Tales From the Kingdom of Pax

[AstriaS]

EDIT: Posts in this thread have been cowritten by myself and other members of Pax. Credit goes to those who contributed, where applicable.
Part One: The Arrival of a Writer

The waves crashed against the sand as consciousness began to return. Bits of splintered wood dotted the beach. As the woman’s eyes opened, only to meet with the retina-searing rays of the midday sun, she began trying to make sense of her surroundings. There was sand underneath her, and a sky above her; That much was immediately clear, at least. As she lay there, she watched as the sun inched across the sky with every blink of her eyes. This continued for what felt like hours until, finally, she managed to will herself into a sitting position.

The woman sat there on the beach for a short time, her mind filled with a fog of uncertainty. Where was she? How did she get here? She remembered a house, a storm, a boat, and her name, but she found herself missing the details between then and now. After deciding that merely thinking about the situation wasn’t answering any questions, she scoured the beach for any sort of clue that may illuminate the details of her predicament. While picking through the debris, she located a journal she immediately recognized as her own. Its pages, however, offered no insight.

Lost both geographically and mentally, she wandered down the beach, following the coast in the hopes of finding a boat. Or any sign of civilization, really. After what she figured to be roughly two hours of walking, she finally reached a dock. She gave a sigh of relief as she made her way to the door of the small building nearby, happy simply to have a chance to get indoors after the long walk. It was only after she met eyes with one of the men inside that she realized the truly sorry state she was in. Her clothes were in tatters, her hair matted with sea salt and sand, and the skin of her face blistery and red from sunburn.

“Ya okay there, lass?” The man questioned, “Yer lookin’ like a drowned wench what just climbed out the drink to haunt the cove who done the drownin’.” His question was met with silence and the rolling of eyes. After no answer came, he tried again. “Ya got a name?”

“Astria,” She answered simply. She had hoped that by giving a short, disinterested answer, she might dissuade the man from continuing. She found his manner of speaking more than slightly grating. Unfortunately, nothing is ever that simple.

“Well, I reckon since a dove like yerself showed her face in here, after walkin’ yer way here through the darkmans lookin’ like that, ye’ve either hopped the twig, yer an asker, or yer lookin’ for the blaguard what threw ya overboard. So, which’ll it be?” Astria, who hadn’t understood a word of that, just stared quietly with a confused look across her face. After a long silence, the man finally shrugs his shoulders and takes a draw from the bottle in his hand. “Ain’t no matter to me, anyhow. Reckon ye’ll be after a ferry or summat like that in any case. Ye’ll have to wait a while.” The man was going to continue, but he had finally said something the woman had understood, and she was satisfied with the answer.

Astria found herself a spot to rest in the building where she was out of the way, and cracked open her journal again. As she did so, her favorite quill fell from between the pages. Its vane was all but ruined, with barbs missing, matted together and bent. The rachis and calamus, of the feather, on the other hand, were still intact. She could still write with it, at least. She was offered some food and water, which she gladly accepted, and soon after, she lay her head on the table at which she sat to rest.

Morning came, and with it, the ship bound for Aladra. Astria had no money to pay for passage, but luckily she looked sorry enough to inspire pity. She was given a space in the hold where she could spend the journey, and one of the crewmen even gave her a change of clothes, though they didn’t fit properly. “Perhaps I should make a mess of myself more often,” the woman said to herself as she got comfortable. After acquiring a spare vial of ink from a nearby crate, Astria took out her quill again and began writing.

During the journey, the writer penned three poems, two of which she tore out of her journal, and the remaining one having most of its words scribbled out. She was disappointed, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Once she got off the ship, Astria walked across the docks toward the center of town, only to suddenly stop halfway there as a realization dawned on her; She was completely penniless. That, and her hair was still a mess.

Now even more lost than before, the penniless, messy-haired writer, just stared up at the sky, glowering at whatever entity up there was taking joy in her continued discomfort. Rather than going towards the town, Astria chose instead to go find somewhere to collect her thoughts. A short walk later, she found herself a small pond where she washed the salt and sand out of her hair. The woman stared at her reflection in the water for a moment, humming in thought as she pulled her white hair back into a ponytail. “Time to put my skill at lying to use again, I suppose.”

