Post by The Jenn on Dec 4, 2010 23:16:48 GMT -5
Title: Vanja's Journal
Characters: Vanja & NPC Calloo
Word Count: 13,706
((This is posted in two pieces because there are too many characters for one post. It consists of Vanja's journal prior to becoming a Missionary.
WARNING: This is dry. Vanja is a dry writer. He currently lives a reasonably uneventful life at home. Do not expect anything amazing. Expect musings, ramblings, history, repetition, and DULL. It's a bit of who he is. <3))
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An introduction to begin?
My name is Vanja Lackovic, a devoted follower of the true gods and a priest of the first level. Glory to Odom, the shaper of men and the light in the darkness of the world. I dedicate this writing to your wisdom and your foresight in granting me the path to the life I now lead.
I write this now to fulfill the last of my obligations for advancement within the priesthood. I have lived my life in accordance with the wills of the gods as they have been expressed to me. Now, on the cusp of my promotion from Initiate to Missionary, my final task to my elders is a memoir of sorts. I am to write of myself, of my world, and of my experiences. The purpose is to gain further grounding in myself and my beliefs so that I may begin the sometimes trying and often difficult task of spreading the truth to the outside world.
As the story is my life's experiences, I begin with the beginning of life. It seems only fitting.
I was not born to the family that I am now a part of. This is uncommon in the Calloo Fjords, but not uncommon for a priest marked from birth, as I was. Each of our realm possesses a marking as a gift from Odom, in his infinite foresight. I was not born with the marking of the Ring, which is the most common for our people. It would have signified an ordinary life for me, a cycle of birth, life, and death to honor the gods by my existence and worship. I was not born with the marking of the Skull, for I am not a hero, or a great leader, or one to alter the path of history.
I was born with the third symbol, the least common, that of the Tail. It is a marking of great honor and great sadness for the parents of any child. It promises their new son or daughter a life of honor in service of the gods as one of their own priests, and a guaranteed future for our way of life. But it also promises that, in almost all cases, they will not be present in their child's life to share that future. Children marked with the Tail must be carefully nurtured and brought up in the way of the priesthood from a very young age. Few parents are capable of offering such an education to their children.
If not for my marking, I would likely have lived a life of no mention. All lives that honor the gods are lives well-lived, but I am a plain man in appearance and in suit. Had Odom not pointed out my natural aptitudes to the priesthood, I may never have developed them to their present state. Instead, he guided the priests to my birth family's door. I can never honor him enough to make up for this humbling revelation. I can but try.
I do not know the name of my birth family or the names of my birth parents. I was not informed so that I would not seek them out, for they are no longer of any consequence in my life. I am told that I was one in a litter, and that my father was a mix of two outside realms. Obviously he served the Fjords well as a convert if he was granted the honor of siring a tail-marked child. I do not say any of this out of arrogance - I merely repeat what others of the priesthood have explained to me.
At the age of three, the priesthood came for me. I have not told my parents that I remember my birth father's realms, but I will entrust this knowledge to this page and the gods and pray that they forgive me this omission. My vaguest recollection is of blues, of whites, of blacks, and of purples. He was Sorgaire and Torquehelm.
I remember my birth mother crying as she gave me up to my mother. I do not know if they were pleased or sorrowful tears, only that they darkened the pale fur around her eyes and made her look very tired. I pray that the gods have blessed them for their sacrifice. Mamma took me in her arms for the first time that day, and she granted me the only family name that I have ever known.
My parents are Lilja and Reima Lackovic. Both are priests and respected members of our community. Both are pure representations of the Calloo Fjords. They are devoted to the gods, to one another, and to our people. I am blessed to have found my way into their home as a member of their family.
Mamma Lilja is an ocelot, a nine of Hearts, and a priest of the third level. She was born with the mark of the Tail and has become one of our community leaders beneath my home fjord. The combination of a red suit, a tail mark, and a natural ability for magic have served her very well. There is talk that she may someday be promoted to the highest level of the priesthood, but such speculation does not bear repeating until the gods will it to be truth.
Pappa Reima is secretary bird with the most fascinating mane I have ever seen. There is no hiding his excitement, or his anger, or his delight. He is a seven of Diamonds and Ring-marked. He serves as an Initiate priest and has no plans to join the higher ranks. He found Mamma young in life, just before she left as a Missionary, and told us all that he wanted no part in any further separation from her after she returned. He serves the people in other ways.
Naturally, a family of two devoted priests would wish to have children and pass their teachings on to a younger generation. Mamma said that she had a litter of two, though I only ever knew my older sister. She was born with the Tail mark like Mamma and this cemented my parents' role as guides for young Initiates. The other child was given to a new home and they were given charge of my older brother, and eventually of me. Their role now, among other things, is to nurture and teach children marked for the priesthood from birth.
My sister Sade is an ocelot like Mamma, and also a Heart. She has been a missionary for many years now, almost a dozen. We hope that she will return soon with a mate so that she can leave the task of Missionary to others. We have already accepted three converts into our fold who spoke her name upon entry. She does the gods' work and our parents are very proud of her. She writes often.
Tauno is my brother, five years my elder, and he left as Missionary just two years ago. He is a canine, six of Diamonds, and of course marked with the Tail. I know him better than my sister, but I like him less, much to our parents' disappointment. Our temperaments are simply not compatible. I understate the case, but will leave it as it stands. I simply hope that he continues to spread the truth to the heathens for many years to come.
I am the last child that my parents accepted into their care, and the only dark suit. Mamma told me that I was their challenge, but she says it with a smile, and I know that they love me. It will simply be more difficult to find further favor in the eyes of the gods due to the blemish upon my chest. I can only pray that one day, my accomplishments will outweigh my suit. There is much hope.
These will be my last words for today. I will raise the quill again tomorrow and begin my writing anew. I hope to have this task completed within a fortnight, though I fear it may take twice that long, if not longer.
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Yesterday, I ended my writing with hope. I hope to serve the gods well. I hope to bring my family honor. I hope to reach my mark's potential. There is a great deal of hope for me to live up to. I can only "hope" that I am up to the task.
Mamma says that I am an unusual child for my combination of suit and mark. Our realm consists more of the favored suits, the Hearts and the Diamonds. I have heard that the outside realms contain more Clubs and Spades. This makes sense, in the grand scheme of things. The gods are not to be doubted and Odom's foresight stretches far into the future of the world.
Someone once told me that I should have been born a Diamond. My natural aptitude for scholarly pursuits, combined with my fascination toward languages, makes this an easy conclusion. But I am not a Diamond. I am a Club. I trust in the wisdom of Odom, granting me the suit that he did despite other options. Pappa told me that neither of my parents were Clubs, and that one was a Diamond. Perhaps that would have been too easy? I do not know. I only know that I have been granted the suit of my birth, that it cannot be changed, and that I must make the most of it. I aim to do so.
Focusing on other, far more manageable goals is important. I broaden my mind, trust in my faith, and work to better myself at the behest of many influences: myself, my parents, my gods, my realm... all of them encourage personal growth for the betterment of the realm and the glory of the gods.
To this end, I studied diligently up to the first day of my adult life, and Odom saw fit to bless me with my bipedal form. This was a day of much rejoicing for my family, and it happened a little less than a year before this writing. When my spine elongated and my torso rearranged itself, when the bones of my arms and legs began to change, and when my paws became hands for the very first time, I fell to my knees and I wept for joy. I remember feeling dizzy with elation and with hunger, having fasted for three days prior in preparation. My head swam with the newness of it all. I am still humbled by the memory, the feeling of Odom's power surging through me and changing my very form to one that he found more useful. It was a good day.
It also gave me even more expectations to meet. I will admit that I am stressed, but I try to keep it from interfering in my day-to-day living.
