Legacy of Brutality
Finch Diaries: King’s blood and Peasant’s joy
A tormented king for a blighted land.
I do not doubt that my father will uphold his duty as our new King, while he is able. My duty and that of my brotherhood is to seek a remedy for the curse of the Fox that still claws within him.
Despite the troubles pressing on our hearts, the triumphant return to Delver’s has been like a fantasy. We are hailed as heroes and have been fed, clothed and rewarded as such. My new finery and armor reflect the blood of my birth. My connection to this land is clear and it shall be my life’s work to cleanse and protect it. The days and nights in the wild with my brothers have strengthened and refined my power. I now connect with the spirits of the Fey realm and they assist me in scalding those who do not belong. My thoughts are often of Rhiannon and Daladon. I believe our work does them honor. The one being that I truly seek to please is, of course, the Lady. She is the beauty of the land and the power of the righteous. I have commissioned our palace jewelers to create a symbol to honor her for myself and brother Cedric. We have spent many hours discussing her virtues and mysteries. I have also commissioned a more somber tribute. The wrenching loss of our brooding brother Stephan will not go unrecognized. I seek to have a palace portrait of him as he once was prominently placed for all to observe.
The preparations for the coronation have lifted the people’s eyes from the ground for the first time since Mirana (my cousin!) was taken from them. The sounds and colors in the central square have brought beggar children from their hovels and have made hard men’s eyes twinkle. I have sent word down the roads and across the fields that performers of all sorts shall be hired to entertain our good people during the festivities. The anticipation of grand amusements sends sprits ever upward.
Finch Diaries: The Circle Broken
For whom do we fight if not for each other?
Long days have been followed by longer nights. The dangerous path we walk has weakened our resolve, and the brotherhood I took as iron forged has been broken.
The mightiest amoung us has failed an internal struggle and is a stranger. His joyous lust for glory and battle has been swallowed by a cold, mad hunger for slaughter.
To view my companions do harm to each other even as we face our sworn enemies has stolen something from me. I can no longer feel safe with my fellows, despite having no choice.
I struggle agains foes, nature, even against my own Father’s curse. Now must I question my brothers?
Finch Diaries: Skull Point
The bravery of my companions and the heat of victory in my blood have kept me warm these last dark hours. We are wounded and weary yet I am elated. I can feel my story unfurling and am eager to press on once we have regrouped.
We have siezed our own destiny and are howling in the face of death and menace. D’Annunzio’s lust for combat and fury against our enemies drives us forward. None amoung us have faltered in the face of otherworldly evil. Iorweth has often told me that the Gods love chaos. We are to be their favorite children.
Our party has battled into the heart of a nightmare. We are a scorching light blinding all fell foes. I feel my father Caradoc’s blood boiling in my veins and have eagerly set upon a path of high adventure with my sworn brothers.
We are destiny driven and glory guides our blades towards uncertainty, fortune and carnage.
The Violent World
The questions that have lived in my heart have at last been answered. I am ready.
Our weary party encountered strange foes as we neared home and I have at last proven myself in battle. The trouble appeared nearer to the Dale than one would have expected.
An unusual Tinker’s Wagon was being attacked by a flock of fell black birds on the road behind us. Our new companion Stephan D’Annunzio called to our Sir Trousdale of Lorchester for command while alerting us to strange Birdmen skulking in the wood. Sir gave his warriors permission to come to the travelers’ aid and I was off before he could tell me different. Too long have I waited behind with gentle Aphra Behn, the children and women while Sir and his fighters lock swords with our enemies.
I felt old Dontrell smiled down upon me as I followed his teachings and tactics to the letter. So often had I heard, “Child, you have no need to greet your foe face to face, your strength will lie in distance and surprise.” Dontrell looked down upon men who fight solely with steel as nothing more than useful brutes. “Let those without The Gift sweat and strain sword to sword and eye to eye,” he would spit. I thought of my old teacher that afternoon as I managed to kill one of the beasts using my Gift. While most of our men took wounds in our fight I remained untouched.
My head rang with battle song and my chest burst with pride as I inspected my first kill. It had been a simple enough thing, and not a drop of blood on my clothes.
Home was not what I had hoped. The gate was strongly guarded and Aphra stopped me from running ahead to boast of our adventures. I was sent to the back of our caravan and told to keep silent as we entered the square. The Dale was crowded with strangers come to pay their respect. No kind townsfolk offered me welcome and the simpleton fruit and veg peddler Mosdod crypticly spoke to me as if I had commited a crime. The servers at the Dwarf were shocked at my arrival and told me I’m to be arrested along with all of my kin. All around us I caught mentions of my perpetually wandering Father, Caradoc.
Instead of raising warm cups of wine by the fire to honor King Daha I was quickly secured in a room upstairs. My good Sir rode to the keep to offer his sword to the Queen and seek information on the King’s death. Before departing, Aphra forbade me to leave the Inn.
I hope we can be gone from here soon as my old friends will not greet me. I hear whispers and catch sidelong glances from my most brave companions. I sense that the less noble seek an opportunity for personal gain through my tangled connections with the royal family.
This room is maddeing. Too much is happening for me to sit here listening to our Asugulandian swordsman Stephan endlessly speculate upon politics. The air is so very close in here and the overpowering reek of urine and dung surrounding our mad young Druid Iorweth Wolfsblood has near blinded me but I dare not speak ill to one who is touched by The Gods.
I will now put down my quill for there is a creature at our window, at last a diversion.