Written By Sen'azala
April 22, 2024, 6:23 a.m.(2/22/1022 AR)
***Six months later***
I found them.
Fitting that it's winter, deep winter, in a year where, to most people, the Northlands have never seemed colder. I was half prepared to keep walking from Farhaven. Fuck the danger. None of the horrors I've encountered since the Thinnest Point have succeeded in frightening me. Fuck the mountain pass; the demons found their way around the collapsed Spire, so can I. I was ready to walk back into the Everwinter alone, or alone with my Grandmother. I'm sure I still will, one day.
But I didn't have to.
Like Arx, like every one of the handful of surviving cities I've visited, Farhaven is swarming with refugees, and the few voices that want people to care about how many of them are treacherous evil outsiders don't carry far. The few voices that want to take the "opportunity" (hah!) for revenge on the Compact are drowned out. There's violence, sure, and the streets are hardly *safe*, even in the brightest, most obnoxiously pristine parts of Sanctum, people are people and a lot of those people are desperate, but the old hate all feels...temporary. Unimportant. It's unnerving, honestly. I don't know where that's going to eventually go. I don't know where all these *people* are going to eventually go.
Every time my responsibilities have brought me to or near a city, I've searched. It's all chaos. The sounds are deafening. The smells are familiar and alien and incomprehensible. I've lost track of how many times I've pulled someone aside, pointed at my face, and asked them if they'd seen anyone like me. The scars make it hard for unfamiliar people to see my markings, but that was an easy enough obstacle to clear with paint. Nobody cares if you're walking around with a painted face when they've had to fight actual, literal demons. That's not strange or scary anymore.
In the end it was some random street kid who led me to them. I hope he had a lot of warm meals from the coin he stole from me. I hope he'll have a lot more from the coin I planted on him when he did it. If you ever have the strange turn of reading this, Finn, and you didn't go and get yourself killed bragging about all the silver you were carrying, come and find me. I've been thinking about how many teachers the world's lost lately. I'm not *great* at teaching, but you're not great at picking pockets either. Maybe we can help each other.
The reunion was...complicated. There are people, people who've known me since I was a child, who were not happy to see me. There are others who went cold when they heard even a little of what's happened. More than a few were uncomfortable just being around me; maybe they thought I wouldn't notice. I expected all of that. How could I *not* expect all of that? Danger and death have chased us all since they took me in. They've lost a lot because of their kindness. There are faces missing because of their kindness. And I'm...not who I was. I'm not the Sen Venandi they knew, angry and eager and certain I knew the Way Things Were. I'm the Sen Venandi who grew up. I'm the Wolf, and only getting more so.
The rest though? The rest? There was shouting, and tears, and laughter, and far more hugging than I've ever tolerated, and it was...
It was like coming home when I didn't realize there was a home I could come back to. It's not mine anymore, not really, it doesn't fit, but I can stay a while. There's a place by the fire.
They intend to head back north when spring arrives. They can only tolerate the city for so long, and while it's dangerous, they're - we're - survivors. I don't know if they'll go as far as the Everwinter; I think not, not for a long time at least, but I'm not sure I'll see them again once I leave Farhaven. These goodbyes feel a little final. I don't know...I can find them. I can find them if I want to. If I need to.
Shara is coming back south with me; I told her that Arx was full of art and artists, even after all the fighting, and she wants to see it before the Wolfkin go. Mashti
*there's a large ink stain where the pen hovered too long*
Mashti is coming as well. I didn't ask her if she wanted to, and she didn't ask *me* if *I* wanted her to, but her goodbyes to the Wolfkin will definitely be final. She's old and getting older. This will be her last, longest journey, and she wants to walk it with me, however many years remain. When Shara goes back to the tribe, Mashti intends to stay.
I told her she has to share the library, but she's welcome to keep the cat all to herself and out of my hair. It's not a bad place for an old shaman to retire. Grandmother is near, after all, and if they haven't all scattered by the time I get back, there will be the others too. Then the kids that (literally) drop in unannounced *all the time*. If you're reading this, TT, then I want to point out that you lot have *magic* and are therefore fully capable of figuring out the complicated human custom known as knocking on the front door. Or the roof. Or something a little less likely to give me a heart attack. It was not funny the first two dozen times you did it.
I found them.
Fitting that it's winter, deep winter, in a year where, to most people, the Northlands have never seemed colder. I was half prepared to keep walking from Farhaven. Fuck the danger. None of the horrors I've encountered since the Thinnest Point have succeeded in frightening me. Fuck the mountain pass; the demons found their way around the collapsed Spire, so can I. I was ready to walk back into the Everwinter alone, or alone with my Grandmother. I'm sure I still will, one day.
But I didn't have to.
Like Arx, like every one of the handful of surviving cities I've visited, Farhaven is swarming with refugees, and the few voices that want people to care about how many of them are treacherous evil outsiders don't carry far. The few voices that want to take the "opportunity" (hah!) for revenge on the Compact are drowned out. There's violence, sure, and the streets are hardly *safe*, even in the brightest, most obnoxiously pristine parts of Sanctum, people are people and a lot of those people are desperate, but the old hate all feels...temporary. Unimportant. It's unnerving, honestly. I don't know where that's going to eventually go. I don't know where all these *people* are going to eventually go.
Every time my responsibilities have brought me to or near a city, I've searched. It's all chaos. The sounds are deafening. The smells are familiar and alien and incomprehensible. I've lost track of how many times I've pulled someone aside, pointed at my face, and asked them if they'd seen anyone like me. The scars make it hard for unfamiliar people to see my markings, but that was an easy enough obstacle to clear with paint. Nobody cares if you're walking around with a painted face when they've had to fight actual, literal demons. That's not strange or scary anymore.
