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guardian-esper · 3 years

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Entry #1: Home, People, Friends, and Spooky Secrets

Good morning, me.

Ha ha, what a sentence that is. Bear with me, me, I need just another hit of caffeine.

Mmm. That’s the good stuff. Going to ask for another cup.

Right, so after my brief morning workout (I have to be ready for anything when I’m out there, after all) and securing a table downstairs in the tavern, I’ve taken some time this morning to review my introductory entry. Not a bad start. Informative, effective, and...it blew up a bit at the end there, emotionally speaking. Eesh, that got heavy. I’m thinking that’s enough of that for now. Hmm...for brighter subject matter, I could talk a bit more about home in the here and now. Aye, I’ll do that, and then I’ll be off to make a visit to a friend.

So, Treylnshire. I mentioned before that, barring a few very outstanding events, it’s a very peaceful little town, full of kind and hardworking people. There’s not a building more than two, maybe three stories tall at the most. There’s an active everyday market square, bustling with a healthy level of activity in the day to day and marked by a peaceful quiet by night. Travelling merchants rarely miss a chance to pass through, and the people here are always eager to trade with them.

Like I imagine any other established settlement or town, there is a small but suitably sized defensive militia here to keep everything running safely, which yours truly is an active part of. Small enough, in fact, that there’s only four ranks: Private, Sergeant, Lieutenant, and the Captain at the top of the chain. Not much need for more when the town doesn’t count any others among their enemies, and the primary threats as time goes by are bandits, large woodland animals, and the occasional monster from the surrounding forestry.

So at first glance, a newcomer may conclude that it’s rather unremarkable, much like any other town to be found out in the world. Yet, as I’ve remarked previously, this is far from the case. Beneath the surface, there’s much in the way of secrets. Well, ‘secrets’, in that they are officially meant to be secretive, but many townsfolk are quite aware of them. For instance, take this tavern and inn in which I’m taking my breakfast. It’s actually haunted.

…’haunted’ might be the wrong word. Though I’m not sure what other word might apply. Soft-haunted? Yes, that works. The tavern is soft-haunted.

You see, the haunting spectre in question isn’t some invisible presence that likes to knock random objects about and which the patrons whisper to each other in fear of. No, she is quite content to make herself seen at almost all times, fully physically manifested in the form of a young girl. She has to, actually, considering that she runs the place. Malvi is her name. According to her, she’s been here a long time and thus is much older than she looks, which is an appearance of about the age of ten or so. She doesn’t talk about it, but if I were to guess it would seem then that she had died by that age. It’s a very sad thing to consider, but you’d never know if she herself was sad about it. She’s the very picture of energy and cheer around here, if also rather blunt. She’s been around as a ghost for quite a long time, so she has a lot of...post-mortem world experience, I suppose. All the same, she’s very kind. She was one of the first to befriend me when I was brought to Trelynshire as a boy, eleven years ago. There’s a story there, but I’ll get into that another time. For now, I’ll just say that she’s a very good friend from over the years since I’ve arrived. We actually have an arrangement of sorts, also: in exchange for working short morning shifts in the tavern, occasional food deliveries and some help with restocking, I get a very generous discount to stay in a room upstairs. Thus, an upstairs room of this tavern (appropriately named ‘Spirit’s Rest’) has been my home since moving out of the local orphanage years ago. While it’s not the most spacious arrangement, it works well enough for me.

Otherwise, Malvi is far from the only preternatural element to the town. I haven’t even mentioned the also-haunted cemetery, the dragon in the guise of a human man who runs the local library, or even the fact that the Captain of the guard herself is actually a lycanthrope.

That last detail is probably the most classified fact I could have written in here, actually, so now I definitely should not let anyone else set their eyes on this journal. That said, I may as well elaborate.

I had only heard in passing as a rumour that the Captain was something not quite only human, until it was revealed to me upon my increase in rank that she was in fact a case of lycanthropy. This is so classified in fact that I don’t even think the magistrates of the town are aware of it, though to be honest it’s far from the only thing kept secret from them. As to the magistrates, that topic requires a paragraph all its own, so I’ll get back to them momentarily. But as for the Captain, it’s her lycanthropic abilities which have enabled her to protect the town from the more severe of threats in the further past. She’s kind enough, I’d say, if also seemingly in a perpetual state of busy-ness. It’s safe to say we all can rest easy with her in charge of the guard.

