I remarked that it seemed as though the piano was meant for me. From the wings of Lathai's amphitheatre I had expected a modest little thing. Though, the instrument that he pushed out onto the stage was rather a grand, albeit scuffed and scraped affair. Despite its years, it still plays beautifully; with only one bum note. But that is a matter easily rectified. And so, I had remarked that the piano and I were akin, for we both bear the signs of being well loved.

I had learned to play as a boy, whereupon I would give practise upon the fortepiano in my mother's parlour. Her preference was the Moonlight Sonata, and mine Clair de Lune. How lovely a thought, that two people could hear moonlight differently. My fingers had carved those notes so many times that I could play both by heart and ear alone. Though, this turn I chose not to. Some things are too sweet and too sad to evoke. So, I left them to rest for now. Maybe another turn, when my heart is stronger, I shall sit and play the Sonata of my mother's, and imagine myself in her parlour once more.

Suppose the feeling is raw for me. For, I do not want to imagine and pretend at being that younger man. I want to be him. I want to be him now. Here. Now. In this life. Now. Nothing less shall do. Nothing more would sate me. No reminiscing nor commemorating is enough. I am unreasonable. But I want another life. Ten years more; thirty, even. I still cannot abide it. The notion that I must allow this earthly body of mine to wither and die. It is spring. And that is where my soul is at; still in verdant bloom. Surely the Gods can see this injustice that has been brought upon me?

Though I did not play the old melodies of mine and my mother's, I did play for Lathai. First, a jaunty saloon ditty. And second, his own preferred Nocturne. Opus nine, number one. The melody suited him. Sombre in parts, but shining in others. He in his anoixis; I in fthin?poro. Autumn. I ought to be dying back. No place have I amongst the blooms. I do not want to play the old songs. I want to forge new ones. Ones that would be just ours.

It has been nine years since I last wrote, and do you know, journal, that all of my dreams came true?

I am a lucky boy, yes. Exceedingly lucky indeed. I have been lucky in life, in friends, and in face; I have been lucky in love. And when one gets to my season in life, to be rich in love is to be the wealthiest that a man might be.

I have been bonded for a little over a year, and I am a veritable millionaire when it comes to love. Seven years of loving Lathai. Seven years. There was a time that I did not believe myself capable. But now, I cannot imagine myself without. To be without him now would be unnatural. It would be a perversion to my inherent state. I read a poem or some such the other turn, and it compared love to beasts and babes. It said that some loves are born gentle; that they burn slow and move slower still. Some loves are born in the fashion of human infants, meek and requiring gentle care in order for them to flourish. But, some loves are born like the young of the beast of the field; who immediately get quiveringly to their feet and are ready to run. They require no coddling or carrying. And that is how it was brought for Lathai and I. Our love was born alive and ready to run.

My heart walks beyond my flesh. Yesterturn, he awoke with renewed vigor. He went over to his theatre, and he threw open its doors. Just like that. The place had been lost and desolate and dead for so very long. I recall him sitting upon that stage and weeping. I recall him weeping for his departed thespians and lamenting his loneliness. I took him home with me. He has never been alone since; never shall be. But yesterturn morning he awoke and threw open those doors again. It must have been the spring. It had him waking like a daffodil.

I brought him flowers to celebrate the occasion. I cannot wait to see him in his ma?tre de cirque garb, with his coiled whip upon his belt and his tails in red. I cannot wait to hear him sing his libretto. I cannot wait for others to see and to hear him; so that they might fall just as deeply in love with him as I.

I said that I will paint for him, and I shall play the piano. It is the beginning of our Bohemian Spring. My hands have forgotten which I loved best; to paint or to play. But, it is as I said, I am supremely lucky in love, and I have faith unwavering that I shall recall by the time summer is upon us.

I knelt before her and taken hold of her delicate wrist... But before my lips could taste her warm, soft skin, she pulled away from my grasp. Leaving me kneeling before her: Devoted worshipper. Willing slave.

I'm am mad, crazy, insane...
My heart lives in my throat.

She hated my hair swathed in cloth. Loathed my beard. Scoffed when I went without eyeliner.
She is as cool as wind driving winter's snow. She has not permitted me a scrap of sustenance in days.

She wishes to know why I want her.
Only her, nobody else.

I have shouted and screeched it; beaten my chest like the forceful alpha male.
I have opted the role of the submissive, crawled before her and whispered it with wide, watery eyes.
I have wound around her ankles and purred it to her so that she might know.

She has rewarded me only with ruffle of my hair and a kiss to my brow - leaving me near death from her touch.

Gods, I hope that she feeds me soon...

It has occurred to me that I have forgotten how to be charming. I think that it is something that I used to be good at one time. I am sure that I recall people saying so.
"Oh Jobe, you could charm the birds down from the trees!" and other such things of the likes.

I also remember getting told off for being too 'touchy feely', I believe is the term which was used. I have always been a very tactile person and this always perplexed and upset me when it was said. If your hair is out of place, I cannot help but to reach out and touch and set it right. I will smooth down your collar, pick fluff from your cloak, reach out and grab your hand in order to inspect a pretty ring. I expect a kiss upon the cheek when I am greeted. Cuddles are wonderful... And I believe that you are getting the general idea.
But I suppose that over time I have learned that not everyone in the lands wishes to be fiddled with by the largest and camp'est Warrior going.
Why, I even shake hands now rather than kiss them.

But recently, I suppose that this has been making me feel awful sad from time to time. In those marcs where I am unbusy and left to fester. The lack of human touch and closeness presses upon my heart like a heavy weight. Now, I know that this sounds petty and ridiculous and perhaps I am not explaining my meaning exactly right: I am not referring to the heat of a passionate embrace or anything of the likes. More the closeness of sharing quiet companionship or in the disclosure of a dear secret.

