It is too bright here, the night is too short. I care little for sunbeams and blue skies. This is not my Weirmonken. This is a brightly colored and horrible nightmare. This is chains and collars. The others do not care for it either--the spirits of the forest cry out for help. I do not know where to even begin. The Forest King's voice whispers in my ear of blood and sacrifice. If that is what it requires of me, so be it. Brand has offered what help he can, when the time comes for me to travel to the Other Place.

They have named Julian Regent now. Why can they not understand that he is not my Regent, that only Emrys or Eric himself will be able to hold Weirmonken thus? They have sent us Amber's failure, it is only a matter of time before that effects us. Emrys must be found, the Silverspire with him, and soon.

Things get interesting in Weirmonken, again. With special guest appearance by Bleys. For ease of reading, things in italics are emits to Rae and things in bold italics are Weirmonken-wide emits.

( Weirmonken experiences an unexpected change... )

The trees have begun to shrug on their brilliant colors, shedding here and there. I remember when I was younger, when Niklas and I would play within the fallen leaves, and later Alander. I remember trying to teach Adelgar how to do so, and the grunt I received. I recognize it now for fondness. I miss him, oftentimes, my uncle in all but blood. There are many I miss, those lost in battles and those who have simply decided to stop coming around any longer.

Another year in my life is passed. It is strange, how once I never felt any older after a birthday, before. But now I feel the years settling like heavy rocks upon my shoulders. Once, I had little cares. Once, the visions did not plague me in the ways they now do. Once, I never thought I would be in the places I am, now. Once, there was not this darkness in my spirit, staring back at me in the mirror.

I fight it still, the Road's imprint upon me. It gets no easier, as the days go by, as nights pass. But I still refuse to give in, to go gently. It whispers to me now, of a place I've never heard of. I do not dwell on it-- it is best not to. I have other things to live for, and promises given to me.

Sorcha has found her way to the Silverspire, and it gladdens me to hear this news. I look forward to reuniting with her, speaking with her.

Blood Harvest comes in but a few days. A time to remember and forget. My mask is crafted, and the spirits are waiting.

This year, they may get what they want.

Somewhere Julian is dreaming. Where his physical form might be is unknown but in dreams he stands and moves through rolling mist that clings and coats the landscape. Rocks poke through the mist in places, treees devoid of leaves save for thin skeletal remainders in others.
Julian is in the midst of this; his white armor might be on, but it could be any other armor, it's so painted in blood. His hands are clean, his skin is clean, but his sword is not. He kneels in the shade of the only evergreen for miles, skinning a beast with a face like a woman and the body of a deer.

In a dream like this, the wolf is not out of place. It slips out from behind one tree, only to disappear behind another. She is a thing of blood and shadows, and her eyes gleam crimson. Her paws glimmer with silver claws, and once she is in easy viewing distance, she stops and regards Julian.

Julian continues his bloody work. Red drips down his armor but his hands and face remain clean. He doesn't speak until the skin is freed of the flesh and then when he's folded the hide he speaks without looking up. "If you seek a hunt this day you are too late. If you wish for blood that is neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat then you can come forth and have your fill."

The wolf speaks, and while it is easy enough to understand, it is not quite the smooth tones of Rae's human voice. "I do not hunger, and my quarry has already been found for this night." She looks to the beast, and then back to Julian. "Hunter-Prince. You must be more than both of those." There is no jest to her voice, only a edge of seriousness that is never managed in the waking world.

"So I've been told." Julian sheaths his sword, blood and all, and takes a dagger out instead. He stabs the carcass and begins to cut. "The hunter will never die. He fades because he must. He stands behind the throne now. You didn't come here for that though." There's a wet splortch and although corpses can't bleed, this one does. Bright arterial blood wells up. "What do you want me to be?"

Rae watches the blood for a moment, as if the way it wells out has some deep meaning that must be given its due attention. "Be the lynchpin. The lock on the gate. You cannot let the Crown wear you. You order the world by simply existing. Focus less on the details, small things, and more on the whole. Be strong, or your Amber will fall to dust."

Julian looks to Rae finally. He plunges his hand into the incision, following the blade. New blood, not arterial blood, wells up to join the darker, brighter blood; it trickles to the ground. "Very well." He tugs; there's a wet, messy sound and he is holding a heart which has grown in a twisted mass around emeralds and cabochon rubies and diamonds. His hand has a gash in it which he ignores, and he uses his other hand to pull out the blade. "I have given myself to Amber. For the next cycle of the moon I cannot rise from my grave or Amber will join me in it. I give you my word that I will rise at that time if you will be waiting for me with all those you can find. Will you do this?"

Rae lifts her muzzle and scents the air. "We will do so," she answers, "For if you fail, Julian, it will be more than just your personal defeat. Amber is not my home, but it is close, and I had promised that I will help keep it standing." Crimson eyes flare. "Order us to, and we will come to your side. We will be ready to fight, to build, to destroy what must be destroyed."

