3. (Pavel) journal of a dead man

(Pavel) journal of a dead man

  • V

    Several pages are filled with unreadable, and smeared letters.

    –--

    Moving on
    Peltarch's in pieces. It seems there's almost no Peltarch anymore. And now it's time to rebuild a new Peltarch. I wonder if I get to rebuild, too. And if I ever want to be part of a relationship again. I trusted her completely.

    Sabre's still obsessed with seeing only her way. And unable to cope that other people sometime see things differently. I suppose she actually thought I cared what Luke thinks. But that alone served as an insult to me. And then she tries to pin the blame for how she feels on me again. That did it. Excuses, again.

    I almost enjoyed the talking with her. Almost. Even though talking with Ashe was a lot more pleasant and enjoyable, maybe because there's no tension between us. Maybe. Ashe's carefree around me.

    I think the moment I realized what was wrong, what was really wrong was Taria when she asked me not to kill Jerrick. She said the thing I've longed to hear. Gave me the feeling that Sabre hasn't managed to give me for far too long.

    I doubt there's a chance for Sabre and me. I gave her enough opportunities to change. I've repeatedly told her where she's heading. And she prefered not to listen. She finally said sorry, but it's too late for that. Still means she finally realized that she's hurt me?

    I'm done making it up to her. Find a new ship, as she said it. She had her eyes trained on a new ship. All that's left of the old is a yearning in her heart. So be it.

    Time to move on.

    A new Peltarch? Or a new shore?

  • V

    Justice
    Kara's dead. Didn't manage to hit her myself, but Daisy's celestial help slew her. She deserved a meaningless death, too. She's brought pain and suffering to so many people, and until the last moment didn't even show remorse, or regret. Not even sorry.

    And she blamed the legion. She blamed the legion for being cornered. Self-rightgeous and selfish until the end. Still didn't want to accept the blame. Refused it. Happily seeing fault in others, but not in her.

    For once, it seems, Tyrran and Hoarian justice agree. Though personally, I would have prefered to stamp out her face. She doesn't deserve to be recognizable in death. She doesn't deserve a name. Just like all the thousand nameless people that died in the stupid war she brought to Narfell.

    Now, it's just Dentin to go. And a couple of hundred of Gor's men. Maybe even Gor's whole family.

    I'm glad for John and Ashe. Those two make life worth living, at the moment. They value simple joy and pleasure. Just a bit worried about Ashe now.

    The demons didn't really try. Or maybe I just had the right protections up. Gears almost killed Lyte, Benji and me. Damn deadly halfling attacks and their weak minds. Everything worked out well so far. The Rawlinswood claimed a price - Norwick territory so no loss. And the demons are held in place.

    Jerrick's pissed off at me, though, for me telling him the truth about his self-rightgeous fiancee… or wife?

  • V

    Intervention
    The oddest things are happening.

    So I got killed by some slaad, and it's utterly pointless and just plain hurts. Jerrick gets killed by an undead to seal some dark pact, and he's returned to life by the grace of his goddess. Makes you really wonder, though. A goddess takes a personal interest in Narfell. The stakes here are damn high. Makes what I told Jerr all the more true. Stick your head out, and it might just get chopped off.

    Hopefully that won't happen to the Sails.

    I think I'm doing it to Sabre, though. And that hurts. She's amazed me. She's actually trying to be someone different for me. She's done something I really didn't expect of her. It hurts me to push her a little more. But I think she wants it, too. I suppose she'd prefer it if I just hopped into bed with someone else. She'd understand that, probably. But it's not me.

    Still wish it hadn't been that truth she told me. But I suppose it's just as well. I knew what risk I took by reassuring her of my love. I kind of expected it to go that way. Now I'll just have to fight that green, tentacled monster. I'll see if she is willing to help me. I really hope she is.

    I want us to live through that war.

    It might yet yield a real profit. If we manage to not get sunk.

  • V

    –-

    A couple of pages are torn out of the journal.

    –--

    _The harbor was still, now, in the middle of the night. Somewhere in the alleys a small brawl started, screams and howls wandering through the nightly city, echoing off walls, the water in the harbor glittered under the starry sky, small waves rippling the otherwise perfect reflection, changing the quiet sky into a wilder one, disquiet and yet still tranquil.

    Perched against one of the many empty crates at the side of the water, Pavel stared out on the water's surface, his eyes closing one moment to hold in his hands a small, broken bone. Eventually he directs his gaze onto the broken leg bone a very faint smile settling on his face. Then he lifted a bottle to his lip, draining the greenish liquid with a grimace on his face.

    For a long while he just stands, remaining quiet. When he finally turns, he tosses the empty bottle into the water, the expression on his face calm and controlled. But his eyes sparkle with a deep unrest and his steps lead him to the sounds of the brawl._

    Deceptions
    I broke a table.

    Deceptions are so common lately. Everywhere you look you find it. A cyric cult in Peltarch acting as guards. N'Jast claiming to serve good and attacking civilians. Slaughtering. The magistrate signing a warrant for the high priest of Tyr, in the name of law. The list goes on endlessly. It's the war. Things are happening so fast, and I yearn for a little quiet space.

    I yearn to trust one person above all. I want to trust her. I need to trust her. And even she deceived me. I wonder who stopped trusting the other first. It's all so messed up. Should have stuck with my plan.

    I don't even know if she understood the depth of the meaning before me. Or not. But she said it at the right time. I want to float, and I want to fall.

    Anger got the better of me. I'm losing control. I'm losing it.

