3. (Pavel) journal of a dead man

(Pavel) journal of a dead man

  • V

    Sunrise - or dawn?
    It has been quite easy to fall in step. There is little enough other things to do for them. Or so it seems. Their ideas seem a little far fetched. A bit weird even. But the training they undergo makes loads of sense.

    Of course, it's coloured by their belief system. Claiming a specific punch would be an honour to their god. If I paid their words any heed in that matter, there's certain moves that work better at specific times of day. Just like there are certain words. Gestures. Kicks. Like it mattered if I used sunrise or dawn. Got to watch it here, though. They pay attention. And I still want to learn.

    It just drives me crazy the amount of frowns I got for using the word dawn. Why does it have such importance here. That's uncanny. That's what made me stay, perhaps. Dawn.

    The huge, big secret they keep hoarding somewhere are the stuff that works best during an eclipse. The master teaching the stuff for the eclipse of the moon. Now that was interesting. He didn't teach the whole stuff. Just hints, gestures. Parts of it. And when I tried to combine more than two into a series, he frowned at me and actually hit me with his stick.

    Quite humiliating.

    But I listened. I learnt. I'm not sure I understand completely. But it seems they make out Selune as responsible for ageing. And while she isn't looking, in certain nights, you can actually reverse the process. At least for your body. I don't buy the crap about a goddess involving herself in any individual's life that closely. But I'm curious if they're right otherwise.

    The really weird stuff, though, that's their talk of being able to tell the difference between sunrise and dawn. By listening. There's almost every morning at least one monk who'll get up in the middle of the night, blindfolded and then stand outside, concentrating so very hard.

    They each try differently. Some meditate, others actually dance. Others sing a wordless hymn. The only thing that makes me not put it away as complete crap is the simple fact that it works. Not for very long. But sometimes one or another actually understands everything that's said. Even if the day before they didn't have a clue.

    Also makes me wonder, if there really is a difference between dawn and sunrise. Or if it's just a metaphor. I'm pondering trying that blindfolding myself. Maybe all I needed to do, to find my dawn, was to listen to it. Rather than the sunrise.

    Yeah, right.

  • V

    On the Road
    It's interesting to observe the nature of a road.

    At first it's just a path taken by many. Grown. Adorned. Built. Some parts are easier to travel, some roads are fortified. I wonder if the inn, or little hamlets or villages are part of the road, or if the road is part of them. They require each other, I think. A road that leads nowhere would not be well travelled, would be obsolete. Would it exist? Could it exist?

    And a village without a road leading to it, would be empty. Cut off. Like a different plane. Unreachable. Lonely?

    But a road is more than its buildings, its basics. Its frozen features. A road carries travellers, caravans, people. Sometimes guards and patrols are almost ever present. What makes it a good road? The presence of others, or is it the other way around? A good road will have many travellers?

    With some of those I share a part of the road. Sometimes talking, chatting. Exchanging news, sharing stories. Sharing a part of the time. I move faster than most, but some of them make me slow down. Walk their pace. Listen to them. Learn?

    Like the man and his three children who carry the body of their grandfather. Preserved. So that he may be buried at his birthplace. Returned home to the soil that gave him life. It's not that his body or his soul cares much. In fact, it's more of a really bothersome chore. At first. It's got to do with traditions, again, I figured. It's not about the soul of the one that's dead, that's gone. But it's about burying someone. Saying their farewells.

    And even though they basically do it for themselves, their journey. They claim it's their way to honour the memory of their dead grandfather. At the end of their journey, they'll return home with lighter hearts. Knowing they did all they could possibly do. Maybe resting themselves as easy as they wish their dead does.

    I left them when they stopped for refreshment. Long before my feet got tired, long before the sun was halfway up in the sky. Boys, that's what their old man called them - much to their grunting and good natured dislike. One of the boys had kept smiling at another traveller. Maybe he'll end up chatting her up. Maybe he - or she - will find a new home. And in years to come, their children will have a similar task at their hands.

    The same road to travel - except that it will lead somewhere else. And yet, both roads lead home.

    Home.

    I wonder if home lies at the end, or at the beginning of my own journey.

  • V

    The Quest
    I woke one day and I realized I got screwed.

    Pain.

    There's been a lot of it. I used to welcome it. I was taught to enjoy it. No, relish, venerate or whatever. Nothing like pain to make me remember what life truly was - one horrible, bloody long death. It isn't ever over. Until you die. Maybe I died, just didn't know. Maybe it was all just one bloody nightmare.

    Dawn.

    Road takes me east. Into the dawn. I watch the sun rise. Tinge the damp landscape into that golden glow. I cannot believe all is dying. It's living, glowing. I marvel at the sight of a few deer racing out of a wood.

    Distractions.

    But not all is good. Like the four fools who thought one man with an axe on his back an easy mark. Taught them a valuable lesson, if they are able to learn. An axe looks dangerous, but a small knife in skilled hands is way more dangerous - because it's hard to spot. Didn't even need weapons.

    Darkness.

    The landscape has it's dark spots. Dead trees, burnt fields are part of it. But just one part. Small. Insignificant? Don't think so. It's all one huge thing. Everything's got a place in it.

    Even I. Even my past. A fool's errand to try to excuse it. It's mine. I'm not proud of it, but it is mine. I have to live with it. If I want to change something, it'll have to be the future.

    What I have to find, then. My very own dawn.

    The road takes me eastwards.

  • V

    Fishy Thieves
    It's not like we didn't have our share of trouble with the fishmen before, but it's news to me to see them launch an attack on Peltarch's docks. Apparently they had some sort of powerful portal. That's disquietening. If they have the power to open such a portal, what are their limits?

    Can they open it into our warehouse? Or is that protected? It's high time we got some knowledge on who among those freaks has that kind of power. And then leave them bleeding to death.

    It was thrilling, but also oddly relaxing. The trip on the ship. Sabre said I looked like a real sailor. I suppose I did no longer need to look and ask what to do, besides, there wasn't really much that we could do. I still don't know if it was magic, or if they dragged us like that other guy suggested. Fish freaks pulling and pushing the ship.

    Lucky steering on her part, too. And we managed to keep the ship afloat just long enough. Though I didn't really do my part in that. Odd those Auril followers. I wonder how long they'll live. Their goddess has some power of the polar bears, though.

    It could be a great deed, Sabre and me sneaking into the Kuo Toa caves and finding and killing whoever managed to create that portal. Blood magic, Felix said.

    Sabre and me. A ship for us?

    I still have a smile for that look of hers. It was she who compared a ship to a kid first. And sharing a ship to a marriage. That really shocked her, I think. But it was all in good spirits, and with some rum. At the end of the day, I think I might even be willing to risk that with her. To risk, and enjoy.

    A ship.

  • V

    Traditions
    Made me wonder about my own path. She did. Told her to abandon her traditions and move on. Keep what's useful. She sticks with it. Wonder what that means?

    I left my past behind, gave it all up. And found myself hanging in a void, empty. Felt a bit alone. Finally catch footing and Sabre's still there. Protecting me. Caring for me. I'm unreasonably lucky. Said so before. It's still true.

    Enjoy what you get. Seize the day.

    True for Pavel. True for me.

    But Rudi is different. She isn't ready, isn't willing to seize the day. She's bound in traditions. Honoring her goddess. Honoring her tribe.

    I learnt the importance of the latter.

    Maybe she's even wiser than me. She's not willing to abandon her traditions to progress, so I told her she has to turn her traditions into a rock. She has to be that rock. Holding on. Surviving, come wind, come rain, snow or fire. Or hobgoblins.