I remember once that I was The Rogue in Warrior's Clothing. I was the Little Prince; The Prince of Cats.
Now I am just Jobe; tired, paternal and old.

I taken a wander into the mountains to visit Her yesterday. I donned my armor and wielded my sword and everything. I wanted a appropriate gift to leave for Her, but I could not find any. Haggie had a few miregems, but I could well imagine my Love taking a 'paddy' of a villainous magnitude if I were to leave a gift so tacky. So, I merely sat and thought of her for awhile instead. I did not speak, lest someone wandered by and thought me silly or insane. I do still miss my Celeste all of the time. I buried our bonding ring up near Miranda's Temple a year or two ago; I thought it a beautiful place to leave it. I had not been to see her for awhile.

Everything has been so quiet lately. So terribly quiet.When familiar faces do wake, all I seem to hear is talk of failed bondings and lonely times. I have had a young rogue sleeping upon my couch in the dressing room for the past few days, she told me before that there was no place else but in the tombs with the wretches to sleep. She is only a babe and it makes my heart bleed.
In fact, Winston had told me about her. It is funny, we had not spoken in so very long, but when we did, it was as if nothing horrid had ever happened at all. She called me 'Blondie' and I smiled. I had smiled easily.

Bibi smooches my cheek when she wakes and I like it. I do love her. I suppose that I just miss my friends.

Hurry up and wake!
Come and see Auntie Jobe soon everybody!

This morning, I awoke upon the Worldbuilder lawn; flat on my back, the rifter glaring in my eyes and glass of wine still in hand. I had wandered here last night to sprawl out upon the grass and view the stars, I must have fallen asleep where I lay. Lavender had taken time from her training, and joined me for awhile. I do enjoy her company, and it is delightful to have truly made a new friend.
We chatted idly under the stars for awhile; discussed our homes and families and other such matters. We talked for awhile of fancy garments, gowns, dancing and ballrooms - I do not believe that I have yet mentioned I may be hosting a ball!

Yes, it was suggested yesterday (Azure, Helena and Caritta must be held responsible for planting the idea!) that I might host a Summerfaire ball. However, I do not know quite how or where to begin (I have never before hosted anything of the likes in Valorn).

I believe that my first port of call shall be to settle upon a venue - Lavender suggested a beach party (which would not be agreeable with my footwear!) or perhaps a beautiful meadow someplace, with nought but laterns and the stars to illuminate! But alas, I am still unsure. Although, I do agree that it should be an outdoor occassion, inkeeping with the theme of summer. And it must be ever so elegant, of course!

I would rather like to have a theme also. I do enjoy a Masquerade ball - perhaps with an animal, insect or flower theme? Too cliche?...

It is good to be back and have the world bustling around me again. I feared that I had aged terribly while I was away, but many have commented that I am looking better than ever! Which did come as a surprise.

Perhaps the return of Caritta breathed some life back into my body aswell? It had been ever so long since I had seen my dearest of friends - too long. It is as if we had never been apart! We eat cake and take afternoon tea together, go shopping (I purchased her a pair of those jingle jangle dancing boots - which I am most jealous of! If only they made a variety for the dashing warrior... But, I suppose I shall just have to live that dream through her for the time!), we gossip idly in tarverns, drink wine and do all of things that we did before.

Yes, it is rather a good day to be Jobe Thaniel Steward.
x

The world has changed almost beyond all recognition once again.

New lords and ladies, (most of whom that I have never even before seen!) saunter their way through the lands. And new nobles and initiates idle in the inns and taverns.

I do not believe that I have seen one familiar face since my return! - Lest a quick bird from Azure.

I did sit for awhile and indulge in some idle chat with one of the new Ladies. Chelene her name was; quick witted, well spoken and, what I consider most important, impeccably dressed - she wore the most beautiful robes and wonderful jewels adorned her hands and neck. And her hair! How wonderful to see a valornian lady who's hair does not resemble a hay-barn accident!

Braiding/plaiting is not the only way ladies! Is it a crime to express femininity in these lands!?
Remember, equality does not mean 'the same'. I am a firm believer that variety should be celebrated.
And if I see another poorly groomed eye brow I shall just die.

Anyway, I digress; I could easily see why Chelene had be honoured with such a title, and hopefully I shall get around to meeting all of the other new faces... And I do hope that perhaps some of the old faces shall return.

The chill of winter seems to be ever so slowly melting away, and I have returned once again to the familair shores of Valorn.
What a shame it is that few of the faces are as familair as the land. It feels as though I hardly reconise a soul anymore.

A funny thing it is, to be alone. I am beginning to feel more and more the 'outsider' - However, Caritta reassures me that with my return the natives will have to return to some degree of 'elegance'. I do hope her prediction is correct. I am already growing weary of the initiates stares. To the others, I imagine I am now merely a part of the flora and fauna (perhaps even worthly of a page in Azure's field guide!).

I departed again, yes. I returned once thinking myself well, only to discover I was not at all.
'Everything hurts more in the winter', Jericho was indeed correct.

A funny thing it is to be alone, indeed... And alone I have been since you died Celeste.

It is odd to write it so stark. So bold it appears upon the page. But I have been trying to address the fact that you are no longer here. Perhaps then I may heal?
It has been over ten years. But still, the ache in my heart is fresh whenever I ponder too deeply upon the matter.

Where exactly to begin...
You were beautiful. Equisite even. Perfect in every way imaginable: From your daintily small feet, to your puckered rose of a mouth (that you always worried was too large for your face...). Hair like spun gold that would softly curl against your creamy skin, long golden lashes that would fan over your cheeks. The delicately pointed chin of your heart shaped face, that you would rest upon you little, clenched fist when you were sulking...

