Family History Discovered - A love letter from Gawter to Sìleas

In houses as old as mine, one often discovers hidden treasures (along with what may possibly be considered junk) when going through ages old trunks or pieces of furniture.  I had decided that I would go through a very old desk down in my cask room last night and in doing so I found a small stack of nearly crumbling pages.  I carefully untied the small green ribbon holding them together and immediately found that they were letters from my many-times great grandfather, Gawter, to the love of his life, Sìleas.   

I have described the two of them to you before by sharing a dream I once had - so real.   The letter on the top of the stack was quite faded and worn, obviously read many times over.  

 My very dear Sìleas~

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more . . .

I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly our Civilization now leans on the triumph of the our cause and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of many battles. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this way of life, and to pay that debt . . .

Sìleas my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Clan and Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me unresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our children grown up to honorable life, around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little ones, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not my dear Sìleas, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness . . .

But, O Sìleas! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights . . . always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Sìleas do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again . . .

Yours forever~
Gawter

 Sìleas - after she has read the letter from Gawter

I immediately scanned the rest of the letters in the stack and found that there were many dated after this one, so Gawter did not die on that battlefield that day, but once again came home to his beloved Sìleas.  How fortunate they were to be able to share this love with one another for many, many years.

Waiting.....praying for his safe return

******

OOC - I recently was made aware of this poignant letter from Sullivan Ballou to his wife, Sarah, just before the Battle of Bull Run (American Civil War) and found it to be so moving.  I wanted to bring it into the romantic history of Eva's family.  It has been changed VERY little in the above passage for it stands alone as a testament of this great love.   For original wording please go to this Civil War site.

I further encourage you to listen to the reading from Ken Burns' Civil War series posted here:

 

Time and Space Fold - The Dream State Continues

My Guiding Spirit has over the course of the last week or so continued to think on the concepts of a Knight in Dented Armor and the Lady who loves, and is loved by, him. There have been numerous things which have come into her mind and have therefore caused my own heart and mind to dream dreams of my ancestors once more.

I saw her again. Sìleas. This time her lodgings were quite different. Not the large, comfortable home, but a tent in a field. There was an acrid smoke all around and many more tents - not unlike her own. She was writing in a journal. Even in my dream I seemed to think how very like her I am - never one to shy away from hard work, or even, battle. But also soft and soft-hearted. Journal writing must be a way of life for the women of my mother's clan - the Frasers. Clearly I keep my own personal and professional journals, but I can also recall both my mother and her mother doing the same.

Sìleas sat quietly in the relative peace of her tent near the battlefield making notes of one thing or another. The evening grew cold, however, as she waited for Gawter to return from the commanding officer's tent. She stood to tend the fire, and as she began to bring it back to a healthier warmth, she heard the sound of slow footsteps approaching. She turned to see a massive shape between herself and any light the moon was giving. She was carefully stepping backwards toward her side of the sleeping rug to find her sword so as to defend herself. All the while she watched the beast of a man approaching. Suddenly he stopped and grunting he lifted something up in the air. With a quick whoosh and a loud thump something hit the ground at her feet.

"I brought ye a gift, mo Chroí," Gawter said, grinning and pushing his large hands through his tousled red hair.

"A present, eh?" Sìleas said as she caught the scent of this...heap of....something at her feet.
"OH! It's.....it's a real......"

"Highland Grey Wolf blanket," he interrupted. "I won it playing draughts with the officers."

She picked up the blanket and inspected it. It had clearly been crafted with the skins of at least three wolves - for it was huge. It was also relatively clean for a blanket that was utilized by an officer in his battle quarters, though the smell of its wild, original owners was still close at hand.

"This is marvelous, Gawter! It's huge!"

It was certainly long and wide enough that two people could lie snuggled in its warmth - provided they did not mind sleeping close. The thought of crawling into the enveloping shelter, warm and cozy, after so many nights on this battlefield shivering under plaids and thin blankets was intoxicating.

Gawter appeared to be thinking along the same lines.

"Big enough for the two of us, " he said and he delicately reached over and touched her neck, then her breast.

