Topic: Alysia's Journal

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:20 EST
29.05.2005
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin.

Regrets.

Woken by an unpleasant dream in the hours preceding dawn, I was angry. To the point of becoming almost blind with blood rage. I tried to keep my breathing even and slow. Tried to focus on the fact that it was just a dream of a memory. Tried to not to wake Lucien as I slipped out of bed and pulled a robe on, heading for the solitude of my tower.

Slammed the door, though, when I realized that my tower would not present solitude, and veered toward the shrine to Dthrendtalen, instead.

I touched the Guardian's icon, a gleaming gold dragon twining serpent-like about a pyramid of black marble. The icon was a relic from Rhilshen, carved from the same stone as the temple I had claimed as my fortress after reviving the Guardian, and cast from bright yellow gold mined from the Dragonspine Mountains. It was a relic of home.

The metal warmed under my touch. An almost overwhelming sense of regret clouded my thoughts, licking at the bottom of my diminishing rage, sent me reeling.

"What happened to the nice, friendly, always with a smile Alysia?" Chris had asked.

That question again. It's one I'd spent enough time - no, too much time asking myself.

Apparently most of RhyDin is one dimensional: it is required to be completely happy all the time, black or white. The populace is not prepared to see anything out of the ordinary. So I explained in an extreme generalization, that the friendly, silly, and happy side of myself was a rather uncommon appearance, until I started spending time with Lucien several years ago. Kitty added something about my perpetually grumpy demeanor.

Chris nodded and sucked on his beer. "Ah ya. . . I see. Just until ya got ya hooks in him "

Okay. I had enough of his provocation the night before. Didn't want to get into that again. But he kept on with little sniping remarks, announcing that I was only friendly to him because he is friends with Lucien... I did ask him, later, what the Hell his problem was.

"Shit, lady, I'm not the one that pretended to like ya to get with someone."

As if I have ever pretended to like someone I disliked. As if I have ever had to do something like that to 'get with someone', as Chris so crudely put it. As if I had never known Lucien before, and my relationship with him was something as simple and brief as 'getting with someone.'

I was stunned. Couldn't come up with much to say, other than, "No, you've never pretended to like me, Chris. And I've never -pretended- to like you. Sorry if you feel otherwise."

Chris just laughed. "Ya some serious issues, Alysia. I liked ya, now though, could care less."

No matter how I asked him, I couldn't get an answer from him. Nor could Kitty. Nor could the Pixie.

There was a time I would have killed with less provocation.

Perhaps I don't hold honor so dear, anymore.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:21 EST
12.07.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin.

Sometimes I feel the weight of my death curses more heavily. I seem to instinctively resist this, pushing off the dreams that aren't mine, the foreign thoughts, the strange memories. Trying to assert that which is me. . . ah, I'm such a mess. If I could find another kestra'chern in Rhydin, I'd make him or her wealthy beyond imagine, just to find myself again.

Sometimes I feel a passenger in my own mind and body. With Emma's help, I have managed to integrate most aspects of Llehlnia and Orodreth's memories and personalities. This is one of the benefits of having such a skilled psion as a mentor, I'm sure. But there are always conflicts. Llehlnia was an elf, and Orodreth despised elves. Orodreth was one of the Ancient Dragons of Rhilshen, and Llehlnia had an understandable hatred of dragons.

This leads to a peculiar sort of self-loathing. But the tension creates power, and from the souls of those two, I've gained knowledge I would never have had otherwise.

Yet I've always had an affinity for both elves and dragons.

Somtimes I wonder if there's anything left of the girl I was.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:24 EST
06.09.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

I headed into town last night in response to a tersely worded invitation from Emma, delivered by one of her smirkingly polite and oh-so-well-dressed thugs to Dark Lake Manor. I had wanted to curl up in the library with a new book analyzing atypical drow sculpture and relax with a bottle of some bloodspiced wine; instead I ended up with a headache, tense shoulders, and the urge to shred something.

I spend too much time fretting over the unknown. The life of a sybarite and mage ill-suits me. I seem to I find myself left with too much time to think and brood.

I delayed long enough to stop by the Red Dragon Inn for a drink. Mara made some tea, which did improve my mood some. She learns terribly fast. I wonder if that?s her nature, or if it?s just a survival requirement in RhyDin.

I stayed to banter a while, and was pleased to hear that Antonio and Kina snuck off and got married in a private ceremony. I will have to find an appropriate gift for them. Their happiness together is beautiful and an inspiration.

Yes, it is still an effort for me to think of Antonio by his first name. Old habits die hard - I think I will forever think of him by his surname.

Unfortunately, one of my suspicions regarding Shylah was confirmed: she left Antonio because of that incident with the bracelet. I was dismayed to learn that from her perspective, apparently a male doesn?t give such gifts to a female unless they?re bed partners. My first reaction was that I could empathize with that jealousy and could understand her way of thinking, as she has a warrior nature and seems quite set in her ways. And it was almost a relief to know the source of those cold looks and silence.

After I left the Inn, as I was heading for Emma?s residence, I found myself growing increasingly disgusted at that woman?s assumption that I was inclined to that sort of thing. What the Hell does she think I am? Some sort of simple-minded whore to be bought for a time by a bauble?

There was a time not that long ago when, upon such a revelation, I would have rushed out with my blade to demand payment in blood for such an insult to my honor.

Where is that damned blade, anyway? I can't believe I misplaced it.

Still. . . the bracelet is a lovely thing. Mithril, rubies, and diamonds. . . it's a work of beauty and art, and I suspect the gems are perfect for holding enchantments.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:27 EST
24.09.2005
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

I cannot deny my addiction to bloodspice. I crave the pristine clarity of thought, the speed and grace of movement, the enhanced empathy, the sweet and heady fall into painfully accurate memory, and the tantalizing tastes of prescience it offers. And it is almost invariably a more discrete way to feed certain hungers.

But I dislike the thought of needing bloodspice, almost as much as I abhor the thought of drinking blood. That desire is a weakness, and living in the past with vague glimpses of the future are not wise for those with questionable mental stability. Thus, on our trip to Horseshoe Island, I resolved to avoid the stuff.

My will is obviously not as strong as it was. I lasted a few days before I found myself back in town, toying with the idea of heading back to the Manor to pilfer a few bottles from under Yvette Ruby's nose. The girl would be alarmed and dismayed by what she saw as a betrayal of trust, if I showed up and disturbed the wards, so I headed for the Red Dragon Inn.

I drank, just enough to clear the cobwebs from my mind and keep the Beast within at bay. As I traveled back through Shadow, I realized it had been enough to trigger a memory.


It was the start of a new year. I had been in the Inn, trying to decide whether it was worth trying to imbibe a filthy glass of bloodwyne slopped before me by a careless tender when Donovan, a druidic acquaintance of mine, came in to apologize for his hasty exit the prior evening. I tried one sip of the cloudy and poorly aged bloodwyne before shuddering and summoning a goblet of bloodspiced wine.

He frowned thoughtfully and said, "M'sorry I left like I did... but after ye left, I just thought I'd head home."

"There's no need to be sorry. Silly." I mimicked his frown.

"Aye, well," Donovan smiled a bit. "I feel cheated."

That made me laugh. "Then I am sorry for cheating you."

"Apology accepted. Just dinnae let it happen again," he teased.

I decided to take that as a challenge. Donovan gripped the edge of the bar, twisted his barstool to face the actual bar. He spoke quietly. "I found out that one o' m'friends from here died some time ago."

I focused on him, wondering what brought that up. Then again, such memories often prove haunting at the start of a new year. "I'm sorry to hear that... Who was it..?"

"M'afraid yuir like... a livin' relic to me. The last memory, made flesh, o' a time when the place was neither so packed or ... well?" He grinned. "M'sure ye know what I mean."

