Diaries of Kalisa Inciya

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Troubletcat
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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya May 2, 2020 19:18:58 GMT 10 Naylor likes this

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Post by Troubletcat on May 2, 2020 19:18:58 GMT 10

For a few weeks, the blue, silver, and black uniforms of the King's Forces were a common sight in Threshold. Then-Military Attaché to the town, Sergeant Alaric Haskell-Osowiec, had requested an increased deployment of troops to support him, and he had got them. Once the keep at King's Road was rebuilt, however, many of these soldiers were transferred out of town, out of the Threshold Task Force, and into the King's Road Keep Garrison. A handful of troops remain stationed in the town itself, sharing the barracks with the local militia. The Attaché has vanished. The remaining soldiers - a handful of privates and corporals, seemingly under the de facto command of a sole remaining Arcanist - tell anyone who asks that he was recalled to Mirros at short notice, but rumors swirl that he never arrived in the capital.

Anyone even remotely familiar with military matters would recognise the strangeness of the situation. An NCO, apparently without formal sanction, leading a local task force consisting of just a handful of stragglers. Were they supposed to be transferred away as well, but the orders got lost in transit? Is a Lieutenant from Mirros coming to take over the command? Will Arcanist Kalisa Inciya be given her commission, put in charge more formally? Nobody has the answers. The Arcanist herself is adamant that the Threshold Task Force's objectives, outlined to her when she received the posting, remain incomplete, that there is still much to be done, and that she has no intention of leaving unless explicitly ordered to do so. None of the other soldiers left in town seem quite sure what the task force's objectives actually are, and shift uncomfortably when asked. "We're here to help," "We're here to keep everyone safe," - vague answers that are unlikely to satisfy.

Kalisa herself has already been changed by her relatively short time in Threshold. Gone is the detached, professional, and reserved affect that she had arrived with. She speaks candidly with the community about the situation, her frustrations made clear. Although some things remain a secret. What was in the letter she received that described the tasking?

Those who get a peek through the door to her chamber in the barracks will see that the small room is stacked high with messy piles of books and loose parchment. The Arcanist spends a great deal of time within, the flickering of candle-light frequently visible through the crack beneath the door until late at night.

Occasionally, in the hours just before dawn, quiet sobbing can be heard.

Last Edit: Aug 1, 2020 3:06:01 GMT 10 by Troubletcat

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya May 5, 2020 19:54:15 GMT 10

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Post by Troubletcat on May 5, 2020 19:54:15 GMT 10

The remaining King's men and women in Threshold move with renewed purpose. Although only a small group remain, they can often be seen patrolling in pairs along the western walls or through the rural area to the north of town. The Arcanist's mood has considerably improved, at least in public, although she still spends a great deal of time in her chambers. In one of the many notebooks strewn around her chamber (all of them well-bound and stuffed with thick, expensive parchment), a precise, flowing hand has scrawled the following:

May 1049.

Well, no promotion, but sanction to take command of the situation, at least. Corporal Inez isn't pleased he has to report to a woman, but the privates mostly just seem happy to know who's in charge again. Strange to leave an NCO in control of a local task force, even one this small... this is a chance to prove myself, I suppose - if I can do the work of an officer, and do it well, they have to promote me eventually, right? And how many years was I stuck behind that fucking desk in Mirros before they finally let me go somewhere interesting? I always knew I was going to be playing the long game...

It feels like more has happened in the past few weeks than in the preceding five years. More good than bad, from a personal perspective I suppose, but it's hard not to feel affected by the sour mood in town. I already consider a few of these people friends, and their suffering is obvious. Natural that I should feel overwhelmed more generally I suppose, but I need to get a handle on these occasional breakdowns... can't let the troops, or the militiamen for that matter, think I'm weak, and I'm sure they can hear me.

Surprisingly, no paperwork to do tonight. Hopefully things will stay quiet for the next few days, until the attack. That's certain to generate at least one report that I won't be able to defer to Richardson. I wish the town could count on more help from the KDF, but I guess the capital thinks it would be a bad look to get involved. Can't blame them. I must admit I'm a little scared. Sure, I've killed plenty of monsters in the time I've been here, but we're talking about an actual battle. Filing paperwork in the capital didn't exactly do a lot to prepare me for this kind of thing.

Another opportunity to prove myself, I suppose, if only to myself, since Mirros can't officially recognise my involvement... how's that report going to open?

"I was taking a relaxing stroll along the Westron while off-duty, and happened to observe... obviously didn't involve myself personally, but witnessed the following..."

At least the posting has lived up to my expectations in terms of excitement.

I hope 'Ric's not dead. But I also hope he doesn't come back. Is that selfish?

