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I have decided to begin this log anew, with the advantage of new insights and a fresh start. Until this point, I must admit a certain selfishness in the way I have lived, but that has, most recently, changed.

Part of that change has been me. COnflicting emotions and turmoil have shaped the way I saw myslf, and those emotions are beginning to boil down, replenishing the simmering heat I once saw in myself.

The Marauder Army, to which I once owed an oath of service, has fallen apart. Valdaglerion Curuven has torn the once-proud military organization apart -- at the behest of his whorish Mistress, Illirya. Before, I had seen soldiers come and go. Most recently? I have seen only the departure and release of Officers -- the loss of good soldiers with a high potential for Officership.  It is disheartening, to be frank. The Highlord has lost the nerve that lead me to the Marauders, and has found it replaced with a lustful trollop in stockings and high heels.

The Nordmaarian King invited me to return home, upon my release from the Marauder ARmy. Not long before, however, I received a much stranger request. Abbottess Fastia Nadiv-Morthest offered me a place in New Thalos, a room in her home. Mone -- whatever I needed. It is confusing, such sudden good will from the woman I know only as "Spider." Perhaps she has changed. More likely is the prospect that, with the depareture of my wife and the loss of my child, I have changed.  I worry that Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov could have swayed my opinoni that much. That she could have twisted me that far.

In any case, I am now home. But for how long, I wonder? The plans I am building for Nordmaar's military are underway, and ought to be completed in the next couple of months, if not before then.  On a greatly-removed note, my darling sister -- Avana -- has found her way to Nordmaar after a long absence. I had presumed her dead. But she sits, well, sleeps... here before me as I write this.  I find myself wondering how she will fare under Nordmaar's officials, and worrying for the men that would dare to approach her.  Oddly, looking upon her, I am reminded of Farium.  She has the same sort of charm that... man did. A rather striking resemblance, in spirit. I suppose, as jealous of the attentions my wife gave him as I was, I miss him. His conversations.

Further, I wonder how long it will be before I depart the Highlands for STorm Keep.  I have been in long talks with the High Mystic, the Lady Rivka Edevane, as well as, more recently, both the Dark Lord Atennim and a relatie of his, the Elder Atennim, of the Rose.

I intend, upon pulling together the necessary funds, to invite my sister along as well. To bring another familial adventure to STorm Keep. Should she be willing.

It has been high drama in Nordmaar of late, between the brutish men and the oft-times just-as-boorish women. Rumours run rampant, yes, wild in the stress, and more often than not, they are believed. It has been said that the seduction of dragons is ont he rise -- and that while the wife is away, the husband should play.

However, I am most delighted for the elder Wallace girl, Gilyn. She has returned from caring for her sister, and promptly found a man. A man who seems very devoted to her. I am glad. Perhaps I will be able to focus more steadily on my recently-returned sister. Which is not to say that I mind caring for Little Wallace. Far from it. She, however, needs a man. Someone to love the girl, quirky as she is. I wonder, though, for Aerraen's reaction. He is engaged to Gwendalen, a MacLeod. But I sense some pronounced jealousy, resentment maybe. Perhaps the man has feelings for her yet. We will see.

Mencian is gnawing at my boot, so I must go now. I have been sitting here for far too long anyway.

Written Day of the Sun,
{x                     13th the month of the Dragon.

Corporal Verdemar MacLeod de Lyov
{W    [{R<<{W]{x

I do not often think as deeply on myself as the Dark Lord wishes me to here, and I have yet to decide whether this is for good or for ill. My reasons for joining Storm Keep are not many. Nor are they as varied as I had once thought. They are, however, rooted in my past. My upbringing.

I was born Verdemar Demyan Lyov, to Velinas and Katryna Lyov, some thirty-five years ago in Verminasia, province of Ithersea. I was born under the rule of the Viscountess, Ill'antha Luhta'zair. I remember the hushed stories of the Lady's cruelty, her unresponsive lovers, first. Softly whispered stories of bogeyman to scare children before bed.

Until I was five, I remember being spoiled. It was not the sort of spoiling you see in children these days -- the little princelings running wild as their parents starve, but by the standards I lived by afterward, and the standards I live by now... I was psoiled. My parents -- Mother especially -- bought me things in preparation for my later years. A steed, riding equipment. They parepared my armament, had swords crafted for me. I saw the things come in and knew they were for me. To others, it may have seemedm a meager existence -- page to my father, left to the menial tasks that position affords. But I was child to a wealthy Verminasian family, at the nation's peak -- son to a well-known Priest of the Lord, and his wife.

I am sure some of you are balking. "His wife!" you might say, "She had no expertise? No line of work?" to put it simply: no. She did not. My father did not allow it. Mother was there as, I believe, most womens hould have been, in those times. She cooked, cleaned the house, ensured our clothing was clean, and wrote what Father dictated. She was a traditional woman -- there for moral support when it was needed.

Despite the strong Necruciferian presence in my life, I came to know and respect Mencius as my Lord. To fear and harness the rage in me, cold as it was.

By the time I was nine, my duties had changed. This was the year that my sister, Avana Lyov was born. It was a point of change. No longer was I the only child... but I {_was{x the only male child. And the eldest. It served its purpose. I was given what I needed, when I needed it. Father paid attentions to me, while Mother cared for the girl. My sister. I had been named Squire, by this point, to a Sergeant serving in the nearby Tower. We were on Ithersea's border, lead by Captain Aelevia Morana.

Captain Morana was gorgeous. A half-elf, forty-five when I was nine, and simply stunning. Rich auburn hair that hung to mid-waist when not bound up in tight buns, high cheekbones and startlingly sharp green eyes. I will admit that, at nine, I was very attracted to the woman, for more than obvious reasons. She was.. er.. buxom. Neither here nor there. The point is, she was one of the reasons I worked so hard, at that age. I wanted to prove to her what, rather, who, I was. To show her I was... you know. The man who would sweep the Colonel off her feet.

I did everything in my power, as a Squire, to make myself stand out to the Captain, taking on extra duties, doing work for others -- for her. I took on advanced missions, working. That was my life, work. I abandoned -- well, really, I was out of the house mostly anyway -- my family in my ardent task to set myself fully to learning my lessons, to following them to the letter. Chivalry, honour, all of it. Lessons I remember and follow today.

Then I was older. Sixteen, seventeen maybe. I had gotten what I wanted. The Captain's lover. I shared her bed, and the Tower knew about it. I made sure they knew it. I had.. I do not know. Claimed her, maybe. A big lesson for a seventeen year old. Women do not always like being claimed. She did not let on, however, and we shared one-another's bed until I was nineteen. I left the House for good when I was eighteen, joining the Tower as a Knight, a Soldier.
----

I was sent, at nineteen, on a reconaissance mission. Into Arkane. I was to go there and return when I had gathered what I felt was an 'adequate' amount of information. I was out for two years, three. Closer to three. When I returned, I found another man sharing the Captain's bed. I will not go into details, but I renounced everything on that day. My faith to Mencius -- I should have rushed in. Killed them both. My Knighthood in Verminasia... I walked off. I wandered.

It was a long time, my wandering. I spent most of that time trying to find... something. I do not know, something that was not there. Something I guess I could not find on my own. I turned to Faith. I fell from the faith my family held, felt that I followed Kwainin, without understanding the Lord's faith at all. It felt right, I suppose. Secure. I claimed faith in the Lord without knowing what that meant.

As I went, I tried to change myself ceaselessly, digging out a sort of callousness in my behaviour, giving to others as much as I hurt them. Without feeling it, trying to numb myself. It was that way for a long time, as much as a year, perhaps two. I found myself in the Marauders' Fort. Ironclad. I entered an establishment, it was known as the Dominion. They had food, gambling, drinks, women. Everything a man could ask for, I suppose. I was not interested in anything but a place to rest.

That changed when I took the stairs to the Loft of this establishment. There was a woman there -- seated off by herself, a scotch in one hand, a cigarillo in the other. Her face was covered by an ornate mask. She seemed very out-of-place, but very assured about it. I approached her immediately, intrigued. I asked the Lady for a dance, and she obliged. It was somewhat exhilarating. As if I had found something that I had lost.

Keep in mind: dancing was something I had been taught as a child. One of the arts, much the same as riding, falconry, hunting, language, courtesy. It... much like many of the other things I mentioned, is an art lost by the impetuous youth of today, something only lovers partake of. And then, only if they feel they will be doing a spot of horizontal dancing later in the evening. Or morning, as the case may be.

In any case, I lead this strange 'young' woman around the dancefloor for some time, and as we danced, she seemed to open more, spoke a bit less guardedly. I learned some of her past, but in that evening, I did not learn her name. It did not seem to matter. The next day I was lead, by the same woman -- she had found me, not the other way around -- to the Highlord of the Marauder Army. Valdaglerion Curuven.

It was there, in Hammurabi Square, that I swore the oath that would change my life for the foreseeable future.  I swore my life to the cause of the Marauders, to the Highlord, when he was stable, and to the Code. The Code is as efficient as it is elegant, as simple as it is defining. It is a life I live to this day, though under different circumstances.

The Marauders were... quiet. There was no system to speak of, no rank. No Officers, and the few times an Officer rose to power, he was quickly shut down by the Highlord for this made-up reason, or that one. It seemed that "treason" was a owrd thrown around very lightly at the time. I remember one incident in particular, when Fierra RaidFang lead the Guardians. An official of the Cavalry was to be beheaded for "speaking" of treason with another guard.
---------
There was no evidence of a trial, only the Guardian's word that it had happened, and the soldier's staunch refusal to speak up about it. Before they beheaded him, I questioned it. Questioned both Fierra and the Highlord. Openly. I did not believe any trial had been held. Or if one had, that it was a corrupt trial, full of false truths and hidden gold. The beheading went as planned, and I soon found myself in the stocks, the lash biting my flesh held by a minotaur. A particularly fierce one whose name I cannot quite remember.

I bore the punishment silently, content to ride the waves of subtle pain ripping through my spine and stomach. I believe I may have expunged the contents of my stomach more than once. I could not walk, when the whipping was done, nor could I hold myself up for the remaining four hours of my sentence, and so I hung helplessly.

I remember the woman... I did not mention her name. Ah, she was Advisor to Valdaglerion Curuven, one Ill'antha Luhta'zair. The very same woman I had served under, in Verminasia. She knelt helplessly beside me, weeping as I hung from the stockades, bleeding. She promised I had been right. Promised that we would right their error. Things would change, she swore to me.

They did not. They, in fact, got steadily worse. After the Highlord's decision in my case, he softened. Grew weak. His next punishments were trivial, despite the severity of the crimes, and with each punishment down-the-line, they became more trivial. It was as if he ceased to parse nature, and had simply resorted to slaps on the wrist, no matter the offense.

The Highlord, too, swore to me that things would change. He swore to Luhta'zair that he would rid the Army of the pestilence that was Nasha de'Kist. She was... lazy, out to make a profit for herself, and yet giving off the illusion that what she did was for the Military to which I had sworn my life.

Valdaglerion did not keep his word, but he did keep the woman around. I have a sneaking suspicion he may have been sleeping with her. It seems very like him. This went on for a rather long time, the Cavalry was without its officers, and thus, the soldiers went without orders, as Curuven did not have time for the common man.

In an effort to set myself above the others, I penned a manual, to be used as a guideline for the advancement of each soldier in the Marauder Army -- but most especially, for those in the Cavalry.  The manual was a work of excellence, if I may say so, and it seemed that many in the Marauders agreed, lending me their support in my advancement within that Army.

It was not long after that I was promoted to Lieutenant of the Cavalry, and then the Knights. An Officer of the Marauder Army.

I have been staunchly avoiding a part of this story, however. Ill'antha Luhta'zair, the former Viscountess, and current Advisor, and I had grown to be... lovers? I believe that is the word. We went well together. In the times to come, she was to be my wife, and I made this very plain to her.