    I broke a table.

  • V

    _He could still hear the ringing of the ogres' screams of pain and death behind him. It was Seth's voice that alerted the others and Pavel to the new presence. A frog like creature, sitting calmly on a cliff and just watching. At first, it didn't much look like a slaad, not at all like the red slaadi he had seen before. But as they approached warily, the thing summoned a proper red slaad.

    With the combined forces of Luke and Ugor, Mercy and Sabre, as well as Seth and Pavel the first slaad was quickly defeated. Arrows, darts and swords took down the second and third slaad quickly. Even the fourth slaad fell to a well aimed arrow from Sabre, but then the other slaad started to walk downwards, heading in Sabre's direction.

    Pavel didn't know a single thing about that slaad, just that it must be a very powerful one. And there wasn't a question in his mind as he charged forward, jumped the last few feet to hit the outsider with a crushing kick. Instantly the attention of it was turned towards him, but unimpressed by any pain it began to cast a spell. Somewhere behind him, Seth was doing the very same thing, making himself faster, or even more stronger with magic.

    Arrows thudded into the oversized frog, Seth's sword left a huge gap in its side, and Pavel's own arms and hands left marks on the oily skin of the creature. But none of that hampered the concentration of it as it hissed out a spell at Pavel. He knew he was the right target for any magic the creature might spew forward, but no love, no training, not anything could have prepared him for the force that began to tear him apart.

    The pain that took hold of his body seemed eternal in length, he felt compressed into a tiny space, ripped to shreds, and burned at every part of his body. Yet, it was just the blink of an eye for the spell to do its destructive work and almost the same instance the slaad itself sank to the ground, the corpse disappearing to whatever plane spew it out, its death cry paled by Sabre's desperate, pleading scream:_

    "Pavel!"

    Forgiveness
    It's time I learn something entirely new.

    She has hurt me far more deeply than I dare to admit to her. It stings. It hurts so very deeply. I feel the very fabric of my existence threatened. The force that holds me together is weakening. I need to walk away now. I need to step back from it, and take time to sort it out.

    I'm glad I managed to show her one last time just how important she also is to me. How very dear. I think that's what the rest just doesn't get. We appear so clearly in love. But also so angry at each other. It belongs together. Of all the people around us, it's probably just Jack who's figured out the real problem. Most of the others are too selfish. And so am I.

    For all that things seem to go smoothly between us at times, there's a lot of things hidden. Unspoken.

    So much, I am looking at a huge mess. I need to get over myself, though. I need to learn how to forgive. Not just her. Or me. In general.

    Forgiveness.

    I like that goal.

  • V

    Green light filled up the cave for a moment, the slimy thing formed of magic flew at Pavel and found its mark unerringly. Magic acid settled on his skin and it seemed as if even the battle-hardened Pavel would flinch at such sudden pain, but then it was the blob of acid that shivered, became transparent and disappeared as if it had never existed and on Pavel's chest not a single hair had been singed by the magic attack.

    The blue clad, and heavily armored Sarah blinked surprised at this, and asked curiously: "How is it that magic does not affect you?"

    "I am warded by love," Pavel stated simply, surprised to be asked this, most just took his ability to shrug off magic for granted.

    "But how is that possible," _the young cleric of Mystra inquired, her interest clearly picked.

    Slowly he turned his grey eyes to her, and wondered if Sarah would not after all make a good student. He smiled a bit to her, warming up to her curious nature. Then he explained in his simple manner:_ "Their magic is born of hatred. It is weak and helpless in the face of love."

    "I wonder what Mystra says to that," the young woman replied, hiding an amused chuckle at the curious explanation. Despite the fact that Pavel was indeed unaffected by the magic more often than it got past his defense, somehow the sheer simplicity of the answer was staggering in its consequences.

    Truth
    For me, love is absolute. There can not be a doubt, or a question.

    It exists. It shields me. It provides warmth. Cover. Shelter.

    This is not so for others it seems. They seem to confuse the act with the feeling. I'm thinking that's why some people give me funny looks, about Luke and Sabre. But I have set limits. Once those are breached, things will change. Sabre knows this, and she keeps telling and reassuring Luke. I did my share of that, too.

    The love we share is a reassuring ship. It weathered some really bad things. And it can survive more.

    Sarah wondered how Mystra felt about my shield. Maybe I really sounded like some old master. Avoiding to say the true thing. But I spoke truth. Or an excuse? I think it's just that everyone walks their own path. Finds a different truth.

    Their own truth.

  • V

    _The still warm corpse of the huge brown bear lay somewhere behind him, the claws had left marks on his body, a part of his leg was missing where the strong jaws of the ferocious beast had torn out a sizeable junk of his flesh. Pavel closed his eyes and allowed the stinging pain to run through his body, it filled him with a tantalizing promise, like the freezing, uneasy warmth of cold water after rolling around in icy snow, or the Icelace Lake. His calm and quiet breathing formed small, little clouds, rising up from him, much like the steam rose from the dark corpse behind him, but Pavel's grey eyes didn't see the equally grey steam, they remained closed, and a moment of utter calm settled over this part of the mountains.

    For a long time, he didn't move at all, just stood quietly, even though his eyes opened from time to time to sweep over the land below, or to study the mountains. As the cold of the night began to settle in, stealing the last signs of former life from the corpse, Pavel bend down and set a candle at his feet, he hesitated a moment, then, staring for a while at nothing but the yellow-greenish candle. A soft smile formed on his lips as he lit the candle and settled down next to it, naked as he was, pulled out a book and began to write._

    Promotion
    I remember when bears scared me. I remember the first fight ever. Serious fight.

