Across the Sea
Chintae finished her meal with the soldiers about to go on duty, giving them, again, another round of encouragement. The constant howls of the undead, the sharp bitterness of the northern winds and the constant beseigment of their gates gave the men little hope. She refused to let them lose it. Chintae made sure each and everyone of them got plenty of sleep, plenty to eat, and much of anything they else they needed. She chose only the men that were ready to face a hard challenge, and the advent of a long stay. The church had tried to give her many green recruits, but she had refused them all, knowing that she needed ones that had seen particular evil things in their life. They had to know what they were getting into, and green recruits wouldn’t.
Chintae climbed the spiral staircase, crossing into her room at the top of the fort quickly to be out of the cold wind and in a warm room. The large bed in the center was comfortable, with thick blankets that kept her warm as the chill winds invaded her less than secure windows. Being the Captain of the Haven’s Sanctuary, the men had all thrown themselves to make sure her room was in decent condition, they had all also contributed much to her surroundings. Her desk, the bed and many blankets, the relatively fixed windows, and the small decorations. She kept and cherished them all. It meant much to her that they looked up to her as they did.
Setting her coat upon the rack, Chinate went over to the desk, picking the pen up again, scanned the pages for where she last left off, and dipped her quill in the ink, before setting it to the pages again.
My people were a fishing community, we are no strangers to the sea, but being the villages up and coming shaman, I was forbidden to risk my life to Sihari’s fickle moods. So my experience on the boat I was on, was not pleasant. My head throbbed, and placing my hand there, I instinctively channeled my magic, making the ache go away, but the queasy feeling in my stomach did not settle. The sway of side to side had lulled many of the kids into restful slumber, but not myself. It was fortunate that I had not eaten anything, for I had a hard time convincing my stomach that the contents that were in there should remain so.
The kids, upon seeing me awake, all huddled around me, and I noticed, with an even more unsettling feeling in my abdomen, that there were fewer kids with me than on our isle. Anyone less than four was not with us anymore. I hoped they were above the decks, and not in these filthy, dank conditions, but intuition told me better. As I hugged the kids close to me, I silently cried with them for the lose of life, all life, we had endured that day.
Meals were meager, probably meant to separate the strong from the weak, but through careful portioning, we all went hungry, but we didn’t starve. After about a week and half worth of sea travel, we came to rest, much to our relief and dismay. The horrible ship travel was over, but it was the familiar thing we knew, and out there, wherever we were to be taken was unknown, and new to us. We weren’t unloaded for a very long time, and when, at last, they came for us, they dragged us off harshly, although we’d have been just as happy to be away from that horrible place.
We emerged from the under belly of the vessel to a moonlit night instead of blazing sun, and it took sometime to readjust our sight to the outside world again, but we didn’t get a chance to do so before they shoved the kids into makeshift, but sturdy cages. I went to follow them, only wanting to be with the kids that were my responsibility, but I was forcibly yanked back by my hair, had my hands bound behind my back, and rudely thrown over the side of a horse and strapped down.
This was not a pleasant journey, not because of the discomfort I endured because of the horse, but because of the man that rode with me. Apparently, they didn’t get many females around my age. . .His hands liked to wander. .
Chintae put the pen down and steadied her hand as she wrote. She took a sip of her wine that her maid had brought in, letting the cool liquid warm her throat and ease her aching memories. This was just one of the few hardships she had endured. It all got so much worse, so why was she having this much trouble? Silently reprimanding herself, Chintae picked up the quill again, and continued.
I never particularly enjoyed this time, as the man harassed me continually, but luckily enough, another man noticed what was going on, wheeling his own steed over, warning my captor, under no certain terms was I to be treated as such. I would fetch a fairer price “unsoiled”. The man only complied to these rules when he thought no one was looking, but did nothing more than explore my parts with his hands, even at my constant protests.
Later that night, I was tied to a tree, and the two men that talked earlier went off to get some fresh water from a stream nearby. The man that rode with me never returned and I was left alone as we traveled the desert for another two days.
When we arrived at a small dwelling a fat man emerged and looked us all over, separating the kids into categories I’ll never understand even to this day. It wasn’t by height, or by age, or by build, or by gender, it seemed completely random to me. Once he was done, I was the last he inspected.