She accepted the invitation to become Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov, and we were married not long after that. This was before my work absolutely consumed me. I loved her -- she said she loved me. It was a relationship. As simple as any other. I do not remember any sort of heartache before the Lady Luhta'zair de Lyov -- aside from the good Captain. I mark that off as a child's foolishness.

----

Advancement in the Marauders was a slow process. Horrifyingly slow. Without superior officers, the Knights floundered, barely able to keep their head above water. I found that, if I was to get anything done, I needed to take action. I began to speak with other soldiers, making my intent very clear. I intended to make myself Lieutenant of the Knights.

I worked tirelessly, both night and day, beginning to focus more on my work than my newfound lover. I know that I was fighting to prove myself. I needed to do so, to the men I had made my promises to, to the officers above me, to the Highlord, to my lover, and to myself, most of all.

So I worked. Most nights I went without sleep, tirelessly striving to gain the power that would allow me to actively change something. I held drills, aided in the completion of most of the Army's enlisted personnel training, and wrote. That last seems ineffectual.

There were many things I wrote, a sort of political campaign against the lack of action towards the betterment of the Army, the lack of any sort of structured drill setting, as well as a manual detailing what I thought should be made necessary for advancement. ...I believe I still have most of the things I wrote.

During this time, many other things were happening as well. I had shouldered the load of Faith, opening talks with Fastia Morthest, Kwainin's Abbot...tess. We diagreed on the matter of Faith, though any sort of argument was clearly... wrong. The Abbottess preached inaction. "Wait and see." She said, claiming neutrality was the absence of both good and evil, rather than the presence of one another simultaneously. My stance was foar-removed. I stand for action, and I had proven that in the Army.

By this time, valdaglerion had promoted me, and I had begun to turn his ineffectual leadership around. I had also, in this time, proposed to Ill'antha Luhta'zair. She accepted. I did not have the time to gloat or feel joy. I was busy.

Work beckoned. Continuing to argue with the Priestess, I lead my life as example. I professed a love of neither good nor evil, light or dark, and I was -- am -- a man of action. Most will not understand, but I am a Soldier.

Not an automaton, or some sort of bewitched slave. A soldier, capable of full thought, and with the ability to leand a discerning question, should my orders warrant it. This has often caused strife with those in power around me.

This ate at the Abbottes, and she called her Lord down upon me, striking me as "Basphemer." I was stricken, left without voice, and without the will of God.

I felt empty.

In this time, I had married Ill'antha, impregnated her. I was well on my way to being a father, and I was still immersed in my work. I know it bothered Ill'antha -- she said so -- but I could not pull away at such a critical time. It seemed that many things in the Army hinged on everyone's -- my -- work.

But I have been ignoring something. The other officers of Valdaglerion's play-army. One, in particular.

Lavinah Nether'vyr, a Priestess of Dragoth.
----

I am sure some of you reading this have had your own run-ins with, your own opinions of, the Priestess Nether'vyr.

To put it simply, she was something of a bitch. The woman was -- as most people are, no doubt -- in "Life" for herself. She cared little for who she displaced in achieving her goal. I believe she secretly fed some sort of cookie to the Highlord, so that she might bend him to her will.

In any case, the Priestess made it quite difficult for my progress within the Marauders. Between the rumours that I was sleeping with her -- which pissed off my wife -- and her own comments, straight into the Highlord's ear, I was sure to find her smirking face whenever a roadblock halted me.

Immediately followed by words intended to boost her image in my eyes. They very seldom worked. It was one way I tried to appease my wife, I suppose. Cutting myself off from the Priestess. I believe it hurt my career. Not that {_she{x did not, anyhow. Yes, Lavinah Nether'vyr.

A cruel woman, if a manipulative one. I suppose the only reason I do not respect her is her lies. I cannot stand liars, and to see one so highly placed... it rankles. Now it is irrelevant. As I stated before, Curuven has driven off anyone who would have supported him -- whores aside.

I believe I can move on now. I was promoted, finally, to Captain, and continued my work. It was slow, agonizing. My wife wanted me to kill Curuven. The idea cemented itself slowly. He was weak-willed already, and a liar to boot. To kill him would place me in direct contention for the position of Highlord. It was something I was ready for.

We did not act, however. It seems she meant these conversations as a lever against me. Eventually, she threatened me. Either we left the Marauders, so that I had more time for her and the child, or she divorced me, and took my son away from me.  With a heavy heart, I left the Army I had grown fond of.

It was not long after this that Ill'antha disappeared, with Veles. She left me a forwarding address, to which I was expected to pay monthly for my share of the child's care. I have done so diligently, but despite how long I have waited at the mailing address, she does not show up. Curiously, the money is always taken.

This threw me further into despair. Not only had I now left one of the few things that bring me joy, but I had also lost the only {_other{x thing that did as much. My son. I would not have any part in his upbringing, and he was lost to me. To put it very, very simply:

I was a failure.

I... kept to myself for a long time. I needed to gather myself. And in doing so, I utterly ruined myself. I became a recluse, keeping myself for company, and I believe it affected me. For the worse. When at last I had decided what to do, it was one of the few things I had not ever seen myself doing.

That is, I decided to return to the home of my grandmother and grandfather, on my Mother's side. Nordmaar. I had heard good things about their military. And to be frank, listening to their babble would be just as raucous as my own thoughts.

So I spoke with their Kings, their Dukes.

--

I was already disliked in Nordmaar.

The Duke, once-King Keaghan MacCallum, had taken an instant, earnest dislike of me. Or so it seemed.

I was to swear myself to Nordmaar, to her King and Queen, and to her military. I was told to prove myself, my ardor.

One way or another, I did. Perhaps iw as simple persistence, but eventually, the Duke welcomed me into Nordmaar with less-than-open arms.

I resumed my place in everyday life.

I joined the Army, under Lieutenant-Colonel Robaidh Bruce. I made myself known, and was promoted to Private First Class -- from Private Basic -- quickly enough. It was the eventual re-emergence of Sioman MacAllen that sealed me fates in Nordmaar.

For a long time, I simply subsisted. I had befriended another Army soldier -- Aerraen Wallace -- and mad emyself welcome to him. We fought one another often in Nrodmaar's arena, enhancing our skills and strategy until each fight was a toss-up.

Sioman came shortly after. A MacAllen man of some ninety-plus years. I believe he expected respect because of his age, rather than his experience (which was rumoured considerable.) This frustrated me. A man pops out of a desperate nothingness and we were supposed to bow and scrape and worship him. I do not think so.

The Marine Lieutenant, Vianna Gunn, sent out a call for recruits. A call to which I responded, as well as a few others. I did not realize the error I had made in doing so. I simply expected more work than I was receiving in the Army. And that was a Good Thing.

The Lieutenant was plentiful at this time, she made herself known widely through Nordmaar, and was available nightly. There was a lot for the Marines to do. Drills, that sort of thing.

I was not very fond of dealing with one of the other Marine recruits. He was facored -- a son of royalty. He knew what to say, and touted his school experience. "I was top of the class at the Nordmaarian Strategy Academy..!"

Screw off, kid. I have lead an actual squadron of men, prepared battle plans for a wartime environment, and trained hundreds of men for the encounters involved in an actual war. I do not care if you ran numbers well in a classroom.

I was not going to sit around and take his orders. It is a poor attitude to take, but that is how I felt -- feel.

Marnius was as stubborn as I was. The biggest difference being that he held the power of a Nordmaarian royal child.

Adding to this, the Lieutenant had begun the first of a long series of disappearances. Our training was to take a total of four weeks. After six weeks at the first tier, I began to resent her.

After ten, I gave up. But that is jumping ahead.
-------

Meanwhile, Sioman had begun to establish himself as a colossal pain in my ass. He took every opportunity to jab, and complained if ill treatment was returned.

One day, during drills, Sioman had the audacity to remove his badges, throw them in the dirt -- a direct mockery of the crown -- and trod over them in his effort to remove himself from us.

{_He{x was not cast out as a traitor.

Instead, Keaghan MacCallum pandered to the man. He was immediately offered the same position he once held, without thought to his treasonous acts.

When the man tried to lor dhimself over me, I would not have it. I refused to follow the commands of a traitor, and I made that very clear to him, as well as to my commanding officers.

The events built upon themselves slowly, and they ended on a brisk midwinter's night.

Sioman tried to lie to those above us without proof. I told them simply that I would rather be accused of the same treason he was than follow his orders.

I went so far as to suggest that if Sioman remained as a part of Nordmaar's military, they might as well jail me for insubordination.

Later that evening, Sioman sentenced himself to death. He asked that Keaghan MacCallum deliver the death blow.

I suppose I should feel guilty. I lead to his death. It was my fault. ...I feel only a grim sort of satisfaction.

I was promoted twice that evening, despite my blatant disregard for Nordmaarian officials, and my defiance. All congratulate Corporal MacLeod de Lyov.

It was shortly after this that my brief affair with Charisian MacAllen came to fruition.

It seems that most of the women I grow fond of come from overly religious backgrounds. Perhaps that is the influence of my father. Charisian was no different.

She was a gentle enough girl, a budding Priestess of Raije. With my recenve conversion, things worked. It was an affair of convenience, rather than one of any powerful lust or feelings.

We did not do much, nor were we ever officially a couple. It did not feel right. What with my own divorce so close behind me, and the failings of that relationship looming over me. There was also the fact that her husband was simply missing. He could return at any time.

So I let things drift.

It was shortly after this that the Wallace sisters returned home.

I remember the timing very clearly, as it was shortly following the only time I have ever consumed copious amounts of alcohol.
-----

A Verminasian -- now Arkanian -- girl by the name of Chel'rei Chtael ( a girl who had once served under me in the Marauders, in fact) had challenged me to a drinking contest.

I was feeling low, so I accepted. Of course, a Kender mage had been involved. I learned later that the mage had been filling Chel'rei's glass with false, magical alcohol, and mine with the real thing.

Back to the point. It was shortly after this that Gilyn and Mauryn Wallace returned to Nordmaar. They have been affectionately nickanmed "Little" and "Slightly-Larger-than-Little" Wallace, respectively. It should be noted that these names are proportional to chest size and not height.

The Wallace sisters are good girls, if a bit naive. I think Aerraen changed that, for Gilyn. I am getting ahead of myself again, though.

It was around this time that I first approached the Lady Edevane.

What a fateful meeting.

She had been speaking with an Esquire at the time, Tolimere something. He remained during my conversation with the Lady,w atching me with distrustful eyes. I simply wanted to learn more of the Master that I had grown to know as a child. I asked some questions, feeling out the woman's faith.

There could be little about it. I certainly found her attractive, in an odd, quirky way. She was proper, a Military-Lady. But she was also not afraid to laugh and smile, to show emotion, or play at banter. I suppose that what I mean to say is that the girl was not frigid. Her laughter brought my own -- missing since the departure of my wife. It was enjoyable, speaking with the Lady Edevane.

I thoguht about it for a long time after I left, and came to the conclusion that it had been long enough since my divorce. I decided to actively pursue the Lady Edevane.

We talked often after that night, learning more of one another. I do not know how she felt for me in these days, but I do recall acting foolishly, and being rebuffed.

I toned considerably after that evening. The Lady and I still spoke, of course, but it had a different tone. A little more cold, mroe business-like.

This was just fine.

As I explored my religion, I found that I was lapsing in Nordmaar. The Lieutenant had disappeared again. This time, apparently, for good. The military stalled, falling back to the times when I preached for action above all else.

I floundered. With nothing to do, I found myself more and more prone to little cruelties. Saying some of the ill things I had been thinking, that sort of thing. I just drew into myself and lost track of the Lady Edevane. Perhaps things were rough all over.

I must go back a little, in my story. I have forgotten t least two very important events. Clumsy of me. Both of these things occurred while Iw as married to Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov.
----
The first important event was the death of my mother, a catalyst for the second event. I took time off from the Army in order to visit my father, and to be present at my Mother's funeral. My sister, Avana MacLeod de Lyov, was, apparently, present. Father did not allow her to see me, so I simply thought she was... gone. Dead, somehow. I do not know.

The second is a bit more heart-wrenching, for me.