"Oh really?" Sìleas replied smiling and arching a coy brow.

He leaned more closely to her and she caught his own scent about the gamy tang of the wolf blanket - dry leaves, peat and wood smoke, sweet whisky, all adding depth to the deep male scent of his skin.

"I could find you in a dark room full of a dozen warriors," she said inhaling deeply and enjoying it immensely.

Gawter laughed softly. "I donna doubt it, mo Chroí; I havena bathed in a week."

He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head until their foreheads touched. Then he whispered, "I want to unlace the neck o' your shift, make love to you, and fall asleep wi' my head pillowed on your naked body. Really," he added standing up and looking at her straight in the eyes.

"Oh, " Sìleas said. "What a good idea."



**A song discovered by my typist just this weekend with many lyrics which ring true to the Knight and Lady. (The video is that of more modern times - from an XBox 360 game.)**

excerpts of lyrics from War by Poets of the Fall.


Do you remember standing on a broken field
White crippled wings beating the sky
The harbingers of war with their nature revealed
And our chances flowing by

If I can let the memory heal
I will remember you with me on that field

When I thought that I fought this war alone
You were there by my side on the frontline
When I thought that I fought without a cause
You gave me a reason to try

Turn the page I need to see something new
For now my innocence is torn
We cannot linger on this stunted view
Like rabid dogs of war

I will let the memory heal
I will remember you with me on that field

When I thought that I fought this war alone
You were there by my side on the frontline
And we fought to believe the impossible
When I thought that I fought this war alone
We were one with our destinies entwined
When I thought that I fought without a cause
You gave me the reason why...................

Dream State

The hour was growing late.

She had been watchful for several hours now and listening for the sounds of his horse's hooves. The last bit of sunlight was turning a gorgeous shade of pink as she sighed and turned from the window. After Seamus had built the fire in the large stone fireplace, she had told him that she would be fine and he should retire to the care of his family. He bobbed his head and smiled as he left.

Sìleas - her given name - had the stew of lamb and vegetables simmering on the cook iron, and had placed another pot filled with fresh water on to boil. On the table near the fire she had placed several clean cloths and a decanter filled with whisky. She knew that if this skirmish with the MacDonalds had gone as he had predicted it would go, he would most certainly be in need of all these things. The threats against several of the young women of the clan were not to be tolerated. The Frasers and MacDonalds had been strained neighbors at best, and this was most certainly not the best.

Her husband rode out with 6 other clansmen shortly after Sìleas' father, the Chieftain, had been told the story of the bold-faced MacDonald boys who made lewd and dangerous threats against the girls (none of them more than 14) as they walked along the stream this morning. She crossed herself, whispered a prayer, and was thankful that the girls had been in so large a group when they went out picking berries today. Thinking of what might have happened had these coarse young men met with only one or two was more than she could tolerate.



Just as the last rays of light faded into night, Gawter came through the door. Moving slowly, but under his own power, he smiled softly at the sight of her. She met him halfway across the great hall.

"Come, Mo Shearc. Let me help you."

She led him to the fireplace and assisted him out of his armor. First the sabatons and greaves, then the cuisses and poleyns. He had already set his helm on the floor near the chair as he moaned settling into the cushions she had so thoughtfully placed.

She tenderly touched his bloodied face and turned to the fire for the kettle, poured the boiling liquid into a large basin of cold water she had placed near his feet. "Well no obvious injuries to your feet or legs...that's good." she said as she helped him lift his feet into the warm water. His eyes were closed already, and the luxury of the warm water on his legs and feet warranted another soft moan from deep in his throat.

Smiling, Sìleas then set about the business of getting the rest of his armor removed. She carefully untied and removed his gauntlets seeing the large gash across the palm of his left hand. "Tried to stop a blade with your hand, did ye?" she asked as lightly as she could manage. The gash was deep, but thankfully it was well-clotted and no longer bleeding freshly.



"I'll do, A Ghrá mo Chroí [the name he nearly always called her]," he said softly, " had naught but that choice at the time."

He watched as she unfastened the breast plate and each rerebrace. Her face was full of emotion with each revelation of horrid bruise, knot, or slash of flesh, though he was sure that she hoped he would not notice.