One unexpected but pleasing advantage to gaining my bipedal form was the ability to wear the proper robes of the priesthood. Mamma told me that my form gave me many more options as to which bits I could wear, which turned out to be the entire ensemble during formal occasions and only barely less while out performing my duties as Initiate. The only times I take them off are for bathing, sleeping, and laundering.
Unsurprisingly, they were awkward and ungainly to wear at first. With the addition of the incense burner at an elder's suggestion, this predicament only increased. But with time an familiarity, I have grown very fond of wearing them. They're warm for traveling, comfortable enough now that they're softened with use, and they grant me an air of presence that my otherwise-plain appearance would not. When people look at me now, they see me less as Vanja and more as Priest. They also serve to cover my suit. Perhaps my pleasure at this fact is shameful, but it remains true.
I do not know if the heathens of the outside realms will recognize my calling by my robes. I cannot imagine how anyone would not, but Mamma told me that some people had trouble telling her in her robes from a Tulgey demon out of its forest lair. What a disturbing thought. It truly brings perspective on the role of second level priests as Missionaries. The masses are woefully uneducated.
Soon, I will join the ranks of the others. I can only hope that I am ready.
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The fasting to come before my ascension in the priesthood will be a grueling test, I am sure. My body is used to moderation, and to fasting and excess, but the guidelines I must follow are very strict. My family will help me through this period and I will be fine. It isn't designed to starve or to injure, after all, merely as a test of focus, of willpower, and of self-awareness.
I must be able to face and overcome many challenges outside of the Fjords that I will not be able to anticipate or prepare for. I must be steadfast in my convictions, unwavering in my faith, and earnest in my delivery. I must allow the gods to use me as their vessel of enlightenment. I pray that I am ready, as so many have doubtless prayed before me.
This entry will end short, lest I become unduly repetitive. I can feel the inclination within me and I resist it. All of this is rambling and unfocused enough without further redundancy.
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The gods touch our lives in many ways. Sometimes their intent is instantly clear, while other times they require interpretation. That is one of the many duties of a priest. Odom does not leave us powerless in this endeavor. He grants us aptitudes, preferences, and talents that subtly guide us toward the lighter path. The duality of our natures is expressed nowhere so plainly as on our tails.
All people are born with free will, and that will is expressed in our sentience and our magics, among other things. Creatures born without these blessings, Aces, are to be pitied and cared for as any other beast. But even Aces are born with their tails.
The light path and the dark path. Obedience and disobedience. We all faces choices in our lives, and we must all choose the paths that we believe best. It is simply the job of a true believer, and especially of a priest, to explain which of those paths is the will of the gods, and which path will bring their disfavor.
From the day of my birth, Odom blessed me with awareness. I can remain awake, aware, and comfortable for excessive periods of time. With prayer, dedication, and study, I have increased the scope of this ability five-fold and I know my limits very precisely. Though my suit is not the most blessed, it still offers me opportunity to please the gods with my extended devotions.
My mother taught me to read the runes, the unspoken language of the gods and their preferred means of direct communication. My stones were washed smooth by the waters of my homeland long before the hands of Cards came upon them to carve the holy symbols. My bones are from a past priest of the true gods, his or her name known to the church but not to me. Together with my faith, they grant me limited access to the all-knowing essence of Odom. The gods themselves deign to answer my questions, one per day, and I am humbled by the honor.
This ability was not won lightly. Learning the runes themselves was task enough. There is no language for them, only meaning. Many of my own realm remain ignorant to most of their meanings. Only the priests must know them all, and for every rune, there are many meanings... and even more interpretations and shades of meaning. The gods are not simple, and neither are their answers.
I remember the first day that I felt a spark of the divine when I cast the runes. Something in the back of my mind tingled as it never have before. My breath caught. I asked my question and watched in what seemed to be slowed motion as the bones and stones fell. They landed. I read them. Their meaning was clear. "Yes" came to my mind as unmistakably as if a voice had whispered it in my ear, and I knew that I had just been given a blessing of magic. Mamma was so happy, she nearly cried.
Two other powers have since followed that first revelation. One of them has its basis in Pappa's best ability. It's a spell of protection, a direct blessing against harm, and I am told it is an ability with as many uses as there are Cards. It also has very good potential for advancement if I focus on it as I have focused on my basic awareness ability.
There are many benefits to an ability that neutralizes the most basic suit abilities of an individual. Often, we rely on them without really thinking about it. Some, like the Club awareness or the Heart pain resistance, are purely internal and affect only the caster. Others, like the Diamond charm or the Spade speed, can be turned on others.
We experimented on the ability after I first developed it, noting the similarities and differences to Pappa's ability. One day, a Diamond neighbor suddenly seemed less endearing when she asked "favors" of me. Another day, Mamma swung an old brush at my head and she fumbled its balance at the last moment. A Spade priest's water ability deflected harmlessly away and left me far more dry than everyone surrounding me. A Club miner could no longer lift my frame with the ease that his strength ability should have dictated.
It is a very useful ability. However, I must be cautious not to over-estimate its prowess and I must be conscious of its duration and whether or not I have already cast it in a day. All of these aspects can be improved upon. I must exercise caution and restraint.
The last of my late-gained abilities thus far stems from no one I've ever known. I still cannot fathom where it came from beyond the depths of my own mind, and so it must simply be a blessing from Odom. Its appearance was a sign to my elders that I would be ready to join the ranks of Missionaries at a young age, as my bipedal form's appearance had been. Adulthood and one year's intense preparation culminate in the advancement a little over a month away. I am excited, but I am terrified.
The ability allows me to read auras in a very specific light. As often as once per week, I can concentrate on an individual and gain a sense of their spiritual aura. I have learned that the saturation of the aura changes depending on capacity for belief. Because I only ever spent time amongst true believers for the majority of my life, I could not learn this through conventional testing. Instead, I sat with several other priests for weeks at a time and we humbly offered our questions to the gods, that they might illuminate the true nature of my ability. They did so.
A bright, shining aura indicates the pure spirituality of a true believer. I had only ever seen such pale and silvery auras until my meeting with an outside Highlander mere months ago. Odom tells me through my runes that the auras of the eternally damned will appear as thick and black as their sin. I dread ever witnessing such a sight. In my heart, I cannot believe that anyone would be unable to believe in anything. I pray that this is never put to the test. A darkly smudged gray around Mr. McDuck was unsettling enough.
Unsettling... and a surprise, truly. I had thought that a Highlander would be more in tune with his spirituality. Their culture is richly steeped in the history and traditions of the Highland and Avington religion. I would have asked him more about his first-hand experiences with his own realm's religious customs if I hadn't felt so unnerved by his aura.
I will conclude this entry now, as it went on far longer than I expected. I am uncertain what to touch on tomorrow. I will pray for instruction.
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Reading the end of my last entry brings a smile. I prayed for instruction, and I also asked. Pappa had several very good suggestions on topics.
The purpose of this writing is simply to write. The goal of the writing, however, is increased awareness of self. I have already stated this. He suggested that I take a moment to actually describe myself, as opposed to my history and thoughts alone. This seemed wise.
I am a pure rat of the Calloo Fjords, small for my age and gender but not unduly so. I remember that my birth father was a full rat and his form was enormous to my young mind - but there I go, describing myself based on my relations as he suggested that I would. I will refocus my description.
I have a thin muzzle with a slanted dip at the end. My head itself is small. My whiskers are long and extremely sensitive. My nose often twitches, sniffs, and moves without conscious direction and I must be aware of myself to force it still. My ears have more of a point to them than is standard, but I am told that such things are common across all Card breeds and of little consequence. If it were not already obvious, the gods have told me that I am a pure rat, to dispel any lingering curiosity on the matter. My eyes and ears are a dark, muted gold.