    I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been promoted since. Now I can take on the worst bears. And on my own. Wrestle them to the ground, break their neck. Still risky. Still hurts. But I welcome the hurt. I understand pain. Pain.

    I have to get over myself. Not all in life is about pain. Maybe in that way Ocean was right. I have to get over the pain. Have to understand the nice parts about life.

    Have to take it.

    No. Learn to take it. Learn to create it. Like I know how to find pain.

    It's time I learn about something else.

    Maybe I'm even ready to be a lieutenant. Didn't hesitate one moment to get Mercy back. And I don't think I would have had second thoughts about any of the crew. Already care for them. I'll ask Sabre about it.

    Time to go home.

  • V

    Being a Fool
    I really feel like a fool. A big one, at that.

    Promotions all around. Sabre's finally acting captain and soon to have a ship of her own. About time. Guess she's celebrating that right now.

    I'm made a petty officer. Potential offer to become her lieutenant. She wants it, I think. Wanted it for a while, just isn't sure if I want it. I'm less and less sure. I tried to keep the peace in the crew. Tried. Failed horribly. I don't have Drelan's icy stare. And I don't have Sabre's warmth. I prefer things simple.

    I like to think that I managed to somehow even get in good graces with Mercy. Don't know what's going on there. Jack's made a comment that just made me feel all the more of a fool. Beat up John. John. Really like the guy. He's got his priorities right, though. Made him a bit angry, Sabre and me chatting.

    I'm just all the more fool.

    Must have confused the hell out of Luke. Probably the rest of the crew, too. Liked what she said.

    Xxx'x xxxx xxx xxx xxxxxx xxxx xxxxxxxxx. Xxxxx xx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx Xxxx xxx xx. X xxxx xxx xxx xxxx, xxx xxx'x xxxx xx xx xxxx xxxx xx xxx xxxxxxx. Xxxxx'x xxxx xx xxxxxx xx, xxxx xxt? Xxxxx xx'x xxxx xx xxx xxxxxx xxxxx. Xxx xxxxx xxxx.

    Xxxxx xxx'x xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xx, xx xxx xxxxxxx. Xxxxx xxx'x. Xxx xx xxxxx xxx xxxxx xxxxxxx.

    Xxx xx X xxx xxxx x xxxx?

    Xxxxxxx X xxxx'x xxx. Xxxx xxxxxxxx.

    Need time to think. Meditate?

  • V

    _Blood ran into his eye, clouding Kosef's vision further. There was a heavy fog in his mind, a dark red fog, full of snippets of the great time he'd had with Pavel - Pavel who had taught him so much, given him so much. To Kosef it seemed as though he was cursed, once again he had to face the decision. But this time, the relationship wasn't just a growing companionship, deep down, he had given his entire trust into Pavel's hands and the older man had rewarded him with new ways to deal with problems, with his own take on things, he had been the sure and readily sharing voice of reason until someone had decided it was entertaining to watch the two fight each other.

    So now, in the dust of the arena, he lay in the blood drenched sand. Pavel's dagger stuck deep in his side, possibly even now cutting at organs under his dirty skin, vital organs. And next to his ear, the ragged breathing of Pavel announced that his most trusted friend didn't face any better odds than he himself. With an unexpected force, driven perhaps by an inner rage, the older man heaved himself up and sunk his claw like, sticky fingers into Kosef's throat, he threatened to throttle the younger man, and Kosef wasn't sure if he should believe, if he could possible follow the hissed command from the haggard, badly malformed face hovering over him:_ "Fight, boy. Or it's the end of both of us."

    _Later, much later, it was the gentle lapping of the waves that woke Kosef. The water had washed away the stench of death, the unmistakable mark of blood and sweat of both friend and himself, washed away by something as cold and unforgiving as the Icelace Lake. For a long, long while he just listened to the soft cries of the birds circling over him, and tried to forget, stretched his legs out, seeking to meet the retreating water, hoping that the water would wash away his memory, too. But he was not graced with such sweet forgiveness, he saw the last seconds, the so very long moments of pain that he had given to Pavel. Somewhere in the depths of his heart, of his mind, he knew that the older man had known throttling him was a mistake, he had seen others make the same mistake before, he must have known that Kosef would have the strength left to deliver a cruel, powerful punch to his side.

    The mocking cries of the birds reminded him of the cracking he had heard as his well trained fists drove the lethal punches into his friend's ribs. He laid on the beach for an eternity, and only as the sun rose and chased away his dark thoughts, the icy chill that was so deep in his mind, and in his body. He knew Pavel was dead, and he must have waited so long with that last, deciding punch, that he was thought to be dead, too. He accepted the answer calmly, stoically, that he had been disposed off, in the lake, a drifting corpse to find a final resting place at the grace of whoever stumbled across it. Just one thought crystallised in his mind, he didn't want to be Kosef any longer, he didn't want to have to kill a third friend.

    As the sun reached the highest peak, and in the nearby city many people paused in their work for a quick lunch and some short chats, a young man rose from the beach, staggering towards the settlement. His name was Pavel._

    Overpowered
    That's the only word to describe it, really. Spells cast on me, by Rerith and Telli. I felt my body bend, strengthened, protected, warded. I felt the strength of the spells in me. Around me. And then we saw the trolls. It wasn't just two, or even just a dozen. It was at least two dozen. I remember how they incinerated Taria and the Admiral in seconds.