Now, concerning the aforementioned town magistrates, and why the fact of the Captain’s lycanthropy is kept from them, it’s necessary to go back in time for explanations. To the time of the town’s founding, specifically. You see, the old (and, in my humblest of opinions, obscenely over-wealthy) codgers who occupy the governing positions of magistrates are descended from the founders of the town, who passed down their authority through bloodline. As…bizarre as it may sound in a world like this, where there are tales and examples of magical prowess of some form or other across the lands, these founders’ intention was that of avoiding the mystical or preternatural altogether in founding and living in what they would name Trelynshire. The narrative goes that they had all had ill experiences with something of that nature, and thus sought to found their town isolated from all such things. Clearly, that goal didn’t pan out, but other than their awareness of the aforementioned dragon who runs the library in the guise of a man, the current magistrates seem persuaded that their forefathers’ intentions have been attained. This is because the lot of us who live here, or at least those of us who know of the supernatural elements in the town, do our best to keep all of this hidden and secret from them. As they are the governors of the town, we are unfortunately subject to their rulings, and so obviously we can’t have them becoming aware of the truth of things. As far as they know, Malvi is no ghost, the cemetery is not haunted, and the Captain of the guard is merely human. As for the librarian, being of such stature, I have come to understand that he had occupied this land since a time before the town was founded, but had apparently come to an arrangement with the founders and allowed them to build in this area. When it comes to this librarian, it would seem that the magistrates are in fact, thankfully, held in some kind of behavioral check at least. They aren’t the most wholesome of fellows, if you’re asking me or many other people, but they at least are decent enough to run the town at the base level. At the very least I just wish they would stop monitoring things so closely, including that which traveling traders bring into town to sell. The most interesting of books and oddities often can only be smuggled into the town. Who performs this smuggling, I couldn’t say, but usually the tomes are bought in secret and kept hidden in the library’s more hidden sections.

I’ll summarize all of that by saying that the elderly magistrates are tiresome in their general unpleasantness, their somewhat hefty taxation practices, and the constant suspicion of their surroundings, but they function decently enough in their positions otherwise. They are just a fact of life we have to put up with, and I suppose that’s that. Anyway, I have seen much worse than them as far as authority figures go, but that too is another story.

Now then. All of that, and I’ve yet to write about the haunted cemetery that I mentioned. Well, I say ‘haunted’, but I guess it’s no more than any other would be. That I can discern this at all, well…let’s just say I have my own unique preternatural perceptions.

Let me back up a bit here before I expand on that, and talk of the cemetery itself. Obviously, the town always had one. Every settlement or city needs a place to bury their dead, after all. Its running has, from my understanding, been a matter of family business. The only time it might have changed familial hands is if the last member of the family in charge of it died with no heirs; I don’t know, I haven’t read up on any sort of record concerning that. As it stands now, it’s kept and maintained by a single individual: A good friend of mine by the name of Helena. Like with Malvi, Helena and I go back to the time I first arrived in Trelynshire. She was my first friend in this place, and she’s very kind, if also a bit…eccentric. But harmlessly so. She has a good heart and finds a lot of enjoyment in her work. As it is, she runs it alone for the simple fact that her only living parent at the time, her father, passed away some years ago. That was a rough time for her, as close as they were. The man was kind to me as well, when I would visit, and it’s hard not to miss him. We lost a good man those years ago. Yet she’s still often hard at work, caring for the estate and digging another hole for whenever the next needed funeral procession must needs be conducted. I can admire how hard she works at things, but…I can’t help but worry about her at least a little bit. So I make sure to stop by when I can. Whenever going to visit her, though, one must always watch their step, or risk taking a tumble straight into a dirt floor at the bottom of a dug hole. I’ll have to be extra careful if I’m going to bring her a bite of breakfast like I’m planning.