I was born with a mane - from my mother, I am told - and the black strands of hair that escape into my face on a daily basis are simply another reminder of the darkness that can cloud the eyes of the unwary. My priest's hat holds it back more effectively than any other means, which I find extremely fitting. The gods may have a sense of purpose in even the smallest details of our everyday lives.
My body is very long and very thin. I have been called whippy, wiry, scrawny, bony, and half-starved. The body of a male rat should hold the shape of a pear rather than that of a noodle. "Adequate" portion sizes and regular fasting have grown me into the body I have today. It is stronger than it looks. I do not suffer for my weight. The gods will not find me a man of excessive pleasures except in their honor during feast-days.
The only adornments that I regularly wear are in the custom of my station. Small packs around my thighs contain my runes and other miscellaneous small items. My hat, my robes, and my incense burner are the only other articles of clothing that I have ever worn. They serve to transform an admittedly plain and homely appearance into something more pleasing.
But I have managed to repeat myself again in that, which was not my intent. I do not wish to sully Pappa's idea with my own circular thoughts. I will request further guidance tomorrow, as my imagination seems woefully lacking in this endeavor. Hopefully this will not remain the case for long.
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Once more, my parents save the day by pointing me in a productive direction for this writing exercise. The subject of my pending advancement is an understandably common point of discussion at the dinner table. After tossing ideas back and forth, I settled on the subject of my schooling. Not an especially fluid transition from physical attributes, but this is not a cohesive narrative and I have been encouraged to write about whatever comes easiest at the time. Right now, that seems to be education.
The learning of a priest is not exclusively concerned with the gods. In their own way, they have a hand in every aspect of our existence, and so our education must be rounded enough to satisfy the questions that believers and potential converts bring to our attention. That is the goal, at any rate.
My devotion is to the gods, their glory, their worship, and their work. My passion, however, is languages. I am capable of readily reading and hesitantly writing most regional languages, with notable exceptions. I do not know the writing of the Tulgey demons or their milder Moorland cousins, though I am familiar with the script of the Yarrow witches. The mad, evil tongue of Corvistowne eludes me, as I could not find sufficient material on the language within our realm to study. Perhaps this is for the best.
To my great disappointment, I have yet to learn the speech of any realm save my own and the common tongue. Knowing the writings and structure of a language is quite different from wrapping your tongue around it. This is where a Diamond's innate proficiency would have come in very useful. Perhaps such an ability can still be achieved, if the gods will it so. I can only pray that this will be the case, and continue my studies.
In addition to my most fervent interests, I have received an excellent general education from the priesthood. Maths, sciences, and history are all explained to us as they relate to the gods' shaping of the world. All children are taught such lessons in their home communities, as per the orders of the priests.
Away from the normal instruction of the masses, Initiate priests are also schooled in the false religions of the outside realms so that we can better put things in perspective when we advance to our role as Missionaries. Many within the Calloo are descended from former non-believers and their more colorful pelts can be seen in many households. Perhaps even most households. We take our duty to spread the truth more seriously than others spread their false views on creation, which of course makes sense.
Along those lines, for the past year, my education has been interspersed with more... "environmental" concerns. I have learned of the dry deserts of the Wastes, of the temperate forests of the Kahmden, and of the watery green of the Josiggy. While I already knew of these things - and that very phrasing is quite telling, "of" them - I did not know how to handle myself in the environments. I believe that I have a better grasp on this now, certainly better than I did this time last year. I have been assured that I will curse my robes far more often as I travel away from the fjords and the mountainous realms. This is unfortunate and I dread the heat, but it will not deter me. The truth of my words will sustain me in the heat.
I hope. I pray.
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An event earlier this evening provided me with inspiration for this next entry. I wish to write on regret. First, I must explain what prompted my desire.
As a respected priest within our community, Mamma is often called upon when people near their end. She sits with them, listens to them, and helps them make peace with the gods. I have only ever attended such an occasion once before. Tonight, I stood by her side again as an old man passed from this world to the next.
His name was Franjo Igrec. I have never known him to be anything other than an old man, but Mamma tells me that he was a large and powerful person in years past. He wore the suit of Hearts like her and he collected weapons as a point of interest. He told us he found them all while he explored the other realms in his youth, in search of a mate. There were bows made of exotically carved wood, daggers with odd-looking insets, gem-hilted swords, and tiny little stars as sharp as razors, among other fascinating and bizarre weaponry. I had never been inside his home to see them, nor would I have caught even a glimpse. He kept them all in his sleeping chambers, mounted in the rock on the walls and resting against other pieces of furniture.
His mate passed three years before him. Her name was Meaghan and she was from Morganberry. Truly from the realm, not just of it. I could believe that, remembering the fiery old woman with the funny lisp. Not a person to poke fun at, no. She was a Heart as well and she had no compunctions about delivering a swift whack to an impudent child, priest or no. She made the best meat pies for feasts, which always had Pappa teasing about outsider cuisine. Then he would be the one she whacked, and Mamma after for not "teaching him manners". She was a funny old person. I liked her more as I grew.
They had eight children from three litters, but all of them lived in different communities or were traveling at the time. His illness had been sudden, a cough escalating into a serious problem with little warning. He knew that it was time from the first rattle in his chest. I think he wanted it to be time. I think Mamma thought that too, but neither of us would pay him the dishonor of voicing it. At this point, he would be happier to rejoin his wife than to eke out another few weeks or month of life.
He spoke of many things to the two of us, and late morning quickly faded to late afternoon and early evening. Nearly an hour after evening fell, he took his last labored breaths and passed into the hands of the gods. I knew more about this person in those last few hours than I have known about anyone living. He poured his heart out to us, and in exchange, we stayed with him. Mamma held his hand until the end.
When he spoke, he told us of his regrets. I will not repeat them, even here, out of respect for the dead. Some of them were small. Some of them were great. All of them weighed on his heart, there at the end. I hope that his burden became easier to bear after he shared it.
I have not yet lived long enough for any great regrets. I know that I will regret not having a closer relationship with my brother, even though I do not at this time. I do regret not spending every second I could with my sister. She has been away for a very long time, and I was young when she left, only seven. I miss her. Perhaps we will cross paths before she comes home. I will pray that the gods see fit to guide me towards her.
There are other regrets, but I would have to spend more time puzzling on them than I have this evening. The morning comes quickly and I must be away to bed.
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After yesterday's introspective entry based on my experiences with others, I will attempt to repeat my success with another such topic.
Is there a sadder sight in this world than a child dead at birth? If so, I hope never to see it. A parent's grief and the often ineffable will of the gods go hand in hand more often than we mere mortals could understand. Perhaps the child was damned. Perhaps the parents were lacking in faith. Whatever the reason, we are left with the remains.
I feel for the parents. The mother is my cousin, my father's brother's child, seven years my senior. She recently returned from abroad with a Selkie mate and this was to have been their first litter. Only one small body emerged on the date of her delivery, and the gods had stolen his breath away before he had a chance to take it. Everyone seems convinced that her husband must be slow to accept our faith and the older priests are entreating him to come and pray with them.
He may end up leaving. I hope that he stays. He makes her happy, and it would be a very great shame to lose him over something so tragic. I intruded on the situation only long enough to read his aura. It remains pale, but darker than those around it. I will pray that Odom guides him down the correct path and keeps his footing true.
There is always a quiet undercurrent of worry with those who bring their mates from the outside, though it remains mostly unspoken. Bringing them in is looked upon well by the gods as spreading their message to the previously ignorant masses. However, they are not native to our way of life and it can take time for some to acclimate to the Fjords. Sometimes they cannot adjust and they leave, breaking their mate's heart in the process. Only through faith can one withstand such hardships. In a guilty fashion, this worry makes me even gladder for my ability to view auras. Then I will not have to guess, and I can hopefully place my trust in them as completely as my parents have in each other.
