Strategy. I haven't heard of this faith before, as such deities are rare to find in Athkatla - Bad for business as the merchants would say. But maybe the Lafali'Atria, the reader in candlekeep might know something... I shall try and find out, next time i meet her.

And if i help Shiera and prove a worthy travelcompanion, she would make a perfect companion to Dragonspear, fighting the devils there and helping the wild elves that are losing their settlements in the woods at its feet..
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sat Dec 01, 2018 2:56 am

27th Uktar 1354

The sword coast never seizes to inspire awe in me. It is place that attracts as much danger, as it attracts outstanding individuals that fight for good. I've heard of adventurers before, saw them in Amn, trading artifacts or stocking up on supplies. Now, the townfolk regard me as one of them, as I've been seen trailing behind groups of adventurers, tending to this and that errand for the local people of interest.

Often the motivation is quick coin, to journey onwards, for man of those remarkable travellers. For others it is a call of duty. For me? There is something quickening about those runs. Being in the heat of battle, surrounded by creatures that crave my life, MY life, that is in my hand, and in the people that i chose to trust...

What interesting finds... For example, There is this bard, Quineffer.. i 've been seeing since the very first day, this actress.. the one that wore wings. I trust her, even though her mind seems .. unstable, floating in a whirlwind, she has saved my life more often than i dare count. She enjoys mocking or teasing others and getting past their guard out of their comfort zone. I can't deny that i enjoy watching her do this.

I met others, spellcasters, Archers and many warriors. One group particulair starts to worry me a bit. There are warriors out there who have dedicated themselves so much to slaying evil, that evil becomes a cathegory, a label to be identified and slain.. And the criteria by which these are selected are very narrow and leave no room for gaining more information.
There was this incident at the Friendly Arms Inn, a keep along the Road to Beregost where many adventurers meet.
An animated corpse of a paladin trodded towards the inn. Though he was a terrible sight to look at, like any human that has been rotting lifelessly for weeks, he did not meet us with the hostility one expects from undead.. Instead he demanded food, in the best way he could express.. The curious thing about that was, that he did refuse human flesh, which is known to be the creatures main diet. He would prefer cooked over raw meat and would even accept fruit as a food offering. I wondered if it had to do with Chauntea, the deity the paladin was sworn to while was still breathing.
But the humans.. as i should've expected, turned out to Impatient and slew the creature before we could find out anything more about it's nature. The corpse was buried in a ritual, as far as i've heard, but i did not join the burial ceremony.

Quin was upset by their cruelty, as was I. Before slaying the creature they "experimented" with a healing potion first. It had screamed in agony for moments that seemed endless to me. Maybe that is why the priestress of Friendly Arms Inn ordered to slay the creature, before even hearing me out on my curiousity.

Nevertheless it affirmed my feeling that there is more to the animation of a corpse than evil. Shadow is a natural appearance, so is the rotting of flesh. And there are many causes where a reanimation of it might be useful and good, in spite of what the clergy says. Though admittably most of undead and dark energy forces that i encountered where evil, dangerous and out to kill me. And i had not enough chance to study the paladin enough to say if he even was an exception.. And apart from him there is only one other dark force that i met, where i suspected good in it.. But it still remains to be seen...

~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sat Dec 01, 2018 12:16 pm





28th Uktas,

After writing this entry here tonight, i will put a magical lock onto this journal and safeguard the key, wearing it with me- at all times. For i cannot go on any longer without sharing these things i've been experiencing any longer, even though if any of the before mentioned clergy finds out about this, they would probably want to smite me, or worse make me subject to torturous exorcisms.and the like, without even asking or inquiring whether what they face is evil or not.

Where to begin... Back in Athkatla, when i was still a slave and my first master had died and passed me on to his son, i began to despise my own self a lot. My new lord was not as appreciative of me, and for the first time i could perceive my captivity as something other than just a golden cage for an exotic posession.
The old master's son was a spoiled little boy, that in spite of his mothers efforts to turn him into a respectable trader like his father, turned out little more than that – a spoiled brat. I witnessed the boy's growth from when he was but a little child, practically grew up with him, as i myself would've been a juvenile among other elves.
Not that it would ever bear any meaning to him, though, none that would make us friends, let alone family. Soon as he was old enough to give orders, he often looked for reasons to give me a beating, even though, or maybe because, his father would not be pleased. And once the old man was buried, he became even more hostile towards me, wanting to demonstrate to each of his inherited subjects that he was in charge now.
But even though he had been such a pest upon me and everyone below his feet, i still could not muster up the courage to do anything against it, for i knew: Any interference from me would likely end up badly for not only me, but the other slaves, as well . But maybe i was also fearing to lose the little comfort i had left, to be anything else but docile, even for many decades after my old master had passed away.