Next she took up one of the cloths, dipping it in the water and began washing his battered face. The nose was bloodied but did not seem to be broken this time - though it had been several times before in either battle or pub brawl. He also had a large cut under his right eye. Carefully she added boiling water and some whisky to a small bowl, dipped the cloth into it, and began cleaning the wound. The alcohol stung like a fire brand - even diluted in the water - but he merely made a Scottish noise in the back of his throat as all his muscles tensed.

After she completed tending the wounds on his face, she began work on his dear hands. Hands that had held her own, and counted the tiny fingers of their first born. The right was not bad at all, but the left had the large gash. She cleaned it with the alcohol mixture, handed him a dram (or more perhaps) of the whisky for drinking, and excused herself by kissing the top of his head.

He knew she was headed for her little herb room to mix a poultice for his wounds. Shortly she returned humming a little tune. Gawter knew the tune well and a smile crossed his lips. They had danced their first dance to that tune a mere three years earlier at a ceiledh that her father hosted in the great house. It seemed to him that she hummed that tune both in times of happiness and of worry, as if the song that had brought them together would somehow repair the things causing any concern. Although given the nature of the women in her family, he should not be surprised. They did seem to have magical abilities.

Sìleas applied the poultice to his wound and packed it with clean lint. She then tore strips of cloth from an old chemise and bound it fairly tightly. Once she had convinced herself that she had attended to all his injuries, she handed him a bowl of the stew and settled herself on a cushion near his feet eating there with him by the fire. Not for the first time did he feel a bit uncomfortable with this type of arrangement. "Mo Chroí, it is I who should be sitting at your feet. I am more humbly born than you - a Chieftain's daughter. I should be caring for you."

"Och! A Stór, you hold yourself to meanly in mind. You take care of me, your family, and clan daily. You are the best of men." she returned.

"No. Just look at that pile of metal you have pulled from me tired body. It is all dented and worn. So much the opposite of those men in shining armor that would have had your hand, had your father not given in to your whim of loving me." Gawter said softly.

She arched her left brow and smirked very mildly as she began her answer to him - a look that by now he knew very well. He could not help but smile at her upturned face. "My pa never in his life "gave in" to a whim of mine unless it suited him to do so. He saw in you, what I see in you, me brawny ruadh man. He saw a man who loves his daughter more than he loves his own life. He saw a man of Honor. He saw a man who would not be pleased were his armor to remain shiny. He saw a man, YOU, my Gawter, Mo Shearc, who would fight to protect me."

At this he held out his hands and she rose onto her knees. He pulled her to him and kissed her soft, full lips. Sìleas touched him gently knowing just how battered and bruised he was, but leaned onto his chest hearing the strong 'lub dub lub dub' of his heart.

"Aye. May I always be here to protect you, mo Chroí. May I ever have dented armor on your behalf."

At this I awoke. It was almost as if I had come to a part of the story of my many-times-great grandmother and grandfather that was too intimate for my own heart and the mind to allow me to share. I laid in my bed smiling to myself, humming a little tune and thinking that even though I am a dab hand with a sword (and mightily independent), I will always choose the knight with the dented and well-worn armor, too.

Lamia by John William Waterhouse

**Some inspiration from The Outlander Series by Diana Gabaldon, Mrs. Brown by Jeremy Brock, art by John William Waterhouse, and my adventures in SL.**

A Cherished Diary Entry

One of my most treasured possessions is the small leather-bound journal my mother kept. Her tiny, meticulous handwriting fills the entire book. This particular journal was kept during the period of my childhood, which is likely why I enjoy it so well.

Opening it, the scent of leather, old paper, and a faint scent of vanilla fill the air around me. The red ribbon bookmark is in entry dated Christmas Morning the year I turned 11.

Laying there in the warmth of the fire, I listened to his slow, steady breathing. I smiled to myself as the breathing turned a bit gravel-like. Soon the hearty snoring would start. Over the years the sleep-filled noises of that oft-broken nose have become dear to me. How many years has it been anyway? Three? Twelve? Twenty? In my drowsy, dreamlike state, it was difficult to remember exactly.