    She ain't that bad. Shows as much potential as the others. Just was a bit too focused on using her nails. That's a true limit. I think I helped her see that it's not the nails that are the weapon - as her goddess might have it. But rather, it's her. The nails are just one part of her, a part she can prefer, but shouldn't focus on to the exclusion of others.

    It's nice to see Nicahh in the monastery. Shame about her bringing that girl. Can't stand children, stupid children. Reminds me a bit of that boy, though, she's attentive enough. Glad for that. Hope she doesn't start crying when things go wrong. Damn girls. Hope she's strong like Sabre.

  • V

    For a while he stares at what he had just then written, reads over the barely dry ink again, then he rips the page out, lights it and tosses it angrily to the side, watching the flames flicker and splutter. Pieces of ash twirl towards him, but he remains quiet, calm in his watch.

    New name
    Finally picked a new name.

    Kicks like a horse in Kara Turan.

    Tsu Ma.

    Good-bye, Pavel. May you rest in peace.

    Again he leaves the ink out to dry, staring down at the page quietly. As he looks up his eyes are tear filled, but he slams the book shut swiftly, causing a loud bang. A new man's grey eyes stare off into the distance, a glare directed at his own past perhaps.

  • V

    False friends, false foes
    She's off to get some food today, I wonder what she'll come up with. My shoulder still hurts from that utterly silly chase through the undergrowth. Kept my eyes too focused on the little thing and ended up just avoiding breaking my nose. Hurt my shoulder, though. I enjoy the reason to let her do the hunting, or fishing on her own. Just lazying around here. The sun's warm. It's the best feature here. The sun. The water splashes quietly, peacefully up the sandy beach and there's soft musical birdie songs coming from farther in the island. We haven't been bugged by anything, and should someone bug us here - No, I won't have pity with them. It's too great here to care about fools.

    Nothing really has changed, but for once it seems no one else drags us further down. For once I seem to be sufficient for her enjoyment. I wondered so much lately, worried too much, I guess. There can't be any worry here. It's as if all the bad feelings were left behind. On the other side of that ocean. Buried beneath the clear waters. That's truly amazing. The water here is not murky, or dark blue. It's a startling bright green-blue. Like her eyes. So utterly beautiful like her eyes.

    Strange things have happened, before we left what could almost be called home. I still prefer to think of home otherwise. Not a place, or house. Though those might be neat. And if it makes her happy. I wondered, for a while, if she wanted to get married, played over it with a joke. But it left a feeling of uneasiness in me. All that matters not here, though. Where there's just the sun, the sea and the Sabre. It's simpler here. Everything is. None of the false friends crop up, none of the lies. The deceptions.

    Cyricists announcing their name for a murder. That seems so unlike Cyric that it's almost as if someone else wants to claim it. Could even be the infamous Banites hoping to start a witchhunt after Cyricists. Or whatever. That'd be more likely, anyhow. Makes as much sense as to target just one senator and the guard captain. If they wanted to do that, they could have pulled it off with less cost. They sacrificed men just to get Chaevre out of jail? Someone with serious power wants them out. Someone who might have an interest in a free senate seat. And the messed up relations with Norwick don't help. Makes you wonder why the publicity, still. Could have done the murder more quietly and with less cost. But wouldn't have been able to get that big a bang. Good advertising.

    If the whole almost martial law state was intended, then maybe they should have targeted more than one senator. They were almost all there, in that room. Could have hit them all. At once. That would have caused some unrest. Just means whoever's behind this doesn't want Lavindo in control. Doesn't it? I think they just might have had the resources to pull of the coup. Just not their man in the right place. Makes me wonder about the new guard captain. Is he the right man, now? Sure a question worth asking. But not in this place. Not when the water doesn't send a chill through my bones, but instead warms me. Like the smile on her lips, the warmth of her skin. The shimmer.

    The whole Norwick mess is another thing better left behind. Eowiel and others try to keep the thing calm and get it solved nicely. But others seem to work to mess the relations up forever. Shannon's a Tormite. Torm. Kicked me out of the temple after I gave away a diamond. Even though they sell those, in large quantities, but were too high nosed to take the donation as payment for one. And then I gave thanks to Tyr, but still kicked me out. Stupid Tormites. They lack any sense. Tyr seems nicer. A whole lot nicer. Even if the idea of everything being just and right seems rather far fetched, it's something I can agree with. A dream, perhaps. To strife for? I wonder.

    My idea of justice is still a little bit different. Maybe? I don't know. I used to be unable to let go, but now - especially when I think about Sabre. Yes, maybe it's not so bad to forgive some things. But the point is that good deeds never seem to lead to a good reward. And I rather like those good rewards. Those little things. Worth treasuring those. Wouldn't want to go without them.

    Unlike Ronan. He's probably the main reason we left the crew behind for a bit. Not that there have been many meetings, many work in the past. But Ronan's keeping his contacts, his work for himself. And then expects still to be admired. And when he messes up he's unwilling to accept his mistake, instead shouting at me. Wouldn't worry me so much if he hadn't hurt Sabre through me. That's just plain unacceptable. And he has the gall to tell me that he doesn't have anything to say to me. Well, I'm glad that's behind us. A sea seperates us from this particular issue. And it's no longer just Ronan's and Sabre's.

    It seems that decpetions, lies, false friends and false foes linger everywhere lately, anyhow.

    Maybe the first time even was in Jiyyd. When the goblins put up orc dummies, making the defending legion think that the orcs are back. An old foes. Smart choice. Clever. Got to admit that. The hatred between orcs and Jiyyd runs deep. It worked well. The assault on the hamlet worked out nicely. We even were among the first to fight the real threat, oddly enough. Simply because we had been reluctant to charge out into an unknown number of foes. Into a fog hidden army.

    It ended with an oddity. Kull. Always respected his might, cut down the prisoner giant. Killed it while others tried to get information. Not a smart choice. Though easily understandable. Like the other halforc who broke half the loot because he was desperate to get into the box. Maybe it's not really false friends. Maybe it's just the wrong tools for the right goal?

    I wish I knew. I wish I had some grand insight and could understand what everyone wanted. Understand why they chose to act like they act. Maybe those other things are merely people acting more indirectly than Kull. I wonder if I can understand the path they chose. The things they do. Maybe it would all make sense then. I never was good at reading people and Sabre's taught me a bit of politeness. I don't beat up people, or rather try to, for them doing what I think is a wrong to me. No, I try to swallow it down. Accept it. A bit like Sabre, perhaps. I told her sometimes fury is right. Maybe it's time I rediscover my fury?

    But not now. Not now. The sun is warm, the water is fine, and Sabre is happy. And so am I.

    Nothing can reach us here, but a warm summer breeze, ruffling through my hair, flapping the leaves on the trees. It smells of all those strange fruits she comes up with. I just hope she doesn't end up eating something poisonous. They just look so tempting, some of those fruits. The warm sea water reaches my feet, almost tickling my soles. It's a pleasant feel and I can imagine it taking all the troubles up in that vast ocean, sucking it out of my feet and dragging it into the depth. Endless, bottomless depths.

    And here she returns, still dripping water, her skin covered a bit with spots of sand. Glittering in the sun. Like gold. Just better.

    Don't want her smile to go away. Better she doesn't read this.

  • V

    Meditation
    Attentus proves to be very insightful, and smart. Years of experience, I bet. Anyhow, I tried his way of meditating. A way that simply means finding yourself amidst all that sensorial stuff that keeps interefering all the time. Breathing. Such a clever choice. Or as he said himself, the making aware of the things you do anyhow. Instinctively.

    Inhale.