In the end it was some random street kid who led me to them. I hope he had a lot of warm meals from the coin he stole from me. I hope he'll have a lot more from the coin I planted on him when he did it. If you ever have the strange turn of reading this, Finn, and you didn't go and get yourself killed bragging about all the silver you were carrying, come and find me. I've been thinking about how many teachers the world's lost lately. I'm not *great* at teaching, but you're not great at picking pockets either. Maybe we can help each other.
The reunion was...complicated. There are people, people who've known me since I was a child, who were not happy to see me. There are others who went cold when they heard even a little of what's happened. More than a few were uncomfortable just being around me; maybe they thought I wouldn't notice. I expected all of that. How could I *not* expect all of that? Danger and death have chased us all since they took me in. They've lost a lot because of their kindness. There are faces missing because of their kindness. And I'm...not who I was. I'm not the Sen Venandi they knew, angry and eager and certain I knew the Way Things Were. I'm the Sen Venandi who grew up. I'm the Wolf, and only getting more so.
The rest though? The rest? There was shouting, and tears, and laughter, and far more hugging than I've ever tolerated, and it was...
It was like coming home when I didn't realize there was a home I could come back to. It's not mine anymore, not really, it doesn't fit, but I can stay a while. There's a place by the fire.
They intend to head back north when spring arrives. They can only tolerate the city for so long, and while it's dangerous, they're - we're - survivors. I don't know if they'll go as far as the Everwinter; I think not, not for a long time at least, but I'm not sure I'll see them again once I leave Farhaven. These goodbyes feel a little final. I don't know...I can find them. I can find them if I want to. If I need to.
Shara is coming back south with me; I told her that Arx was full of art and artists, even after all the fighting, and she wants to see it before the Wolfkin go. Mashti
*there's a large ink stain where the pen hovered too long*
Mashti is coming as well. I didn't ask her if she wanted to, and she didn't ask *me* if *I* wanted her to, but her goodbyes to the Wolfkin will definitely be final. She's old and getting older. This will be her last, longest journey, and she wants to walk it with me, however many years remain. When Shara goes back to the tribe, Mashti intends to stay.
I told her she has to share the library, but she's welcome to keep the cat all to herself and out of my hair. It's not a bad place for an old shaman to retire. Grandmother is near, after all, and if they haven't all scattered by the time I get back, there will be the others too. Then the kids that (literally) drop in unannounced *all the time*. If you're reading this, TT, then I want to point out that you lot have *magic* and are therefore fully capable of figuring out the complicated human custom known as knocking on the front door. Or the roof. Or something a little less likely to give me a heart attack. It was not funny the first two dozen times you did it.
Written By Sen'azala
Feb. 1, 2024, 7:48 a.m.(8/28/1021 AR)
I had the dream again.
It was the same as it's always been, my first and worst memory. Sometimes little things about it change, sometimes the monster is larger, sometimes things are louder, or quieter, sometimes it all happens quickly or in slow motion, but it's always the same thing, always my parents dying to buy time, always a monster naming their murderer, always a terrifying dash into the dark in the arms of the woman that would raise me. Every time I have the dream, I wake up afraid and hating him, more and more certain of the path I've cut.
Today I woke to sunlight through a window, and the occasional sound of birds. That stupid cat was sleeping on my lap. I'd slept almost to noon, so the sun was already high. There's always that moment when you wake up from a dream where you have to shake it away, establish where you are and what's real. I didn't rush. I let it settle.
He's dead. The Horned God is dead, and will never come for me or anyone I care about or anyone else *ever* again. Legion is dead, devoured helpless in its prison with all of its slaves freed. Destiny is dead, and so is its dream. Azazel is dead or worse, sucked screaming into a box and reduced to nothing at the moment of his expected triumph. All of my monsters are gone, and I'm still alive.
What's the point of Sen Venandi now?
It's warm. Summer. The sky is blue and completely clear. The damn cat took forever to wake up and even longer to get off me, he sat around purring out of spite. I put pen to paper and I genuinely don't know what to do today. There are plenty of things *to* do of course. Endless things, most of them depressing and unpleasant, but necessary. There will be, as I wrote, years of funerals. Ceremonies, probably. New statues for the Hall. New memorials. New weddings, apparently. There's a lot of repairing and cleaning to do around the city. there's the matter of it being stuffed with refugees who have nowhere else to go, there's the matter of feeding them, housing them, helping or letting them figure out where to go from here.
I don't know where to go from here.
I could just leave. Vanish without goodbyes, go wherever whim takes me, take in the devastation and maybe find places that haven't been touched by it. I could try to find my tribe, carry hope until I've exhausted the places where they may have taken shelter. They might even be right here in Arx. I'd have to search. I'd have to be prepared, because if they're alive I don't know what they'd say. I don't know if they'd recognize who I am. I don't know if they'd want anything to do with me if they did.
I could stay a while. That would be the responsible thing. I'm no builder or craftsperson and I highly doubt that's about to change, new world or no, but I've got two hands and a strong back. I have people here. Friends here. I'll have responsibilities if I don't run away now, and maybe I don't want to run away from them. I'll have this place. I'll have...resignation that people I want to be alive aren't and won't return, but hope that I'm entirely wrong about it.
There's Nefer'khat. Their ships are waiting, but it will take time for Dhiib'andzi's forces to be ready to sail back on them. Once they do...that might be it. Nefer'khat prefers to stay to itself. I might never see Wolves again. I might never see that city where every part of me doesn't fit again. If I don't take this chance, I'm confident the Regent will ensure that any chances afterward will be far, far, far more difficult. I gave up the dream of that crown, though, and I don't know if it will ever come back. I don't know if my people ever intended to go back.