-Kalisa

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Jul 18, 2020 21:57:36 GMT 10

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Post by Troubletcat on Jul 18, 2020 21:57:36 GMT 10

Unlike her old room in the barracks, Kalisa's office in the recently rebuilt Tarnskeep is relatively neat. The odd empty cup left after a late night slaving over paperwork, the occasional presence of a stack of papers piled up on one of the chairs, perhaps... But in general the books are on the bookshelves and writing supplies stored away in desk drawers when not in use. A display cabinet against one of the walls contains curios from her travels thus far - an old, blood-splattered journal found in some forsaken ruin. The eye of a basilisk, carefully preserved in a jar of fluid. A cruelly serrated ceremonial dagger of unknown origin. The selection on display rotates regularly.

Many of the books that used to clutter her bedroom are now stored in the keep's library. Near at hand for her, and available for the other mages (and the handful of army men with an interest in reading) should they be needed. Among the books considered too important, or sensitive, or frequently referenced to be stored anywhere but safely within her office, neatly ordered in their own section of shelving, are a series of journals. Dates written on their spines trace as far back as the year 1028. A guest in her office might pick up one of the earlier tomes and stumble on a piece of teenage poetry written for a now long-forgotten crush.

But this is a more recent entry.

July 1049.

All of my immediate, and even several of my medium-term goals have been accomplished, and faster than I anticipated. As expected, now that I've been given an opportunity to prove myself in a real posting, I have excelled.

...reading that back, it sounds a bit overconfident. And I can't pretend there weren't a few tumultuous months in there, emotionally. But perhaps I've earned a bit of overconfidence.

Anyway, Tarnskeep is back up, I've escaped the near-total anonymity of the junior ranks, and have secured a long-term position as liaison to Threshold.

There is a certain sense of having arrived, but it's a trap. It would be easy enough to sit in this position for the next thirty years and then retire - I would be thanked for my long years of distinguished service in an important role, maintaining connections with the outer edges of the Kingdom, where none of the serious mages from the capital would bother to tread, using my magic to scry lost goats for the dim-witted farmers that keep the dim-witted (but strategically important) miners fed. -Not my view of Threshold, certainly not anymore if it ever was, but I must not forget the realities of how the town is viewed by the capital.

The question, then, is how to distinguish myself further. Ascend higher. Gain a proper title and, when the time is right, return to Mirros and take a seat in the provisional government. The goal hasn't changed in over a decade. We don't need a return to monarchy. We need people in the provisional government with force of will, personal power, and most importantly, vision. The potential is there to turn this provisional government into a true senate. To develop a more democratic model of government hitherto only conceived of by political theorists called dreamers and madmen by their peers. It could work. I could push things in the right direction, perhaps... The time here in Threshold will have been well-spent, I think. Observing the functioning of the town's fairly unique form of governance (unsanctioned though it may be) has provided another useful perspective, and...

Well, enough ranting about these aspirations, else I'll be lumped in with those other dreamers and madmen. The pertinent question remains: How to get there? If I'm being totally honest, the promotion to Mage basically fell into my lap - I simply followed the groundwork Alaric laid before I got here. Took his project to its natural conclusion. And most of the hard work was done by others.

To proceed further, I will need to be more proactive. Hatch my own schemes, and see to their execution personally. There is no shortage of options, but which to seize?

...somebody's banging on my door. Probably a farmer with a lost goat.

Last Edit: Jul 19, 2020 2:28:47 GMT 10 by Troubletcat

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Aug 1, 2020 3:02:36 GMT 10 BoiledMoose and Naylor like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Aug 1, 2020 3:02:36 GMT 10

The sheer volume of Kalisa's journals stems largely from a somewhat workmanlike approach. It seems she makes an entry almost every day, even if nothing of particular note happened. Maybe she simply uses the hobby to clear her head, as so many others do, or perhaps there's some deeper purpose behind the chronicle, but there are many entries that are only a few words. "Finally finished that report," "Took the usual route through the Peaks, profitable as ever." A relatively recent entry simply reads "IDIOT STEVE, NEVER FORGET THIS," with no clear indication as to who Steve is or what he did to inspire her rage.

Between two pages, a letter in its envelope, and a slightly longer entry.

Ah, what a conversation. It's been, perhaps, too long since I've been in a situation even a little like that. I hope I conveyed what I meant to, but I fear I didn't.

Such a thoughtful gift, and such a sweet letter - I'll keep it safe, tucked into this journal - and so distinctly... her. I already felt such a deep affection for Lumina, and all the moreso now. True, I don't feel a desire to share her bed, but I believe platonic love can run just as deep. Perhaps I should've said that. I must find some way to return the gesture, to make it clear that my rejection of a romance is not a rejection of her, and show her how dear she is to me. But what could I get her, or do for her... it will take some thought, I think.

I suppose there was also a meeting today. It went well enough.