With all that said, I should now explain what I meant when I wrote of my ‘preternatural perceptions’. What I’m about to record next is probably unsurprising given everything else I’ve written here in this rather extensive entry, but all the same it is strange in its own right. According to some knowledgeable in mystical and magickal talents whom I’ve asked about it, I’m gifted with abilities in psychokinesis and some amount of extrasensory perception. These have been manifest as personal abilities of mine since as far back as I can remember, although when I was younger, it was far less powerful and pronounced. In short, I’m able to lift and move objects with my mind, among other intricate applications, all of which one could imagine have been very useful to me in my training as a guardsman and combatant. It has been kept secretive, of course. Should the magistrates come to know of these powers, it is likely they will find some way to have me displaced from the town. Of course, I can’t have that happening. So I tread carefully with these abilities, and hone them in secret.

It can be surmised already that it is the aforementioned psychic power of extrasensory perception that has allowed me to perceive the residual hauntings of the cemetery I’ve spoken of. In general, I’m able to sense hauntings in a vague, widespread manner; as if perceiving an alteration in the surrounding, unseen energies of a space that indicates the presence of a spiritual entity. There isn’t really a completely accurate sensory word to describe this sensation, but I’ll liken it to an extra form of sight for convenience of understanding.

For an example of more precise application…let’s say that a spirit has chosen to reside in an old building, perhaps where they lived in life. By doing so, in time they gather a certain amount of preternatural energy into the space and upon themselves. Now, unless that spirit is deliberately trying to hide from the perceptions of those seeking them, I could sense its specific location with more precision, perhaps down to a single room in a building, as well as ascertain its mood and disposition in a general sense. I can even converse with them, psychically or vocally, if they are wanting and able to speak. Conversely, like in the case of Malvi, if a spirit has enough acquired energy and will to become apparent, they can manifest visibly and audibly to anyone and everyone. Malvi’s case has also shown that a ghost can even physically manifest with enough energy. How she specifically does this is through some arcane means of her own. All she has said concerning this is that, I quote, “we can’t ever, EVER, let the coffee run out”. I have no idea what this means, other than that coffee must be an essential part of her process. Gods know I see her drinking the stuff a lot. My guess has been that she somehow uses her intake of coffee as some kind of metaphysical fuel source for maintaining a physical form.

Pardon me for getting a bit sidetracked there, but I think that should well convey the insight that my abilities (and pondering of those abilities) have afforded me. That’s about the extent of it, though. I’ve no abilities like precognition, mind-reading or otherwise, and perhaps that’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to be aware of all that much more than everyone else. As my powers are, they have been helpful to me in various times and situations throughout my life, and despite having to keep them hidden now, I do count myself fortunate to possess them at all.

That being said, outside of psychic abilities…there is something else. It’s an odd thing that I don’t fully understand, and hasn’t manifested as much more than a little blip of oddity when I engage my psychokinesis, so I don’t really know what to make of it. Every now and again, the coloration of the psychic energy I engage with seems to alter from its normal glowing blue to whitish-gold for a brief instance, and it oddly feels…warmer. It doesn’t seem to affect anything anyway, but I think it’s worth noting here in case something changes with that.

Agh, I think that’s far more than enough writing for now though. My hand is starting to ache, and I think my ink bottle is nearly dried up. I think I’ll order what I need to go from Linden (another friend and a co-worker of mine whose working a double this morning for my day off, bless his soul) and go make my visit to Helena. Otherwise, I’m going to just treat the day as a restful one. If the mood strikes, maybe I’ll write some more tonight before bed, but otherwise I can continue tomorrow. Given how much I’ve spoken about what’s happening now and of my surroundings, it’ll be a good time to shift the focus more on myself, maybe write down a little more of my own personal history in general. We’ll see what happens from there.

I think though that this, writing, actually seems like a healthy and helpful thing to do, so I imagine I’ll be continuing to do this for the foreseeable future.

Until next time, unnamed journal.

-Ivan

#dnd #Dungeons and Dragons #d&d #d&d character #Aasimar #psi warrior #Ivan Stavros #5e #writing #fiction #fantasy #fictional characters

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guardian-esper · 3 years

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Entry #0: An Introduction

Date: I couldn’t reliably tell you in my current state.

Time: Late morning. Headache-o’-clock.