I don't know if I'll let House Venandi die with me. Maybe that's another piece of the old world that will fade away. Like Sapphire walking into the Shining Lands, maybe the Venandi's time is simply done, gone with the ghosts of every one of them except me. Maybe I'll just be the last. Maybe that's okay.
I have every choice. The possibilities are as open as the sky. I have never been more free than I am now, and there's no need to choose right away. There's no need to only choose one. There's no reason that I can't simply sit a while, listening to birds, looking out the window, letting the cat be obnoxious. No reason I can't just doze off again. No reason I can't go into the city and see people I want to see, or get as drunk as I possibly can. No reason I can't go visit the kids I miss. There's nothing stopping me. All my monsters are dead.
There will be more, obviously. Demons and shards that ran instead of dying, and whatever springs up to fill the void they've created. Maybe I'll simply do what I've done. I'm a hunter. Maybe I'll hunt. Maybe I won't hunt alone.
The Kindly Voices said it would be a time of chaos, but that some might say it was a chance to make a better world. I don't know if we can manage better. I only know it will be different. If the Compact survives, it won't be what it was. The Undying Empire won't return, whatever springs up over the ashes. The Dune Kingdoms burn, but they've lost their worst tyrants, and hopefully not too many will replace them. I suspect they'll have a difficult time doing so.
Cardia will make it, I think, if they can destroy the Talons, or at least permanently remove them from power. Whether or not that ends up being better...I guess that's up to them.
Whatever someone thinks of the decision, the chains binding the world are gone. There will still be slaves, more chains will be forged, but never like that. Never unbreakable. Never again. Our stories are our own, our magic is our own, our choices are our own. Arvum is ashes, but anyone who has seen a forest fire knows that things will grow again. It just takes time. It's our tragedy and our triumph, as the Kindly Voices said.
The point of Sen Venandi is to be Sen Venandi, whoever Sen Venandi chooses to be. I can go in any direction, in every direction. I haven't the slightest idea of what I'm going to do with myself, and despite all the fear, and sorrow, and loss, it's the most wonderful feeling to discover in this brand new uncertain world.
It was the same as it's always been, my first and worst memory. Sometimes little things about it change, sometimes the monster is larger, sometimes things are louder, or quieter, sometimes it all happens quickly or in slow motion, but it's always the same thing, always my parents dying to buy time, always a monster naming their murderer, always a terrifying dash into the dark in the arms of the woman that would raise me. Every time I have the dream, I wake up afraid and hating him, more and more certain of the path I've cut.
Today I woke to sunlight through a window, and the occasional sound of birds. That stupid cat was sleeping on my lap. I'd slept almost to noon, so the sun was already high. There's always that moment when you wake up from a dream where you have to shake it away, establish where you are and what's real. I didn't rush. I let it settle.
He's dead. The Horned God is dead, and will never come for me or anyone I care about or anyone else *ever* again. Legion is dead, devoured helpless in its prison with all of its slaves freed. Destiny is dead, and so is its dream. Azazel is dead or worse, sucked screaming into a box and reduced to nothing at the moment of his expected triumph. All of my monsters are gone, and I'm still alive.
What's the point of Sen Venandi now?
It's warm. Summer. The sky is blue and completely clear. The damn cat took forever to wake up and even longer to get off me, he sat around purring out of spite. I put pen to paper and I genuinely don't know what to do today. There are plenty of things *to* do of course. Endless things, most of them depressing and unpleasant, but necessary. There will be, as I wrote, years of funerals. Ceremonies, probably. New statues for the Hall. New memorials. New weddings, apparently. There's a lot of repairing and cleaning to do around the city. there's the matter of it being stuffed with refugees who have nowhere else to go, there's the matter of feeding them, housing them, helping or letting them figure out where to go from here.
I don't know where to go from here.
I could just leave. Vanish without goodbyes, go wherever whim takes me, take in the devastation and maybe find places that haven't been touched by it. I could try to find my tribe, carry hope until I've exhausted the places where they may have taken shelter. They might even be right here in Arx. I'd have to search. I'd have to be prepared, because if they're alive I don't know what they'd say. I don't know if they'd recognize who I am. I don't know if they'd want anything to do with me if they did.
I could stay a while. That would be the responsible thing. I'm no builder or craftsperson and I highly doubt that's about to change, new world or no, but I've got two hands and a strong back. I have people here. Friends here. I'll have responsibilities if I don't run away now, and maybe I don't want to run away from them. I'll have this place. I'll have...resignation that people I want to be alive aren't and won't return, but hope that I'm entirely wrong about it.
There's Nefer'khat. Their ships are waiting, but it will take time for Dhiib'andzi's forces to be ready to sail back on them. Once they do...that might be it. Nefer'khat prefers to stay to itself. I might never see Wolves again. I might never see that city where every part of me doesn't fit again. If I don't take this chance, I'm confident the Regent will ensure that any chances afterward will be far, far, far more difficult. I gave up the dream of that crown, though, and I don't know if it will ever come back. I don't know if my people ever intended to go back.
I don't know if I'll let House Venandi die with me. Maybe that's another piece of the old world that will fade away. Like Sapphire walking into the Shining Lands, maybe the Venandi's time is simply done, gone with the ghosts of every one of them except me. Maybe I'll just be the last. Maybe that's okay.
I have every choice. The possibilities are as open as the sky. I have never been more free than I am now, and there's no need to choose right away. There's no need to only choose one. There's no reason that I can't simply sit a while, listening to birds, looking out the window, letting the cat be obnoxious. No reason I can't just doze off again. No reason I can't go into the city and see people I want to see, or get as drunk as I possibly can. No reason I can't go visit the kids I miss. There's nothing stopping me. All my monsters are dead.
There will be more, obviously. Demons and shards that ran instead of dying, and whatever springs up to fill the void they've created. Maybe I'll simply do what I've done. I'm a hunter. Maybe I'll hunt. Maybe I won't hunt alone.
