Wispings of a Raven

[winterblood 11181]

 

Spoiler

 

 

Zofiya peered forth into the gaping darkness of that cavern, whose shadows threatened to swallow anything which stepped into them.

 

 

W i s p i n g s   o f   a   R a v e n

The following is considered private, unless these pages are uncovered through RP.

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Jula ag Piov - 555 E.S.

 

Father’s been absent again.  Yet my brothers have joined him this time, and so the tower is quiet.  The seasons are turning, the winds have grown gentler with the arrival of Spring - and so Vasilia’s joined mother for her work in the capital.  I am alone here.  But this is what I’ve chosen for myself.

 

The time is right, I think.  For me to begin this quest, lest my fate is to be a shadow in the name of my family.  And I will not become what I’ve been born to see.

 

Mother says it is my duty to serve as a guide, as the Oracle-Born are fated to be.  Yet when her and father have spoken, all favor is placed upon Aleksandr for his ascension and for Sigmar to travel forth into the world.  What is it about my kin that opens these pathways, while my future seems it shall be within this tower or in the dark corners of the courts?

 

Despite my burning envy, I shall never resent my brothers for their blessings.  My eyes sting as I write this now.  My heart shall be wrenched from me when I leave my kin, yet if I am to bide my time it is my soul which shall fade.  This must be done.

 

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Vzemy ag Hynk - 555 E.S.

 

Two weeks have passed since my parting from home, yet I’ve felt as if I am wandering and aimless as the spirits.  To remain safe where I go, I’ve left my circlet within my chamber and walk the roads only as Zofiya and not as a princess.  Yet the threads of my past and my blood remain an unwavering truth, bound to surface again and again for the legacy I come from.  The pride for my name has been difficult to relinquish, yet the more time passes the more I wonder what it is that I cling to.

 

Lady Nohr’s face was a surprise to me, just as mine was to her.  I regret having told her that lie to explain my being in the White City, but perhaps an opportunity for the truth to be shared shall come again.  Besides, there is so little of her that I truly know and understand.  She is a woman who has seen much, this is certain; there’s a brutishness to her as well, given how she had handled that foolish boy and his bucket.

 

What is it about her that has birthed a friendship between her and my father?  For him to cherish a bond with this stranger than his own blood.

 

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Wzuvar ag Byvca - 559 E.S.

 

And I had thought I’d lost this journal when my travel bag gained that hole in it.  Yet you were only misplaced.

 

Misplaced.  Is that what I am, too?  Much like the rest of these spirits, who so eagerly haunt me in the night.  Yearning after something which cannot be named.  Perhaps not every fate is to be escaped.  I’ve not heard a word from my kin since my departure.  I’ve wondered for many  months, were there tears?  Longing looks over the lake?  Was not one knight, or even an aspiring squire sent after my tracks to learn of my wellness?

 

When I reflect on my leaving, I curse myself for being so foolish as a girl.  Initially, it was not truth or weight to my name that I sought - but affection.  Reaching arms that seek me for love, and not for a desperate escape from undeath.  I had it, too.  Or I at least thought I did.  My fate in the tower was to be a shadow, yet I was to be loved.  Out here, in this world, what am I now?

 

A witch, or a stray, or nothing at all.

 

Even Sigmar looked at me as if I were one of the spirits, after all of these winters.  He was a shadow of himself, in truth.  A husk; no different than what pursues us both in our rest.  As distant as our father, did he come to resent me for leaving despite having left himself?  I will not accept a fate of love, if it means lingering as a shadow.  I will be more.  Yet, I still weep from this burden.

 

Will there be any joy found if I reach out toward that past?

 

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Donna ag Droba - 559 E.S.

 

The light of the sun almost feels so foreign upon my skin, and it strains my eyes.  I’ve almost lost track of time for how long I’ve been within that cavern, whose tunnels were unending.  All there was to guide me were the wavering light of my lanterns, and the ramshackle constructs echoing past lives that once regarded the embrace of stone as home.  I’ve seen such spirits, who loiter by great doors and skulk in the umbrage of trees.  Whose flesh is ashen and dark, whether they be dwarf or elf.

 

There are many questions to be answered, on what curiosities I had uncovered within such shadows.  Yet how many questions may be answered by the living souls of our land?  The spirits rarely share much of worth, but perhaps I approach them wrong.