    I charged. Telli followed suit. We laid waste to the army of trolls. Spells all around us. Lightning striking the ground. Thunder all over. Mind spells fizzling off the protections. Large, dirty arms reaching for me. It was just one large heap. And then it was over. My own body as fast as lighting, Telli's mud covered form somewhere nearby. And around us, heaps of scorched troll flesh.

    John said it the other day again. I'm a one man army. If I'm spelled up, with all the right spells, yes I am. But almost anyone would be. Deadly. Blindingly fast. A force of destruction. A victor. Made, trained and shaped. Created.

    I wish there were spells that could do the same in dealing with people. Could make me give such sure a footing. Such sure a wit. Such clear an understanding of what's going to happen. Of what is happening. But they don't exist. I don't understand. I don't.

    I can make her laugh. Her eyes shine. And yet, I would have to be blind not to see it. I'm not blind. Luke makes her happy. I made her cry. Scared me. Scarred me.

    Maybe it's time I live up to my name. I am Pavel. Am I not?

    Pavel, I miss you.

  • V

    "So?" Kosef glared at the older man, tried to appear defiant of what Pavel kept trying to tell him. What he was told to do went against everything he had been taught, everything he had learnt in his life. He was supposed to put his own life at risk, so that another could save it. Quite simply put, Kosef suspected that he would get mangled by the large, growling bear. Already his chest bore the painful reminder of what those thickly pelted paws could do as weapons, the sharp claws had drawn blood. The small, reddish eyes so out of place in the black face of the huge bear looked around frantically, and then its ears twitched and he looked in their direction.

    "Look, boy, we don't have time," Pavel spoke urgently, hissed at the younger man. His hands gestured to the black bear who reared up on its hind legs, showing off its impressive size, but the two men were as much stuck in this cage as the bear. The vague knowledge that maybe their lives might be worth a bit to their owners, didn't seem very reassuring seeing the craziness, the driven hunger in the bear's movements. "This bear means business. We can't win if we don't work together. You can't wrestle the bear, you've lost too much blood. So that's up to me. Now go!"

    _For Kosef it seemed very likely that Pavel was about to send him off to be maimed by the bear, hoping the beast would be satisfied having eaten one human. On the other hand, he also agreed with the way the older man assessed their situation. If he went anywhere near those powerful paws again, he'd be just a single, light slap away from being a very bloody corpse. There was really no choice for Kosef, if he stayed with Pavel it would be his death, if he did as he was bid, it was very likely he'd die. But there was that small, tiny chance that Pavel actually meant what he had said, that he could actually pull off the incredible feat of wrestling the furry mountain of muscles down.

    Just as the bear started to growl and make its way towards them, Kosef edged along the bars, tossing insults at the angry beast, cussing freely more because he felt like now also punching Pavel's face to a pulp. The bear fell for this trick, turning its attention on the younger man, roaring its claim of superiority and as a stone was hurled and hit its snout, it dug its hind legs in. But before the bear could bring its huge mass into a proper charge, Pavel was upon the beast, leaping onto its furry back, his sword sinking into its side. The bear roared again, full of rage, and tried to throw off the unwanted rider.

    After that, it was over quickly. The bear and Pavel struggled for a while, rolling around the cage. Eventually Kosef approached carefully, tugging the large bear corpse off his partner, who struggled free with a grunt, his scarred body looking even more mangled, black fur clinging to the small rivulets of blood that had run down arms and legs. While the crowd beyond the bars broke into applause and cheers, Kosef just stared incredulously at the older man and then murmured softly:_ "You did it. You beat the bear."

    Pavel cocked his head sideways, a warm smile showing in his brown eyes, if not on his pain marked face. The locked door creaked open, the armed guards there waiting for the two to return to their cell and as Kosef made his way to it, supporting the older man, he heard the gentle reply: "No, boy. We did it."

    Mercy
    She's a pain. A real thorn in the side of the Sails, at times. And other times, the greatest boon the group has.

    She seems to enjoy bringing pain and hurt. Sabre accepts her as she is, mostly. Sets limits. But that doesn't keep things from going bad. I wonder if that is why Mercy is high in the Queen's favour. The chaos Mercy brings cannot be denied. The will for destruction, is it Mercy's, or the Queen's? Who's to say?

    I don't know how to bring about peace in the crew. It ordinarily wouldn't be my job. But I can't keep wondering if Mercy doesn't need someone like Pavel. She reminded me oddly of my situation, when I first met him. Mercy loves destruction. She relies on her own powers. And they are mighty indeed. Especially the boons the Queen grants her.

    Mercy and John. A match made in the hells, though. Mercy cannot seem to suffer him peacefully. And John is needed for the crew. He's a good man. Clever, smart. And at the same time, we also need Mercy. But without Corana to keep a leash on Mercy, we're stuck with a wild beast, at times.

    Maybe. Just maybe. Mercy needs to learn to work in a team. As part of a team. I wonder if I can get that into her thick skull. Show her the benefits of teamwork. Show her that being part of a team means that sometimes you have to go against your instincts for survival, and at the end, you come away better.

    Or maybe, she'll really just change with the tide. If it's low, we're better off staying away. Or we'll run ashore. If it's high, Mercy feels like making everything better for all of us.

    Haven't decided yet, if I will punish Mercy. For what she did.

