3. Unen Alow - A Journal

Unen Alow - A Journal


  • Unen sits in the empty theater, after his studies. He chooses one of the large throne chairs, and after having stole a pillow from the dining area plops down with little grace. He opens a new journal, and on the first page he writes in a flowing script

    Today marks the one year mark since my return, and I must say I am pleased overall by the amount of new and old faces I have met. I have developed a few close friendships, and a few vague enemies, but over all it has been good. he taps his chin To know that such strong and diverse people mostly fight towards a common goal is comforting, even if most of us don't really know what that common goal is. Perhaps it is to bring slaughter to the orcs yet again, as they muster tirelessly. Perhaps it is to make the gates stronger, infrastructure and utility. In this I am pleased, most graciously and humbly to be a part of.

    That being said, there seems to be an awful lot of backbiting and wholesale hatred between people, old locals that have spent years and years at this common cause, and have succeeded time and time again. Perhaps its the 7 year itch, or perhaps its divergent lines that just barely rub together when timing and coincidence align. Either way it is interesting, but I guess its no matter to me yet.

    I have spent a lot of the last few months with Dermin and others in the under-dark, and other caves and holes in the ground. Normally we go unassisted. There is something liberating about being so recklessly stupid without someone there to tell you "you can't". Mostly its been fine, we have ran quite a bit, but I don't think that makes us any less heroic.

    A poem -
    Ten captains of quite monstrous proportion
    Tell ten captains to go and find a fortune
    And ten captains argue for light
    While ten demons give up the fight
    So be wary and call to your friends
    the boat leaves at seven past ten.

    As for my studies, I have stuck mostly to any kind of language book I can get my hands on. I cannot get enough of language, its beauty and logic, each one crafted over thousands of years to convey the thoughts and hearts and minds. As for the college, it is in dormancy, which suites me as I've never been huge on performance. I do miss the opportunity to learn collaborate with some fantastic artists.

    after he gets done with the entry and closes the book he sits for a second before excitedly opening it back up for one more thought

    I saw her today, spoke to her, it is good to count another friend.

    closes his journal and wanders off to find some pancakes


  • I must admit dear journal, I'm not sure what is going on. I have of late been going on expeditions to far and scary places, and as such I have lost the thread of the story in our fair kingdom. It seems that things are slowly turning towards what has been suspected. Perhaps it is time to look for allies that are thinking the same thing.

    On Minotaurs, I am impressed at what they have built i must say, endless corridors, paths to nowhere, mind boggling directionless wandering. Put some sand and and a few drinks around and I call that a vacation. Honestly it was harrowing, but I am satisfied with the direction we have gone, I yearn to see the new and wild places in the lands, to gather what strength I can.
    I am happy to say our adventuring party is becoming a true group of friends, and look forward to where we go in the future.

    Anyways, journal, you keep it together while I'm gone out adventuring.

    unen nods and sets the journal down, and continues on the rug he is weaving in his room


  • There is movement, its seems far off, its ethereal, it makes almost no one stop and wonder. You have to wonder about the real and truly good of the land, they seem to know, but it hasn't sparked action, just tentative waiting. That used to bother me quite a bit, i would run around trying to rouse those I felt could muster some kind of strength to at least look at the issue at hand. Not anymore, we go slowly now, we tentatively wait. But I promise dear journal, there is something happening, in the background, and it is big.

    I am nearing the last third of my time in the land, and as such I need to get serious about my goals, stupid goals made as a younger braver elf. The first step is to pour time and energy into what makes me stronger, so that I can face the goals.

    I know that I am not viewed as a religious man, but I have tried all these years to live by simple tenants put forth, to learn as much as i can, and to spread knowledge freely. The way I've chosen to do this is language, it is an obsession, and an addiction, but one I had come up short on recently. As you know journal (since you are in fact me), I have been learning the elemental languages, and for once I came up short, three of four isn't bad, but it is not usual. What if I were to meet an earth elemental and he had some profound knowledge, perhaps I could understand him, but I am not sure I could speak back. It was just too foreign, especially mixed with everything else. Perhaps your trusty author is just getting too full , a polyglot not entirely fulfilled.

