3. (Pavel) journal of a dead man

(Pavel) journal of a dead man

  • 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.

  • V

    The following is written in a stable and sure hand. The words appear to have bene placed with care and are easily discernible… for the rare case that the reader would get a hold of the parchment.

    New opportunities.

    I thought it was a kind of end. I thought it was all over. But just before, when I thought it couldn't get any worse. When I thought I was the next to die. Things changed.

    I used to think I am cursed. Cursed with surviving and seeing everything else go down. Cursed with the ability to slip out of situations that mean and meant the sure end for those with me. Pavel's death still is a weight I carry. I bear his name - out of respect? Or out of guilt? A bit of both, really.

    Maybe I am oddly lucky. Impossibly lucky. I can't deny that when I look over to the bed. How she can without saying a single word make me, make me smile. And for real, too. Drelan's pissed about that. Says I was the only one he saw smile in a while.

    He was the one to accuse me of being a monk. A -monk-. He's the one who thinks that rules are everything. He thinks that he understands what being a monk is about. Rigid discipline. Rigid adherence to what your master tells you. Incidentially, that's what the Long Death freaks were all about. My memories of Dorn are painfully clear. Dorn wanted just that. You obeyed to the letter or you got flocked. He enjoyed that. I didn't.

    Torture isn't that. A whip is just a promise of pain. True torture is a lot, a whole lot more complex. A whip. Pain. That is a very, very crude way to torture. There was little that would have been more frightening to a woman that holds herself aloof of others, than offering to gag her with Mercy's socks. It was the simpler way. The polite way of saying we can be far, far more cruel than you can imagine. And the stinking, pest-ridden sock is just the a glimpse of the start.

    She talked. I don't know if she kept back any secrets, but she didn't seem to hold back. We learnt a whole lot about the Peltarch part of the Spiders. If she didn't lie, then they really are seperate from what the Sails will face, and faced on the sea. She got a fair deal of pain in the end regardless. Fitting repayment for what was done to Sabre in the end. Revenge.

    An opportunity fulfilled, some things learnt. More yet to come.

    It is like this with Kelly. We have the sword. Now we just need Brennen to come. I. I don't know if I will be able to stand by and just watch if Sabre asks it of me. I have to steel myself. Harden my resolve and think of things that are so very, very us. Her heartbeat. I don't know if she shares it with others, but I like to think not. I like to think even that I'm the only one she'd allow to merely look at her, without asking anything in return.

    There's opportunities to be taken. Deacon saw that. He offered me a chance of making it up to the crew. Offered me an opportunity. I understand once more why he's such a great man. Why he leads the Sails. Maybe I won't have to leave the Sails behind.

    Or maybe I should. Kelly's offered to let us work for him. I wonder if he believed us that we betrayed the crew. It's certainly true for me. But I don't trust Kelly to let us live, anyhow. We'll see what will happen to him. Or us.

    But that's not the only offer. I was acting a real fool to Sabre. Why did I have to speak of it at all. I just need to remember the way her lips seek mine, the way she always, always seems to find a way to slip into my arms. How she even in the darkest times cares for me first. Hugs me. Does things to me no one else ever did. I'm hers. More with every day. I shouldn't ask for anything from her. I shouldn't.

    It was in that moment of utter confusion that Nicahh stepped up and offered me yet another opportunity. Train my own pupils, or students or whatever. I hope it is Keira who gets that. She is wiser. I don't know if it will help teach me, I don't know if it will tie me down. Take me away from Sabre. She said she was already jealous of Keira. How much would I hurt her when I actually taught?

    I don't know. So much to consider. Maybe I should take the offer, if it is given, and try my best to teach.

    There is one condition, though. One condition I will not back down from. I'll have to insist on being allowed to leave anytime. Because I will also keep Sabre to the last promise she gave me.

    Right now, life looks bleak. Drenched in blood. Right now, it is not a very good life. We still make the best of it. It's actually Mercy who seems to enjoy the current violent storm that rages forcefully all over the Sails. I'm glad Sabre is there with me. Together, we'll get through the storm. Hopefully even alive and sane.

    And when the current storm has passed, we will visit the beautiful islands. We will take as much time as is needed to really, really enjoy life to its fullest. Seize life. Seize all the joy it can give.

