Aislyn's Notebook

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 18th, 2015, 9:45 pm

Twenty-third of Fall, 514 AV

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 18th, 2015, 9:46 pm

Eighty-seventh of Fall, 514 AV

Entry Eleven

A letter arrived today. It was rather peculiar, really- I rarely ever get letters. Actually, in my memory, I don’t think I’ve ever received a letter. I don’t even know this person- whoever they may be. It’s not even signed! Then again, I suppose that, with the way the letter is written, properly labelling something might be a bit hard. But again, I don’t know this person. They may have their reasons. Nonetheless, though it’s not signed, there’s still a return address. I think. I suppose a drawing of squiggles and lines could be a return address? Though I suppose a return address could be found in the letter. After all, the writer mentions having arrived in Lhavit... Wherever that is.

But what’s really important- and what really interests me, is the city I can only guess this letter was heading to. This one, unlike ‘Lhavit’, I’ve heard of. Kuvarakh mentioned it before, and not in a favourable light: Riverfall. Home of the Akalak, who are not… The kindest. At least, from what I’ve heard of them. I've yet to hear folk tales about these Akalak that are meant to keep children from misbehaving, but they sure don't seem like the most wonderful of races. Kidnappers, murderers... Rapists.

But concerning the letter... I've pasted it onto the page below.

Hi Van! Its been a long time since we tawked. But my writting is getting better so I decided to write a letter. I am in Lavit now and have been for a while. Everything is good you dont need to worry about me beeing safe. And I havent seen a single Akolak here. You dont need to worry about that either!

I made a litle map for you from the book with how we went from Riverfall to Lavit. I put some other things on it too. On the map, it looks like we past close to some cities in Iktol but really all I saw for the longest time was just water! I was very glad when we got to the city.

Lavit is weerd though. The people like to be awake both day and night. They sleep in little naps I guess insted of all at once. I dont get it -- night is for sleeping! Its also very prety here. There's a river here thats maybe as big as the Bluevayn. There are lots of mountins of course -- the city is spread across five of them! -- and almost all of the buildings look like theyr made of glass. It doesnt feel anything like actual glass though -- it's warm, where glass would be cold. Like I said its weerd!

error-free version :

Other than the obvious mix-up in delivery, this whole letter brings up questions... Is this "Van" an Akalak? Did this person, whoever they may be, come from Riverfall? Have they met an Akalak before? Where's Riverfall? Lhavit? Eyktol? I'm debating a response... But really, how could I not reply? With this many unsolved mysteries? And that's not even beginning to mention the map. At least, I think it's a map. It's a lot of circles and lines... And I can only assume it's still in common. I'll have to question that too.

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 19th, 2015, 1:42 am

Eighty-seventh of Fall, 514 AV

Entry Twelve

A letter sent the eighty-seventh of Fall, 514 AV. Contained in a travel-damaged, but otherwise neat, envelope, the note is written in small handwriting, with a large timestamp at the top. Outside the envelope is a return-to-sender sort of addressment, with a note scribbled down on the envelope in hasty handwriting; “To the sender of the letter addressed to Van”.

87th of Fall, 514

To Whomever It May Concern:
Hello, stranger!
I’m sure you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but what I do know is that I received your letter marked to someone named “Van”? I’m not sure how this mix-up occurred, but certainly you might have an explanation? I don’t mean to intrude, but I did read your letter, and several things interested me in your writing. First of all, would you mind explaining who you are? You didn’t specify in your letter, but I still thought I’d send you a correspondence to make sure you knew this “Van” didn’t receive your letter.

But off the topic of you, I suppose it would be only right to introduce myself. My name is Maya, and I live in the wonderful city of illusions: Alvadas. I’m curious to know if you’ve heard of it. I’m sure Ionu has showed their presence elsewhere? Being such a marvelous deity, they have to have showed up elsewhere? I’ve never been outside the city, so it would be nice to see how my deity has shown power elsewhere.

