18 December 2022

There’s a lot that’s changed about this story since I first started it. For example, now I’m thinking Aislin did officially join the temple to the Rose in some capacity, rather than just working as a volunteer under a probationary status. Still working out how she brings Cordelia around; it might even be the same. I also want to figure out a better idea of what some of Aislin’s own flaws and concerns are; I’d like the old woman at the end to be able to help her out.

The rabble-rouser guy is going to come into play in the future. I’m definitely going to have fun with this. Though I do want to change what he says here, make it less relatable and more sketch.

In particular, one man stood on a box in one of the more open areas of the slums. He looked disheveled, with ragged clothes and a patchy beard, but there was a ferocious gleam in his eye as he yelled out to the crowd.

“And what have they done for us? What good do their cries of love, or life, or beauty, do to solve our problems?”

Aislin watched for just a moment, and felt the emotions of the crowd shift and sway with every turn of the man’s words. She hurried away, as lead settled in her stomach.

Only a couple blocks beyond that, she finally found the shrined. It was a small, simple thing; a small altar set before the painting of a raven-haired woman, the left half of her face covered by a mask. Indeed, her entire left side seemed to be withered and dead. The altar and the room looked clean and well-cared for.

Aislin bowed her head and offered a silent prayer to the Lady. What had she hoped to accomplish here?

As she turned to leave, however, she found an elderly woman, with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. “Ah, apologies, child. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I was just finishing up, anyway.”

The old woman studied her carefully, and her eyes lingered on the rose pin on Aislin’s lapel. “I must say, we don’t get many of your faith out this direction. What brings you here?”

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4 December 2022

Towards the end of November, I started thinking about this story and about my homebrew D&D setting. This story is loosely set there, with the Eternal Rose being one of the core pantheon. There’s another member of the pantheon that is basically the patron goddess of the lost and the forsaken, and also has ties to death and things, which I feel like fits pretty well with the butterfly theme in and of itself.

While I was thinking, it occurred to me that the adherents of these two goddesses don’t necessarily follow what their goddesses actually desire, and it’d be easy to see how feuds between their believers might form, even if the goddesses themselves are on good terms with each other. Then it occurred to me this might be why Aislin becomes a knight; war breaks out, a mutual crusade of sorts, and she represents the third option, taking the ideas of both and blending them together. And becomes the champion of both, which is where the symbol of the butterfly comes in.

One day, as she came in from working on the garden, Aislin realized something. “Where are all the poor people?”

“Poor people?” Cordelia asked.

“Yes. Don’t they, more than anyone, need that spark of beauty to get them through life’s difficulties?”

Cordelia looked away in shame. “They…Many of the priests here consider them ‘unclean’. I’ve also heard ‘inelegant’ and ‘course’. According to those priests, the poor detract from the beauty of the temple when they visit, and turn them away. Most of the poor in the city have to make do worshipping the Lady of the Lost.”

Aislin suspected Cordelia herself had once been one such priestess. Based on the guilt and shame in her voice and expression, though, that was no longer the case. Aislin didn’t press her on it. “The Lady of the Lost?”

Cordelia nodded. “The twin sister of the Eternal Rose. Some refer to her as the Queen of the Forgotten or the Shadowed Princess, as well, because she’s become the patron goddess of the downtrodden.”

Aislin cocked her head. “And she has a temple in the city? Where is it?”

“Well… more of a shrine then a temple.” Cordelia gave her a concerned look. “You’re not planning on going, are you?”

“Why should I not? They still need help, and offering that help will in turn make the world a more beautiful place. Am I wrong?”

Cordelia reluctantly shook her head and gave her directions. Aislin headed out and began walking to the shrine. 

The closer she got, the worse the streets became. First, it was all the dirt and mud that coated the streets and building walls. Then she noticed broken windows here and there. This was obviously a far more dangerous part of the city compared to the areas she’d been living and working in.

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30 October 2022

I actually spent most of this particular Sunday doing some general worldbuilding for my Nanowrimo novel, since that was coming up in a couple days. So I felt fine keeping this shorter, especially where I ended at the natural conclusion of a scene. We’ll see how things go once I pick it back up in December…

Just realized this part doesn’t really add any new information. All well.

“...now it just feels empty.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence. Aislin looked out into the garden and said, “It’s not the same, I know. But when I lost Matthias, I was lost. I didn’t understand how I could go on living, much less find happiness.”

The old woman and Cordelia focused their attention on her. She continued, “For months, everything felt gray. And then, one day in spring, I saw an iridescent blue butterfly.” She chuckled and looked over at the old woman. “It’s such a small thing, I know. But seeing that reminded me that the world is still beautiful, and I could be a part of that.” She placed her hand over the old woman’s. “I can’t promise when it will happen, but you’ll be able to be a part of that again too. I believe the Rose can weave even our pain into something beautiful.”