When I went to visit my father a second time, it was because he had written to me. He was getting married again. He wished to know my opinion, but would not tell me any names. When I arrived, I wished to know what all the hubbub was. This ended quickly, when -- who else -- but Captain Morana stepped out from behind my father, a hand on her swelling stomach, the other on his shoulder.

She called out to me. Wanted me to come to her as her son-in-law. I remember being angry. Very angry. But I did not say anything. Ill'antha... did. Well. She did not say anything. She attacked the woman. Brought her down. Made her... apologize? It is hazy. I was satisfied, and we left. I vowed to never speak with Father again, unless he removed the whore from what would become my Estate.

He has yet to acquiesce.

I had been, in this time, fighting in Algoron's Gladiator Leagues. I did well against some, and poorly against others. I fought because it gave me something to do, something to prepare for.

It lent me something to ease the passage of time, to take my mind off the child that had been stolen from me.

Veles occupied my thoughts in those days. With so much downtime, I had little to do, thinking aside. I tried to concentrate on my fights, on religious faith -- which still eluded me -- and on women, all of which failed. My thoughts turned to him. Always to him.

I wonder how many times he had asked Ill'antha about his father. I wonder what she told him. Was I some demon to the boy? Some fearsome beast who must be approached with pitchfork and torch? I hope not.

Aerraen was a comradely constant. I felt comfortable with the man who seemed to share many of my own views. There were often jokes concerning the amount of time we spent, training one another as much as ourselves.

Let me assure your minds: neither of us swing quite that direction.

By this time, Aerraen had begun to show an odd sort of affection for the Little Wallace. I saw what seemed to be a budding romance, and I was happy for the two of them. They both do not seem to be the very self-reliant type. I mean to say that I feel that the two of them would be better off in a relationship than they would out. ...That still sounds like an insult. It is not. I have little but respect for them both.

Gilyn is, was, a bubbly little girl; proud of her heritage, stubborn and loyal to a fault. She was a very good match for Aerraen, I thoguht. I have little doubt, however, that he was very against her stubborn qualities.

Aerraen is a domineering 'gold-ol'-boy', ready to fight -- quietly -- for those he deems worthy, but not always prepared to publicly voice his opinions. He will lie, cheat, and be violent, if and when it is necessary. The man, frankly, scares me, in a position of power.

ARound this time, Valdaglerion Curuven began to speak with me again. H ebegged me to return to the Army, offering me a position, once more, as a Lieutenant of the Marauder Army. This was something I had to think on. Life had lapsed into dull silence in Nordmaar, and the Army provided me with an instrument of change. A way to relieve the thoughts tormenting me. Banal, dull, lifelong work.

In the end, I chose to honour the Oath I had made to the Army. I packed my things and left. As none of my superiors had come around in a week, if not more, I left without requesting leave.

I have left out another important event. My memory is already failing. Not a good sign.

This event lead to my departure from Nordmaar, in part. It is concerning the birth and growth of Faelahn Hakonsen, which shortly followed the death of her mother, Kaetlynn Hakonsen.

The girl was a Hellbrat from day one. She did nothing but cry and sleep. This is often the case with newborns. Typically, however, they are kept out of the public eye. This was not the case with the young Hakonsen girl. Her father refused to remove her from society, and her mother was dead. On top of this, the father was prone to ong absences, leaving Nordmaar in charge of the Viking infant.

Since I have not, yet, I will expound upon my feelings for the Vikings. I despise them. The lot of them ar elazy gypsies without the sense to put in a hard day's work. Despite their genetics and the extravagant generosity gifted them by our King, their thoguhts are prone to run the course of treasonous plot. They hide for years before returning to reclaim their positions, as if nothing had changed. It is damned frustrating. Their laziness extends to every facet of their society, from the military, to child-rearing, to societal politics. And they expect, no -- demand! -- our respefct. I think that they ought to be run out of Nordmaar once and for all.

I doubt it will happen.

As I was saying, Ulfr refued to raise his child all the way through her childhood, so this task fell to the populace of Nordmaar as a whole.

It was a saf affair. Most of Nordmaar is as unfit to raise a child as ULfr, and this showed; the girl's first word was "Damn." She proudly crowed it out from dawn until dusk.

As the child grew, her father was away more and more. The more the father was away, the more we had to care for the child. The more we had to care for the child, the more I wanted to drown her.

When she was seven, the trouble began.

The girl must have been born a liar, with the way she began to spin tales at this age. Any recrimination brought against her was met with an obstinately obnoxious lie -- generally to that person's superiors. The Faelahn incident should never have happened, but it did.

Her father's refusal to parent her was what lead to these unfortunate circumstances, I am afraid.

As she grew older, Faelahn's lies became out outrageously elaborate, and more dangerous. She swore that Aerraen tried to murder her by holding her head beneath water, that Aerraen cheated on Little Wallace with a newly arrived Priestess, Gwendalen, and that I physically beat her.

I took it upon myself to publicly reproach her father for his poor parenting. He screamed and yelled -- as Vikings are wont to do -- threatened me with death, jailing, and demotion. All in the same sentence, no less. I told him that if he could not parent the child, she needed to be removed, as per Nordmaarian law. I was, shortly thereafter, thrown in the brig.

I seem to recall Teirnan visiting me there. We had a very civil, comradely conversation. I was thankful for this, and even found a laugh, after having suggested throwing the girl in the ocean. Teirnan's response was that all that might happen was "Splash?"

I was released from the brig, and in the weeks that followed, Faelahn was ordered either placed under someone else's care, or removed from Nordmaar.

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I challenged this order. I told the Duke that I would take charge of the girl, and teach her how to be a proper Lady. In retrospect, this was another of my poor decisions.

I was told that if I failed, I would be demoted. I am not sure what forced my hand in this. That is, I do not know what made me desire to reach out.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that losing your child hurts, or that being without a father must be hell. I do not know.

I do, however, know that lessons began the next day. She was to learn reading and writing before anything else, and she caught on quickly. With her aptitude in mind, I addressed proper titles, as well as appropriate language for Ladies. The last thing I was able to teach her was that women are intended for a few select tasks, all of which they excel at. Those tasks are child-rearing, cooking, cleaning, writing letters, and yelling at men.

Shortly after these lessons, she started her lies again, and was caught out. This lead to her expulsion from Nordmaar. As I had succeeded in the task before me, I was not demoted.

But it still stung.

Many rejoiced at Faelahn's removal. I do not think that anyone was disappointed to see her go.

Except Caemlin MacAllen. He had lost another potential female to stalk and molest. I will save his story for later.

-----

I've been wondering where to go with this story from here. I could talk about the MacAllen lad and  his constant barrage of negative emotion towards the women of Nordmaar, or I could begin with my  return to the Marauders. I could break from this entirely and talk about what an absolute pain in the ass writing is.

I think that, instead, I will talk about those people who have helped and hindered me in my life thus far, and how I feel about them.

I will start from the beginning.

My father. I do not think anyone (barring my late wife) has had as profound an affect on my life as  my father has.  It was from him that I learned the principles I live my life by, in both positive and  negative fashions. Withotu him, I would be a different man, and I do not say that lightly. I gained  as much from him as I lost. As a child, it was base learning, as a teenager, the harsh realities of  life -- tough love. As an adult, itw as the cold wrath that comes with age, and how imbalancing jealous rage can be.  Most of life's lessons would have gone unlearned, were it not for the presence of my father.

My mother. She had always been a rock in my life. The one I could turn to, should things go wrong.  She was the logic to my father's instinctual impulse. Without the lessons my mother taught me, I would be no more cultured than a warg, and less capable of rational thought than an enraged fourteen-year-old Highland girl in her moon-flow. It is amazing, what examples you can come up with last minute... There was something charmingly inspiring about my mother, perhaps it was her quiet demeanor, or the silent way she took the abuse my father lent her, the proud tilt of her head despite the bruises stretching from forehead to throat. More than once, my mother "fell downt he stairs" after disagreeing with Father.  Their most common arguments involved my sister and I. Our education, our teenage affairs. Sometimes these carried on for days. I rememebr one time in particulary. I had been fifteen, Avana nine. Despite the size of our house, I could hear him yelling. I had lied, told them I was going to lessons. Instead, I went out to a much-anticipated dance I had been forbidden to go to, sponsored by a girl I favored at the time. I snuck in late, and Avana told me how angry they were, how Father's choice for her (a rather disgusting man named Krasimir; minor nobility in Verminasia) had been to the dance and came to our estate halfway through, in order to snitch on me. She said that our father was furious, and had wanted to set out at once, to drag me home. Mother stopped him, tried to dissuage him. That had been three horus ago, she said. I heard them screaming, Father's brash yells overpowering Mother's demure whisper. Avana had been afraid. She asked if Mother was alright. I do not recall sleeping that night, instead comforting Avana as she lay next to me, assuaging the poor girl's fears. The next morning, we went down to breakfast. Mother lookde like hell, and seemed damned proud of it, with the splotchy red and purple darkening her cheeks and across her throat, to her collar. My father did not say anything to me, and my mother only smiled with that savage pride of hers.

Avana comes next. She was as much a voice of reason as my mother was, except while my mother was the voice of reason in times of dir eneed, Avana was ther efor everything. I trusted, trust, her. We spoke of damn near everything, and one way or another, we knew what the other was up to. Even when I left the house, my sister and I conversed in letters, kept our liverymen busy, pacing back and forth from the Lyov estate to my quarters ont he border and back again. Avana, I am sure, knows me better than anyone else. There have been times we disagreed, times she pulled me back on track. I wanted to run away from home -- a disillusions teenager. She called me a coward, wanting to run away from any problem that threatened to reat its head. Said that if I went through with it, I would be a disgrace; to myself, to the Lyov name, and to her. I stayed. She has always been headstrong, never content to enjoy what meager luxury our family could afford. She was equally discomfited with the idea of arranged marriage. Then again... I would be too, with a toad like Krasimir in mind. My sister, in short, is my balance. Resserved where I am vocal, outspoken where I am timid.

Later, the Viscountess. I cannot say if this woman was good for me or not. I loved her, that much is certain. She changed me. It was the Viscountess who took me from brash youth to reserved soldier. I could not have been more pleased with the results. She was intoxicating. Everything about her. Her command, her power. She wore it like another woman might wear a satin glove: comfortably, confidently, and dangerously. She gave vision to my dreams, fought for me when Law dictated that I did not. I did not ever think I could replace her, but yet... Ill'antha changed me in many ways. As intoxicating as she was, I would call her a precious disease, spreading jealously greedy hands everywhere she could reach. There were some things I think I may have handled differently, were it not for the Viscountess' presence. I really do not have too much more to say about this woman, except that she gave me and then took from me one of the few things IN this world I actually care for: a son. {_My{x son, Veles.

Veles has changed everything. Absolutely everything. I am a father now, and that factors into nine-tenths of the decisions I ame. "Would Veles be proud of this? Is this something he will look back on and think of a story he will want to tell {_his{x children?" It does not matter that he is not here, that I will most likely not see him. It only matters that the beaming boy be proud of his father, that I take every measure to ensure it. I often wonder where Ill'antha has taken him, where the boy is, what he is doing. I wonder what is being done for this sfchooling, what concept he has of morals. Iw onder if his mother is poisoning his mind the way she poisoned mine. It is a frightening thought, one I do not bear very well. He is defenseless. Somehow, I think he will prevail.

Valdaglerion Curuven has shown me what a leader should {_not{x be. He has taken a powerful army and driven it into the ground. Three separate times. Both times I entered the Marauders, they gained in numbers, and both times, Valdaglerion cast those numbers aside. The fool. He cannot keep his word on the most simple of matters, and has ero qualms about lying to cover up his own glaring errors. He will cheat and break his own laws repeatedly, if it leads to instant gratification for him. He does {_not{x follow the Code he expects his men to, and would rather see an unintelligent whore before him than four capable officers. Beyond the stampeded of soldiers leaving the Marauders, Valdaglerion has taken everything they stood for away from them. Under his rule, those that are left have grown complacent. It is dsigusting to see such idle laziness in the Army.