This might not practically be the best time to start writing, or rather this isn’t the best personal state of physical being, but it’s not like I can do much else when I’m this hung over. Gods, my head is pounding. I don’t think I’ve ever celebrated quite like I did last night. I went ahead to the infirmary and asked for a concoction to deal with this bottle ache, hopefully that’ll kick in soon.

Anyhow, let me back up a little here, remark on some context. Yesterday, I was awarded my first ever promotion in rank for the town guard. Last night, my new fellow sergeants decided to give me the usual rite-of-passage celebration for privates who rank up. I had, ah, to be honest, never touched a drink in my life. Not like that, at least. So uh, that’s two major developments: My first promotion, and my first drunken escapade.

I don’t really remember everything after the first few rounds, but right now I think I feel mostly regret, despite my excitement. Although, I do think I accidentally bumped into one of the women sergeants, in an accident of...inappropriate contact. I think I tried to explain myself through the alcoholic fog, but based on the faint stinging on my left cheek, I feel fairly certain of the strength her backhanding capability.

I uh, I don’t think I’ll be indulging in whiskey quite like that ever again. Need to remind myself to go and apologize later.

Ahem. At any rate, I’m here writing now at the recommendation of the lieutenant I’m now serving directly under. They said it would be good to keep a record of some kind, a source of reflection on any future operations or happenings. Not that I or they expect there’ll be all that much, considering how usually peaceful and calm it is in this little town. Still, I guess it might be worth it in a general sense, at least.

I think I’ve gotten a little ahead of myself, though. I’ve completely forgotten to record an introduction. Let’s continue this properly.

Name: Ivan Stavros.

Race: Human.

Age: 21. Born on the twenty-first day of the ninth month of the year.

Title: Sergeant of the town guard of Trelynshire.

Responsibilities: Second in command to my unit’s leader, Lieutenant B’jorn. In addition to making the usual town rounds and participating in the usual drills, I’ll be sometimes sent as messenger boy between the lieutenants and the captain. In more rare occasions, I’ll be put in charge of my unit. If circumstances ever demand it, that is.

...honestly, aside from a bit of a pay raise and some more authority, I don’t expect my new station to amount to too much. Other than a rare few major incidents, not a lot of particular danger ever comes knocking on our doors. Trelynshire is a pretty quiet town, with nothing but miles of wilds and forestry surrounding. So we’re a bit on the isolated side here, and in the context of the wider world...if I’m being honest, it’s rather boring. Peaceful, yes, and full of kind and hardworking folk, but you aren’t exactly going to find many thrilling stories about imminent danger threatening the townsfolk or anything.

Many, I emphasize. There have been a few. Including, I should mention, the events surrounding what led to my somewhat sudden promotion. Which, I will get into after my introductions here are finished. I need to fully recover before I start going over those more recent events again. Otherwise, Trelynshire itself isn‘t entirely boring, or empty of intrigue or mystery. Far from it, actually, though most of its secrets are kept rather hush-hush. Again, I will get into that, probably in a future entry.

Back to myself, however, I’ve got a solid 21 years of life to recount. At this point, they’re not something I’ve sat down to think about very much. There are...some things that aren’t very favorable to reminisce. Some things I’ve only spoken to a few people in confidence about; one of them being Lieutenant B’jorn, mentioned above. The man doesn’t like to pry too much, but he has genuinely tried to help me out, even with advice on personal matters. That might be another reason he recommended I start journaling: for the supposed therapeutic aspect of it. I mean, maybe he’s right, perhaps it would be good to finally sit down and take stock of my 21 years on this Earth, but...I’m not certain how easy that’s going to be.

I think maybe I should let this hangover let up first. Let me just sleep on it for a bit.

...

The time: Early evening, same day.

Right, I feel better now. That concoction’s worked wonders, and I’ve napped the hangover off otherwise. The rain and grey skies outside helped me sleep. Just a little worn-out still. Thank the gods that I was allowed a few days off to recuperate before taking my new station.

Anyroad, where was I? Right. The story of my life. Hmm...