I hope to find a mate someday, female or male, I do not know which. Everyone has preferences, and I selfishly hope that their suit is as red as the morning of a storm, so that any children we bear might have that chance to emerge without the tainted marking of a black suit. If my heart and the gods guide me to a Spade or Club, however, I will not deny them. It is merely a desire.
Before this writing deviates even further from its somber beginnings, I will bring it to a close. Hopefully tomorrow's will be more focused in some fashion.
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This time of year, the gods have a way of testing us that has nothing to do with our contemplation of the divine or introspection into our own natures. Though beautiful, the Fjords have many high places, from the mountains and plateaus to the cliffs that run down them. Cold air seems to funnel downward through the canyons and only living securely underground has saved us from the worst of blizzards.
The storm that looks to be brewing in the skies above will be a test of our endurance and survival in the face of the gods' fickle humor. Perhaps someone displeased them. Perhaps it simply pleases them to watch us overcome their obstacles. Whatever the case, there is already a solid blanket of snow across the land and the priests with weather divination tell us that the clouds won't let up anytime soon.
Some will have to dig us access through the snow for food. We have stores, of course. It is cold and we plan ahead. But everything that we have dried and preserved should be supplemented with fresh foods to maintain our strength and stretch our reserves as long as they will last. Trade did not go as well this year as it might have and our foodstuffs from outside our own realm are very limited.
My place is not outside with the hunters. I would embarrass myself with a bow, and I do not have the light step and uncanny speed of a Spade to catch game by surprise. I do not even have the strength to carry supplies for the hunters, and I would likely freeze before much time passed, as I am not endowed with a healthy reserve of meat on my bones.
Instead of providing for the bodies of our people, I help satiate the hunger of the spirit. I lead prayers when others are busy. I teach children as they become more restless with inactivity. I prepare basic meals and deliver them to the less mobile. I tend to the old and the sick. I cast my runes, once each day, at the behest of a fellow with some burning question. I pray.
All in all, I feel surprisingly useless for all of the things that I am doing. I look forward to the end of this blizzard, which has only just begun.
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In this entry, I will answer the simple and likely quite boring questions of "favorites" that my Pappa posed to me in an effort to help.
My favorite color is a silvery white. Predictable, perhaps, but there is no color more beautiful. It possesses the crispness that creamier shades do not and the purity of its simple blessing.
My favorite food is cold smoked salmon. The fish is delicious however it is cooked, but that distinct flavor fresh from someone's smoke house... my mouth truly watered upon serious contemplation of the meal. I wish that I had some readily available. It would not be sitting around for long.
My favorite smell is that of a baking pie. Especially meat pies with thickly bubbling gravy, though I am partial to some fruits when they are in season. The days and hours leading up to a feast are an exquisite torture.
My favorite books are from the Hisstor. We don't have a great many available, but I read a very fascinating theory from a man who had been converted to our way of life and who had seen the light of truth. He took great pains in explaining the similarities between the Fjord and the Hisstor views on the importance of family, and he came to love this land as much as I do. Avram was his name and I hope to find more of his works, perhaps earlier ones before his conversion, after I leave.
My favorite music is hard to pin down, but I listen time and time again to the songs of Kincaid, a middle-aged Villa-Calloo who came to our community after leaving his own to attend an academy in the Villa. I do not know if they are of his own design or if he plays another's work. I have not asked. But his voice is breathtaking, and I very much enjoy the spoken tongue of the Villa, for all that I can only understand a fraction.
My favorite number is eleven. I'm not sure why. I just like it.
My favorite season is spring. The snows melt, the plants return, and travelers begin to make their cautious way to our realm again to deliver and barter and trade their goods. The food always improves dramatically as winter's depleted stores are replaced by more exotic goods and a replenished cache of spices.
My favorite ink is a rich, vibrant blue. That is what I am writing with right now. Some realms may prefer to transcribe their documents in black. Indeed, many of the foreign tomes in our collections are written with black ink. I prefer not to condemn my words as they flow onto the page.
My favorite myths are those of the Jabberwocky. They are strange, cunning, alien sorts of creatures, said to roam the land in the age of Dragons and Gryphons and Cats, among other things. Pappa also does a particularly convincing voice when relaying the myth of Odom and the Jabberwocky lord. Mamma speaks a better Odom than he ever could. It remains an endless source of amusement for the children.
I think that I've about exhausted my list of favorites, and my tired imagination, and perhaps my awareness in general. My handwriting has declined steadily throughout the past few sentences and I fear what it may look like if I continue.
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I have often pondered the differences between our fate in the world and our free will to obey or disobey the will of the gods. Indisputably, we are born with the ability to develop into obedient and faithful servants, or to come short of this goal, or to deliberately move against it. Some among us argue that the end result of our free will is predetermined and known to Odom, who is master of foresight and events that have not yet occurred. Others argue that this defeats the purpose of our free will altogether and it is the gods' amusement to observe - and some say bet on - our choices.
I am not yet certain which side I fall on. This argument is generally reserved for the more senior members of the priesthood, though of course everyone from the lowest Initiate to the average citizen can hold an opinion on the matter. Discussions can become heated, especially when drink is involved, and even more so on feast days. Families have forged feuds over less. Far, far less.
This train of thought took too long to phrase, and I began it late. I end now with some regret, for it is an interesting subject. I doubt that I will be motivated to continue my thoughts, however. A shame.
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Today I performed another duty to move me towards my departure as a Missionary, one that has often made me curious. Outsiders can be strange sorts, and few are stranger than those who visit the Fjords for sport. Our forests have game, but are sparse enough that hunters rarely venture here when other locations possess more "invigorating" prey. It is not hunters who visit us. No. Our greatest, most consistent, and reportedly most entertaining regulars are mountain climbers.
Someone in the city central to all of the realms apparently took it upon themselves to create a "society" of people who partake in the sport. Not only participants, but avid participants. Zealots in their own way. They must climb the tallest mountains, brave the roughest terrain, and generally risk life and limb for little more than the most difficult rush of excitement.
These people are kept away from the mainstream of Calloo communities. They are offered guides by the priesthood every year, various guides from various locations to lead them on the train to whatever cliff they will be attempting in a particular year. The elders regard them as harmless eccentrics and they have apparently never been anything but polite and respectful to our customs and way of life.
Stories are told of them - their oddities, their mannerisms, their incomprehensible delight at the sight of a barren cliff face. Most of them possess their biped forms. Occasionally there are humans. Even more occasionally, an enterprising mammal with maneuverable digits - such as a rat - will be among their number. They trek from the edges of our realm, on through various locations, bypassing living quarters and instead "roughing it" with camping gear and outdoor supplies. Their guides change every so often along the trail, until they reach their goal, and then they begin to climb.
It is said that sometimes, an intrepid young priest will volunteer to climb with them. Some have succeeded, well used to the terrain. Many have not, unused to the level of exertion required for such a feat. I know that I would be incapable and do not understand what pleasure they derive from the activity. Nevertheless. For the past day, I stood among them. I spoke with them. I guided them along to their next "checkpoint" and passed them into the care of a priest some good distance away, to continue the next leg of the journey.
Strange people. Strange, in ways that I had not imagined. Most of the dozen seemed in very high spirits. Many of them laughed and joked. Some tried to include me in their fun. I attempted to be polite. I was polite. I spoke to them, and the more I spoke, the more amused they seemed. Eventually I lapsed into silence, quite certain that their amusement had taken a less friendly turn.
Only after I parted ways with them did I further reflect on their behavior. I no longer believe that they were poking fun at me, only that they were eccentric and incomprehensible in their amusement. I can see why the priests continue to allow their efforts, especially with the tithes that they pay for the services of their guides. They are as generous in their business as they are in their speech and gregarious natures.
Some part of me wishes that I understood them better. Another part of me rests comfortably in the knowledge that I cannot. This is, I think, a good balance.