Now, since you know me a bit, I’d like to ask a few questions, mainly regarding this “Riverfall” you mentioned? And the ~~Acak~~ ~~Akl~~ ~~Akalk~~ Akalaks? Riverfall is full of them, right? Have you ever seen one? Did they ever attack you? I’m sure Riverfall is a dangerous place, if it’s full of these Akalaks. You mention leaving the place for this “Lhavit”... Did you have to escape? Are there any Akalak in Lhavit? Do they even allow them there? After all, murderers and kidnappers aren’t traditionally accepted in cities. At least, they aren’t accepted here. The Silencers don’t tolerate that sort of thing. Do your Silencers tolerate that? Or do your Listeners just ignore it? Lhavit must be an unlawful place, if that’s true. Hopefully not.
But that’s enough questions for one piece of parchment. I hope this letter reaches you swiftly, and I pray to Ionu you’re still there to receive it.
With Hope,
Maya

Letter :

To Whomever It May Concern. That’s a valid greeting for someone I don’t know the name for, right? After all, I truly don’t. I don’t even know if this mystery writer is a man or a woman. I know more information about the person the letter was meant to be given to than the person who sent the letter… A bit ironic, really. Maybe they’ll tell me a bit about this “Van”? I can always hope they tell me everything I want to know, even if I didn’t directly ask. Ah, well, I’m sure I’ll learn something from this. Never being outside Alvadas has it’s downfalls, after all.

Speaking of Alvadas… What really puzzles me about this mystery person and their mystery letter is the map that was nested with it. I mentioned it before, but now that I’ve thought about it, this could really help me. Back when I did my first job for Kuvarakh- the drawings for tapestries- I remember seeing a sort of map in one of the books from the Sunken Conundrum. It resembled this one quite a bit… It’s Kalea, isn’t it? Or at least, the big blob-shaped one is… Then there’s a circular one below it and a rectangle beside that. I don’t know what those are.

I’ve never seen any sort of map detailing more than just Alvadas and it’s surroundings before- the one in the Conundrum was the biggest one I’ve seen. Then in the letter, this person mentioned a place called “Eyktol”... Could that be one of the blobs? Or is it another city? My letter is swarming with questions, but could I really do anything else? I don’t know how long it’ll take the letter to arrive, so I have to fit everything into one letter. Otherwise I might never get the information I want.

by **Aislyn Leavold** on November 23rd, 2015, 11:39 pm

Twenty-second of Winter, 514 AV

Entry Thirteen

Placeholder

by **Aislyn Leavold** on November 23rd, 2015, 11:40 pm

First of Spring, 515 AV

Entry Fourteen

Today I believe we lost Wanda.
When I awoke, I was damn near lost myself, crushed beneath a crumbling wall of rock that turned to dust the moment before it killed me. For that moment, I believed Ionu was watching over me, until I saw the state of the world around my abode. Dust, dust... Everywhere. And children playing in it, too. At first I was sure it was an illusion, but there was no punchline to it. Just dust, and death, all around.
Then just chimes later, Phobius, gods bless the boy, managed to find me. Unfortunately, he brought Reysin with him as well. Luckily, the snake wasn't quite as much of a shyke as he could have been, but still. Ionu drags us together like there's actually a reason. But Yisanareysin is a different story. Wanda...

Poor Wanda.

We might have doomed her; Reysin, Phobius, and I. I didn't speak favorably of her actions... The same actions that led to the crumbling of two city blocks. Hai, nearly led to the crumbling of me. Three speakers approached us, when we tried to help Wanda. A woman of the ocean, a man with flowers for a beard that was called 'Severus' by the ocean woman, and an older gentleman, one with a strong accent and an outfit made of rainbows of layers. They gave us a choice, and then took Wanda with them. To... Well, I'm not sure. Nowhere good, surely.

And then there was the coin. The coin that was given to me by the speaker; Severus. I supposedly chose the fate of dear Wanda, but I can’t say I blame myself. I did what I could, I suppose. And now I’ve got a coin. A coin that isn’t really… a coin. Not anymore, at least. When I got home, I looked for it in my pockets, but it wasn’t there. Instead, there was a locket. One not unlike my mother’s locket, that I never truly take off. This one, however, seems different. I hold it in my hands now. It reminds me of an eye, in a way. ”There is a face for every occasion”, it says. Peculiar. It is a gift from the Speakers, but in the same way, seems like a gift from Ionu themself. Either way, it is a comforting weight, and unlike my own locket, Maya and Thief can wear it, too.

The only thing, is I can’t seem to open it. I don’t want to damage it, but the clasp seems stuck beyond reproach. I plan to investigate this more later.