I am glad that I remember your face, I feared that I would forget.

But of course, you were also obnoxious, petulant, volatile and an utter brat. You would screech like a tyrant. You had no patience. You were liable to tantrums of gargantuan magnitudes. You were utterly impossible. If I did not love you, then I surely would hate you.

It is a long story, and forgive me Celeste, but the wine is rather beginning to get to my head. I perhaps will tell more another quiet evening.

I am unsettled somewhat.

Has she gone?

I deeply fear that she is no longer here.

I sit and wait in my usual place. Surely I would be found if she cared to look?

I see the odd whisper of the Little Flower, but our paths never seem to cross. I hope she is well. Oh, I do hope she is well.
But, I have not even heard the mention of her name.

I think I shall force myself into that new suit.

My placidity has amazed me of late. It would seem that nothing can penertrate the impermeable bubble which I have existed within for the past month or so. I feel so bland.

I am having a 'hair crisis'. The whisps of grey sprouting from my temples seem all the more prominant. And no matter how I flip my hair, or hang it loose, or pin it back... It floats there. Taunting me. I wish the whole lot would just hurry up and turn silver. Or perhaps I can obtain a potion or ointment of sorts to keep it dusky?...

I look weary. I must look ever so weary. I feel weary. Everything seems to be hanging by a thread.

The suit that I planned to don the first day of Fall Fest hangs drab within the vaults of my bank... It would seem I just do not possess the momentum to put it on quite yet.
I did try. I tried it on for a moment. But I felt awkward - Even with those delicate lace gloves that would only fit hands as clever as mine, and those beautiful shoes that no one else in the land, but I, would dare to wear. It is lacking something! What? - I do not entirely know. But I fear that it may be my spirit...

It is odd, and it unsettles me somewhat. At this time of year, while everyone else is intent upon looking their very worst (Dressed as Horrors and Ogre and the like), I usually make it my business to look wonderful. What ever is the matter with me?

I think it is time to dust myself off and begin again.

The Show Must Go On!

I stepped off the boat this evening as casually as a dream. I floated my way to the Ant Hills and began training as though I had never been away... How long exactly was I away? A month? Longer perhaps, I cannot quite recall.

The world is sleeping - Which is rather a shame as I did hope to make more of an enterance. Azure did send me a bird saying that she was glad that I have returned, which was delightful. But, those who I do most ache to see where not there.

The darkness within my heart remains present. I have rather impulsively returned, I want to feel myself again, and if I explode in doing so: Then so be it.

I believe I require a visit to wardrobe.

It seems the longer I dally, the more difficult it comes for me to return...

I could take their anger - anger at me leaving all unannounced and such. I could handle the tears, tantrums and screaming.

Ideally of course, I would prefare for those whom I adore to be over-joyed at my returning. To send frantic birds flying to find me, to insist we go and sit and drink in a quiet place, and 'catch up' on all that I have missed. To tell me how glad they are that I have came back.

Oh gods... Do not give me indifference. Please do not give me indifference. I shall die if I am condemned to their indifference. Did any really care I went away?

I am still troubled. I cannot return yet... Not quite yet.
Or shall I go back soon? I do not know.

My mind and soul are yet to be soothed, but I fear no matter where I am my worries shall chase me. Will it be better to bear the storm here or in Valorn? I cannot quite decide. I suppose if I went back, I would just cause a terrible fuss, snap at those whom I adore and be miserable. I am best to stay out of the way.

Malavitch came to visit me. I had not long arrived actually...
He claimed that he must have picked up my scent upon the air or something like that. But the truth perhaps, was that he knew I would come. He looked me over. Fixed me in his cool, grey gaze and knew in an instant.
"Ten years, is it not?" he grumbled.
I swallowed and battered my eyes. I bitten upon my lip to try and stop the tremble. But I could not contain the swell of agony. I crumpled before his eyes, and he caught me (as he so often has). He permitted me to sob upon his shoulder, supporting me easily with his bear-like frame. I clung desperately to his shoulders as cries shook my body.
He buried his hand within my hair and did not say a word.

It is good to be back in his presence. Him, and the Old Man. They are both so awfully practical! It makes me squirm.
But I suppose they bring stabilty to me, and in return I share my sparkle: I pester them to come drinking with me. We merry-make and reminisce. The Old Man will sing in his husky voice... Armadeo joins us too (my delightful younger brother). Darling Armadeo, like me, is not a creature of practicalitly, he has always been a beautiful and spirited creature. I recall, when we were young, how he would casually try to vacate the house upon the evening... Dressed entirely in my clothes... I would seethe with rage.
"You look horrid in them anyway! You are a puney little waif!"

I had forgotten how much more potent the ale was up here.

I have begun some shopping. I thought I shall buy some gifts for my dearests while I am here. Something in-keeping to the winter months. Therefore I shall be more inclined to return soon, else their gifts shall be terribly 'last season'.

I am thinking also of a new outfit for myself. After all, I must make a grand enterance when I return.

I hope I am forgiven when I return. I do hope I am forgiven. I just need to be away for awhile. I will be back, I do plan to be back. I could not leave, and if I was planning on leaving, I would most definitly stir up much more fuss before my departure...

Valorn seemed to be draining me of all of my vibrancy. A little mundane? No, perhaps too dramatic - and I am too weary for such amatuer productions. I also hated the waiting. Waiting for that impending storm to hit that would rock us all. I became a little obsessive regarding Branishore. I was convinced it would be next... I slept there, I woke there, and I seldom left. I do not quite know why however, the place had never been close to my heart. I hold no love for the gods and their temple, and I do not think they hold me in particulary high regard either...