"I know precisely what you mean? You are something similar to me." I chose my words carefully, tasted the bloodspiced wine, and felt it take hold of me. "I wish for that time often."

"M'friend? Jacob? Some little -" He shrugged and voiced an expletive. "- named Jacob Hendersen killed him?"

I sneered and Donovan smiled a bit before continuing. "Aye, well... admittedly, the future is beginnin' to look a bit brighter. The only thing I have, in the way o' information on Jacob's looks... are what has t'be the single gayest hat that a man's worn?"

"I know him. Or knew him at one point in time." I murmured and drank some more.

"Aye... well, m'not sure if it was nae Jacob's fault." He gazed at me with a faint, interested smile. "Alysia... do ye always drink?"

I immediately started to retort, to defend my habit. A dozen cutting words and acidic remarks flitted through my thoughts in the space of a few seconds as I considered a response. I stammered, "I ah.... No, actually, I don't-"

"-S'alright. M'not judgin', either way?"

"But this?" I held up the whorled ivory goblet, the unicorn's horn that I prefer to drink from. "This I am addicted to. It's a relic of my youth-"

"-And I've just got one more question to ask ye?" Donovan started.

I drawled, making a show of staring at the rafters. "Oh *another* question, alright. I guess I can handle that."

Donovan asked, "When's your birthday?"

I coughed. The Hell did that come from? I answered truthfully, and quietly. "I don't know."

"Aye, well then. A Happy Unbirthday to you." He smiled a bit and leaned over, peering into my goblet as he tried to discern the contents.

"It's bloodspiced wine." The Hell with it, I thought, and plunged forward. "I'm addicted to Jahrel bloodspice. It enables prescience... enhances empathy."

I watched Donovan's eyebrow, which seemed intent on climbing his forehead.

After a while, he said. "Sounds almost like Piracetam."

"What is that?" I asked.

He winced, uncomfortable with the growing crowd in the Inn. "S'a brain drug."

"Ah. I see." I didn't, not really. I was aware of the druid's keen prejudice about blood drinkers. He barely tolerated that habit of mine.

"And I sincerely doubt ye have need to worry about it's cancer causing side effects?"

I smirked. "I don't think bloodspice does that, even had I need to worry about those effects."

"I dinnae like the thought of ye drinkin' bloodspiced wine? Once more, s'the source o' the blood that concerns me."

I didn't want to explain it further. It was something I'd always been touchy about, and something I've grown more sensitive to lately.

The look the druid gave me demanded further explanation. I tilted my head to one side, and glanced down. I sighed. "It's . . Okay. When I was younger - actually, until quite recently, I bore a curse."

Donovan leaned forward and swung around on his barstool to face me. He looked interested.

"That curse was to hold the spirit of an Elven healer who was wrathful against my mother's sire." He nodded, and I explained, "The addiction was something she brought with her? bloodspice was something of her world."

Drayven came in then, greeted me, and found a place to sit very close by. He was kind of huffy. I introduced the two and blithely continued. "Bloodspice is rather rare, coming only from the Jahrel elves of Brikartha. The uh.. Jahrel are generally both cursed and blessed by their gods. Anyways... other elves run over to the Jahrel lands regularly and perform bloodletting ceremonies."

Of course, as my addiction developed, I encouraged the development of a Jahrel enclave in the deserts of Sethil, where they quickly went mad and conducted their own bloodletting ceremonies. I find bitter amusement that due to my exile, I am forced to import bloodspice from Brikartha, rather than the province that used to be my own in Rhilshen. That's a memory to be recounted another time.

The druid thought about that for a while, then commented, "Oh, well... so long as s'comin' from an elf, and not fae?"

I didn't know what the difference was then, so he explained it.

It didn't ease the sense of guilt I had.

Or the sense of guilt I still have.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:29 EST
24.02.2006
Oura na Surgu Sramaler, The Dril Isles


It is tempting to sink into anonymity again, here among the sea elves. The villa I am occupying, on the sun-drenched eastern bluffs overlooking the blue ocean, is quite secluded and lacking the distractions of regular human company. While these islands lack the sparse beauty and peace of the Sethil desert, here I have found the freedom to observe and to train, and the solitude to steel myself for what I have set out to do.

My infrequent trips to Rhydin have proven mostly fruitless, though I do hope they further the illusion that I remain in residence there. I?ve yet to see my would-be assassin again face to face, though the wards I set at Dark Lake and Taiva have been triggered twice.

I need to set some Shadowslave as guards about this place. My face is mostly unknown - the Dril use shell coins, of course - but traders do visit, and they are a breed prone to excessive gossip.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:31 EST
21.03.2006
Oura na Surgu Sramaler, The Dril Isles

Last night, before returning to my villa, I visited Dark Lake long enough to retrieve my armor (and it still fits decently) and one of the Shava relic blades I looted as a benefit of the first Venom Alliance. While it had been my intent to commission one from the death knight, Jodiah Ayreg, the moment did not arise, and I dare not delay. The elven sword is no replacement for Angylsblud and has no particular enchantment save for the normal virtues of mithril and crimsor, but it will serve. It will have to serve.

Scrying in midnight seawater and the cooling blood of the wicked (am I not wicked myself), I saw the unconcealed face of the one who hunts me. By appearance, he is one of my own Priests. The serpentine sigil of the Guardian God of Rhilshen, the dragon Lojwdthrendtalen is branded on his brow and tattooed across his cheeks. His countenance is known to me, hazily familiar from the Twilight War in Kaul. His name is not. He holds my soulsword; while he has proved he can wield Angylsblud, I doubt he has mastered it.

Kalwrathe was right. I should have killed all of the Priests. The memory of blood is longer than the memory of justice.

And now, in my exile, I contemplate violence against my own son, to regain the throne that I fought and nearly died for, the realm that I sacrificed family and lovers for. I have not spoken of my plans to Javan. I fear he will, at best, disapprove of my intentions to remove Alaric. At worst, he will be forced to act against me. And once again, I feel that what he does not know, he cannot condemn or betray.

Has it come to this, that I cannot trust at all? Perhaps Daemonshi was right, and I will die in solitude, trusting no one.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:32 EST
07.03.2006
Oura na Surgu Sramaler, The Dril Isles

Seeing Lucien last night brought back some poignant feelings. It would be nice if I could call it love, but reflecting on my history, I no longer believe that is anything but a weakness. It?s more likely that I automatically wanted to fall back into that familiar pattern of denying what I am, pretending to be something nearly mortal, playing with the allure of indolence and sweetness, wearing the illusion of being something Light and Good instead of something spawned of demons.

High from bloodspice and ichor, swaying under a rush of wistful memory and longing, I almost chose to forego hunting when I came back to this cool and silent villa. I struggled through a blurred recollection of a stern meeting with the Council of the Elven Nation, that fool Elrond?s disapproval, Perrin?s dismay and the final letter he left me. Then I beheld the Shava relic sword, and savored the memory of how it came into my possession.

Better that I hunt and sharpen my skills than linger in memories. That is a weakness that will serve me poorly in my current endeavors. I know too well the sort of opposition I will face when I retake my fortress and my throne; I trained that opposition myself.

The chimera, Queit Populi professes to be a police man; while I laughed last night at the idea of law enforcement in such a lawless realm as Rhy?Din, I did think for a moment that he might prove useful in locating my stolen soul sword. The opportunity to request his assistance did not occur. I?m not even sure he?d have the aptitude to locate the thief, particularly since I can?t even say when or where I last saw the blade.

I sensed some of Javan?s rats sniffing about the edges of the shadow gates I set up between my villa here and Dark Lake Manor. Their little bodies are broken and bloodless, but Javan will discern the absence of his servants soon enough and will set his own traps to spring.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:36 EST
04.04.2006
Rhilshen Fortress, Central Province, Rhilshen


Despite recent events, I feel safe. Or maybe it?s because of those recent events. I have my soulsword back again. I am free to travel in Rhilshen again, and my fortress is once again just that: mine.