Aerraen Wallace. Almost a brother to me, this man gave me a lot of the stability I needed in Nordmaar, though there is something unsettling about him. SOmething distinctly out-of-place.  It first began to bother me when he moved on so quickly from Gilyn Wallace. His actions since then have been erratic, unstable. There was a distinct lack of methodology. It was all desperately random. We stood by one another when times grew dark, but since my deparature and eventual return, we are less close. It is disheartening, to say the least. He is a good man, somewhere.

Gilyn and Mauryn Wallace are good girls, if somewhat naive. They seem to me as little girls -- in fact, I treat them as sisters -- without much idea as to what is going on around them. They are full of ripe emotion, and it is a good, happy thing to see. I enjoy watching them run to and fro with their exuberance. Gilyn has, lately, grown up some. I think her experience with Aerraen has taught her a lot about men, though her new beau seems to be rather fond of her. A good thing, if I have ever seen one. Her sister is around much less often, unfortunately. Gilyn, though, is proving to be an adequate, competent young soldier-girl. She has dealt with the callous, off-handed way Aerraen has tossed her away, and pushed on to find the courage to adapt to a new relationship. It is very... enlightening? No, that is not the word. But I think you understand what I mean. She is a good girl, for what it matters.

The MacAllen boy, Caemlin. Wonderful. I have already touched on what I think about this boy. He is despicable. Despite his constant whining and clamoring for attention, and his emotional ups and downs over the women of Nordmaar who constantly rebuke him, there is little to set him aside from a lecherous seventy-year-old man with a penchant for the underage. I have no respect for him, and find his promotions somewhat obscene, in the scheme of things. He chases after what he cannot have, and sinks into deep depressiont he moment he is rebuked. His current situation is equally ridiculous, chasing repeatedly after an engaged woman, despite her protests. She wants him to stop, but he refuses? I would fear for my sleep. I suppose it is being handled, will be handled. Whatever. In any case, this man has not changed my life in any way, aside from adding amusement and... disappointment in the Highlanders. They had to breed this. Ugh.

Teirnan MacCallum. Nordmaar's King is an amazing man, truly. I have nothing but absolute respect for this man. He thinks things through logically before pronouncing his judgment, gives his thoguhts the weight of experience, both as King and as Soldier. He is a man I have no qualms with following, whether it be into battle, or into the decisions he makes. I am loyal to this man alone, if nothing else.  He has surprised me with most of his decisions, seeing the weight lent those decisions is something... different, especially considering my recent delve into the Marauders. The differences between Valdaglerion and Teirnan are many. Teirnan does not think for personal gratification, but for the Kingdom as a whole, deciding what would aid the country before what would aid himself. Everything he does is in service to Nordmaar, and I believe his dedication to a greater degree than any man I have ever known.

Keaghan MacCallum. The father of the King, and a former King himself. I trust this man, but I find the methods he employs... barbaric. He is a Nordmaarian man, with all the skir-- kilt-wearing, hair-growing pride that needs. He lets impulse guide him, instinctual responses to right and wrong, good and evil. If he {_wants{x to punch you for whatever wrong he feels you have committed, he will do so. He does not fear the consequences of his actions, but {_does{x seem ready and willing to respond to those consequences, when that time arises. I respect the man, but not the same way I do Teirnan. I respect Keaghan because of his distinct lack of thought, for the way his instincts guide him to some of the same decisions I might reach after thought, for the way he reacts to his impulses before thinking, and is often correct, even if I do not quite agree with his decision. The Duke is an apt Commander, and I will follow his commands with the same respect I lend Teirnan's.

Lieutenant Colonel Robaidh Bruce. I cannot bring myself to rightly respect this man. He does not have the... necessary presence of mind to run an Army. He is gone often, and expects his soldiers to interact with him through written word rather than face-to-face conduct. When an idea to bring the Army back to activity is brought up, he screams and yells -- jealous, perhaps, that the idea was not his own. It is disheartening and confusing all at once. Later, when the topic is brought up, he insists that he would not care if it was his idea or not, that he would most certainly have approved it, if it was only brought to his attention. I do not know how he expects things to be brought to his attention, with his infrequent appearances. I cannot imagine a man less apt to lead an Army at this current juncture in the Lieutenant Colonel's life. Except, perhaps, Caemlin MacAllen. But we have already spoken on that. I, personally, feel that Robaidh Bruce would be better off as a soldier, perhaps an NCO, than an officer. He is missing something in the general make-up of an officer. Something distinctly necessary. I cannot put a finger on the word.

Rowynna MacCallum. My queen is a level-headed woman, if around less often than I might otherwise wish. She is able, a good Queen. She is as much empathetic as my mother was, and I think that might be one of the reasons I feel comfortable with her. She reminds me of Mother, rest her soul. It is comforting to have such a stable figure in the leadership of the country I call home. I know many other women who are... less stable. They make decisions without consulting others, many of those decisions are off the wall, crazed ideas that are in response to some small slight, or an insult cast in a bar. It is ridiculous to see those women in charge, and I cannot reconcile, whatever I do. I do not see that in Rowynna MacCallum, though. Only a tempered evenness and sharp wit, mixed with the decision-making ideas necessary to her job as a Crown of Nordmaar.

Ulfr Hakonsen is a pitiful father figure. He could not father his child when the child was there daily -- he refused to be. He passed on his responsibilities to the populace of Nordmaar, and I cannot help but look down on the beast of a fool for it. I want nothing more than to be a father -- a good father. He could not see that in himself, refusing to parent his child in the most simple of aspects. We of Nordmaar were forced to endure his child's tantrums, the screaming, the obscenities, the crying, while he was off cavorting with harlots and dice, not to mention that swill they call Smite. He is a recklessly dangerous man, and I see no reason he should be allowed to breed again, to be honest. But then... he {_is{x a Viking. I do not see how I could have expected any more from him, given his heritage. They are all the same: lazy, worthless bastards with a misleading stature. "Ah, he is large, I am sure he works hard!" A lie. Always a lie.

Gwendalen MacLeod. I am not sure what I think of her. I am angry with her, certainly, for taking Gilyn Wallace's man in a way that she is currently angry at another woman for attempting. she claims ignorance, innocence. I cannot seem to reconcile that fact. She had to have known. Aerraen surely told her, and I am sure that Gwendalen saw the Little Wallace kissing him. What else is there to it? She is a capable Sailor, I suppose that is important. There is something morally wrong with her. Despite all this recent fuss with Caemlin and Aerraen, she is still... morally corrupt.. for what she did to the Wallace girl. I cannot find myself entirely faulting her, however much I want to. There is a certain... malignance about her, despite the way she smiles and hides it by prettily batting her eyes. I do not entirely trust her, though I will make myself available to her should she need aid. She is a MacLeod, after all. It is my duty, despite whatever personal qualms I may have with it. It is right and necessary.

Vianna Gunn is as poor a leader as Robaidh. They have many of the same traits. They disappear for long periods of time, and when they return, the expect the same amount of respect they had before, when their actions were different. They seem to not realize that you must {_earn{x and {_maintain{x respect. It is not something doled out because of rank. I will stand and look pretty, salute and be sharp, but that does not mean I must respect you. Vianna was a fine, good Leader when she was around. Then her disappearances started, and they continued. When she returned, for all of a day -- stating that she would be around more often, no less -- she commanded the same respect she had earned before, went so far as to insult and belittle me for calling her a poor leader. I would expect such a response from someone who had the state of mind to stick around and command her troops, but to berate me for not finishing the Marine training that took six weeks to pass one week, instead of four weeks for the entire course, like it was supposed to? I do not think so. I am tired of these sort of Nordmaarian officers. They are as ill-suited to their jobs and tasks as Valdaglerion Curuven, or most of Verminasia's officials. I would liken them to Argg, in fact. That is saying a great deal.

Lavinah Nether'vyr. I have already touched, some, on my feelings for this woman. She is a false prophet, a liar. She is very adroit at manipulation, and for that I can respect her. She knows how to bend things to her will, and to use people. I must give her a modicum of respect for that, at least, though I certainly disagree with the way she goes about doing it. I once saw a great potential for her, as a Leader, were it not for her cruel streak, for the way she handles herself under stress -- that is, rather than buckling down to work, she finds others to do it for her. She does not make a very good leader, I am afraid. I do not see how many can respect and admire her enough to {_follow{x her, rather than listen to her. There is a distinct difference between following orders and serving someone. A very important difference. One I do not think Lavinah Nether'vyr grasps quite fully.

Fastia Morthest-Nadiv is still a Spider. She still ensnares those who are unable to defend themselves, weaving her webs in and around those who cannot, attacking them and pulling them towards her. It is admirable... in its own way. It takes a certain skill to do that. She is also a surprising woman. Despite our past differences, she still seems to show some modicum of concern for me, and for that, she is to be commended. I believe it was this woman who set me back on a path to righteousness, when I was down. I had been cast out, beat down. My pride was not intact, and my arrogance gone. To put it simply, I had been ready to die, finally. Fastia wished to speak with me. She offered me a home, food. Rest. She said there was something missing from me, and she missed it. Wanted to see it returned. It had been a while since I had been spoken to in such a... condescending, concerned manner. I did not want her help. I think that is what enlivened me. It gave me that sense of purpose that once drove me forwards. I am indebted to her, mentally.

Farium. Farium was a dividing point between my former wife and I. She loved him, I am sure of it. Positive of it. She required him, something about him kept her sane. Perhaps it was the sense of purpose... but I always resented him for it. He took her from me. Kept a part of her that I {_could{x {_not{x {_have.{x I hated him for it. Despite my urge to help him -- to help my wife. I hated him. I wanted him dead, killed. He hurt my wife. My son. He put them in harm's way repeatedly, without thought to it. It was to save himself. Hate. It is such a powerful, driving emotion. He lead me towards the downwards spiral that brought me so close to Mencius again, that lost me my wife. I put myself into my work, since she focused so hard on Farium. She would not notice. Not until he was dead. Only afterwards did she say to me, "Verdemar... you are working too hard. Stop. concentrate on me." Concentrate on her. After her estranged lover died. Despite the concern I showed her... I was happy when he died. {_Happy{x. I cannot imagine a better present than hearing he had died. I smiled to myself. His hold on my wife was gone, and things could return to normal. ...Only, they didn't. She wept. Something inside her perished with Farium. She said he understood her in a way no one else could. I despise him. And I miss him.

Crelius Atennim is one of the reasons I desire to join Storm Keep. He is a man of firm convictions, a man I admire from afar. I fear him. I respect him. He is truly a Knight of the Lord, and I think that if he had lead the Keep when I was a child, it would have been my firmest conviction to join the Keep under him, to serve under him. Instead, it was Kesepton. But this is not about his predecessor. Crelius is a man of few words, but when he speaks, people are sure to listen. He is inspiring, in a way that not many are. His charisma does not come from good looks, or well-worded speeches, but rather, from his Faith, his unshakably certain Faith. He has lead Storm Keep through a stage of denial, and I believe them to be on an upswing once more, returning the Lord's Knights to the power they once held. It is an inspiring story, Atennim's. I hope to learn more of it when I make my venture to Storm. It is soon, now, I feel.

Rivka Edevane began me on the path I eventually chose as my own -- Necrucifer. I admire the woman for her ferocious (like a kitten) tenacity to her Faith, her tendencies to speak with those of Light and Darkness equally, preaching her Faith without holding sermons. It is good to see someone roaming the streets, spreading His word without thought as to, "I will not convert many here, this is Althainia." She is equally at home in Storm Keep as she is in Althainia, outside Gareth, and is more than willing to teach others without the condescending sneers that many of His faith hold. It is an enlightening, uplifting thing. I hope, someday, that others take after this woman, and give her the same sort of respect that I hold for the Lady Edevane. She is truly a paragon of His faith, even when she battles within herself for the right choice. It is admirable, and inspiring. I find Lady Edevane both militaristic and religious, equally.