That's when it started happening: One Day, after i witnessed my new master beating up a young slave girl, and standing there too cowardly to do anything about it, i was sitting in my cell, staring at my own shadow giving in to my inner despair. What a coward i was, what an despicable specimen of the Syl'Tel'Quessir. It took me a while to realize that it wasn't just my selfloathing mind playing tricks on me, that something had started to move on the wall.

I was sitting down, when my shadow on the wall was standing up and placed his fist at his sides, shaking his head at me. At first i was afraid, thinking that something evil had come for, maybe send by the new master to suffer me further. But my shadow showed me that it meant no harm for me, even cheered me up a bit even by mimicing my movements and poking fun at me. And all of sudden i felt less alone in my hopelesss situation. In the coming days i would discover that my almost invisible friend was with me at all times, and that he probably has been as he seemed to know me like no-one else. He seemed to know everyone that i knew. When around people that i liked, he would sometimes turn his sillouhette into a flower or heartshape on the ground, when no one was looking. When i was arround people that i feared, he would walkover to the shadow of that person in question and pretend choking it to death.

After a good year with my new and only friend, in a time when the dreams of the wild jungles of chult were the most intense, he started to make suggestions to me, to escape from Athkathla, as if feeling the yearning in my heart.

It was he, that led me into the darkest taverns of the city and pointed me to the right people to help me plan my escape and acquire the right equipment and skills to have a chance at succeeding. He showed me where all the secret weapons were hidden in the masters house, and showed me how to use them, by demonstrating fighting moves and having me mimic them. For a long time, it seemed to me that he was the bit of luck that i have asked of Tymora.

But then, when it was also him that urged me to make the old merchants son my first kill, i started to doubt that again. I don't agree with wasting life, even if in this case the reasoning seemed justified – even i did it, short and swiftly just like my shadow suggested it - and even if i would probably do it again, if i was to go back into the past and had the chance.

Still, I felt regret after, like i have taken away the boys chances to ever become a good man like his father was, in spite of owning slaves and being one of the wealthiest in one of the most corrupt human cities, even in the land of intrigue. That's when me and the shadow had our first arguement, whereafter he had disappeared for many years, as i travelled the lands, sustaining myself as a day-labourer on the farms that i past through, staying out of danger and away from the shadows.

But now that i have reached the swordcoast and started trailing behind adventurers delving into dark holes full of danger and shadow, i noticed him following me around again, appearing on the walls and giving me a thumbs up for every won battle. And i cannot deny that i missed my only friend, the only one that ever knew me well.. A friendship that would end as abruptly as the fate of the undead paladin if the local clergy ever found out about it.

~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:04 pm

1st Nightal
I decided to trust my shadow again. He came to me, a couple of days ago, when i was alone in the fields, doing some exercise for my footwork, kind of like dance moves.. It was advice given to me by Shiera. My shadow kept bugging me, to do the exercise with him as my partner, so much that i finally allowed it. And i cannot complain, i've never seen anything move as fast and smoothly than my shadow. Many of the maneuvers and moves i use today, i was taught directly by my shadow. But that alone is not the reason i decided to trust him again....

I was on an errand for a Mining Company in Gate. They opened a Mine in the Cloakwoods and appearantly they must've been digging too deep into the earth. The whole mine was overrun by goblinoid creatures that i have - up to now - only observed in Chult. Quin and myself set out to recover some Ore from the monsters and slay as many of those beasts as dare to step into the light. But we underestimated the sheer number of those creatures that were crawling in the mine.
At some point me and Quin got seperated into different shafts, when i found myself surrounded by monsters. I ran for my life in the next best passage, many footsteps and cursing voices behind me, only to find myself at a dead end around the next corner. There was a dim torchlight flickering on the wall before me and when i turned around i saw my shadow waving widely at me. I wasn't in the mood for his games, as the footsteps and curses drew nearer, but he seemed serious enough when he waved me to follow him to the far end of the shaft where the shadow was thickest. I was confused, but there was no time to demand an explanation so i simply followed and when i did, something most curious happened. My shadow lifted the darkness of the wall and the floor like ... a blanket.. slightly transparent, like a glowing light, but then it wasn't light. It was shadow. He waved at me his hand from under it, not just the sillouhette of a hand, not flat like the shadows on the floor, but with a dark translucent form of .. body.. a real hand. And as my pursuers were about to appear around the corner at any given moment now, i took his hand and let him pull me on the other side of his curtain.