The Kindly Voices said it would be a time of chaos, but that some might say it was a chance to make a better world. I don't know if we can manage better. I only know it will be different. If the Compact survives, it won't be what it was. The Undying Empire won't return, whatever springs up over the ashes. The Dune Kingdoms burn, but they've lost their worst tyrants, and hopefully not too many will replace them. I suspect they'll have a difficult time doing so.
Cardia will make it, I think, if they can destroy the Talons, or at least permanently remove them from power. Whether or not that ends up being better...I guess that's up to them.
Whatever someone thinks of the decision, the chains binding the world are gone. There will still be slaves, more chains will be forged, but never like that. Never unbreakable. Never again. Our stories are our own, our magic is our own, our choices are our own. Arvum is ashes, but anyone who has seen a forest fire knows that things will grow again. It just takes time. It's our tragedy and our triumph, as the Kindly Voices said.
The point of Sen Venandi is to be Sen Venandi, whoever Sen Venandi chooses to be. I can go in any direction, in every direction. I haven't the slightest idea of what I'm going to do with myself, and despite all the fear, and sorrow, and loss, it's the most wonderful feeling to discover in this brand new uncertain world.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 29, 2024, 10:45 p.m.(8/23/1021 AR)
11:56pm
There will be years of funerals if we all survive this.
Cardia is here. Nefer'khat is here. The endless horde broke against Death's city, and I suppose what's left of them will be some other day's problem, but for now, for the moment, the siege is technically broken.
It's four minutes to midnight, and I am so fucking tired.
There will be years of funerals if we all survive this.
Cardia is here. Nefer'khat is here. The endless horde broke against Death's city, and I suppose what's left of them will be some other day's problem, but for now, for the moment, the siege is technically broken.
It's four minutes to midnight, and I am so fucking tired.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 25, 2024, 1:38 a.m.(8/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Nash
We write our own names.
I knew a man; a beggar, a gardener, a teacher. I don't know how many people he taught, or how many of those names I'd recognize if I did, but he taught me. He didn't teach me how to fight - I knew that, even though he was infinitely better - he didn't teach me how to kill. He taught me the opposite. He taught me that I didn't have to fight, that I didn't have to kill, that there was more to me than what I was, and that I was capable of reaching for it. The first time I felt what it was to truly be me, the first time I was whole, it was because of him.
He taught me more. The first task he set for me was impossible. I smashed my head against it again, and again, grew more and more frustrated every time I failed. I was supposed to buy thirteen white hares, take them out into the deep forest, and release them. Then I was told to ride a distance away, come back, then catch them all again - alive - at sunset. Some would die, some I'd never be able to find, some would go so far I couldn't hope to catch up with them in time. I tried to think my way around it. I could cheat. I could set up traps beforehand, I could leash them to a tree so they wouldn't go anywhere, I could drug their feed so they'd be slow and want to sleep. It was very easy to start thinking like that. I don't like failing. I wanted to win.
When I finally admitted to him that I couldn't do it, he shared a story of my people with me. It was more meaningful than I could say; I didn't have any of their stories then. The lesson I learned, then, was this:
You can't save everyone. People will make their own choices, which means they will sometimes make terrible ones. They'll be stupid. Self destructive. They'll hurt other people, both intentionally and otherwise. They'll turn on you, and those you care about. They'll do all sorts of things you don't want them to do, and the only way to stop them doing that is to take their ability to make choices away. It's very easy to start down that road, thinking you know best, thinking you're helping, that you're just putting in some guardrails. It's very easy to trade freedom for safety, particularly if it's someone else's freedom, and your safety.
I never knew the Sword of Caer'alfar. I knew my teacher. Lys has named him Fuko, his story called him the Hound, but he was Nash to me. He was Nanashi. He was a man who believed he didn't have a name, and didn't deserve one, but that's the name he wrote. For centuries, for however many students, for the gardens he planted, the good he did, the evil he did, the in-between he did, that's the name he wrote on the Dream. Nanashi has not meant 'No Name' for a very long time.
I'm not naïve. I know he was forced to do terrible things. I know he likely did terrible things without being forced. But I also know this:
He had no writ when he died. He had nothing but his own heart and his own choices, and given those the man who had been used as a nameless weapon for the vast majority of his incredibly long life chose to die alone on a road saving the lives of children that would otherwise have been forgotten. I don't know if that makes him a good man. I don't know what makes a good man. But that was his choice when he only had his choices, that was the name he wrote on the world.
It damns you more, Platinum. It damns you even more, the name he wrote when he was finally free of you.
I knew a man; a beggar, a gardener, a teacher. I don't know how many people he taught, or how many of those names I'd recognize if I did, but he taught me. He didn't teach me how to fight - I knew that, even though he was infinitely better - he didn't teach me how to kill. He taught me the opposite. He taught me that I didn't have to fight, that I didn't have to kill, that there was more to me than what I was, and that I was capable of reaching for it. The first time I felt what it was to truly be me, the first time I was whole, it was because of him.
He taught me more. The first task he set for me was impossible. I smashed my head against it again, and again, grew more and more frustrated every time I failed. I was supposed to buy thirteen white hares, take them out into the deep forest, and release them. Then I was told to ride a distance away, come back, then catch them all again - alive - at sunset. Some would die, some I'd never be able to find, some would go so far I couldn't hope to catch up with them in time. I tried to think my way around it. I could cheat. I could set up traps beforehand, I could leash them to a tree so they wouldn't go anywhere, I could drug their feed so they'd be slow and want to sleep. It was very easy to start thinking like that. I don't like failing. I wanted to win.