Characters: Vanja & NPC Calloo
Word Count: 13,706
((This is posted in two pieces because there are too many characters for one post. It consists of Vanja's journal prior to becoming a Missionary.
WARNING: This is dry. Vanja is a dry writer. He currently lives a reasonably uneventful life at home. Do not expect anything amazing. Expect musings, ramblings, history, repetition, and DULL. It's a bit of who he is. <3))
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An introduction to begin?
My name is Vanja Lackovic, a devoted follower of the true gods and a priest of the first level. Glory to Odom, the shaper of men and the light in the darkness of the world. I dedicate this writing to your wisdom and your foresight in granting me the path to the life I now lead.
I write this now to fulfill the last of my obligations for advancement within the priesthood. I have lived my life in accordance with the wills of the gods as they have been expressed to me. Now, on the cusp of my promotion from Initiate to Missionary, my final task to my elders is a memoir of sorts. I am to write of myself, of my world, and of my experiences. The purpose is to gain further grounding in myself and my beliefs so that I may begin the sometimes trying and often difficult task of spreading the truth to the outside world.
As the story is my life's experiences, I begin with the beginning of life. It seems only fitting.
I was not born to the family that I am now a part of. This is uncommon in the Calloo Fjords, but not uncommon for a priest marked from birth, as I was. Each of our realm possesses a marking as a gift from Odom, in his infinite foresight. I was not born with the marking of the Ring, which is the most common for our people. It would have signified an ordinary life for me, a cycle of birth, life, and death to honor the gods by my existence and worship. I was not born with the marking of the Skull, for I am not a hero, or a great leader, or one to alter the path of history.
I was born with the third symbol, the least common, that of the Tail. It is a marking of great honor and great sadness for the parents of any child. It promises their new son or daughter a life of honor in service of the gods as one of their own priests, and a guaranteed future for our way of life. But it also promises that, in almost all cases, they will not be present in their child's life to share that future. Children marked with the Tail must be carefully nurtured and brought up in the way of the priesthood from a very young age. Few parents are capable of offering such an education to their children.
If not for my marking, I would likely have lived a life of no mention. All lives that honor the gods are lives well-lived, but I am a plain man in appearance and in suit. Had Odom not pointed out my natural aptitudes to the priesthood, I may never have developed them to their present state. Instead, he guided the priests to my birth family's door. I can never honor him enough to make up for this humbling revelation. I can but try.
I do not know the name of my birth family or the names of my birth parents. I was not informed so that I would not seek them out, for they are no longer of any consequence in my life. I am told that I was one in a litter, and that my father was a mix of two outside realms. Obviously he served the Fjords well as a convert if he was granted the honor of siring a tail-marked child. I do not say any of this out of arrogance - I merely repeat what others of the priesthood have explained to me.
At the age of three, the priesthood came for me. I have not told my parents that I remember my birth father's realms, but I will entrust this knowledge to this page and the gods and pray that they forgive me this omission. My vaguest recollection is of blues, of whites, of blacks, and of purples. He was Sorgaire and Torquehelm.
I remember my birth mother crying as she gave me up to my mother. I do not know if they were pleased or sorrowful tears, only that they darkened the pale fur around her eyes and made her look very tired. I pray that the gods have blessed them for their sacrifice. Mamma took me in her arms for the first time that day, and she granted me the only family name that I have ever known.
My parents are Lilja and Reima Lackovic. Both are priests and respected members of our community. Both are pure representations of the Calloo Fjords. They are devoted to the gods, to one another, and to our people. I am blessed to have found my way into their home as a member of their family.
Mamma Lilja is an ocelot, a nine of Hearts, and a priest of the third level. She was born with the mark of the Tail and has become one of our community leaders beneath my home fjord. The combination of a red suit, a tail mark, and a natural ability for magic have served her very well. There is talk that she may someday be promoted to the highest level of the priesthood, but such speculation does not bear repeating until the gods will it to be truth.
Pappa Reima is secretary bird with the most fascinating mane I have ever seen. There is no hiding his excitement, or his anger, or his delight. He is a seven of Diamonds and Ring-marked. He serves as an Initiate priest and has no plans to join the higher ranks. He found Mamma young in life, just before she left as a Missionary, and told us all that he wanted no part in any further separation from her after she returned. He serves the people in other ways.
Naturally, a family of two devoted priests would wish to have children and pass their teachings on to a younger generation. Mamma said that she had a litter of two, though I only ever knew my older sister. She was born with the Tail mark like Mamma and this cemented my parents' role as guides for young Initiates. The other child was given to a new home and they were given charge of my older brother, and eventually of me. Their role now, among other things, is to nurture and teach children marked for the priesthood from birth.
My sister Sade is an ocelot like Mamma, and also a Heart. She has been a missionary for many years now, almost a dozen. We hope that she will return soon with a mate so that she can leave the task of Missionary to others. We have already accepted three converts into our fold who spoke her name upon entry. She does the gods' work and our parents are very proud of her. She writes often.
Tauno is my brother, five years my elder, and he left as Missionary just two years ago. He is a canine, six of Diamonds, and of course marked with the Tail. I know him better than my sister, but I like him less, much to our parents' disappointment. Our temperaments are simply not compatible. I understate the case, but will leave it as it stands. I simply hope that he continues to spread the truth to the heathens for many years to come.
I am the last child that my parents accepted into their care, and the only dark suit. Mamma told me that I was their challenge, but she says it with a smile, and I know that they love me. It will simply be more difficult to find further favor in the eyes of the gods due to the blemish upon my chest. I can only pray that one day, my accomplishments will outweigh my suit. There is much hope.
These will be my last words for today. I will raise the quill again tomorrow and begin my writing anew. I hope to have this task completed within a fortnight, though I fear it may take twice that long, if not longer.
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Yesterday, I ended my writing with hope. I hope to serve the gods well. I hope to bring my family honor. I hope to reach my mark's potential. There is a great deal of hope for me to live up to. I can only "hope" that I am up to the task.
Mamma says that I am an unusual child for my combination of suit and mark. Our realm consists more of the favored suits, the Hearts and the Diamonds. I have heard that the outside realms contain more Clubs and Spades. This makes sense, in the grand scheme of things. The gods are not to be doubted and Odom's foresight stretches far into the future of the world.
Someone once told me that I should have been born a Diamond. My natural aptitude for scholarly pursuits, combined with my fascination toward languages, makes this an easy conclusion. But I am not a Diamond. I am a Club. I trust in the wisdom of Odom, granting me the suit that he did despite other options. Pappa told me that neither of my parents were Clubs, and that one was a Diamond. Perhaps that would have been too easy? I do not know. I only know that I have been granted the suit of my birth, that it cannot be changed, and that I must make the most of it. I aim to do so.
Focusing on other, far more manageable goals is important. I broaden my mind, trust in my faith, and work to better myself at the behest of many influences: myself, my parents, my gods, my realm... all of them encourage personal growth for the betterment of the realm and the glory of the gods.
To this end, I studied diligently up to the first day of my adult life, and Odom saw fit to bless me with my bipedal form. This was a day of much rejoicing for my family, and it happened a little less than a year before this writing. When my spine elongated and my torso rearranged itself, when the bones of my arms and legs began to change, and when my paws became hands for the very first time, I fell to my knees and I wept for joy. I remember feeling dizzy with elation and with hunger, having fasted for three days prior in preparation. My head swam with the newness of it all. I am still humbled by the memory, the feeling of Odom's power surging through me and changing my very form to one that he found more useful. It was a good day.
It also gave me even more expectations to meet. I will admit that I am stressed, but I try to keep it from interfering in my day-to-day living.