    That is the greatest of gifts. The rarest opportunity of them all. And it is there, waiting for me. For her. For us.

  • V

    The following words appear a smear before they are destroyed forever. It is first written, then scribbled over, ink spilled over some parts, then the paper is torn and shreded and eventually formed into a ball and discarded into a fire, where Pavel watches it burn to ash.

    Choices. Turned bad.

    I finally made a choice to try to change something. And it backfired. Badly. Worst way possible.

    I knew it all along that politics are a bloody messy thing. I should have kept out. Should have. Didn't have the sense to see it. Nor did Sabre hold me back. She probably wanted to leave me that sliver of hope.

    And I'm taking the full blame. Accepting it.

    I mustn't think of how it truly was. Hold myself responsible. I made the first choice. But it was Yolande's oversized ego that got us into that probably avoidable fight. But Drelan and her don't see that people try to push the limits, to see how far they can get other people.

    Nor have they ever been in a slave transport.

    If they had needed thirty, they would have demanded forty. But it was my hand that made the choice possible, allowed one of them to kill themselves. Made the lion-freaks make their we're set in our way demand. And thus it was my fault that Yolande decided to attack them. Decided to cast her futile spells, even when they saw our, the Sails resolve to not enslave one of theirs.

    We'll never know if they would have accepted thirty bodies, one dead, the rest alive after they saw that. Drelan claims I gave the crew no choice. I don't think that's true. True is, though, that I ruined business relations for the Sails. No doubt about that. Some hundred and fifty thousand gold. Directly. Given away in the forms of a few bolts. Business relations broken. A hand pushing those into a man's throat.

    Sabre would have protected me, even from all this blame. Even though she fell to the spells from the Spiders. The attack that was inevitable. The attack that everyone should have been prepared for. But nobody was. Spells finished us off. Drelan and Sabre went at each others throat, confused. The firebrand and ice storm finished them and Yolande. All my fault.

    An avoidable fight? I mustn't think that. It is my fault.

    It is also my fault ships are now sunk. My fault slave trade in Oscura is increasing. Security pulled tight and those that would peacefully oppose the slavetrade to be watched closely. Stalked.

    I made a choice. I didn't think farther, as Amy pointed out. I thought it's a man and a choice. But even a slave is bound into a political net. Passing from one owner to the next those knots aren't as secure as at other times. I destroyed trust. Cut a carefully woven net. With a couple of bolts. Broke carefully arranged alliances, perhaps. By allowing a man to escape to death. Forced a war upon people who wanted nothing but peaceful trade.

    Slave trade.

    At least I now carry the blame. I prefer it this way. I couldn't stand them looking to me as a kind of hero. Couldn't stand it knowing I tipped the scales, causing as a first result Sabre's death. I tried to keep it from getting even worse. I wanted to be punished.

    But I can't tell that anyone. Especially not Sabre. She needs my support now. More than ever perhaps. And I hers.

    There's so much more going on already. Kelly, Brennen, assassins now. As I told Drelan, I'll help the crew as long as they let me. Then I should take my leave. I should have known to never sign up to a group that demands you wear a uniform.

    But I made a choice, and now I'll have to face the consequences. At least some of it. Or as much as I can possibly hope to handle.

    I'm just glad, so very, very glad that Sabre will be there with me. Even if I worry about her safety, I can't begin to put words to what her support means to me. She's the reason I joined the Sails.

    I just bloody hate politics.

    All I can do for now is bide my time. Learn. Watch. Help. And think of a way to show Sabre just how much I appreciate her. What she's done for me. What she still does for me.

  • V

    The following entry is written with long, thoughtful strokes, but some parragraphs seem to be hastily added, almost pressed into the text, smears making them not quite as easy to read. Again others have the wide and unorderly fashion of someone who was not looking at the page.

    Mercy's ogre friend Bill is dead. Originally slain for his teeth, Mercy claimed the whole head. As a trophy or maybe a souvenir? Does she mean to own him this way. Mercy is possesive, always trying to take things for herself and keep them. Own them.

    Sabre asked me to say something, to say she owned me. And I couldn't bring myself to say it. I couldn't. Even though it wasn't that strange a request considering everything.