I looked over at him laying beside me on the blanket he had laid in front of the fire in the parlor of Caisteal Teanacadh. This has been our tradition for many years . Yes....it has been many. Each Christmas Eve that we have the good fortune to be in our own home that is. Once Eva has been snugly tucked into her bed with many quilts and one of Jamie's plaids draped over her (She has to have his plaid each night, she says because "it smells like Da - full of sunshine, earth, and hard work." From the mouth of babes...) we settle ourselves in the parlor. Jamie builds the fire up with wood and peat as I pour the whisky and serve him a Christmas cookie or two.

Each year, we dream together on this special night. We will have gone to Christmas Eve Mass with the family earlier in the evening, which inevitably fills us both with such joy and hope that we can't but help thinking about what the future may bring even as we list the things that we are most thankful for from the waning year. What will we be doing? Where might we travel together? Will Eva continue to grow as strong in both body and mind as she seems to be doing? When will we start her training in whisky making? or sword play?

"Sword play!?!" I teased Jamie earlier.

"Aye, Sassenach, sword play. She is mine. Nay doubt canna be when one looks at her - red hair flying in the wind, a few freckles speckling her dear face, the blue and gold of her eyes. Even the way she carries herself when she walks or rides. But the shape of her eyes and her lovely mouth, those are yours, mo chride."

At this he caressed my lips and began whispering in Gælic to me. Words of love and endearment. Words that I rarely, if ever, heard from other men regardless of language - and spoken in such a manner that my skin warmed and flushed without any physical effort on his part or mine.

The discussion of her education in the finer points of swordplay would wait.

And now I sit here at my little writing table in the first light of dawn watching him again as he sleeps the deep sleep of someone safe and loved. Honestly, I think the man could sleep anywhere/anytime. But he never sleeps very deeply save when he is in his own home by his own fire feeling the love of his family.

He is my gift. A gift given to me completely unexpectedly years ago on a winter's night . A gift I shall treasure all my days - and beyond.

And now the bells of the kirk are ringing - announcing Christmas morning. Merry Christmas, indeed!

Personal Journal Entry: Battle in New Babbage (reference case # 8774-NB)

**This first section written Out of Character**

The Role Play events developed by the folks in New Babbage have been quite brilliant. Most of the play has occurred out of world in the Ning and in other blogs. Story-telling is an art and the shared story among many of the residents (and those of us related to them) has been very interesting and fun. Kudos to all involved. Various journals have reported on events, however, the bulk of the story may be found in the Primgraph blog and the New Babbage Ning.

I first really became involved in this story when the Wrath Fleet group were asked to assist in the wrap-up of the story. I was sent the telegram verbiage by the New Babbage Navy's Commodore, Jedburg Dagger. I was happy to assist as I could in the role of the head of MI-5, and as Commander in Wrath Navy.

The culminating event - the ironclad battle - was fought this past Thursday evening. Several of us met during the week of the event and plotted out the scenes and familiarized ourselves with the story that would be told....and would continue. (hee hee)

As someone who has run not a few events, and who has assisted with many an ironclad battle scenario, let me just say that this event went really very well, particularly given the numbers of observers and participants, the lag in the script-heavy, texture-heavy sims, and the numbers of folks who were part of story development.

Gathering for the briefing: Dia, Eva, Aeoleus, Hotspur

We all gathered at the docks at 7pm SLT - when I say all, I mean a very large contingent from New Babbage (from both the good and evil sides), a strong group from the Wrath Fleet, Caledon Navy members, Steelhead Navy members, and at least one from Steeltopia's fleet (actually, Mr. Calamari himself). We also had press members there covering the event.

Emperor of Steeltopia and several of the New Babbage group.

Hotspur gives the rules of the engagement to the growing crowd.

Cross section of New Babbage crowd.

The organization of this large group including the rules of engagement and specifics to the scenarios was conducted in about 30 minutes, and then the first of two mammoth battles was begun. There were about 8-10 boats (ironclads and subs) in the water, a battery of cannon at Dr. O's island, and several airships about the sims. Each battle lasted around 20-30 minutes.