One unexpected but pleasing advantage to gaining my bipedal form was the ability to wear the proper robes of the priesthood. Mamma told me that my form gave me many more options as to which bits I could wear, which turned out to be the entire ensemble during formal occasions and only barely less while out performing my duties as Initiate. The only times I take them off are for bathing, sleeping, and laundering.
Unsurprisingly, they were awkward and ungainly to wear at first. With the addition of the incense burner at an elder's suggestion, this predicament only increased. But with time an familiarity, I have grown very fond of wearing them. They're warm for traveling, comfortable enough now that they're softened with use, and they grant me an air of presence that my otherwise-plain appearance would not. When people look at me now, they see me less as Vanja and more as Priest. They also serve to cover my suit. Perhaps my pleasure at this fact is shameful, but it remains true.
I do not know if the heathens of the outside realms will recognize my calling by my robes. I cannot imagine how anyone would not, but Mamma told me that some people had trouble telling her in her robes from a Tulgey demon out of its forest lair. What a disturbing thought. It truly brings perspective on the role of second level priests as Missionaries. The masses are woefully uneducated.
Soon, I will join the ranks of the others. I can only hope that I am ready.
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The fasting to come before my ascension in the priesthood will be a grueling test, I am sure. My body is used to moderation, and to fasting and excess, but the guidelines I must follow are very strict. My family will help me through this period and I will be fine. It isn't designed to starve or to injure, after all, merely as a test of focus, of willpower, and of self-awareness.
I must be able to face and overcome many challenges outside of the Fjords that I will not be able to anticipate or prepare for. I must be steadfast in my convictions, unwavering in my faith, and earnest in my delivery. I must allow the gods to use me as their vessel of enlightenment. I pray that I am ready, as so many have doubtless prayed before me.
This entry will end short, lest I become unduly repetitive. I can feel the inclination within me and I resist it. All of this is rambling and unfocused enough without further redundancy.
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The gods touch our lives in many ways. Sometimes their intent is instantly clear, while other times they require interpretation. That is one of the many duties of a priest. Odom does not leave us powerless in this endeavor. He grants us aptitudes, preferences, and talents that subtly guide us toward the lighter path. The duality of our natures is expressed nowhere so plainly as on our tails.
All people are born with free will, and that will is expressed in our sentience and our magics, among other things. Creatures born without these blessings, Aces, are to be pitied and cared for as any other beast. But even Aces are born with their tails.
The light path and the dark path. Obedience and disobedience. We all faces choices in our lives, and we must all choose the paths that we believe best. It is simply the job of a true believer, and especially of a priest, to explain which of those paths is the will of the gods, and which path will bring their disfavor.
From the day of my birth, Odom blessed me with awareness. I can remain awake, aware, and comfortable for excessive periods of time. With prayer, dedication, and study, I have increased the scope of this ability five-fold and I know my limits very precisely. Though my suit is not the most blessed, it still offers me opportunity to please the gods with my extended devotions.
My mother taught me to read the runes, the unspoken language of the gods and their preferred means of direct communication. My stones were washed smooth by the waters of my homeland long before the hands of Cards came upon them to carve the holy symbols. My bones are from a past priest of the true gods, his or her name known to the church but not to me. Together with my faith, they grant me limited access to the all-knowing essence of Odom. The gods themselves deign to answer my questions, one per day, and I am humbled by the honor.
This ability was not won lightly. Learning the runes themselves was task enough. There is no language for them, only meaning. Many of my own realm remain ignorant to most of their meanings. Only the priests must know them all, and for every rune, there are many meanings... and even more interpretations and shades of meaning. The gods are not simple, and neither are their answers.
I remember the first day that I felt a spark of the divine when I cast the runes. Something in the back of my mind tingled as it never have before. My breath caught. I asked my question and watched in what seemed to be slowed motion as the bones and stones fell. They landed. I read them. Their meaning was clear. "Yes" came to my mind as unmistakably as if a voice had whispered it in my ear, and I knew that I had just been given a blessing of magic. Mamma was so happy, she nearly cried.
Two other powers have since followed that first revelation. One of them has its basis in Pappa's best ability. It's a spell of protection, a direct blessing against harm, and I am told it is an ability with as many uses as there are Cards. It also has very good potential for advancement if I focus on it as I have focused on my basic awareness ability.
There are many benefits to an ability that neutralizes the most basic suit abilities of an individual. Often, we rely on them without really thinking about it. Some, like the Club awareness or the Heart pain resistance, are purely internal and affect only the caster. Others, like the Diamond charm or the Spade speed, can be turned on others.
We experimented on the ability after I first developed it, noting the similarities and differences to Pappa's ability. One day, a Diamond neighbor suddenly seemed less endearing when she asked "favors" of me. Another day, Mamma swung an old brush at my head and she fumbled its balance at the last moment. A Spade priest's water ability deflected harmlessly away and left me far more dry than everyone surrounding me. A Club miner could no longer lift my frame with the ease that his strength ability should have dictated.
It is a very useful ability. However, I must be cautious not to over-estimate its prowess and I must be conscious of its duration and whether or not I have already cast it in a day. All of these aspects can be improved upon. I must exercise caution and restraint.
The last of my late-gained abilities thus far stems from no one I've ever known. I still cannot fathom where it came from beyond the depths of my own mind, and so it must simply be a blessing from Odom. Its appearance was a sign to my elders that I would be ready to join the ranks of Missionaries at a young age, as my bipedal form's appearance had been. Adulthood and one year's intense preparation culminate in the advancement a little over a month away. I am excited, but I am terrified.
The ability allows me to read auras in a very specific light. As often as once per week, I can concentrate on an individual and gain a sense of their spiritual aura. I have learned that the saturation of the aura changes depending on capacity for belief. Because I only ever spent time amongst true believers for the majority of my life, I could not learn this through conventional testing. Instead, I sat with several other priests for weeks at a time and we humbly offered our questions to the gods, that they might illuminate the true nature of my ability. They did so.
A bright, shining aura indicates the pure spirituality of a true believer. I had only ever seen such pale and silvery auras until my meeting with an outside Highlander mere months ago. Odom tells me through my runes that the auras of the eternally damned will appear as thick and black as their sin. I dread ever witnessing such a sight. In my heart, I cannot believe that anyone would be unable to believe in anything. I pray that this is never put to the test. A darkly smudged gray around Mr. McDuck was unsettling enough.
Unsettling... and a surprise, truly. I had thought that a Highlander would be more in tune with his spirituality. Their culture is richly steeped in the history and traditions of the Highland and Avington religion. I would have asked him more about his first-hand experiences with his own realm's religious customs if I hadn't felt so unnerved by his aura.
I will conclude this entry now, as it went on far longer than I expected. I am uncertain what to touch on tomorrow. I will pray for instruction.
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Reading the end of my last entry brings a smile. I prayed for instruction, and I also asked. Pappa had several very good suggestions on topics.
The purpose of this writing is simply to write. The goal of the writing, however, is increased awareness of self. I have already stated this. He suggested that I take a moment to actually describe myself, as opposed to my history and thoughts alone. This seemed wise.
I am a pure rat of the Calloo Fjords, small for my age and gender but not unduly so. I remember that my birth father was a full rat and his form was enormous to my young mind - but there I go, describing myself based on my relations as he suggested that I would. I will refocus my description.
I have a thin muzzle with a slanted dip at the end. My head itself is small. My whiskers are long and extremely sensitive. My nose often twitches, sniffs, and moves without conscious direction and I must be aware of myself to force it still. My ears have more of a point to them than is standard, but I am told that such things are common across all Card breeds and of little consequence. If it were not already obvious, the gods have told me that I am a pure rat, to dispel any lingering curiosity on the matter. My eyes and ears are a dark, muted gold.