I will grant that this feeling of safety may be deceptive. I will need to place a few agents in Rhydin and have asked Javan to adjust the focus of his network somewhat, as it is obvious that some areas have gone dangerously ignored. I?ve set a permanent shadowgate between Dark Lake Manor and the dungeons here in Rhilshen. Anyone with ill intent who tries to pay me a little visit here through the gate should prove to be very entertaining.

Ugh. Speaking of entertaining, the dungeons might not be the best place for guests to come through from Rhydin. I can only imagine people muttering about the screams and the smells. Hells, for the rare occasion I do any casual entertaining, I?ll do it at the Lake.

And I find myself curiously indebted to one Lord Ayreg. This is a strange and even uncomfortable feeling, for I really can?t recall ever owing such a debt to anyone before. Not only did the death knight save my life, he?s proving to be of quite some assistance in regaining my throne in Rhilshen. Besides providing a more than adequate sparring partner, that is. Bladework is a very useful diversion.

I must think of a way to appropriately repay him.

There's something familiar about him. Why does that name sound like. . .bah. My memory is obviously not what it was.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:38 EST
22.04.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

Last night, after I butted into his conversation with Lenika, the death knight requested a boon of me, first phrasing it so delicately that his meaning was obscured. He politely asked something about Time magic. Now, no matter how I try, I will never have any skill as a chronomage, and I have exerted a great deal of will and effort in this regard. It's a regret that I will carry with me to the end of my days, since it is my own terrible failure that leaves the Keep de Li'Ved in a separate time stream, so close to Rhilshen and yet completely unreachable.

I try not to think about it, but there are times when I cannot help but miss my father's family. Satan Fury. . . Ari. Michael and Wyndy. Radu and the others.

Anyway.

With a little coaxing, Jodiah Ayreg clarified his request: a desire to be younger. This was unsurprising to me, as by many accounts, the death knight is rather old for a human. While he is far from fragile, I suspect his recovery from battle injuries is protracted, and pain is probably a near-constant companion. Particularly after his breakneck investigation of the provinces. I should never have allowed him that journey through Rhilshen.

But he has voiced a fitting request; after all, he saved my life, and there is appropriate symmetry in my restoring his health.

It first occurred me to send him to the Baroness of Mynw. Emma Frost has nearly perfected her own Fountain of Youth, a disturbing process involving blend of science, psionics, and magic. As a matter of necessity, after a very unlucky duel with one Eric "Flame" Gooliambi, I once underwent that process myself, and it left me with some disjointed memories and lingering claustrophobia. I imagine Emma probably even has data on Ayreg already. But it's still experimental, and I'm not sure he would appreciate Emma's inevitable attempts to improve or upgrade him.

I considered another option. It's usually used to . . . increase the numbers of a vampiric clan, a gift of sorts inherited from Daemonshi, my mother's vampeal Sire in the Vladslace Bloodline, and my father, Satan Fury of the Blood Li'Ved. Once I used that gift to heal a mortal girl of deadly injuries. Proving no good deed goes unpunished, the endeavor was something I quickly regretted, as it introduced an extremely petulant, sulky, and troublesome childe into my Clan. The girl, Sarah "Kit" Mystery, eventually found her way to Vladslace, and she became their problem.

Time and time again, I am reminded that the trade of life for undeath, with the resulting balance of strength and skill and weakness, is something that should not be considered lightly. Some souls are too prone to madness to survive that trade intact. Then, there will always be those who view the things that live in shadows and feed on blood as tainted and damned.

There is no doubt that I am damned. But such is life.

And of course, this should have occurred to me first, but I am prone to self doubt: The symptoms of age are a disease which can be alleviated by a Healer.

I dabbled in the Healing arts for many years as a mostly disinterested student and only grew serious about it during the foolish and miserable time I spent as a mortal. When it became apparent I would need to learn more than the practical application of battlefield Healing, I came into the possession of the journal of a Healing Adept, written by one of the sea-elves in a tongue surprisingly similar to archaic drow. The tome detailed a relatively simple ritual, a blend of priestly and magely energies, which on a cellular level restored a mortal body to a form that matched the subject's mental self-image. At the time, I didn't have the capacity for it. Now. . . the ley lines and node beneath my fortress are again mine to wield, and I can invoke the deity I serve to complete the ritual

After fasting for three days, I'm going to be a ravenous bitch.

It will be interesting to see how the death knight views himself.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:40 EST
22.08.2006
Sethilsway, Rhilshen

You held my hand and then you slipped away
And I may never see your face again
So tell me how to fill the emptiness inside
Without love, what is life?
And anyone who knew us both can see
We always were the better part of me
I never wanted to be this free
And all this pain, when does it go away?

Then everytime I turn around
And you're nowhere to be found
I know

I gotta long long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you
Oh, I gotta long long way I know
Before I can say goodbye
To all I ever knew, to you
To you

From memory there is no hiding place
Turn on the TV and I see you there
In every crowd there's always someone with your face
Everywhere, trying not to care

Then everytime I turn around
And you're nowhere to be found
I know

I gotta long long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you
I gotta long long way I know
Before I can say goodbye
To all I ever knew

To you I wish you everything
And all the best that life can bring
I only hope you think of me sometimes
Oh, and even though I feel the pain
I know that I will love again
The time will come
Oh, and I'll move on

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:40 EST
09.09.2006
Rhilshen Fortress, Central Province


At least . . . Well, I must grant that Guthorm was correct in his estimation of everyone's favorite barrister. At least I have spoken with him, and at least I have seen him alive. But that is all I know that is certain.

There was something different about him, but I could not quantify it. Something in his eyes? Perhaps it is the weight of time and distance that separated us. He was so guarded.

I have a feeling he does not wish to be found.

I should respect that.

I should allow him what he seeks, free of interference.

But I remembered something. Bloodspice is wretchedly good at churning bittersweet memories to the surface of my mind.

--A trail through the woods by moonlight. West and north from the Dark Lake, past Taiva.

--White stone walls and a white watchtower, gleaming in darkness.

--Muted sound, a long room lined with dark woods and books, measured by ladders and shelves, framed by a mezzanine walkway.

--" . . .This used to be my most favorite place, my one refuge. It's probably why I kept this complex. . . I could retreat here and just lock everything and everyone else out. You see, no one else has ever been in here, or even permitted to come in here."



I wonder if I still have that key.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:43 EST
08.11.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin


Seeing the minstrel happily ensconced on his lap, that stung. Twas only one among many, of late, and fickle empathy being what it is, there are still things I can't bear silent witness to. I've grown too practiced at smiling graciously when I want to snarl and draw steel, and that wouldn't fix a damned thing, not in the long run. I'd be unanimously reviled if I gave free reign to my temper.

Doubtless I'm now reaping the dubious benefit of those few months with Drac. Or for exiling Chryrie. Or for exiling and blinding Quinntessa. I wonder, is this how it felt? The symmetry is appropriate, I guess.

I did what I had to do, what I decided to do last night in a haze of black ichor. Still made sense today. He seemed. . . relieved? Guarded as is his wont now, still perfectly composed. I should have just sent it back to him, and we both could have avoided the awkward, polite and insincere dance of words about finding happiness when in all probability neither of us was very happy at all.

In hindsight, one of Javan's little rats could have found the barrister eventually, assuming they didn't keep the diamond for its sparkle and deliberately misplace the letter.

Well, what's done is done. It's become too easy to swallow my wounded pride and look away, blindly clutching the terms of a bittersweet promise that I held no real claim to anymore. My grandfather pointed out that Pride could be a virtue, but right now, I fail to see how.

At least Lucky he is free to seek what he wishes, without interference. And at least I have the certainty of prescience that he will find what he wants.

I know I did the right thing. Why do I feel like I did the wrong thing?