Yes, there were many crashes among players. Yes, sometimes folks steamed off world for a while - but they did make it back to the site of the battle. In the end, I heard no complaints at all only folks really hamming it up in character and discussing how fun the thing had been despite the limitations or problems.

A lot of fun, really!

**And now my in character journal entry (with the odd way that stories and roles in the Steamlands can be combined, I write it not only as the head of intel for Wrath Fleet, but also as Director of MI-5).**

Personal Entry
This allied flotilla came into the Vernian Sea as the sun was beginning to show first rays over the horizon. We had our orders from Commodore O'Toole and Mayor Tenk. I was in one of the Holland class subs. My objective was to sneak into the city while the battle raged and to bring a small group of marines with me. We had several purposes: the marines were to secure any anti-ship guns, and to capture or dispose of any of Obolensky's minions; I was to be in contact with them via ætheric transmitter - guiding Master Sergeant Abernethy as needed, but the crusty old marine would hardly need me, he had his orders directly from O'Toole and would follow them (perhaps creatively) to complete his mission or die trying. Meanwhile, I would also be surveying the area for the strong-holds (perhaps Obolensky, himself), and the resistance fighters, and maintain communication with command central.

The sub departs after dropping us at the designated point.

It did not take long to spot the Doctor's cannon (they were not trying to hide them, really)
Regardless I transmitted the position to the fleet and marines via secure channel.


My initial view of the beginning of the engagement
A dragon perched atop an airship - was that a good or ominous sign?

More of Obolensky's followers found (or just some of the residents watching the show - it was not always clear, nevertheless). Positions sent to Abernethy and command.

*must be getting closer*

I found where the villain was on his island at about the time I heard chatter on the allied fleet's channel about it.

I spotted Dr. Fabre observing the battle as I moved through the area.


The battle raging on

*note to self: interrupted by a call from the Royal Society offices, must go and return to complete my personal note on this incident later - pick up journal entry at battle conclusion*

The Prodigal "Sister" Returns

My agents in New Babbage have been diligently sending reports to me about Dr. Oblensky's overthrow of Mayor Tenk's government (while he was away, mind you) for weeks now.



The mysterious telegram initially seemed to have no connection to such activities, but once I began investigating it's origin and sender identity, it seemed obvious.

Jed Dagger had sent the telegram remotely from outside New Babbage. "Tell Papa to expect six guests for supper." She meant that she and some of her officers &/or sailors would be heading to Roatan, I suspect for shelter or assistance (I still don't know which). And Papa was the name that some of the sailors had taken to calling Commodore O'Toole (most simply called him The Old Man).

I had been in close contact with Desmond and Lunar regarding the intelligence that we were getting from Babbage so that both Caledon and Steelhead could be prepared to take whatever action the nations felt appropriate as conditions in Babbage changed. I had also been giving regular briefings to the Wrath officers. In fact I was just on my way to discuss the telegram with O'Toole and Somme when I heard the excitement on the docks. Commander Murakami and the Commodore were on deck with a young signalman who was was sending a message. I looked in the general direction that he was facing.

"Ah - I see the telegram had been delayed in transit. She's already here!"

I took off running, grabbing every seaman in my path to meet the Babbage exiles; to assist in the mooring of the boats, and to help with any medical needs that might be present since they had likely not been escorted genteely out of the port.

What more will Jed and her crew be able to tell us? What do they need?

**** (OOC)****
For detail on the kinds of intel that MI-5 has received in this growing story please do refer to the following sites for the work of some of the Steamlands' residents:

The Primgraph - there are many entries in this journal from various authors. The first entry in the series appears to be here by Beq Janus. The rest of them may be found in reverse order including the story which runs parallel with the entry above in The Primgraph.

The New Babbage Ning also carries many stories and announcements regarding this.

Jedburg Dagger's Journal - here and here.

A Caledonian Journey

And Hibernia on the Skids

We'll see you Thursday for the battle in Port Babbage - part of our Ironclad Melee series. 7:30pm SLT.