    It'd be nice if some people would stay dead. Of all the annoying men he has to return to life. Burned. His creations routed, the man still clings to life. And he's angry that the Sails took his silly sword. Wants it back. And he doesn't stop at threats. We drove him off, when he thought he could toy with us, gave him a beating and also send his strange beasts back to whichever level of hell he pulled them from.

    He's a dangerous man. He can pull off a direct assault, can seriously hurt. Can heal himself effectively. But when that doesn't work, he is capable of a more sneaky approach. Seducing Sully and eventually killing her. Murdering. He might have been capable of killing Sabre and me as well. We weren't exactly ready for him, but he spared us for now.

    Because of a stupid little sword that's not even one ounce magical.

    Even Mercy's possessiveness is harmless compared to that. And Sabre's. Sabre once told me about her beasts. I don't think. No. I know she doesn't want to own me. She wants to know, wants to be reassured that I'll be there for her. No matter what. No matter how. No matter when. And I am, am I not?

    I don't want to know what Mercy does with her new trophy. But I'm beginning to see Mercy in a new light. She's not all cruetly and rough jests. She's got as many problems if not more than the rest of us. Still, Sabre's been telling me for ages, that under all that cruelty there's a woman that'll bother to keep me alive. That'll help me out, if I knew how to get her help. And that needs someone, from time to time, to look after her.

    I'm just never going to hug her. Definitely not. In any case, not like I would Sabre.

    It's strange. The mere thought of her whispers, of her arms around me. Her lithe form bending in my arms. Her eyes, her lips softening at my approach. Her voice speaking, calling me. Her everything. It all wants to make me run up and along walls. Even though I'm sure I'd fall. I'm fairly certain I'll land on her, though, if I fell.

    What kind of willpower does it take to tear yourself out of death and back into life? Or did he have help from his god? Like things of old, sometimes find their way back together. I just wish Many wouldn't mess up people's mind. Gurt almost turned on us. A worrisome thought. It makes me wonder who will be next, who'd know when and where to strike. But maybe that's how we can find out more ourselves.

    Anyhow, if we give back that sword, I want to plunge it into his heart. And rest it there. And if it's a key, I hope it's the one that unlocks the gate to his personal hell.

    The key to myself is Sabre. I cannot deny that. I know it instinctively that my understanding of myself is incomplete. Lacking. I need her guidance, her approach, approaches to my body. Only then can I understand how to become more successful. How to further improve the body and soul. How to unite them.

    I think that to progress, to move on from here, I need to learn to give up what is most precious to me. I need to truly and fearlessly hand myself over into her care. Completely. Entirely. It is not much that I retain for myself, but a little shard of delusion. That I am a free man. Independent. Anyone watching her and me would probably doubt this.

    Maybe I'm just lying to me. And it's time I face the truth.

    I am hers.

    Dare I speak it out loud?

  • V

    The following piece is written on a parchment, the ink given time to dry in stages. The writing changes from paragraph to paragraph, one thoughtful, one hasty, one deliberate. It seems also that sometimes some time passed between lines, or even words, as a line is not continued in the even manner common to a flowing text.

    I've been reminded again and again that I'm not exactly the best in a fight. Not in a honest fight, with people prepared for me. For the fight. To be able to win, I have to have the advantage. A clear one. I have to fight people on my conditions. Or should I say, I can't fight people on their conditions. That's folly.

    Could call it a stupid idea, to fight Gargothis. He's trained to fight in armor, and with his axe. It's a weakness of his. But while he is so armed, it is his strength. I tried to take this strength from him, but he held on tightly. And he won. Easily. It didn't come as a surprise. And it was interesting to learn his style. I think defeating him will prove an interesting challenge for many.

    Sometimes a fight is a clear loss. Sometimes it's a definite win. Maybe there's some middle ground, but the truth is that I'm not strong enough to beat others in a straight fight. My advantage is that I'm aware of that. And that I can often rely on the help of others. When a half naked man distracts people, Sabre manages quite nicely to stab them where it hurts.