Behind it, i immediatly felt safe... It seemed i was still in the same place though my surroundings seemed slightly alterred, blurried if you will, and lacking any sort of light and colour. It was like a pale reflection of our world that i saw, on the otherside of the curtain. There was still a deadend wall before me, i was still in that same deadend corner after the wrong turn, and i could still here my pursuers behind me, as they came storming around the corner, ready to skin me alive.
I turned around and saw them storming right at me, but suddenly ... they slowed down. Confusion grew on their face, as on mine. Then, when they looked around and at each other and some of them started to make their way back down the shaft they came from, i realised. They could not see me. The shadow had hidden me in their plain sight.

(( Shadowdancer LvL1))
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sun Dec 02, 2018 5:09 pm

2nd Nightal


The last couple days, i've been very invested in training combat. I accepted every challenge that i could find among the roaming groups of adventurers, eager to learn, eager to push the limits of my new found courage, that my ally induces in me. I spent a lot of time alone in the wild, hunting for pelts that i could, with the help of a craftsman turn into some armor. To do that I gave the tailor some old clothes i still had from Athkatla, in case i would ever have to wear something less combat ready and more classy. I told the good man how and where i wanted the leather and bear pelt to give me proper protection, but the tailor knew his work better than i could advise him and brushed off my words, even showing me, that he knew more than one trick to make the armor stronger without adding any weight.

Ever since my Shadow lifted the curtain of the shadow world to me, i cannot unsee it. Now, with little concentration i can look deep into a shadow, like others can look into water and see the fish behind their reflection, i can see my own shadow under the the veil. I can see where the veil has a lose end and get behind it, easily, now that i figured out how. At my first attempt to get behind the veil, I failed miserably: I tried to dive into the opening like into an open hole. But for the energies of the unseen to accept you, you must respect it differently. The easiest way to reach behind the veil is with your back turned or your eyes closed.. Not seeing, or unseeing the opening. So what the shadow had me practice doing is a dance move in which i spin in a circle on my toes, before i leap towards the shadow, entering it without a hint of doubt on my mind, a leap of faith, so to say.
When behind the curtain, i can see that beyond the paralels, of our world, through which i can get around enemy lines unseen - there is more, deeper in the darkness. But i do not dare to leave the curtain, even though i know the shadow wants me too...





"The Shadow, My Shadow, my own Shadow, the shadows... Don't you get tired of that expression? Why not reffer to me by name since you fail at keeping this secret, anyway.."
Ar'Joona dropped his Quill and jumped of his chair. He was in his Room, at the Friendly Arms Inn, a candle on his table was the only lightsource in the room, and he searched the shadow for the voice he heard, realising that these words could've only come from his "Shadow... Thats no name or title, not a creature.. Just the element that i am made off, me and everything else in my world."
He was not on the wall, or on the floor, nor the ceiling, he was not to be found behind the curtain, not matter how hard Ar'Joona stared into the veil.
"Huh.. Fool. Don't you see? I am right here!"
The elf took his eyes off the walls, and then he finally saw him, standing right in front of him, not as an two-dimensional image on the walls as usually, but as a full three-dimensional body in front of him, but still of the same unreal transparent texture like the flat images of shadow on the wall. He, for the most part looked like a direct copy of Ar'Joona, the way his face, body and clothing was shaped. But there was no colour on him, just translucent shadow., except for his eyes that glowed back at him in a deep violett light.
"Wh- ... who are you?!"

The Shadow came closer. "You know who I am.. You know that I am Ra'Ano'Jo.. 'your' shadow, your loyal and only friend in your life. And you know that I am here to help you.. To show you who you really are? Why the wide eyes?" He lifted his hand and pointed at the journal on the table behind Ar'joona. "I thought you said you decided to trust me now...."