Still spending too much time thinking. Words will not prove the answer here.



Ah... damn it all, I forgot to return the key as well.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:45 EST
10.11.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

In sufficient quantities, aged black ichor numbs the mind into a gentle, blissful euphoria. The hangover drops one into the other end of the emotional spectrum. The end result usually discourage more than one day and night of overindulgence. It's been three nights. Or four? I've lost track.

There was so much I wanted to say to Lucien, but as I pointed out, none of it was really appropriate at all. Words which I'd rehearsed over and over again with an almost desparate hope to work things out began to grow worn and tired in my mind, and before they left my lips, I realized that they'd been said before.

History repeats itself. A pity I can't learn from my own mistakes.

It was years ago, actually, toward the beginning of a tempestuous relationship, I think one of the first times I'd completely lost any sense of decorum and snapped at him. After avoiding eachother for a while, he'd invited me on a short carriage ride and asked what he'd done to make me angry. He sat watching me in silence and I started to come up with a snide remark, then I shut up and decided to take him seriously. I was, after all, his guest.

"It is nothing you did. It's what everyone else was doing."

"What everyone else was doing?" he asked.

"You may not think that there are dozens of lovely young things waiting with baited breath for a moment of your attention, but there are."

There still are. I was then, as now, inclined to the slow boil / flashpoint temper.

"I...it's..." He stammered a bit, uncharacteristically.

I interrupted, "I'm not inclined to compete with them. ... probably too old for that."

"But...there's no competition there. It was never a competition."

"They think -- well, it looks like it," I retorted. "Or it feels that way."

He explained, rambling a bit, working out his thoughts as he spoke. "I tend bar. I'm used to talking to people, and yes, women, smiling at them, winking at them. But there's nothing there beyond what's on the surface. Because that's all that is, on the surface."

"Is there anything here beyond what's on the surface?" I retorted hotly.

"For them? No. For you?" He paused.

"That was my question." Then, as he paused, I averted my eyes. I didn't want to see his face. "You don't have to answer."

"No. I need to answer that, for myself. Yes. Yes there is something beyond the surface for you. I can't say yet how deep it goes. And it scares me
to admit it, but yes, there is something there....beneath the surface. Take away the grins and the winks and whatever else you wish...and there is it. A catch in breath? A pause in my heart? Probably sounds all contrived to you."

I shook my head, glancing at him. "No, it doesn't. Believe me, I know. I had sworn never to let myself feel this way -- it can be such a weakness, you know."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that appeared you were in competition. The irony of that is-"

Things continued in that vein. Tentative banter and apologies. Carefully sharing feelings and emotions.

"What would you like for me to do to assure you? Stop talking with her? Don't look at anyone else?" He asked. It sounded to me like he was getting exasperated, and I didn't blame him.

"I don't know. There's nothing you could do to make me believe otherwise -- I think that's what you said." I growled. "This is pointless. You are who you are."

"Who am I? To you, who am I?" He asked intently.

"Who are you, or what are you?" I answered both. Cautiously and as vaguely as possible, without revealing my feelings. "You are Lucien, a most charming and intriguing man who I have a great deal of interest in."

"But?"

"But nothing. There are no qualifications to that." I felt restless with attempting to explain things, and the frank discussion was making me nervous and on edge. Revealing matters of the heart openly has not always been troublesome for me, but it is something that I learned in Shava. Something for another time.

He leaned out the door and muttered something to his driver. The carriage slowed to a stop, and he sat back, just looking at me.

I felt a need to break the silence and looked outside as I spoke. "It is as I said. The problem is certainly not with you. It's, well, it's with me. I'm rather possessive, I think." As if there was any doubt.

"And I'm singular in my desires. I don't go from one woman to another," he said.

It continued in that vein. He had a counter for every argument I tried. He didn't care; it was a risk he was willing to take.


And thinking back on then, and now -- he has always risked much more than I.

And I, the coward.

---

I don't wanna fall in love
But it's been taken out of my hands
And right now I realize I don't wanna say goodbye

I miss you more than words can say
They never turn out right
But here goes anyway

Everyday I miss your touch
Never thought it would mean so much
All the words I could have said
Got me reelin' torn to shreds
Every road I go is nowhere
But I know you're out there somewhere
These voices in my head
Got me feelin' torn to shreds
-Torn to Shreds, Def Leppard

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-28 22:46 EST
13.11.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin


"As for payment... I only wish the fae's negative mark against her name in your family to be resolved. I can assure you.. the man named Jhessair was and is indeed dead... she still laments and feels she dishonored you in some way."

Those words from Jade words stung.

And rightfully so.

I have spent hours - days, probably - brooding about how differently things might have gone, had I been wiser, not so devoted to laws, more focused on my family than an inflexible code of honor, public opinion, and power.

I wonder if Chryrie would find it ironic, that I myself was exiled from Rhilshen for the same thing I had exiled her for. It is an appropriate reflection.

Need to talk to her.

This whole . . . fasting thing probably isn't helping my state of mind. Need to hunt. Soon.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2006-12-29 00:04 EST
28.12.2006
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

Ah... these few moments I have to reflect are fast becoming precious. Between reviewing troop strengths, training, researching, practicing, teaching, watching. . . well, it's better to keep busy. I brood less that way.

Yesterday, I was working on a treaty for Shayltan, something to prevent their insular, xenophobic culture from working against the rest of the damned realm. The whole idea of codifying laws to require them to behave as I expect, to follow my own code of honor and ideals, makes me nervous.

I'm still not sure it's the right thing to do.

It's edgy work, holding honor over matters of the heart. And it occurred to me Quinntessa was a good example of that. So am I, probably.

Karthalan would have said something about Skye women being fickle. Bastard.

No doubt there was a time when honor was all I had, but I've realized it is possible to hold honor too close. It's a wonder Aeris does not despise me. After all, I took her away from her parents in the name of family honor.

Aeris spent much of her childhood living with her father, Anubis. She was surely a daddy's girl, if for no other reason than her mother was rather busy with other men and just wasn't around. She was lucky at least one of her parents was responsible.

Her mother was Quinntessa Lashonde De'Alariel Amberleaf, first the childe of my ex-husband Daemyon Bloodshire, then my childe after Daemyon disappeared. Quinn had been sent to sleep in torpor for a few years for certain indiscretions involving her marriage vows. She'd also abandoned the children she'd birthed. One of them died an infant. Probably the youngest Skye to be buried in the Rhilshen Grove. And somehow, the young vampiress had managed to find the strength to rise from her crypt before her punishment was complete. I sensed her stirring and awakening, certainly before my wrath had abated, and in a rage, I summoned her and the rest of the family to pronounce a more appropriate judgment.

That judgment was simple at first, blindness and an aversion to anything but the blood of rats. As my disappointment grew, I renounced her as my childe, and her former lover, Anubis, took her back, offering to sustain her with his own blood until she grew strong again. I tartly suggested that their bond of blood had better strengthen the bond of love which should have lasted between the two of them when they decided to wed within my Clan. They made a rather poignant portrait there: a sweet, happy family of vampeal and vampire.

Prescience, mistrust, memories, whatever the reasons, I didn't believe it for one moment and was sure the circumstances that led to Quinntessa's recent predicament would be repeated, and we'd be back here again, testing eachother's honor. Maybe I saw something of my own mother in Quinntessa. Aeris must have sensed some of my thoughts, for the thin little girl stopped snuggling against her mother long enough to stare at me with those large, haunted eyes.

Then I told them I was fostering their child to someone I trusted. By the time I finished saying that, I was cold inside, but I held out my hand to Aeris, and she came to my side.

Anubis looked shocked.

Quinntessa looked repulsed and, despite her frailness, started railing at her ex-lover to fight for his daughter. She exhorted him to take what was his and to fight. She screamed that she'd rather die than be part of the Skye Bloodline. As quickly as she'd exploded with her bitter words, Quinn fled into the night, shrieking and strident.