A Curious Delivery

One would think by now that very little would surprise me, but a telegram that was delivered to me directly at Castle Teanacadh certainly caught my attention.

As far as I know, I am an only child, but


nothing is ever precisely what it seems.............

The Frasers of Skye and Good Night, Loch Avie

Continued from Ancient Homelands:

I walked over to where Exrex was kneeling. He moved aside and held the torch nearby the cave wall. What I saw there, down low on the rock-face, partially covered by snow and ice amazed me.

Exrex's topcoat slipped from my shoulders as I knelt, but I did not feel the cold at this moment.

A crest!

The Frasers

My family.

Mo annsa, we will build a home here with our people. Our clan will thrive here and our family grow. The winds of change that blew us from our home - perhaps temporarily - in Inverness have landed us here on this good land overlooking the sea. This hill is easily defended and we will build a strong sturdy home upon it...the rolling hills around us seem to be fertile. He smiled and held his beloved to him, touching her belly. And we shall ensure the fertility of our new home tonight.

The lady blushed slightly. No - really she flushed - her skin reacting to his touch and suggestion as it had many times before. The difference was evident to me as I viewed this from my place in time, as was her new comfort and ease of manner. Yes, I could hear her thought, we are home.

Exrex watched me as the visions appeared to me. I suspect he was afraid I would faint again. I smiled at him assuring him that all was well. At that point, I just wanted to get to Loch Avie and begin making plans. I needed to make inquiries on the land to determine if anyone was claiming this place. I had documents to get in order, crates to pack. So much to do!

He helped me back on board the airship. We saw that Nellie was not moving to leave the place, and we set off for my home...or what was currently still my home.


***
We landed near the pub and as Exrex was calling several of the Lancers out to assist with the care of the ship after her long journey, my cousin, Gabrielle, arrived. Excitedly she asked me if I had forgotten that the Realm of the Roses Ball was this night.

I smiled at her and told her that it had currently slipped my mind, but that I had made all preparations the preceding week. The conservatory and surrounds were ready for our guests.

Gabrielle and I had spoken a couple of weeks before and she asked if I would hold the evening Realm of the Roses Ball in Loch Avie. This is her annual Holiday Gift to those of us in Caledon, Winterfell, and our other sister communities. And what a gift it was.

(OOC comments -
When Gabi and I were planning this event together, we knew that it would be the last formal event for Loch Avie prior to the awful OS restrictions going into place. I knew it would be special - and likely very difficult, since I will leave Loch Avie behind very soon. I had really had no idea just how difficult nor wonderful the night would be. What follows are pictures from the event, which saw 60 avatars in the sim for much of the night. The music was wonderful. Gabrielle chose traditional Christmas music, but with a Loch Avie flavor. Pipes, Jigs, and during one very precious portion of the night - Songs about a rose.
I was incredibly touched and moved, and I (ME...the REAL PERSON) was in tears as I heard the songs, watched my friends and neighbors enjoying themselves in my lands, and received private notes and public comments about me, Loch Avie, and how much we have meant to individuals and the community.
Honestly - these were some of the most tender and genuine comments - and I shall treasure them for a long time. Particularly the ones sent privately from people even those that I never really knew. Thank you. Thank everyone for attending this, for sending Loch Avie off with such love. Thank you for allowing me feel that love. And thank you, Gabi, for your gift to ME. )

Early in the night, I shared a dance with my dear friend, Grafinya Inbir Abigh, Kate Nicholas

The crowd steadily grew and the minuet was a huge hit.

Baron Klaus Wulfenbach kisses my hand

The lovely Miss Teaa and her friend enjoy the night.

A waltz with Lunar

Kamilah Hauptmann, Radslns Huchence, Dr. Mason

Kamilah has apparently captured the sun for warmth in the cold snowy night. I was, however, incredibly warm as I danced and enjoyed my beloved friends.

The setting. Friends dancing inside and out.
Would that I could name all the names of the guests.

THANK YOU, Cousin.

Eva and Gabrielle

Ancient Homelands

Continued from Mists of Departure

Colonel Exrex Somme and I followed Nellie as she swam non-stop for hours. Her determination never wavered, and she stayed fairly close to the surface of the water. I was not sure whether that was for our benefit alone, or whether she also needed to remain close to her air source given her energyexpenditure.