She returned to the town and, after silencing her conscience, began to weave the tale of a lost girl with no money searching for her missing sister. Part of the story was true at least. After talking a few handfuls of coin out of the pockets of charitable souls, Astria found a quiet place to count her take and formulate the next step of her plan. She wasn't pleased with herself, by any stretch of the imagination, but she did what was necessary at the time. She had gotten enough money, she reckoned, to buy a new outfit that fits and have enough leftover to pay the fare to get anywhere else before her story fell through. But where would she go? There seemed to be plenty of options, based on the rumors she had heard. However, despite the luxury of choice, Astria doubted all of the options available to her.

In that moment, the writer’s attention was seized by a nearby conversation between two townsfolk walking by. A story was being told; a story of a small town in Kalros with a handful of wealthy residents and room to grow... and in need of educated men and women like Astria, by the sound of it. Perhaps this would be the place she could flourish. She listened a while longer, and once she had all the information she needed, she made her way to the market to buy her new outfit.

After Astria finished in the market, she headed straight for the docks to catch the next ship to Kalros. No time could be wasted, considering the stunt she had pulled to get this far. This time, she didn’t bother writing during the journey, choosing to recite pre-written conversations, practice her introductions, and make sure she was as prepared as possible. She couldn’t afford to fail in her first impressions this time, after all. When the ship docked, Astria wasted no time disembarking and acquiring a map, and once she had one, she set forth towards her destination. Unfortunately, she hadn’t done her research about the local climate. One incredibly cold walk later, however, she arrived in a small village which, as far as she could tell, matched every description she had heard. She took in a breath and glanced around.

“So, this is Pax.”

 

[Silver911]

k

 

[Cryptite]

An enticing beginning!

 

[Thanielle]

Please, continue

 

[Thanielle]

k

Also, just stop.

 

[AstriaS]

The Sparrow and the Dove

In a time long gone, the skies were ruled by the songs of birds, uncountable in number but unified in song. Birds of all pitches would sing in harmony as to form a symphony performing a ballad of tranquility. However, on the tumultuous grounds below, the races of man forged a melody in the clashing of swords and shattering of shields. Soon enough, what once was a ballad of tranquility became that of a hymn of solitude. The birds had left, well all but one: the Dove. Among the birds, many became lost, their pitches all but drowned in scornful wind.

After abandoning her nest, the Dove flew north. She saw the land below her, desolate and barren as a result of war. She continued flying north, and the further north she traveled, the more she realized that no matter the circumstance the outcome was the same. War may gain resources, war may gain prestige, but war finds no solace in solitude. Before long, the Dove found herself caught in a storm of ice and snow. Thrown by the wind, she struck a tree and ended up with a broken wing. Unable to fly and stuck in the tree, the Dove perched on a branch and resigned herself to the inevitable.

But all was not lost as the Dove had thought. She sang a song that once brought her solace, one that she thought would be her last, but she was surprised to hear another bird singing its melody back. A Sparrow soon landed on the branch next to the dove. He saw the Dove’s broken wing, and began to build a nest. Over the coming days, the Sparrow cared for the Dove, bringing her food and making sure the nest was secure. And every morning, the Sparrow would sing that song for the Dove, likewise she would sing the song back to him.

One day, a veteran of the war wandered by and heard the Sparrow’s song. He found their nest, and looked at the Sparrow and the Dove with a growing smile on his face. In that moment, moved by the memory of what once was, the veteran drew his sword and planted it in the ground near the tree. It was to stand as a symbol of hope; Hope for peace among men.

Some years passed, and though the Dove and the Sparrow had long since left, the Veteran’s blade remained. After they became lost in a winter storm, much like the Dove herself, the blade was found by a traveler and his party. The engraving on the blade’s guard read “Pax Ubique”: Peace everywhere. That token, passed through the annals of time, emblazoned a new hope; A hope of peace everlasting.

 

[AstriaS]

Part Two: A Builder's Ambition

Astria's head collided with the table as she let out an exasperated sigh. A small pool of black began to form around the tip of her pen as she pressed it to the page of her journal. The writer remained in that position for some time, trying to pull the words out of her mind and write them out. Despite her best efforts, however, no words were forthcoming, and she finally gave up. With a huff, Astria wrapped the cuff of her sleeve around her thumb and wiped away the small, black puddle. The writer knew there was probably a better way to do it, but she couldn't really bring herself to care about the new stain on her shirt. After all, most of her belongings had ink stains on them anyway.