When I finally admitted to him that I couldn't do it, he shared a story of my people with me. It was more meaningful than I could say; I didn't have any of their stories then. The lesson I learned, then, was this:
You can't save everyone. People will make their own choices, which means they will sometimes make terrible ones. They'll be stupid. Self destructive. They'll hurt other people, both intentionally and otherwise. They'll turn on you, and those you care about. They'll do all sorts of things you don't want them to do, and the only way to stop them doing that is to take their ability to make choices away. It's very easy to start down that road, thinking you know best, thinking you're helping, that you're just putting in some guardrails. It's very easy to trade freedom for safety, particularly if it's someone else's freedom, and your safety.
I never knew the Sword of Caer'alfar. I knew my teacher. Lys has named him Fuko, his story called him the Hound, but he was Nash to me. He was Nanashi. He was a man who believed he didn't have a name, and didn't deserve one, but that's the name he wrote. For centuries, for however many students, for the gardens he planted, the good he did, the evil he did, the in-between he did, that's the name he wrote on the Dream. Nanashi has not meant 'No Name' for a very long time.
I'm not naïve. I know he was forced to do terrible things. I know he likely did terrible things without being forced. But I also know this:
He had no writ when he died. He had nothing but his own heart and his own choices, and given those the man who had been used as a nameless weapon for the vast majority of his incredibly long life chose to die alone on a road saving the lives of children that would otherwise have been forgotten. I don't know if that makes him a good man. I don't know what makes a good man. But that was his choice when he only had his choices, that was the name he wrote on the world.
It damns you more, Platinum. It damns you even more, the name he wrote when he was finally free of you.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 22, 2024, 1:43 a.m.(8/7/1021 AR)
It's 11:35. 25 minutes to midnight.
Time to go.
Time to go.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:19 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
No. The path of the ruler is your concern, not mine. I don't want the wolf throne; I let that dream die at the Blood Moon, and made different choices. Regardless, I've little interest in spending time bought with lives to lessen my sense of urgency, even if I hadn't been shown, repeatedly and in great detail, all the horrible ways we'll die if I ignore or neglect the message sent by the Old Gods of Nefer'khat. Grandmother was neither kind nor subtle in delivering it.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 15, 2024, 8:09 a.m.(7/22/1021 AR)
My adopted people were nomads that followed the seasonal caribou migrations from the northernmost parts of the Northlands into the Everwinter. I grew up knowing forests, tundras, mountains and plains, caves, rivers, vast lakes, little ponds, spring, summer, fall and winter. Every few years, we would have to change our routes, sometimes dramatically so, either because of Compact expansion or patrols, threats from other tribes, or the Horned God. Often the Horned God. There were places I loved that I would stay only a month or so, and one day we'd simply never go back that way again. I've said this multiple times in the past week alone, so I imagine anyone who's been around me is getting tired of hearing it, but I'm going to say it again:
Home is where you stand.
Houses and castles, those are buildings. They can be rebuilt, or built elsewhere. Fields and orchards can be replanted, or new ones grown. Things you own, no matter how precious, no matter how irreplaceable, are ultimately just things. As painful as it may be to leave somewhere you love, somewhere you've been your whole life, somewhere your family has lived for generations, that place is ultimately a patch of land, earth and stone. You can find another. No matter how much it may hurt, you can find another.
Another Reckoning is here. If all you've got holding you in place is pride, then toss it aside and walk away. I don't expect to be listened to, but there are plenty of houses that refused to retreat to Arx the last time whose names you don't know because not a single person was left to remember them. Some of the names that managed to be remembered came back to haunt us, such as House Marin. If you are trying to endure this alone you won't survive, and your lands will be taken from you anyway.
There are forces moving to protect major holdings, escort refugees, or try to slow down what's coming. There are not nearly enough for any of it, and every single person who can wield a weapon who does not aid those efforts or fall back to defend Arx in favor of valiant but ultimately pointless last stands is not only throwing their own life away, but the lives of however many other people their actions could otherwise help save. What's at stake is not a house, not a holding, not a kingdom, and not the Compact. What's at stake isn't even Arvum and every person living on it. It's the world. We hold the city or everyone dies, and no one in the entire world will be left to remember you.
Home is where you stand, and if we do not stand together, the only thing that will matter will be who gets devoured first.
Home is where you stand.
Houses and castles, those are buildings. They can be rebuilt, or built elsewhere. Fields and orchards can be replanted, or new ones grown. Things you own, no matter how precious, no matter how irreplaceable, are ultimately just things. As painful as it may be to leave somewhere you love, somewhere you've been your whole life, somewhere your family has lived for generations, that place is ultimately a patch of land, earth and stone. You can find another. No matter how much it may hurt, you can find another.
Another Reckoning is here. If all you've got holding you in place is pride, then toss it aside and walk away. I don't expect to be listened to, but there are plenty of houses that refused to retreat to Arx the last time whose names you don't know because not a single person was left to remember them. Some of the names that managed to be remembered came back to haunt us, such as House Marin. If you are trying to endure this alone you won't survive, and your lands will be taken from you anyway.
There are forces moving to protect major holdings, escort refugees, or try to slow down what's coming. There are not nearly enough for any of it, and every single person who can wield a weapon who does not aid those efforts or fall back to defend Arx in favor of valiant but ultimately pointless last stands is not only throwing their own life away, but the lives of however many other people their actions could otherwise help save. What's at stake is not a house, not a holding, not a kingdom, and not the Compact. What's at stake isn't even Arvum and every person living on it. It's the world. We hold the city or everyone dies, and no one in the entire world will be left to remember you.