Darkness could not protect Quinntessa, then. To rouse the anger of a demoness. . . As Aeris watched, I summoned a firestorm birthed from Chaos and pride, a cyclone of flames to turn vampire blood to ash and steam, to blacken and crisp the flesh from inside out, to sear the aching fragments of an undead soul. I pronounced a horrific curse of exile upon Quinn, even as she burned in her flight from Rhilshen.

So, the little girl who would become Javan's second watched me blind, curse, burn and exile her own mother.

Yet Aeris took it like her father. Stoic. Quiet. Neither she nor Anubis condemned me for my judgment of Quinn. . . they faced it with zen-like calm and acceptance, have remained unerringly faithful and loyal to the Bloodline all these years. They are nearly paragons.

I suspect I first erred in allowing Quinn to avoid retribution for her actions against her Bloodline, rather than bringing swift and harsh judgment upon my childe. Deep down, I know that mercy will lead to failure. Mercy does not temper justice. It weakens justice.

Maybe Shayltan Province has grown to accustomed to mercy.

I'm rambling. Need to go for a walk to clear my head.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2007-01-18 22:52 EST
17.01.2007
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

The other night, I overheard Tara and Chryrie speaking in the Red Dragon Inn. Not sure exactly what they said.

I was somewhat distracted at the time.

Lucien has that effect on me.

Observing my public display of affection, Tara had commented that given my usual reserved nature, a show of affection was out of character. I had thought to be offended, but... Hell, it's probably true these days. At least Chryrie pointed out that she?s seen many sides of my personality that most people probably didn?t even fathom existed. So it actually wasn?t all that unusual. Even if she wasn't family, Chryrie's known me for years.

Tara eventually decided there was a remote possibility that I probably experienced and displayed emotions once in a while.

Experience, yes, all the damn time. Less, when I don't indulge my demon-born cravings. Hence the allure of bloodspice. But display? Not if I can help it.

I realize that once upon a time, there were a great deal of similarities between Tara and I. She has always been fiesty, passionate, temperamental and fiercely protective over what is hers. Had it not been for crazy Silvana, I think Tara and I would have been close friends and I?d have even attempted to coerce her into joining the Skye Bloodline. Yet one of the fundamental differences between Tara and I is that she has no qualms about showing, even flaunting, her emotions. And I do.

It wasn't always that way. At some point, showing emotion - particularly love and affection - became a weakness for me. It was a chink in armor that couldn't afford to be breached. Too many knew too well how to play upon my emotions to manipulate me. I eventually learned to guard against it. At what cost, though?

I don't want to think about it right now. Things are fragile enough without revisiting that.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2007-01-25 00:31 EST
25.01.2007
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

Mulled bloodspiced wine. Surely a panacea against the cold clutches of Winter, as well as satisfying darker thirsts. Yet I was cold again, even taking a shortcut home last night, so I warmed up with another glass of wine blended with black ichor and just existed in my senses. Wrapped in silk and fleece, I watched the glittering reflection of stars on the snow-shrouded lake. The Manor is so quiet these days. It is tempting to send some of the staff back to Rhilshen, to keep this sort of peace. However long it lastes.

In that quiet, I remembered warmer seasons and heard the distant echo of chatter and voices. And I slept.


I don't know how to leave you
And I don't know how to stay
I got things that I must tell you
That I don't know how to say
---All I Want is Everything, Def Leppard

"Ill met by moonlight, proud Man. I have something for you. A gift, if you will...?" Words spoken in a smooth, soft contralto, oh-so-carefully controlled. I tasted bloodspice and ichor; in my present state, I was unable to appreciate the complexities of the blend, and it was cloying and sweet upon my tongue. My hand held out toward the tall man, placing something small and precious upon his palm: a crimsor, ivy-wreathed ring.

He was silent as he accepted the ring, but his eyes didn't leave mine.

It was a bitter reversal of an impromptu ceremony some years before. Realizing he'd been expecting this, I commented,"You don't seem that surprised."

He took gentle hold of my hand, brushed a light kiss upon the cool skin. It was a familiar gesture, and tempting for the memories his lips ignited. "I guess I'm just a hopeless optimist," he explained.

My voice was still steady, but the price for that prideful control left me shaking. I drew my hands away, clasping them at the small of my back. "Let that optimism burn away. Things have changed, too much. That which I thought would help... harmed me more than I could have conceived." It was a delicate way of saying that in so many ways, it had been a mistake for me to go through with the ceremony to deny myself my demonic heritage. Life as a mortal was not what I had expected at all, I had done it for the wrong reasons, and I still saw us growing apart. I suspected I was only beginning to see the consequences of my decision.

I stared at him. He stared back at me. In the ensuing, awkward silence, I felt like further explanation was warranted and added, "You see... I find myself blaming you for my weakness." My voice, treacherous and all-too-human, trembled slightly with emotion, and I felt myself flush.

"And as you should. I know the words will bear little weight or comfort for you, but I am sorry, Alysia. Mea culpa. It is all my fault."

I considered further words, discarded most as pointless platitudes. Words couldn't change what had happened, wouldn't erase the fears I lived with or the resentment and jealousy I harbored. I felt eyes upon us. Finally, I added, "I'm leaving Shadowhawk to you. You may sell it or continue to reside there, as you wish. The library has been mostly moved, as has my armoury."

"As you wish," he replied simply. He seemed unwilling to turn his gaze away and quietly drew a breath. "Is there anything you wish from me?"

I would wish for this to have never gone wrong, I thought, damning my own fragility and the allure the man still held for me. I looked away, searching for anything else to rest my eyes upon, to drive my reluctance to conclude this away and retain my angry purpose. The Inn's doors opened and I noticed a lovely, silver-haired grey elf as she came in; the elfess, a thief by trade, stopped and looked at him with a warm smile. Her smile predictably faded with dismay when she saw me.

That cold and familiar spectre of jealousy taunted me and shored up my will, and I bared my teeth and turned back to him. "I wish that you would destroy the ring I gave you, for should I ever regain that which I sacrificed.... feh! You'd have the ability to destroy me again."

"I would never seek that," he responded in a slightly strained voice. He slowly removed the ring from his finger, holding it for a moment, then held it out to me. The familiar runes of my true name carved in the dark metal reflected almost iridescent, blue from some angles. I recalled the effort and purpose in creating that deceptively simple band of metal. It carried a fragment of my soul in it.

"No, you wouldn't, would you." Another reminder of our innate differences, human versus demon. Except I wasn't even truly demonspawned anymore, just another foolish human. Just like him. Weak. I felt a tingle of anger and self-loathing at the base of my skull, remnant of the passionate demonic rage I'd have felt before I chose to weaken myself. The hot pain skittered down my spine, tied my stomach in knots, dimmed my sight. It was the beginning of madness, but I held onto it. "Nevertheless, " I continued, "It could be taken from you, and you have no use for it now."

I snatched the bloodmetal band from his hand and slid it onto my thumb. He let his arm fall to his side, murmuring something not quite audible. I glanced around the Silver Moon Inn. A number of eyes were watching us now. Most of those eyes were fixed with sympathy upon the man I stood before. Some of them, with longing. The barest hint of empathy remaining to me meant I could feel their emotions, and I became uncomfortable, spiteful. I gestured expansively, mocking. "I free you to find someone who suits you better."

"I hope you find someone who will bring you happiness and peace, Alysia," He said sincerely, adding, "You deserve the best of everything."

"Peace is not something I seek," I sneered, lying. "That's something for -your- kind.

He simply nodded, conceding that point.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2007-01-25 00:39 EST
25.01.2007 -- continued.
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin

Pride is at the bottom of all great mistakes.