The old woman smiled gently at Aislin and patted her hand. Cordelia moved to sit on Aislin’s other side, and for ten to fifteen minutes, they enjoyed the silence together.

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23 October 2022

Something I strongly believe is that our struggles, our challenges, our painful moments have the power to make us more empathetic. It doesn’t always happen; it’s a choice to recognize someone else’s pain. And no matter how similar the situations may seem on the surface, there’s always nuances that keep us from knowing exactly how someone feels. But we can get close, and there is beauty in that, and I think that’s one way we can trade beauty for ashes.

As I mentioned before, I’ve done away with the “trial” bit; Aislin is in a sort of probationary period with the trial, where they’re trying to figure out what to do with her, and she’s trying to figure out how long she’s going to stay before she bails. Similar to the last one, though she decides to stick around long enough to fix this garden, which is now just a normal garden their goddess mandated they keep, even though none of the priests or priestesses are willing to risk getting their clothes dirty to keep it maintained.

She got to work. The two acolytes, who were named Owen and Cordelia, followed her instructions when asked, but between their obvious reluctance to get their hands dirty and their unfamiliarity with even basic gardening practices, Aislin was inclined to handle things herself.

She weeded and trimmed, planted and fertilized, over the next several days. She didn’t care about the dirt on the simple dresses she was provided or the sweat that beaded on her forehead. She cleaned and groomed herself, of course, but took little care beyond that.

One day, in the evening after Aislin had washed up, she entered the main hall and found an older woman, who appeared to be overwhelmed with the grandiose nature of the main hall. With a gentle smile, Aislin approached the older woman. “Good evening. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Oh, um, no, that’s alright.” She looked up at Aislin and relaxed a bit. “I just wanted to think for a moment.”

Aislin studied the woman. “If you prefer, we also have a small garden over this way. It might be easier to think there.”

The old woman visibly brightened. “Oh, that would be lovely!”

Aislin walked the old woman over to the garden, along with Cordelia, who was her assistant on-shift at the moment. Once the old woman was seated, she admired the garden and relaxed. “Thank you, dearie.”

“Of course.” The two sat in silence for several long minutes, while Cordelia shuffled around awkwardly off to the side.

Eventually, the old woman began to speak. “This place is quite special, isn’t it? Not that the main hall is bad, but it is hard to relax there.”

“Between you and me,” Aislin whispered, “I do think it’s a bit too much.”

The old woman chuckled, and Cordelia frowned but didn’t say anything. Another moment passed, and the old woman said, “I’ve been a little lost. My Cedric passed away just recently, and it’s been so hard.”

Aislin could relate. “Did he go peacefully, at least?”

“Oh, yes.” The old woman nodded. “But… he’s been by my side so long, and now it just feels… empty.”

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16 October 2022

When I wrote this, I was too focused on moving Aislin to being a combat-capable knight, like in the picture that inspired the story (by Sandara). I fixated on the idea of Aislin earning her place as champion, somehow, and being awarded with martial prowess or in-depth training or something. When I came back to it on the 23, I could see the problems, so a lot of this is no longer applicable, if not outright non-canon. But it was fun to write, and I’m pretty happy with the idea I came up with for a trial given by a goddess of beauty.

For a minute or so, Aislin just studied the high priestess. “At a time when I believed nothing could be right or good or beautiful anymore, and my life was gray, the Eternal Rose comforted me, and showed me the quiet beauty all around me. I wanted to thank her, and to help others the way she helped me.”

The high priestess nodded. She herself looked around at the priests and priestesses, and at the lavish temple. Perhaps a change was in order. “Perhaps the Rose guided you to us. Would you be willing to take the trial of the rose?”

The other priests and priestesses began to mutter amongst themselves, and several of them smiled maliciously. Aislin ignored them all and asked, “What is this trial?”

“It is a method the Eternal Rose uses to select her champions,” the high priestess explained. “Come. I will show you.”

The high priestess led Aislin deeper into the temple to a moderately large courtyard garden. At the center, a statue of a beautiful woman extended her right hand to offer a rose, while her left hand rested on a sheathed sword. Around the statue, and even creeping up it, the garden was overgrown, and very much at odds with the carefully arranged design of the rest of the temple.

“No one is allowed in this garden except those who are attempting the trial,” the high priestess explained. “If you can take the rose the goddess offers, then you have passed the trial. You may spend as long as you like, but once you try to grab it, that is the end of your trial one way or another. If you take long enough to need them, here is a room here where you can rest and bathe, and food and water will be provided.”

Aislin pondered to herself what she should do. This seemed little more than an attempt to force her to leave, but perhaps she could teach them some of what she knew of beauty before she left. “Very well.”

Two acolytes were assigned to see to her needs, and they begrudgingly took her things and showed her to her room. She thanked them, then went and stepped into the sacred garden.