    There's a lot coming in with the air, if you let it wander through your nose you can pick out the various scents. It's now the biting cold, though. But maybe that contrasts with the thick, warm smells of booze, and vomit, the stronger smells lingering, wafting over from the kitchen. Food and drink. The smells of sweetness, of flowers interspersed, mingled with the rancid stink of sweat.

    Life can be so expressive in smells. Gold has no smell of its own, but you can detect in the way sweat pours over hands, the way the coins clink together, are rubbed in those grimy, sweaty hands that hold them. That pass them on. I have been called greedy before, and maybe I have become a bit greedy. I wonder, though, if it's my fault really. Maybe I don't appreciate the nice smells life sends my way enough.

    Exhale.

    Does it even matter? I can smell life, can taste it on my tongue, feel it fill my lungs. I held it there for a moment, regarded it curiously. Watched as it turned out to be little more than smoky figures, blue clouds dispersing with a light breeze. Spreading apart to oversized, overly important mockeries of what it truly is. And then they wandered off, drifted out on the sea, and became distant clouds. Unreachable. Unreal. Unimportant.

    No. Not unimportant. I can look at them with calmness, study them and make a prediction about the weather. Or rather about whatever they are. A man stumbling my way, he stinks of booze and vomit. He doesn't mean to attack. An ogre with his sword swinging over his head stinks worse and means me ill, usually. I let it all go, send the clouds sailing away from me.

    Count.

    And for the first time in a long, long time, I really felt content. I counted to ten. And enjoyed the quiet, the weird way the nature of reality transformed around me. The less I expect of life, the more I will enjoy it.

    Ronan expects so much, drifts, wants to be loved. Appreciated. Cheered for. I wonder if he will be happier if he leaves the Sails, or worse off for it. It's not simple like that. I agree that currently nothing is done for the Sails, but that's as much his fault as anyone else's. Maybe he won't make such a good lieutenant after all. Not willing to put actual work in to get things for the Sails done.

    Not that I'm without blame myself. I like to pretend I'm just Sabre's bodyguard, and the only one who truly tried to change that was Deacon. Deacon again. I'm neither happy about the way things are currently for the Sails, but I think I should try to do something. Not expect and expect from others.

    No matter how hard it drains me. No matter my dreams. No matter my fears. None of that matters.

    I am loved.

  • V

    Lessons failed
    Alright. That didn't go well. Tried to show her how to break steel with flesh. The sword went well enough, but then she got the idea of a morningstar. Shouldn't have tried to impress her. Still don't know what I could have said to make up for it. My hand's going to tickle for a while. That's pain, though. A good basis for learning. Pain is easy to understand, to feel.

    I've forgotten so much about pain. There's so many fine little shades. I guess you don't get to beat everything, no matter how great you think yourself. A tight lump of steel is going to be a tight ball of steel even after you stepped on it. Or squeezed it like some fruit. At least I also left a mark on that stupid thing. Kind of makes up a bit for the pain.

    It serves as a joke, too, I guess. I shouldn't have gotten sidetracked, though. I mean the important part is that through training you can become stronger. Not by sitting on the ground and thinking about the nature of the planes or some other crap.

    What really got to me was her endless giggling. I tried to teach her how to do some raw, basic movements. How to drive the air out of the lung of someone and buy precious moments by it, and she giggled as I told her to watch my still punctured hand. Damn.

    I got my revenge, though. I made her repeat the defensive stance over and over and over. Rise your arm, turn your shoulders and then put all your weight into the punch. Basic, raw power. A barbarian's preferred move. First thing you learn to dodge. Made her repeat the move and the dodge until she couldn't breathe anymore.

    She still had enough air to giggle when I helped her to her feet with that hand. Damn.

  • V

    Lessons taught
    Drelan's right, of course. Even Yolande who's lost most. Who's lost something irreplaceable through my rather foolish attempt to feel better. Even her seems willing to accept that I learnt to accept it. I close my eyes and think of the market. I can then feel the cold breeze playing around my feet again. Men and women are passed along there, handed over like a chair, well-crafted or old. It only matters for the price. And Oscura enforces a minimum price. Does that mean there's no old, no faulty wares on display, so to speak?

    I wonder what is more cruel, to force an owner to keep a slave, or to give a slave a new owner if an old one is wanted.

    It is idle wonder, now. I am no longer seeking vengeance. I occupy my mind with other things. First of which are the lessons. A student expects his master to teach them. To explain things. And to hint at more? I don't want to say such crappy stuff like my masters. That's all just bloody useless crap. No. That's not me. I don't want to teach people to find that inner spot of peace. I don't have that. Not really. I am not pulling off some balancing act on the forces of life and death, lingering in some frightfully impressive stance on the very edge of the knife called pain. Feel the pain in your soles, feel the blood trickle down the sides of the knife, and make bloody sure there's balance in how you bleed.

    Bleed too much on the side of death, and it will claim you, tug you to its immeasurable depths. Bleed too much on the side of life and you will become either screaming in pain, too aware of all the pain, or dazed, tired, comfortable? From the blood loss, obviously. Such freaky, bloody crap.

    True learning begins with understanding.

    But not of some stupid, made up sayings. You don't understand how to deliver a punch by staring for ages at some dusty old tome's drawings. That's what you can do when you know how to fight already. Then that might teach you something. But if you never, ever drove your fingers into the chest of a hobgoblin, you can't really understand.

    I might start like Dorn, even. I remember a bit of how reassuring it was to get up every day and then face the very same exercises. Of course, he used to think it enhancing to put different things on the ground. Glass shards. Little cheap gems. Wet, grimy or rotten food. Not like that. I want them to learn, though. To have something to fall back to. Something that gives them a stable ground. Footing in the lessons they'll face. Just like you can't always rely on your favourite weapon to be there, you can't rely on inspiration to be there. That's why you need a strong, stable ground.

    A foundation.

    Like you need good, moist earth to grow the really nice crops on a farm, you need to have something to plant your roots in, if you wish to learn about fighting. And if you strive to become a master of yourself, that foundation, that earth needs to be particularly good, strong, resonant. It has to fit to you, and you have to like it. A lot. Care for it. Groom it, and make it ever better. You have to do whatever it is peasants do, strengthen it with refreshing crops, find the bad weeds and cut them out. But you also need to have some shelter for it. Trees at the side, so the wind doesn't wipe across the land as fiercely. Trenches or something so the crops don't drown if there's too much rain.

    I'm starting to sound like a stupid master already. I better stop. I just need to offer them a founding stone. A strong, resilient root. Something that provides a hold for everything that is to come, anything that might come. It's not my job to make it their foundation. That would be a wrong approach. I cannot, no one can teach anyone how to live life.

    Everyone learns their own lessons.

    And I have learnt quite a lot of those.

    If I can share only one that's already a success? And certainly more than I expect. I wonder how Yana's doing.

  • V

    Lessons not learnt
    I don't know what happened in the Bodak, then and there. After Shemaright and Ginger had left. It was confusing. It was worrying. And it was disturbing. I'm just glad it doesn't haunt me. That.

    Names.

    Even celestials have names, but what are names truly?

    Some just accept the names they are given. Do not bother with thinking about them. Others pick a name to leave a past behind, forge a new future. And I've always been the latter. Or in fact, I've been a mix of both.

    None of my names so far was freely chosen. Most were given. But I didn't keep names for long. Already the memory of Pavel seems to fade, the vengeance I owe him unimportant. A fool's quest.

    I don't really know how to choose a name. No one has been able to give me hints on that. So far. I stumble in the dark. All alone. Sabre teases me with names like Horsie but I don't know about that.

    I remember the second attempt at the tower, and it feels so cold. I have noticed often before, and I still do. She has come to consider my love a given. It feels no longer truly cherished, simply expected. But it doesn't really make a difference, does it?