((Shadowdancer LvL 3 "Summon Shadow"))
Last edited by playerr2 on Tue Dec 11, 2018 8:36 am, edited 1 time in total.
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Mon Dec 10, 2018 5:13 am


Shades of Grey, Shades of Grey,
Silver Lining, will you find them,
From Darkness to Light I sway,

Shades of Grey, Shades of Grey,
Shining so swallowed, fine and narrow,
From Light into Darkness i fray,

Shades of Grey, Shades of Grey,
Signed across my citement,
From Darkness to Light I stray,

Shades of Grey, Shades of Grey,
my tenanted hollow, my menace is shallow,
'Tween Dark and Light I stay
In Shadow
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Tue Dec 11, 2018 7:48 pm

The Journal stayed empty for a couple of days after I had revealed myself to Ar'Joona as more than just a mute Pantomime hanging on the wall over him. Ar'Joona had to come to terms with the fact that for the past hundred years he had been less alone than he thought. And that he had someone watching him constantly. Still he had no idea who or what I was, and I wasn't about to spoonfeed him all the knowledge.. Like i didn't fight enough of his battles already.

With amusement i watched him run all over the swordcoast, going from town to town and searching the bookshelves in temples and shops for the arcane, in the great library in candlekeep and the lab at High Hedge. He would soon find out, what he is searching is coming close to forbidden knowledge and is often falsely associated with necromancy. Seeing the worry grow on his face, especially when we came around temple and monastery warriors, was quite adorable. Yet, i am not like the black ghosts that are risen from dead bodies, I would be alive, like Ar'Joona is alive, but I do not exist in the planar sense of living so the scholars would classify me as undead, like my incorporeal lookalikes risen from sacrifices made to dark deities. I follow no deity, i follow my purpose for which i was created, and which Ar'Joona didn't remember, maybe because he was too young, maybe because he was too hurt by the loss of his family, and too caught up in the search for them. But the truth is, that even most of the artists that know the steps that i taught Ar'Joona, do not even know how they can do what they can do. It is just in their nature, to find comfort in our cool embrace, behind the cover of the veil that we cast onto their plane with their reflection.

But I was created by Ar'Joona s ancestors long before he discovered these inclinations in him, long before he was born even. I was called out of Shadowfell to manifest into this form when ever the people of Ar'Joona's Bloodline were feeding the bond that was once formed between our planes. It is knowledge that searching Ar'Joona, ironically carries with him the whole time, even though he cannot access it yet, as he had yet to awaken fully.
Soon enough he will find out, as the dreams had already begun....
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Wed Dec 12, 2018 10:07 pm

Shades of Gray, Patterns of Black turning to white. The first shape emerging out of the clouding darkness are my hands, that i hold up infront of me, trying to figure out if I am still me. ...Blurred but there... I am in a dream. I know that i am in a dream. I have control over my form, so i assume this a lucid dream. Before me a familiar looking scene from my memories, bleached from color and veiled in a monochrome vision: The garden which i was to tend for all these decades at my masters estate. My garden, and then not my garden at all.
"All the years of labor..." Ra'Anojo - my shadow mirror image - appears under the orange trees, the shadow stuff filling his silhouette sticks out in the dull monochrome, making him easy to spot, unlike in my wakeful state, where it requires more concentration. He stands there, tending to the trees in my stead, watering them from way when they were saplings, freeing the earth from harmful weeds and parasites.. ."..yet you never ate from the fruits, the sweetness of their flesh, grown under your care." Fruits and leaves in their full colours of bright orange and green, blurrying the surroundings with its light, appear on the trees, as my shadow image performs the offerings in the customs of the Leaflord Rillifane Rallathil in an improvised and unlearned fashion - something i was ordered to do by my master, even though i never learned any of this before losing my family due to my capure. "You never got a taste of your own worth.. Besides that you are blessed with elven beauty and grace."
A light grey shimmer joins my shadow under the tree, and as the image reaches for a ripe orange of the tree, I recognize it to be an image of my old master, my captor and owner, platinum merchant of Athkatla - Mahad Nefsihir.
He turns to me, addressing me with words of his wisdom, how many plants would grow much better owned and cared for. I know what he speaks of, from my memory, yet do i not hear, neither recall the words that he speaks to me, just watch his moving lips. "Do you remember the feeling?" Ra'Anojo asks, hovering from behind Nefsihir shoulder, reaching out towards me, as Nefsihir reaches for my shoulder to give it one of his comforting squeezes, my shadow would reach for my throat slinging a handless arm around it to choke me. "How, even though he spoke with this tone of wisdom and greater understanding, in the manner of revelation and truth...", Ra'Anojo continues, enlarging his height over me and the total oblivious old Nefsihir, with his arm still wringing the breath out of me. "His words still fell on your throat with heavy weight, making your golden gemmed and ornated collar seem so much less fancy..?" He removes his arm but some of the pressure around my neck remains, and i realize that i wear my old collar again. "A bitter aftertaste in every comforting word and generosity, too hard to swallow?" He spins around, high above us, causing a whirlwind, that blows all the green leaves of the trees and lets them rise over their crowns, revealing archers hidden in in the branches, with their bows and arrow at the ready. "Maybe you also felt uneasy everytime, because of the constant threat of arrowheads pointed at you from the unseen, whenever you thought you were speaking alone to him." I look back at the old Master, talking to me how i remember it, calm and reserved. But then i notice it. When his gaze trails off, what i assumed to be distant thought, he looks at the trees.. Also i notice how he restores the distance everytime, i close in for a couple of steps.