  • V

    _The tender skin on his chest still itched, even days after they had stitched, burned their sign into it, marked him as one of theirs. Instinctively his fingers touched the dirty cloth that was wrapped around him, originally it had been a very clean cloth - for Kosef it had been a definite sign that they considered him an important property, something to polish and show off to their friends, perhaps - but now, after three days on his person, the formerly white cloth had become brownish, soaked with dirt and sweat. He hadn't done much to keep the cloth clean, nor had he done much to prevent being branded in such a way.

    It had been his cold desire to meet the rich and noble man that had paid the gold for him, bought him as a slave, a mere thing, for his own amusement or his profitable schemes. For three days now, he had been locked into the carriage, deprived of more than minor exercises, deprived literally of his freedom once again. In an attempt to stay calm, Kosef focused - as he had been taught by Rowan - on the cold, burning hatred for the man who had all this arranged, a Vaasan noble or merchant, and tried to meditate on all the endless suffering and brutal pain he would put that man through.

    When the carriage door was finally pulled open by two large towering half-orcs, he struggled, but the thick, muscled arms that seized him, dragged him into the glare of the bright afternoon sun didn't give way. Strong hands closed about his arms, held him in place, even though he tried to move he didn't have enough strength to wriggle free, break the hold on him, as the pale-skinned dandy strolled up to him, looked him over with those noble, distant eyes, inspected him like one might look at a shiny, jewelled dagger, and commented in his dandy voice:_ "Good for paired fighting."

    A nod to the side from the dandy, his long hair, his shiny locks throwing a shadow over Kosef's face, and then he was dragged off, his teeth gritted and his feet trying in vain to get a firm grip on the ground. The two mercenaries seemed not bothered by any effort of Kosef to free himself off their grip, without much difficulty they dragged and pushed him up a flight of stairs and then shoved him through another door, locking it behind him. Kosef shook the last bits of anger off, and then took a moment to look around. Sitting on a makeshift bed, another man returned the angry glance with a faint smile. As Kosef stalked over the other man rose and gave him a terse nod, introducing himself in a open and friendly manner that had become so unfamiliar to Kosef:

    "Hi, I'm Pavel."

    New faces

    There's some new crew signing up lately. That's good. Gets the Sails active again. Gives Sabre things to do. There's also some new trainees at the monastery. Gives me things to do. Never been one to handle dealing with new people well. Glad Sabre takes care of the Sails at least.

    John seems interesting. His eye patch reminds me a bit of Deacon. Think he'll make a good leader of sorts. Mercy and him can't seem to get along, though. Some god stuff. Stupid? But it worked out well with the ogres. Good with a bow, stuck back and shot. And good enough in mêlée. Very fond of rapiers. Bit crazy about them.

    Jack seems sweet. Bit like Taria. Hope she doesn't break on the fact that Umberlee isn't. At least seems to know when to instil fear. On the upside, she's way more easy to be around than Mercy. Even though Sabre's now managed to actually be able to talk Mercy into being nice. Still. Jack's way easier understood. Great to have her on board.

    Sabre's put Urgh as a personal guard to Jack. And that's a good pairing. Urgh's become the new loot carrier. Saves me from a lot of trouble, too. Though I still ended up carrying a large amount of those heavy throwing axes back. Wonder how much stuff Urgh himself carried. Probably way more. Now that he's got bags it should be easier for him, too. Despite being a bit on the dumb side, Urgh managed not to die to ogres. Listens to orders well. Definitely good addition.

    Luke's on the crew for his captain. Which is Sabre. They both like each other well enough. The guy just seemed scared I'll rip him apart. Tried to reassure him I won't. Hopefully finally believes me. Third try. Could make a really great addition because he's a really friendly kind of guy. Could help improve relationships with everyone. Could. Would be a good thing that.

    Just don't know how I fit in there. Mercy's back on the crew, too. Fighting, kicking and cussing as ever. Seems a bit nicer, lately. Helped a lot with the ogres. Wonder if it's all the scrolls she gets lately, that makes her happy and more ready to share the Queen's blessings.

    Great that things are happening again, too. Sabre's growing to meet the new challenges. Good to see. I'll just see where my place is. Liked to be able to just focus on fighting. Hit the ogres hard. Sabre stabbed them really well. She's as deadly. As lovingly lethal as ever.

    Together, we're worse.

  • V

    _Rowan's laugh struck deep, it pierced what little value Kosef had left of himself. He was slowly understanding what was really going on, and he had liked it less and less. But the hearty laughter and the sheer, undisguised joy that he read, that he saw in Rowan's otherwise so cold eyes made him finally understand the depth of the betrayal. Somewhere deep inside he felt the dark knowledge rise that he should have, that he had known who it was that he just cut up. It was a living and breathing human, much like him. Did it matter so much who it was? It was just another step on his way to learn the art of weaponless fighting, just another stepping stone, as significant as the others, and as unimportant, on its own like rising each morning for the ardours, painful training. And yet, for Kosef this was not.

    For him, it was of special significance, because this finally showed him the cruel price he was paying for his dream. Mehmen. He had liked him, gotten to know him over the first few weeks in the monastery. In training they had often been paired, fought together as a team quite a few times, too. But he knew that the human before him was beyond being saved by Ilfer. Too much blood was dripping on the ground, was covering his own hands. He had killed Mehmen, the painful knowledge of that horrible deed sunk slowly in just as his friend's blood formed a single, dark pool._

    "You have a choice," _Rowan said with that cruel and happy mirth in her voice, promising as much as taunting him. Kosef's grey eyes sought hers, and he only found coldness in the wintry, frozen blue eyes that met his pleading gaze. He knew that he had only a slave's choice, obey or be punished. For a long moment he paused, trying to make up his mind, and then he looked back at what his hands had done to the one he would have called a friend.