My mood had grown too foul. And, although I am liable to tantrum, it was not the same. I was consumed by a sense of hopelessness. I slipped away late one night, I could smell that smokey, burnt smell upon the air. The scent of winter. I hate the winter. I cannot bear the winter, and who knows what maddness it may drive me to this year?

I bargained and blagged my way onto a boat, and I am home.

You would not think me a man of the north, would you? But that is where I am from. Well, within the heart that is where I am from, my real father was from far more exotic climes - He died when I was young however, and situation brought my mother, Malavitch and I northward.
I remember as a child, my raven head sticking out amonst the other childrens' ice-blondes and vibrant reds. And the olive of my skin, quickly drained to pale without the sunrifter baking upon me...

Frost had already begun to grip the land as I disembarked in the blinding light of morn, and it suddenly occurred to me that I should have dressed more accordingly... You may think 'Why come northward if you hate the winter so much?', but I suppose I am merely chasing familiarity and the comfort of family.
As I weave my way through the familiar streets, everybody turns and blinks, 'Is that him?'. Everybody watches and everybody stares. Some faces are smiling and some are badly hiding their apparent amusement. 'Oh,Its Jobe! That strange, shiney man'... Urghhhh.

I crunch my way through the frosty fields, and quickly find myself looking upon the Hall (Although, it could not have been quite so quickly, the walk would take me many marcs when I was half the age, so surely... - Perhaps it seems shorter in my trance?). I never thought I would be happy to see the building. I hate it (From an architectural perspective). It has always resembled more of a morbid fort in my mind. It posesses all of the charm of a dark and dank dungeon. Cold, hard stone, small windows, cold, drafty... Awful. It is a wonder how a Peacock ever strutted its way out of its doors. How did my spirit not drown?

It is quiet, although, the old man did hate to ask for help of any kind. He forbade servants of all forms, and only employed a few farm hands and such. He always preferred to place the work load upon himself and my brothers and I. He said it would build us 'Moral Fibre'. It was probably only part-true: He was 'new money', I think he hated to see the rich treat the proletariat like dogs...
I smile lightly to myself as I creek the heavy oak, front door open and slip inside, my heels echo from the stone floor as I traverse the main hall. The smell of smoke is thick upon the air, but it is warm at least.

And she is their also. Of course she is there, where else could she possibly be? My mother.
The portrait of my mother, sitting above the mantle. Frozen in time, when she was beautiful and ferocious and magnificent. When her hair was the blackest midnight, and she had flint in her grey eyes. Before illness had raped her body. Before her hair had paled to grey, and her skin had turned to parchment and the strength of her will alone kept her standing. She casts her haughty gaze over the Hall. Not sitting with eyes demurely downcast, with hands clasped at knee like other paintings of great ladys: She is standing, a hand placed audaciously upon her hip her cool gaze starring directly outward, her brow arched coquettishly.

A smile flickers in her eyes as she watches me come. I touch my fingers to my lips and hand her a kiss.

I know where the old man shall be... And sure enough, he is there. He would never sit indoors. He is simply not accustomed to it. Big and bent, and grey and old; he did always resemble a bear... He still does. His hair, that was one a sunset red, is now a shaggy grey. And, although he has his back turned to me, I know he is wearing a frown. That he is tugging upon his beard and scowling as he surveys the moutainous view. I know that he knows that I am here. Even though he has not cared to turn and look at me, he knows it is me. He will have heard the fall of my feet and knew in an instant.
He reaches for his tankard by his feet and grumbles,
"Jobe Thaniel, will you ever truly vacate my Halls?".

**scrawled in a small text** I will be back. I do not expect I shall be away for long.

**The page is swirled in writings and small doodles formed by an eleborate hand. Text is scrawled both horizontally and vertically and 'side-ways-ie' and slanted and any other directions of which you can imagine. Not a spot of parchment has been left bare, with smaller writings even filling in the gaps.**

Bouquet
red/white roses - Signify unity (rather appropriate!)
Violets - modesty, virtue, faithfulness (Also appropriate). Would be rather lovely mixed with Bluebells... Although! I would expect it would rather be a pain to locate Bluebells.

Something more exotic perhaps?? - Mixed Camellias?

**The word 'Dress' has been swirled in the centre of the page. Arrows snake outward from its centre.**

Veil?? - Are veils considered derogatory in Valorn?? Perhaps merely a small veil; coming from behind the ears to cover the mouth and nose. It must be diaphanous. Chiffon, delicate and wispy.

I am thinking rich colours : Purple! Purple will not leave my head! -Richest purple, spidersilk. Threads of green and blue hues should glimmer from its opulence!
Silver! Intricate detailing of silver around the bust - Small flowers, curling and twisting leaves. Butterflies!
Again! The butterfly keeps springing to mind!
Two seperate halves it shall be (in my mind that is how it appears). The top shall be short - Exposing the navel. It shall be cut to a slanted angle (higher upon one side). Feathers and crystals.
The skirt shall be long - Falling to the ground. It shall be comprised of the same purple spidersilk as the top (perhaps in the 'fish scale' stlye). It shall tie at the left hip. Its lucious layers held in place by a elegant butterfly clasp - Glit, silver and bejewled in stones of emerald, jade and amethyst.

Henna! Henna upon the hands and feet - intricate swirls, delicately baroque patterns upon her dainty hands and feet.
She shall tinkle softly as she walks. For her wrists and ankles shall be so heavily addorned with bracelets of silver. She shall leave a heady-exotic aroma as she goes...

Perhaps a necklace - Stones of luscious amber, tigers-eye... Perhaps diamond (if we can be so excessive!). A thick choker, covering the entirity of the neck and the majority of the shoulders and chest. Its cool metal resting against bare skin.