"You thought him more appreciative of your talents? Assumed him holding you in mor favour than his heir? No ... don't you see? he was simply a precautious man and scared of you."
And with these words the shadow leans in and pierces his arms through Nefsihir back, all the way through his chest, making him scream soundlessly in agony and a pool of crimson red starts to cover the greyscale landscape.
"Which is frankly the only reason I did not kill him any sooner... For your sake.."

All the Archers in the Trees turn to aim their bows at me and release their arrows. Everything turns red from then on and..


13th Nightal

I woke up sweating from my dream.. I am trying hard to remember all the images but most of it is gone. Only the feeling of incredible anger and confusion remains. I need to get out and find myself something to do, something that makes me feel alive and aware of my freedom. Like facing possible loss of life in battle and overcoming it with skill and vigour. And also 'Nojo seems eager to improve our teamwork...
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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playerr2
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Re: Journal in crude elven writing (Ar'Joona Rastafer)

Unread post by playerr2 » Sat Dec 15, 2018 1:53 am

14th Nightal

Among the multitude of adventurers i have travelled with, a few of them stick out enough to remain in my memory for long, as welcomed thought that would summon a smile upon my face if I find them again, on the swordcoasts many roads. First, to come to mind is Quinneffer, the artist with an unstable mind and a liking of my ... smell? Taste? She speaks in riddles, in a maze of a mind that has, judging from the scars that i discovered all over her body, endured a lot. My shadow seems fond of her, whispering to me my thoughts of desires long avoided, though they are easily dimmed, when facing the suffering that is hidden behind teasing outfits, freaky make up and an intimidating and paradoxically sensual attitude. I've come to like her and now that my path has become clearer, meeting her seems like an omen, a sign that should lead me to my patron. But more of that later...
Quinneffer is not alone at the Sword Coast. Today i had the pleasure of meeting her sister, Beatrix. Even though they look almost the same, so alike that, when i first laid eyes on Beatrix i thought it was her sister - they could't be more different:
Quinneffer talks.. constantly.. And most of the time her words do not make any sense, and it takes a lot of understanding and time to figure out the refferences and context in her mind. And i am still only scratching the surface, knowing that anything that i think i know, from what she has said, could be complete nonsense.
Beatrix on the other hand seems very serious. Very much of clearity and sense, yet conversing with her or trying to get her to tell the story behind Quinneffer proves equally if not even more difficult, as Beatrix does not seem to have a voice, or if she has one, much difficulties using it. The words we exchanged took much effort on both our sides, as she replaced speech with traced lettering she made with a magically glowing finger. The more i discover about her the more questions pop up. I am yet to find Quinneffer to tell her about Beatrix, who is searching for her sister, with a worried but stern look on her face. I wonder where she is.. Last we saw each other we met in the Harbour District, after travelling to Gate for my Garments. Her exquisite sense for taste as an performance artist had me inspired. So i descided for something that would draw eyes if i wished and merge with shadow when i needed..
Maybe she is still in the city. I should look for her there again, tomorrow.
Corvin i met together with Quineffer. He is a freespirited Monk with not much of a heavy burden, apart from the ones he has chosen. He has eager hands to take up the burdens of others. He is helpful, patient and kind, even though sometimes a bit naive and thus quicker to draw out of his composure than the monk might believe himself to be. I am grateful to have met him, as his tolerant soul now holds Quineffer in equal high regard as myself.
One most important new face that i want to remind myself of with this writing is a Ar'Tel'Quessir, whose name would be irrelevant to mention at this point, as i am sure i am yet to learn of the one he considers the most constant from the original. For now i will describe him as a shapeshifter. I met him weeks ago in a group of treasure hunters, inside the ruins on top of a hill south of Baldurs Gate, and then again today at the Friendly Arms Inn. It was a natural comfort, travelling in his free humoured presence. We ran into some minor trouble at the Xvarts village and decided to seek refuge in Candlekeep. And after a good amount of miles travelling alongside one another, i can gather the confidence to ask other Tel'Quessir the more important questions about them.. The ones that could help me find clues about my own elven identity.