 

There were many times within these caverns where I felt as if I were to be lost eternally within them, where I was faced with such a cold apathy of the carved stone and their darkness and thought myself ready to crumble within.  I could have turned back, sought out my escape; or wept until I would be delivered unto oblivion.  Yet I didn’t, and perhaps a path has finally opened its way to me.

 

This is my test, the purpose of my quest.  It begins now, but I only need the right people to help me.

 

Z.

[ContestedSnow 1435]

Aleksandr's thoughts, sometimes, drifted to his twin; his wayward other half.

 

He would recall his earliest memories at her side, faced by fearsome sights and things that went bump in the night. How he would wail, and how he clung to his sister for comfort. He would recall, sometimes, how desperate she was to travel the world and see all there was to see, and to escape that little tower on the great lake. Why? What was there to see out there that they would not see anywhere else, or in their haunting dreams. Why could they not be happy all together? That is what he had thought, and he had thought it with frowns every time. He certainly did not want these sights, nor had he accepted any of these gifts or expectations levy'd on him.

 

She disappeared, but they had grown apart. They scarcely talked, and it seemed to him that perhaps he had never crossed her thoughts even before she had left on the great journey she desired. She must be happier, far away. His heart still panged, occasionally, even now. Sometimes, he thought of his twin. She was nearly a woman, just as he was nearly a man himself. Would he recognise her eyes right away if he saw her?

 

He did not think ill of her decision, now. Perhaps fate would deign to see them convene again, as the present winded itself on to the future. Who could say?

 

 

He thought of Zofiya, this time.

 

He thought of his duties.

Then, he put everything out of mind, again, and his eyes turned out to the churning lake. He did not wish to think anymore tonight.

[MunaZaldrizoti 8037]

The Lady Palatine had come to worry greatly over her daughter's whereabouts, following a confession by her youngest son that he had seen her someplace far-off. If the girl was anything like her father, Milena knew it was not worth attempting to bring her home and speaking upon the comforts of a life she did not seem inclined to. Such was the inherent stubbornness that all the Oracle's children had inherited. But a trait that made her love them all the more, for their strength of conviction.

 

But, if Zofiya was anything like her mother...she would have no trouble seeking out those ambitious dreams she sought to grasp. It was only a matter of if she would share word of those successes with her family. The Palatine busied herself with her work, in the meantime.

 

 

[ferdaboy 3488]

Laughter. Laughter escaped his lips, incredulous as ever, as his son Aleksandr told him of the news. Zofiya, his daughter, had fled. “Surely not,” he muttered with a shake of his head. A Barbanov? Fleeing her Kingdom, one built upon the backs of her ancestors? A people that bent the knee to her name, promising her health, respect, and wealth?

 

His son’s eyes betrayed no lie.

 

Frustration brewed within the Oracle, growing in intensity with every passing day, eventually becoming bitter anger. How could this happen? He railed against his family in cold silence - his children, his wife, even Zofiya. How could one cast out the gifts of her birthright? The blood and labour of hundreds of thousands amounted to nothing to Zofiya. For what? For the empty promises of a cruel world beyond the borders of his house’s Kingdom?

 

The ensuing days were met with constant pacing across the empty halls of his home. He considered all. Perhaps he could buy her return, with the promises of her weight in gold, books or even toys. Anything, to promise her return. Even the brief consideration to petition his nephew to rally his banners and find her, to return her to him by force.

 

Then came the realization, that neither gold nor gifts could repair what he had broken. As the weeks went, he found himself lamenting of his mistakes, spending his time in her room, hoping that everytime he closed his eyes and reopened them, that she would be there. Yet all he had to remember her by was her circlet. A symbol of what she had left behind. 

 

In these pitiful moments of self-loathing, he thought of the memories they shared. These were not of warmth, love, nor laughter- but of distance. How often had he cast her aside, for his duties, his personal ambitions, or even for a simple lack of caring? He clutched the circlet in his hand, its cold touch a reminder of his failures as a father.

 

He rose. Convicted in what he had to do, even though he was sure to fail. He fastened the circlet to his belt and descended the tower. He would leave the safety of his home, his Kingdom, and find her. She would not be convinced to return with a promise of toys or books, but a commitment of his own making.