29 Mar 02

 
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Callie's Notes to Self

It feels odd to manifest to put quill to paper. Such a corporeal thing to do. But my thoughts carry me down paths that become murky as my own corona, and perhaps writing will help.

I cannot stop thinking these days about my father, about his goodness and wisdom and love, about his faithfulness to ways of Frey. Old memories haunt me. Haunt -me-!

So blessed were we in our prosperity, my parents in their fertility. So much peace befell our lands, and the horses multiplied, and our family multiplied, and blessings heaped upon us in abundant measure, that it was wise and right for my father to devote me, his youngest daughter, to the Priesthood. This was best for me too, of course. My devotion to my god, to my family, and to my land suited me well to the vocation, and I was happy.

My brothers and sisters grew to be jewels of our lineage, honorable and joyous, practical and steadfast. My mother held us all together, and put us right on those occasions when we went wrong. Hard times did come, occasionally, but our determination, faith, and proper living pulled us through again into contentment once more. We were grateful and most observant, of course. We prayed our thanks and gave offerings beyond expectation.

It was a good life, short as it was.

I studied. I thrived. Worlds of wonder opened before me in tutelage, and my already deep faith only grew deeper, my devotion stronger, my love purer. The closer I came to ordination and marriage, the more my bliss rang through me every day, from the breaking open of the sun's first light to the peeping of glittering stars.

My father, with perfect clarity, being such a wise and a devout man, chose the most wonderful match for me in matrimony. For not only was my intended's family one which would form a strong and fruitful alliance, but my intended himself was my ideal mate. Thoughtful, industrious, loyal, perceptive...

I cannot think too long on him. I must not dwell too long on the loss, for that way lies madness. Being a ghost is madness enough without being one of those miserable spirits who wail mindlessly for centuries.

Most of the time I do not ponder the day of my death either, for what is past is done and that is the way of things. Besides, being clubbed to death by a pack of raiders is not a fond memory to revisit.

I am bothered. There has been with me in recent times a restlessness in my particles that I cannot identify. The persistent longing for a place to haunt and a quiet night is being slowly diminished by a feeling. It is like an itch. Perhaps I am spending too much time with these living beings. Their keep has not been the most quiet and peaceful of haunts; always things going on and no rest for the dead. Perhaps their bustle has affected the atmosphere, which must also affect me.

Furthermore, having taken on responsibilities is a stupid thing for a spirit to do. How can I not be restless when I have animals, and now a child, to tend to? But if I don't, who will? What fate would befall them?

Now that we are in this place, this plane of wonder, from whence all blessings I have known have flowed, this restlessness needles me more still. I must see what there is to see in the world of my god and his clan. I must exhaust everything to get little Ariana to her home, yet I must also learn as much as possible in the process. It is almost as it was before.

I am almost ... excited!

---

Calendula Sperry is my current D&D character. She's a priestess of Frey who is suffering from amnesia and delusion. She thinks she's dead. Thanks to briefly being possessed by a recently slain, creepy but benevolent, spider matron, her delusions are now out of balance, and she may reach a crisis point in the near future.

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