    I'm no longer that fool, or am I?

    Ronan worked hard to come to terms with it, and despite him apparently really feeling bad for almost killing or permanently damaging Thorn, Amy is unable to accept that. They're both likely to go at each other's throat. I was there. I felt like I had to help them both come to terms with each other.

    In that, my name choosing reminds me a bit of Thorn's. I wish to leave a part of my life behind that I'm not proud of. Perhaps I also wish to accept that new acceptance of a comforting feeling. Perhaps.

    I need the insights of a master, or the questions of a student, I think. I miss Keira. Or even Yu. I was able to ask them and they expected nothing in return, except maybe for an ear to listen to them. And I was more than happy to listen.

    I miss that most of all, I think.

    I wish for my wall. My place at the side. In the dark. Listening, quietly observing. Not feeling so responsible, not feeling the need to please this or that one. I never wanted to be in the center of attention. That's Ronan's place. Sabre's. I hope Ronan gets promoted to take Yolande's vacant place. But Drelan's not often around to train anyone to be his lieutenant. My fault again?

    Maybe if Ronan was finally promoted, I'd be forced to leave the Sails, too. He's bound to have a go at me, then. Just like all the others before him. He could be a good leader, or a horrible one.

    But it doesn't really matter, at the moment. The only one who seems to wish the Sails to get a profit, at the moment, is Yolande. All the others just trudge along like sheep. I've tried for a bit, but I'm met with nothing but silence. Maybe they're still in hiding, scared of my laughter.

    I don't want to step up and take over. That's not what I'm good at, no matter the offer Deacon made. Elusive, but eager Deacon. He's probably the one who cares most about the Sails. Who brings the most energy into it. And who really seems to care about Sabre. And even doesn't mind me.

    I could start by setting up true tournaments of the body in the Bodak, but I don't know. The last, large scale tournaments I helped set up with Sabre's help turned out to be a financial disaster. And more headache than fun, for both of us.

    Maybe I need more than to pick just a new name. Maybe I need a change in my life. Something severe. Something that will help my understanding along. A new lesson in that eternal up and down of life.

    A lesson not yet learnt.

  • V

    Lessons learnt
    The long night didn't quite work out as I had hoped, but at least it was not entirely unsuccessful. The people that did show up provided the payment well enough, though I really don't know if anything was learnt. It certainly was interesting to hear Rando's opinion on how to fight properly. An approach to fighting that is not easily imitated. But maybe one that is similar to many others?

    The knowledge that he can simply enter a fight and win it by superior strength and equipment must be very reassuring. But I lack the strength, and the equipment. Something that causes me a lot of pain. Like in that fight with Sy'wyn. Neither Ronan nor Sabre truly understood that I wanted to lose the fight. You learn more by losing, than by winning. If you win, you merely learn that your tactic was right, if you lose, you learn at the very least two things. First, your approach to the fight was ill suited, and secondly, how the other person approaches a fight against you.

    I learnt a whole lot more.

    The gap between me and others is increasing simply because their equipment is significantly better. When the people I travelled with merely possessed some non-magical armor, and simple or finely crafted weapons, I had a place among them, my perception and awareness fixing the gap between the absence of any protective armor on my skin against theirs. Now the people I travel with are really exceptionally well equipped, and some are really high in their god's favor - which makes up for a lot. Like Sy'wyn. The spells he was able to supply himself with, kept him enhanced in many ways, making myself all the weaker, easier to beat.

    But even with the ability to literally slip between places, speed and freedom of movement simply does not work as a replacement for strong magic items. Be it armors, or weapons. I have a new role in a group, now. One I had not realized fully before the meeting. It has always been a strong point of me, to go after easily hit mages, sneak up on them and then tear them to pieces. It seems that most groups have little other uses for me.

    I look forward to learning from the students. I wonder sometimes what they'll teach me. Will there be a place for them, that differs from mine? I cannot predict the future, but I know that on my own I cannot face any challenge that - as Colacarius dubbed it - is adequate. As Sabre put it, though, when someone stuffs the same spells Sy'wyn had on himself, onto me, I will be a bit more dangerous than Sy'wyn.

    The only one in the favour of her goddess, though, that seems inclined to do so is Taria, and she's now taking a break from serving Umberlee. After she died in that tower. We had to go back, of course. Had to rescue Vidar.

    We faced two of the weird creatures, creatures like Senria mentioned in the swamp. I wonder, now, if that was already the old freak there. I seem to recall she said the monster went specifically after her, which would support the claim about the freak's actual targets. Just can't remember if she said they killed the beast, which would make four of him dead? One alive? I really don't know and lately nobody seems to bother to really talk - aside from Taria who told me all about good and evil.

    I wanted to scream at her that she well knows that Umberlee isn't just called queen. And that the second part of that title is rather essential. And she shouldn't be surprised people are pissed at her for serving an evil goddess. But I can also understand her frustration. She seems generally a nice and friendly person, and she gets called names and denounced and spat upon because of her goddess. Unlike Natanya.

    Her answer to my question how she fights still is a shining example of faith. The best answer. Basically she said she didn't fight. To later retract to when the foe is worthy she lets her god take over and lets him do the fighting. Reminds me a bit of Ronan's new spell. She made it sound like she really just woke up after the fight. It's such faith that leaves me standing before my life and wonder just how messed up it really is.

    I had to use healing equipment worth way over seven thousand gold just to be allowed to crawl out of that tower on my own. Twice I was certain I was going to die. I could feel death's painful grip on my ankles, it tugged and told me in its cold, welcoming, soothing voice that it had come for me. Even now Rowan's laughter rings in the back of my head, to those words. A hiss. I expect to find a dragon cowering behind me, waiting to strike, waiting to cover me in acid and then laugh. And laugh.

    In my dreams Dorn transforms into a green dragon, and then Rowan appears and for a moment that feeling of safety is back, I look up to Rowan only to see her bones crack and mend and reform into another dragon. Hissing, they mate, then. Messily. Acid is splattered everywhere, hits me. Burns me. Consumes me. Then they break apart, their scales glittering with acidic sweat and I am born, painfully. Spring out of their beastly coupling, screaming and howling in unbearable suffering. And they give me a name.

    I will never forget the name Rowan gave me, but it is not the name I am given in the dream. I am no longer who I was. I am no longer who I chose to be, when I finally got away. I am no longer me. I am a new person, and as a new person I need a new name. One that is entirely my own. One that reflects the new freedom.

    A name fitting for a monk.

  • V

    Ascension
    I thought of it as a painful touch. A stab. I thought of it as a slight towards me. I thought and thought. And I didn’t realize how much more happy I could be if I accepted things as they are. I feel oddly reminded of the words from the wise men so long ago. An age ago.

    It was so many steps. A flight of stairs. An ascent in the ivory tower of a wizard. A back and forth. In time. In joy. In love. Stumbling around there’s really just one way. Forward. Forward. Blindly forward. Until you hit a wall. A barrier. Then you are stuck. Have to go back and try to rush at it again.

    Taking a step back to get past, over the barrier that blocks it. Every time you cross over that line, it’s like you lose solid ground under your feet. The vertigo making you feel ill, stumbling, floating, flying? I stepped back from Sabre. From us. Learnt once more to accept that there’s a lot more that’s important. And the moment I accepted that, I realized just how utterly and completely I belonged to her. With her. Loved her. Love her. Unconditional.

    I have faced the strangely serene feeling that has been building inside me. That she brought out, fed with her touches. Cradled with her words. Woke with her lips. It burned me from the inside. I used to think it destroyed me. Took my control away, left me weak, defenceless. All my training meant nothing in the face of her care. Her tenderness. Like a leaf stuck to the waves. It will get soaked and dragged under, forever more a part of the creek. Or sea.