Let me preface by saying that, I’m not taking stock of any of this for reader’s sympathy, not to say ‘poor poor me’ or anything like that. I don’t like to stay too hung up on the past. Growing up here in Trelynshire, my mentor would often tell me that the past need not define me or anyone, yet reflection is important all the same. That it’s to be learned from, or something. Honestly, I don’t know about that. The past is what it is, and can’t be changed. In my case, I prefer to just not hinge on it. Or think about it much at all, really. It’s not like I’m going to get closure or anything like that, and besides, there’s the here and now, and the future to think about. This town has been kind and patient with me, and gave me as good of a fresh start as I could have ever asked for. What good can really come from hinging on things that can’t be changed?

Damn it, I’m delaying. I told Lieutenant B’jorn that I would try to write, if at least to keep my head clear and focused in my upcoming post as a sergeant. He needs me focused, like everyone else. C’mon, Ivan, buckle down and get it done. It’s not like anyone else is going to read this anyway.

Right, then. I guess the very beginning of things would normally be the best place to start. Yet...I think it might be necessary here to jump around a bit. At least to better contextualize past events in conjunction with where I am in the present.

It would be most prudent then to start with the fact that Trelynshire is not my native home. No, I’m actually not from anywhere quite near here. I’m from a much more largely governed area, and Trelynshire is for all intents and purposes an independent town, as far as I can tell. As much as Trelynshire is (by a long shot) more home to me than my original home was, I feel the need to tell about my origins here.

To put matters simply, I am more or less a refugee. My home city is, as far as I know, currently in a severely war-torn state. I only saw a few days of a glimpse at this conflict before I, and many other children at the time, were rescued and extracted from the children’s boarding school we had been living in. Or rather, I should say, where we were frankly being kept and groomed. You see, according to what little I’ve learned, my home city-state has fallen into a state of fascism and borderline dictatorship over the last few generations. Growing up, I couldn’t really grasp what was going on around me there, especially being one of the ostracized lower-class kids, but in hindsight, the place is and has been a right mess.

For a more broad geographical and political context: Trelynshire is located deep within forested wilds, further inland on the continent, which all major maps call Eliostar. If one travels from Trelynshire far to the northwest, they will encounter a major desert region. This region extends into a major peninsular landmass, which is the geographical home to a major empire composed of a number of distinct city-states. Well, ex-empire, I should say. Over time, the political configuration become more democratic as the various city-states began to elect representatives to rule alongside the empress, and keep her power in check. If I recall correctly, this area is now officially called The Imperial Republic of Akkacia, formerly the Akkacian Empire.

My home city, Ireithett, is actually the capitol of one the Republic’s major city-states, Vortix, which lies near the mountainous threshold between the Republic and the desert separating the peninsula from the rest of the continent. As far as the past of this city-state goes, what I do know is that it has always been notable as one of the more militarily powerful of the states, second only to Sythemar further west. In the recent decades, however, Vortix has been the cause of tension through the Republic, and by the time I was around eleven years old, any political stability it maintained with the rest of the Republic had broken down. Whatever sparked it, an armed conflict broke out between Vortix and the rest of the Republic, who in time had fought their way across Vortix’s farmlands into Ireithett itself, intent to storm the capitol, take control, and force the leaders into some kind of agreement. I don’t know what the source of the conflict was, or even if it’s close to have been resolved yet, but that’s not currently high on my list of interests to know. As far as my life there goes, however...

Ireithett was always called the ‘crown jewel’ of Vortix, being the one major city to populate the otherwise overwhelmingly farmland structure of the nation-state. But if you were asking me if that was true, having grown up on the inside of the capitol, I could tell you that is actually far from the case. Most of the city is, frankly, overwhelmingly slums. There was always a more poor district in the outer areas, but in the past, it was much smaller. Where there was apparently an existing middle class region, there isn’t really anything left of that. I snuck in once, in fact, only to find that all of the housing was abandoned, decaying, and/or used for some governing or policing purpose by those in their unreachable ivory towers, which were separated from us common folk by tall, iron-wrought walls. In short, where I lived, and everywhere I could even go, were all slums. Even more bizarrely than this, we weren’t even allowed to leave the city itself, so I never saw much of the green fields and farmlands outside the city. A decaying capitol was all I knew, and as you might guess, it was rife with danger. Crime, homelessness, gangs, violence and substance abuse were common, and there were even rumors of trafficking. Of weapons, drugs, and...I loathe to think about it, but of people. As hard as it was being a growing kid in the slums, I shudder to think about how some less fortunate than I ended up.

