Leafiara Files Report about her capture behind Barricade

Leafiara was captured recently and files her report about her time behind the barricade in Chaston’s cleansing camp.

http://bit.ly/2ehA8iN

Category: Towns
Topic: Wehnimer’s Landing

Date: 10/09/2016 07:42 PM CDT

From: LEAFIARA

Subj: Leafiara's account to the militia and an attached personal letter

OOC:

I wanted to give you all an account of what happened when Leafi was taken captive in the cleansing camp since the events there were seen only by me (and Kenstrom) and I thought they were interesting enough to share. This is my first time doing this (and posting in the officials at all!), so please, please, please give me any feedback at all about what you liked or didn’t like since I want to get better any time I do writeups like this again in the future.

I’m not 100% familiar with the Landing’s many “titled” characters (player characters, I mean, but NPCs too) since I’ve only really been involved with the story the past month and a half or so, but after the incident the other day with Rhayveign being ejected from a strategy meeting, Leafi knows enough that she’d only deliver her two letters to the militia and other well-known town defenders. (Whether that’s enough to keep them safe, well… we’ll find out!)

So other than obviously getting copies to Pup and Stormy, she’s sent them to the likes of Cryheart, Ariond, Shinann, Goldstr, etc.

I’m bubbling over with things I really want to add OOC-wise, but even though it’s kinda killing me not to, I won’t say any more right now because I know from the writing classes I took in college that I shouldn’t interpret what I write for you before you’ve had a chance to look at it without my “filtering.” (But I will update with some more OOC comments after enough of you have read this or enough time has passed!)

So here we go!

~ Introduction ~

To Mayor Puptilian, Captain Stormyrain, and the rest of our militia and defenders, from Great Lady Leafiara, a half-sylvan cleric of Wehnimer’s Landing.

The beginning and ending of the strange events I write to you about now are that in the earliest hours past midnight on Restday, day 9 of Jastatos in 5116, I was mysteriously taken captive to and released from the cleansing camp occupying the east side of Wehnimer’s Landing, both in the same night–no, even the same hour. I say “released” because I wasn’t freed by our forces, but truly and sincerely released by Disean the Blameless for no reason I could understand either then or now.

Saying that alone makes this a strange and haunting incident, and one I’m already certain you’ll want to read about. Besides that, I’m the only hathlyn that I know of who’s been captive in the camp and now freely walks the streets again. Knowing I shoulder the responsibility of the only insider perspective in these lands, I’ve taken great pains to recall every detail I could–and to record every thought I’ve had on what anything that happened to me could mean.

This was a nerve-wracking ordeal, so rather than writing last night, I present it to you now, having slept on it to calm down and recollect myself. One day my account might be recorded into our history more openly, and I’ve written them believing and hoping that they will, but for now I urge distributing this account and its information only to the most trusted.

I’ve also included for you a personal letter, which can be distributed to anyone you see fit to receive it–or distributed to no one if you believe it’s not for the best at this very volatile time. I leave that up to you.

~ Arrival into Captivity ~

All through the night our militia had fought a multi-pronged battle at the docks, at the gates, in the forests, and on the streets against all manners of attackers–Torren warships, white-armored crusaders, and even subduing our own uprising of civilians enthralled by Chaston’s unnatural sway over them. At times I feel like I would give anything to fight alongside all of you, but I’m not powerful enough yet to help your efforts more than I’d hinder them, so I was in the square raising our fallen defenders from the dead as best I could.

That’s when they struck: some acolytes in white robes rushed the square and pulled me away faster than I could blink, straight toward the cleansing camp. After bringing me in, they threw me into a room alone and seated with my legs bound, surrounded by the scent and sights of dried blood, burned bodies, and heavy chains hanging from the walls. Any of the many spiritual magic users who tried to locate me might be able to confirm the sights, at least.

Truth be told, I’m known for considering dangerous plans that put myself–and only myself–at risk if there’s something we can get out of it, whether it’s acting as bait or staging myself as a sacrifice. (And this is why I’m not a member of our militia myself; rightly or wrongly, I’ve talked myself into believing that nobody with any sense would approve my plans.)

So ever since the barricades were put up, I’d already been considering what our options would be and what we might learn if I were snuck into the camp under the guise of being a captive–and that kept my wits with me even now that I’d found myself delivered into their hands as a real captive. In addition, the crystal amulet I’d activated earlier kept me in contact with our knights and militia; I knew they were considering every option to rescue me.

Besides, even if they didn’t find me, I don’t fear death and I’ll add that Chaston–or Raznel, or whoever is behind this black blood plague–had already taken from me the most important thing in my life, so what more could they do to me?

