Vella's journal

Llama’s note: Before I let you get on with reading the story, I wanted to make a couple observations. First off, this month I decided to go for a different format! The story is constructed as entries from the journal of Vella Meier, a sorcerer who played a crucial role in the creation of the dragon bloods, and who is also Isac’s ancestor. Second off, you’ll notice that the entries are written to be in “the third month of summer” – that’s sort of a placeholder, because Vella would have obviously just used the name of the month. However, I’m still working on coming up with names for the months that would make sense within the world of Boc, so a placeholder it is for now.

On to the story!

10th day of the third month of summer

Today, we did it. I am beyond jubilant. I am overcome with feelings I cannot describe, for no words could make them justice. How could I possibly capture on page this intoxicating concoction of triumph, relief, joy and pride, when my being can hardly contain them as they electrify my every nerve, take up my every thought?

I did not think I would see the fulfillment of my dreams – I fancied myself an old woman, wrinkled and bent yet still diligently toiling away at my spells and wards and runes, when a resolution would finally be achieved. And in moments of deep sorrow, when progress stalled, I tortured myself with the possibility I’d never live to see it all come together – and in the darkest, cruelest crevices of my mind, dreaded neither would any of my descendants.

Yet it is done. We all went over the ritual, again and again, and we cannot see anything else to improve. We cannot see how it could fail. The wards are well constructed. Each step to be taken, each ingredient to be used – how the blood shall mix, how the magic shall be channeled and conducted – all is written down in a rigorous and plainly, clearly defined guideline. We have achieved what our great-grandparents started, and we kindle hope for the future.

I ramble. I ramble and I ramble but I can hardly restrain myself – truly, I can hardly write, for my hand can't keep up with the torrent of words I need lay down. Thoughts upon thoughts upon thoughts, like a rope looped once, twice, thrice, a thousand times!

This wonderful revelation of success came over us almost explosively. We’d all – or at least, those of us not needlessly fatalistic – started to expect we were approaching this most-anticipated summit, which for so long has appeared to us obfuscated by gloomy clouds. The mist was starting to lift, finally, though we barely allowed ourselves to hope, for we’d trodden this road before, seen this artifice before: we’d thought we’d clambered to the summit only to find ourselves sliding back down the mountain of progress. We’d underestimated just how close to the top we were this time.

The wards – they have been imagined and re-imagined, drawn and re-drawn, checked and re-checked, went through drastic and minute changes, all to be perfected into what they are now. We’ve meditated for hours on end, extending tendrils of our powers to explore, to comprehend, to to tap into the very fabric of draconic magic. Human and dragon worked together to construct this ritual – this magic of such likes as never attempted before. All we’ve learned, all our work is now bound between leather covers, blue ink on paper depicting runes, describing rules.

I should be sleeping. It's late at night and Elke says I deserve a good night's rest, for tomorrow we set off to meet our allies and lay before them our discoveries. But how could I put head to pillow before yet putting pen to paper to consecrate, by my own hand, this wonderful revelation? Though intense excitement does lend itself to just as great an exhaustion, each and every of my nerves is still too electrified for sleep.

Aunt Mila warns against my rampant optimism – she says that it is way too early to get this celebratory, that this is only the beginning. I find her somber caution unwarranted, though I cannot help but agree, to a certain degree, to the latter. We may have figured out the ritual – we may have our rules, our guidelines, our list of components and ingredients – but we have yet to gather our subjects, we have yet to put it all in practice and see our much desired results become more than fanciful expectations. Aunt Mila says much can go wrong in practice, but I believe we are due some confidence in our craft, and all that we poured into it.

Soon, the world will change – and we will have been the ones to make it happen.

For now, sleep.

11th of the third month of summer

Mother, Aunt Mila and I set off on our journey before the first rays of sun streaked the horizon. Our allies are the only ones knowledgeable about our departure, while the rest of the Academy remains none the wiser. It is no difficult feat – such is the vastness of our castle, and so great the ranks of students and teachers it hosts, that it is easy for friends to not stumble into each other for days. Who’s to say we haven’t passed through the great halls or aisles of the library? And even should our absence be noted, it shall appear unremarkable. Scholars are wont to locking themselves up into their studies – I, Mother and Mila especially. We can freely take the journey and rouse no suspicion.

Yet we still employ great caution in our venture. We exited through means of the secret passages that run all throughout and underneath the Academy, into a thicket were our horses awaited. We donned disguises: transfiguring our features, coloring our hair and eyes in new shades. We wear traveling clothes not of our own wardrobe. They’re practical, comfortable and utterly unremarkable. We stay away from well-trodden roads and take on the wilderness of the woods. We have Elke, our trusted scout, flying high above us in the guise of a raven, scouring the surroundings.

We made camp at dusk. It’s night now, and I’m writing this by the bonfire’s light while my companions slumber. Elke has made a nest for themselves in the folds of my cloak, still in their avian disguise; tomorrow they’ll be able to discard the black feathers for their green scales, once we are safely with our allies.