    Existence is Paveling, that’s what Yu called it. Don’t know if I agree, but maybe Sabre is. But I’m not a small, easily lost wave for her, I think. I’m a tidal wave. Part of her, yet separate. I realized that, I realized that I cannot control it and I let it happen. Broke against the cliffs, and dissolved back into the sea. Shattered. And she rested her chin against my chest and everything was rebuild. Arose again. A new wave, part of the same sea? Not as exhausting, perhaps, but neither any smaller. I allowed it, welcomed it.

    I don’t know what she saw, then. Don’t know what made her rain fire down on my skin. Her tears burnt little holes through me. Into my very self. A struggle for words, but who can find the words in the face of the endless, bottomless sea. You either set out to sail it, or you gaze in wonder. A struggle for words, for a moment, then I left them behind. Marooned to a more stable, solid ground. And so did she. There was no need for them, for reassurances, for anything. Just the two of us, floating freely. Unchained. Understanding.

    I have changed.

    We crossed some barriers together, I could feel her discomfort. Some of them are more real, than others. Though whether they’re of time, or of love. Or of something else, I do not know. Some barriers I crossed on my own. I worry sometimes about her, I know her abilities, I know what she likes. I liked to get that massage, just like she did. But unlike Ronan’s Mareann, Sabre understands and accepts it. Is sure of my love. It is something that has grown from the foundations, to the very tip of that ivory tower.

    But such a tower is filled with many wondrous sights. Ghosts of the past, visions from the future. Reminders of past mistakes, promises of what power waits at the top. And there’s the dark corners, too. The things you lock away, hoping to never see again. Together, we travelled to the very top. At more than one time worried, struggling for more than our lives. Stumbling blindly most of the time, occasionally knowing something for what it is. A song buying us entrance.

    And then. Salvation. At the top of the tower. And an unexpected turn. I have shown her so much of me, revealed the last, the deepest hurt when she asked me. I felt the cold creeping into my skin, and the bear and her they kept me warm, sheltered. She accepted it. Held me. And smiled with understanding, almost blushed when I told her, truthfully, that she already did, what she wanted to do. She didn’t run then, stayed with me. Despite me being crude. Rude. Unfriendly.

    Unconditional.

    She told me then. And I believed her. Not just believed her words. Trusted her. Completely. Unconditionally. And then I was finally ready to accept the strange, worrisomely serene thing that had grown inside me. So alien. So other, so different. So not me. And now it is. I like to think of it as her love. The one shield I have against all my past. The one focus that allows me to be myself and not someone else’s toy.

    It is warm, it is welcome. It engulfs me. And it protects better than any warm, furry coat ever could. Her love. I wrapped it around myself, like a glowing second skin. She shelters me better than anything else. Like it took the very power from me, my former me, the one filled with worry and pain, her love wrestles for control. Fights. And wins. Spells that mean to harm me bounce off her love. My shield. She has given me more than she’ll ever know and she gave it freely. I can but hope she receives something similar from me.

    I have passed through the vertigo of the barrier, and once more, I am standing on solid ground. More firm ground than before. And she still holds my hand. I wonder if this is a small island, or a large island, full of wondrous sights, full of sweet fruits. With caves full of treasure? I do not know. But I know something else.

    I love her.

    Unconditionally.

  • V

    Laughing
    I’m not sure how to put into words what’s happened now.

    It has happened from one moment to the other. I stood in the commons in Peltarch. Carrying Sabre on my shoulders, singing, as far as my horrible shouting can be called singing, one of those silly songs. Ronan had stuffed one of his small clothes into my mouth to make me shut up, of course. The magic that had made me so strong, strong enough to carry her with ease, it had faded a while ago. I struggled under her weight. Fought on to keep standing. And the dwarf and the pixie started fighting over the dancing.

    And suddenly it all ceased to be.

    I felt my legs give way under me. They bent, buckled and I sat on the ground. Laid there. Drained. But when I looked up, I saw her eyes. Saw the curiosity, the joy, the love, the hope, the life. Saw everything sparkle in there, shine. And the wonder. Saw it all. And in that moment I understood life’s cruellest joke.

    She has called it a rare gift, something new, fresh. Untainted? It is no longer so rare, I think. I can’t stop myself, but I think I should. I laugh a little bit too much, maybe. But it just feels so good. So free. So great to laugh. I can’t seem to stop and there doesn’t seem to be any reason. Ronan wants me to stop, he claims I lack focus, but I don’t think I do. I’m focused. I don’t think he likes to see people happy. Or maybe he does.

    Sabre seemed to like it. At least at first, she would stare at me with big eyes, full of wonder. Of joy. She pressed her cheek against my chest and just listened.

    A chance encounter on the road, got us into that good mood, I think. Just having fun, for once. Her mind not as completely stuck on work, work, work as it seems so often lately. Or maybe it is me, who is so distracted with the upcoming changes, with thoughts on how to teach. We ended up all dirty, because for a moment, I forgot she could not carry me. It was fun. As much fun as to watch her dance, in that new dress. Maybe even more. A different kind of fun, both quite good.

    It’s all the confusion, though.

    Sywyn suggesting Valkur of all gods for me. Thinking my interest in his faith was sparked by an interest in gods. Thinking because I was a sailor, I would be interested in that god. I just hope he was as naive about it as I think he was. Must have been. True to my oath, I didn’t laugh then. Though maybe I could have. Instead, instead I showed him the icelace lake. A small lake, compared to the seas. The sea is like the air for a sailor. To refuse to respect her, I told him, is to try to refuse to breath. Yes, you can do it. You can hold your breath for a minute, or longer. But eventually, you’ll suffocate.

    Or the new blonde paladin girl. All curious about my motivations for fighting as well. She’s just a faint copy of Torm, not seemingly willing to have a will, an opinion of her own. Fighting for him to be allowed to live. Maybe I don’t understand enough, or maybe she didn’t tell me everything, but that sounded to me like extortion. We discussed freedom. She seems nice enough, and not entirely stuck up or judgemental as the rest of them. All the more pity her reasons for joining the paladins is such a strange one. Fight for me, or die. I wonder what she’ll do when she has to lie down her life for her master.

    I don’t know how to act anymore.

    When I got all angry over her dice game with the rest of the crew. All upset that she did for the rest of the crew what I had asked her to do for me. She rightfully told me she was just having fun. And now? I find her in a just slightly out of the way place, with Ronan. Both having a really good time with each other. I watch for a while, quietly enjoying to see her smile so happily. Then I sneak out, letting them have their fun. Enjoy each other. Mostly for Ronan, who’s starved for attention. And whined for hours before.

    When I come by later, to just say where I’m headed since the Ferret’s on the way anyhow, she’s all worried about having upset me. Snuggles into my arms, puts them around herself. Saying in actions that she’s mine. That she likes to be mine. It amazes me that she does that. Scares me a bit, too. Worries is the better word. And then sets about to get me distracted. Thoroughly distracted. I don’t even remember when or how or if Ronan left.

    Even if now it seems a bit too much like a desperate plea, a desperate attempt to prove to me - or to her? – that the love is still there. That there’s no anger, no quiet rage. I still think it was the right thing to do, and how could I not?

    I wonder, sometimes, if we just got used to each other. As Ronan said, when meaning something else, we’re not alone, ever. Wherever I go, she’s with me. I can feel her touch linger, I can hear the soft, quiet melody in her breathing, I can look at the sky or the sea and see her eyes gazing back at me.