Exrex kept the airship moving along nicely and I took copious notes on our route.

Finally Nellie stopped in a land I had never seen before this time. The mists were swirling around us as we hovered just 50 or so meters above the surface of the water. As the wind from our engines kicked the fog and mist up around us, I could see that the water she was in was a small inlet - a very small loch. As the ground came into view,Exrex maneuvered the ship a little lower down. Nellie had swum to the shore, was breathing hard, and looking up at a rise in the ground.

Snow was all around us on the ground as Exrex landed and moored the airship. We climbed out - me in his topcoat and a spare pair of too-large boots which had been in the ship. I looked up at the rise ahead of us. We climbed and climbed. I noted with interest thatExrex was not at all trying to dissuade me from my climb. I believe he sensed it too.

All around me there was a feeling of peace, of belonging. That odd sense of dread and disorder that had plagued me in Loch Avie had now disappeared. I needed to know where Nellie had brought me. I had to see this land.

At the top of the mountain I could see the ocean below on two sides, the loch and other land in the other direction. The land was sparkling like diamonds of snow and ice. A frozen pond. A small cave. This land was old and apparently not touched by human hands for some time.

I felt more than saw a flash of light, and the Celtic faces before me. Suddenly all went black.

Exrex was kneeling next to me. "Your Grace. Your Grace! Are you quite alright, my dear? You appeared to faint, but I was able to step up just in time to break your fall."

I held my head.

"You were only unconscious for a minute or two, my lady. What seems to be wrong? Do you feel ill?"

"Exrex! This is it. This is the land from my dream. I can feel it. This is the land of my grandmother's clan."

Nellie has brought me home.

Exrex made a small fire in the cave and we warmed ourselves a bit. He said that he sensed there was something "friendly" about the land. Looking at his map, he commented that the region was listed as Anodyne. I thought to myself that it was an apt name.

"My grandmother always called her homeland 'Skye'" I said. "But we never visited there."

He soon stood and walked over the the wall of the cave where he found something of interest. He asked if I could join him, and bring another torch.

"What have you found?" I asked.

"Something I believe that will interest Your Grace. This confirms your suspicions without doubt."

Coming next: The Frasers of Skye

The Mists Of Departure

I have been uneasy of late.

A mist has been rising from Loch Avie at unexpected times for the last month or so. Adding to my stress has been Nellie’s behavior; she has been very restless - leaving the Loch far more often than usual and swimming much more aggressively. I have been talking to several of the biologists in the Royal Society in an effort to try to decipher her actions. No answers thus far.
But two nights ago upon waking from a vivid dream I sensed that science has nothing at all to do with her behavior. Nor the mist. Nor my discomfort.

I dreamt of ancient waterways, and of a people that were my ancestors traveling across the expanses of water. Men of the clan along with the Chieftain sailing in longboats. Women and children were also present wrapped against a hard coldness. They were stoic as the wind and waves battered the boats. But the eye of my dream was drawn to the Chieftain talking with his second in command.

“…there is too much change in the spirit of the place…”

“Aye, M’Laird. Even those under your protection have expressed the sense that evil spirits were around your land.”

“Och! Mo charaid, I am not so sure tis truly evil. But I’ll tell ye this, the spirit is changing.”

The second nodded and they both turned and faced forward - never looking back toward their homeland. A short time later my eye was captured by the Laird’s wife as she moved from her honored position in the longboat to the bow standing behind her husband. Her small hand reached to touch his shoulder, but he had already sensed her.

“Yes, mo annsa?” And he pulled her pale hand to his shoulder and held it in his own strong, freckled and weathered hand.

“Where do the winds lead you, muileach? Where do they take us?”

“The elders and I have chosen an island not too much farther from here. We will find the land before complete darkness surrounds us if the winds continue with us.”

Suddenly the mists covered them completely and I heard shouting which faded into nothingness. Then total darkness.

I sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp of breath and touched my face. I had been weeping - the tears continued streaming down my flushed cheeks. I was so restless that I decided to walk. I did not bother to put other clothing on – I simply needed to be moving. With my silk nightdress flowing around me, I took the secret passage out through the bottom of the Keep. The grass and snow near the Loch were soft against my bare feet – and cold – but I kept walking.
The dream was beginning to solidify things that I had not been allowing myself to feel. Something was changing in my lands.

Was something coming? Already here? Was the Loch about to be attacked?

Allowing the emotions and thoughts to flow, I realized that for the last several weeks, I had felt unsure; unclear. That is not like me at all. As I turned the corner on the far side of the conservatory, I stepped on something sharp. I knelt down and picked up the object. An arrow fletching. Smiling, I realized that not everything was changing. A knight thought to be long since gone was still patrolling my lands faithfully. This was not the first evidence of Tele’s presence since he left Caledon. Upon closer examination of the ground, I noted hoof prints and boot prints in the snow and mud. It seems my Lancers must have also been here. Perhaps they met with Tele, or, as I had done, simply found evidence of his movements in the loch.

Suddenly Nellie was at the shore. She snorted at me the steam pouring out of her nostrils in great clouds. As I stood she dove deep into Loch Avie. I walked to the shoreline under the great willow tree. I felt her before I saw her next, the water and air vibrating with the ferocity of her movement. She fully breached the surface and landed several yards off shore in a thunderous splash of the loch water. She turned to look at me and paused only briefly as our eyes met. The fire in hers was clear and she was breathing hard. Rapidly she turned out to sea and began swimming. I knew that I must follow her. This much was clear – Nellie practically demanded it.

I ran into my offices in the Keep and called for my airship. Within minutes we were off tracking her.

“It’s as though she has begun a migration, Your Grace,” said my airship pilot.

“Yes. I believe you are correct, Colonel Somme. She is in earnest.” I said pulling the gentleman’s topcoat around my shoulders and feeling glad that Somme had been in the distillery resting after patrol to hear my call over the secure channel.


Next: Ancient Homelands

The Art of Story-Telling

October 30th provided opportunity to hear some very fine story-telling. Events were held in Caer Blanco and in Steelhead.

As previously reported in this journal, Baron BardHaven read 2 stories, which were broadcast to the audience via media stream with discussion before and after each reading. BardHaven's event was well attended and monies raised toward the medical clinic build. Those in attendance seemed to enjoy hearing the stories as the emotions were vocally conveyed well.




Then later in SLT, Steelhead hosted the continuation of their Spooky Story Festival with Hotspur O'Toole and Elgia Underwood mesmerizing us with their tales by Ambrose Bierce, Robert Howard, and Anatole France told both in text and voice. They were all well told and well received.




Grand fun. My typist called me away from the event at around Midnight so she could follow another story type that has really caught her attention. True Blood on HBO.

Tales of Fear

The event in Caer Blanco went very well last night, I am pleased to report. Our story-telling session led by Mr. Hotspur O'Toole was attended by a very enthusiastic audience. Maximum attendance was 17. Donations collected directly were over $8000L, unsure of others made in the kiosk near the teleportation site.

There were four stories told by Mr. O'Toole.
The Foundations of Our Traditions: a zombie invasion short story
The Tell Tale Heart: Poe's story of obsession and murder
The Bowmen: a story about a supernatural salvation
Dey Ain't No Ghosts: done in dialect,and edited for language

And now I shall let the story of the evening unfold through pictures.

Skusting Dagger and Breezy Carver from New Babbage along with Miss J. Dagger.

Miss Serafina Puchkina and Mr. Gatsby Szuster (foreground)

A motley crew: Miss Nabila Nadir, Colonel Exrex Somme, Eva, and Mr. Hotspur O'Toole

Miss CeAire DeCosta

Madame Bing, and Miss Quintessa

Master Jimmy Branagh, Mr. Mosseveno Tenk, and Dr. Augustus Dayafter

"Oooo. Did you hear that, Somme?"

Spinning the tale

The Ruins

The teller of the tales.

Thanks to Hotspur and to all who attended and were so generous with their hard earned (or purchased) Lindens.