In short, well, it was a shithole. I really can’t describe it any other way.

Ironically, though, the only thing scarier than thugs or traffickers was the city guard. A lot of brutalizing bastards acting at the behest of the elite, or whoever might be able to pay them more or do them the right favors. They knew little mercy and had just as little patience. Claimed to be acting in our best interests to try and get us to cooperate, but they were all the bloody definition of dirty law enforcement. And I was one of the kids unfortunate enough to be born in this city’s walls, under their monitoring.

Yet I was fortunate enough to eventually be rescued, just as all hell was breaking loose upon the city from the invading united armies that made their ways to the city gates. Obviously, it’s nearly impossible for me to look back in positivity at those days. My family didn’t have much to its name, and avoiding trouble (and resisting the urge to get into trouble for a scrap of anything better) was a monumental task all its own. I had seen my hefty share of street fights, brutality, fear and strife before I was free from it all, and it’s a difficult thing to look back on.

Honestly, though, it’s not that I don’t ever look back. I try not to, but...unfortunately, I’m not certain I can say all ties with the place are completely cut. I did, of course, have family and friends there when I was extracted and eventually brought here to Trelynshire. I don’t know, but I like to think I still do have said friends and family. The thing is, I have no idea where they are, if they ever broke free from that place, or if they’re even alive. And this was ten years ago. I don’t know what happened to my mother after I was separated from her and put in that bloody stupid boarding school. I never learned what became of my father, who joined the city guard apparently in hopes of bringing us into a better life inside the upper-class walls. And my friends...not a day goes by when I don’t wonder about them, if they’re okay or not. This kind of distance from them...it’s a thing that I loathe about how things have turned out.

Don’t get me wrong. I could not be more fortunate than I am to have been taken care of these past ten years by the folk here in Trelynshire. Despite the difficulties I’m (often, but in jest) reminded I posed to them, I’ve always been cared for and looked after here. I have a place in the world here, and it seems I’m carving out a future of some kind. But do you know how tantalizing it is to be suddenly whisked away from your home, downtrodden and hellish as it was, never to know what became of everyone you knew?! It sticks with you. Indefinitely. You feel things like guilt, even regret, regret for not finding out on your own before it was too late. Regret for not bloody fighting for it, even if you know there was little you could do.

Forgive me. I need another moment to cool off. Emotion is getting the better of me here.

...

Apologies. I’m alright. Let me try and wrap this up for the time being.

To shed light on what I was just talking about, I have indeed tried, once or twice, to learn about the goings-on in Ireithett the past ten years. Unfortunately, even if someone makes it through the desert to the border, it’s hard to be granted passage into Akkacia as a whole right now. Apparently the conflict is still going on, and the Republic’s government isn’t exactly keen on letting very many details out. In light of all this, I frustratingly only have more questions instead of answers. Still, the captain of the guard here assured me that she would keep whatever line of information possible between here and there, and update me on any developments. There is at least that, and she has my deepest appreciation. Not that I’m really holding my breath for anything to come to light any time soon, but all the same it means a lot. I’ve thanked her, and in meantime, I’ve just tried to carry on and focus on where I’m going, not where I’ve been.

With that though, I’m getting a little too tired, emotionally and physically, to carry on with all this right now. It’s getting dark outside, and the post-nap drowsiness from earlier is really starting to weigh on me. There is more to tell, certainly, but at the moment, I don’t feel very up to the task. I do, however, have a few days of off-time left before my first official shift as a lieutenant, so maybe after a good night’s rest I can go into more detail tomorrow. For better or worse, there’s a lot left to unpack here, but I’ll try again perhaps in the morning. Hmm...mayhaps I’ll set up to write in the local cafe. I could use something strong to reset with, and the service there is always top-knotch. For now, if Hypnos would be so willing to give me an uninterrupted sleep, I’ll be up and going strong again in the morrow. Until then.

-Ivan

#DnD #dungeons and dragons #d&d #d&d character #aasimar #psi warrior #fighter #ivan stavros #journal #writing #fiction #5e #fictional characters

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