    Alone, I don't get far. Alone, I'm nothing. Only in a group there's a chance. To win. To survive. And to survive is to learn. Gather knowledge. But you have to have trust. And honesty. If I'm not honest to someone then there's no trust. That much is obvious. That much is easy. But often it is asked how far I trust someone. How far?

    Does it make sense? I trust someone while I can see them. Watch them. Then I do not trust them at all. I trust someone while they're in the city. Then I don't trust them either, I trust in the powers of laws, or guards that keep order in the city. I trust someone, or I don't trust someone. It could mean I trust them to stick to laws, to stick to an agreement right until they get made a better offer. There's really no middle ground. Is there?

    It's different with honesty. There's middle grounds. Gray areas, as some might call it. It's not black and white. I think the dishonest part is what I would call deception. Lying is different. I lie daily to Sabre, tell her things I don't mean. And it shows, I think. She returns witty comments, usually bests me too. Words are not my world. They're hers. It's an enjoyable game, teasing each other. It's not deception. It's lies. Jokes. Stories. Maybe even the hint of poetry, as she's bound to tease me.

    Then there's truths that are said to fool people. Truths that are bound to fall on deaf ears. Or truth disguised as such a way the meaning escapes everyone. That's basically deception, clothed in truth. Deception that is supposed to pass the fine grained perception of a cleric with a Detect Lies spell active. Someone foolish enough to rely only on their stupid magic to ensure the validity of what they hear.

    Of course, sometimes you simply lie to deceive people. Tell something that's not true in any case, to cover something else quickly. It's important. It's useful. It's crude. I lack the skill, yet, to make those sound entirely believable. I should try to abstain from such. For now.

    Finally, there's the honesty. Simply, straight saying what you mean. Undisguised. Direct. It can be useful. It's one of Drelan's traits, I think. He sticks to his word, clings to it, sometimes. Does that make him a honest man? If he keeps a word, what does he gain by it? Maybe I should ask him that. I think he said it's about his reputation, but I don't know why anyone would give a damn about something that insubstantial.

    Is it really this honesty that I share with Sabre that allows us to be so close? So trusting. So taken. Much has changed, in the recent days. Weeks. Months. Ever since she asked me, what she can do for me. Ever since she made me think about what my wishes were. I wonder, I wondered if she wasn't right, then. I don't care anymore. It's doubts that ruin the moods, it's about fun. It's about trust. And it's about honesty.

    I slowly allow the storm to take me away again. Let it sweep me into her arms. Driven by the lightnings, looking, searching, seeking and finding. A second part. A twin. But as hard as we try to merge, we will always stay as two. Different, and similar. Separated, and drawn together.

    Maybe the problem is a bit like Sabre and me. I wonder if we need some external incentive for it to become one. If it's at all possible, or if they have to stay separated. It seems they want to become one. Very much so. There's little doubt towards that.

    And somehow, I have the hope it's possible.

  • V

    Written with a slightly shaking hand, that calms down only with the progressing of the text, the following page was neatly folded and pressed tightly together.

    @c2e3477758:

    An axe is an horribly sharp object. At least the head. And even moreso when it's in the hands of something big, huge. Something that knows how to wield it. That's what has my head spinning a bit even now. I still can't really believe I stood there, trying to get the giant to keep hitting me with that huge axe.

    I know why I did it. To buy the others enough time to get away. I kept telling them to run. But I stood there, accepting the pain. Taking it. For the others. Mainly for Sabre, perhaps. But it doesn't really change the wrong approach to this. I can't take giants. They're beyond my skill. As is all this mystery stuff.

    It's not my place to fend off troubles to the city, but it's still nice to hear people care about you. I know Senria prefered me with her, but it's obvious the lot of them don't trust Sabre. It's just fine, I don't trust a sneaking, invisble elf, either. I keep wondering about that strange room. It's supposed to be kept a secret, and so I can't really speak of it to anyone.

    What irks me, though, is that Senria hesitated, wasn't sure whether to include Sabre the very moment she picked up that thing. At least she took my hints and promised to include her when she found the time. But as light really isn't Zara's thing, it seems that that much of Seer's visions is true. Seeking. I wonder if we're doing it properly.