I was born with a mane - from my mother, I am told - and the black strands of hair that escape into my face on a daily basis are simply another reminder of the darkness that can cloud the eyes of the unwary. My priest's hat holds it back more effectively than any other means, which I find extremely fitting. The gods may have a sense of purpose in even the smallest details of our everyday lives.
My body is very long and very thin. I have been called whippy, wiry, scrawny, bony, and half-starved. The body of a male rat should hold the shape of a pear rather than that of a noodle. "Adequate" portion sizes and regular fasting have grown me into the body I have today. It is stronger than it looks. I do not suffer for my weight. The gods will not find me a man of excessive pleasures except in their honor during feast-days.
The only adornments that I regularly wear are in the custom of my station. Small packs around my thighs contain my runes and other miscellaneous small items. My hat, my robes, and my incense burner are the only other articles of clothing that I have ever worn. They serve to transform an admittedly plain and homely appearance into something more pleasing.
But I have managed to repeat myself again in that, which was not my intent. I do not wish to sully Pappa's idea with my own circular thoughts. I will request further guidance tomorrow, as my imagination seems woefully lacking in this endeavor. Hopefully this will not remain the case for long.
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Once more, my parents save the day by pointing me in a productive direction for this writing exercise. The subject of my pending advancement is an understandably common point of discussion at the dinner table. After tossing ideas back and forth, I settled on the subject of my schooling. Not an especially fluid transition from physical attributes, but this is not a cohesive narrative and I have been encouraged to write about whatever comes easiest at the time. Right now, that seems to be education.
The learning of a priest is not exclusively concerned with the gods. In their own way, they have a hand in every aspect of our existence, and so our education must be rounded enough to satisfy the questions that believers and potential converts bring to our attention. That is the goal, at any rate.
My devotion is to the gods, their glory, their worship, and their work. My passion, however, is languages. I am capable of readily reading and hesitantly writing most regional languages, with notable exceptions. I do not know the writing of the Tulgey demons or their milder Moorland cousins, though I am familiar with the script of the Yarrow witches. The mad, evil tongue of Corvistowne eludes me, as I could not find sufficient material on the language within our realm to study. Perhaps this is for the best.
To my great disappointment, I have yet to learn the speech of any realm save my own and the common tongue. Knowing the writings and structure of a language is quite different from wrapping your tongue around it. This is where a Diamond's innate proficiency would have come in very useful. Perhaps such an ability can still be achieved, if the gods will it so. I can only pray that this will be the case, and continue my studies.
In addition to my most fervent interests, I have received an excellent general education from the priesthood. Maths, sciences, and history are all explained to us as they relate to the gods' shaping of the world. All children are taught such lessons in their home communities, as per the orders of the priests.
Away from the normal instruction of the masses, Initiate priests are also schooled in the false religions of the outside realms so that we can better put things in perspective when we advance to our role as Missionaries. Many within the Calloo are descended from former non-believers and their more colorful pelts can be seen in many households. Perhaps even most households. We take our duty to spread the truth more seriously than others spread their false views on creation, which of course makes sense.
Along those lines, for the past year, my education has been interspersed with more... "environmental" concerns. I have learned of the dry deserts of the Wastes, of the temperate forests of the Kahmden, and of the watery green of the Josiggy. While I already knew of these things - and that very phrasing is quite telling, "of" them - I did not know how to handle myself in the environments. I believe that I have a better grasp on this now, certainly better than I did this time last year. I have been assured that I will curse my robes far more often as I travel away from the fjords and the mountainous realms. This is unfortunate and I dread the heat, but it will not deter me. The truth of my words will sustain me in the heat.
I hope. I pray.
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An event earlier this evening provided me with inspiration for this next entry. I wish to write on regret. First, I must explain what prompted my desire.
As a respected priest within our community, Mamma is often called upon when people near their end. She sits with them, listens to them, and helps them make peace with the gods. I have only ever attended such an occasion once before. Tonight, I stood by her side again as an old man passed from this world to the next.
His name was Franjo Igrec. I have never known him to be anything other than an old man, but Mamma tells me that he was a large and powerful person in years past. He wore the suit of Hearts like her and he collected weapons as a point of interest. He told us he found them all while he explored the other realms in his youth, in search of a mate. There were bows made of exotically carved wood, daggers with odd-looking insets, gem-hilted swords, and tiny little stars as sharp as razors, among other fascinating and bizarre weaponry. I had never been inside his home to see them, nor would I have caught even a glimpse. He kept them all in his sleeping chambers, mounted in the rock on the walls and resting against other pieces of furniture.
His mate passed three years before him. Her name was Meaghan and she was from Morganberry. Truly from the realm, not just of it. I could believe that, remembering the fiery old woman with the funny lisp. Not a person to poke fun at, no. She was a Heart as well and she had no compunctions about delivering a swift whack to an impudent child, priest or no. She made the best meat pies for feasts, which always had Pappa teasing about outsider cuisine. Then he would be the one she whacked, and Mamma after for not "teaching him manners". She was a funny old person. I liked her more as I grew.
They had eight children from three litters, but all of them lived in different communities or were traveling at the time. His illness had been sudden, a cough escalating into a serious problem with little warning. He knew that it was time from the first rattle in his chest. I think he wanted it to be time. I think Mamma thought that too, but neither of us would pay him the dishonor of voicing it. At this point, he would be happier to rejoin his wife than to eke out another few weeks or month of life.
He spoke of many things to the two of us, and late morning quickly faded to late afternoon and early evening. Nearly an hour after evening fell, he took his last labored breaths and passed into the hands of the gods. I knew more about this person in those last few hours than I have known about anyone living. He poured his heart out to us, and in exchange, we stayed with him. Mamma held his hand until the end.
When he spoke, he told us of his regrets. I will not repeat them, even here, out of respect for the dead. Some of them were small. Some of them were great. All of them weighed on his heart, there at the end. I hope that his burden became easier to bear after he shared it.
I have not yet lived long enough for any great regrets. I know that I will regret not having a closer relationship with my brother, even though I do not at this time. I do regret not spending every second I could with my sister. She has been away for a very long time, and I was young when she left, only seven. I miss her. Perhaps we will cross paths before she comes home. I will pray that the gods see fit to guide me towards her.
There are other regrets, but I would have to spend more time puzzling on them than I have this evening. The morning comes quickly and I must be away to bed.
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After yesterday's introspective entry based on my experiences with others, I will attempt to repeat my success with another such topic.
Is there a sadder sight in this world than a child dead at birth? If so, I hope never to see it. A parent's grief and the often ineffable will of the gods go hand in hand more often than we mere mortals could understand. Perhaps the child was damned. Perhaps the parents were lacking in faith. Whatever the reason, we are left with the remains.
I feel for the parents. The mother is my cousin, my father's brother's child, seven years my senior. She recently returned from abroad with a Selkie mate and this was to have been their first litter. Only one small body emerged on the date of her delivery, and the gods had stolen his breath away before he had a chance to take it. Everyone seems convinced that her husband must be slow to accept our faith and the older priests are entreating him to come and pray with them.
He may end up leaving. I hope that he stays. He makes her happy, and it would be a very great shame to lose him over something so tragic. I intruded on the situation only long enough to read his aura. It remains pale, but darker than those around it. I will pray that Odom guides him down the correct path and keeps his footing true.
There is always a quiet undercurrent of worry with those who bring their mates from the outside, though it remains mostly unspoken. Bringing them in is looked upon well by the gods as spreading their message to the previously ignorant masses. However, they are not native to our way of life and it can take time for some to acclimate to the Fjords. Sometimes they cannot adjust and they leave, breaking their mate's heart in the process. Only through faith can one withstand such hardships. In a guilty fashion, this worry makes me even gladder for my ability to view auras. Then I will not have to guess, and I can hopefully place my trust in them as completely as my parents have in each other.
