The sun would shine through mighty stained-glass windows, illuminating ancient bravery and acts of love and valour but the rooms were laid cold and devoid of those very things that shone upon their floors. This was to be my prison, the gilded cage of cold, unfeeling luxury. For amusement we would regale each other with stories and perform recitals of past cautionary tales of old and of fleeting victories. My lines were practiced and delivered with the emotion that I am afforded or can muster. It is a supreme irony that our history is nothing but shallow plays on decaying pasts and desperate nostalgia of a life that never truly existed.
I have been promised to one that I do not love, one that I feel no connection to. Wallis is the wealthy heir to the mercantile Pomeroy-Dumont family and whilst he has his fine graces his words ring hollow and disappear on the breeze when we are together. His interest lies in the continuation of his line, and he seeks not a wife, more a servant or someone to simply warm or hang upon his arm at high occasion. His temper frightens me, but I am loathe to speak of it to Father for, to him, he seems reconciled that our union is to be productive and beneficial to both our families. Talk of politic does not interest me; indeed, I find it frightfully tedious, empty, full of lost promise.
Father's words have scorned me and he is insistent that my betrothal shall be completed these coming weeks. A crushing sorrow fills my very soul. It is not within my capacity to retort with harsh words or to show action contrary to his wishes but this course cannot be continued. I should have felt the warmth of the sun outside drying my tears as I ran in desperation but inside I felt only cold submission and sorrow. I shall not allow this to happen and I will resist with every ounce of my essence. I plan to escape the confines of the Ravensmere-Marshthorn Estate and to disappear until I am blessed with acuity as to a future illuminated by happiness.
Father wasted no time in his endeavours and I had scarcely disappeared a day before the Hunters were summoned. These are relentless individuals whose loyalty is to gold. Individuals are similarly bought and I have fled the Inn where I had hoped to spend a solitary week before continuing my journey, betrayed by the proprietor and his wife for their thirteen pieces of silver. I do not hold a grudge against them, for in the schemes of men my life means precious little and their newfound wealth will grant them some respite from their poverty at my expense. The forest seemed empty but it was in a momentary lapse of judgment that I found myself a victim of a poacher’s snare, my pursuers surely shall pick the trail from my injuries and my options are dire. I have stumbled to the gates of an old Hospice and have claimed the right of Sanctuary within its walls. I have laid my plans to escape this futile existence of repetition, to disappear within the world as one of the anonymous. Another faceless shadow that drifts upon the winds.
Appendix 0: History Drowned in Blood and Wine
The Ravensmere line drifts back through generations, seven at my last reading of the lineage from our great library. Perhaps they were too unrepentant to be remembered and that is why history chose to forget them. Sadly I fear I shall never know... Happily to my relief thatI should never know, I may add.
My father was proud of what he owned, a master of all that he surveyed with both a tempestuous temper but shrewd, cunning demeanour. For whilst he could show resounding kindness towards both myself and mother his brutal treatment of those who crossed or defied him knew no limit. Let there be no doubt that whilst I consider him ruthless he was still my father and I owed him a grudging gratitude for my safety, my education and my upbringing. I was too young to know at this age exactly at what cost.
Mother and Father were bound together at the behest of his father, my mother betrothed to him at a youthful age whilst he entered his middling years. She was treated as a Princess would in the storybooks I would read alone; extravagant tailored gowns, precious jewellery to put to shame the richest of Neverwinter, the attentiveness and aid of vast numbers of servants and minders. It appeared that the only possession that my father could not accord my mother was his love, truth be that I was to feel she was more his possession that his equal. For whilst my mother lay with me in labour he wandered the forests of the Estate with his guard hunting Stag. Upon my first breath from afar he was noted as remarking to his Master of the Hunt, "Good, that we should secure the name for another generation brings relief. See to it that the mother and newborn are in their fineries upon my return".
My childhood and adolescence was confined to the Great Manor which perched atop the craggy precipice of the Ironfang Mountains overlooking the Moonsea. My tutelage concentrated upon the etiquette of court, the history of our great family, performance for passing dignitaries and nobility. We recounted deeds and lies in music and stagecraft, weaving tales of heroism and majesty where none had existed. My sole companionship in this undertaking was the heir to new enterprise who had seen their wealth flourish in the increasing import of fine cloths and luxurious items; Mulmaster had only known trade through gems mined from the Ironfang and production of the tools of war. Her name was Rosalie of the Weaver Family, a companion that I had so lacked in years of near solitude. Father disapproved of this new ostentation seeing it as a distraction from the palpable returns of slaughter, for fine clothing and decadent perfumery could not defend the walls of Mulmaster. I was forbidden to consort with her. I secretly defied his will.