Astria had been in the village of Pax for two days now. She was comfortable, but she was becoming restless. Though her lodging was sufficient and her meals satisfying, the writer found herself wanting more. The village was very much in an upstart stage, having only a few small houses and a small inn of sorts where Astria was staying. As far as she had gleaned, there was no real structure or hierarchy to the hamlet, either. The closest thing to a leader at that time was the town's founder and lead architect, a man by the name of Nick. Beyond the name, though, Astria knew nothing. She hadn't even seen the man since she arrived, with the exception of the one time she saw him outside with some surveying tools. She wondered what his motives were. What made this clock tick?

Astria picked up her journal, snapped it shut and tucked it into her satchel. Her need to do something- anything- had once again grown enough to force her to go find her own entertainment. She pulled up her hood, headed for the door of the inn, and braced herself to be frozen to the bone once she opened it. She was far less concerned about freezing than she was about solving her growing boredom.

As expected, the writer was hit with a biting wind as she stepped outside. Though she felt as if her entire body had just frozen solid, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and soldiered on. She glanced around the area, scanning for any sign of the architect. At the very least, speaking with him would give her something to do, and if she was lucky she might even get answers to a few of the questions swirling through her mind.

From where Astria stood, there was no sign of the architect. This annoyed her ever so slightly, but she started to walk around in the hopes of finding him anyway. Much to her dismay, however, the snow began to pick up just a few minutes into the author's search. Her vision was quickly obscured almost entirely, and the cold wind began to cut into her even more. Astria, now even colder than before, cursed under her breath and turned to return to the inn. She may have been determined, but even determination was beaten by those icy northern winds.

Trudging through the snowdrifts, the writer began to grumble to herself. A very large part of her was beginning to regret ever traveling to Pax. But her grumbling was soon cut off abruptly as she ran into something rather solid. Solid enough to knock her flat on her back and bury her in a snowdrift, in fact. Almost immediately, a kind voice cut through the whistling of the wind. “Are you alright,” The voice questioned with a tone of heavy concern, “I didn't kill you, did I?”

Astria groaned and rubbed her forehead as she sat up to brush some of the snow off. “Well, I feel like I've been bludgeoned with an axe handle, but yes, I'm fine, apart from the possible concussion you gave me.”

“Here, let me help you up.” The obscured figure dropped the board he was carrying- the thing that nearly knocked Astria out- and began to help the concussed writer to her feet. Still seeing stars at that point, Astria wasn't really in a position to deny the assistance. The man helped Astria into one of the small houses nearby, and gave her a seat by the fireplace and put on a kettle. Astria slowly regained the sense that had been knocked out of her, and began to glance around the room. It was a nice enough little house, if a bit humble for her tastes. Then her gaze fell on her host, and she was struck with a realization; This was the man she was looking for all along.

“You are the one in charge around here, right?” She asked, pulling her hood down and beginning to comb her fingers through her hair. The architect didn’t respond immediately, at least not vocally. He offered a few simple nods, and took out a mortar and pestle along with some herbs. He carefully ground and mixed the herbs into a paste, which he then offered to Astria. “Here, for the cuts on your forehead. It should help, hopefully. Sorry, again. You’re new here, correct?”

“Right. I’ve been around a couple days,” The author replies, applying some of the strange herb paste to her injuries. To her surprise, it quickly relieved some of the stinging. “I was in need of a place to go, so I just… came here, really. I’m Astria, by the way.” She made a point of neglecting to mention why she needed somewhere to go. That, she imagined, was not a good way to make a first impression. Nick, at least, seemed to not care about that part of the story.

“What exactly do you… Well, what do you do?” The architect questioned as he shot a glance her direction whilst pouring two cups of the tea he had prepared. Astria, for the briefest moment, considered telling her host about a skill she didn’t actually possess, but yet again her desire to make a good impression outweighed her temptations.