And then there are hens to track down, as well as bridesmaids... And oh...
I feel like the mother of the bride.

I have been long over due a tantrum. I did hope that I would grow out of such things as I aged... But it does not seem I am so lucky. It seems I shall be bad for good. I am as much of a brat now as I ever was - Perhaps even more!
I fume. I crackle and spit like a fire... And my mouth! Oh by the gods, curse my mouth! The venom spills from my lips and blackens the world around me. Curse my wicked mouth and my hateful tongue!

I did not wake in such a mood. I woke and felt quite well actually. I dressed in my new attire and felt rather wonderful. I gave Caritta those darling shoes I had made for her. I idled most of the morning away in The Tarven of Glass, murmuring nondescript matters with Jaymes.
I think it must have been the demon attacks that caused my mood to dip as it did... All around Bran. I am a little conserned about Bran - What if Bran is next to fall?... But I do suppose one could 'What if?' the day away...
Most of the demons were too powferful for me. But another warrior and I did try teaming up upon them, under the watchful gaze of Iron Knight Hojo. We failed miserably. The Demons easily evaded us, and openly smirked, sending us crumpled and crashing to the Life Monuments. The Crier called of another attack near The Wall, upon the side facing the Blackwastes. I moved on to there, and was able to dispatch of some of the Demons... Hojo then sent me a bird, requesting me to return to the first smirking Demon and keep watch over him. I hurtled back through the wastes, to the pass in the mountains where it had lurked. The wretched creature seen me coming, and with another smirk, had turned and scurried away into the mountains. I chased it like a mad-thing, sliding a stumbling upon the rock of the Western Mountains; it seemed to have vanished into thin air!?
I changed tactic, and began walking quietly. Only my ragged breath and the thud of my heart in my ears. The Centuar seemed flightly, and more aggressive than usual... But I could not locate the thing...

I grumbled something about going to rest and recuperate, and slunk off to my usual spot. Jaymes did not try and engage in casual conversation this time, and allowed me to sit and simmer. I grown restless after awhile, and decide to go and stomp upon some termites, in a vain attempted to lighten my mood - Is that what becomes of warriors when they grow ill-tempered? They have the desire to cause physical harm to something? I do think I am growing more brutish by the day.
Infact, I even contemplate whether to use my Spartha or Gladius - I contemplate which 'thing' I would rather use to inflict harm! What am I becoming!?...
After a couple of marcs, and a host of termites later, I am still raging. I recieve a bird from that new Cleric, Jericho, asking if I would be so kind to escort him through The Wall to Bran. Of course I shall Jericho! Of course I shall! A bit of company may brighten my disposition...
It did not work, merely serving as a furthur annoyance. The young Cleric gripped the tails of my cloak as I strode through the darkness of The Wall, occassionally offering 'I can heal ye Sir if you need it?', only to be answered by a snarl of 'I'm fine!' from myself as I sink my Gladius into another shoulder of some poor, unsuspecting Zombie that has came dashing from the shadows expecting an easy meal, only to be met by the boot of a furious warrior.
Perhaps I should just tug him free and leave him in the dark - This I actually did think! I should be drowned I am that wicked!
We made it to Bran. He gained his first blessing. He blessed me and proudly proclaimed that I was the very first to recieve his blessings!... I felt a pang of guilt...

Mmm, I was to discover later... Perhaps I should have left him trembling in the dark.
Wine and cheerful banter with my favourite ladies did brighten my mood. Talk of Hen Night celebrations, idle gossip and such. I do love to sit in my favourite spot, with my favourite people at the close of day. I do think I shall sleep like the dead tonight.

I sit crossed-legged upon the floor as I always have, with my old mirror at the ready. I have had this mirror for so very long, I cannot even place where I came by it? It is of the 'swivel' kind; With one side magnified and the other of the normal looking-glass type. I can't replace the thing, no matter how hard I have tried. I just cannot seem to make myself up properly with any other mirror. When darling Honey was a child, she would call it my 'Magic Mirror'.. And still does for that matter.

I am freshly shaved and not long woken. I would simply drop to the ground and die right now if anyone were to catch me. I would die a thousand deaths if anyone were to see me so grey and deathly in the unforgiving light of morning.

Firstly, I begin with my eyes. Taking a pot of beige paste and a small brush from my bag, I commence hiding black bags and unsightly veins; untill it appears I am well rested and fresh. I then conceal all of my imperfections, blemishes and so on, untill it appears that I have a flawless complection.

I am a little easier to look upon now.

I take a small jar of crushed Pearls next, and using them sparingly! (They are rather expensive!) I begin to carefully dab the powder upon my skin. I go in an oval shape, highlighting my cheekbones and curling upward to hightlight my eyebrows. I dip a finger into the shimmery dust and touch it too my upper lip to lighten my cupid's bow and run a line of it down the ridge of my nose.

I am beginning to feel better. Asara is promised! I can hardly believe it, it is too wonderful!.. Whatever shall I wear to the bonding?

I begin to line my eyes. Kohl black to begin. I stick to the outter-corners of my eyes, and smudge the lines with my finger. I like to appear doe-eyed and not overly stark. I then take that 'Black liquid' (Yes that is correct! I do not know what it is! And I shall probably go blind!) as well as a tiny brush, and with a controlled and experienced hand, sweep a fine line over my upper lashes, ending in a dainty flick to the corners.

I am humming to myself now.

I 'colour-in' my eyebrows - What a bleak day it is when one discovers that they must draw on their own eyebrows! I think I plucked them to death when I was younger... Curse me... I begin to shade them in, using an illustriously black powder and a small brush. And voila! The elegant contours of my face are perfectly framed!