Description
I have decided to begin this log anew, with the advantage of new insights and a fresh start. Until this point, I must admit a certain selfishness in the way I have lived, but that has, most recently, changed.

Part of that change has been me. COnflicting emotions and turmoil have shaped the way I saw myslf, and those emotions are beginning to boil down, replenishing the simmering heat I once saw in myself.

The Marauder Army, to which I once owed an oath of service, has fallen apart. Valdaglerion Curuven has torn the once-proud military organization apart -- at the behest of his whorish Mistress, Illirya. Before, I had seen soldiers come and go. Most recently? I have seen only the departure and release of Officers -- the loss of good soldiers with a high potential for Officership.  It is disheartening, to be frank. The Highlord has lost the nerve that lead me to the Marauders, and has found it replaced with a lustful trollop in stockings and high heels.

The Nordmaarian King invited me to return home, upon my release from the Marauder ARmy. Not long before, however, I received a much stranger request. Abbottess Fastia Nadiv-Morthest offered me a place in New Thalos, a room in her home. Mone -- whatever I needed. It is confusing, such sudden good will from the woman I know only as "Spider." Perhaps she has changed. More likely is the prospect that, with the depareture of my wife and the loss of my child, I have changed.  I worry that Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov could have swayed my opinoni that much. That she could have twisted me that far.

In any case, I am now home. But for how long, I wonder? The plans I am building for Nordmaar's military are underway, and ought to be completed in the next couple of months, if not before then.  On a greatly-removed note, my darling sister -- Avana -- has found her way to Nordmaar after a long absence. I had presumed her dead. But she sits, well, sleeps... here before me as I write this.  I find myself wondering how she will fare under Nordmaar's officials, and worrying for the men that would dare to approach her.  Oddly, looking upon her, I am reminded of Farium.  She has the same sort of charm that... man did. A rather striking resemblance, in spirit. I suppose, as jealous of the attentions my wife gave him as I was, I miss him. His conversations.

Further, I wonder how long it will be before I depart the Highlands for STorm Keep.  I have been in long talks with the High Mystic, the Lady Rivka Edevane, as well as, more recently, both the Dark Lord Atennim and a relatie of his, the Elder Atennim, of the Rose.

I intend, upon pulling together the necessary funds, to invite my sister along as well. To bring another familial adventure to STorm Keep. Should she be willing.

It has been high drama in Nordmaar of late, between the brutish men and the oft-times just-as-boorish women. Rumours run rampant, yes, wild in the stress, and more often than not, they are believed. It has been said that the seduction of dragons is ont he rise -- and that while the wife is away, the husband should play.

However, I am most delighted for the elder Wallace girl, Gilyn. She has returned from caring for her sister, and promptly found a man. A man who seems very devoted to her. I am glad. Perhaps I will be able to focus more steadily on my recently-returned sister. Which is not to say that I mind caring for Little Wallace. Far from it. She, however, needs a man. Someone to love the girl, quirky as she is. I wonder, though, for Aerraen's reaction. He is engaged to Gwendalen, a MacLeod. But I sense some pronounced jealousy, resentment maybe. Perhaps the man has feelings for her yet. We will see.

Mencian is gnawing at my boot, so I must go now. I have been sitting here for far too long anyway.

Written Day of the Sun,
{x                     13th the month of the Dragon.

Corporal Verdemar MacLeod de Lyov
{W    [{R<<{W]{x

I do not often think as deeply on myself as the Dark Lord wishes me to here, and I have yet to decide whether this is for good or for ill. My reasons for joining Storm Keep are not many. Nor are they as varied as I had once thought. They are, however, rooted in my past. My upbringing.

I was born Verdemar Demyan Lyov, to Velinas and Katryna Lyov, some thirty-five years ago in Verminasia, province of Ithersea. I was born under the rule of the Viscountess, Ill'antha Luhta'zair. I remember the hushed stories of the Lady's cruelty, her unresponsive lovers, first. Softly whispered stories of bogeyman to scare children before bed.

Until I was five, I remember being spoiled. It was not the sort of spoiling you see in children these days -- the little princelings running wild as their parents starve, but by the standards I lived by afterward, and the standards I live by now... I was psoiled. My parents -- Mother especially -- bought me things in preparation for my later years. A steed, riding equipment. They parepared my armament, had swords crafted for me. I saw the things come in and knew they were for me. To others, it may have seemedm a meager existence -- page to my father, left to the menial tasks that position affords. But I was child to a wealthy Verminasian family, at the nation's peak -- son to a well-known Priest of the Lord, and his wife.

I am sure some of you are balking. "His wife!" you might say, "She had no expertise? No line of work?" to put it simply: no. She did not. My father did not allow it. Mother was there as, I believe, most womens hould have been, in those times. She cooked, cleaned the house, ensured our clothing was clean, and wrote what Father dictated. She was a traditional woman -- there for moral support when it was needed.

Despite the strong Necruciferian presence in my life, I came to know and respect Mencius as my Lord. To fear and harness the rage in me, cold as it was.

By the time I was nine, my duties had changed. This was the year that my sister, Avana Lyov was born. It was a point of change. No longer was I the only child... but I {_was{x the only male child. And the eldest. It served its purpose. I was given what I needed, when I needed it. Father paid attentions to me, while Mother cared for the girl. My sister. I had been named Squire, by this point, to a Sergeant serving in the nearby Tower. We were on Ithersea's border, lead by Captain Aelevia Morana.

Captain Morana was gorgeous. A half-elf, forty-five when I was nine, and simply stunning. Rich auburn hair that hung to mid-waist when not bound up in tight buns, high cheekbones and startlingly sharp green eyes. I will admit that, at nine, I was very attracted to the woman, for more than obvious reasons. She was.. er.. buxom. Neither here nor there. The point is, she was one of the reasons I worked so hard, at that age. I wanted to prove to her what, rather, who, I was. To show her I was... you know. The man who would sweep the Colonel off her feet.

I did everything in my power, as a Squire, to make myself stand out to the Captain, taking on extra duties, doing work for others -- for her. I took on advanced missions, working. That was my life, work. I abandoned -- well, really, I was out of the house mostly anyway -- my family in my ardent task to set myself fully to learning my lessons, to following them to the letter. Chivalry, honour, all of it. Lessons I remember and follow today.

Then I was older. Sixteen, seventeen maybe. I had gotten what I wanted. The Captain's lover. I shared her bed, and the Tower knew about it. I made sure they knew it. I had.. I do not know. Claimed her, maybe. A big lesson for a seventeen year old. Women do not always like being claimed. She did not let on, however, and we shared one-another's bed until I was nineteen. I left the House for good when I was eighteen, joining the Tower as a Knight, a Soldier.
----

I was sent, at nineteen, on a reconaissance mission. Into Arkane. I was to go there and return when I had gathered what I felt was an 'adequate' amount of information. I was out for two years, three. Closer to three. When I returned, I found another man sharing the Captain's bed. I will not go into details, but I renounced everything on that day. My faith to Mencius -- I should have rushed in. Killed them both. My Knighthood in Verminasia... I walked off. I wandered.

It was a long time, my wandering. I spent most of that time trying to find... something. I do not know, something that was not there. Something I guess I could not find on my own. I turned to Faith. I fell from the faith my family held, felt that I followed Kwainin, without understanding the Lord's faith at all. It felt right, I suppose. Secure. I claimed faith in the Lord without knowing what that meant.

As I went, I tried to change myself ceaselessly, digging out a sort of callousness in my behaviour, giving to others as much as I hurt them. Without feeling it, trying to numb myself. It was that way for a long time, as much as a year, perhaps two. I found myself in the Marauders' Fort. Ironclad. I entered an establishment, it was known as the Dominion. They had food, gambling, drinks, women. Everything a man could ask for, I suppose. I was not interested in anything but a place to rest.

That changed when I took the stairs to the Loft of this establishment. There was a woman there -- seated off by herself, a scotch in one hand, a cigarillo in the other. Her face was covered by an ornate mask. She seemed very out-of-place, but very assured about it. I approached her immediately, intrigued. I asked the Lady for a dance, and she obliged. It was somewhat exhilarating. As if I had found something that I had lost.

Keep in mind: dancing was something I had been taught as a child. One of the arts, much the same as riding, falconry, hunting, language, courtesy. It... much like many of the other things I mentioned, is an art lost by the impetuous youth of today, something only lovers partake of. And then, only if they feel they will be doing a spot of horizontal dancing later in the evening. Or morning, as the case may be.

In any case, I lead this strange 'young' woman around the dancefloor for some time, and as we danced, she seemed to open more, spoke a bit less guardedly. I learned some of her past, but in that evening, I did not learn her name. It did not seem to matter. The next day I was lead, by the same woman -- she had found me, not the other way around -- to the Highlord of the Marauder Army. Valdaglerion Curuven.

It was there, in Hammurabi Square, that I swore the oath that would change my life for the foreseeable future.  I swore my life to the cause of the Marauders, to the Highlord, when he was stable, and to the Code. The Code is as efficient as it is elegant, as simple as it is defining. It is a life I live to this day, though under different circumstances.

The Marauders were... quiet. There was no system to speak of, no rank. No Officers, and the few times an Officer rose to power, he was quickly shut down by the Highlord for this made-up reason, or that one. It seemed that "treason" was a owrd thrown around very lightly at the time. I remember one incident in particular, when Fierra RaidFang lead the Guardians. An official of the Cavalry was to be beheaded for "speaking" of treason with another guard.
---------
There was no evidence of a trial, only the Guardian's word that it had happened, and the soldier's staunch refusal to speak up about it. Before they beheaded him, I questioned it. Questioned both Fierra and the Highlord. Openly. I did not believe any trial had been held. Or if one had, that it was a corrupt trial, full of false truths and hidden gold. The beheading went as planned, and I soon found myself in the stocks, the lash biting my flesh held by a minotaur. A particularly fierce one whose name I cannot quite remember.

I bore the punishment silently, content to ride the waves of subtle pain ripping through my spine and stomach. I believe I may have expunged the contents of my stomach more than once. I could not walk, when the whipping was done, nor could I hold myself up for the remaining four hours of my sentence, and so I hung helplessly.

I remember the woman... I did not mention her name. Ah, she was Advisor to Valdaglerion Curuven, one Ill'antha Luhta'zair. The very same woman I had served under, in Verminasia. She knelt helplessly beside me, weeping as I hung from the stockades, bleeding. She promised I had been right. Promised that we would right their error. Things would change, she swore to me.

They did not. They, in fact, got steadily worse. After the Highlord's decision in my case, he softened. Grew weak. His next punishments were trivial, despite the severity of the crimes, and with each punishment down-the-line, they became more trivial. It was as if he ceased to parse nature, and had simply resorted to slaps on the wrist, no matter the offense.

The Highlord, too, swore to me that things would change. He swore to Luhta'zair that he would rid the Army of the pestilence that was Nasha de'Kist. She was... lazy, out to make a profit for herself, and yet giving off the illusion that what she did was for the Military to which I had sworn my life.

Valdaglerion did not keep his word, but he did keep the woman around. I have a sneaking suspicion he may have been sleeping with her. It seems very like him. This went on for a rather long time, the Cavalry was without its officers, and thus, the soldiers went without orders, as Curuven did not have time for the common man.

In an effort to set myself above the others, I penned a manual, to be used as a guideline for the advancement of each soldier in the Marauder Army -- but most especially, for those in the Cavalry.  The manual was a work of excellence, if I may say so, and it seemed that many in the Marauders agreed, lending me their support in my advancement within that Army.

It was not long after that I was promoted to Lieutenant of the Cavalry, and then the Knights. An Officer of the Marauder Army.

I have been staunchly avoiding a part of this story, however. Ill'antha Luhta'zair, the former Viscountess, and current Advisor, and I had grown to be... lovers? I believe that is the word. We went well together. In the times to come, she was to be my wife, and I made this very plain to her.