    Let me tell you a story:
    Oghma had so many children, I suppose as the ultimate bard does, and then as Cyric does, he turned twenty two of them to paintings. Those painting were scattered across the land, and most of them lost, eventually a powerful Vampire house got a hold of seven the rest remain hidden or lost. These paintings held a piece of Oghma, A piece of his grand knowledge. While the specifics are vague, I have chosen to believe that perhaps there is a Bardic painting. Now perhaps I am not worthy, but wouldn't that be a fun adventure.

    I attempt to gather knowledge, to force feed myself the needed instinct to push my mind out and figure out where one is. Even if it isn't the bard painting (which might or might not exist).

    This is what it has all been leading towards, all these strange goals, and it has been fun, and worthwhile.
    I have nothing snarky to add, things are okay.


  • Oh new friends, new friends! How lovely the colors have returned. Oh precious precious! To think that all this threatened, ah shame, shame shame. We push for status quo my short independent? Nah, lets just push. My compatriot you seem less in to all this, well fair. Back into the obscure purple light of which I was founded.

    Agendas! What lovely wonderful agendas, and whose I wonder? Voracity, hubris, daring!
    How grand how grand

    Oh sweet old man you are dying, oh no oh no, this would be a tragedy most dear!

    Performance, I have decided to take the most difficult path, one which no one will appreciate.


  • I must make an addendum to that last snarky poem, while i was on the right path, i was wrong about some major things goes above to erase it just in case


  • I think being very specific is folly, and in as such i keep intentionally vague, I mean this journal is for myself, but in this case, and especially for myself, we must keep quite opaque.

    I have buried myself in my performance, it is ready, I am ready, I have plans, small ones, but I wish to move forward on them. I was there to witness, gathering information I see as important, not of the triumph over snakes, but every sword swing, comment, every time a bow doesnt raise, or a spell is cast. That is what I am interested in. I must say I'm a wretched bard sometimes, less interested in grand conquest so that I can vomit a tale at an inn, and much more concerned with the interpersonal relationships of the people around me. The map is close to complete, there are a few variables.

    What do I even do with this information?

    I have a personal project, that has nothing to do with my dear dear fellow adventurers, I have spoken with 3 people of this, the oldest most crotchety person I know, my usual source to keep me grounded and point me in a direction, and frankly a wild card. There is a direction, gods it is dangerous.

    No one seems worried about it honestly, but it could be something big, real big.

    Alright, my time in the college all day every day is coming to an end soon enough.

    A poem

    a small portion of the page is ripped out


  • unen falls into his bed and pulls out his journal, exhausted from a long couple days

    I'm falling asleep journal, so it will be short. I saw the end of the caves, they go deeper than I thought, full of giants. We worked well as a team, Warziver might have told a joke. Oh also I then pen ends after the I


  • Unen sits on a couch in front of the fire, he pulls out a small journal

    A bard has a lot of duties, to be an idiot, to speak honestly, and sometimes to lie, well perhaps more than sometimes. People think less so about keeping histories although some of us are quite profoundly good at it. We hold on to these stories and we retell them with flourishes and grand aplomb, they make heroes shine more than they probably did when the event happened. They put up folk on a pedestal.

    Sometimes however the heroics are real and true, and even a cynical bard must acknowledge when the sea changes, take of his helm for just a moment and reflect on selfless courage and valor. Tonight seems to have been one of those nights, on an individual level, and as a group, all the bickering fell aside, and for the most part we acted as a team. To have witnessed that was very worthwhile, high tide rises all ships.

    A few asides.

    Someone trapped the entrance to the college, it is an actual mystery! I have asked around but to no avail.

    Being blind is fairly awful.

    -A Poem-
    Eternal is such a long time.


  • at his desk he sits in his tiny room, and opens his tiny journal, scrawled on a few pages are strategies and safe(ish) resting spots for the journey down

    This will be shorter, just a few thoughts so I don't forget.

    The land is paused, everyone waiting, biding time, the threat looms and we wait to advance. Maybe not we..they.

    There is something complex about charity, it is so simple, the action, but there is this whole over-woven mess when it comes to how a person perceives it. Monsters don't give charity, they don't believe in it, they kill their weakest, forgetting that they too were once weak. They feel as if they deserve something for lucking into a group of monsters that accept them. No one is alone in all this, they might pretend that that is the case, but it just isn't.

    A poem
    Oi fark
    the contrast stark
    these dogs could bark
    lets go to the underdark.

    I have been working on languages, every night, endless repetition, it is kind of lovely, something to focus on. Things are ok.