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Dec 9, 2020 0:28:26 GMT 10

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Post by Troubletcat on Dec 9, 2020 0:28:26 GMT 10

A brief note among a sea of brief notes. The last entry longer than a paragraph was months ago, and the tone of most of them has been strangely terse. A dedicated reader going through Kalisa's diaries in order would certainly notice a change. Something has been bothering her for some time it seems, although whatever it is she hasn't seen fit to write about it. This in itself is odd considering the fairly exhaustive nature of her reflections. In any case, this entry does nothing to disrupt the trend.

That last comment really was thick, Kalisa. Were you not listening? How, exactly, did you imagine that would help? Or who? I suppose I've become very... out of practice with this sort of thing. I hope she's alright, but I think my words only made things worse somehow. I should've just left. One more stupid mistake.

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Jan 17, 2021 18:51:17 GMT 10 Admins and Naylor like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Jan 17, 2021 18:51:17 GMT 10

Mage Kalisa Inciya sat in her Tarnskeep office sipping lukewarm coffee looking down at a pile of half-finished paperwork. Stacks of patrol reports, requisition requests, and other miscellaneous admin work related to the soldiers under her direct command blanketed her angled writing desk, thick as Altan snow. Each item had to be reviewed, stamped, and signed by the Mage herself before being filed away, almost certainly never to be seen again. All this from less than a score of underlings. She reflected, for the umpteenth time, that she did not envy Captain Pat.

A hesitant knock sounded against her office door. She looked up from the mess of parchment, taking a moment to straighten her posture. The mithril chain beneath her robes made a soft rustling sound, like wind through trees.

"Enter." She was tired, eager to complete her end-of-week filing and head home. It was outside her public consultation hours, meaning the knocker was most likely another member of the KDF. One of her subordinates, or one of her superiors, and either way the conversation was likely to add to her workload rather than lighten it.

The door swung open to admit a KAF private in full uniform who shuffled in and closed the door. Sorenson, Kalisa knew from his height and shape. The young man pulled his helm off as he turned to face her, hooking it under his left arm, a wave of golden-brown hair cut just above the shoulder bouncing free. With his right hand, he offered an unusually proper salute, back straight as a post. Parade-perfect. Kalisa returned the salute with little enthusiasm, staying seated, before speaking.

“What is it?”

“Well, er…” the private hesitated. Rather than jumping in, Kalisa let the moment hang, green eyes regarding him coolly, searching for eye contact but finding Sorenson’s gaze to be evasive. “Umm… I’m not going to finish the list you gave me,” he continued.

Kalisa leaned back in her chair, taking another swig of coffee, allowing a beat to pass before responding. “The tasks are too hard for you?”

“No! No, I err… I didn’t say I can’t do it. The thing is, I won’t, unless you at least answer a couple of questions.”

The Mage straightened a little, letting the calculated hint of an edge enter her voice. “So it’s insubordination?” she replied.

Sorenson cast his eyes towards the floor, features tightening. “I don’t think so? The problem is, you gave me orders that contradict each other. In the standing orders thing, you wrote that we shouldn’t kill dragons without a good reason. But on the list you told me to kill Ganjee, who I guess is a dragon? That’s what people say, anyway… so… if you won’t tell me why I have to kill him, I don’t know if there’s a good reason or not.”

“And you don’t think ‘because a superior ordered you to’ is a good enough reason?” Kalisa said, still watching him carefully.

“Well… I think the reason you put the thing in the standing orders, to not attack dragons, was because if people just kill the dragons all the time for no reason, they might get angry and attack the town again, and innocent people might get hurt. When I joined up, promised that I would try to protect the people of Karameikos, and, er, with all respect ma’am, I think that promise was made to a higher authority than you. So if I have to choose between following the orders to kill Ganjee or the orders not to kill dragons without a good reason, it seems like not killing them is also following more important orders. And, er, also, I don’t want people to get hurt because of something I did even if I was just following orders, unless I guess there was no other way or more people were going to get hurt if I didn’t do the thing, or uhh…” realising he’s rambling, Sorenson trails off, eyes downcast.

The mage contemplated his answer for a moment before replying, “Good enough for now, I suppose. Good enough for a Corporal, anyway. You can strike that item from the list. Both Jericho and Nassus have told me you’ve been quite helpful with the various bounties in the local area. What about the other things?”

Sorenson blinks a few times, looking up at Kalisa with an expression of obvious surprise.

“Private? The other items on the list?”

“Oh! Right, right… uhh… well I did most of them, but I still haven’t been able to solve the goat problem, or get a suicide key, or… kill all the Orogs.”

“Mmm…” Kalisa takes a sip of coffee, considering, before continuing, “You can keep working on the goat investigation after you’ve been promoted. It’s a fairly low priority, really. And I’ve decided that I’ll handle the Orogs myself, when I have time, although I’d appreciate it if you spent some time thinning their numbers in Krakatos.” She purses her lips. “I really was hoping you’d gather a suicide key, though.”