She accepted the invitation to become Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov, and we were married not long after that. This was before my work absolutely consumed me. I loved her -- she said she loved me. It was a relationship. As simple as any other. I do not remember any sort of heartache before the Lady Luhta'zair de Lyov -- aside from the good Captain. I mark that off as a child's foolishness.

----

Advancement in the Marauders was a slow process. Horrifyingly slow. Without superior officers, the Knights floundered, barely able to keep their head above water. I found that, if I was to get anything done, I needed to take action. I began to speak with other soldiers, making my intent very clear. I intended to make myself Lieutenant of the Knights.

I worked tirelessly, both night and day, beginning to focus more on my work than my newfound lover. I know that I was fighting to prove myself. I needed to do so, to the men I had made my promises to, to the officers above me, to the Highlord, to my lover, and to myself, most of all.

So I worked. Most nights I went without sleep, tirelessly striving to gain the power that would allow me to actively change something. I held drills, aided in the completion of most of the Army's enlisted personnel training, and wrote. That last seems ineffectual.

There were many things I wrote, a sort of political campaign against the lack of action towards the betterment of the Army, the lack of any sort of structured drill setting, as well as a manual detailing what I thought should be made necessary for advancement. ...I believe I still have most of the things I wrote.

During this time, many other things were happening as well. I had shouldered the load of Faith, opening talks with Fastia Morthest, Kwainin's Abbot...tess. We diagreed on the matter of Faith, though any sort of argument was clearly... wrong. The Abbottess preached inaction. "Wait and see." She said, claiming neutrality was the absence of both good and evil, rather than the presence of one another simultaneously. My stance was foar-removed. I stand for action, and I had proven that in the Army.

By this time, valdaglerion had promoted me, and I had begun to turn his ineffectual leadership around. I had also, in this time, proposed to Ill'antha Luhta'zair. She accepted. I did not have the time to gloat or feel joy. I was busy.

Work beckoned. Continuing to argue with the Priestess, I lead my life as example. I professed a love of neither good nor evil, light or dark, and I was -- am -- a man of action. Most will not understand, but I am a Soldier.

Not an automaton, or some sort of bewitched slave. A soldier, capable of full thought, and with the ability to leand a discerning question, should my orders warrant it. This has often caused strife with those in power around me.

This ate at the Abbottes, and she called her Lord down upon me, striking me as "Basphemer." I was stricken, left without voice, and without the will of God.

I felt empty.

In this time, I had married Ill'antha, impregnated her. I was well on my way to being a father, and I was still immersed in my work. I know it bothered Ill'antha -- she said so -- but I could not pull away at such a critical time. It seemed that many things in the Army hinged on everyone's -- my -- work.

But I have been ignoring something. The other officers of Valdaglerion's play-army. One, in particular.

Lavinah Nether'vyr, a Priestess of Dragoth.
----

I am sure some of you reading this have had your own run-ins with, your own opinions of, the Priestess Nether'vyr.

To put it simply, she was something of a bitch. The woman was -- as most people are, no doubt -- in "Life" for herself. She cared little for who she displaced in achieving her goal. I believe she secretly fed some sort of cookie to the Highlord, so that she might bend him to her will.

In any case, the Priestess made it quite difficult for my progress within the Marauders. Between the rumours that I was sleeping with her -- which pissed off my wife -- and her own comments, straight into the Highlord's ear, I was sure to find her smirking face whenever a roadblock halted me.

Immediately followed by words intended to boost her image in my eyes. They very seldom worked. It was one way I tried to appease my wife, I suppose. Cutting myself off from the Priestess. I believe it hurt my career. Not that {_she{x did not, anyhow. Yes, Lavinah Nether'vyr.

A cruel woman, if a manipulative one. I suppose the only reason I do not respect her is her lies. I cannot stand liars, and to see one so highly placed... it rankles. Now it is irrelevant. As I stated before, Curuven has driven off anyone who would have supported him -- whores aside.

I believe I can move on now. I was promoted, finally, to Captain, and continued my work. It was slow, agonizing. My wife wanted me to kill Curuven. The idea cemented itself slowly. He was weak-willed already, and a liar to boot. To kill him would place me in direct contention for the position of Highlord. It was something I was ready for.

We did not act, however. It seems she meant these conversations as a lever against me. Eventually, she threatened me. Either we left the Marauders, so that I had more time for her and the child, or she divorced me, and took my son away from me.  With a heavy heart, I left the Army I had grown fond of.

It was not long after this that Ill'antha disappeared, with Veles. She left me a forwarding address, to which I was expected to pay monthly for my share of the child's care. I have done so diligently, but despite how long I have waited at the mailing address, she does not show up. Curiously, the money is always taken.

This threw me further into despair. Not only had I now left one of the few things that bring me joy, but I had also lost the only {_other{x thing that did as much. My son. I would not have any part in his upbringing, and he was lost to me. To put it very, very simply:

I was a failure.

I... kept to myself for a long time. I needed to gather myself. And in doing so, I utterly ruined myself. I became a recluse, keeping myself for company, and I believe it affected me. For the worse. When at last I had decided what to do, it was one of the few things I had not ever seen myself doing.

That is, I decided to return to the home of my grandmother and grandfather, on my Mother's side. Nordmaar. I had heard good things about their military. And to be frank, listening to their babble would be just as raucous as my own thoughts.

So I spoke with their Kings, their Dukes.

--

I was already disliked in Nordmaar.

The Duke, once-King Keaghan MacCallum, had taken an instant, earnest dislike of me. Or so it seemed.

I was to swear myself to Nordmaar, to her King and Queen, and to her military. I was told to prove myself, my ardor.

One way or another, I did. Perhaps iw as simple persistence, but eventually, the Duke welcomed me into Nordmaar with less-than-open arms.

I resumed my place in everyday life.

I joined the Army, under Lieutenant-Colonel Robaidh Bruce. I made myself known, and was promoted to Private First Class -- from Private Basic -- quickly enough. It was the eventual re-emergence of Sioman MacAllen that sealed me fates in Nordmaar.

For a long time, I simply subsisted. I had befriended another Army soldier -- Aerraen Wallace -- and mad emyself welcome to him. We fought one another often in Nrodmaar's arena, enhancing our skills and strategy until each fight was a toss-up.

Sioman came shortly after. A MacAllen man of some ninety-plus years. I believe he expected respect because of his age, rather than his experience (which was rumoured considerable.) This frustrated me. A man pops out of a desperate nothingness and we were supposed to bow and scrape and worship him. I do not think so.

The Marine Lieutenant, Vianna Gunn, sent out a call for recruits. A call to which I responded, as well as a few others. I did not realize the error I had made in doing so. I simply expected more work than I was receiving in the Army. And that was a Good Thing.

The Lieutenant was plentiful at this time, she made herself known widely through Nordmaar, and was available nightly. There was a lot for the Marines to do. Drills, that sort of thing.

I was not very fond of dealing with one of the other Marine recruits. He was facored -- a son of royalty. He knew what to say, and touted his school experience. "I was top of the class at the Nordmaarian Strategy Academy..!"

Screw off, kid. I have lead an actual squadron of men, prepared battle plans for a wartime environment, and trained hundreds of men for the encounters involved in an actual war. I do not care if you ran numbers well in a classroom.

I was not going to sit around and take his orders. It is a poor attitude to take, but that is how I felt -- feel.

Marnius was as stubborn as I was. The biggest difference being that he held the power of a Nordmaarian royal child.

Adding to this, the Lieutenant had begun the first of a long series of disappearances. Our training was to take a total of four weeks. After six weeks at the first tier, I began to resent her.

After ten, I gave up. But that is jumping ahead.
-------

Meanwhile, Sioman had begun to establish himself as a colossal pain in my ass. He took every opportunity to jab, and complained if ill treatment was returned.

One day, during drills, Sioman had the audacity to remove his badges, throw them in the dirt -- a direct mockery of the crown -- and trod over them in his effort to remove himself from us.

{_He{x was not cast out as a traitor.

Instead, Keaghan MacCallum pandered to the man. He was immediately offered the same position he once held, without thought to his treasonous acts.

When the man tried to lor dhimself over me, I would not have it. I refused to follow the commands of a traitor, and I made that very clear to him, as well as to my commanding officers.

The events built upon themselves slowly, and they ended on a brisk midwinter's night.

Sioman tried to lie to those above us without proof. I told them simply that I would rather be accused of the same treason he was than follow his orders.

I went so far as to suggest that if Sioman remained as a part of Nordmaar's military, they might as well jail me for insubordination.

Later that evening, Sioman sentenced himself to death. He asked that Keaghan MacCallum deliver the death blow.

I suppose I should feel guilty. I lead to his death. It was my fault. ...I feel only a grim sort of satisfaction.

I was promoted twice that evening, despite my blatant disregard for Nordmaarian officials, and my defiance. All congratulate Corporal MacLeod de Lyov.

It was shortly after this that my brief affair with Charisian MacAllen came to fruition.

It seems that most of the women I grow fond of come from overly religious backgrounds. Perhaps that is the influence of my father. Charisian was no different.

She was a gentle enough girl, a budding Priestess of Raije. With my recenve conversion, things worked. It was an affair of convenience, rather than one of any powerful lust or feelings.

We did not do much, nor were we ever officially a couple. It did not feel right. What with my own divorce so close behind me, and the failings of that relationship looming over me. There was also the fact that her husband was simply missing. He could return at any time.

So I let things drift.

It was shortly after this that the Wallace sisters returned home.

I remember the timing very clearly, as it was shortly following the only time I have ever consumed copious amounts of alcohol.
-----

A Verminasian -- now Arkanian -- girl by the name of Chel'rei Chtael ( a girl who had once served under me in the Marauders, in fact) had challenged me to a drinking contest.

I was feeling low, so I accepted. Of course, a Kender mage had been involved. I learned later that the mage had been filling Chel'rei's glass with false, magical alcohol, and mine with the real thing.

Back to the point. It was shortly after this that Gilyn and Mauryn Wallace returned to Nordmaar. They have been affectionately nickanmed "Little" and "Slightly-Larger-than-Little" Wallace, respectively. It should be noted that these names are proportional to chest size and not height.

The Wallace sisters are good girls, if a bit naive. I think Aerraen changed that, for Gilyn. I am getting ahead of myself again, though.

It was around this time that I first approached the Lady Edevane.

What a fateful meeting.

She had been speaking with an Esquire at the time, Tolimere something. He remained during my conversation with the Lady,w atching me with distrustful eyes. I simply wanted to learn more of the Master that I had grown to know as a child. I asked some questions, feeling out the woman's faith.

There could be little about it. I certainly found her attractive, in an odd, quirky way. She was proper, a Military-Lady. But she was also not afraid to laugh and smile, to show emotion, or play at banter. I suppose that what I mean to say is that the girl was not frigid. Her laughter brought my own -- missing since the departure of my wife. It was enjoyable, speaking with the Lady Edevane.

I thoguht about it for a long time after I left, and came to the conclusion that it had been long enough since my divorce. I decided to actively pursue the Lady Edevane.

We talked often after that night, learning more of one another. I do not know how she felt for me in these days, but I do recall acting foolishly, and being rebuffed.

I toned considerably after that evening. The Lady and I still spoke, of course, but it had a different tone. A little more cold, mroe business-like.

This was just fine.

As I explored my religion, I found that I was lapsing in Nordmaar. The Lieutenant had disappeared again. This time, apparently, for good. The military stalled, falling back to the times when I preached for action above all else.

I floundered. With nothing to do, I found myself more and more prone to little cruelties. Saying some of the ill things I had been thinking, that sort of thing. I just drew into myself and lost track of the Lady Edevane. Perhaps things were rough all over.

I must go back a little, in my story. I have forgotten t least two very important events. Clumsy of me. Both of these things occurred while Iw as married to Ill'antha Luhta'zair de Lyov.
----
The first important event was the death of my mother, a catalyst for the second event. I took time off from the Army in order to visit my father, and to be present at my Mother's funeral. My sister, Avana MacLeod de Lyov, was, apparently, present. Father did not allow her to see me, so I simply thought she was... gone. Dead, somehow. I do not know.