“I’m a writer,” She stated simply as she pulled her journal just far enough out of her satchel to draw attention to it. “And you, I have been told, are an architect, Mr…” She trails off, purposefully leaving the blank for him to fill on his own. This was her opportunity to get the details she had wanted so badly, after all. She would have been a fool to pass up the opportunity.

“Nick. Just Nick is fine, really. I never did care for formal titles. Too… binding. And I prefer the term engineer to architect, if you’ll permit me to be pedantic. Just a preference.” He said with a content smile. To Astria, he seemed very much like a simple man just enjoying his life. It was a way of life she could respect, even if she did believe it to be horrendously boring.

“And this place- Pax, that is- this all your planning and your work? That sounds… Well, it sounds like a lot of work for one man. Excessive, almost.” She took a sip of her tea as it was handed to her and folded one leg over the other. “My compliments to you, nonetheless. It’s an ambitious undertaking.” Astria was doing her best to be complimentary without sounding like she was overdoing it, and when the architect began to laugh at her comment, she had figured that plan to have failed. “Did I say something amusing?”

“One moment,” Nick held up a single finger, and walked over to a small desk in the corner of the small house. He rummaged through the drawers, and began pulling out rolled-up sheets of paper. He chose, from the small handful of around seven, three rolls, and brought them over to the table. As he unrolled each blueprint, a clearer picture of the sheer magnitude of his ambition began to form. The engineer told stories of his plans for a great city; walls, buildings and streets all meticulously placed and planned. Finally, to crown the entire project, the man began to unroll the largest of his plans. Nick rolled out the beginnings of a blueprint, the paper covering the entire table, and he began to describe a great clocktower, tall enough to be seen for miles and with bells loud enough to shake the earth. That would be his crowning achievement, and that would be the symbol of the city of Pax. Astria’s eyes widened as the grand monument was described, and she slowly rose from her seat to look over the blueprint fully.

“You’re insane. You are quite literally insane. This… Something of these proportions… It’s impossible for one man to complete by himself.” Astria said as her brow began to furrow. She was now fairly certain that her host was attempting to lie to her instead of the other way around. Surely, she thought, he wasn’t serious. Nick simply laughed again.

“Oh, no no. You misunderstand. There will be multiple builders. It would most certainly be impossible to do it myself. Worry not about that part, I have a plan for it that needn’t cause you any concern. That said,” He poured the writer another cup of tea before continuing. Giving her an appraising look, Nick gave her a single nod. “You said you’re a writer, correct? I may have a plan for you in the future. I have need of people with a good grasp of the pen.” Astria hadn’t even had the chance to agree to the request before her host began to put away his blueprints and schematics. “I do hope we keep you around. But, I have projects I need to work on. Why don’t you return to the inn for the night and perhaps we can speak more tomorrow. I do look forward to discussing my plans with you further, though. I have a good feeling about you.”

Astria knew from that alone that she had gotten the architect excited, and didn’t want to interrupt his streak of inspiration. As a creative soul herself, she understood entirely. Sudden bouts of inspiration must never, under any circumstances, be interrupted. So, instead of continuing the conversation or trying to squeeze anymore drops of information out of her host, Astria pulled her hood back up and rose to her feet. After making a few parting statements, the woman departed, but she found herself rooted in place by her curiosity after she crossed the threshold. She stood on the man’s doorstep for a few moments, scanning the village quietly.

Some way in the distance, she spotted the start of a new house; foundations and the beginnings of a frame. She stared at the construction site for roughly thirty seconds before she turned around to look at the door. Astria hummed softly as she examined the door, checking the lock, the hinges, and the space between the door and the frame. Once done with her examination, she continued on to the inn. The snow and wind had calmed down, so this walk was far more pleasant than her last.

When she reached the inn, Astria ordered some food, and carried it up to her room. It was simple fare- mutton stew served with rye bread- but it was good enough. While she ate, the writer scrawled a few small notes into her her journal and kept an eye on a clock. She waited until midnight, and then made her way over to the window of her room. The town was quiet, and she knew her chance was upon her. She grabbed the spoon she had been given by the inn’s cook and went back outside, headed for Nick’s house once more. When she arrived, she immediately began examining the door again. For a moment, Astria wondered if her desire to find something to do had gone too far. But that thought was quickly forgotten as she jammed the handle of the spoon between the door and the frame. Working as carefully and quietly as she could, the writer used the utensil to force the lock and open the latch. Luckily for Astria, the door was that simple.