Still, I’d been brought to the camp on the acolytes’ terms and not mine, so my first instinct was to escape; since I knew for sure that they wanted me captive, I also knew that getting away would disrupt their plans, even if only for some precious moments. My bonds had no give as I pulled at them, though, and I couldn’t stand or reach the door.

Before I could try anything else, two of the acolytes entered the room with me. I’ve encountered acolytes like this and their power can be fearsome, so I tried to cast a protective spell and traced a protective symbol that I’ve learned during my duties at the Order of Voln, but both failed. Not that I’d expected them to work, of course–there are antimagic forces even outside the barricades, never mind behind them, and anyway they should have bound my arms and gagged me if they hadn’t already taken other precautions to make those restraints unnecessary–but one has to try everything she can when the stakes are high. That’s the way of a cleric who rescues the fallen, or at very least that’s the way of this cleric.

There was nothing I could do if they wanted to slay me, but I feared more that their plans were worse than merely slaying me. My only available weapons were words and I used them–I threw sarcasm at the acolytes, anger, mockery, defiance, anything I could think of that might provoke them into doing something they’d regret, something they didn’t originally plan on when they took me.

But, as I told those who heard me over the amulet, the acolytes remained eerily silent for moments that seemed like ages.

~ Two Kinds of Hathlyn ~

After some time, a half-krolvin prisoner was thrown into the room alongside me. I asked if he was alright–optimistic, I’m aware–but he was too beaten to answer. The acolytes looked him over and whispered something amongst themselves, but shook their heads and seemed to disapprove, and then one of them laid his hand on my arm and lingered there. His hand was noticeably cold; not painfully cold, but enough to make me shiver.

Next the acolyte bound my arms, bound my legs even further than they had been already, and ran his hand up my arm. Normally a man’s intentions when touching a lady like this would be–best left unspoken–but as I said, this acolyte had the furthest thing from a warm hand. It was very chilling to the touch and to the soul and for the first time since I’d been captured, I was rattled and spoke straight from the heart:

“Remove your hand from me now.”

Deep down I’m sure I knew he wouldn’t–and he didn’t–but I’d spoken on instinct… I tried to reach out for help by thoughts again only to find that I’d been cut off from the outside now. I barely held myself back from shaking as I braced for the worst, trying to maintain what was left of my composure. I don’t know what I expected next, but what actually happened baffles me even now:

One of the acolytes withdrew a bug from within his robe and placed it on my arm. It bit me and began siphoning my blood–as much of my blood as it could drink, I believe, since this blood-sucking bug grew as it drained me and eventually changed from black to a sanguine color, maybe a sign that it was content or full. The acolyte must have been content too, since that was when he stowed the bug away, its job apparently finished.

Then, without a word, the two acolytes looked at the half-krolvin and stabbed him to death right before my eyes, as cold and voiceless as ever. By this point I knew I’d get nowhere by asking what they had done or why they’d done it, so I kept quiet–but as shocking as this had been, things were about to become much more strange.

~ Disean Mystery ~

Disean the Blameless entered the room, to my surprise, and told the acolytes he would handle me from there. My captors had gotten what they wanted with their bug and I felt sure Disean would cut me down, having no more use for me. In what I thought would be my last act of defiance, I mocked the three of them as mindless pawns, the two acolytes leaving without a word as always while I insulted them; they’d never spoken the whole time other than whispering to each other about the half-krolvin.

Disean approached me and, bound as I was, I could only await his killing slash, but to my astonishment, instead he released me from my bindings, pulled me up, and told me to flee, pointing me in the direction away from the camp. Not moments ago I’d wished I could jab the studs of my gloves right into his face, but now I was confused like I’ve never been–not angry at the Disean I thought had been my enemy, not grateful to the Disean who was now my rescuer, but only mystified.

“Flee?” I repeated, because it was all I could think of to say, and he only said another word: “Go.”

Thinking back on it, I don’t know if I should have. There were many white-armored crusaders around, so I couldn’t have made a run for it and tried to free other living prisoners, but maybe I should have tried to get more insight into what Disean was doing–or maybe I should have struck him down then and there.

In my bewilderment, though, and with a concern still lingering somewhere in the back of my very mind for whether any fallen defenders outside were still being raised in time without me–maybe defenders who had been slain while trying to save me–I did what Disean said: I left the camp.

~ Questions for our Consideration ~

The many defenders who were waiting for me outside, probably planning to break in, asked me everything they could about my experience. Here I’ve recorded many of their questions and my own.

<Am I still afflicted with the black blood?