The second is a bit more heart-wrenching, for me.

When I went to visit my father a second time, it was because he had written to me. He was getting married again. He wished to know my opinion, but would not tell me any names. When I arrived, I wished to know what all the hubbub was. This ended quickly, when -- who else -- but Captain Morana stepped out from behind my father, a hand on her swelling stomach, the other on his shoulder.

She called out to me. Wanted me to come to her as her son-in-law. I remember being angry. Very angry. But I did not say anything. Ill'antha... did. Well. She did not say anything. She attacked the woman. Brought her down. Made her... apologize? It is hazy. I was satisfied, and we left. I vowed to never speak with Father again, unless he removed the whore from what would become my Estate.

He has yet to acquiesce.

I had been, in this time, fighting in Algoron's Gladiator Leagues. I did well against some, and poorly against others. I fought because it gave me something to do, something to prepare for.

It lent me something to ease the passage of time, to take my mind off the child that had been stolen from me.

Veles occupied my thoughts in those days. With so much downtime, I had little to do, thinking aside. I tried to concentrate on my fights, on religious faith -- which still eluded me -- and on women, all of which failed. My thoughts turned to him. Always to him.

I wonder how many times he had asked Ill'antha about his father. I wonder what she told him. Was I some demon to the boy? Some fearsome beast who must be approached with pitchfork and torch? I hope not.

Aerraen was a comradely constant. I felt comfortable with the man who seemed to share many of my own views. There were often jokes concerning the amount of time we spent, training one another as much as ourselves.

Let me assure your minds: neither of us swing quite that direction.

By this time, Aerraen had begun to show an odd sort of affection for the Little Wallace. I saw what seemed to be a budding romance, and I was happy for the two of them. They both do not seem to be the very self-reliant type. I mean to say that I feel that the two of them would be better off in a relationship than they would out. ...That still sounds like an insult. It is not. I have little but respect for them both.

Gilyn is, was, a bubbly little girl; proud of her heritage, stubborn and loyal to a fault. She was a very good match for Aerraen, I thoguht. I have little doubt, however, that he was very against her stubborn qualities.

Aerraen is a domineering 'gold-ol'-boy', ready to fight -- quietly -- for those he deems worthy, but not always prepared to publicly voice his opinions. He will lie, cheat, and be violent, if and when it is necessary. The man, frankly, scares me, in a position of power.

ARound this time, Valdaglerion Curuven began to speak with me again. H ebegged me to return to the Army, offering me a position, once more, as a Lieutenant of the Marauder Army. This was something I had to think on. Life had lapsed into dull silence in Nordmaar, and the Army provided me with an instrument of change. A way to relieve the thoughts tormenting me. Banal, dull, lifelong work.

In the end, I chose to honour the Oath I had made to the Army. I packed my things and left. As none of my superiors had come around in a week, if not more, I left without requesting leave.

I have left out another important event. My memory is already failing. Not a good sign.

This event lead to my departure from Nordmaar, in part. It is concerning the birth and growth of Faelahn Hakonsen, which shortly followed the death of her mother, Kaetlynn Hakonsen.

The girl was a Hellbrat from day one. She did nothing but cry and sleep. This is often the case with newborns. Typically, however, they are kept out of the public eye. This was not the case with the young Hakonsen girl. Her father refused to remove her from society, and her mother was dead. On top of this, the father was prone to ong absences, leaving Nordmaar in charge of the Viking infant.

Since I have not, yet, I will expound upon my feelings for the Vikings. I despise them. The lot of them ar elazy gypsies without the sense to put in a hard day's work. Despite their genetics and the extravagant generosity gifted them by our King, their thoguhts are prone to run the course of treasonous plot. They hide for years before returning to reclaim their positions, as if nothing had changed. It is damned frustrating. Their laziness extends to every facet of their society, from the military, to child-rearing, to societal politics. And they expect, no -- demand! -- our respefct. I think that they ought to be run out of Nordmaar once and for all.

I doubt it will happen.

As I was saying, Ulfr refued to raise his child all the way through her childhood, so this task fell to the populace of Nordmaar as a whole.

It was a saf affair. Most of Nordmaar is as unfit to raise a child as ULfr, and this showed; the girl's first word was "Damn." She proudly crowed it out from dawn until dusk.

As the child grew, her father was away more and more. The more the father was away, the more we had to care for the child. The more we had to care for the child, the more I wanted to drown her.

When she was seven, the trouble began.

The girl must have been born a liar, with the way she began to spin tales at this age. Any recrimination brought against her was met with an obstinately obnoxious lie -- generally to that person's superiors. The Faelahn incident should never have happened, but it did.

Her father's refusal to parent her was what lead to these unfortunate circumstances, I am afraid.

As she grew older, Faelahn's lies became out outrageously elaborate, and more dangerous. She swore that Aerraen tried to murder her by holding her head beneath water, that Aerraen cheated on Little Wallace with a newly arrived Priestess, Gwendalen, and that I physically beat her.

I took it upon myself to publicly reproach her father for his poor parenting. He screamed and yelled -- as Vikings are wont to do -- threatened me with death, jailing, and demotion. All in the same sentence, no less. I told him that if he could not parent the child, she needed to be removed, as per Nordmaarian law. I was, shortly thereafter, thrown in the brig.

I seem to recall Teirnan visiting me there. We had a very civil, comradely conversation. I was thankful for this, and even found a laugh, after having suggested throwing the girl in the ocean. Teirnan's response was that all that might happen was "Splash?"

I was released from the brig, and in the weeks that followed, Faelahn was ordered either placed under someone else's care, or removed from Nordmaar.

For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I challenged this order. I told the Duke that I would take charge of the girl, and teach her how to be a proper Lady. In retrospect, this was another of my poor decisions.

I was told that if I failed, I would be demoted. I am not sure what forced my hand in this. That is, I do not know what made me desire to reach out.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that losing your child hurts, or that being without a father must be hell. I do not know.

I do, however, know that lessons began the next day. She was to learn reading and writing before anything else, and she caught on quickly. With her aptitude in mind, I addressed proper titles, as well as appropriate language for Ladies. The last thing I was able to teach her was that women are intended for a few select tasks, all of which they excel at. Those tasks are child-rearing, cooking, cleaning, writing letters, and yelling at men.

Shortly after these lessons, she started her lies again, and was caught out. This lead to her expulsion from Nordmaar. As I had succeeded in the task before me, I was not demoted.

But it still stung.

Many rejoiced at Faelahn's removal. I do not think that anyone was disappointed to see her go.

Except Caemlin MacAllen. He had lost another potential female to stalk and molest. I will save his story for later.

-----

I've been wondering where to go with this story from here. I could talk about the MacAllen lad and  his constant barrage of negative emotion towards the women of Nordmaar, or I could begin with my  return to the Marauders. I could break from this entirely and talk about what an absolute pain in the ass writing is.

I think that, instead, I will talk about those people who have helped and hindered me in my life thus far, and how I feel about them.

I will start from the beginning.

My father. I do not think anyone (barring my late wife) has had as profound an affect on my life as  my father has.  It was from him that I learned the principles I live my life by, in both positive and  negative fashions. Withotu him, I would be a different man, and I do not say that lightly. I gained  as much from him as I lost. As a child, it was base learning, as a teenager, the harsh realities of  life -- tough love. As an adult, itw as the cold wrath that comes with age, and how imbalancing jealous rage can be.  Most of life's lessons would have gone unlearned, were it not for the presence of my father.

My mother. She had always been a rock in my life. The one I could turn to, should things go wrong.  She was the logic to my father's instinctual impulse. Without the lessons my mother taught me, I would be no more cultured than a warg, and less capable of rational thought than an enraged fourteen-year-old Highland girl in her moon-flow. It is amazing, what examples you can come up with last minute... There was something charmingly inspiring about my mother, perhaps it was her quiet demeanor, or the silent way she took the abuse my father lent her, the proud tilt of her head despite the bruises stretching from forehead to throat. More than once, my mother "fell downt he stairs" after disagreeing with Father.  Their most common arguments involved my sister and I. Our education, our teenage affairs. Sometimes these carried on for days. I rememebr one time in particulary. I had been fifteen, Avana nine. Despite the size of our house, I could hear him yelling. I had lied, told them I was going to lessons. Instead, I went out to a much-anticipated dance I had been forbidden to go to, sponsored by a girl I favored at the time. I snuck in late, and Avana told me how angry they were, how Father's choice for her (a rather disgusting man named Krasimir; minor nobility in Verminasia) had been to the dance and came to our estate halfway through, in order to snitch on me. She said that our father was furious, and had wanted to set out at once, to drag me home. Mother stopped him, tried to dissuage him. That had been three horus ago, she said. I heard them screaming, Father's brash yells overpowering Mother's demure whisper. Avana had been afraid. She asked if Mother was alright. I do not recall sleeping that night, instead comforting Avana as she lay next to me, assuaging the poor girl's fears. The next morning, we went down to breakfast. Mother lookde like hell, and seemed damned proud of it, with the splotchy red and purple darkening her cheeks and across her throat, to her collar. My father did not say anything to me, and my mother only smiled with that savage pride of hers.

Avana comes next. She was as much a voice of reason as my mother was, except while my mother was the voice of reason in times of dir eneed, Avana was ther efor everything. I trusted, trust, her. We spoke of damn near everything, and one way or another, we knew what the other was up to. Even when I left the house, my sister and I conversed in letters, kept our liverymen busy, pacing back and forth from the Lyov estate to my quarters ont he border and back again. Avana, I am sure, knows me better than anyone else. There have been times we disagreed, times she pulled me back on track. I wanted to run away from home -- a disillusions teenager. She called me a coward, wanting to run away from any problem that threatened to reat its head. Said that if I went through with it, I would be a disgrace; to myself, to the Lyov name, and to her. I stayed. She has always been headstrong, never content to enjoy what meager luxury our family could afford. She was equally discomfited with the idea of arranged marriage. Then again... I would be too, with a toad like Krasimir in mind. My sister, in short, is my balance. Resserved where I am vocal, outspoken where I am timid.

Later, the Viscountess. I cannot say if this woman was good for me or not. I loved her, that much is certain. She changed me. It was the Viscountess who took me from brash youth to reserved soldier. I could not have been more pleased with the results. She was intoxicating. Everything about her. Her command, her power. She wore it like another woman might wear a satin glove: comfortably, confidently, and dangerously. She gave vision to my dreams, fought for me when Law dictated that I did not. I did not ever think I could replace her, but yet... Ill'antha changed me in many ways. As intoxicating as she was, I would call her a precious disease, spreading jealously greedy hands everywhere she could reach. There were some things I think I may have handled differently, were it not for the Viscountess' presence. I really do not have too much more to say about this woman, except that she gave me and then took from me one of the few things IN this world I actually care for: a son. {_My{x son, Veles.

Veles has changed everything. Absolutely everything. I am a father now, and that factors into nine-tenths of the decisions I ame. "Would Veles be proud of this? Is this something he will look back on and think of a story he will want to tell {_his{x children?" It does not matter that he is not here, that I will most likely not see him. It only matters that the beaming boy be proud of his father, that I take every measure to ensure it. I often wonder where Ill'antha has taken him, where the boy is, what he is doing. I wonder what is being done for this sfchooling, what concept he has of morals. Iw onder if his mother is poisoning his mind the way she poisoned mine. It is a frightening thought, one I do not bear very well. He is defenseless. Somehow, I think he will prevail.

Valdaglerion Curuven has shown me what a leader should {_not{x be. He has taken a powerful army and driven it into the ground. Three separate times. Both times I entered the Marauders, they gained in numbers, and both times, Valdaglerion cast those numbers aside. The fool. He cannot keep his word on the most simple of matters, and has ero qualms about lying to cover up his own glaring errors. He will cheat and break his own laws repeatedly, if it leads to instant gratification for him. He does {_not{x follow the Code he expects his men to, and would rather see an unintelligent whore before him than four capable officers. Beyond the stampeded of soldiers leaving the Marauders, Valdaglerion has taken everything they stood for away from them. Under his rule, those that are left have grown complacent. It is dsigusting to see such idle laziness in the Army.