    It was then that Kosef made a secret vow. Never again would he laugh. Never again. At the same time, he made up his mind to take this step, to move on, even over his friend's life towards the goal. After all, he hadn't come here to learn how to save people's life. His sole purpose in the monastery was to learn how to kill, how to kill quickly, quietly and even when he was unarmed. For too long, he hadn't had a proper choice, and he would learn how to make those people pay who took away the right to chose from Mehmen, from his mother, from himself, and from so many others.

    With his purpose clear in mind, his blood stained, sticky hands found the neck, found the spine, and his finger found the cervical vertebra described by Rowan. His grey eyes locked onto Rowan's and he tried to show his defiance of her plan even as he took the next step in what she must have devised. But Rowan's eyes only spotted the strength of will, the fierceness in the new great weapon she was forging, moulding to her will. And so she smiled, confidently._

    Wasted
    Maybe it's a waste that I think of myself as a weapon. I've been trying to think of the other parts a life contains. The world isn't really divided in people, in stuff that has to be killed and stuff that hasn't yet earned that status. No, there's a lot more - shades to consider.

    I had that idea first when I watched a candle. So, I thought I offer that to the students, see if they get a similar, or an entirely different view. That already means facing my weakness perhaps. I'm more than just the martial abilities of my body. I'm a human being.

    I can watch candles burn down.

    For my students it must seem odd how I consider being able to burn a candle a huge gift. But it is a very liberating experience. My first duty as a slave was to douse every candle, every single candle in rooms that were not used. I was whipped often when I was too slow to find unused rooms in the house so that valuable candles were wasted.

    Now, I can buy candles, and give them away.

    And have the candles burnt.

    Without purpose.

    Wasted.

  • V

    Ilfer never showed any sign of tiring, and often her healing touch was just as painfully cruel as the horrifying, or utterly mundane devices used to create the wounds in the first place. Whispered in the sleeping room were some wild stories about why she was here in the first place, the only constant in the stories that Kosef had heard so far was that she followed the maiden of pain, and as she sprinkled the glittering healing dust on the deep wounds, the peeled off skin on his chest, the sting made him scream out in pain again - even though he had been more than prepared for it. Maybe it was that careless scream but the leather covered hands of the cleric closed firmly around his arm as she pulled him to a sitting position again. "You're a delightful boy. Such a delightful voice."

    _Faster than on any other day, an inwardly quivering Kosef collected his blood stained robe and even hurried out of the room as quickly as he could. The hacking laugh of Ilfer followed him through the door, and as he more or less ran down the hallway that barely muffled, rhythmical sound chased him. Some of the more wild stories, inspired by young boys no doubt, conjured up the horrifying desires the cleric must have. Those frightening and enticing whispers left an impression on Kosef, and there definitely was no one about, too, that could possibly say to have returned from a summon to the private chambers of Ilfer.

    After a short time, that she used to painstakingly thoroughly clean up the boy's blood from her operation and torture table, Ilfer went to join the masters of the monastery, her good mood lingering on and giving her a smile that a silent panther might show when creeping up on a particularly juicy meal. It didn't come as a surprise to her, either, when Dorn made the boy the topic of conversation, few had been subjected to as much or as thorough torture. For a while they chatted amiably about quite inventive ways to cut into a human body in extremely painful ways and once again she was quite impressed by Dorn's intimate knowledge of that particular subject._

    "He's not going to break on it," Rowan cut in, her very voice sharp as any knife. Ilfer would never admit it, but if there was any person alive that managed to scare her, it was Rowan. The steel blue eyes that could gaze upon people as curiously, as calmly analytical, and as coldly promising were coupled with a voice that could lend a thousand different meanings to the word cut. Rowan was the sole reason for Ilfer to stay around, she admired the older woman and her amazing skills. So now she turned her attention and curiosity to Rowan, while Dorn was about to make a rash, and brash comment but he was cut short by Rowan. "He's already been broken on physical pain."

    "What do you suggest then," Dorn asked, visibly biting back his anger, which on its own caused a crackling fire to waken inside Ilfer warming her and she began to truly like the day. And as Rowan laid out her cold, and cruel plan, Ilfer's day became better and better. As the plan was drawn out in its entirety, Ilfer's skin started to tingle, the fire inside her tickling her skin and she enjoyed the sensation of witnessing firsthand the pain planned for Kosef. While she hadn't been eager to accept that physical torture couldn't break a man, or boy, she had to admit that what she saw in Rowan's plan of close friendship and fiendish betrayal was a deep and thorough understanding of many facets of pain. Once more, she admired the older woman's wisdom.

    Wisdom
    I think it was Yu Shei who put it quite bluntly. But nonetheless properly. I have progressed quite far. Farther than some monks. But my understanding lacks behind. I don't like the spiritual, dogmatic side. Part. Life. I despise it. And yet, I have seen that it is part of my life. That I need it, to continue on.

    If I wish to progress, I have to find it in me. Face it. I have to become that which I claim not to be. Claimed. I'm already accepting the role of a monk. Outwardly. Inwardly I don't.

    It's the difference between someone who stumbles down a path. A wave that's carried to the beach, crashes. And is reborn to repeat. And repeat. And someone who walks a path. Directs where he goes. Where do I want to go?