Julian takes the knife and cuts the heart in half. He ignores the precious gems, rooting about in the bits of gristle and the mire of blood until he finds a blood-smeared grey pebble. The rest of the heart is cast aside. "In the cycle of one moon, come to me. Spread the word far and wide. We will do all that you have mentioned and more." He taps the pebble to his lips. "I say no more until I have risen from my grave." And he places the pebble upon his tongue and closes his eyes. He takes his sword in his left hand and his dagger in his right and crosses his arms over his chest. Grey creeps up over his skin, blood coating his armor still.

"Die well, Prince Julian," Rae offers, voice softer. "And wake well, King." She fluffs up, and gives the man another look before she executes a tight turn and goes streaking off into the woods of his dreamscape.

Julian does not speak, as he said he would not. He doesn't even grunt. The grey has enfolded him, encasing him in stone and blood.

There is a crisp bite to the air, and the scent on the winds have changed. Autumn comes, and with it the brilliant colors of foliage. It is a time for change, and already we have had much of it.

The fight for Weirmonken was not an easy one. The things that occurred there still haunt my dreams at times, but it is a relief to see the land healing. To have the voices quieted. There is still much to do--there always will be. But we have a beginning, and that is always good.

The Prince's dreams trouble me as well. Sometimes I wonder if he remembers my presence in them when the morning comes. I do not quite understand the things I see there, only that if he requests help, I will do all that I can to give him such. I owe him that much, at least.

The Blood Harvest grows near, and preparations must begin in Blukhav. I feel the spirits awakening, and they are eager for it as well. It will be good to dance again, to drink and be merry. It is something we all sorely need.

For two weeks now the Weir have been actively fighting the Black Road. For over a year it has been wearing on their spirits, twisting the homes. And now the Road has struck at the heart of Amber's place in Weirmonken. The shining towers of the Silverspire are dimmed beneath a blanket of eternal night, tarnished with blood and gore from battles more intense than any fought in this land since Eric, over three centuries ago, marched men to this very place. But few now remember that.

The Spire was sieged, and with help from others some of it has been resecured. Tunnels have been collapsed, the courtyard and walls secured. And still there has been no sign of the Prince Regent or the Golden General. Even more distressing, each victory has only brought more enemies to face. But the Spire has been quiet all day. Dark, and too quiet.

( Wherin minds, bodies and spirts are broken )

After the battle for the town, during the clean up, a bit of conversation goes on.

( Wherin Weir are struck speechless by a dog. )

I do not like this. Not one bit. At least I've regained control of my body, finally.

Next time I decide to go bravely forth where others have failed, remind me to really ask myself, "Rae, you brave and reckless creature, you...are you REALLY sure you want to do this?"

Of course, self, we'll say "YES!". But it never hurts to ask.

Ow.

Ow.

OW.

Fire bad.

So, whoa. I some how managed to get myself invited to Pathi to help them in all the trouble that's going on. Well, more like Emrys was invited and brought some fighters with him. The Venatori Umbrorum are among them, along with a small force that I've been working with in Blukhav lately.

Things here have been going interestingly. Emma and Tally were at the battle at the Academy of Brass, and even in a fight it's good to see them. If only Addy were here I'd have all three of my favorite Feldanes. Now I wait for when I am needed again. It's certainly odd to be in this place, one I'd only heard of in vague stories. Kynan is about, as is Alekera. Perhaps, when things quiet, I can get the two of them to show me around a bit, before I leave.

Admittedly, I look forward to leaving. I'm... itchy. Like I once was when I first came to Amber. No where I can let loose and just run. I may also be missing my Fishie a little bit. He's got Raginmund and Marrok to keep him company, of course. And plenty of work to do for his Queen and Home. But, well. There is a bond that comes with Mating that I never understood until I found it.

I hear the Road's song here, and it is strong. I have to wonder if we came in time. The scars will never truly fade, but have we arrived in time to make sure the wounds at least close with time?

...and people say that -I'm- the crazy one.


Had a decent conversation with Prince Brand in the library on the subject of fate, the cards, and mutual helping. Things got a bit strange from there, and boy are my paws tired. At least I will not suffer of boredom anytime in the near future.

Rae's wandering in the Dreaming finds her someplace familiar and strange.

( Wherein a Knight is no hero. )

There are times that I honestly don't understand how people can be so... blind. So unaware. It  doesn't take someone with the abilities I have to see the future that certain paths will lead to.

How can they not know that he keeps us from being destroyed? Do they not remember how dark the bloodstained ground was? How many more of us there once was, how few remain? Do they not remember the stories? Or do they simply think that everyone else has forgot?

I have seen their 'future'. The pain and the cries that rip through the night. I have seen the final fall of the Weir and they are dancing towards it, laughing as they go. Blinders on, made of stubborness and pride. They do not see the true monster at our door, or smell the promise in the air, the scent of their own corpses burning.

Things fall apart; the center cannot hold...

We were so much more, once. We were Knights, we were Pack, and the very ground trembled at our passing. We could have that again.
Instead, soon, we will be nothing other than dust, and our howling will be lost in the night; no one but the trees and Feldanes to remember what we were.