Aerraen Wallace. Almost a brother to me, this man gave me a lot of the stability I needed in Nordmaar, though there is something unsettling about him. SOmething distinctly out-of-place.  It first began to bother me when he moved on so quickly from Gilyn Wallace. His actions since then have been erratic, unstable. There was a distinct lack of methodology. It was all desperately random. We stood by one another when times grew dark, but since my deparature and eventual return, we are less close. It is disheartening, to say the least. He is a good man, somewhere.

Gilyn and Mauryn Wallace are good girls, if somewhat naive. They seem to me as little girls -- in fact, I treat them as sisters -- without much idea as to what is going on around them. They are full of ripe emotion, and it is a good, happy thing to see. I enjoy watching them run to and fro with their exuberance. Gilyn has, lately, grown up some. I think her experience with Aerraen has taught her a lot about men, though her new beau seems to be rather fond of her. A good thing, if I have ever seen one. Her sister is around much less often, unfortunately. Gilyn, though, is proving to be an adequate, competent young soldier-girl. She has dealt with the callous, off-handed way Aerraen has tossed her away, and pushed on to find the courage to adapt to a new relationship. It is very... enlightening? No, that is not the word. But I think you understand what I mean. She is a good girl, for what it matters.

The MacAllen boy, Caemlin. Wonderful. I have already touched on what I think about this boy. He is despicable. Despite his constant whining and clamoring for attention, and his emotional ups and downs over the women of Nordmaar who constantly rebuke him, there is little to set him aside from a lecherous seventy-year-old man with a penchant for the underage. I have no respect for him, and find his promotions somewhat obscene, in the scheme of things. He chases after what he cannot have, and sinks into deep depressiont he moment he is rebuked. His current situation is equally ridiculous, chasing repeatedly after an engaged woman, despite her protests. She wants him to stop, but he refuses? I would fear for my sleep. I suppose it is being handled, will be handled. Whatever. In any case, this man has not changed my life in any way, aside from adding amusement and... disappointment in the Highlanders. They had to breed this. Ugh.

Teirnan MacCallum. Nordmaar's King is an amazing man, truly. I have nothing but absolute respect for this man. He thinks things through logically before pronouncing his judgment, gives his thoguhts the weight of experience, both as King and as Soldier. He is a man I have no qualms with following, whether it be into battle, or into the decisions he makes. I am loyal to this man alone, if nothing else.  He has surprised me with most of his decisions, seeing the weight lent those decisions is something... different, especially considering my recent delve into the Marauders. The differences between Valdaglerion and Teirnan are many. Teirnan does not think for personal gratification, but for the Kingdom as a whole, deciding what would aid the country before what would aid himself. Everything he does is in service to Nordmaar, and I believe his dedication to a greater degree than any man I have ever known.

Keaghan MacCallum. The father of the King, and a former King himself. I trust this man, but I find the methods he employs... barbaric. He is a Nordmaarian man, with all the skir-- kilt-wearing, hair-growing pride that needs. He lets impulse guide him, instinctual responses to right and wrong, good and evil. If he {_wants{x to punch you for whatever wrong he feels you have committed, he will do so. He does not fear the consequences of his actions, but {_does{x seem ready and willing to respond to those consequences, when that time arises. I respect the man, but not the same way I do Teirnan. I respect Keaghan because of his distinct lack of thought, for the way his instincts guide him to some of the same decisions I might reach after thought, for the way he reacts to his impulses before thinking, and is often correct, even if I do not quite agree with his decision. The Duke is an apt Commander, and I will follow his commands with the same respect I lend Teirnan's.

Lieutenant Colonel Robaidh Bruce. I cannot bring myself to rightly respect this man. He does not have the... necessary presence of mind to run an Army. He is gone often, and expects his soldiers to interact with him through written word rather than face-to-face conduct. When an idea to bring the Army back to activity is brought up, he screams and yells -- jealous, perhaps, that the idea was not his own. It is disheartening and confusing all at once. Later, when the topic is brought up, he insists that he would not care if it was his idea or not, that he would most certainly have approved it, if it was only brought to his attention. I do not know how he expects things to be brought to his attention, with his infrequent appearances. I cannot imagine a man less apt to lead an Army at this current juncture in the Lieutenant Colonel's life. Except, perhaps, Caemlin MacAllen. But we have already spoken on that. I, personally, feel that Robaidh Bruce would be better off as a soldier, perhaps an NCO, than an officer. He is missing something in the general make-up of an officer. Something distinctly necessary. I cannot put a finger on the word.

Rowynna MacCallum. My queen is a level-headed woman, if around less often than I might otherwise wish. She is able, a good Queen. She is as much empathetic as my mother was, and I think that might be one of the reasons I feel comfortable with her. She reminds me of Mother, rest her soul. It is comforting to have such a stable figure in the leadership of the country I call home. I know many other women who are... less stable. They make decisions without consulting others, many of those decisions are off the wall, crazed ideas that are in response to some small slight, or an insult cast in a bar. It is ridiculous to see those women in charge, and I cannot reconcile, whatever I do. I do not see that in Rowynna MacCallum, though. Only a tempered evenness and sharp wit, mixed with the decision-making ideas necessary to her job as a Crown of Nordmaar.

Ulfr Hakonsen is a pitiful father figure. He could not father his child when the child was there daily -- he refused to be. He passed on his responsibilities to the populace of Nordmaar, and I cannot help but look down on the beast of a fool for it. I want nothing more than to be a father -- a good father. He could not see that in himself, refusing to parent his child in the most simple of aspects. We of Nordmaar were forced to endure his child's tantrums, the screaming, the obscenities, the crying, while he was off cavorting with harlots and dice, not to mention that swill they call Smite. He is a recklessly dangerous man, and I see no reason he should be allowed to breed again, to be honest. But then... he {_is{x a Viking. I do not see how I could have expected any more from him, given his heritage. They are all the same: lazy, worthless bastards with a misleading stature. "Ah, he is large, I am sure he works hard!" A lie. Always a lie.

Gwendalen MacLeod. I am not sure what I think of her. I am angry with her, certainly, for taking Gilyn Wallace's man in a way that she is currently angry at another woman for attempting. she claims ignorance, innocence. I cannot seem to reconcile that fact. She had to have known. Aerraen surely told her, and I am sure that Gwendalen saw the Little Wallace kissing him. What else is there to it? She is a capable Sailor, I suppose that is important. There is something morally wrong with her. Despite all this recent fuss with Caemlin and Aerraen, she is still... morally corrupt.. for what she did to the Wallace girl. I cannot find myself entirely faulting her, however much I want to. There is a certain... malignance about her, despite the way she smiles and hides it by prettily batting her eyes. I do not entirely trust her, though I will make myself available to her should she need aid. She is a MacLeod, after all. It is my duty, despite whatever personal qualms I may have with it. It is right and necessary.

Vianna Gunn is as poor a leader as Robaidh. They have many of the same traits. They disappear for long periods of time, and when they return, the expect the same amount of respect they had before, when their actions were different. They seem to not realize that you must {_earn{x and {_maintain{x respect. It is not something doled out because of rank. I will stand and look pretty, salute and be sharp, but that does not mean I must respect you. Vianna was a fine, good Leader when she was around. Then her disappearances started, and they continued. When she returned, for all of a day -- stating that she would be around more often, no less -- she commanded the same respect she had earned before, went so far as to insult and belittle me for calling her a poor leader. I would expect such a response from someone who had the state of mind to stick around and command her troops, but to berate me for not finishing the Marine training that took six weeks to pass one week, instead of four weeks for the entire course, like it was supposed to? I do not think so. I am tired of these sort of Nordmaarian officers. They are as ill-suited to their jobs and tasks as Valdaglerion Curuven, or most of Verminasia's officials. I would liken them to Argg, in fact. That is saying a great deal.

Lavinah Nether'vyr. I have already touched, some, on my feelings for this woman. She is a false prophet, a liar. She is very adroit at manipulation, and for that I can respect her. She knows how to bend things to her will, and to use people. I must give her a modicum of respect for that, at least, though I certainly disagree with the way she goes about doing it. I once saw a great potential for her, as a Leader, were it not for her cruel streak, for the way she handles herself under stress -- that is, rather than buckling down to work, she finds others to do it for her. She does not make a very good leader, I am afraid. I do not see how many can respect and admire her enough to {_follow{x her, rather than listen to her. There is a distinct difference between following orders and serving someone. A very important difference. One I do not think Lavinah Nether'vyr grasps quite fully.

Fastia Morthest-Nadiv is still a Spider. She still ensnares those who are unable to defend themselves, weaving her webs in and around those who cannot, attacking them and pulling them towards her. It is admirable... in its own way. It takes a certain skill to do that. She is also a surprising woman. Despite our past differences, she still seems to show some modicum of concern for me, and for that, she is to be commended. I believe it was this woman who set me back on a path to righteousness, when I was down. I had been cast out, beat down. My pride was not intact, and my arrogance gone. To put it simply, I had been ready to die, finally. Fastia wished to speak with me. She offered me a home, food. Rest. She said there was something missing from me, and she missed it. Wanted to see it returned. It had been a while since I had been spoken to in such a... condescending, concerned manner. I did not want her help. I think that is what enlivened me. It gave me that sense of purpose that once drove me forwards. I am indebted to her, mentally.

Farium. Farium was a dividing point between my former wife and I. She loved him, I am sure of it. Positive of it. She required him, something about him kept her sane. Perhaps it was the sense of purpose... but I always resented him for it. He took her from me. Kept a part of her that I {_could{x {_not{x {_have.{x I hated him for it. Despite my urge to help him -- to help my wife. I hated him. I wanted him dead, killed. He hurt my wife. My son. He put them in harm's way repeatedly, without thought to it. It was to save himself. Hate. It is such a powerful, driving emotion. He lead me towards the downwards spiral that brought me so close to Mencius again, that lost me my wife. I put myself into my work, since she focused so hard on Farium. She would not notice. Not until he was dead. Only afterwards did she say to me, "Verdemar... you are working too hard. Stop. concentrate on me." Concentrate on her. After her estranged lover died. Despite the concern I showed her... I was happy when he died. {_Happy{x. I cannot imagine a better present than hearing he had died. I smiled to myself. His hold on my wife was gone, and things could return to normal. ...Only, they didn't. She wept. Something inside her perished with Farium. She said he understood her in a way no one else could. I despise him. And I miss him.

Crelius Atennim is one of the reasons I desire to join Storm Keep. He is a man of firm convictions, a man I admire from afar. I fear him. I respect him. He is truly a Knight of the Lord, and I think that if he had lead the Keep when I was a child, it would have been my firmest conviction to join the Keep under him, to serve under him. Instead, it was Kesepton. But this is not about his predecessor. Crelius is a man of few words, but when he speaks, people are sure to listen. He is inspiring, in a way that not many are. His charisma does not come from good looks, or well-worded speeches, but rather, from his Faith, his unshakably certain Faith. He has lead Storm Keep through a stage of denial, and I believe them to be on an upswing once more, returning the Lord's Knights to the power they once held. It is an inspiring story, Atennim's. I hope to learn more of it when I make my venture to Storm. It is soon, now, I feel.

Rivka Edevane began me on the path I eventually chose as my own -- Necrucifer. I admire the woman for her ferocious (like a kitten) tenacity to her Faith, her tendencies to speak with those of Light and Darkness equally, preaching her Faith without holding sermons. It is good to see someone roaming the streets, spreading His word without thought as to, "I will not convert many here, this is Althainia." She is equally at home in Storm Keep as she is in Althainia, outside Gareth, and is more than willing to teach others without the condescending sneers that many of His faith hold. It is an enlightening, uplifting thing. I hope, someday, that others take after this woman, and give her the same sort of respect that I hold for the Lady Edevane. She is truly a paragon of His faith, even when she battles within herself for the right choice. It is admirable, and inspiring. I find Lady Edevane both militaristic and religious, equally.