Appendix 1: On Birds and Bonds
Appendix 3: The Faceless, Forgotten Cogs of the Machine
My experience with the races of Elves and Dwarves was limited to the confines of Mulmaster and whilst the city breathed a diverse range of life its only purpose was indentured servitude; the faceless cogs of an industrial machine whose only purpose was progress and misery. My knowledge of the Elven tongue was necessary to pour scorn and admonish our servants but also to ruthlessly root out treasonous words and suppress rebellion. Whilst the pursuit of knowledge was admirable this more practical application was not. I have come to admire the Elves for their grace and mental tenacity in the face of adversity; When the human servants faltered, grew weak and were cast on the pyre, these children of nature, so cruelly confined to stone rooms, remained resilient and strong. They were the last to be buried, discarded in unmarked graves, one imagines their spirits yearning for the earth of home and final rest.
The Dwarves were as tenacious in body as the Elves in spirit but I confess that my exposure to them was minimal given that they were to toil in the mines around Mulmaster, tearing the very soul from the land to feed the infernal conspiracies of the Zhentarim. It is now that I pray for them all. Please forgive us for what we should inflict upon you.
Appendix 4: Monsters and Mercy
I do not consider myself of a cowardly disposition but confess that I now feel nauseous from graphic acts of violence and overt savagery. Whilst Mulmaster is not a destination for the faint of heart, violence was conducted in secret or, for the want of pacification of the citizenship, in displays of execution. Overt violence was the domain of the menfolk, specifically the Zors and those ordained into the higher echelons of justice. I had not witnessed the execution of those charged, only taught of what would befall dissenters. It was from my time at the Temple of Lathander that I learned of mercy and of His eternal will anointing to all the sweet breath of life. All creatures deserved mercy or given the ear to accept change so that with the next dawn they might repent of their wicked ways.
For some, no abundance of light can illuminate their souls or wipe clean their sins. Lathander would be their judge and his agents would dispense justice on the unwilling.
Appendix 5: The Topic of Coin
By all account, gold and trade are the lifeblood of any functioning society. However as one may easily purchase sweet breads and flasks of water so too is the ownership of lives. One curious notion is the circumstances of which the necessity of coin is so easily dismissed by those who have never experienced poverty or want. I have come to respect that the need of material possessions are but a fleeting notion but the bonds that I make are eternal. I have lost the comfort of my family name in affluent circles, that I should spurn material wealth as well is of little consequence hereafter. Would Lathander despise my yearning for what the day cannot give and the desire for experiences not befitting my station? I call but he does not answer. The night provides what Lathander will not.
Appendix 6: A Generation Burdened By Sin
I have envy of the carefree youth of foreign cities but delight upon their naivety and purity. I have spied the desecration of innocence and fall into the abyss of deceit and greed. The children of my home are groomed for greatness, power, the eternal grasping towards title and wealth. That I was part of this is inconceivable to me now, that I escaped from these dark desires even more so. These children are burdened by the hereditary chains of sin for which they will never break.
Appendix 7: The Common Fear
They without fear are already dead, for fear keeps us alert and within the confines of safety. For who would be bereft of their senses to leave their cabins to wander into the dark forests at night to seek it's denizens. Spiders, I must state, have never been a particularly fond admiration of mine and whilst I understand their practicality I do have fright upon their presence. My first memory of my childhood witnessed a great spider, as black as pitch with its crimson hourglass, scuttle across my crib and regard me with fanged curiosity. Whilst the curiosity was mutual the bond between us would not last for long; The creature was destroyed and the assassin would meet his demise at the end of a rope.
Appendix 8: Forever Prepared
Knowledge is the true power that we wield. The great libraries of the Nobles breathed their histories into the minds of all who read from them. Whether their contents spoke truth or lie was to be determined by experience, for as memory faded there took over new truths to consign the old to ruin. We were prepared to believe that which was fed to us, recited over again as if to burn it to our minds. The stories that we read were of strange creatures, far- away lands and the great deeds of the Houses of the Zors and Zoras; of restless spirits cursed to walk the lands, subterranean monsters who ripped the minds from men and drove them to insanity, of fantastical beasts who flew the skies and called them theirs, of weak subcultures who needed saving from themselves and for whom pacification was a mercy. These are the stories that grew with us, that we may educate those that would follow and lead in our stead.