    I wonder if it's not just sufficient to really understand my place. Who I am. What I am.

    The wise knows her own weaknesses. Faults.

    Do I have the strength to face my own weakness?

  • V

    _It was an uneven match. A large, grown man, arms fat with muscle, against slender Dorn, Master Dorn as they were supposed to call him. Kosef stood amongst the other new arrivals, watching curiously. Feeling thrilled at the possibility to see once again how fast these monks can be. His grey eyes watched with fascination as Dorn slid out of the way of the axe and reached through the arms, the shiny armour on the brute shifting slightly.

    After a few seconds the fight was already over, the strong brute buckled over, fell to his knees. Dorn's swift hands reached through and sent the defeated man screaming to the ground. Too often had Kosef seen the reverse, a strong, well armed guard lashing out with the blood drawing whip. But even the axe hadn't saved this one. Strength and weapons reduced to helplessness in the face of speed. Treacherous safety, the armour.

    And then Dorn stepped in front of the flailing figure and spoke quietly, yet with a sharp edge that cut through the pain filled, lonely screaming like a headsman's axe severs flesh and bone. The words were filled with a tantalizing promise of power, they were promising to make his most dire wish real. Many eyes wandered to the writhing mass of muscle, watching the unfolding pain, the despairing cries of a helpless rage. But Kosef's grey eyes focused on Dorn, on the dream of a sweet power laid out before him. That's when Dorn first noticed him and a cruel smirk settled on his face._ "You, boy. What's your name? And what's your question?"

    "I was called Bran," Kosef replied warily, and especially careful to avoid to show how much he shook inwardly at being singled out. The years in forced servitude, in slavery had taught him to be swift to answer any questions. "I'm just impressed by your speed, Master Dorn."

    For a moment, Kosef stood expecting the gleam that showed in Dorn's eyes to mean he was about to receive a beating, but then Dorn laughed, a deceptively light laughter. And he went on to explain why he left the man writhing in pain, and didn't send him into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness, or death. "Pain will be your companion for the rest of your life. Pain will be your friend, your lover, and your saviour. You will learn to embrace it, and to share it. You, Bran, step forward."

    Kosef did as he was bid, fearing the consequences of not obeying, but he had not understood anything at all yet. The gleam in Dorn's eyes was that of a passionate hatred as he watched the scrawny boy approach him slowly and he set about the task of sharing that hatred with a lover's devotion. His slim hands reached out, slender but strong fingers caressing the boy's side and then with a touch oddly as fleeting, as hesitant as a first shy kiss, his thumb pressed in and broke a rib.

    Teaching
    I don't have a clear goal in mind, when I teach. That makes it difficult. I try more to learn from my students, than press my thoughts, my way on them. If it's one thing I understood is that everyone wanders their own path. There's not two people who walk the same road.

    I understand that sometimes you share the road with some people. Others cross your road. And it's up to you what you make of it. What you learn from them. It's really all you can do. Observe them and learn from them what they're willing to show you.

    Some are clever enough to look at you. Want to understand your path. I wonder if you truly can understand a different person, or if you aren't just trying to find yourself in what they do.

    Maybe I'm stuck in the same dilemma as Dorn. As much as I don't like to admit that. His teachings focused on the bodily part. His common ground was pain. The common part I see in all the potentials is the exercise. It's about keeping your body in shape. Keeping your body focused. As the candle might say, bring body and mind together. Focus them on one thing.

    It's the best I can do. Is it good enough?

  • V

    The Sun and the Candle

    Sources of light. Both.

    The sun burns brightly. Fiercely. Hotly. It's staring down. Unreachable. Untouchable. It's distant. And yet Met brings it here. A sunny fellow. That's a very fitting description for him. He sees joy and fun everywhere. Even in a cave, he does bring the sun. And it's not just his garments. Or as he would have it perhaps, his fists. Or other parts of himself. It's his nature. His strange tee-hee sound.

    He's difficult to understand. At least if does try to talk. And maybe what's really wrong with him is that he's spend too much time in the sun. That can happen, at least in deserts. It's a weird path. One that's not so different from my own perhaps. It's filled with pain, bringing of pain, and a distance of the mind. The mind is not really embedded in the normal world.

    I probably couldn't teach him much. Partly because he knows most things already. And partly because he leads a sheltered life. So much unlike mine. He seems stuck in his mind. Free in body, but somewhere else with his mind. That's the main difference. I was always forced onwards by the body. Driven by the hurts, and pains, and later the caresses, the laughter.

    And that's so much unlike Aana. I'd compare her to a candle. Small, threatened to be broken. To melt in the presence of the sun. Yet, the light is stable in the darkness. You can carry it with you, rely on it. And most importantly, start it when you like. A small flame, at your command.

    She looks fragile. And that's perhaps going to remain so, for a good long while. But it matters not to her. She's a monk in the true sense. Living a sheltered life. Spending her time away contemplating, meditating. It's a different role. One that's difficult to grasp for me.

    She claims that meditating focuses both mind and body to a single task. To the here and now. While I agree in theory, I have my doubts. Doesn't help your mind to be still, if you're attacked by a kobold, or a bear. You have to have it more liquid, moving aside, flowing in, closing in and then crashing against the attacker. Like water.

    That's my perception. She's definitely picked my interest, though. I can't help but wonder about her path. She's one to watch. To teach.

    And I think I'll learn a great deal. A whole lot. From her.

  • V

    Voided
    It's there. I've seen it now. The blackness of it. The soundless hunger. The driven soulless. The void?