His gentle, resigned demeanor struck me. I envied his control, still wondered where he'd found that patience. I took a breath, exhaled it slowly. Even though I denied it, he'd judged me right - while anger and passion were constant companions of mine, it was happiness and peace I sought. Probably in futility. But his words had lit a fuse of regret, and I knew he deserved better than this. I struggled to find a measure of serenity under a storm of confusing emotions.

With a forced smile, I said, "Well, it was nice while it lasted." I actually surprised myself as I said those words, because I really meant them. The physical aspects of our relationship had always been nice, but things went well beyond that and that's probably why it lasted as long as it did. But fear was a potent toxin in any body, and the fear of losing him was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"I am very sorry, Alysia."

I thought, sorry that it was nice? Sorry that we were consorts for so long? Cynicism mingled with embarassment and eventually spawned irritation. "There's no need to be." Attempting humor over my irritation, I commented, "You probably set some kind of record. For putting up with me, that is."

"No, Alysia. Not at all." He shook his head at that. "This is all my fault. And the results of my cowardice."

Thinking he was mocking me - for I knew that it was my own cowardice that had motivated me - I felt something inside me snap. I lashed out, wanting to hurt him. To break that cool composure of his. "Yes, since you admit it -- had you been less of a coward, this would not have happened. That's quite truthful." My prideful tone grew more clipped, almost strident as I gave partial rein to my temper, to the words I'd really wanted to say all along. "If you'd had the guts or the honor or the love to take that which I offered to you.... instead of insulting me and refusing it-- do you know how many people would have killed their firstborn to have what I offered you?"

"I am painfully aware of my own shortcomings. And no, a proud man does not stand before you, Alysia. Just a broken one."

"Broken," I hissed, taunting. "You look to be in one piece to me. Still capable..."

"As you say, I am one without honor and one who insulted the only person that mattered to me. No. I am incapable of anything." His voice remained quiet, though less steady.

Pride wouldn't let me believe that, but I cooled down a bit. I attempted to match his tone. "I am sure you will understand if I am beyond sympathy for you at this point."

"I don't expect anything from you. I don't deserve anything from you."

I felt my lips shape a cold, wry smile, let my eyes rove suggestively around the Silver Moon's patrons. At the moment, I didn't care much for those who were present, even though there were many faces I recognized and at one time would have called friend. "I'm sure you'll find some willing females who'll console you."

"There will be no consolation, Alysia. Keep the townhouse, keep all of it."

I saw his eyes chill with an unfamiliar, cold edge and hated myself for having given voice to those mocking words. I didn't want the memories that lived there at Shadowhawk Manor. I didn't need that temptation distracting me from regaining the powers that I had lost and from simply surviving.

"The townhouse-- I've no use for it," I said, commenting that my quarters with the Brotherhood of Darkness, albeit sparse, were sufficient for my needs.

"Then keep it for your son-"

"My son...?" Incredulous, I interrupted him, then burst into cutting laughter. "Alaric is the heir to a kingdom. All of Rhilshen will belong to him! What the hell would he need some ill-situated manor in Rhy'Din for?"

My voice seemed too loud all of a sudden, and I struggled to recover some measure of decorum. I didn't want to be here or deal with this anymore. I folded my arms in front of me, trying to swallow a lump in my throat, stop the sick ache in my head and in the pit of my stomach. I wanted this to be over with.

"Ill met, indeed," I whispered.

"M'Lady." His voice sounded bitter. Unable or unwilling to say anything further, he bowed his head.

"M'Lord." I mirrored the gesture, stepped away slowly with a pointed, caustic look toward those who gazed at him from the bar. Sudden fatigue overwhelmed me. "Your demeanor troubles your friends... you should go to them and let them comfort you."

He stared at me for a moment longer, a complicated look of longing, regret, maybe even relief. "All the best to you,M'Lady," he whispered. As he turned away and stepped toward the door, his lips shaped the usual address of "M'heart."

I wanted to cry bitterly, to beg him to come back, to plead that I'd find a way to accept things as they were. I sure as Hell didn't. In a way, even though he denied it, he had his pride. I surely had mine. Love was a liability, I had decided, and love for a mortal doubly so.




I forced myself awake, struggling free from the muddy, cobwebby clutches of emotion. Heart pounding, breath ragged, throat aching with unshed tears. The taste of bloodspice and ichor still upon the tip of my tongue. Chaos-fire burning in my veins, begging to be released. The starlight is gone and snow is falling upon the Dark Lake. And I'm still as tired and sore as if I'd remained awake in a vigilant deathwatach for a week. Or tried to cleanly sever something that had frayed beyond recognition.

The flesh can be deceived by the subconscious or weakened mind. And that was only a dream, for all that it was reliving a memory that I'd rather hide away. Just a dream. . . It doesn't matter. Somewhere, subconsciously, I needed that reminder.

Liability or no, it had been a mistake to let him go. And it was a mistake I'd made more than once.

Proves that not only humans are fools.

Love should be experienced to the fullest, even at the risk of pain.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2007-05-07 19:25 EST
07.05.2007
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin


The craft of Rhilshen?s goblins is keen, refined and delicate, unexpectedly elegant. It?s almost identical to the work of the Ahrevath and Shayltan elves, although where the elves use sweeping curves, the goblins use sharp edges. This is not altogether surprising, as they had a common ancestor, long ago.

Some months ago, Emma sent me a lovely bracer, a bit of tribute crafted by the Scorchtree Chieftan?s clever hands to commemorate the opening of a new mine. It?s fashioned of red-dyed elfleather and brightly-polished crimsor, both originating from the eastern border of Shayltan. The arm-guard is graven and gilded with both the chaos-star crest of the Skye Clan and wingless serpents which darken near black in full sunlight, brightening to red-streaked silver in moonlight.

It is something new that is somehow also a memory. It occurs to me that I should commission a set of crimsor signets from this same vein of Shayltan blood-metal, to personally honor certain like-minded souls in Rhydin.

As these months have passed, with every drop of blood savagely spilled and with every gasp of agony and hopeless terror that I have observed, I feel as though my eyes have been opened. I see the lies that have grown stagnant and led to neatly-ordered, predictable, despicable weakness. On the other side of those lies is power.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2007-05-29 17:07 EST
Dark Lake Manor, Rhydin
29.05.2007

A bird?s song repeated. Clarion. Over and over and over again. I find myself questioning my sanity.

Not for the first time, that.

It is an insistent, insipid springtime warbling, a sweet feathered cry that sets my teeth on edge and makes me see red. I?m almost of a mind to loose the wards about the Dark Lake and allow my predatory song birds from Rhilshen free reign to work their evolutionary sorcery upon the local avian population. Should something so lovely inspire the urge to murder?

Blood and souls...

And bird song. Where have I heard it before? It was unceasing on the way to town last night. I saw by torchlight the Lady Belial has posted flyers seeking information about Ayreg?s disappearance. The image she had of him was outdated - she must not know that he?s changed. How could she know? I should speak with her. Soon.

I saw Lord Wolv at the Red Dragon Inn last night. Surprising, that. He is an acquaintance from the past, when barbarism and brutality were not treated as crimes. We were casual allies and occasional adversaries - but again, that was in times past.

Kitty seems to be improving rapidly, for I saw her last night as well. She?s . . . changed. Part of the price paid for her health. She declared open season on certain lawyers, so perhaps I shall go hunting. In a Mockery of Justice.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-01-09 08:44 EST
20.12.2007
Rhilshen Fortress, Aeshelm

I am told that I have been poisoned. That for much of the last month I was locked in a fevered trance, raving and weeping one moment, nearly lifeless the next. That my mind has been unreachable and my body has been monitored for hours and days and weeks by Bren-Lledri healers.

I do not remember this.