Yes. That was one of the first things I checked when I was free, but it was too much to hope for that the bug would suck out the black blood, especially drinking from my arm and not my neck or face.

<What type of bug was it?

No bug that I recognized even though I grew up in sylvan forests. Among the few people asking if it was a scarab or a leech, I was asked several times if it was a beetle. I’m guessing there’s a story behind why, which someone will have to explain to me later, but no, not a beetle.

<Am I possessed or controlled now?

No, not that I know. I still hate the Blameless with all of my being; I’ll say more in my personal latter.

<Did I know Disean before that night?

No, the only time I had ever seen him before was briefly outside the gate with Ambrus when he first came to town.

<Why did the bug take my physical blood?

It’s been mentioned to me that the black blood affliction might be purely magical. It could be, but since the beginning I’ve believed we should also try studying physical blood itself and I’ve been working with Cruxophim to gather blood samples from both half-elves who show signs of the black blood and half-elves who don’t.

I don’t doubt there’s magic at work, but on this night people within the Blameless’ own ranks took physical blood from me, so I’m more convinced than ever that our blood samples will also be useful as we learn more.

<Why did the acolyte touch me?

He didn’t beat me, I didn’t sense magic flowing out of his touch, and he certainly wasn’t doing it to be… “affectionate.” Was he only trying to intimidate me because I’d shown no fear before then? For a while I thought so. After all, if it was only intimidation, then it worked… it was beyond any doubt the most unsettling part of my captivity.

But I’ve been free long enough that I’m no longer unsettled… my head is clear and now I know what he was doing:

The acolyte was feeling for the best spot to extract my blood.

It’s so obvious that now I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize it sooner and report it the very hour I was released; he felt only my arm and the bug siphoned from my arm, so it’s as straightforward as could be. I’m also sad to write that I don’t remember where on my arm he finally settled. It happened so quickly, came as a surprise, and this night and many of these past weeks have been a very trying time for me.

<Why was the half-krolvin only slain after they took my blood?

On this subject… For now I believe that if they had approved the half-krolvin when they looked over him, they might have taken his blood and slain me instead. Just like I’d expected Disean to kill me because he no longer had use for me, they killed the half-krolvin after confirming I was the one they wanted–they had no use for him.

If I’m right, that means it’s possible half-elven and half-krolvin blood can both be used for their purposes>–and the only thing we share in common is being half-human. Others have raised the question of whether we should study the blood of pure elves as well as half-elves, but the key might be to study human blood.

<Why was I restrained in the way I was?

This might seem like an odd thing to reflect back on, but there’s mystery even in this.

In the beginning they brought me in with my legs bound and my arms free. Odd in many circumstances, but in this one it’s easy enough to explain, like I mentioned previously; with antimagic already at work and with captors who outnumbered and outpowered me, they only needed me to not run away.

Next they bound my arms when they knew they’d be taking blood. From one perspective, that’s also sensible; I might have put up a fight or smashed their bug if they left me free.

Consider this, though… The acolyte touched my arm first. Even before feeling for the best spot to take blood, he knew that he’d take the blood from my arm and not from–say–my leg, my stomach, or my face. So why wasn’t I brought in with my arms–the acolytes’ target–bound at the start?

Also, before taking my blood he further bound my already-restrained legs. Why so much effort to secure my legs when the blood was coming from my arms?

I can only speculate, but both theories I’ve had about this involve controlling the flow of blood before it can be extracted. One possibility is that they bound my legs tight to slow the blood flow there and speed up the flow in my arms.

I believe it’s more likely that it was the opposite, though: maybe they needed a very still captive with a calm blood flow–someone not putting up a fight, someone whose blood wasn’t racing with anger and desperation. The half-krolvin had been beaten, but I wasn’t harmed throughout this ordeal; what was different? Had he tried to strike back at his captors? If he did and I’m right, that might have assured his death.

<Most of all, why did Disean free me?

The best case scenario I’ve heard suggested, and the one I’d like to–but don’t dare to–hope for is that he’s a sleeper within the Blameless’ ranks, gathering information about the black blood affliction and how it can be cured. This possibility, however remarkably slim, is why I write this account to be given only to a select few in confidence. It can’t be leaked or we’d risk undermining Disean the spy.

One reason I didn’t immediately dismiss this as impossible is that the acolytes whispered to each other about the half-krolvin. Why hide your plans from your captive if you expect to either kill her in a few minutes or continue holding her for weeks? No, the most necessary time to hide plans from your captive is when you expect to let her go; were they already aware I’d be released?