    That's how I ended up face to face with a giant, anyhow. Ormpur. Looking for remaining loot. Exploring the caves there, taking a look at the damage, maybe. And then a giant scout. It got away, and a small band of giants went after us. It went okay, at first. Just weapons against weapons. Still, a giant hits me a couple of times, I'm little more than crawling anymore. Then one of their casters turned up, together with an invisible guard.

    And I acted the part of hero. Sabre scolded me for it, rightfully. I ain't no hero. It's important to know that fear keeps you alive. There we're right back to the very, the only rule. Don't die. The one rule that always counts. Don't die. Her telling me that I shouldn't act a hero was a more subtle way to remind me to stick to the rule. A way to, maybe, even compliment me for what I also did. I did buy the time for everyone to get away, even if Rhistin nor Adam took the opportunity. Rhistin maybe doesn't know that a running giant still won't catch up with me.

    That is, unless they manage to wrestle the control of my mind from me. I should always be aware of that. And worried about that. The memory of a kobold humilating me like that is too fresh. Should always be too fresh. It doesn't matter how fast I can move, how quick I can dodge, how swift I can escape battle, once my thoughts, my mind, the control of my body is taken, and I stand held in place, I'm little more than a punching bag. And one that dies when hit too often. And I'm not difficult to miss when I stand still.

    For a few moments, I was a hero. Just long enough. Maybe it's also because of what Sabre taught me. Without realizing it, a new pathway has opened for me. An entirely different approach. A new hope. In the past, I always had the old teachings with me, followed the old way. And it led me against a brick wall with Sabre. I could run against it, and it would throw me back. Send me sprawling each and every time.

    It's lies in how I was taught, how I approach life. Everything. Rowan laid the basics, but it was Dorn who taught me to learn the limits of my body through pain. Life is just a long torment, a twisting and twisted pathway to death. Every moment of pain, every instant of it, is to be savored, witnessed, remembered. It is the only truth.

    I learnt, now, that it is not. When I look through Sabre's eyes, use her approach to me, to my own body, I see that there is more than pain. Pain still seems a good way to discover the limits of the body, to extent of what you can do, but there's also the supportive love. She caresses hurting places. Grants them additional strength. Helps them to reach farther, extend to new limits. Adds to them. It is odd. It is something I do not understand. Something alien.

    And at the same time it is also familiar. Welcome. Appreciated. I don't know how to handle this. Not yet. But I have a feeling if I don't start opening my eyes to this new approach, I will never be able to become faster, or stronger. I will forever run into that wall. And be thrown back.

    It is time to learn to melt into that firm wall. Become one with it. And I need Sabre's help for that. I have a feeling she will give that help willingly. And gladly.

  • V

    The following page was written in a calm hand.

    @2e5b8d8aff:

    Sabre is worried sick about that Zara woman. Shadows. That's her domain. Everything seems to be shadow. Oscura is beset by shadows from the crypts. Horrors of the past. And Drelan seeks in the recent history. The history of this Oscura.

    Zara is a different thing. Perhaps. She's working for some strange goal. And the only defense against her is hope. Her goal is to destroy hope. Take friendship. Take love.

    They're fighting in Peltarch against her, but to only think she acts there is to fail to notice the important parts. Why would she consort with a wizard in Oscura, if she doesn't want something from him? And if you can't go directly to her, hit her through that wizard. That's what would be smart. That's what would be wise.

    Like that Ael said, break a mages fingers. He wants to forgive, but at least he's not stupid. Forgiveness. You can't forgive someone for something they haven't yet done. But you can try to break their fingers, so they can't do it.

    Hope.

    That's the one thing you can field against despair. Against Zara. Mercy's taunts are different. They're friendlyish. Not filled with despair. Malevolence. It's actually nicer. She can be horribly disgusting, like before, when she put that corpse, that mutilated corpse in Sabre's bunk. I suppose we'll be using mine for a long, long while now. Maybe until we get that house. We'll be safe from anything odd appearing in bed there. Not that we're going to need a bed, really.

    Keira asked me what Sabre meant to me. I wasn't even sure, then, if I loved her. She still meant life to me. Hope. Hope that there's even a place for me in this world. A place that I can come back to, and people don't ask me about the wrongs I did. Nor care what I can do for them. It's like the distant memory of a long ago past.