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 16th, 2016, 1:56 am

Seventy-sixth of Spring, 515 AV

Entry Fifteen

I've returned from a rather eventful day. It was only supposed to be a commission; one of The Mischief, full colour. But it ended as much, much more than that.
Today, yesterday, and presumably tomorrow, the streets all turned to sand. Not any ordinary sand, though. Quicksand. I’d avoided it like the plague, of course, until an unfortunate series of events led to me being… Sucked in.
It wasn’t my fault, of course.

Underneath the city, there was nothing. Pillars, but those soon fell away, leaving me to fall to what seemed to be my doom. It was not a pleasant experience, journal, I assure you. I thought I was dead, then and there.
But I wasn’t.
And that was when I met the horned man.

The horned man that spoke in rhymes and riddles and enigmas and maps. He didn’t make much sense. That was, until I stopped hearing and started listening. He kept asking questions I couldn’t answer, and I kept wanting answers he wouldn’t give. He kept talking about potential, what was limited by what can’t, what shouldn’t, what won’t. Then I was given a choice.

I ended up below the city, in what the whispers call the Underground. From what I discovered, it’s always been there. I’ve just never seen it. But I can see it now, and I can return. I probably will, out of curiosity if nothing less.
A whole new Alvadas, right below our feet.
This city never ceases to amaze.

The DrawingBelow the entry is a sketch of the horned man, the words “Will you or won’t you?” written around the drawing in several places.

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 16th, 2016, 1:58 am

Thirtieth of Fall, 515 AV

Entry Sixteen

It has been a long while since I have laid eyes on this journal.
For the past thirty cycles of the day (I have counted), I’ve been within a body that was not my own. A body of one Nythis Drawne, if what he says is to be believed. Ionu appeared to have cursed me, or him, or us. It appeared that I was him and he was me, and there was no inconsistencies in the illusion, if it was an illusion at all. I was as tall as a tree, and had no sense from one eye and one ear. I was half-blind and half-deaf, and had another voice in my head. Sithyn, I eventually learned. Nythis’s… Brother?
I’m not entirely sure how it works yet, but it appears that these… Akalak… have two souls in one head. I wasn’t in his head for long, granted, but I don’t think I’d survive as an Akalak. I don’t like voices in my head, especially ones that don’t go away.

What was worse than a voice in my head, however, was a mind in my body. Nythis, of course, knew nothing of me, as I knew nothing of him, so he didn’t bother to use his mark to hide my face. Granted, I didn’t use mine to hide his, but that was because my mark was… Out of commission. I don’t know what happened to him. All I know is that he went around, his lumbering self, in my body, illusionless. I’m lucky I- he- wasn’t killed.

But in the end, I’ve learned a lot from these Nythis and Sithyn Drawne. I’ve learned that no one is truly safe from Ionu, no matter their homage or devotion. Faith is not enough, it seems. I must have guile, adaptation, and deceit on my side.
It appears, as a follower, I must be like Ionu themselves.

by **Aislyn Leavold** on January 16th, 2016, 2:15 am

First of Winter, 515 AV

Entry Seventeen

The DrawingPrefacing the entry, there is a drawing of the Speaker's Festival, depicting a large, round stage, with five figures standing atop it. Two being the Nuits, three being Speakers. Around the stage, a crowd that is big enough to be all of Alvadas is gathered.

I have a bad feeling about this.
Last night, I have no memory of going to sleep. But this morning, I awake in my bed. Where I last slept. But that’s not where I was yesterday.
Yesterday, I was wearing a mask of illusions and venturing through the Speaker’s event. It was so great, like a miniature festival of illusions. I’d never seen one so impromptu before. Yet there it was, like anything else. And it ended just as spectacularly as it began.

The pair of Nuit, whom I believed to just be a myth perpetrated by skirmish citizens in the seasons prior, were real, and gave the most wonderful end to the festival I’ve ever seen. They sung in a way I’ve never heard before. Possibly in another language, but not one I’d ever recognize. I don’t think it was even a language at all. Just… Beautiful. Beautiful words.
Then the Speakers joined them. The Serpent, the Mockingbird, and the Sea. The same three I’d seen take Wanda away, standing tall and under applause from what seemed like all of Alvadas.
But of course, just as Speakers do, they began to speak.
I remember very clearly what they said.

What is and is not, what was and what will be,
The past repeats itself under the guise of the future,
And yet both find a place in the present.

Then those last words, which I doubt any Alvad will ever forget.

They are coming.