    Don't really know what made me go along. I better pretend it was eagerness for loot. But that wasn't it. I left once the fighting was done. I came along for the trip. Not even for the thrill. Just to measure myself. That's probably why I didn't hesitate stepping through the portal.

    Unprepared.

    It wasn't just me. People knew the dangers. But they brought the enthusiastic along. Didn't protect them. Sure, a scout was there. But forward. Alone. Safety is spelled differently. People died. No rear guard, no elemental protections for the weaker ones. Their risk? Probably been warned.

    Not my problem.

    Went through a portal, chasing a hobgoblin. Got stuck on an island with a small army. The normal, then. A slaughter of many hobgoblins. Weak in the face of the power we brought. Kara. Ronan. Ginger. Those three alone could have killed the lot of them.

    Extermination.

    Didn't really learn much. Few times there was a chance to talk. People preferred to insult. Fight. And kill. I was surprised to see that Kara allowed the body to be handled as a trophy. Monster or not. Guess it's okay, so long you don't hurt it. Don't understand the pleasure of having the stink of burnt human flesh in the camp.

    Was it fair? I don't think so. Didn't see the guy having hung his rooms with trophies of the kills of his monsters. Didn't even stop to ask the guy why he kept such pets. Someone of that power doesn't do things for the pleasure of their grunts. Or whatever.

    Power.

    The guy reeked of it. If half of what he said was true. If. The way his tower disappeared proved him right. Something claimed what the group had not. Power. Artefacts of immense power must have been in there. I wonder who reclaimed them. The void. Blackness? Shar?

    Someone got that guy's back. Someone who probably didn't mean us to get away. We failed to use the toys he gave the hobgoblins. Toys. Portal creating toys? Used a conventional method. A ship. But did it accomplish, what was demanded. What was longed for?

    Revenge?

    Freed some people. The only truly and purely good deed, that day. I guess. Revenge would be to get them trained and ready to fight hobgoblins. That would feel good. Arm them. Train them. Fuel their desire to break hobgoblins.

    It's time to make some new friends.

  • V

    Getting up
    I've hit the ground. And was reduced to pieces. It's time I learnt from it. Take what you can. Enjoy. That's what I have lost.

    Blurred.

    Both my memory and my sight must have been blurred. Life isn't about attaining some supernatural state. Unless you're a monk. Do I want to be a monk? Do I truly want to give the part up that makes me human? At the moment, I don't think so. It is a goal, yes.

    I remember clearly Keira's suggestion. That I should take on students of my own. To progress along the path further. Maybe that's what cost me so much.

    Gold.

    Neither a goal I can adopt. It's important, alright. But I happen to have almost enough to satisfy even the rather high request the captain put forward. Sure, my worldly possessions would be sorely missed, if they were taken. But they aren't what I've been seeking.

    A smile.

    That's what I've truly missed. A heartfelt, heartwarming smile. It's not very much in accordance to strictures of most orders. A smile. That's not a monk's goal. It reminds me of Nicahh's joke. Maybe it was more than just a simple joke. It's never really applied to me. I've never felt myself bound by all the belief around the teachings.

    Should I dissolve into tears? Like the old man in that joke. At finding out that it read celebrate.

    Celebrate.

    In a way, that's what I've been doing. Though I don't really call it that. It's just enjoying what life offers. Nothing more.

    Nothing less.

  • V

    Illusions and Pain
    Pain. That's real. It's like an anchor. Keeping me secured. Providing a hold. And as far from shore as I am, that's important. Remember that somewhere. Somewhere far away. There is a solid ground. Reality.

    My memories are a mess. I don't know what is dream. And what is not. I learnt a lot of little things. The most important lesson perhaps listening. I was pretty good at that to begin with. But I didn't have that last edge.

    When the masters found me, they claimed I wasn't ready. I thought they meant me to defend myself in a fight. I would have been ready for that. Somewhat. I would have been prepared to kill. Or die.

    At first, they took my sight. A dark room. Voices. All kind of sounds. Loud. Quiet. Sharp, high. Low. Repetitive and random. And then I understood. All of the sounds. At once. I think I must have screamed, trying to drown out the din. Trying to shield myself.

    That's when they hit me, the first time. And I was thankful for it.

    I woke in a room full of wonderful gems. Glimmering, shining. Brightly, beautiful. The master of the dawn stood there. He gave me a nod, and a sad smile. I was pondering the price, or how priceless the things in the room where. That's when he pulled back the covers. Light flooded in, breaking in the crystals. A myriad of colours spreading through the room.

    I stared fascinated, until the light hit my eyes. And all went white.

    All turned white.

    I must have wept then. Like a child. Like a stupid, weak child.

    Next we stood on a cloud. A rain cloud. It grew dimmer and dimmer under my feet. As if from a distance, I heard them explain that if I was ready I just needed to let go of the pull of the ground. And I'd float. The cloud grew dimmer. Disappeared. They floated. I tried. Tried to let go of everything.

    But I couldn't. I felt the pull. And I couldn't tell it to go away. Couldn't.

    Somehow on my way to the ground, I turned and looked up. The master of storms nodded to me. It was a fond smile, I think. The others just looked a bit sad. I hit the ground as the sun broke through the sky. It burnt an image into my eyes, even as I felt my bones shatter.

    I wasn't ready. The realization hit me. Like crashing a second time on some ragged ground. I'm not ready.

    Rays of light. Hot. Burning in my eyes. Stinging my eyes.

    The light is real.

  • 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.