Transcript and breakdown of a journal of Bragain ApBlanc, from original on drive
Breakdown
Transcript
Title
This Journal belongs to Bragain ApBlanc No peeking!
17th of Kuthona, 1822
Today is my birthday and I am now six years old. Màthair gave me
this djornail as a presend. So that I can practice the writing she
teached taut me over the past year. Athair allowed Gilan, Morholt
and Petitcrieu to play with me in the great hall the whole afternoon.
This time I almost catched caut Gilan’s little doggie. When I turn
ate I want a puppy too! After we ate dinnear athair goed to his
room. Same as last night. Same as every night. Màthair told us once
that Athair plays the lute very well. Yes! I heard one of the
villagers calling him the young minstrel. I wish he would play for us
one day. Before he married Màthair he was holding merry feasts in
the big hall. But after the wedding he no longer aintertined. Maybe
that is why Màthair is always so sad.
5th of Pharast, 1824
I still do not have a dog. But with all the chores Màthair gives me I would have no time to play with him anyways. All this reading! But today something exciting happened: Mom gave me a book to read on my own which I have never seen before, and it is our secret! It is about a god of old, Diancecht, who cares about healing. There is a symbol of him in the book which looks a lot like the amulet Màthair carries around her neck: a crossed acorn and mistletoe. I tried some of the incantations on a hurt animal I found in the woods and it mended the broken bone!
12th of Gozran, 1825
I feel the days when Athair’s men pull out all the new trees after the snow has melted, are the hardest for Màthair. She is so much sadder. Almost as sad as the day when Athair found out about our secret and took Diancecht’s book away from me. I have never seen him so angry. Gilan has Petitcrieu and even on his eleventh birthday last week didn’t want to do anything but play with him. Morholt is too busy pleasing either Màthair’s piety or Athair’s fascination with swords and such. Nobody cares about me and now with the book gone, I am back to being bored.
21st of Rova, 1826
He is dead. Torn to pieces by Athair’s wolves. I hope that by writing this I can get the horror out of me. I was at the window, watching the servs setting up in the courtyard for the last day of summer fest, when Petitcrieu darted out of the stables, a pack of Athair’s wolves on his heels. With his stubby legs he was easy prey for them. But what happened next, will be forever burned into my memory: Trying to save his beloved pet, Gilan ran at the wolves. Immediately, they turned on him. Athair came running out of the stables, shouting at the wolves to leave Gilan be. But to no avail, it needed him to wade him and drive the wolves off with his sword. Some of them still carried pieces of Gilan in their slavering jaws. There is little left of him to bury. Summer has ended, the autumn rain has started to fall. I turn to the memories of Diancecht’s book. Athair took the book away, but its pages never left my mind.
2nd of Neth, 1830
I am worried about Morholt. He tries so hard to please both of our parents and is often caught in the crossfire between their thinly veiled barbs at each other. Luckily, with 15 he is old enough to lead the servs on their supply trips to the village and I can go with him. A welcomed escape for both of us. It was on today’s trip that he encountered someone who might change his life: Duncan ApDuguid, a priest of Morrigan, the goddess of war. I haven’t seen Morholt so excited since he got his first real sword. He even bought me the leather cloak I had been eyeing for some time. He went on and on on the way back how following Morrigan would please both Màthair and Athair: He could follow one of the old gods and become an accomplished warrior at the same time.
19th of Abadius, 1833
Today is the day Morholt has been looking forward to for a long time. He has followed the teachings of Morrigan diligently since that fateful day in three years ago. I suspect he trains so hard because he is looking forward to war taking him away from this bleak place and our bickering parents. He even got the crossed swords of Morrigan tattooed over his heart! My studies of Diancecht are progressing as well, although not as quickly as Morholt’s as I have to keep them a secret from Athair. My powers have grown and I have started trying to drive away the ghosts which roam the halls of the keep at night. With mixed success. But I digress: Today is the day Morholt’s mentor, Duncan ApDuguid, is visiting Keep ApBlanc, to spend an evening of discourse with us.
20th of Abadius, 1833
Now it’s only me. Another tragedy sought out our family and took Morholt from us. He was only 18 years of age. And to think that he gave Duncan his own more comfortable bed as a sign of hospitality, only to be murdered by him in his sleep. Duncan cleaved the whole bed in two and Morholt’s entrails were all over the floor. I can only imagine how cold-blooded this Duncan must be as he went back to his room, just dropped the bloody sword next to his bed and fell asleep. That is where Bonnie, Màthair’s most trusted maid, found him, when Athair ask her to wake Morholt to break fast. Athair tried to have his men slap Duncan into iron and haul him off to the dungeons, but a priest of Morrigan is not easily restrained. He struck down several guards and never returned.
22nd of Abadius, 1833
Wanting to bid my private farewell to Morholt, I slipped into the hall where he was prepared for the burial. I set out after the sun had set so that I wouldn’t run into Athair. But the hall wasn’t empty despite the late hour: Bonnie and Màthair were bend over Morholt’s body and something caught the flickering light of the lamps between them. Bonnie held what looked like a small piece of metal, almost like a shard of a sword blade. A meaningful glance was exchanged between the two women.
24th of Abadius, 1833
Death seems to have become a steady guest in this keep. This morning Bonnie was found at the bottom of one of the round towers of the keep, apparently leaped from an upper window, killing herself. Màthair wept bitter tears, having lost her closest confidant.
1st of Arodus, 1838
Tonight, I made progress with the ghosts of the keep. I was able to corner one male ghost who has eluded me so far. Conjuring down Diancecht’s blessing of healing I was able to touch the ghost who promptly contorted as if in pain and disappeared. I hope I put him to rest. My hand is still shaking as I am writing this mere moments after the encounter. I have taken to carry my journal with me in a hidden pocket in my favorite cloak to keep it on me at all times. It seems the safest way to keep it from unwanted prying eyes.
2nd of Arodus, 1838
I hope that I can read my writing someday as I am writing this in complete darkness. Maybe I should have seen it coming, but it still comes as a shock to me that main own Athair throws me into a lightless cell. Which also seem to hold hardly any air. Again, he was so furious, shouting that he will only let me out if I swear off following any of the old gods. Diancecht, help me to find a merciful death down here.
Date unknown
It becomes hard to track time without the sun and the moon to track the passing of days. But judging by the growth of my hair a year might have passed. Maybe the almost complete lack of food and water makes me see things, but I had a visitor. In the darkness I was only able to see its outline which is barely illumined by a swirling eye of a storm on it chest. It doesn’t speak but gently touches my mind when it lets the cards dance along his fingers. For sure Diancecht has answered my prayers. I understand that the creature has come to “set things right” and “restore what cannot been disrupted”. It has conveyed that it has means to whisk me away from this prison and it’s waiting for the right moment in time to do so. And while we wait, we play. Makes time fly.
The game has ended
all the cards in their places
still, I am alone.