“I, er, I found out what it is by asking some of my friends, they said it’s a spear that tears your body apart when you use it. Why do you want something like that, uh, if it’s okay for me to ask, ma’am?”

“The object itself is interesting, occasionally useful, and I found experimenting with it to be... instructive. I thought you might benefit in a similar way, but honestly the main reason I wanted you to gather one is where they're found. But…” she pauses, regarding Sorenson with a flat, hard to read expression, before continuing, “…after a recent conversation with an acquaintance, I think perhaps requiring you to return to the spider ruins at this time is a cruelty more than a… developmental aide.”

The private had taken a sharp breath in at the mention of the spider ruins, but slowly let it out. “I can get one, if you want me to, ma’am,” he said hesitantly.

“You do that. In the meantime, I see no reason not to recommend you for promotion. I’ll file the request in the next few days.”

Sorenson’s expression was one of naked confusion as he responded, “But I didn’t finish the list…”

“You’ve addressed it to my satisfaction – in truth I asked a great deal more from you than would normally be required from a junior NCO… how many of those bounties do you think Corporal Inez has completed?”

The private continued to stare at her like a dear in a lantern-beam.

“Shoo,” Kalisa said, making a dismissive gesture, “I have work to finish.”

Sorenson backed out of the office, turned in the doorway and slipped his helmet back on. He walked halfway down the hall before realising he left the mage’s door open. He hurried back and closed it with profuse apologies, Kalisa smiling at him thinly.

With Sorenson gone, Kalisa fished a blank scroll out of her desk and dipped her quill, beginning to write.

Captain,

I am writing to recommend Private-

She paused, finding that she was unable to remember the man’s first name. She could look him up in her personnel files but… surely Pat would know who she meant.

-Sorenson for promotion to the rank of Corporal, effective upon your approval. In the course of his duries, the Private has demonstrated…

Enumerating the private’s virtues took rather longer than she had expected. Kalisa didn’t complete her end of week filing until late in the night.

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Sept 1, 2021 22:42:44 GMT 10 Admins likes this

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Post by Troubletcat on Sept 1, 2021 22:42:44 GMT 10

Tarnskeep

---

Golden afternoon sunlight shone through the office window, winking off the glass of a spider terrarium perched on the edge of the Mage Guardian’s desk. Parchments lay scattered across its surface. Most of the reports, forms, and communiques seemed to have been abandoned halfway through being written, dropped for some other task and never returned to. A slim blue-robed woman stood on the other side of the room, bright hair still neatly kept, but with dullness and texture clearly signalling it hadn’t been washed recently. Kalisa gripped the edge of her office’s display case, staring somewhat vacantly at the curios within. She straightened with a start at the sound of a knock on the door.

“What?” she said sharply, still a little surprised.

“Er, it’s Sorenson ma’am, are you in there?” came the reply, muffled by the heavy door.

“…yes, Corporal, how else would I be talking to you?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Kalisa demurred. It would be so easy to just tell the man to go away, but…

“Fine, fine, come in,” she heard herself say. She went back to studying the contents of the display case, not looking at her visitor.

“You haven’t been in much lately… er, is everything okay, if you don’t mind my asking?” the man inquired softly.

“Yes,” barked dismissively, “What is it?”

Sorenson just stared at her in silence for a few moments, looking uncertain, finding his voice only once the wizard’s left eyebrow started creeping towards her hairline, although she still didn't turn to face him.

“Uh, I think I want to quit?” he said uncertainly.

Kalisa barely seemed to hear him. “Fine, whatever. Leave your insignia on the desk and go turn in your uniform at the armory.” The sharpness had left her voice. Just tired, now.

“Oh… okay… don’t you want to know why? Or like, to try to talk me out of it or something?”

“Honestly Corporal, I don’t care what you do,” said with the same weary tone. Perhaps even bored.

“…Um… alright… I guess… are you sure you’re feeling alright, Kalisa?”

The wizard's green eyes turned sharply up from the display case, fixing on the golden-haired young man.

“Er… Mage Guardian.” he corrected himself unsteadily.

“I told you, I’m fine. Leave me alone Corp-… Leave me be. Shut the door on your way out.”

---

Back in the hallways between the offices of Tarnskeep, Trevor Sorenson watched the marble tiles go by under his feet, muttering to himself softly. “That was weird…”

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Sept 4, 2021 18:03:39 GMT 10 Laurnath, BoiledMoose, and 1 more like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Sept 4, 2021 18:03:39 GMT 10

Another knock on the door.

“What!?” not surprised this time, but annoyed.

“It’s Patrick.”

This is not good news. Why would the Captain be calling? Why is he being so informal? What have I done wrong? Kalisa cracks the door and peeks out at the smooth features and dark hair of Captain Patrick Nguyen.

“Captain Ngyuen. What is it?” trying to sound calm. Everything is fine, right?