I hope to find a mate someday, female or male, I do not know which. Everyone has preferences, and I selfishly hope that their suit is as red as the morning of a storm, so that any children we bear might have that chance to emerge without the tainted marking of a black suit. If my heart and the gods guide me to a Spade or Club, however, I will not deny them. It is merely a desire.
Before this writing deviates even further from its somber beginnings, I will bring it to a close. Hopefully tomorrow's will be more focused in some fashion.
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This time of year, the gods have a way of testing us that has nothing to do with our contemplation of the divine or introspection into our own natures. Though beautiful, the Fjords have many high places, from the mountains and plateaus to the cliffs that run down them. Cold air seems to funnel downward through the canyons and only living securely underground has saved us from the worst of blizzards.
The storm that looks to be brewing in the skies above will be a test of our endurance and survival in the face of the gods' fickle humor. Perhaps someone displeased them. Perhaps it simply pleases them to watch us overcome their obstacles. Whatever the case, there is already a solid blanket of snow across the land and the priests with weather divination tell us that the clouds won't let up anytime soon.
Some will have to dig us access through the snow for food. We have stores, of course. It is cold and we plan ahead. But everything that we have dried and preserved should be supplemented with fresh foods to maintain our strength and stretch our reserves as long as they will last. Trade did not go as well this year as it might have and our foodstuffs from outside our own realm are very limited.
My place is not outside with the hunters. I would embarrass myself with a bow, and I do not have the light step and uncanny speed of a Spade to catch game by surprise. I do not even have the strength to carry supplies for the hunters, and I would likely freeze before much time passed, as I am not endowed with a healthy reserve of meat on my bones.
Instead of providing for the bodies of our people, I help satiate the hunger of the spirit. I lead prayers when others are busy. I teach children as they become more restless with inactivity. I prepare basic meals and deliver them to the less mobile. I tend to the old and the sick. I cast my runes, once each day, at the behest of a fellow with some burning question. I pray.
All in all, I feel surprisingly useless for all of the things that I am doing. I look forward to the end of this blizzard, which has only just begun.
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In this entry, I will answer the simple and likely quite boring questions of "favorites" that my Pappa posed to me in an effort to help.
My favorite color is a silvery white. Predictable, perhaps, but there is no color more beautiful. It possesses the crispness that creamier shades do not and the purity of its simple blessing.
My favorite food is cold smoked salmon. The fish is delicious however it is cooked, but that distinct flavor fresh from someone's smoke house... my mouth truly watered upon serious contemplation of the meal. I wish that I had some readily available. It would not be sitting around for long.
My favorite smell is that of a baking pie. Especially meat pies with thickly bubbling gravy, though I am partial to some fruits when they are in season. The days and hours leading up to a feast are an exquisite torture.
My favorite books are from the Hisstor. We don't have a great many available, but I read a very fascinating theory from a man who had been converted to our way of life and who had seen the light of truth. He took great pains in explaining the similarities between the Fjord and the Hisstor views on the importance of family, and he came to love this land as much as I do. Avram was his name and I hope to find more of his works, perhaps earlier ones before his conversion, after I leave.
My favorite music is hard to pin down, but I listen time and time again to the songs of Kincaid, a middle-aged Villa-Calloo who came to our community after leaving his own to attend an academy in the Villa. I do not know if they are of his own design or if he plays another's work. I have not asked. But his voice is breathtaking, and I very much enjoy the spoken tongue of the Villa, for all that I can only understand a fraction.
My favorite number is eleven. I'm not sure why. I just like it.
My favorite season is spring. The snows melt, the plants return, and travelers begin to make their cautious way to our realm again to deliver and barter and trade their goods. The food always improves dramatically as winter's depleted stores are replaced by more exotic goods and a replenished cache of spices.
My favorite ink is a rich, vibrant blue. That is what I am writing with right now. Some realms may prefer to transcribe their documents in black. Indeed, many of the foreign tomes in our collections are written with black ink. I prefer not to condemn my words as they flow onto the page.
My favorite myths are those of the Jabberwocky. They are strange, cunning, alien sorts of creatures, said to roam the land in the age of Dragons and Gryphons and Cats, among other things. Pappa also does a particularly convincing voice when relaying the myth of Odom and the Jabberwocky lord. Mamma speaks a better Odom than he ever could. It remains an endless source of amusement for the children.
I think that I've about exhausted my list of favorites, and my tired imagination, and perhaps my awareness in general. My handwriting has declined steadily throughout the past few sentences and I fear what it may look like if I continue.
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I have often pondered the differences between our fate in the world and our free will to obey or disobey the will of the gods. Indisputably, we are born with the ability to develop into obedient and faithful servants, or to come short of this goal, or to deliberately move against it. Some among us argue that the end result of our free will is predetermined and known to Odom, who is master of foresight and events that have not yet occurred. Others argue that this defeats the purpose of our free will altogether and it is the gods' amusement to observe - and some say bet on - our choices.
I am not yet certain which side I fall on. This argument is generally reserved for the more senior members of the priesthood, though of course everyone from the lowest Initiate to the average citizen can hold an opinion on the matter. Discussions can become heated, especially when drink is involved, and even more so on feast days. Families have forged feuds over less. Far, far less.
This train of thought took too long to phrase, and I began it late. I end now with some regret, for it is an interesting subject. I doubt that I will be motivated to continue my thoughts, however. A shame.
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Today I performed another duty to move me towards my departure as a Missionary, one that has often made me curious. Outsiders can be strange sorts, and few are stranger than those who visit the Fjords for sport. Our forests have game, but are sparse enough that hunters rarely venture here when other locations possess more "invigorating" prey. It is not hunters who visit us. No. Our greatest, most consistent, and reportedly most entertaining regulars are mountain climbers.
Someone in the city central to all of the realms apparently took it upon themselves to create a "society" of people who partake in the sport. Not only participants, but avid participants. Zealots in their own way. They must climb the tallest mountains, brave the roughest terrain, and generally risk life and limb for little more than the most difficult rush of excitement.
These people are kept away from the mainstream of Calloo communities. They are offered guides by the priesthood every year, various guides from various locations to lead them on the train to whatever cliff they will be attempting in a particular year. The elders regard them as harmless eccentrics and they have apparently never been anything but polite and respectful to our customs and way of life.
Stories are told of them - their oddities, their mannerisms, their incomprehensible delight at the sight of a barren cliff face. Most of them possess their biped forms. Occasionally there are humans. Even more occasionally, an enterprising mammal with maneuverable digits - such as a rat - will be among their number. They trek from the edges of our realm, on through various locations, bypassing living quarters and instead "roughing it" with camping gear and outdoor supplies. Their guides change every so often along the trail, until they reach their goal, and then they begin to climb.
It is said that sometimes, an intrepid young priest will volunteer to climb with them. Some have succeeded, well used to the terrain. Many have not, unused to the level of exertion required for such a feat. I know that I would be incapable and do not understand what pleasure they derive from the activity. Nevertheless. For the past day, I stood among them. I spoke with them. I guided them along to their next "checkpoint" and passed them into the care of a priest some good distance away, to continue the next leg of the journey.
Strange people. Strange, in ways that I had not imagined. Most of the dozen seemed in very high spirits. Many of them laughed and joked. Some tried to include me in their fun. I attempted to be polite. I was polite. I spoke to them, and the more I spoke, the more amused they seemed. Eventually I lapsed into silence, quite certain that their amusement had taken a less friendly turn.
Only after I parted ways with them did I further reflect on their behavior. I no longer believe that they were poking fun at me, only that they were eccentric and incomprehensible in their amusement. I can see why the priests continue to allow their efforts, especially with the tithes that they pay for the services of their guides. They are as generous in their business as they are in their speech and gregarious natures.
Some part of me wishes that I understood them better. Another part of me rests comfortably in the knowledge that I cannot. This is, I think, a good balance.
