Lexan's Journey Continues...
Sep. 3rd, 2007 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
magicaddict00.00.03 (30.09.17)
It would seem I am not alone.
If the Trumps, Arden and the mews were anything to go by, my father is alive and close by. Scrying for who was closest turn up his image first, his hunting hawk was sighted in Arden by both myself and an independent witness (Marc in this case), and that feather in the mews was left just so, above the footprints made not three hours earlier by the influx of Jacquol's chickens; such an orgy of evidence is surely hint enough for anyone.
Perhaps he is able to influence The Reality without manifesting in it. Perhaps he has lost the ability to shift and needs to be found. More than anything else, he must be contacted. To that end, and my abilities with sorcery notwithstanding, my father's Trump briefly cooled to the touch when I concentrated on it in the great library, a further indication that he may be vital, if nothing else. I continue to search for different locations to scrye and to search, though I fear now that the only more pertinent location to try to reach him may be the centre of the Pattern, which I will not be trying any time soon. I may ask one of the others with more power in the realms of sorcery for aid in the matter. It is hardly a secret that I am trying to reach my parents. Most all of us have given it thought.
The villagers are beginning to believe. The standard has raised their spirits across the board, those old enough are learning the sword, and those too young the bow by way of distraction. I have expressed my concerns to Marc that they should not be involved should it come to blows, and will take responsibility for them myself if needs be, as I will for him if I find them taking part in combat.
The last group of people to bring round will be the relative elders and the younger girls, neither of whom involved themselves in the training. I will speak with the elders tomorrow evening, and try to instigate council among them as a means of occupying their time and their abilities. It remains a pity, however, that there is not a larger cross section of ages and backgrounds to form the interim government; while the abilities of wives and mothers to effectively administrate is not in question, representing only one side of opinion at village level is never ideal.
Jacquol has returned, and with her she brings food and drink in abundance, including (to my great relief) good brandy. It seems most ironic to finally return to The Reality, only to be forced to import drink from shadow, but I am eternally glad she did. The quality of the alcohol is fine, and will no doubt help those of us still on the fringes to familiarise with us. I will use it myself tomorrow evening, as a means to break down some walls between myself and those I speak with. I doubt any of them have had a drink in some time.
There is a security issue surrounding Jacquol's craft, wherein two fully clothed men were apparently seen fleeing into the water and back towards land after ransacking one of the decks. The obvious fears aside, it should be considered that these men may have been no more than petty thieves still shaken by the war and trying to get what they could, though their evasion of the sentries that were present (more have now been posted) remains a worry, and suggests an altogether different hypothesis involving abilities you simply don’t find in the general populace.
Patterns of preference appear to be forming among the nine. Ariadne, Bren and Charm are often seen together, along with Gwyn, who has made the kitchen his own. Phage continues to follow whoever chooses to lead him at the time, and Marc and I spend large amounts of time in the town. Only Jacquol and Kris, returning from shadow, seem to lack immediate direction, though they have spent less time in The Reality.
In any case, they will have to find their purpose alone. I have more important people to lead.
It would seem I am not alone.
If the Trumps, Arden and the mews were anything to go by, my father is alive and close by. Scrying for who was closest turn up his image first, his hunting hawk was sighted in Arden by both myself and an independent witness (Marc in this case), and that feather in the mews was left just so, above the footprints made not three hours earlier by the influx of Jacquol's chickens; such an orgy of evidence is surely hint enough for anyone.
Perhaps he is able to influence The Reality without manifesting in it. Perhaps he has lost the ability to shift and needs to be found. More than anything else, he must be contacted. To that end, and my abilities with sorcery notwithstanding, my father's Trump briefly cooled to the touch when I concentrated on it in the great library, a further indication that he may be vital, if nothing else. I continue to search for different locations to scrye and to search, though I fear now that the only more pertinent location to try to reach him may be the centre of the Pattern, which I will not be trying any time soon. I may ask one of the others with more power in the realms of sorcery for aid in the matter. It is hardly a secret that I am trying to reach my parents. Most all of us have given it thought.
The villagers are beginning to believe. The standard has raised their spirits across the board, those old enough are learning the sword, and those too young the bow by way of distraction. I have expressed my concerns to Marc that they should not be involved should it come to blows, and will take responsibility for them myself if needs be, as I will for him if I find them taking part in combat.
The last group of people to bring round will be the relative elders and the younger girls, neither of whom involved themselves in the training. I will speak with the elders tomorrow evening, and try to instigate council among them as a means of occupying their time and their abilities. It remains a pity, however, that there is not a larger cross section of ages and backgrounds to form the interim government; while the abilities of wives and mothers to effectively administrate is not in question, representing only one side of opinion at village level is never ideal.
Jacquol has returned, and with her she brings food and drink in abundance, including (to my great relief) good brandy. It seems most ironic to finally return to The Reality, only to be forced to import drink from shadow, but I am eternally glad she did. The quality of the alcohol is fine, and will no doubt help those of us still on the fringes to familiarise with us. I will use it myself tomorrow evening, as a means to break down some walls between myself and those I speak with. I doubt any of them have had a drink in some time.
There is a security issue surrounding Jacquol's craft, wherein two fully clothed men were apparently seen fleeing into the water and back towards land after ransacking one of the decks. The obvious fears aside, it should be considered that these men may have been no more than petty thieves still shaken by the war and trying to get what they could, though their evasion of the sentries that were present (more have now been posted) remains a worry, and suggests an altogether different hypothesis involving abilities you simply don’t find in the general populace.
Patterns of preference appear to be forming among the nine. Ariadne, Bren and Charm are often seen together, along with Gwyn, who has made the kitchen his own. Phage continues to follow whoever chooses to lead him at the time, and Marc and I spend large amounts of time in the town. Only Jacquol and Kris, returning from shadow, seem to lack immediate direction, though they have spent less time in The Reality.
In any case, they will have to find their purpose alone. I have more important people to lead.