The worst case, and the one I’m preparing for even though I don’t believe it, is that I’m more valuable to the Blameless free than captive because they now have a way to gain sway over me. I’ll speak on this in my personal letter and why I’m bracing for it but also hopeful that it’s not what’s happening.

More middling possibilities are that my blood will be used for sacrifice, used for their study, or used to spread the affliction further, and that they’ve discovered I’m a good test subject who they can capture again later for further extraction. As bad as these things would be, no doubt I’m not the only one who can be valuable for those purposes.

This remains one of the most important questions of my night, but for now it’s a great mystery. I’m sure I won’t be alone in reflecting on it further.

With that I conclude this account for the militia’s eyes only and proceed to a very personal letter.

~ Leafi’s Letter to the Landing, her Home ~

I love the Landing and her citizens–and almost as much as I love them, I despise Chaston and all others allied with him: the Blameless, Raznel, Drangell, Ambrus, and more. Since I was first afflicted, the black blood took away the most important thing in my life and it’s all I can manage to keep my composure by staying busy and doing whatever I can to work to find a cure.

What was this important thing? When I was a little girl–by human standards, anyway, since I’m still a very little girl by sylvan standards–I was raised from the dead by a quick and attentive cleric who found my corpse. As I’m sure many of you know, children are often denied the grace of a second chance at life, but I was one of the few. Some eighteen years later, I haven’t forgotten the face of that cleric.

I could never forget her smiling face of salvation. That’s all I wanted and all I still want to be: the smiling face of salvation who can comfort even the dead with the mere sight of her.

Chaston has taken much of that from me. Not all of it–many who know me well still love me, and for that I’m more thankful than words can say–but there are also those who would sooner decay and take their chances with the Arkati than be resurrected by a “blight” like me. Sometimes I can’t blame them; far from being a comforting face, I look halfway like an undead abomination who should be struck down.

If even the fallen refuse my help, then what am I good for? What have I lived for? I might as well have taken even more after my father than I do and trained as a ranger to defend our town more boldly.

Times have been very difficult for me recently, but I’ve tried my best to keep up my smile for all of my friends in this fair town, who deserve the real me–the real Leafi, the Landing’s “half-sylvan sweetheart” (so I’ve heard!), who has one of the brightest smiles and two of the the helpful hands around.

So I’m disheartened–but reluctantly understanding–that after I became the first to escape captivity in the cleansing camp, I was immediately asked whether I’m now possessed or controlled. It’s a sensible suspicion, seeing the sway Chaston holds over many, and in honesty I’d already wondered if I could be controlled even before I was brought to the camp. During one particular flareup of the black blood disease, I heard whispers that I couldn’t make out–an incident similar to ones that Shinann and Slivaer have also reported. I feared that maybe those whispers could be used to control me, but now I’ve written that off; it’s impossible. You see:

I wouldn’t have been forcibly brought to the camp in physical bonds if the black blood I’m afflicted with could have drawn me there in mental bonds.

That’s good news for the many others afflicted, but no comfort to me specifically since there’s no telling why I was brought inside the camp or what they wanted with me. I’ll never willingly turn against the Landing and its people, and even more than that I’ll never willingly side with the Blameless, but I can’t honestly promise to anyone in this town that my fists won’t be turned against my friends–that I won’t unwillingly turn against the Landing.

The only thing giving me hope that it’s not Chaston’s plan to control me is that I don’t see what use I’d be. I don’t have political power like the Mayor, I don’t have the authority to command like Captain Stormyrain or any of our knights, and while I’m certainly strong enough to rescue almost any adventurer in our town, I’m nothing compared to much of Chaston’s forces nor our own remarkable militia. It’s unthinkable to me that I would be used as a weapon and impossible that I could be used to undermine our forces politically.

Still, we must prepare for anything. I’ve seen strange things happen to our very own–people forced to kneel against their will before Chaston outside of Solhaven, for instance, and ever since then I don’t know of anyone in the Landing more prepared with supplies of tkaro root than me. If the worst happens and I’m turned against you–no, if my body is turned against you, then you have my blessing now to do what you must. It should be a triviality to subdue me, but I’m prepared for the possibility that I might even need to be slain.

I’ll close with this, writing to you from my own sound mind while I know that I can:

I’m with the Landing and I’m with her people forever*, who have given me the only lasting home I could find–for which I’m eternally grateful. Though things often seem bleak and we meet new challenges and raise new questions sooner than we can answer them, inside I still believe we will win in the end; I believe and pray that one day we’ll destroy Chaston’s armies and that all his heresies will be nothing more than a stain on history. And I’ll fight for that cause alongside you all with everything that I am, for as long as you’ll have me.

With Love,
Your Leafi