Home is where you stand, and if we do not stand together, the only thing that will matter will be who gets devoured first.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 8, 2024, 6:11 a.m.(7/8/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Valdemar
I'm not bragging. I'm as scared as anyone, I've got as clear a picture of what's coming as anyone. I was hoping that the Horned God's death would bring me the personal peace of having no idea what to do with the rest of my life, I wasn't looking to let the world light itself on fire. What I'm doing now is telling the truth of what happened in Harrow Hall, and why. People are doubting the wisdom of fighting the Horned God, despite the only other option being a different ending of the world, because they're frightened of what's come. I'm telling them that they did the only thing that could have been done short of lying at his feet, that it was right, that it was brave, and that if any single group, any single person had not done what they did, if there had been even moments of delay, then we - all of us - would not have stopped him. He was that close. I don't know what it looked like outside the Hall, but he was *that* close. What they did didn't cause this.
No, the self righteous zealotry is the part where I wholeheartedly believe that Cardia, the Dune Kingdoms, and the Undying Empire all deserve to fucking burn at the hands of the people they enslaved, and that a world where survival is wildly uncertain is better than a world that's simply not worth saving.
No, the self righteous zealotry is the part where I wholeheartedly believe that Cardia, the Dune Kingdoms, and the Undying Empire all deserve to fucking burn at the hands of the people they enslaved, and that a world where survival is wildly uncertain is better than a world that's simply not worth saving.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 5, 2024, 4:43 a.m.(7/2/1021 AR)
I've heard people sing my grandmother's praises - literally, in some cases - and these past few weeks I've found myself wondering if they understand *what* they're celebrating. This world once had only a single path. The future was known and unquestioned. Safe. Eternal. Unchanging. It didn't even know death. What Wolf did broke the world. The night sky was once empty apart from dead Destiny, and every star we can see now is the soul of a dead First Child. The sky is a graveyard. Wolf has watched it fill up for thousands upon thousands of years, and has never chosen to stop singing.
The price of Choice is Consequence.
What's happening now are the consequences of millions and millions of choices. Many of those choices are happening right now, with the consequences immediate. Many of those choices happened long, long ago, and the consequences are catching up all at once. One of those choices was made at Harrow Hall, and it was mine, mine alone, mine forever.
The idea that the Horned God should have gone unopposed there is insane, but defeating him is not what broke every writ, and even the concept of writs. He was already defeated. The Kindly Voices came, they declared his bargain forfeit, and they listened to, and accepted, his daughter's accusation. She had the choice to condemn him, and she did. The people with her did. The dead, *thousands of them*, did.
There was a second choice that had to be made, a choice of what shape the Horned God's defeat would take. He had threaded pieces of his soul through the souls of thousands of his slaves, and through Legion itself, as a final protection to keep himself from dying. Not even the Kindly Voices could kill him with that in place, but they could, and easily, break it. Doing so would also shatter every chain, everywhere, every last writ.
The alternative was to imprison him forever, but the souls of Legion's slaves would be the bars of his prison. They would be bound, forever, imprisoned, *forever*, alongside him. They would never return to the Wheel, and neither would he. They would never know freedom again. A fucking atrocity, for the sake of preserving other atrocities.
These were the options the Kindly Voices presented, the only ones, and they were given to me alone. I asked them if there could still be a world if I chose to break his last protection. They said yes. They said it would be a time of chaos, that something better might be built from it, but not even they could know what might happen. Destiny is dead. The Book of Endings burned. Nothing is written, and our future is in our hands.
I told them to break them. All of them. Every chain. Every slaver. Every slave freed. I said that we would sing our own songs, we would write our own stories. I did not do this without knowing what could happen. I did not have a moment of childish ideals. I did not do it to kill the Horned God, although I *did*, and it was *good*. I did it because the alternative was unthinkable. I did it to give them back their choices. All of them. All of their choices.
And I knew there would be *consequences*.
I am a child of Wolf, and she once showed me the empty sky, slowly filling up with stars; the consequences of choices only made possible by her choice. I sang her song to end the Horned God, and when it came time to decide how, I made the choice that was mine. Whatever that makes me, I won't have the choices, the *sacrifices*, of those I was with be twisted or blamed for this. I broke the world. What they did saved the chance for a better one.
The price of Choice is Consequence.
What's happening now are the consequences of millions and millions of choices. Many of those choices are happening right now, with the consequences immediate. Many of those choices happened long, long ago, and the consequences are catching up all at once. One of those choices was made at Harrow Hall, and it was mine, mine alone, mine forever.
The idea that the Horned God should have gone unopposed there is insane, but defeating him is not what broke every writ, and even the concept of writs. He was already defeated. The Kindly Voices came, they declared his bargain forfeit, and they listened to, and accepted, his daughter's accusation. She had the choice to condemn him, and she did. The people with her did. The dead, *thousands of them*, did.
There was a second choice that had to be made, a choice of what shape the Horned God's defeat would take. He had threaded pieces of his soul through the souls of thousands of his slaves, and through Legion itself, as a final protection to keep himself from dying. Not even the Kindly Voices could kill him with that in place, but they could, and easily, break it. Doing so would also shatter every chain, everywhere, every last writ.
The alternative was to imprison him forever, but the souls of Legion's slaves would be the bars of his prison. They would be bound, forever, imprisoned, *forever*, alongside him. They would never return to the Wheel, and neither would he. They would never know freedom again. A fucking atrocity, for the sake of preserving other atrocities.
These were the options the Kindly Voices presented, the only ones, and they were given to me alone. I asked them if there could still be a world if I chose to break his last protection. They said yes. They said it would be a time of chaos, that something better might be built from it, but not even they could know what might happen. Destiny is dead. The Book of Endings burned. Nothing is written, and our future is in our hands.
I told them to break them. All of them. Every chain. Every slaver. Every slave freed. I said that we would sing our own songs, we would write our own stories. I did not do this without knowing what could happen. I did not have a moment of childish ideals. I did not do it to kill the Horned God, although I *did*, and it was *good*. I did it because the alternative was unthinkable. I did it to give them back their choices. All of them. All of their choices.