I remember -- a headache. A strange taste in the back of my throat. Fatigue and pain which I hoped to sleep off, safe in my Fortress. Then, a place of ash and fire, of perpetual night and crazed amber stormclouds. My throat was bound to dry silence, my limbs wrapped with red silk. Fasting and rituals (there was a familiar stamp upon those) left me weak I was forced (permitted?) to observe the tortured nightmares of others for immeasurable time.

Supposedly, none of that was real. Despite the crystal acuity, the sense of grounded place. I have not left my Fortress in Aeshelm for days.

The wan Bren-Lledri healers remain, however, so there must be some truth to what I am told. They still hover close by, solicitous, curious, and exhausted. They counsel me against using bloodspice, suggesting that it may be tainted or prompt a relapse. My divine attendants murmur amongst themselves that the High Priestess looked so different during her ?difficulty,? but will not explain themselves. Their eyes are painted with fear. I suspect Emma threatened them. Or Khaz. Or both.

I question what is real around me, now. Did Ayreg return? Was Suliss' found?

I long for the familiar stars and night skies of the land I was born in, the snowy streets near the Marketplace, the chill damp of the Dark Lake, the ever-present and shifting pull of the Nexus. Rhydin is the last thing I recall that I am certain was true and tangible.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-02-26 11:58 EST
25.2.2008
Rhilshen Fortress, Aeshelm

Tristan?s sudden reappearance, though unnerving, was not that much of surprise to me. I had thought to question just how Khavren?s son found me, for I have been quite careful of late to ensure that my paths are not predictable. But then I remembered a year or so ago, when some simpering little slave approached and claimed she?d been sent by the Ade?rion to find me.

Perhaps I have been careless. I must amend that.

The half-elf?s request of me was more unnerving: to incubate a stolen fetus for him and in doing so impart this would-be Ade?rion heir with a proper outlook toward all things Light and Good and thus ensure his legacy. In exchange for this, I would be owed by him an unspecified favor.

While this sort of transaction is not unusual among those in the Courts, particularly among those with parentage such as mine, I have spent very little time in that society. The half-elf must have some bizarre fancies. Absolutely bizarre.

While he may have matured over the years, Tristan still exhibits the foolishness, arrogance, and stupidity that led to his severance from the Skye Bloodline.

Foolishness, in that I have never mothered my young, and with the exception of Alaric, all of my offspring have been broken by my expectations, if not my ire. I cannot think what I might have ever done, to have earned such mis-placed trust.

Arrogance, in the thought that I would feel compelled to attempt nurture some stranger?s brat within me, for a price. Particularly a brat that could grow to adulthood and attempt to usurp Rhilshen. After all, each of my daughters has attempted to do so, with varying levels of success. They?re all dead now, of course.

Stupidity, as he has made no effort to investigate what I have become in the years since we last spoke. His stolen heir could just as easily wither and die within me as thrive. Were it not for the Guardian?s intercession, that outcome would be assured.

My obligation to Tristan?s parents has long since been paid, and I owe the Ade?rion nothing. Yet for a moment or two, I gave serious consideration to his request. My bloodline is flawed and tainted ? and no doubt it will end with me. I know the predicament of being without an heir to ensure one?s legacy.

I must admit that right now, it could be very useful to own an open debt like that, for allies in Hell are not easily won, and the power of a Shadow Lord is not something to be scoffed at. However, I have learned that such allies and power are rarely worth the price, and once paid for, they do not stay bought.

If only. . .

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-03-10 12:00 EST
10.3.2008
Dark Lake Manor, Spire, Rhydin

Javan?s birthday was celebrated Friday at the Bloodfalls. Waryk could not attend (of course ? his former father-in-law was there), but sent several bottles of Talaren port. Ever suspicious, Javan made a scandalous show of bringing out his lovely Dril poison-taster to test each. Dar and Lledrith found this uproariously funny. I?m sure word will get back to Waryk ? as it should.

I ended up back in Rhydin after the festivities wound down. Ended up going home with Antonio after drinking much to much ichor ? and as far as I can remember, he was a perfect gentleman. And entirely too charming. Kina is a fortunate lady.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-03-28 21:20 EST
26.3.2008
Dark Lake Manor, Spire, Rhydin

I have attempted to avoid dwelling on Emma's disappearance. I have spoken little of it, if at all. Alazais, whom I have made a guarded peace with, counsels me that the mystery of this disappearance is like a splinter: annoying, somewhat painful, and likely to lead to larger problems if not dealt with quickly.

Emma vanished a few weeks ago during a shadowstorm in Mynw, in T'Por - right over her estate. Her scant retainers reported nothing unusual save for the sudden arrival, surprising fury, and diminutive size of the storm. There were no other casualties, but some rooms show strange hints of damage and a weird glow. Her laboratory has been sealed off, even to me. Lledrith says she may be able to work her mind around the locks, but until then has set her own guards from Darkvine on all of the Lady Frost's Rhilshen holdings.

I've made arrangements to close and sell Emma's holdings in Rhydin, with the exception of Frost Manor, north of the city. Something tells me there are secrets there not meant to be found. I must make time to explore there.

My Mage Wardens claim they have searched all of the nearest nodes for her signature. They claim a Nexus shift. They stink of fear as they tell me this - but I know the truth of what they say, for I have searched as well. It is possible that she could have been dabbling in the arcane, and just as possible that she was the target of some sort of retribution. The latter worries me. If I have enemies that can strike unseen. . .

Hellfire! I should be able to find anyone I am blood-bonded with ? no matter where they are. And there is guilt and pain with that, for I have failed another of my family. The Lost Isles remain lost, as do those who reside there.

I had invited Ser Falconne to visit Rhilshen. . . for a number of reasons, and now I question the wisdom of that

I can not shake this feeling of melancholy, wondering whom will I fail next.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-05-05 17:27 EST
05.05.2008
Rhilshen Fortress, Aeshelm
Central Province, Rhilshen

Antonio got several kisses for charity at a Beltane celebration in a grove near Rhydin City. It was most surprising that his wife was not there. I am sure Kinadria would have graciously looked on as most of Rhydin?s female population (and at least one man) lined up and paid for the opportunity to snog her mate. I would not have been so gracious. It was well worth the coin spent.

I have been urged by Javan?s street rats to send more money to the orphanage. They came to me in a group and offered to pool their stipends. I told them I was not inclined to take all of Rhydin?s homeless children under my wing, but I would consider improving their lot in life. I will. Really.

The first week of May in Rhilshen marks the start of Summer and the Festival of Fire. In Aeshelm, the celebration is similar to Rhydin?s Beltane, save there is no dainty little May Queen with her Green Man. Rather, there is a great deal of emphasis on the purification of flame, and hopes for a bountiful harvest. I grew hoarse with singing blessings in the names of the Gods I serve. The evening glowed with bonfires blossoming next to the flowering kirvathayne-branches upon the hills of my city and the courtyards of my fortress.

Of course ? the celebration was an attempt to distract from a decision that might prove unpopular with certain nobles still smarting over the results of the Battle of Tacryaspyre. I used the occasion to summon K?Thayne, the Lord of Elemental Fire, and purify the western province named for him with flame. Surprisingly, the firestorm I called burns still, reaching far into the sky. It is visible even from Mynw.

Chryrie?s influence, perhaps. She did warn me.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-06-04 22:30 EST
18.05.2008
Wraithspire Chateau
Rhydin

My own worst enemy.

Unguarded thoughts.

Laws of pain.

Who the Hell does he think he is? or who the Hell does he think I am? Some neophyte young to the ways of the damned? There are unspeakable curses that burn to be spoken for his presumption!

More than a year ago, I had told him that his business was his own and did not affect me - save that he had threatened Kitty and I would answer that threat with my own life, if need be. It was then that I struck with him a loosely worded deal, offering a promise of assistance in exchange for the safety of Kitty and a ward of her choosing - Viki, The Seer. That offer of assistance grew in his mind to a one-sided alliance which left him free to menace my consort and my consort's friends.

