Aunrae Releth - Latent Clarity

[Shadowspinner70]

Note: Nyschari's quote is a slightly altered version of part of Sherlock's best man speech from Sherlock, and there are far too many people with [missing name] in this entry. o.o


Quietly, the drowess bound the black leather journal with thick crimson ribbon, ending it with a delicate bow. She kissed it, then set it in a gift box which it fit in - perfectly. She tucked the box under her bed, leaving it for a later occasion. Her fingers grazed over an empty journal next to the box's resting place - this one of grey-brown leather - and she took it up, weighing it. The ghost of a smile appeared across her lips. She climbed onto her pillow-covered bed and sat near the headboard, opening the cover. She had decided to stay somewhere else, alone, in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar building, but in a familiar city; yet she savored her solitude nearly as much as the presence of others.

Blindly, she leaned to the left and groped about her nightstand. Finally, she felt the softness of a quill and cold glass filled with dark red ink. Her hand, although it struggled to do so, gripped both items and brought them closer, setting them onto a nearby pillow. Aunrae left the quill where it was when she brought the inkwell to her mouth, biting into the cork and promptly spitting it across the room. She cursed - she knew it would have to be recovered later. She coaxed the corner of the front cover between her toes, holding it open so that she could hold the inkwell in her left hand. Her right hand picked up the quill and she resumed writing in Infernal, but her writing was strange - almost lucid, but littered with her old terminology.

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"There we go: I am now able to filter my words and writing. Since [missing name] could not comprehend what I had said, I had decided to become proficient in reading and writing like someone without clarity. [Missing name] taught me many things, so I believe I will return the favor by passing down previous notes in an effort to make him proficient - hopefully advanced - in the language of Clarity.

Firstly, the baatezu desire my soul, and they will get it early through the destruction of my body. Their first attempt on my life was one to two tendays ago, when I was with [missing name]. Before the drow assassin entered the Darkwoods building, my closest friend was doing something and that thing lead him to believe that death was imminent. I was left in a panic and asked [missing name] to soothe me in an embrace. We have mated on numerous occasions; it is not unlike him to occasionally stop by. Two cycles ago, when I had learned what a fiance was, he asked me if I would be his - all in a joke, but it was a confusing one. Without knowledge of how such things worked, I was left tongue-tied and unsure of what a proper response was regardless of my ignorance of such ceremonies. Nyschari has mentioned it a few times (stemming from her various contracts) and was always outspoken with her opinion of love after Nym.

'All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason which I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. It is to honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and in time, one feels certain, our entire species, harlot.'

Loveless wench, but I digress: after I had received word of [missing name]'s survival, the door opened and the assassin entered the house. At first, I had thought that my plans of razing a Lolthite temple had come to light, but future attacks proved otherwise: while I was with a friend, both baatezu and drow attacked. I had nearly died, but I was brought to the safety of the Mythals, where the handsome male who is practically me made a comment about the last 'dodo' going off of sanity bridge. In my panic, I did lose control over my speech and failed to filter most of my words. Baatezu began to speak in my head, and it is the first time that I will say this to anyone other than [missing name]: I was afraid, and still am. Terribly afraid. I did not want to die, not without saying goodbye. The second attempt on my life nearly forced that upon me. Since then, I had scorned my patron at the expense of a young male, whose charred body was brought to the Tower of the Masked Mage for resurrection. The only thing I asked for in return was consideration of the god.

Just as recently as the joke proposal, the town of Soubar drew two crowds - one partially because of my presence (Morgan Blackrose took priority) and the other was by chance. On the first occasion, the Northern Watch and Radiant Heart were, as I was told, the first respondents while I remained in the Ebon Blade fortress - hiding from the disappointment of [missing name] rather than the death which would swiftly approach if I were to step foot outside. On the second occasion, snow fell from the sky when I finished a meeting. There was a snowball fight, and people grew in size just to throw larger snowballs. It was beautiful chaos. When it was done, someone approached and just watched from afar. Someone else and I approached; and I watched the vigorous moral debate between the two. The man's views were interesting at the very least. Many others came, but they drew no blades, much to my surprise. In the end, just as I made introductions to someone, I saw a shadow and heard a whisper. It seemed to be of a possible assassin; the shadows have been following me often. I panicked, and much to my chagrin, teleported away."

[Shadowspinner70]

Aunrae fell onto her side, drawing the blankets around herself. Her gaze settled on the brachina feather and lute on her bedside table, leaning against the wall for support, then the journal next to the items. Recklessness was her vice - her fatal flaw - and it was catching up faster than any developing storm on the Night Above. She propped herself against the pillows and did as she did last time: she made preparations to write. With each moment, her expression became one of deeper and deeper confusion until it became pained.