    I am never truly alone, her presence is always there. I can feel her, everywhere. And with her life is full of joy. Full of untold opportunities, riches, everything.

    Rowan, Dorn. They are the past. Pavel. They're all the past. My past. I'm shedding the mark Rowan left on me.

    I can laugh, now. At life. With it. With her. And I shall.

  • V

    _Even in those caverns that had never seen the sun, a light, faint breeze blew down the streets. The skirts of the women on the market fluttered for a moment, and a bit further away from where Pavel stood the seemingly gentle breeze provided fresh fuel for the fires. And the hungry flames licked up the prisoners’ legs, teased, taunted them - made them scream out anew. But it was not their pain he had come here to witness. His grey eyes catching a spark of the fire, glittering faintly in the shielding darkness of the cavern, they focused instead on the raised stall on the other side of the market place.

    All kinds of slaves were offered, presented there not just tall and strong men or slender, lithe women. His brow furrowing, he watched them walk up, holding their head that slightly tilted way, remembered the lessons too well himself. His grey eyes turning ice cold as he saw the defeat in their every pose, their every step, understood that they were broken. While he watched not a single one dared to lift their gaze for longer than allowed, kept it lowered in submission. None of them challenged the chains, the laws that kept them bound.

    Wandering aimlessly over the market, Pavel watched them. Leaning against a stall, pretending to study the wares, he watched the slaves. Until his eyes hurt from the wide eyed staring and he couldn’t take it anymore. Then he turned his icy stare from them, turned his back on the slave trade and the rest of the market and left with swift steps, the wide, sweeping walk of one who has mastered time. And a light breeze stirred where he passed._

    Betrayals

    I’m not innocent of those. Far from it. And I’m facing the worst one yet.

    Some betrayals are good. Like Sabre’s. She wanted to be like Deacon, originally. Having lovers in every port, in every town. She betrayed herself for my sake. Changed. Maybe that’s even what it is. A change of goals. Like Nicahh said. I fight for myself. What I believe in, what I hold dear. But what I believe in, she explained, changed over the years, and might change more. That’s what happened to Sabre, too?

    I’m so glad she chose to change. I’m unbelievably deeply in love with her. She has a way with words, with hands, with her voice, with anything to make me wish to stay in her arms for just those next few minutes. And then some more. I can’t ever stop. I don’t want it to ever stop. It’s as much a betrayal of who I was, once upon a time, as it is of her.

    Other betrayals are of words, and boasts.

    Star. No, I don't even want to start on that one. Such a stupid, dangerous, overgrown child.

    Dentin. Claiming that there is no true freedom, saying everyone has their part to play. And the next day, almost, returning from a sea travel and calling everyone who didn’t chose his way a slave. He would have sacrificed the whole crew of the ship, just to stick to his belief. But it makes him the one shackled. Of course, he might have survived the fury of the Queen. The captain died. And the crew turned tail, and returned to safety.

    He boasts of it, claims the Queen targets him. I hope he doesn’t get more people killed because he can’t turn on his master. Boasting. Like Melanie. She says dare much. I remember her refusing to abandon her armor and sword. In a sparring match. Refuse to take that chance. No, the two of them don’t believe in what they say. They’re lying, deceiving themselves perhaps?

    Unlike that Ilmaterian, Aithe. I think it’s silly, what she did. Protect a goblin? Because it was suffering. But at least she doesn’t lie to herself. She truly is what she claims to be. Even if she died for that. A death I wouldn’t have chosen, but I can respect that. She doesn’t risk other people’s life. She puts her life, her faith before even the life of a goblin. I’m impressed.

    I have to face what really bothers me. What makes a cold hand squeeze the air out of my lungs.

    I don’t have Aithe's strength, willpower. I’m betraying the very center of what I thought was me. I went to watch them. Study them. Memorize them. Unlike the paladins, I want to keep the memory fresh of the betrayal.

    It’s those people I’m betraying. They never counted on me. They gave up. They’re broken. But I swore to myself that I will kill each and every one who owns or buys slaves and now I’m about to take a vow to protect people who own slaves.

    That killer goes after those that would trade slaves. He doesn’t understand the mechanics. He frees slaves. Slaves from Mulhorand. Where slaves are like serfs. Maybe even treated better. It won’t get him anywhere. Already he’s got Peltarch on his trail, and Oscura, too. And the Zhentarim. He freed too many, likely, to hide for much longer. A shame. The traders are just victims, too. They chase after the gold. There will be new ones. But he might have had the right idea.

    And he stuck to it. Unlike me. I’m betraying them. Myself. For a new goal? To be able to pass on knowledge, to learn more. To study with students. See them grow. Nicahh called it a responsibility. I wonder if it will help me. Now, I think I’m ready to do it, though. I’m ready to take the vow, for now I will remember the market. When I close my eyes, I can see the sales done, the trade. I focus on it.

    For the first time in what seems like ages I’m feeling cold.

    I better go look fo

  • V

    A new quality.

    Somehow everything has now gained that extra little shine.

    It's not just Sabre and me, who have shifted yet a little closer. We even shared an almost shy kiss. That felt strange. Like from a good dream, a soft tender kiss. It had more implications than just lips meeting. A dream come true. For a few moments the world really was a different place. A better place. An unknown place. Unchartered waters. Dangerous? Promising? She'd say both.

    Her laughter has that new quality. It is a bit more free. The joy of life has returned to it. Has found the way back into her green and blue eyes. And she has once more put me aflame. How she does it, time and again, I don't know. I just know that I love to watch her. How she pokes fun at Ronan, teases him. How she chats amiably with Thorn, or Celebring, or anyone. She smiles. She really, truly smiles.

    But she's not the only one who has reached a new quality.

    The kobolds. I've begun to think them easy targets. But it turned out that even small scaly beasts can learn new things. Or use old tricks to good advantage. Hen took us there. We stumbled upon traps, found tricky kobolds who understood at least the basics of tactics. That was refreshing. And a good reminder, that even if you think yourself superior, you can always stumble into a horde and onto some smart kobolds. And then you just win if you're smarter. Good thing Sabre adjusts quickly to such changes.

    Threats.

    A voice. It's weird to think of undead demanding a voice. But that's what they wanted. That's what we heard, too. The undead were the same that Ronan saw before. As we stumbled on them in that cave. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. Fighting the ogres. Feeding on them? Lots of flesh on ogres. I wonder if that is what Yolande offered them to go free. A voice. Someone to sing their blame? It's all so weird. Are they of a past, or are they looking for someone who is alive now? Or exists now, anyhow.

    But even those undead had a new quality. The voice. A mournful voice.

    The monastery works out fine. I'll yet face my toughest challenge there. To teach others my way. Or to guide them on theirs? I don't know. I don't think my way is for everyone. I wonder about my way anyhow. It started with pain. Pain is easy to understand. Or was it fear? No. Fear came after the pain. I've learnt a lot. I'm learning about love even now. And more importantly, about joy. Maybe if I figure out joy one day, I'll become a true master. Of my own way. It is a difficult one. Full of hardship. And it has just taken on a new quality.

    I wonder if there's more for me to learn once I've accepted joy. I wonder if joy is the key to those wonderful, frightfully powerful kisses Sabre has for me. Just for me. Maybe it's just her eyes. There is something in her shining, loving eyes, then, I think. I'll have to learn more about those kisses. I want to feel them more. Every day. I long for them. And I dread them.

    Words are so feeble, so weak. She's alive. I'm alive. All the crew is. Joy is in our hearts. And I can't help but face the next challenges with a smile on my face. I'm starting to believe my own stupid words. My own silly reassurances.

    Everything will be alright. Somehow.

  • V

    It’s over.