Finally, I begin fussing with my hair - This may take many marcs! I tease some volume into my tresses and fluff it up. I have always been most proud of my hair. It is not a dowdie brown, or the wire-wool that other men may try to pass off as hair. It is magnificent! Lusciously black, thick and fragrant. It tumbles way down to the small of my back... Admittedly it is marred by the odd fleck of grey, but one is not immortal!
I rumage in my pack and retrive a small pair of silver sissors. I begin snipping at my fringe - I have taken to wearing it to one side, and it has begun growing wildly over one eye; which shall never do!
I think I am finished, and ready to present to the lands.

I sit for a moment and admire the man sitting before me, and my face visibly begins to crumble. I hardly reconise him anymore. I did not used to sit this way, crossed-legged like a school boy infront of my mirror. There was simply no need. I woke up and I was gorgeous; I went to bed and I was quite the same. I drag my eyes away and hastily bat my lashes. I can not be smudging myself now...
What shall become of me when... What will I be?...
I shake such thoughts from my mind. Closing my eyes firmly in a bleak attempt to shut them out... I think I dare a second peek...
I see my famaliar jade eyes. The baroque curve of my brow. The plushness of my lips. Not what it was, but its shadow still remains. It is not really so bad. A true Silver Fox in the making perhaps?

I run a long finger along my jaw and smile to myself... Mmm, he may be witty, charming, intellectual and all of that. He may even best me at all of those things. But for one thing, I am safe in the knowledge; He is not as pretty as me. He is far less beautiful than I. Physically so... Perhaps I can afford to linger in the sun for a little longer.

I hastily shove my mirror and my lotions and potions into my pack, before I have a chance to doubt myself again.

I do believe I am becoming a small, under-ground sucess. Who knows!? Perhaps in another year or so, the other warriors shall be daring enough to shake my hand in broad daylight! But what did I expect, really? When I chosen this path; I was always going to be the horrid little embarrassment of the ranks.

I should probably have followed my heart and became an enchanter. I do think I would have made a magnificent enchanter - As well as the fact that the Crystal Guardians seem to be drawn to me like a moth to candle light. My dear friends say it is due to me being so glittering and bright; the Guardians are surely drawn to me, mistaking me for a stray crystal in need of protection.
I would have even made quite the dashing rogue perhaps... But all of that sculking around would not have been for me. I could not hide in the dark - My desire to be seen is all too great.

I did only become a warrior, because they said I would not be able to do it: That I would not have the gumption, grit or determination to make it. That I was too much of a 'dandy' to abide getting myself peppered with blood and all of that. I do suppose in ways those that doubted me, are very correct.

However, I am progressing. I do feel myself growing thicker around the shoulders and arms, and although I am not as massively large as some of the others (standing seven foot tall and weighing something in comparison to a small Bos), I do think I make up from my shorting comings regarding my physique, in my vicious temperament and malicious disposition. Even as a child, with my brothers being far larger than me, I would not be beaten. I refused to be beaten. My stubborn and spiteful nature made me just as strong as they.
Only recently has Zeigfried, my darling sponsor and friend (An odd, hate-filled friendship perhaps) ceased calling me 'Poofer'. Perhaps that is a sign that I am truly 'making it'. At least as a warrior I suppose, I can stand in the light of day and sparkle and shine; flash my radiant smile and be terribly gallant. I do like that.

Yesterday was a wonderful day. I felt very well in myself yesterday (What ever 'well in yourself' is supposed to mean?). Almost maniacally happy. I do not feel as though I have twinkled quite so brightly and have been so easy to laughter in a long time. It is rather exhausting being me... Sometimes.
People sweep their gaze over me, and stand expectantly, waiting for me to act entirely as I seem. It is difficult to maintain sometimes; when my make-up is flaking and I am weary...

But anyway! I came crashing down to earth with a jolt yestereve. I had my first attempt at downing a Green Guardian... I hope the wretched beast dies of stretch marks.
I did not sleep so late today, I was woken by a horrid dream. I had the most garish nightmare that I had an imperfect nose.


Oh! I am also contemplating joining a guild... I would make the most adorable bunny, do you not think?

I keep waking so late in the day. I do not know what is exhausting me so very badly that I sleep so many marcs away? Perhaps it is the amount I have been training of late... I do suppose I am not as young as I once was. I spend most of the marcs of my day wandering the Black Wastes, with only the click of my heels and the odd bird fluttering to find me with word from a friend for company. I have seen the odd human face of a fellow adventurer while training in that horrid place, and we stand blinking at one another, completely taken aback to catch sight of something living in that black and twisted place.
I also trained a little upon Boulder beach, which was actually rather pleasant as I could tan as I train! However a large downside to training upon Boulder Beach, is the presence of the Crabthings. Their resemblance to spiders unsettles me greatly. Spiders with claws!

I remember a scholar of sorts, years ago, told me that there was a name for my fear of spiders. It is apparently named 'Arachnophobia'. I can quite vividly remember the moment when my 'Arachnophobia' became apparent; I was very young, perhaps three or four summers old, and I was sharing a bath with my twin brother, Malavitch. (I do not know what it is about spiders and baths, but they seem to be drawn to them). In my childhood home, the bath tub was surrounded by great, hideous, floral-patterned curtains, it was upon them that the abominable creature lurked. Camouflaged within the horrid brown and pinks of those vile curtains. Malavitch somehow, with his keener eyes, caught sight of it, pointing a chubby little finger and proclaiming 'Urgh!!!' before knocking the spider with one swipe from its hiding place and causing it to land soundly in the bathtub between the two of us. Its spindly legs standing it upon the skin of the water. Malavitch squealled and commenced wafting the top of the water! Causing the appauling beast to begin to drift toward me! Malavitch leapt from the bathtub and ran naked and giggling down the corridoor, leaving me sobbing and screaming to my impending doom!
I was only saved when my mother heard my terrified screams, and assuming I was in some sort of mortal peril, came running to scoop me out. Only to end up laughing hysterically at my misfortune!
Everyone thought it was the most amusing of occurences. And the tale is still the choice one of my father whenever he feels like embarrassing me terribly... Even though I was left I trembling wreck by the whole charade, and could not sleep that night as every slightest itch my body felt my mind cried 'Spider!!!'.