Once inside, Astria crept over to the engineer’s desk and pried open the drawers. She began to open and look over the rolled-up building plans. She felt as if for every blueprint she took out, another five appeared. Finally, after nearly ten minutes of searching, she found it; the plan for the incomplete house she had seen earlier that evening. Astria folded the blueprint and tucked it between the pages of her journal before she began putting the desk back in order.

As the author settled into a chair back in her inn room, she took out the blueprint and began to study it a bit more closely. The plan was detailed, but not so detailed that she felt lost, and everything written on the plan was quite concise and easy to understand. Yet again she was beset by the concern that she was going too far in her desire to rid herself of boredom, and yet again was the thought dismissed. Astria put the folded parchment back into her journal. With a soft, content sigh, she lay down on the bed in the corner of the room to rest.

The next morning, as the sun’s golden rays flowed through the windows of Pax and the innkeepers started their cooking for the day, Astria made her way outside and began to walk through the village, taking note of the villagers’ morning routines. Some went towards the coast with fishing rods in hand, and others went towards the fields and sheep pens. Of particular interest to Astria, though, was the path of the village’s carpenters and masons. She watched as one by one they approached a shed near the end of town, which the writer soon figured out to be a storage building. As the builders would approach the shed they each presented the workers around it with a piece of paper, and a few moments later, the workers would begin to follow the builder to the construction site with supplies in tow.

After watching the exchange a handful of times, Astria took out her journal, and opened it to the page where she had placed the blueprint. She looked at the small drawing she had made in the corner of the page; a sketch of a crown she had made while she was on the boat to Kalros. Though it wasn’t the greatest drawing, she was content enough with it. It was only a tiny sketch, anyway. She took the blueprint from the page and began to approach the shed.

“Excuse me,” She said with a small wave toward the workers. “I was told that I needed to come talk to you for… supplies and directions.” The woman made sure to put on a naive, innocent face, and held out the blueprint to the nearest of the men. He took it, and began to look over it quietly.

“Building a house, hm?” The man gave Astria a once-over, and motioned one of his co-workers over as well. “Forgive my saying so, but you don’t look like you’ve ever picked up a hammer, let alone built a house.” Astria could only nod silently in response to that. Even a good liar can’t make up for a lack of calloused hands.

“You’ve got me there, that I will grant you,” She finally responded. “But I have been looking for something to do, and I figure there’s no better time to learn.” The worker proceeded to give the writer a dead, unamused look, which he held for a number of seconds. Astria was about ready to concede and head back towards the inn before the man’s lips curled into a small smile, and he and the other workers began collecting supplies for a day’s work.

“I always have liked determined folk,” The worker chuckled as he handed the author a hammer and a box of nails. The other workers began to fill a wheelbarrow with bricks and pick up some lumber. Astria, who hadn’t expected this to go quite this way, stood there and let the workers do their thing. “I’ll even help you along. These fellas can handle the shed on their own, I’d say.”

The workers delivered Astria’s materials to her construction site, and a few of them gave her a few bits of valuable advice before they left. She stood there, looking at all the materials with a lost expression across her face. A few moments later, her new mentor caught up with her, and handed her a pair of work gloves. “You’ll need these, Miss,” The man said as he started to sort out the materials they’d need first. “The name’s Jericho, by the way.” Astria put on her new gloves, and approached the work site.

“Astria,” The writer replied. As she spoke, Jericho handed her a handful of bricks that nearly caused her to topple over. For the remainder of the morning, the pair laid the remaining bricks for the foundation. When they took a midday break, Jericho taught the writer about the basics of a building’s frame. She did her best to understand, but she was still no carpenter. Following their break, they began to place joists for the building’s floor. By the day’s end, they had placed the majority of the floor joists and begun the masonwork for the fireplace.

The sun began to set, and so Jericho began to pack up his tools. “Good work today, Miss Astria. Figure I’ll see you again tomorrow morning,” He said, clapping her on the shoulder on his way past. Astria, for her part, was exhausted and immediately headed for her inn room and collapsed in her bed. Had she really become so bored with her life that she decided to take up carpentry? Apparently so. The next morning, she woke up and departed for the construction site as soon as she was up, dressed and fed.