“I had a very strange conversation with one of your Corporals this afternoon… Ex-Corporal, as of a few minutes ago. Would you have a drink with me?” he says, raising a gauntleted hand – the Captain does paperwork with his armor on – showing Kalisa a bottle of Ochalean rice wine.

“I’m quite busy Captain. And neither of us drink during office hours. So, if you’ll excuse me-“

Pat brings a hand up against the closing door, holding it open. “Normal office hours ended… hours ago.” Kalisa looked around. Indeed, the sky outside the small window above her bookshelves was dark. She had even lit candles at some point. When had that happened? The Captain continued speaking: “Please, let me in for a few minutes. I insist.” The last phrase spoken with a firmness that permits no argument.

A few moments later, the two of them were sitting on either side of Kalisa’s desk and nursing small cups of the sweet spirit.

“I filed Sorenson’s discharge papers for you – honorable, of course, in recognition of his years of service. He’ll keep his pension. And I told him if he ever decided he wanted to come back, I’d support his reinstatement. Although, I don't think he will. He’s not upset about anything, just wants to move on to something new. I know this because I actually conducted an exit interview, like you should’ve done.” The accusatory nature of the words isn’t reflected in the Captain’s tone, which stays soft and calm.

“I was… in the middle of something…” the Mage Guardian says uncertainly.

Pat held up a hand. “Don’t make excuses – I’m not your superior anymore, remember? This isn’t a reprimand. I’m simply checking in with a colleague. I’ve noticed your various projects have… stalled.” His eyes played over the unfinished work littering the office. “Are you keeping up with your obligations to the Council, at least?”

“Um, it’s…” Kalisa is flustered, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks, her usual practiced calm slipping. “There’s so much to do, it feels like there’s no time… I try to start on a task, but can’t stop thinking about all the other things I should be doing… one of which is just to be present in the community, which I can’t do if I’m focused on office work or planning… and besides, nothing I do ever seems to turn out right..” she trailed off.

“You’re overwhelmed. I warned you there were concerns about this… several times. I noticed, when it was my job to manage you, that you hadn’t taken annual leave. Ever, since you enlisted. You should take some of that leave. Travel a little. Ochalea, maybe?” he made a small gesture with the hand holding the cup of rice wine. “I hear bathing in the hot springs there is quite relaxing.”

“You just told me that I have too much unfinished work, and now you’re telling me to take a vacation? No, I’ve got to stay here, and get some of this stuff done.”

There was a brief pause. Kalisa sipped her drink. When Pat responded, his words were measured and deliberate. “Kalisa, I may not be your boss anymore, directly, but I am still the commander of this garrison. That means I need to report on the staff here. Both on the status of their work, and on their status as personnel assets. And of course I hear things back. The work you choose to take on is hard. Nobody expects you to do it perfectly. I won’t tell you that you've never made a mistake, but you wouldn’t’ve risen to the rank you have if your work was unsatisfactory on balance. And these delays are understandable, given the wide scope of your duties and your additional role on the Council, which is obviously a strategic asset to us. However, if you are so stressed that you are unable to manage your subordinates appropriately, or maintain the public face that is expected of you as a Crown liaison, your career will suffer. I believe you aspired to the very highest offices of the KMF, once. Is that still the case?”

“I… I suppose so,” the Mage Guardian replied with something like resignation.

“Then I implore you…” the Captain produced a form and placed it on Kalisa’s desk, atop the other papers. “This is an application for leave. I took the liberty of filling it out for you. All you have to do is sign it. Take a break from worrying about the Council, too.”

Kalisa stared at the form with a frown as Patrick rose from his chair. He stopped in the doorway and spoke again. “While you’re away, reflect on your successes, and on the value your peers have placed on your work. And… I know this won’t be easy, but… think if there are any tasks or commitments you can simply give up. The Kingdom doesn’t rest on your shoulders alone – leave some of the work of saving it for others to do.”

After Captain Nguyen had left, Kalisa stared at the leave form for a few minutes. Then she picked up her pen.

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Sept 13, 2021 21:39:36 GMT 10 Admins, BoiledMoose, and 1 more like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Sept 13, 2021 21:39:36 GMT 10

A fine mist of sea spray hung in the air, settled on strands of ginger hair, seeped into an imperial purple blouse. The salt and the constant damp had made everything sticky, and yet despite the moisture her mouth and throat always felt dry. The ship, heavy with gold that would soon be used to buy fine silks and hangings painted with elaborate calligraphy, swayed and groaned beneath her feet like a dying ox.

Starboard, choppy blue water stretched to the horizon. Kalisa knew from studying the maps that some ten or fifteen miles distant, the forest of Uchumori, forming the northern edge of Beitung bay, sloped gently up from the waterline. Perhaps it was visible from the Crow’s Nest, but not from the height of the deck.