Apparently he did not appreciate my intolerance of such provocation, and found it necessary to hold me captive to extort my cooperation. Thus I am here - which I must assume is Wraithspire. My gaoler has not been courteous enough to illuminate my whereabouts. Regardless, I find this enforced solitude and imprisonment a resource - at least when I am not overwhelmed with paranoia and anger, or stricken by exhaustion. I have time to review my errors, that I might learn from them and plot the course of my future.

Reflection on recent circumstances brings to mind a long-ago conference with Elvenhone, the King of the Elven Nation. His elves had been clamoring for reassurance that an uneasy truce would hold and they would not be attacked by my liches and vampires in their forest home. Despite misgivings, I agreed to meet with them as a show of good faith. At this meeting, Elvenhone was surrounded by his family, cronies and sycophants. I came alone. Apparently I was more willing to make a gesture of trust than he.

After that conference, our truce held for a short time. But with one voice Elvenhone attempted to fan the fires of discontent and mistrust and with another voice he claimed he pressed for peace. Their king much desired to command me and mine to obedience, and his people tried long and hard to provoke us, voicing foul insinuations and blatantly threatening our kin and allies.

The elf king was a mealy-mouthed, shameful tool, easily manipulated by others like him who cowered behind empty threats, too frightened of consequences involving cold steel and black sorcery to openly speak true intentions. They cringed in their bowers, craving excitement and adventure they'd never dare dirty their own hands with... But the web of deceit and guile the elves tried to weave ultimately entrapped them, and the war which resulted was inevitable. When my vengeance finally came, it was swift and furious. Shava Forest lay a blackened sylvan ruin, decorated by my victorious Venom Alliance with the litter of death.

Yes, even the immortal may be struck by death.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-07-07 21:25 EST
01.07.2008
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin

Twice I have endured captivity in my so-called grandfather?s domain.

There I was taught my name, educated in the ways of battle, instructed in the Arts of his kind and certain Awful Sayings, and schooled in Mabrahoring and the Infernal tongues. And there, in his Courts of Pain, I was locked in demonform with all illusions of comfort stripped away, and then branded with rune scars and mind wounds. Those marks remain upon me no matter what shape I wear, that I might remember my name, what it meant, and the price for power associated with that name.

My name. . . How it came to pass that Veighn Yhaull knew my truename and could wield it against me ? that is a mystery to me! It seems impossible that the Wizard could have gained it from his Arts, and even less likely that he garnered such knowledge from the Courts. If he was that highly regarded, his present difficulties would pose no challenge to him whatsoever, and I suspect he would have more fearsome allies than he currently claims.

I am unwilling to believe that Lucien would have given that information to one he loathed, but I must grant there are others he might entrust such knowledge to, others whom I would not trust.

Wraithspire held lessons, though not as obvious as those of my grandfather?s Court: from Veighn, I learned the folly of complacency. The adage of keeping enemies closer than friends would have served me in so many ways. Once I had thought to live a life separate from suspicion and wariness of treachery, but I see now that is not to be.

I have been held imprisoned three times. There will not be a fourth.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-07-08 21:33 EST
07.07.2008
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin

My sense of time is still warped, for I have apparently lost more than a week in my library at Dark Lake, reviewing long-forgotten tomes on protective magicks. For several days, I devoted myself to Fae and Elvish sorceries and found them easier to understand - almost innate. I must assume Chryrie?s influence, or Llehlnia?s perhaps...

Regardless, the time and effort in solitude is not wasted, for I have improved and recast the wards about my domain. More, I have taken measures to ensure that I may not be imprisoned again. I am not so foolish as to commit the details of those measures here.

I suspect I shall have to summon various servitor constructs to clean and maintain the manor, as even the locals are now firmly convinced that my estates are cursed.

I recognize changes within me, a subtle shift to Order that the Guardian would doubtless revel in. I fear what that implies. The thought that I might remain influenced by the Wizard?s tainted elixir - that thought hangs over me.


Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-08-08 08:52 EST
25.07.2008
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin


A strange blue box stands upon the beach of the Dark Lake.

It appeared from nowhere, surprised the Hell out of me. Although labeled a "police box," it is, according to its owner, called a TARDIS. It seems to be a starship of some sort that is a sort of self-contained rift. It's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. I suspect it must be prone to quirks or malfunctions, for the owner of this TARDIS, a man who calls himself The Doctor, said he intended to arrive at a place called ?Myrfax Four? to observe a supernova and instead he arrived in Rhydin.

The man who calls himself the Doctor (a title, not a name?) appears young and human. He is charming, vivacious, confident, intense and a little bit erratic. He displays an overwhelming amount of intelligent curiosity. I do not think he is human, though.

Something about him makes me feel dizzy.

While I find myself inclined to trust him, he is probably dangerous.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-08-08 08:53 EST
30.07.2008
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin


My release from Wraithspire last month was indeed secured by Lucien.

It would have been better, I think, that I had died a captive. I am not worth that price. That Shaitan's bargain he made for my freedom haunts me.

In a certain way, he is now tied to a creature I despise, a creature I would kill given the barest opportunity for his insults, threats, lies, and goading manipulations. What now might Lucien be compelled to do by that creature? Must I watch every word, every action, wondering who looks out of those eyes, knowing that a weakness might be revealed second-hand to an enemy? Must I hold my own vengeance in abeyance to avoid that enemy collecting on the rest of his contract?

Yet I cannot fault him. And I realize the blame for the situation may be laid entirely at my own feet. I should relinquish him to the care and protection of those who do not bring him into danger and risk his soul.

What a jewel the devil has claimed, now. I fear how he will spend it.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2008-11-17 21:28 EST
15.11.2008
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin


I heard the cry of gulls from the distant shore. The sound lanced through the muffling snowfall, even through the noise of the city, and it caught at something deep inside me. A heart? if I have one. I begin to think I don't.

And of course, hearing the sea-birds, I thought of him. It was like a compulsion, a memory "of calling shapes, and beck?ning shadows dire." I followed the sound of the gulls' cries to the cliff's edge, and stood there with snow falling upon me. I found nothing except the boundary between earth and sea. The horizon was obscured by storm-tossing clouds.

I laughed at myself then. Searching for the past, looking for auspices and omens in the calls of gulls and turns of weather - the priestess has surely fallen!

I fear to sleep for what dreams may bring.

Alysia Skye

Date: 2009-01-20 00:19 EST
19.01.2009
Dark Lake Manor
Spire, Rhydin


In Rhilshen, there is a place I saw only once, but I have been unable to strike its image from my mind. It lay far to the west, past the places familiar to me; past the green river valleys of dawn, past the jagged spines of the Dragon, past even the ashen wastes of the Dead Land. All of those lands branded with my blood and the blood of my family, which I so foolishly called my own. May those that remain hold it more precious than I did.

This place lay beyond my boundaries, an elemental monument forbidden for mortals to look upon. It is a graveyard where the divine go to die and be reborn -- eons later, if that is their fate. There, land is but a memory across the ocean. The skies boil and and the sea stirs under an everliving storm. Vortexes twist, one moment connecting sea and heavens, another moment drifting apart like some fragile, ethereal wisp of shadowsilk. And all the while, there is the screaming roar of surf and storm and the moaning of dying gods and the crying of the gulls.

At the time, I was secure in my own sanctity and immortality. I determined to gaze upon this terrible sight and set my will against the Dead. I looked upon the storm and saw my fate -- and I knew then that I was not immortal and that I would die.

That may have been the beginning of my madness; Mired in despair, I would have given myself to that watery graveyard, had my kin begged me to swear that I would not return to the place and my counselors endeavored to drive the place from my memory.

But it remains, and I cannot forget. I see that I am an icon of the past, a relic of little relevance save to those dead and forgotten. I see the age-lines deep in an old friend's face, and I am reminded that my own days are numbered. Some day soon I will join that storm.