Over the next number of days, the writer would make her way to the site in the morning and return to collapse into her bed in the evening. Each day, the house would come nearer to completion. After the fourth day, it finally started to look like a building with walls. Throughout the process, Astria often wondered about the engineer, Nick. What was he working on? Had he noticed the missing blueprint? Did he even care? She was fairly certain he was at least aware of her activities, but she wasn’t sure, and at that point, she figured it was for the best that she didn’t go ask.

On the final day of the house’s construction, Jericho offered his hand to Astria for a shake. “Congratulations, Miss Astria. You have a house all your own.” He said in the cheerful tone Astria had grown so accustomed to over the recent days. “At least, I assume that’s why you wanted to build the thing.” Astria just nodded, and shook the man’s hand. During the celebration, though, an unexpected voice chimed in; The architect’s voice.

“That’s not bad. Was this your first time building something, Miss Astria?” He asked, as he appraised the small house. “You didn’t tell me you were interested in building or I would have helped you myself.” The lack of mention of the stolen blueprint seemed to suggest that it had either gone unnoticed, or was considered unimportant. Either way, Astria was relieved, though she was unsure how much praise she deserved for the construction. The architect walked a circle around the building and hummed a tune as he did.

“Well, it was as simple as following directions,” The writer responded. “I just wanted to do something to help out.” Astria felt the addendum necessary, hoping to assuage any thought that her sudden undertaking was motivated by anything other than good intentions. Once again, as far as she could tell, it worked.

Nick nodded a few times as he made his way back to the front of the time being. “Well, I will see about getting you some furniture, and you can move in right away. I see no reason to not let you stay in a house you built. At least until we start building the nicer ones. But that’s a conversation for… Well, sooner rather than later, perhaps.”

Astria wasn’t sure what to make of the engineer’s final statement, but she assumed she’d find out- and soon, apparently. For now, however, the writer was content with what she had. She walked over to sit on her new doorstep, took out her journal, and began to write.

 

[Thanielle]

:^(

 

[AstriaS]

The Passage of Time - An Excerpt From Astria's Journal

In recent months, I have had something of a realization. It's nothing profound, by any means. In many ways, it's a waste of time to commit it to paper, given its simplicity. Perhaps writing it down will serve a purpose though. It can be committed to my own memory that way. And should my journal come into the possession of another, it will perhaps serve to teach a simple lesson. My realization is this: Time is an ever-continuing thing. It does not stop, no matter how much one wishes it to. This is, of course, an obvious thing. But why is it that I have the sudden inclination to point it out? I cannot say for certain.

I have spent many mornings sitting idly and watching the hands of the clock turn. Without fail, the morning bells always chime, and I set about doing the tasks I do every morning. Until recently, I did not have any set routine, as my responsibilities mostly consisted of doing what work was necessary to keep the Council running smoothly. Some mornings I would be given a report of some sort to read, or a civil complaint to review. It was enough to keep one occupied, but it was not at all overwhelming. One might even venture to call it pleasant work. Most days, I was finished in time to leave town for a while.

Now, however, everything has changed. The sounds of the carpenters' hammers no longer fill the air. The voices in the streets have quieted. Perhaps because it is winter. But then again, it is always winter here. Even the council chambers have been quiet. I, for my part, have not left town for for quite some time. I feel I have lost something. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say my spirit has lost something. I find myself climbing to the higher levels of the tower more and more often, just to watch the streets below. Even from so far above, there is a notable emptiness. Meanwhile, time continues around us. The hands of the clock still turn, and the bells still chime. When all is considered, I find myself left with two questions:
Where did the emptiness come from?
Is there anything left for me here?

Neither of these questions have simple answers. In response to the first, I would answer 'the passage of time'. But has not the passage of time had the opposite effect in eras past? Or perhaps this is the inevitable effect of time, which simply came about more quickly here. The second question I can only answer with more questions. Do I have a duty to see things restored to their original state? Do I have a reason to leave a comfortable, safe home? Do I gain anything from staying? From leaving?

I do not know. But perhaps, given time, I will.