On the port side, clearly visible though still a few miles away, wooden cranes stabbed into the air, swinging lazily above the decks of ships, their arms whisper-thin at this range. Behind them, a large city spread along the coast before vanishing over the crest of a steep hill. Most of the structures were of the contemporary Thyatian style – plastered walls painted in shades of beige topped with terracotta. Traces of older Ochalean architecture remained, particularly in temple complexes roofed by darkly shining tile, and here and there in triangular wooden houses, clustered in small neighbourhoods that had thus far been spared redevelopment in the Imperial mode.

Arms wrapped around her waist from behind as the bow of the ship began to swing around towards the city of Beitung, dragging it slowly from Kalisa’s view off the port beam.
“Pretty,” came Swan’s voice in her ear, her chin resting on Kalisa’s shoulder.
“Mmm… Just the first stop.”
“Wasn’t talking ‘bout the city.”
The corners of Kalisa’s mouth twitched in a slight smile, before she responded with a playful tone, “You need a bath.”

The two women moved around to the front of the ship and stood there on the deck, chatting softly as it crossed the last few miles of water. By the time they had settled with the captain and set foot on the dock, the sun hung low over the city, wreathed in wisps of purple cloud. Up the hill, among the streets and houses, lamplighters did their work bathing thoroughfares in splashes of orange light. Somewhere beneath her shoulder blades, Kalisa felt an ancient knot being to unknit.

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2021 11:22:21 GMT 10 by Troubletcat

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Sept 26, 2021 22:38:48 GMT 10 Admins, BoiledMoose, and 1 more like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Sept 26, 2021 22:38:48 GMT 10

I wasn’t expecting a diplomatic greeting, let alone three. Although I don’t think any of them were particularly important. It appears Beitung is rife with courtiers vying for advantage, some of whom think ties with Karameikos will help them… They were all polite enough once I assured them I wasn’t here on business, and the Cao representative was kind enough to help us find a caravan, but still – I’ll be glad to be out of the capitol and, hopefully, away from politicians.

Traveling in a first-class carriage is certainly a different experience than covering terrain on foot. Laying in bed and looking out a window at fields rolling by is an odd experience at first. It’s been good getting to spend so much time with Swan.

Have left the caravan for a few days. Paid them to wait for us at the edge of the forest so that we could take a more scenic route hiking through the Plains of the Dead. The Ochaleans prefer to leave the fallen warriors who haunt them in peace, and declined to join us… but I don’t think they were offended by our choice to visit, at least not after Swan assured them that we aim to honor the dead, not loot them.

The ghosts themselves are much like ghosts anywhere else. I’ve enjoyed the exercise after the carriage, and Swan seems to be enjoying herself too, communing with long-dead Alphatians spellswords and Ochalean irregulars.

Caravan attacked today exiting the forest of Li. Ogre magi. Just like home. The caravan guards regard us with a little more respect, now.

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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Oct 14, 2021 0:03:42 GMT 10

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Post by Troubletcat on Oct 14, 2021 0:03:42 GMT 10

Skirting the rice fields of Yi…

That they extend for miles is obvious from the maps. What’s less clear is that from the trade road, the elevation is sufficient to look across the entire delta, the endless rice paddies, the city by the coast. The breadbasket of Ochalea, I suppose. Ricebasket.

Less time spent lounging in the carriage with Swan the past few days, considerably more time dressed for battle. Dressed at all, I suppose. The undead haunting the marsh here are far more aggressive than those we encountered earlier. Perhaps the fighting here was fiercer, or perhaps it’s a reaction to some source of corrupted energy. I caught a glimpse of a purple worm in the distance the other day.

I understand now why the caravan has such a large number of guards, and so well-equipped. I spoke to their captain the other day, a man named Namba. His Thyatian is poor (although much better than my Ochalean), but we discussed tactics, history, and a little philosophy as well as we could. They expect more losses on this route than they have suffered thus far, and are glad to have Swan and myself along.

Uphill for days now. The going is slow, the animals exhausted. But we still seem to be only in the foothills – The Great Dragon Spires earn their name.

We’ll arrive in Wongzhao Tsushao tomorrow. The smoke from their forges is in sight.

A runner arrived from the town this afternoon. Apparently the administrator is aware of our imminent arrival and wishes to meet. I’ve assented – it would be rude not to – but I hope the meeting is brief.

Troubletcat
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Diaries of Kalisa Inciya Nov 13, 2021 22:05:54 GMT 10 Admins and BoiledMoose like this

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Post by Troubletcat on Nov 13, 2021 22:05:54 GMT 10

Kalisa slipped out of the low bed and padded softly across the straw mats covering the floor. Outside the bedroom, pale dawn light flooded the guesthouse’s hallway, filtering through the translucent interior walls. She slid the door open and glanced back at Swan’s sleeping form. The hint of a smile played across Kalisa’s lips. She’d walk down to the morning market, come back with breakfast.