Ar'Joona lifted the Quill for a moment as he thought back of the conversation with the shapeshifting sun elf. He had told him most of his story, hinted his captivity and the few clues that he knew of that showed traces of shadow magic in his bloodline.


"And from what he tells me... there is some sort of tie between my blood and his world.. something forged by shadow magic.. i cannot say what it is.. and he is not making finding the answers any easier.."

- " Then It is very similar to inheritance of mine. I am not only bookworm caster. As I said, I preserve balance between black and white, between knowledge and inheritance. That's what my patron is. And you did not answer. Which Deity do you pray most to?" Ar'Joona looked down at his feet, feeling his face growing warm in embarrassment. He never liked this question from another elf, as his answer was often frowned upon, before he even got to tell the whole story. "It is not an easy question for me, to answer.. Exposing my remoteness to my bloodline aswell... I spent most of my life as a servant, far remote from my own people... and during this time i sued to pray to Tymora.. but now i am free and searching for a new path.." He paused for a moment and then added with termination: "One that shall lead me back." But then after a bit more silence he let his gaze sink to his feet again. "And it has not been decided who shall be the patron on this path." Then it started to dawn to him, what was happening... "but it shall soon be that way.." He said looking up at the elf again, who was smiling back at him.
"I think It is sent that we are met, and have this talk. Perhaps another one should start percieving the changes. And from your style I think I know, most surely, who will be your best patron, for you as you are."
Ar'joona s eyes started to become wide and glassy.
"I am listening.. that whole black and white thing sounded almost like an omen.. considering my epxeriences in the silver lining of shadowfell."

The shapeshifter started to recite a description that sounded official and almost ceremonial. Words that Ar'joona wrote in his Journal as he recalled them.

"One who resent grumpy, conventional behaviour
One who accept and champions the difference.
One who teaches that anything is bound to only one rule - to change. And no other ones exist
One who is noble and help the right ones, but without prejudices...."


While he listened on, he saw images in front of his inner vision, memories that seemed long forgotten fleeing from a hidden shell that was cracked and now broken. The words seemed to resonate a lot with what he felt and has been going through lately, the past trials and tribulations, but there was something more familiar in those words...

"One who approve wits, and shadows. Any means for noble needs.
One who cover and hide. One who give luck to smart and open minded..."


The face of a male elf reciting similiar words in a tent, in front of the depiction of a star bursting into random directions. Ar'Joona knew instantly that this image was a, so far the only memory of his father.


"One who is not been trusted because of lack of innate understanding in others, who fail to understand and trust.
Chameleon. Jack. Jester. Changeling.



You are Syl'Tel'quessir. You surely heard about him." Ar'joona withdrew from his thoughts and rose his eyes back up to the sun elf who was enthusiastically describing his deity to him. "I run his trails. And seems to me you should do that too. He changes. Assumes forms. Hides in shadows on disguises himself as someone else. He pranks. He jokes. He has fun." Ar'Joona knew the name instantly, the knowledge and the memory there of came back to him naturally, like a ripe root vegetable pulled from the soil with ease. "You speak of Everan Ilesere... do you not?" - "I am." The Sun elf seemed pleased."I am not a priest. But I am one who study. And understand."
"I have but briefly heard mention of him.." replied Ar'Joona, still struggling to remember more, but his new won friend gladly continued to refresh his memory."Things are changing , my changes are as temporal as others. Only amplified in their physical manifestation and used for my own goods..."



It seems like i have found a way to make sense, why i ended up following Tymora all those years under human rule. Because she is indeed one of Everans Friends and Allies with many commonalities. Though under this patron, i am certain, i will find my way back to my blood, without feeling like i have to deny all that i learned as human captive. I can accept everything as his element of change...


[Change Deity: Everan Ilesere]
~Ar'Joona - Wild Elf Lost From his Pack, with an almost invisible friend.
-[Bio]-[Journal]-

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