I stand as guard for our party, though the task is rendered rather obsolete by the alarms and protective wards we’ve cast about our camp. Still, I wanted a little while to myself. My body is tired and saddle-sore, yet my mind is far too animated for sleep.

Today has been long, made longer and duller by the excitement and anxiety]that propels me forward and wears my nerves thin alike. By tomorrow afternoon, we will have reached our destination high up in the mountains. In an abode dug into the stone we shall meet our draconic allies and present our finished work. Together, we shall discuss the next course of action.

Our allies are all great in character – and some of them, in stature as well. But greatest of all I find the scope of our mission. It reminds me of being a little child, standing at the base of the grand hill which our Academy crowns – stately, imposing and splendid with its slender, sharp towers cleaving the sky. I am reminded of feeling small and humble. But stronger yet is a different impression – of feeling awed – of feeling determined.

I am ready.

12th of the third month of summer

We arrived at our destination well into the afternoon, as we predicted. On arrival we were shown to your chambers and given time to eat, wash, and divest ourselves of both magical disguises and traveling clothes. There’s is always a sense of relief upon finding again my own true reflection in the mirror; but more often than not it comes accompanied by an odd sensation of nakedness, of baring too much. As if all guard and mask have been stripped away to reveal my self in far too stark, too intimate clarity for any prying eyes that may look upon my face.

It passes by the time I don new clothes and comb my hair, which has once again been restored to its dark curls.

In truth, I’m writing this as I wait in my chamber to assuage my nerves. Any moment now I shall hear the echo of my summons, and I shall make my way deeper into the mountain, in the great cavern we converge. We each have our part to say, and I’ve thoroughly rehearsed my speech.

I hear the toll of the bell ringing off the walls. It’s time.

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Oh, I’m overwhelmed – in the best of ways! I should say that words cannot describe how I feel, but there is a wealth of words I could list to do so, but I won’t waste paper and ink flaunting my rich thesaurus.

But what’s the cause of such intense emotions? Elke and I may or may not be the ones sent out to seek and gather our ritual’s candidates. I say ‘may not’ though I am ready to plead our case most convincingly to all those who doubt our ability to undertake this task. Well, I suppose Elke has no need of it, since favor leans so heavily in their direction; I have yet to know the full extent of my support.

But I am now more than ever determined that it should be me sent out, especially should Elke go as well; we make a marvelous pair. It’s a thought I’d previously mostly entertained as a fancy in between tracing meticulous runes and exhausting myself over extensive meditation. A little harmless jest between Elke and I, though I could tell it left a more serious impression on them than they showed, as it did on me.

Today, we presented our work. They listened patiently, attentively, and asked many questions at the end, seeking clarification, seeking to test possible weaknesses. We had answer for everything, and our allies were most delighted with the results. So we talked about our next move.

We shall gather our candidates. Fair and Wise Hieran reminded us of the list we’d all constructed with possible subjects for the ritual – well, a list my mother and her siblings worked on with our draconic allies rather than me or my cousins. The list should now be poured over again, shortened, filtered, refined. But there is also the matter of who shall be sent out to find and assess these candidates, of who shall present the mission to them in hopes of their acceptance.

The draconic allies have their suggestions. Elke counts among them; I was filled with pride to hear my dearest friend’s name put forward. Then they turned the question on us, to suggest one of our own. Aunt Mila earnestly presented a pool of worthy options: one of hers and mother’s siblings, or perhaps even one of my older cousins. Mother smiled one of her arch smiles and said there are many capable in our family who could fill this important role. Perhaps one of our younger members, of a bright, eager, earnest character.

Then I was surprised to find the question turned on me. I pondered for a brief moment, then opened my mouth and proffered myself as candidate. The dragons nodded, considering it with a seriousness which yet surprised me – and pleased me greatly. Brave and Spirited Lisline turned to Elke and said: “Vella is a good friend of yours, isn’t she? She’s a studious and skilled sorcerer, we’ve been told.” And Elke replied: “The best friend I could ask for! She has done so much for the cause, and still would do so much more.” The dragons exchanged glances; I could perceive a sense of approval.

Mother jumped in to support me, while Aunt Mila remained reticent – neither arguing for or against me, simply conceding I did indeed play a crucial role in developing the ritual, and completing it.

The Honorable Hieran said the pair sent out should be one that could work well together; that understand each other, as well as the gravity of the task. There seemed to me a growing support for Elke. All the work they’ve done as scout, as spy, as diplomat between the humans and dragons was brought up and discussed with pleased and praising tones. I got, though more subtly, the impression that it’d be desired I join them. Nothing was said directly though – our allies entreated us to go back home and discuss the matter within the family. Afterwards, a decision shall be made.

Elke and I have already made our decision. It shall be us.