Appendix 9: The Human Hounds
Slaves that fled the service were a burden of honour for their owners rather than an inconvenience for they were cheaply replaced. The Zors and Zoras kept on their employ trackers of aptitude and renown, the most competent that gold could afford. Business was booming. For my own recollection the Ravensmeres had on retainer a coterie of malcontents but exceptionally gifted to their heinous pursuits and loyal, for if gold could twist loyalties so easily then the contract was worthless. Father had a flair for the dramatic and he referred to himself as the "Raven's Head". Secretive information brokers and agents would be known as the "Raven's Eye". Those trackers excelling in stalking their quarry from range, who would travel for days with only broken branches and extinguished campfires were known as the "Raven's Feathers". Then were the murderers and assassins, those skilled in close combat and relentless in their pursuit. The greatest of Father's mercenaries was rumoured to have the brute strength to crush a man's head with his bare hands. They were known as the "Raven's Talons" and were the most feared.
Appendix 10: The Eyes of the Zhentarim
The insidious influence and power of the Zhentarim extended to all corners of the known world and it would be rare to find a city, township or even village untouched by them. They operated in shadow, destabilising Councils, manipulating both economy and administrative mechanisms, purchasing power from under the noses of Kings and their Courts. Their vision was for a better world where the Zhentarim ruled without challenge or opposition, where their authority reigned supreme. How many lives must be extinguished in the pursuit of this brave new world gave them little concern for the ends always justified the means. Each life was merely a stepping stone in the game and pieces were plentiful and eager.
Appendix 11: The Devices of Torture and Oblivion
I would wander the corridors in my youth, the servants amusing me with games of hide and seek to bide the time between study until I was called to refection. There was little that I was not permitted to however the vault in the South Wing was restricted to only those close to father's affairs. It was in my nature to push these boundaries and it was a stormy evening that I was to creep past the large, iron-studded door to a room illuminated only by burning forgotten braziers and the flashes outside. Amongst wooden tables and ropes and empty twisted chandeliers I spied the ideal place to fool my pursuers. Towards the wrought metal cabinet I stole but one other had already occupied my hiding spot, for within the cold iron grill I saw eyes that belonged to a servant who regularly provided my entertainment, fixed and still stare back, almost forlorn in appearance. Even the cabinet wept tears that wet my feet to the touch. He did not answer to my pleas that he had been discovered and I left him to his solitude to find another place of concealment. Only the maturity of my later age would help me to understand what had transpired that night. I still fear those places of torture and oblivion.
Appendix 12: Death as Entertainment
The biggest arena spectacular was known as The Pit, a spectacle exhibited to both Commoner and High-Born alike where life was bought, sold and routinely extinguished. Slaves were selected for their physical prowess and aggression, separated from their families with the promise of reunification once they had completed their servitude and rose to the pinnacle of their bloody stations. The promise was rarely fulfilled. The arena was lucrative and violent, played on the whims of the crowd for the sole purpose of entertainment, the facilitation of death. Fathers never saw their Families again.
Appendix 13: The Art of Trust and Betrayal
Betrayal is the payment of trust, a powerful currency that used between the noble houses to scrape favour and claw at the gates of influence. Violent struggles were very seldom rewarded with power as blades stained with blood were coated in guilt. The great houses would instead scheme and plot behind doors of darkened rooms from which no light or secret would escape. To bring down your opponent by utilising their own strength against them was regarded as an art form played for personal ambition. This nefarious game would ensure that only the most adept at deception stayed at the top of the tower and competition was fierce and unforgiving. I have rejected this petty posturing for dominance and have sought deception only to protect myself but my family's blood flows deep within my veins and I cannot run from what lies deep within. I would never betray my companions for their guardianship has prevented injury on numerous occasions, yet as I write these very words I feel a sense of distrust that I cannot ignore; That eventually they will turn on me, regard gold above our fellowship, to murder me whilst in the silence of sleep. This paranoia should be ignored but it whispers to me when I am alone at night and will demand that I reply.
Appendix 15: The Tangled Web
Lie breeds lie, weaved into an intricate web of deceit into which we either remain the spider or become the butterfly. I have left behind this life but blood, it appears, is thicker than water. In protecting myself and those of my companions I have begun the weave of an intricate cloak of deception, one that may not so easily be unpicked. Is it through selfish ends that I maintain this pretence or is this bloodline so set within my veins that I am attempting to run from something that I can never truly escape? ...Myself?
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