Then... Nothing.
Darkness, an inky blackness. Like the moon and all it's stars had suddenly gone out, except even I couldn't see anything through it. But that was only for a second. For after that, I woke up. Daylight streaming through the windows. I woke just as it appeared every other Alvad had. Confused, and a little bit... Afraid.

Who is coming? When? Are they dangerous?
If the Speakers are meant to protect us, why can't they tell us anything more?
Is Alvadas in danger? Are we in danger?
Are we alone?

by **Aislyn Leavold** on June 17th, 2016, 9:17 pm

Eighty-First of Winter, 515 AV

Entry Eighteen

I fear my dread is not undeserved. The streets walk with unlife, in this hell of another Alvadas that I am afraid is not my own. Ionu is displeased, they all cry. Ionu has left us to die.
I know this now to be untrue.
A door appeared, in the center of Alvadas. It seemed to be what the Speakers had warned us of, what we feared, come to reality. I stepped through, and Ionu came to me. Or rather, I came to Ionu. I was presented with my... others, and they presented me with a challenge. To survive, and to choose. Between myself, and them. Them.

I chose Ionu. I chose the illusions. I chose my illusions, over myself, and Ionu has been kind.

Ionu never left Alvadas. I don't know how this happened, these undead creatures walking the streets of an Alvadas unlike our own, the Speakers leading as battle-worn warriors rather than stoic figures on a pedestal above our reach. It's strange, how they appear now. They lead beside us, not above us. Every single Alvad, brought down to the same level. The same danger is presented towards us all, Dira ever overhead. It is late, now, the sun sets on my first day in this hell. I do not sleep. The clashes of battle lie just outside the camp that has been constructed here, in this strange otherworld. Tents have been pitched, the space in which we lie dirty and unkept. The ground is hard and cold, and the food is dull, if not scarce. There is no exit back to the Alvadas we know. There is no escape back to the previous life, no assurance that we will ever return. What we have is faith in Ionu, and nothing but.

Ionu has rewarded me for my faith on this day, so is a sign that my faith is not unrequited. Ionu will not fail us.
Ionu will not fail me.

oocThe entry is signed with a traced handprint, adorned with an inverted triangle symbol within the center of it. Below it is a signature not only of "Maya", but also of "Thief".

by **Aislyn Leavold** on November 4th, 2016, 12:59 am

Forty-First of Summer, 516 AV

Entry Nineteen

I believe I may have deduced the meaning of all this ‘auristics’ mishmash. Tail, in hindsight, taught me quite a lot about magics I can only hope to one day wield but very little about the magic I properly hold in my hands at present time. I see colours; feel them, even, note the textures that different beings hold deep within their soul. But I know little about what these colours- textures- mean. So I have proposed a solution. I will write down every observation I make, and soon enough I will have the answers I seek.

Tail - Brown, watery
Mirror Man - Green (black?), watery
Dexius - Violet
Verlyna(?) - Watery, oily

From what I can see, auras seem much like paintings. People have different auras, different colours, different textures. Inadvertently, they paint their own masterpiece throughout their lives. But that is where my comparison ceases. Are the people given the paints, or do they choose the colours themselves? Do they choose their brushes, whether the strokes are large or small, the brushstrokes defined or smooth? Do they choose their mediums, or do they have layers of different kinds of paints? How much is decided by the painter, and how much decided by the gods? I have yet to investigate the quality of the aura, how skilled the painter seems to be. I suppose I’ll have to find someone to test upon. Do auras change? Can painters revisit their masterpieces, or are they carved that way from birth, for the artists to carry on their backs as long as they live? Can auras be destroyed? Do they have physicality, can they be torn apart like parchment and canvas?
There are simply too many questions to count. Tail spends very little time in proximity to me; we only barely spoke to begin with, and that was mighty fine by me. Now I am alone, and to investigate this painting problem myself. For now, I have theories.

The colours are still beyond me, but I have noticed a commonality in the texture. Oil paints seem to be less sentient, though not all living creatures have watercolour paints. Perhaps age has a factor in it. Gender seems to hold no effect, nor does personality. Or perhaps even more, I am simply too inexperienced to see these things. Perhaps these things will come clear in time.

But for now, I speculate. How does my own aura manifest? I have yet to attempt this. Would a mirror be sufficient to view something most always unseeable? I am wary to test this today- I feel already the fatigue the pycon man warned of. Yet it is so close- I am so close. Surely, I must be.