And I knew there would be *consequences*.
I am a child of Wolf, and she once showed me the empty sky, slowly filling up with stars; the consequences of choices only made possible by her choice. I sang her song to end the Horned God, and when it came time to decide how, I made the choice that was mine. Whatever that makes me, I won't have the choices, the *sacrifices*, of those I was with be twisted or blamed for this. I broke the world. What they did saved the chance for a better one.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 3, 2024, 10:59 p.m.(6/27/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Titus
I knew.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 31, 2023, 8:52 a.m.(6/20/1021 AR)
At a point along the journey to find what had been stolen from my people, we were told to think about something we'd believed unbreakable, but "broke with heartbreaking ease". That wasn't hard for me at all; the defining, driving moment of my life, for a long, long time, was exactly that, and I remember saying to myself, once and then again, that nothing is unbreakable.
I wonder if that's a reality that ever crossed the Horned God's mind. Considering everything he'd done to protect himself, the hideous lengths he took to try to make himself immune to destruction, I think that he'd convinced himself that way. I think, when he realized what we were doing, what he'd overlooked, he must have panicked a little. I know for certain that when I stopped my howl, he was afraid.
I wonder if he thought what he'd done to his soul would still save him, even against the Kindly Voices. I wonder if it ever occurred to him, before the moment that it happened, that not only was his protection breakable, but that someone would actually choose to break it.
I wonder just how many people were like him that night, and how many learned, as he did, that *nothing* is unbreakable. Not kings. Not gods. Not emperors.
I wonder if that's a reality that ever crossed the Horned God's mind. Considering everything he'd done to protect himself, the hideous lengths he took to try to make himself immune to destruction, I think that he'd convinced himself that way. I think, when he realized what we were doing, what he'd overlooked, he must have panicked a little. I know for certain that when I stopped my howl, he was afraid.
I wonder if he thought what he'd done to his soul would still save him, even against the Kindly Voices. I wonder if it ever occurred to him, before the moment that it happened, that not only was his protection breakable, but that someone would actually choose to break it.
I wonder just how many people were like him that night, and how many learned, as he did, that *nothing* is unbreakable. Not kings. Not gods. Not emperors.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 29, 2023, 9:06 p.m.(6/17/1021 AR)
There's not room to list the name of every person who contributed to the victory at Harrow Hall, and even if there was, we don't even know all the names that would be listed, as there were thousands, tens of thousands more that helped beyond the Hedge. Only Death would be able to name all of them.
There are, however, a handful that I must name:
Tikva, formerly Princess Tikva Grayson, who sacrificed her title
Princess Sorrel Thrax, who sacrificed her blade
Gianna Delvecchio, Nightingale of the Bard's College, who sacrificed her voice
Marquessa Quenia Igniseri, who sacrificed cherished memories
Lord Savio Amadeo, who sacrificed his power
First Liberator Aleksei Morgan, Nina Autumndale, and Lord Ian Kennex, who protected, supported, and quested to find what needed to be found.
Fox, of whatever name she chooses, who knows what she did, and didn't have to.
I would have failed without them.
They quite literally saved the world.
There are, however, a handful that I must name:
Tikva, formerly Princess Tikva Grayson, who sacrificed her title
Princess Sorrel Thrax, who sacrificed her blade
Gianna Delvecchio, Nightingale of the Bard's College, who sacrificed her voice
Marquessa Quenia Igniseri, who sacrificed cherished memories
Lord Savio Amadeo, who sacrificed his power
First Liberator Aleksei Morgan, Nina Autumndale, and Lord Ian Kennex, who protected, supported, and quested to find what needed to be found.
Fox, of whatever name she chooses, who knows what she did, and didn't have to.
I would have failed without them.
They quite literally saved the world.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 29, 2023, 3:49 a.m.(6/16/1021 AR)
Now we know.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 27, 2023, 12:56 a.m.(6/11/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Titus
I'm relatively confident that I disagree strenuously on whatever this is about.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 23, 2023, 11:30 p.m.(6/5/1021 AR)
On this page I write the names of my dead and murdered kin. There were at least a hundred, likely more, but their names are lost to everyone but Death, whose Wheel ever turns, and my Grandmother, whose eyes are full of stories. These are what remain.
Raksha'hasa Wolf Daughter
Jara'minhal
Yan
Zali'jaea
Kausi'jaea
Pilu
The Luphasa, Royal Guard of House Venandi:
Sendet, who commanded
Salvu, who protected
Chodala, Shaali, Tash, who were sisters and hunters
Ulath, with the strongest voice
Zaba the spear
Tirin, eldest and sharpest
Basi and Seryn, whose love lingers
Kausha, eyes in the dark
Rapli, fearless always
Miva, fastest of all
Nirai and Zanabi, mother and father, who died to save me, whose faces I've lost, and whose names were the last thing Orichalcum the Horned God ever heard.
Raksha'hasa Wolf Daughter
Jara'minhal
Yan
Zali'jaea
Kausi'jaea
Pilu
The Luphasa, Royal Guard of House Venandi:
Sendet, who commanded
Salvu, who protected
Chodala, Shaali, Tash, who were sisters and hunters
Ulath, with the strongest voice
Zaba the spear
Tirin, eldest and sharpest
Basi and Seryn, whose love lingers
Kausha, eyes in the dark
Rapli, fearless always
Miva, fastest of all
Nirai and Zanabi, mother and father, who died to save me, whose faces I've lost, and whose names were the last thing Orichalcum the Horned God ever heard.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 23, 2023, 1:40 a.m.(6/3/1021 AR)
I am *going to sleep now*.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 23, 2023, 1:35 a.m.(6/3/1021 AR)
F, S, I, M, T,
Now, I know I probably won't get to deliver this one, so I'm sending it along with a messenger before the sun rises, and trust it'll get where it needs to go.