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"I think I did something wrong. No - I know I did something wrong. And yet, nobody will tell me what. Is it the place I took in kidnappings of past (some more distant than others), my time spent in l'Orbb Glennen, the initial goal of Elgluth d'l'Ssussun, or my silly - suicidal, even - plans? It might be all of those, and although regrets are useless things, there is a weight in my chest. Something needs to be done, and something will be done, but I will handle the situation as I did with the necromancer called Nym: I will cease helping the situation and continue about my own business, but with a far greater degree of care. Perhaps I will save up enough gold to buy that longsword of Baatorian steel, play my part in the politics of S'shamath, or I will simply wait in this darkened realm. The sun's warmth and an embrace are beautiful, fleeting things, but each time I visit the Night Above, Soubar is rife with holy warriors and the Northern Watch. About half a tenday ago, much like the first time I experienced such a thing, a man passed through the town. Morgan had informed me that he was with the Radiant Heart; and naturally, I did the rational thing: watch his moral debate with a male called Desmodu and offer my own input. This man believes in the spy, Desmodu in the jester, and I in the diplomat. What strange differences in opinion! And now, I recall a piece of paper I was given a tenday or two ago. Caution is advised. There was an Isra (pleasant, but in my considered opinion, rude), an Andrew (how does a man fall over from laughing?), an Anglo (what is a cherry?), that knight called Gaven (rude - ignoring me!), that Desmodu (pleasant enough), a Zulandi (rude), that Nathan (how rude that one was), that Thedran (interesting, maybe), that Harlos (pleasant enough!), a tiefling female (how sweet!), and perhaps a few others (ones I don't recall). Conversation seemed to confuse all of them.

That entire . . . tryst was a certifiable mistake, and one I cannot help but go back to. Perhaps that was the main thing I did wrong? No matter what it is, I will remain here and finish the tenday, unless I am required on the Night Above for whatever reason, and if need be, I will accept the marriage proposal (ha! And he still claims it is a joke!). It will hurt us both, but it will make someone else happy if it isn't political. Besides - only one person has told me that such a marriage is exclusive, and I was told to consider someone other than myself (is what I am to write next doing that?). So such a marriage will make firebrain happy, the safety will make [missing name] happy, and I still will not know what is going on. This all sounds callous, but I do hope for this to be a record and then a gift, and show that even in privacy, I have some capability to restrain myself. By the Nine, this is all so new and difficult, but I have to do what I can through what I know and what I am learning. I don't think I know what I'm doing. I don't think anyone is supposed to know what they're doing, either.

[Shadowspinner70]

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"My birthday was on the first.

Birthdays are such peculiar things. For many years, I would toast myself for having survived however many years without fail. Someone had introduced to me something greater: an actual celebration with cake and loved ones, a celebration of one's existence. As of now, I have been celebrating alone, but I have faith that my contacts - particularly the ones on the surface - will come as they say they will.

But by the Nine, my plans are suicidal at best. I have heard of a castle infested with baatezu, of baatezu frequenting the wilds outside of the city, of my patron's constant attempts on my life, of a city not unlike Menzoberranzan in its fanatics (although I must admit that the zeal is well-deserved), and of men with minds of their own but unwilling to use them. To fight is to die, but to remain idle is a worse fate still; to die while doing something is to achieve while to die idle is to be a waste of all you were and will be.

There is a scarred female who stomps around, throws her weight about, and mistreats even her equals in the name of superiority. In the name of diplomacy, I might do the exact opposite unless I have need for otherwise. She had offered me insult on numerous occasions and then asked - no, demanded, I think - that I join her organization. Instead, I had offered a partnership between my Scourge and her Syndicate. After repeating simple statements until my friend soothed her into accepting them, I have written a contract; if a single stipulation is neglected, there will be war. I already have much on my plate, especially concerning my first decision on the offensive against the baatezu, but everyone has a place which cannot be ignored. I don many masks, but my true face is there for all to see. One friend serves as a diplomat, even in anger. Another is a driving force of what many would call 'good' on the surface. Another is a quiet power. She had suggested what she calls a symbiotic relationship: I am an angler fish, and she a worm, where the worm consumes the fish's eyes and then serve as them. I told her that is an entirely parasitic relationship where the fish is rendered blind if the worm leaves. Furthermore, the fish learns to rely entirely on the worm and serve as its host in order to be able to see. If she has already consumed my eyes, I'll use my other senses to navigate the darkness.

Dumb, desperate, heretical, damned Aunrae, never to achieve anything and not even worthy for the altar - that is I. My writing is cold, its words empty, but I feel more alive than I ever have before. I think I've exposed myself to the human mentality far too much: my mind is stuck between human and drow. I think I blame him."

[Shadowspinner70]

"You need to rest. And you need to make sure she eats."
"But I feel so useless."

"Drink from this water. It will invigor you."
"But are they okay?"

"Why won't you accept magical healing?"
"Do I even deserve it?"

"You're never alone."
"Then why do I feel like this?"

She rolled onto her side. Shooting pain sent stars into her vision, but it eventually became a dull throb. Whenever she focused hard enough, she could still feel the sting of her newest tattoo behind her ear.

"Take care of her."
"But what about me?"

"Don't listen to this witch."
"I know."

"Why can't you just stay in your hole?"
"How are their choices my fault?"

"Thank you for giving me your permission. If you said no, I'd have done it anyway."
"Not again."

"We'll burn her alive."
"Get out of here. Don't watch."

They were on the cobblestone and covered in blood, peppered with arrows. The puddle she was in was getting sticky. Her vision was blurry, but she still saw how quickly his head surrendered his ears. Their chests were still moving. They were breathing. But they're dead.

They died. Didn't they?

"How do I deserve this? What did I do?"
"That's for you to figure out."

"It would eat at you to stop trying, Aunrae."

It took a quarter of a candle mark to work herself into a seating position without the night sky creeping into her vision. It took another fifteen minutes to stand, albeit leaning against the nightstand. Her legs wobbled. Her core trembled. This act was not kind to the stitched wounds on her lower abdomen. Still, she was careful and made her way to the first door.

She paused as she remembered something. Aunrae glanced down at her bandaged chest. She needed a shirt. The nightstand was several feet behind her. It took her an hour to reach a library in these halls.

Edelgarde and Ashenie are going to kill her. With disappointment. But that's okay.