    I'm drunk on that dream. That hope. A house is just an investment. Just gold spent for more of that dream. I don't think of it as tying us down, anymore. Gold comes and goes.

    Sabre stays.

  • V

    This page starts out with the handwriting calm, controlled, almost a bit too abruptly ending words or letters. It later becomes a bit larger and appears more relaxed. Seems somebody folded it in a hurry though and stuffed it away without much care.

    @025370fb8b=The:

    A hand moves. But it's not just the hand. The arm follows, obediently. Muscles tense. The body twists a little and then it connects. The arm is slowed, the elbow driving, driven a bit deeper. The body does not pause. To pause is to fail. Not slowing it twists on, turns sideways. Avoids the club. A foot lifts, is pushed forwards. The knee rises, the toes curl up a little, just before they hit flesh. Bite into it, grab a hold. The body bends forward, the club scraping over the back. The toes find a hold, the space between the huge monster and myself dwindles. Disappears. The fingers spread out, dig into the fat on the monster's sides. My head leans back. My body falls back a bit, I'm too close for the monster to hit me with the useless club. A huge fist appears from the right. I put my weight into it, focus and plunge my head forward. The muscles tense. It's like a ripple starting in the fingers and toes, spreading up my arms and legs, until it reaches my neck, my head. Then, for a moment, I go blind. My eyes closed I drive the head forcefully into the monster's chest. It staggers, the fist gropes blindly. My right hand lets go, I roll myself along the fleshy thing. The huge, alien, dirty fist missing me, hitting only its own skin. The ground comes up, the feet hit it, my legs bend a little. I cower, duck. Dodge the club. The huge, painfully large club. But no club comes my way. I look again. The monster staggers backwards, its upper body moving forwards, the legs not obeying. It topples over. Sits for a moment, then its body falls forward, over its own legs. The arrow sticking out from an eye is driven further in. It's dead. I rise.

    I don't know why Keira wants me to watch myself, observe my own body during a fight. My guess is that she thinks I would find the reasons for why I move the way I move. But the reason I do it, that way, is that it's worked. That I know what to expect. I'm aware of the way the club moves, where it is, even without looking. I can sense it. Feel its threatening presence. Maybe it's the wind it makes when rushing at me, rushing through the air. I don't ask the whys. Does that limit myself? Does it make me less successful? Maybe.

    Rowan would scold me. Tell me I'm a failure. How I was a waste of her time. Probably she'd laugh. She liked to laugh to make people feel small. Unimportant. Wronged. She liked to toss about the complex hints. Speak in riddles. Cloud the understanding. Hide the straight path. I wonder if she believed meditation and bleeding actually led to understanding yourself. She taught me the most important lesson, though. Steel is weaker than flesh. A point impressively proven.

    It is a question of training, though. Not of meditation. Not of understanding yourself. It is accepting the pain. Accepting the pain of weeks, months, years worth of training. If you hit a sword, you can break it with your arm. Shatter the steel. You better hit the flat side, though. Flesh is cut. Steel shatters. Just a shame they cloud the truth. A human body has a weakness. Bones break. The trick isn't a trick at all. It's not staring at the sword, wishing it to crumble into dust. That'd be magic. No, the way to do it is train and train and train. Until your skin, your muscles are hard enough to deliver the blow. Until you know just when to flex your fingers to harden the muscle just that little extra bit more. It's a long, painful training.

    Steel is weaker than flesh.

    Training. Training is stronger than anything. In the end it's always about the training. I don't understand Sabre anymore. I think she should scare me. Frighten me. But I can't seem to find the fear. It's hiding away from the burning. From the bright, bright sun. She seems so excited about getting a house to ourselves. A place where we can be ourselves, and don't have to worry about Gurt, or Mercy stumbling in on us. Or as Drelan put it, where we won't be in the way while they are loading cargo.

    I'm carefully optimistic. I always thought about getting on Sabre's ship and sailing away with her. Being with her, sailing the seas. This house business is a reminder of what possession means. You have a whole new way for the tyrannical system to run you down. But that's the part I have to leave up to Sabre. She knows how to play people. How to make them do what you want. But even she has a hard time with a prejudiced magistrate.