But anyway! A tan is the essential accessory to accompany my new outfit! And Boulder Beach appears a prime location to achieve this sun-baked perfection. I can not wait for it to be complete. Another week or so I should imagine and it shall arrive. I am feeling ever so shabby at the moment. Ruffles are not a wise choice for a warrior. They rather quickly become tattered, frayed and flecked with blood. Therefore, for my next look I shall be 'Dishevelled in Black'.

After everything seeming out of sorts for the longest time. It seems the world is groaning back to normality - Well my sort of normality.

Caritta is finally seeming her old self again, and I have managed to escape the monotony of training to sit with her. We drink copious amounts of wine and gossip idly as we do, like always. We cackle like witches; she is a wicked little creature, and I should not laugh at her viscious tongue - But I simply can not help myself!
I am glad that my oldest, and dearest, friend is well again. We have shared a 'togetherness' ever since I first stepped foot into these lands, and I would surely die of loneliness if it were not for her. Back when we were initiates and we would waste-up our freetime idling in Dundee Inn along with the other new-comers to the land... We seldom venture into the place now. Instead we opt for the finer surrounds of the Tarvern of Glass (when in doubt, and one wishes to locate me - That is where I shall be!). After a day of training, when the world is bathed in the after-glow of day. We don our finery and descend the stairs into the Building of Glass. Caritta and I. Her dainty white hand resting easily in the crook of my arm. And then perhaps we are joined by, what Asara fondly calls, our group of 'Debauched Friends' - And we swap tales of the day, current events, and of course; any scandalous news that we have came by.

I can not even recall the time or place when I first did meet Asara. It just seems as though we have been friends for always. No formalities have ever existed between the two of us. We have always merely been Asara and Jobe to one another, nothing more or less.
I have always been fiercely protective of darling Asara... The poor, sweet thing is hunted like game. She is flattered and wooed. Put upon a pedestal and worshipped for a short time, untill it dawns upon the fool of a man that Asara is merely a mortal being with a heart, soul and mind. She will then be swiftly discarded of, and he shall move on to the next pretty thing that catches his attention. I am left with her tattered remains, which I scoop up from the ground and pet untill she feels whole again. Tell her she is beautiful and fierce, and he is a fool. Untill the next comes along and tramples upon her again.
Perhaps I am bias - Because I adore her and she is my friend. I am aware Asara is less than an angel - The gods know of the trouble she has gotten me into!

The world seems to be waking up and taking a deep breath. Faces I have not seen in ever so long are blinking their sleepy eyes and waking. I love to be surrounded by the bustle of people.

I have always been a creature of impulse and decadence. Therefore, I have always been less than apt at managing my plat. Hence why I have have spent much of this evening shivering atop the Snowy Plateau, rather than embarking upon on of my usual (and more pleasurable) evening pursuits. Collecting Ice Crystals is cumbersome work; their sharp edges dig into the numbness of my hands and draw warm blood. I wander idly around the mountain top thinking to myself of how much better the crystals would look bobbing from the lobe of my ear than being carelessly fondled by the gnarled hands of Margot...

Which reminds me! I am begining work upon the design for my next outfit. I recently recieve a darling gift of some luxuriant material of which I am to fashion a waist coat of - Not the usual waist coat, I am thinking of something free-flowing perhaps. No buttons. Cut to sharp and exquisite angles. A large colar... Perhaps I shall wear it pricked!

I am positively dying to feed this book to the flames. My previous enteries make me burn with shame when look back upon them. Only my old promise to myself is saving you now journal...

I felt restless for the longest time - and more than a little uncomfortable in my own skin. A Flamingo amongst a folk of Pigeons; is how I described it to my dearest friends. I foolishly tried to change. I hung up my finery and buried my favourite shoes deep within my vault of the bank. I attired myself in a shade of modest blue - Poorly cut and cheap material that made me itch both with general discomfort and with the prickle of my shattered vanity. I tugged the braids from my hair and untangled the beads. I removed my jewelery (All except my ring of course). I walked around for awhile, but I still felt quite the same. My attempt of becoming 'native' was an entirely forced and strangled affair.
When my friends seen me, they were quite shocked. They had never seen me looking quite so grey and unassuming. Looking back upon it, it really was rather lovely that they were so concerned for me. But at the time it only caused me great annoyance that they did not understand.

Kaballoi sent me a bird after awhile. Telling me that I reminded her of a fine gentleman that used to often grace these lands, although she said 'He had more ruffles than you'. I admitt, it stung me somewhat to learn of this. The vain monster within me hated to be told that there was once someone better and more beautiful than I - I do suppose that the unscrupulous lady rogue knew exactly what she was doing when she broke this too me, all hidden behind a guise of innocence of course.
Kaballoi escorted me to the guild hall of The Twenty Two. He was there, in the enterance hall. Kaballoi poised me infront of the portrait of the dashing fellow. Radiant he was; draped in finely embroided silk clothing and delicately weilding a lavishly plumed fan. Kaballoi chatted in her usual animated fashion, as I stood transfixed upon Agape Mephistophelia. I was bewitched by him for the longest time, and remained upon my spot. Captivated I was, I studied him for the longest time.
A sudden feeling of shame and inadequacy consumed me. As I ran my hand across my torso feeling the poor fabric of my attire, I burned with a secret shame. What would Agape, my fellow peacock of Valorn, say if he was to wake and see me now? I felt so very meagre and more than a little pathetic. He was spirited enough to be exactly as he were. Valiant enough that in a land where brutish warriors roam, to still be so haplessly dashing! And I was there standing before him, too afraid to be. Being the spiteful and stubborn being that I am, I could not have this. I could not comprehend anybody excelling me! More ruffles than I!? Bah! I stomped my heel (With less effect than usual, due to my usual footwear being buried away) and flounced from the room. I immediately retrived my shoes and pulled them onto my feet, the simple feeling of them elevating both my physical state aswell as my dispostion. From there I went on to find some parchment, and began hastily scribbling down designs and measurements and sending them off to all of my most trusted tailors.