And inspected all over. Stripped bare, and scrutinized like some animal. His touch was never anything other than *professional* but it still felt as unclean and nasty as the other man’s had been. I was still determined to be unsoiled, and the men all cheered. The fat man and the men who kidnapped us from the isle exchanged pleasantries and some pouches, and we were left with the fat man.
He herded the kids into rooms, keeping them arranged by his categories, and I was given a room of my own. I was bathed in lavender and spices, my hair was brushed until it shone and I was prettied up with stuff called makeup until I looked at myself in a mirror. A sight to behold, but I could tell that I was looking at myself, but it did not look like me. I was pretty, and the man smiled when I said so. Satisfied, I was locked in my room for the evening.
The next day, he got the kids dressed up and clean, although not quite as clean as myself. Bathed me again, brushed my hair, did odd things to it that added to my beauty in the mirror and doled me up in more makeup then herded us to a place called Ahgram.
Chintae stopped in her writings. Ahgram, that word still held a great deal of fear for her. The mere memory brought up countless years of torture and vice. The splendid city and its gold roofs had been the biggest prison she had lived in, ever. A wondrous one, but a prison all the same. And she didn’t feel her fingers would work anymore for the night.
Sighing, Chintae stoppered the ink, setting the quill down upon some napkins so that the remaining ink could dry without staining her desk. She left the journal open to air out, and dry the ink while she slept. She’d continue in the morning, her journal wasn’t going to write itself in a day. Her life was far too long for that.
Chintae doffed her heavy armor, that was now for more show than it was for the protection it offered, but it was one of those many things that she never really got unaccustomed to. She favored the heavy material, and felt naked without it. But it wasn’t something you slept in. Once properly set aside, Chintae climbed into bed in her under garments, curling under the blankets to warm up. Outside, the howls of the undead continued to wail on, but it didn’t bother her one bit. Another one of those events in her life that she had yet to write down.
Sighing, Chintae closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Drums of War
During the long winter months, when our fishers were at home and it was just another average day that we heard a sound not very common to us, but still made every person freeze with dread. The drums, a device we used for long distant communication from the beaches to where our village was safely nestled into the wilderness deep within the island. The first beats caught us confused, but as the intensity of the ma, or beat, quickened, the village rose into action. Warriors began grabbing bows and spears, while the women rushed for their children, herding them into underground holes that were so well hidden, they were practically invisible. Being the future of the tribes’ Shaman, I too, was shoved below with the children, although I was of age to fight alongside the others.
Even deep below where we hid, I could still hear the drums and the sickening silence when they stopped. The children, scared and frightened, huddled around me as we scanned the ceiling overhead, listening to any indication of what was going on. Eerie silence loomed and the panic it caused in the children made it difficult to keep them from keening. But soon, all too soon, was there no need to quiet them. Above, the first sounds of battle erupted.
The kids all clung to each other, the older ones putting hands over the mouths of the smaller children, urging them to be quiet as terror griped them. It was hard for me not to join them, but we had to keep quiet if we were to remain hidden and survive the attack. The future of the tribe depended on it, and seemed to sink in with the children for they quieted soon after the battle began.
When waiting for your future to be revealed to you, time seems to slow, like your trying to wade through muck. Even as the sounds of battle died, the endless screams of death finally wailed out, we still hunched down and waited, a sort of odd calm about us. Did we win? Do we wait? How many of us survived or were we all that was left? The anticipation made my gut roil, and I thought I was going to be sick. Even more so as I heard voices approach our location, voices I did not recognize.
“. . .Aye, dere be door ‘ere. Sumt’ing;s ‘idin’ down dere.”
I grabbed a club, a crude thing, but a weapon all the same, and gripped it tightly in my hands and waited. The voices overhead were havng trouble discerning how to open the door that hid our location. My eyes narrowed, as time still seemed to be even more peculiar as everything around me sped up and slowed down all at the same time. I took a deep breath.
The door opened, the light from above blinding us that had become accustomed to the darkness within, but I didn’t hesitate, I lunged at the first silhouette I found and swung. Whether I connected or not, I’ll never know, for I was quickly incapacitated and my world went black. . .
Chintae shut the journal and leaned back in her chair. How long ago had that been? 12 years? 12 years since they robbed her from land, from all she knew? Time had passed by so furiously since then it was hard to tell anymore. She had been sixteen cycles, or years as the Thestrans called it, when she was first set down in Telon.