You deserve to have had this written by other people. I know they would have if they could. It's just me though, so I'll try.
When I was told to leave home I was angry. Furious. I thought I'd lost my whole world again, and that wasn't a lie. I blamed the monster I always blamed, and that wasn't a lie either. I'm not going to tell you not to be *angry*. The thing about the world, though, is that if it keeps going, it keeps going, no matter what happens to the things and the people we care about. We can sit around and think about how cold that is - I sure as shit did - but when we're ready, we can build ours up again. You've got a lot of years ahead of you. You don't have to rush.
They cared about you. They loved you. I know you know that, but I'm putting it down anyway. They'd have said, so I'm saying it.
Your old home's still here. Hopefully I'm not cursing things and it'll stay that way. Don't come back too soon, though, because you need to realize you've outgrown it. There could have been a better way to say goodbye to it, but goodbyes are inevitable. Besides, it's a special place, but it's still just a place. Home's where you choose to stand.
With the mother you had? It's hard to imagine you'll ever end up choosing the wrong spot, so a lecture from me is probably pretty dumb.
Anyway, if I can, I'll come see you later.
Now, I know I probably won't get to deliver this one, so I'm sending it along with a messenger before the sun rises, and trust it'll get where it needs to go.
You deserve to have had this written by other people. I know they would have if they could. It's just me though, so I'll try.
When I was told to leave home I was angry. Furious. I thought I'd lost my whole world again, and that wasn't a lie. I blamed the monster I always blamed, and that wasn't a lie either. I'm not going to tell you not to be *angry*. The thing about the world, though, is that if it keeps going, it keeps going, no matter what happens to the things and the people we care about. We can sit around and think about how cold that is - I sure as shit did - but when we're ready, we can build ours up again. You've got a lot of years ahead of you. You don't have to rush.
They cared about you. They loved you. I know you know that, but I'm putting it down anyway. They'd have said, so I'm saying it.
Your old home's still here. Hopefully I'm not cursing things and it'll stay that way. Don't come back too soon, though, because you need to realize you've outgrown it. There could have been a better way to say goodbye to it, but goodbyes are inevitable. Besides, it's a special place, but it's still just a place. Home's where you choose to stand.
With the mother you had? It's hard to imagine you'll ever end up choosing the wrong spot, so a lecture from me is probably pretty dumb.
Anyway, if I can, I'll come see you later.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 23, 2023, 1:01 a.m.(6/3/1021 AR)
Mashti,
I'd ask if you understand why I still found my way here, but the truth is it wouldn't change things, and you always knew.
I should be sleeping, but I'm writing letters you might never see instead, like an idiot. If it's still possible after the world changes, I'll bring them to you, and I'll tell you everything you feel like being told. Everything. Every story. It feels like a whole lifetime, there's a lot to tell. I can't stay, but I'll find you, all of you, if you're still there to find, and I'll tell you that he's gone.
I'll tell you that you helped save the world.
But if it's me bringing them, if it's me telling you, then I'll tell you that you helped save me. I never forgot. Not for a single, solitary moment. I never will. I just get lost, now and then.
I love you.
There you are. I wrote it down. They don't let us rip up journals, so I can't pretend I didn't. I'll tell you if I find you. I'm not sure you realize that's what I said by leaving. I never would have otherwise, I would have haunted the tribe's steps forever. No one else could have convinced me to go. I knew my mother for a night, but you were the mother she must have hoped you would be.
There, I wrote that down too. I won't take it back.
I'd ask if you understand why I still found my way here, but the truth is it wouldn't change things, and you always knew.
I should be sleeping, but I'm writing letters you might never see instead, like an idiot. If it's still possible after the world changes, I'll bring them to you, and I'll tell you everything you feel like being told. Everything. Every story. It feels like a whole lifetime, there's a lot to tell. I can't stay, but I'll find you, all of you, if you're still there to find, and I'll tell you that he's gone.
I'll tell you that you helped save the world.
But if it's me bringing them, if it's me telling you, then I'll tell you that you helped save me. I never forgot. Not for a single, solitary moment. I never will. I just get lost, now and then.
I love you.
There you are. I wrote it down. They don't let us rip up journals, so I can't pretend I didn't. I'll tell you if I find you. I'm not sure you realize that's what I said by leaving. I never would have otherwise, I would have haunted the tribe's steps forever. No one else could have convinced me to go. I knew my mother for a night, but you were the mother she must have hoped you would be.
There, I wrote that down too. I won't take it back.
Written By Sen'azala
Dec. 23, 2023, 12:34 a.m.(6/3/1021 AR)
Shara,
This city is full of artists. They've got whole galleries, and the Hall of Heroes is full of statues. There's a fucking enormous cathedral full of colored glass, and murals are common. People will paint or sketch a picture of you in the market sometimes, and it's cheap, but probably because they've got to rush it, and none of the street painters are as good at it as you.
There's a place called the Shrine of the First Choice, and in the back, the inner sanctum, someone I know painted an entire wall with something that reminds me of you. If you saw it, you'd understand.
You were right, and so was I.
This city is full of artists. They've got whole galleries, and the Hall of Heroes is full of statues. There's a fucking enormous cathedral full of colored glass, and murals are common. People will paint or sketch a picture of you in the market sometimes, and it's cheap, but probably because they've got to rush it, and none of the street painters are as good at it as you.
There's a place called the Shrine of the First Choice, and in the back, the inner sanctum, someone I know painted an entire wall with something that reminds me of you. If you saw it, you'd understand.
You were right, and so was I.
Written By Sen'azala
Nov. 29, 2023, 11:22 p.m.(4/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Raven
No.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.