Finch Diaries: The Circle Broken

For whom do we fight if not for each other?

Long days have been followed by longer nights. The dangerous path we walk has weakened our resolve, and the brotherhood I took as iron forged has been broken.

The mightiest amoung us has failed an internal struggle and is a stranger. His joyous lust for glory and battle has been swallowed by a cold, mad hunger for slaughter.

To view my companions do harm to each other even as we face our sworn enemies has stolen something from me. I can no longer feel safe with my fellows, despite having no choice.

I struggle agains foes, nature, even against my own Father’s curse. Now must I question my brothers?

Finch Diaries: New Wings

The drip of melting ice eased me from slumber this morning. Friends new and old lay scattered and sleeping all about the cave floor, their bodies relaxed and their minds blanketed in the good spirts of Volder and Lema. I remembered hearing our talkative compatriot Xanxuiloxozzyr retelling our exploits in the Battle of the Scarp before I finally succumbed to fatigue and warmth last night.

I followed a fellow early riser, Twil, out of the cave mouth and down to a creek to drink and bathe. All around us the previous night’s snow glistened and melted in the strong morning light piercing the icy cover of steel clouds. An unusual softness was on the air.

Not speaking, Twil unslung his Harmonizer and wandered along the creek, his head tilted to the side in curious concentration. His long fingers began a gentle dance along the strings and a sparse rhythm began to form. Captivated by my friend’s playing I trailed behind, careful not to interject any sound. Although no discernable melody appeared, his playing seemed to compliment the murmer of the waking earth about us. The soft ripple of the creek was answered by delicate triplets, the light breeze in the bare tree limbs was echoed by rounded chords, even our footsteps in the melting snow added a layer to his acoustic explorations.

Spying the the ranger Cedric at rest ahead on a sun warmed boulder I settled down cross-legged beside him to observe Twil’s work unfold.

“Twoooooeeet..tweeep,tweep,tweep….Twoooooeeet..tweep,tweep,tweep”

With that introduction, a bright speck of a songbird flashed into view. The creature lit briefly upon Twill’s Harmonizer before floating to rest directly in front of me on the stone. Amazed, I could only stare at the minature beast. Golden of body with its head covered in deep black feathers, the songbird returned my curious gaze. It hopped from here to there and cocked its head back and forth in excitement as it seemed to give me a thorough once-over.

“Rhiannon smiles on you Finch,” spoke Twil softly.

“Tis highly, highly unnatural for this type of bird to linger in the wood this late in the season,” whispered Cedric, “they usually don’t survive Wyrm’s Turn if they can’t fly south.”

Dazzled by the moment, I uttered the first thought that came to me:

“The Gods reward us. They have sent their smallest messenger upon the Sun this morning to bless our blades and brows with grace.”

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Taken as a sign of wild Rhiannon’s favor and a most postive omen, the Finch has taken a familiar. After much consultation with his mystic father Prince Caradoc, and his mad, feral druid companion Iorweth Wolfsblood, the correct binding rituals were completed and the songbird Seeleid has joined the young man in spirit and fate.

Finch Diaries: Skull Point

The bravery of my companions and the heat of victory in my blood have kept me warm these last dark hours. We are wounded and weary yet I am elated. I can feel my story unfurling and am eager to press on once we have regrouped.

We have siezed our own destiny and are howling in the face of death and menace. D’Annunzio’s lust for combat and fury against our enemies drives us forward. None amoung us have faltered in the face of otherworldly evil. Iorweth has often told me that the Gods love chaos. We are to be their favorite children.

Our party has battled into the heart of a nightmare. We are a scorching light blinding all fell foes. I feel my father Caradoc’s blood boiling in my veins and have eagerly set upon a path of high adventure with my sworn brothers.

We are destiny driven and glory guides our blades towards uncertainty, fortune and carnage.

The Violent World

The questions that have lived in my heart have at last been answered. I am ready.

Our weary party encountered strange foes as we neared home and I have at last proven myself in battle. The trouble appeared nearer to the Dale than one would have expected.

An unusual Tinker’s Wagon was being attacked by a flock of fell black birds on the road behind us. Our new companion Stephan D’Annunzio called to our Sir Trousdale of Lorchester for command while alerting us to strange Birdmen skulking in the wood. Sir gave his warriors permission to come to the travelers’ aid and I was off before he could tell me different. Too long have I waited behind with gentle Aphra Behn, the children and women while Sir and his fighters lock swords with our enemies.

I felt old Dontrell smiled down upon me as I followed his teachings and tactics to the letter. So often had I heard, “Child, you have no need to greet your foe face to face, your strength will lie in distance and surprise.” Dontrell looked down upon men who fight solely with steel as nothing more than useful brutes. “Let those without The Gift sweat and strain sword to sword and eye to eye,” he would spit. I thought of my old teacher that afternoon as I managed to kill one of the beasts using my Gift. While most of our men took wounds in our fight I remained untouched.

My head rang with battle song and my chest burst with pride as I inspected my first kill. It had been a simple enough thing, and not a drop of blood on my clothes.

Home was not what I had hoped. The gate was strongly guarded and Aphra stopped me from running ahead to boast of our adventures. I was sent to the back of our caravan and told to keep silent as we entered the square. The Dale was crowded with strangers come to pay their respect. No kind townsfolk offered me welcome and the simpleton fruit and veg peddler Mosdod crypticly spoke to me as if I had commited a crime. The servers at the Dwarf were shocked at my arrival and told me I’m to be arrested along with all of my kin. All around us I caught mentions of my perpetually wandering Father, Caradoc.

Instead of raising warm cups of wine by the fire to honor King Daha I was quickly secured in a room upstairs. My good Sir rode to the keep to offer his sword to the Queen and seek information on the King’s death. Before departing, Aphra forbade me to leave the Inn.

I hope we can be gone from here soon as my old friends will not greet me. I hear whispers and catch sidelong glances from my most brave companions. I sense that the less noble seek an opportunity for personal gain through my tangled connections with the royal family.

This room is maddeing. Too much is happening for me to sit here listening to our Asugulandian swordsman Stephan endlessly speculate upon politics. The air is so very close in here and the overpowering reek of urine and dung surrounding our mad young Druid Iorweth Wolfsblood has near blinded me but I dare not speak ill to one who is touched by The Gods.

I will now put down my quill for there is a creature at our window, at last a diversion.