    I can see how Sabre becomes excited about it, though. We still have been assigned seperate bunks, though it's been a while since both were in use at the same time. We don't own anything yet, that's ours. It's always either Sabre's or mine. As such, it's a further step into binding us to each other. A defining step of the us. But by now I'm already hers, this is merely accepting it. A well trained man. I'm nodding my consent, and even ponder what to put in there, to make it the right place for Sabre and me. For us.

    I can't even find it in me to be afraid anymore.

    I think we'll even need that crib that Mercy suggested, tauntingly. If we really manage to get a tressym as a pet for the house, that would be great. I remember one from when I was a child. We tried to catch it. Trick it with little treats, I think. I remember how we got awfully scared when it told us to step out of the way. In hindsight, I figure it was a wizard's familiar, but back then, it was a talking animal. We scattered.

    I always admired tressyms. Their ability to take to the air, fly away when things got a bit tight. I wonder if they have a nest. A mate to return to. I wonder if they move into houses, and live as pets. Accepting the closed confines of a house.

  • V

    Yet another seperate page, written in a hurry, the words barely seperated. This page was later folded and the ink further smeared over itself.

    @e20e0ecf0b:

    Reason went and left me alone. It's not like reason to stick around, anyhow. Keira told me to study myself, to understand my own movements, teach it to others. She makes it sound like that would allow me to figure out things. I'm not sure. It has little to do with reason. I'm not sure she understood what I want. Ultimate control is not what I'm after. Sanity. I'm searching for sanity in a storm of insanity.

    It's swirling around me, tossing me this way and that. Making me bounce off walls. Crash into rocks. If I'm not careful, it will drag me under the surface and drown me. Drown me in confusion. Horror. Insanity.

    It's everywhere.

    I think it began with the spiders. Stan. He put on a show for the benefit of Shannon. And he watches. Waits until the murder happened. Isn't bothered by people stabbing others in the streets. It's only important to him that he can convict them. It's a great example of why I give a damn about his gods. Add another item to the list of why Stan is wanted.

    But it looks like Stan's been possessed. Or controlled. Not sane. Sabre says he didn't seem himself. But he also pulled out tricks like that sneaky blue bard. Must learn how to beat those kind of tricksters senseless. Ex-Ting suggested to set them on fire. Might work, might not work. Probably are too dodgy for those kind of tricks. Worth a try, anyhow. Probably smarter is to wrestle them to the ground. As long as I keep the grip, I can still hit them in the face.

    As long as whatever horror drives Stan over the edge makes him only go after his own men, killing the spiders from within, I'm not bothered. But as Sabre pointed out, we should be concerned. Watch. Learn. And be prepared when they turn those horrors on us.

    I wonder now, if it's not Zara's horrors. Whispers speak of her killing children. Sacrificing them. Shadows are her play things. Undead serve her. Shar is mentioned. Loss. Vengenance. She tricked Sabre. Asked her who her loved ones are. Hexed her. I cannot forgive that. Mercy helped Sabre. She still teases her, threatens her. Sabre tells me it's just a game. Mercy can be nice. Protective. But at times, she seems insane. But who am I to point a finger. Few are those that would call me sane.

    Sanity leaves the room the moment Sabre enters. All plans forgotten, all ideas to leave her. Free our minds. It seems silly, so long ago. So distant. So untrue. Her faint scent. Her black hair. Her wide smile. Her curved lips. Her hungry eyes. It all dragged me in. Caught me. Crushed any resistance and build me from scratch. Gave me hope. Gave me love. Gave me life.

    Another task for the insane. And I agreed to do it. It's a folly. But I know that reason won't play a part in it. Not when I'm done writing here. Not when my mind returns to the unspoken promise of her beautiful dreams. Her tempting voice. She asked me to help her find a steady place. Reliable ground. An island in a swamp. I don't know the landscape. I don't know the treacherous ground. I don't know the deceptively hidden predators. And I'm happy to try. So much about my sanity.

    I'm asking around about Zara. Drelan warned that the temple to Shar in Oscura might not be the proper place to ask. At least not ask with force. Can get in serious trouble for messing with the blooded. Maybe it is time we all forget the troubles again. Maybe it is time we arrange for another festival.