    In an update on friends, I haven't seen her since that day, its ok that is just how we work.


  • unen sits on his bed in the theater, he pulls out a notebook, opens it up and starts to write

    Everyone is a hero, the good guy in their own story. Here in peltarch, let me tell you there are so many heroes. Honestly you would think it would bring some kind of joy, or comfort knowing that so many people strive towards greatness. But it's not really my greatness is it? There is no one on anyone else's paths, they all converge perhaps momentarily, as some famed legend pushes on, but then they diverge. This divergence makes me more and more uncomfortable, it's as if a string quartet is playing four different songs that briefly duck into key with each other, only to crash into dissonance.

    How often is it that someone claims fault, or says they are mistaken? I cannot remember the last time I have heard it.

    I used some new strategies deep in the underdark today, they worked out, everyone came back in pretty much the same condition we left in. So at least I have that positive note to stick in a pocket.

    A poem-

    A hero, A hero!
    A HERO!
    HERO!

    Alright.


  • Unen walks in to the theater loudly whistling, as he passes onto the stage he kicks off his shoes and flops down in front of the podium, from his bags he takes out a small journal, and starts to write

    I am sitting on the floor, it is not customary, as nothing is really customary with me, I can claim it , I can say "this is the thing I do" but its not entirely true. I am simply aboard the engine of change.

    I have mastered more languages, sitting in the college, studying endlessly, they just make sense, its the one thing I have mastery of. How practical is it? I mean, it is not really.

    We ventured to the Underdark again, further than ever before. I believe we made it to the edge of Arnath, it was no surprise to the residents, as we were mobbed immediately. The front line held, with support from behind, for a long time, we lost one, I tried to get to them but they were sucked forward. There is nothing more heart wrenching than to watch an ally fall. I have thought about some new strategy with regards to supporting and as such will utilize them going forward, perhaps a more vigorous application of my curse. Anyways, after that we changed heading for the surface, and a slow march back towards the light of dawn began.

    I sometimes wonder if everyone knows everything in Peltarch, or if they just let on, seems that even the most simple warrior will have vast knowledge of subjects that people would die to know. Perhaps these folks spend more time in libraries than I do, with access to some truly great thinking. Perhaps they are afraid that someone might know more than them. I'm not afraid of that, how can you learn if you already have all the knowledge. I'm not sure if I am bothered by this, it's just an observation, a city full of geniuses.

    A poem-

    However we fall, we fall
    And however it danced, it dances
    and all this fire, it burns
    oh gods, oh gods,
    it burns.

    I have looked into some motivations, just to sate curiosity over the events, that mostly seem forgotten. You see if consistency is what you are after then I believe consistency is met. For better or worse you have to make choices and you have to make choices on whether you would like a consistent ally. In my case I suppose I choose yes. Although as I dig deep into this god of his I think he might be trying to make up for his..you know not being a halfling. Zeal is one thing, but stupid zeal, I will watch for that, and maybe even try and coach.

    Ok off to the studies.


  • Unen takes up his customary seat

    The dichotomy of good and evil, the split down the middle that leaves no room for grey. An inflexible, unrelenting, madness cast on us by the sectaria. I left today. It's not that I think evil things should be allowed to thrive, they make things worse, they make lives harder. However there should be some kind of rules. Stabbing an unarmed, non aggressive, didn't even say a word , and was peacefully collecting papers person. Regardless of faith or race or if they danced with bane in the middle of the commons is just not ok by me. Why wouldn't they try to capture, question, try, or subdue this evil. I mean I guess they could have done that, but I left, and the end result was a pile of ash.

    The thing is, I do not blame the goodly people for following the will of those that grant them such amazing powers. I do not sidle slowly towards wearing a darker purple cloak and dealing in suffering, there is no wavering. I do blame the gods that do not allow recompense for nuance and compassion. I do blame the hard opposing forces that crash in the middle, with a wake of bodies left on both sides.

    Some thoughts in random order:

    Thank goodness for random walks with people willing to chat about nothing serious.
    Red and puke green dragons are the worst
    2 in 5 prefer bronze dragons, 1 prefers rust although that might be bronze as well.
    Peltarch seems to be weak to attack from above, and if you ask some, weak from the west as well.

    I think being a king sounds awful.

    -A poem-
    Can we pretend to patient.

    no?

    unen walks back up to his room and eats a pancake..wondering if he should have thrown that meat out