    One tentacle cut, severed. Burnt. Sent writhing into the depths.

    The last time I wrote this, my heart was heavy. Now everything seems a bit lighter. The world just that little bit brighter. We had to visit other planes, even had to kill ourselves. Now that hurt. But in the end we found her. Hiding in the back pocket of some weird place. Plane? Found her. Killed her. Left no witnesses? I wonder what became of that weird ship.

    Nicahh asked me if I ever had just known something. Known I had to do a thing without any doubt. I now have. When I saw her sucked into the void. When I saw Sabre’s form slipping from my grasp, beyond my reach beyond reality there wasn’t a doubt. There wasn’t time for doubt. Not a moment of hesitation. I just knew I had to follow. Jumped into nothingness. Just to stay with her. Like a damned hero. Maybe that’s why things between Sabre and me aren’t as they used to be. Maybe she just needs time. Maybe should have told Taria that forcing, driving Sabre to do what she did wasn’t the right thing.

    We ended up on the right path, anyhow. Sabre found it for us. Unknowingly perhaps. But she found it, by sheer luck. Went through the weirdest places. Fought the weirdest creatures. In the end, we got out alive. But Aalaril and Taria both died on the way. Rejoined us after their hearts were found. Strange man. Nicer than Edward, though. We ended up torturing a demon child, slaughtered shifty, difficult to spot cats and found the woman. Cut her down. Drelan did most of that. Burnt her body. Stumbled onto the ship. Slaughtered our way through a group of lion freaks and got back to the Tineblias. More people were in danger of drowning than any other way of dying. And our special companion almost did.

    The other ship didn’t sink. We set fire to it. I have to remember to replace the oil flasks. Useful stuff. It didn’t sink. It rose into the sky, parts of it breaking apart after its freakish crew was slain. We watched from safety as the severed tentacle left a burning mark on the night sky. Fireworks for a victory? Small fiery stars of our making.

    One tentacle hacked off. One arm disappearing into the Queen’s icy cold embrace.

    The monastery is slowly turning into something I can imagine. Nicahh showed me a couple of possible places. And even though I have difficulties imaging it, I think I’m slowly getting somewhere that makes me think in new ways. The laughter is working strangely well to complete me in a new, oddly refreshing way. Nicahh told me to give her a list of things I need. And asked me to think of a name. I’m stunned. And worried. I feel a bit like betraying Sabre. Sabre and me. The us. We wanted a house for ourselves. Well. Before the Druegar took all the gold. Before things turned real ugly. I wish it didn’t make me feel so bad. It seems such a good opportunity, sometimes. But it’s also entirely selfish. There is no gain in it for Sabre. It might even alienate us. Further? Sabre isn’t one for a monkish life. Is it for me, I wonder. But she asked me to help her change. This feels just too much like looking for an excuse.

    Two new tentacles appearing. Grappling. Me? Sabre? Ronan, Bub and Cameron?

    I was about to join her on the bed, bite her, tickle her. Something. Ready for everything. When we heard the din. Geoff came to fetch us. A minotaur had appeared out of nowhere. Turned Cameron, Bub and Ronan to stone. Sabre shot it. Smartly from a safe distance. I got close. Punched, kicked and felt the stone cold grip fastening my body. Felt how my arms turned heavy. How my muscles didn’t respond anymore. Frightening. Sickly frightened feeling. I fought down the fear. Remembered how my limbs are. Kicked out. And drove the feeling from me. If not for Sabre’s arrows I would have likely succumbed to the magic, eventually. But so the beast died. The spells stayed, though. Set out on a quest to get back the crew. And to have proper fun. Again. To Norwick. Of all places to Norwick. There won’t be much joy in this. But at least things might get back to normal.

    It seems the last time we were really having just fun, in the camp. When Celebring decided to come and insult us. There was fun after it. At times even joy. But none that had the same sheer joy to it. The quality of a joyful life. I felt it, bodily, when racing with her. That was joy for the body. But not for the mind. It was almost too innocent. Too bardish, perhaps. Not like it used to be. I guess it hasn’t been easy lately and with the grim fate turned away things might get better. The palm trees are nice, even if they appear oddly out of place. And I like seeing Sabre’s eyes gleam when she watches the dancers. Dancers. I like that look. She asked me to help her be different, though. I don’t know if I want to do it, at times. So I sit there, watch her and all the dancers. Hold her hand. My mind drifting to some far away place. The vacation I was promised with her. By her. I don’t have the heart to remind her, now. Nudity. She asked for it. And she gets it now. I focus my mind on how I like it when she rubs her soft or chafed, rough and tender skin against mine. I allow myself to hope, then, that indeed everything will be alright. Is alright.

    It’s easy to think so, when she twists and presses her soft, burning lips against my chest.

  • V

    The following text is written in a clean and sometimes forcedly even handwriting mostly. At some points, the pen was obviously lifted off the paper and the text continued later.

    The wind is picking up then. Now?

    Funny. That I would have called it a storm. That wasn't very insightful. It's worse. Far worse. You can accept a storm, that's what Sabre teaches me. Taught me. You can ride with it. Or drown in it. Maybe we're about to drown, but it's directed at us. So it's different. It's more like a monster come to haunt us. A many armed kraken, perhaps? Like she described them. You hack off one tentacle, severe an arm. Just to make two new ones appear and grapple you.

    It's good that Ronan got out so swiftly. Ronan. He revels in his superiority through magic. It's tugging at me and still. Demonstrates that I'm weaker, slower, and so on whenever he gets a chance. It's hard sometimes to remember that he has to let out his frustration from jail. Need to let him enjoy his powers.

    It's small relief, though, him being out, considering that Hawk's now locked up. And Mercy is gone. Cursed the Sails and left. For good. And a really thick, ugly tentacle grabbed Sabre's arm and tugged. Grapples her still. Cruelly.

    In a perverse, cruel, Mercy-like way she cared for Sabre. And she also believes in her faith. Sabre shares that faith. That belief. In a much less offensive way, Sabre also follows the cruel, spiteful, jealous Bitch Queen. I understand the need to accept the whims of the sea. I understand it. But the price Mercy demanded Sabre to pay is high. Too high?

    Taria now refreshed Sabre's own thoughts. She knows the jealous nature of the Bitch Queen. Accepted it already, in her heart. She has given up, in a way. It hurts me to see her in such pain. I long to do something, make something happen, or just break someone's bones to make her smile again. Properly. I seem to manage only for a short period of time. And now she's gone. Snuck off while I had fallen asleep. Too tired to keep up the watch.

    I hope she doesn't do anything foolish. I don't know. I don't know anymore. She's willing to pay the price, but she's also asked me to be there. So I hope she's not going to do it just yet. I hope she is ordering her thoughts, finding the will and strength to decide.

    I don't like to see her pushed onto that path. I don't like it one bit. I don't like the path, but I will still walk it with her. Right into the very maw of the kraken.

    Sabre taught me to laugh, before all this got so bad. Shared her laughter with me, let me feel it And I don't know how to put it. There's a knot in my stomach trying to write about it. The joy of a past, now. A past joy. The run. The feeling of air rushing past. We shared the joy of life. Of living. Laughed together and I It's strange. It just makes everything that's happening now so much worse. So much more painful.

    Just when I thought Sabre had found a bit of her spirits again. She had hugged me in a way to show me she loved me. She shared that with me. I allowed myself to hope that while the painful task, the price is yet to pay, she might still enjoy life. And then Kelly's wife Tyna turns up. Ruins it all. Haunts us.

    Of course us.