She dressed in a manner common to local soldiers and adventurers. A pair of long pants, loose fitting to the point that they resembled a dress at first glance, and a thick woollen jacket on top, both a dark burgundy. She felt it suited her well. Unconstrained while still appearing dignified. The jacket was warm, but more importantly, thick and tightly knit enough to provide a little protection against cuts and bruises.

On her way out of the house, her hand started towards the claymore hung by the door in a traveling sheathe, but she opted to leave it. She was just going down to the market, and besides, if something did happen, she had other means to defend herself.

Out the front door, she took in the courtyard. The local administrator, a strapping young man called Osamu, had met them yesterday morning at the city gates. As Kalisa had hoped, the meeting had been brief – ‘what brings you to Wongzhao Tshushao? A holiday? Here’s the start of the path to the hot springs, there is the storefront of our local distiller’s guild,’ and, somewhat unexpectedly, ‘there are inns, of course, but you should stay in the guesthouse on the manor grounds, I insist.’

Wongzhao Tsushao was a large town, built up as high on the mountain range as was practical. The lowest point of the settlement was by the main gates on its northern edge. Just inside the gates was a large, open market. Wongzhao Tsushao was primarily a forge town, smelting the iron and rarer metals mined from The Great Dragon Spires into bars. Most of these were sold as raw materials, to be turned into useful goods elsewhere on the island. The market by the gate was dedicated to this trade, and therefore not much visited by the residents of the town, apart from those who worked there. Above this, houses, shops, and a good number of temples stretched up the steep slopes, intercut with staircases and terraces.

Unlike the coastal capital of Beitung, most of the structures here were still in the traditional Ochalean style – wooden homes with angled rooves and deep eaves. The basic structure of the manor and its guesthouse were the same, although they were more finely constructed and detailed than the majority of the homes. The manor building sat at one end of a walled courtyard about halfway up the city. Centrally located, rather than lording over the town from its highest point. The guesthouse was a separate, smaller dwelling near the courtyard’s entrance.

The courtyard itself was beautiful – paved walkways lined with flowering trees allowed access from the gate to the manor and guesthouse. The rest of the space was given over to gardens, carefully tended and artfully arranged, appointed here and there with stone art installations. Walking down the front steps of the guesthouse and stepping onto the path, Kalisa could see a handful of gardeners tending the plants in the dawn light.

A voice interrupted her thoughts: “Lady Inciya, you’re up early.”
Kalisa turned to see her host, Osamu, standing on the walkway between her and the manor.
“Yes… I was going to the market to get some breakfast.”
“Ah…” a non-plussed expression crossed the man’s angular features. “I had asked my housekeeping staff to prepare you something and bring it over. Shall I tell them not to bother?”

“Oh! No, I’m sure that will be fine. Thank you.”

A beat passed. Kalisa stood on the walk, her plans interrupted.

Osamu broke the silence. “It will be a little while before the kitchen finishes breakfast. Perhaps you’d sit with me for a few moments? I would like to speak a little more with you, if it is not too much of an intrusion.”
Kalisa prevented her neutral expression from slipping, but recoiled internally. Here it comes. The request for a favour, or the overly incisive question. But she could find no polite reason to refuse her host, and a moment later they were seated on a wooden bench in a shady corner of the courtyard.
“Naturally, when I learned that an officer in a foreign military had come to Ochalea, and planned to visit my little corner of it, I requested that one of my agents put together a dossier.”
“Naturally.”

“It turns out we have a mutual acquaintance. Although, you are closer to her than I am. She never offered *me* a piece of her jewellery.”

Kalisa shifted a little on the bench to regard Osamu curiously. For a moment, she saw him not as a young man, but as a dragon. One with shimmering, translucent scales of a pale green colour. The way they glinted in the sun was fascinating, and calming somehow. And then the vision passed, and she found herself looking into his knowing eyes.

“So,” Kalisa said, “there’s some truth to the stories the locals tell, of dragons living among them in statues, or in the shape of men.”
“You don’t sound surprised,” Osamu said lightly, an amused smile on his lips.
“I’m an archmage. I’ve seen stranger things than you.”
“No doubt. But it is interesting to me that you’ve chosen to…” he paused, considering his phrasing, “…align yourself… with a green. With Verdalith especially. She is particularly cruel, and scheming, and has an inflated sense of her own importance… egomaniacal, some would say.”
Kalisa shrugged, turned her gaze towards the grass at her feet. “I would not have chosen to become her… vassal, I suppose is how she must think of it… under normal circumstances. It had to be done.”
“But circumstances have changed, have they not?”
“Yes. But the deal is done.”
“You could sever it, if you wished.”
At this, Kalisa looked up at him, green eyes meeting his, almost the same colour. She hadn’t considered this. “Could I?” she asked.