The Cleric sighed again and got up from her chair, left her private quarters, turning left before the forts’ walls and down the circular stairs to the mess areas below. The men posted at the foot of the stairs came to attention and saluted her which she quickly nodded to put them at ease. The men eating lifted their heads, signs of worry and weariness etched into their faces. So many of them so young it was hard to believe she had been that age once.
She walked by a few choice men, the ones that looked like they needed the most encouragement for these dark times, and gave them a pat on the shoulder and a word or two of hope. They needed this. The constant seige on their gates had made it evidently clear how tough a battle to keep Haven’s Sanctuary was going to be.
Entries from Haven’s Sanctuary - The Begining
Prelude
Chintae stared out the window to the Ramparts far below her as her men continued to fight off the undead that assaulted their gates. She shook her head at the thought. Her men. Her outpost. She still couldn’t believe it, that the fight for Divine Grasp had been won, and now renamed to Haven’s Sanctuary, and a sanctuary it would remain.
A particularly cold gust of wind rattled the old windows, forcing her back from the window into the relative warmth of the fort. The fire had been lit and was doing its best to combat the constant chill that swept the Plains of Anguish, aptly named for the torture the denizens of the place had come to know. She had moved the often unused desk closer to the hearth to write in her journal in comfort. She took these breaks to check on her men, but the words of her journal kept repeating themselves in her head.
The Beginning
I began this journal to detail the events that come to happen in Haven’s Sanctuary, but quickly discovered that I was missing details of information that pertain to events that occurred in my life and had to pause in my journal to make notes that turned into stories. Well, I decided it best to just start from the beginning and explain who I am and what led me to the decision to conquer and take control of Divine Grasp.
My name is Chintae. I was born on an island that you now call Jalen’s Retreat. A small island that housed my tribe, a small fishing village in dedication to Sihari and her often volatile ways. I took the name Chintae when I turned thirteen cycles, meaning “Calm One”. It was also that day, when the Shaman of our village came and declare me his apprentice. I was to learn how to heal and mend wounds, be Shaman of the village when it came time for him to pass on. Being twenty-seven cycles of age, it was much to the relief of the village, and a source of much joy for my parents.
The Shaman started out with simple things, like making poultices, which herbs I could mix for certain cures, and soon, began teaching me about my abilities. He said my gift was Divine, but never elaborated on it, saying that in time, it would be revealed to me. What he did teach me was the basic principles of my skills. Identify the problem, concentrate and *channel* the flow of power and guide the body’s ability to restore itself. I must admit, it sounds much easier said than done. It took me several moons to finally grasp the concept of channeling. Satisfied with my progress, the Shaman soon let me practice my skills on the children. I asked if I would hurt them, and he said there was nothing I could do to hurt them that they couldn’t bounce back from. Children were amazing when it came to healing injuries. It took the least amount of energy as their bodies were so willfully ready to do the rest.
This led to a very close and loving relationship with the kids of the village and my desire to someday be a mother myself. I loved children, I loved everything about them, and they in turn loved me. I would tell them stories, and sing them songs, they would race all over the island to bring me flowers to make me smile. And when their parents went to sea, I would watch over them until they returned. If they returned.
If you come to know anything about Sihari, is that She is as changing as the sea. If Her moods demand it, She will wreck ships, just to placate Her chaotic nature, and if you don’t pay homage to Her, She will bring down Her ultimate fury forever cursing your soul to walk the beaches or roam the water. She can be a cruel Goddess to serve, but just as benevolent. She provided us with our way of life, for we were fishers, and seemed to never run short of food to supply our village. She provided us with much needed rain to make our water with, and grow our small crop fields with.
So in honor of Her, we would hold a prayer to her, a celebration that last three days and nights filled with feasting, dancing, and homage to Her, Sihari. Then our fishers would pack up, go out to the boats to bring us back the food that kept us fed through the long winter months.
Other than this, our days were long and peaceful, and if one does not understand the simple pleasure of life, like a child smiling warmly upon you, or the embrace of a friend, it would be hard to understand why those were the happiest days of my life. As it is, my first introduction to the rest of Telon was a jarring and fairly terrifying experience. But that, I’ll save for another day.
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