    Not Ocean. Stupid, selfish, short-sighted Ocean. She fueled Kelly's spell with his own blood. A blood sacrifice. I guess that makes it magic beyond what most deal with. The soul of the wife retains a whole lot of powers, killing Elor, Harming me and Ezachiel. But eventually she told us what we need to know.

    That is, if we continue to play Kelly's pawns. And we don't have a choice anymore. We might have had before. But it's beyond us now. We're dead. It's not like our chances to survive more lion freaks are good. But with a mage and his dragon pet waiting for us on the other side, we can as well jump off a cliff.

    Except that I could probably survive such a fall. But Sabre?

    Damnit! I don't want anyone to die. But we really are stuck with a many tentacled kraken grappling the Sails. Tearing at us and dragging us under. We could damn well use Mercy's divine favor. She's missed, despite her being herself.

    I wonder where Sabre is. I want to find her. I want to hug her and tell her again that everything will be alright. I want to belief that myself. If I say it often enough, will the kraken go away and bother someone else?

    I doubt it.

    We'll have to fight the kraken one tentacle at a time. And we don't know how many more there are waiting in the water for us.

    The first step for me is to be there for Sabre when she returns. If When she returns and to hold her hand or arm. Whichever she choses. Even if I don't like it.

  • V

    The following paragraphs are written with a clear script, long thoughtful strokes at the end of words. The spaces seem to be particularly wide and the distance between lines offering room for any thought to nestle in.

    The sea, she said, is like a dream. In a dream you glide through it, you have never a doubt about where you go, just glide with the flow of the dream. And it is the same with the sea. Yes, she said and touched my cheek, you can try to go against the flow. But it is much, much harder.

    Is it like trying to wake up, when you realize you shouldn't be dreaming?

    She smiled. Sadly. But she smiled.

    I held her. Just held her close. Tried to give her that little sliver of hope that not all is lost. That something is still the way it should be. Tried to share what warmth, what support I could give. Words failed me. I am glad they did not fail her. I urged her to tell me more of the sea. And she talked. Spoke of the sea, of the quiet lapping of waves against the sides of the ship. Of the light morning breeze rustling through the sails and the clothes. Her voice filled my head, it has that quality.

    With a dream.

    The same quality she tried to use on Ronan. He needs it, too. But he seemed not as willing to follow her into a dream. He's one of the things that makes this quiet sea such a nice dream. And he's needed more than ever. Now the Peltarch tyrants have him locked up. I find it ironic that a city with tyrannical laws or loopholes banned Banites. Good thing, though, that I chose not to laugh.

    He's locked up on an accusation until all are caught that were involved. Which will never happen, I guess. Especially since Zanetar is involved. The head priest of the church of Bane. So Ronan's in there for life. The sheer joy. I wish they'd just lock in the accusers, too.

    Drelan had that meeting with the Order's guys. I wonder how much Sabre was told about all that. Or Ronan, since he seemed to have been involved. I guess it's again just notes between Captains. It's having me fed up. At least I can respect Drelan, he seems to try. He seems to care.

    Ocean just pissed me off now. And not just me. She's an arrogant, self-obsessed wannabe heroine. I really don't know why she even has a ship under her. She's mostly just busy with her orphanages. She's good with politics, that much is true. But that's not enough to give her a ship.

    I wish I didn't feel so responsible for having made the first stupid, dumb choice that led to so many troubles. Now everyone seems to think they can act foolishly, without thinking twice.

    Stupid cow. Ocean. I should have pushed her off the boat. Double sacrifice to Umberlee. Might have helped us. She recognized Sabre and me knew a whole lot more about what was really going on. Did she even bother to ask? Did she bother to let us ask more? No. In her arrogance she killed Kel'ra. Kissed him and killed him like a lover. Before we could start asking the real important questions. I can only guess it was to keep us from learning even more ahead of her.

    Great.

    The sea. She told me of the sea.

    How on a clear day it stretches out before you.

    You can look any way you want and there's nothing but clear blue water, reaching to the horizon and beyond. Even the birds song disappear when you leave the shore behind, and the only thing that accompanies you all the way is the creaking of the wood, the ship.

    The sails flap in the light breeze, trying to catch as much of the wind as possible, as the vessel carries you over the sea, through a dream. Far in the distance you can see a crown of clouds, it is a hint that there you will find an island, she said. And an island means you get to stretch your legs, hunt. And if you're really lucky you will find treasure.

    But clouds can also mean that a storm is brewing, I thought. But I remained quiet. And an island could be the home of a terrible beast. But I know the sea holds her very own monsters. But I kept quiet.

    It must be a wonderful day, when the sea is calm, when her breathing is steady. She still rests the way I left her. This is the quiet, tranquil sea. The peaceful, content Sabre. The storm has passed, for now.

    I know it is only a short break. The clouds are all around. They close in, even as I write this. Maybe I can hold them off a little longer. Maybe I can give her a bit more of a quiet, still sea. Just enjoy her presence. Her lithe form. Her hands holding mine. Stroking my arms.

    My sea.

    This is the calm after the storm.

  • V

    The following was written clearly in haste, ink stains disregarded. The fingers smearing some words, but the letters large and pressed tightly together at the end of lines.

    I'm unreasonably lucky.

    I can't believe she did that. In front of everyone. In bloody Norwick. And for me. For my benefit. Without shying away.

    The magic word.

    She smiled at first. But as I disappointed, she grumbled just a bit and blamed Norwick. She could have raged at me. Would have deserved it, too. But I just bloody couldn't take my eyes off her. I don't know if time stopped, if everyone held their breath. Or most likely I just forgot about the world, the place and - well - stupidly about the target.

    But I lost to Ginger, so I'm not that sore about it. Even though she gave me every chance to win. I wonder if I would have won if she had dropped all her clothes. I marvel that she considered it. Would have done that. I just think I would have forgotten to shoot at all, then.

    Things are moving on. Looking up. There's setbacks. Bad turns, still. But they are becoming less hurtful. A mission that was a flawless success. Deacon giving out simple goals that leave room for improvisation. Goals that make sense.

    Brennen making himself scarce. Damn. I'm glad that's over without anything really happening. When he kept teasing me, I just had to imagine him laying his greasy hands on her. Imagine how her skin would turn cold, how she'd stiffen. How Sabre's so gently curved form stiffened, hardened. Damn. No more. This will not happen. Never will. My hands. She gives me that look. Just a hint of her white teeth shining. And her body is not frozen, it molds against my touch. Allows me to find every line, memorize it. Guides me, teaches me, talks to me. Until I know all its lines by heart.

    A body? A soul? A heart?

    Which is the most precious? The most valued. The one I would never part with? I don't know. I really don't. Maybe it is time I start asking questions about that. I wonder what Sabre would answer. She's given me all three things already, in a way. And she received the same in turn. There is a lot of trust there.

    Anything less would be foolish, though. Neither should be risked for the behalf of just gaining in the short run. Should they? It makes me wonder about the resolve of Yolande. How far will she go to get her revenge? It is easy to blame me. And I have already accepted the guilt for the ever worsening situations of the slaves.

    In the end, it is either her or me in the Sails. I don't know which option I should take. She made it abudantly clear that I'm less useful for the sails, at the moment.

    I need to talk about this with Sabre. It is not just my decision alone. And Sabre is better at swaying people. Drelan. Me. Maybe even Yolande.

    I still can't believe it.

    She kicked off the boots. Pulled off her leathers and stood in the cold, frozen Norwick. In the small, tiny bumblebee dress. Skirt and vest. Small skirt. For me. Smiling. Cheering me on.

    I need to get into more competitions. Or maybe as she keeps saying, we should organize some again.

    A feast. Just for the heck of it. Just because we need joy. Happy faces.

    Unbelievably unreasonable.

    But I think I like it.