Purple is now my colour. I am aware that it would be considered a fall colour, and it is the middle if SummerFaire! But I do believe it suits my aura for the time... Although, I am also considering something black and white. I would love a pair of those dainty white gloves.

I have even found the momentum to train. Dancing in the dark with the undead that lurk within the depths of the wall. Twirling my spatha and turning upon my heels. I advanced this morning for the first time in a long while, it sounded utterly foreign to hear the Crier calling my name...

So Journal, I am feeling divine.

I do hate practicality. I hate practicality ever so much.
In its whole frigid, unfeeling usefulness.
I hate its entire hauty visard.
I shall never be practical for as long as I live. I will be terribly impractical at every turn... And I shall thoroughly enjoy myself doing so, may I add.
One who walks through the world wearing my shoes, cannot afford practicality.

[FONT=Optima]I have always been somewhat apprehensive about commiting my thoughts to page. Perhaps due to the fear sounding pompous or dying of shame when I re-read my writings in the days to come. I shall try my very best so save this book from the fire in those furture days.

I do not fully understand what brought her to begin wandering through my mind again. Her foot steps, I believed had long vacated the dimensions of my thought. But last night, the ever sweet Mayabelle floated through my dreams once again. I do often still wonder what became of my first love.

It had started with a kiss. Which had been my very first.
Mayabelle was as beautiful as moon-lit water; her twinkle had left me completely dazzled. She always had that aroma of sunshine, as though her skin had been sweetly baked in the Sunrifters rays as she worked the feilds of her father.

My relationship with Mayabelle had begun during my adolescence. I had stormed out of the halls of my father in one of my sulks, after one of our many heated debates (I forget which this one had regarded). I had rushed into the woodland that had been situated to the east of the halls... Probably to try to sneak from my father's line of sight, and make it soundly to the Inn... This is where we were to first meet.
I discovered her gently weeping. If I am honest, I would probably not had stopped if she were not as beautiful as she were. So beautiful that even when anguish had adorned her face, she still allured me. I would probably not have been quite so sympatheic, if her mouth was not so exquistily heart-shaped and her skin so very soft. I would have probably found it difficult to empathise, if her lashes were not so long and golden and her frame not so dainty.
But for all of my shallowness and the arrogance of my youth. And even armed with my suprior experience upon the matter in hand, I trembled as greatly as she thoughout that first embrace.
I was truely blessed and I was grateful. Mayabelle deemed me worthly of her affections. I was welcomed into her sweet embraces and feathered by her kisses. We met most evenings in the forest, and would get into such wonderful trouble for returning home so late.
The heady-dazidness of first love hit me hard, and left me reeling. It was more intoxicating than any liquor. It was wholly consuming and I became almost obsessive.

Perhaps the change in me was a noticable one. As one evening I was followed by one of my father's men. Who caught Mayabelle and I together.
This was the beginning of my declining relationship with my father. He was furious.
He spat at me. Telling me of how much of a selfish brat I had always been. That I should learn to think before I act. That I had considered no one but myself and my own self-indulgences. I fought him back. I wept like the child I was. He grabbed me roughly by the collar, raised his right hand and delivered me three ringing blows to the face, counting as he did so; "That is for your impertinence!" He explained after the first. "That is for being the blind, egotistic fool that you were born!" he said after the second, before raising his hand a third time to distribute the third and most stinging blow "And that is for soiling the good name that I gave you!". The fist of my father collided heavily with my jaw, causing my teeth to sink into the inner softness of my mouth and the metalic taste of my own blood to fill my senses. My father often barked, but I had never known him to bite. The fact that he had struck out at me, secretly terrified me. But I would not allow it to show.
Our heated words continued long into the night.
It came to light that Mayabelle had always been promised to another. She had never told me. It apparently was arranged, and had been so for many years. My own selfish desires had left her ruined and shamed. The boy in question may not want Mayabelle any longer.
In my childish mind I reasoned that I shall be bonded to her. I loved her that much. My father scorned my idea, and openly laughed. He would not have his son wedded to a peasant.
A storm rained over the Halls for many weeks. My fathers anger. My brothers awe... And my mothers gentle presence, slowly making the clouds part over-head.

I was always mother's favourite. I had been the only child that she had refused to allow my father to name.
My mother was a raven-haired angel. She was the matriarch of the family, and could even silence the stormy rages of my father with one raise of her finely arched eyebrow. The storm had quickly been subdued when my mother had finally decided to descend. A few curt words into my father's ear, and it were forgotten.

My mother drifted into my room, late one evening. She sat upon the foot of my bed for quite sometime, staring silently out of the window into the nights sky. She gently pushed the hair from my face and simply wispered 'Love. It is like the measels. We all must go through it'. With that, she drifted away as softly as she had came.

Mayabelle left and I never once seen her again. I waited hopefully in the forest for many months to come. But she never returned.[/FONT]