“Of course. Cast the stone into the sea, or destroy it – not easily done, but not impossible. You’ll never get that shred of your essence back. But your spirit is a titan compared to the average mortals, like all archmages… you would manage without that little piece.”

They sat in silence for a few moments as Kalisa considered this.

Osamu broke it. “You’ve slain a number of my kind, and absconded with pieces of their hordes.”
“Ah… yes, that’s true.” Kalisa said neutrally.
“Kraask had it coming. A brute who does not control his brood. The same might be said of the family of whites in the Tepes. Others, not so much. I trust you won’t make me regret my hospitality?” he smiled a little at this, half joking.
“What? No, of course not. It’s… they were in my way, and showed no interest in parlaying.”
“So you entered their homes, assaulted them, robbed them… how very Thyatian of you.” A note of genuine reproach entered his tone.
Kalisa shrugged. “I don’t agree with the comparison to the pathological expansionism of Thyatis. I never tried to move in after, and I always had some reason beyond lust for gold or power.”
“I see.” A pause. “So… what was the reason? Why did you feel it was justified to kill, say, Ganjee, in his own lair?”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
To Kalisa’s surprise, Osamu barked a short, one-note laugh before replying, “No. He’s of little consequence, and very far away. But if you learned that somebody had killed a human – a member of your society in some small way – surely you would have questions.”

“Mmm, I suppose. Ganjee has surrounded himself with a cult of lizardmen that attack anyone who comes near, disrupting travel in the area. He could become a bigger problem for us, if he were so inclined – attempted expansion, say. I attacked him once, defeated him easily, made no effort to prevent his regeneration, and never returned. The message is clear – leave us alone, and we will leave you alone. But he knows the threat of reprisal is real.”

Osamue allowed a moment to pass. “I mean no insult," he replied carefully, "but that seems a flimsy justification to me – he’s been living in that region for decades, yes? And Threshold has always been home to powerful people…”
“Perhaps I just wanted to see if there was anything above is lair. The fact is, he surrounds himself with violent followers that attack anyone who comes near. He projects violence, I responded in kind. I don’t feel guilty about it.”
“Aren’t your people the same?”
“No – the militia don’t shoot at anyone who gets near the walls, only at known threats. They’ve let in people that perhaps *would* have been shot approaching Thyatis, or Glantri City, or even Mirros due to their monstrous appearance. But Threshold, Verge? No, we don’t project force in that way.”
“Some might say the mere presence of the settlements is an act of violence against the ancient peoples of the region, or against nature.”
“Some might. I notice that you’re the lord of a city, not a druid’s grove,” Kalisa’s tone had become sharp, frustrated. “Is there a point to this, or have you simply decided you’re morally superior to me, and are now attempting to score points?”

Osamu looked taken aback, “Not at all. I’m a student of ethical philosophy, and of rhetoric. I enjoy encountering divergent viewpoints. If your actions offended me in such a profound way, I would not have invited you into my home. I see I’ve made you feel… defensive. I apologise, it was not intended.”

Kalisa frowned, looked down at her hands in her lap. “In truth, perhaps I *do* feel a little guilty about it. I find myself questioning my own deployment of violence, as well as that of the people close to me, more and more as time goes on.”
“It is good to question. But feelings of guilt are of no benefit to anyone. Perhaps you should meet with some of the local monks. Many of them argue for a philosophy of radical non-violence, refusing even to swat mosquitos. Perhaps you would find their views interesting.”
“Mmm. I’ve read of monastic orders with such codes. I don’t know that they’re… compatible with the type of life I wish to lead. Conflict is a part of this world. If I refuse to use violence, ever, those with less scruples will still use it against me, and against the people I care about. That doesn’t seem to be an acceptable outcome.”

“Reading of a philosophy is one thing. Speaking to those who practice it is quite another. You may find they have answers for such conundrums. But for now… Your breakfast is ready,” Osamu remarked with a gesture towards a pair of servants carrying covered platters traversing the path between the manor and the guesthouse. “I apologise again if I have caused upset. Go enjoy breakfast with your wife, and let me know if you require anything else.”

Kalisa stood, smoothed down the front of her jacket. “We’re not married.”
“Oh… I could have the double bed removed, singles brought in… I thought…”
She shook her head, smiling slightly. “We’re not *that* not-married. Thank you for your hospitality, and for the conversation.”
“It was my pleasure. Perhaps you’ll remember me the next time you find yourself in the home of one of my kin. Now go on, you’re being summoned.”
From the upper balcony of the guesthouse, Swan waved down at her, eyes squinted in the early morning light, hair a dishevelled mess. “Perhaps,” Kalisa replied idly, allowing her attention to be drawn towards happier thoughts as she walked off through the garden, towards the sweet smell of a hot breakfast.

Diaries of Kalisa Inciya

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