Inside, it was even more wild and overgrown than she initially thought. Traces of a once-beautiful garden could be seen here and there, and though the untamed feel it had also carried a certain beauty, Aislin mourned the loss of what could be. It struck her that once she left, no one would be allowed to even try to tend the garden.

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13 October 2022

In my first post with Aislin, I had skipped over the effect she’d had on the worshippers of the Eternal Rose (goddess of beauty in my D&D setting). that sort of didn’t sit right with me, so I decided to go back and visit it more in-depth. I’ve been pretty fluid with how I handle this story so far, actually; mostly it’s almost a thought exercise on the meaning of beauty and how that interacts with other portions of our lives.

Again, this was inspired by this picture by Sandara on DeviantArt.

Within a week or two, Aislin bid farewell to her friends and family to offer her services and thanks to the Eternal Rose. After all, the butterfly was one of the Rose’s sacred creatures, and who else could have brought beauty back into her life if not the goddess of beauty herself?

However, what Aislin found at the Rose’s temple was not the gentle beauty that had healed her. Rather, it was a garish, opulent thing, demanding the attention of all passers-by. And when Aislin entered, she discovered the priests and priestesses were the same; perfumed peacocks parading about with powdered faces.

Confused, Aislin asked the high priestess, “Is this truly the temple of the Eternal Rose?”

“But of course!” the high priestess replied. “Do you not see the grandeur that surrounds you? To whom else would this temple belong?”

Aislin took another look around the temple. “Certainly, it looks very costly. But what about all this is beautiful?”

Her words echoed throughout the great hall, and for a moment everyone was stunned silent. Then all the priests and priestesses started shouting at once, drowning Aislin in a cavalcade of noise.

In time, the high priestess managed to halt the flood of tirades and asked, “Why have you come here, child?”

“Well,” Aislin said, “originally I’d come to ask about serving the Rose.”

“And what led you to wish to serve the Rose?”

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9 October 2022

I am a fairly religious person, and as part of that, I try to follow the law of the Sabbath, in that we don’t work on Sunday if we can avoid it, and try to make sure nothing we do forces other people to work, either. I’ve been trying to figure out how to apply that to writing and I’ve decided I will generally write for a shorter block of time on Sunday, and rather than the action-packed fantasy stories I favor, I will try to focus on something with a more spiritual bent. Not religious, necessarily, but spiritual.

One of the stories in the back of my head I’d been trying to figure out was this concept of a butterfly knight, inspired by this picture by Sandara on DeviantArt (found via YouTube, actually). Butterflies can represent a lot of things, including the cycle of life and death, as well as beauty. So I concluded this butterfly knight might have ties to the idea of “beauty from ashes”, which is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. And thus Aislin was born.

When Aislin (pronounced Ashlynn) lost Matthias, her husband of only two months, she also lost herself. Family and friends offered their condolences; the priests of Father Death offered her what solace they could. Aislin even appreciated it; there was no guarantee she would have made it the next few months without their support.

But nothing really broke through that grayness she felt. Everything seemed meaningless. Rote. Empty. There was a hole where her heart had been, and nothing could help it heal.

One morning in spring, she visited Matthias’ grave, as she often did. This time, however, she felt a presence in the gentle breeze flowing at her back. She turned, and her eyes caught hold of a single, brilliant blue butterfly, floating along as if it hadn’t a care in the world.

Even Aislin couldn’t ever say why that butterfly was so profound to her. But something about the beauty of that moment made her heart overflow, and she laughed aloud for the first time in months. Her grief didn’t disappear, her sorrow for her lost husband hadn’t gone away, but now it was tempered with hope, with a surety even, that things would get better and beauty could rise from the ashes.

At the next opportunity, she traveled into town to thank the Eternal Rose for her gift. For if anyone could bring beauty back into her life after so long in the dark, wouldn’t it be the goddess of beauty herself?

However, what Aislin found at the Rose’s temple was not the gentle beauty that had healed her. Rather, it was a garish, opulent thing that demanded the attention of all who passed by. Many of the priests and priestesses were no different; they dressed in loud colors and hid their faces beneath powders and paints.

Aislin cringed, and her heart ached. To herself, she wondered, “What about this is beautiful?”

For better or worse, her comment was heard by several of the clergy, and a furious debate spread among all the churches of the Eternal Rose. The schism ran the risk of causing more than one war.

Still, that was of little concern to Aislin at the time. She returned home, disappointed, but still determined to move forward. When Old Harper’s crops failed, she shared her food with his family, and invited them to appreciate what they had more abundantly. When little Dory broke her leg, Aislin helped her get around, and when it healed, they rejoiced together at the wonder of being able to walk.

Aislin might have continued like that the rest of her life, quietly promoting peace and quiet in her community, had her town not been raided by a band of brigands. Despite her own lack of skill, she grabbed Matthias’ sword and rushed to defend her home.

The leader of the band was a large man. He easily struck down several of the town militia…

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