Leathertail's Log
-
A small, black clothbound book, with a few signs of watermarks on the pages.
Entry 1
Ship made port in Peltarch a few days ago. Good place to lay low, doubt anyone will look for me here.
Small town far south of the city, Norwick. Backwater little burg. Met a large, strong man there, calle himself Stonehands. Asked if I'd accompany him to the graveyard, apparently the dead walk there. Complied, once another well-armored man's presence was assured. Need to meet people, get the lay of the land.
Stonehands got axed by some skeletons. Got some nice new gloves.
Good day today.
-
Entry 406
The funny thing about people being dead, I've found, is it's easy to like them. Why? Because they're dead. They aren't going to get back up and make any more trouble, letting you just think about the good times until those are what shine through clearest in your memory. Amar, as with most rules of etiquette, broke this up as well. He comes back, makes a mess of things, and runs off, as did Jack. So long as they stay gone, I think I'll be happy enough. Most likely they won't, but one can hope.
Meantime, dealing with the problems they left in their wake. An official investigation into the Sails affairs makes me uneasy, as do most dealings with Peltarchan authorities. We should be all right though. Even got some new recruits of late: Korlis Sterr (another one, or so he claims, mage, dark haired, more of a John type joker, if a bit more refined so far), Caling (elf lass, dark haired, pretty if a bit aloof yet, scout), and Thomas (big muscled type, seems to have a good head for orders on him).
Aside from Sails business, I find myself spending time in the company of more pretty blond women than usual. Maya…well, what's there to say? Towering over me, gorgeous, always half-wondering what exactly I could, or would do if she actually tried to just have her way with me. She's refreshingly simple as well. Not stupid. But straightforward, sees the world in very definite terms. Yana's still around as well; Jay's actions were harder on her than myself, or most of us, I think. Unpleasant encounter where we discussed what happened in Hoarsgate. Still. The longer I know her, the gladder I am that I do. As for Tindra (blond, fond of wearing a small red number, quite fetching, turns into a cat-creature from time to time), quite fun idly flirting with her.
But it's the Captain I always find at my side at day's end. Side, under, over, wherever. I don't know; I never struck myself as the dependable type. If I weren't so happy, I think I'd be completely unnerved and running for the nearest boat out myself. Perhaps it's all that being comfortable and stable that's got me feeling restless. I'm wandering about Narfell more lately, back down to Norwick like when I first arrived, in the pass, around the Icelace shores. Life's not fun if everything's a sure thing. Roll the dice and see what you get, that's when things are interesting. I'm no one's lapcat just yet.
At least not full time. Riskey in my stomach and Captain bound.
Good day.
-
Entry 398
Amar Amadur, Jay, my crewmate, is dead. Jaelle grieves, the Captain is angry, Jack is furious, Drelan takes it in his usual placid manner, John's got murder in his eyes. Or at least the one I can see. And me?
I don't know what I feel.
He was what could be called a friend, I suppose. Companion, certainly. Both of us half-elves, both of us raised by our human mothers with our elven fathers absent or dead. I felt a connection to him in that. There ended the similarities. He was an abrasive bastard; if told he'd catch more flies with honey than vinegar, he'd probably respond with a fist to your nose and start looking around for some vinegar or honey to pour on you. I spent quite a bit of my time trying to talk him out of the fights he'd start with most anyone.
He started out with some sweetness in him though. Some loyalty and warmth. More than once it was us, back to back, him roaring while I grinned, fighting the good fight. On land, the decks of ships, underground. We looked out for each other, for the most part. Maybe that's what it's like to have a brother.
And then his mother was killed. That was when everything began to change.
I felt sorry for him. Understood the rage he felt. I remembered how I felt when my mother was taken from me. In the beginning, I wasn't even sure if I wouldn't help him with his revenge, let alone stand in the way of it. But we came to Hoarsgate, and I discovered a few things. About me. About Jay.
I tried to save the girl. Got her away from Jay, stuffed an invisibility ring on her and told her to swim before Jaelle barreled into me. I saw myself in Jay when his mother was killed, but I saw myself in that girl, too: men coming for you and your parents because they stepped on the wrong person's toes.
I'm not a child-killer. And if I can stop someone else from hurting a kid, I suppose I'll do that too. Doesn't make me a white knight. But Jay? He lost something. I don't know if it was on those docks, or when his mother died, or both. But he lost something. And he never got it back.
I started getting an itchy feeling between my shoulder blades when my back was on him after that, expecting a knife to be planted there. He just might've too, if he'd kept living. It's funny; I always thought he should've been the nicer one between the two of us, with someone like Nancy raising him, having so many more years to love him, shape him. My mother was dead inside my first decade of life. And yet.
Amar Amadur, Jay, is dead.
Goodbye, brother.
Bad day.
-
Entry 294
Life has been…interesting, lately. What was supposed to be a routine expedition to the ogre cave by Peltarch with the Sails took a turn for the strange. Funny how often that happens.
My Captain and I dallied a moment by the entrance, stealing a last kiss, and suddenly everything started shaking. Boulders tumbled down, blocking the entrance, trapping us. Worse people to be trapped with, certainly, but better places to be trapped in. John, Butterfly, and Jay all yelled to us through the barrier, saying they were going to get us out. And then it started getting hot.
As in rising temperature, not the fun way.
Flames started springing up all over, until finally two huge hellcat creatures spring out and commence growling. A few tense moments pass, and then she appeared. Absolutely gorgeous devil lass. But evil. And devil. Just…easy on the eyes type. Even the wings and tail seemed to add to it...But, devil!
She said we'd (inadvertently) released her from some centuries-long imprisonment with the kiss, that she would have been free a good deal sooner but ogre caves don't see that much passionate affection and/or romance. The cats stalked off, and we commenced to stall for time, not really knowing what she was about. We could hear Jay and John trying to blast their way through behind us. But then the devil pulls out this bow, and the Captain's eyes start to get the look I'm quite familiar with by now.
Sure enough, she starts angling for a reward, saying we've set the winged lass free so doesn't she owe us one? The devil considers, says she supposes she does, tells us to hold hands. I was a bit less eager, tried to talk her out of it, but...damn me, perhaps literally in this instance, for loving her curiousity and greed. Can’t say no. We end up joining hands, the thing says "'til death do you part", and then we've both been shot through with arrows that didn't tear flesh but burned just the same.
So we may be in a state of unholy matrimony now, though I maintain along with the Captain that ambush ceremonies conducted by devils don't really count. Counting or no, however, strange things are happening lately.
I walked into the commons shortly after the Captain did the other day. The only problem was that I'd already been sitting with her under the tree when we both walked in. The Captain who had just walked in then ordered my death and her other self’s to our nearby crewmates. Needless to say, things became confused. The Captain and I knew each other for who we were, but were a bit afraid that the others wouldn’t believe us. John and Jay followed the other me out of the city where he sprouted wings and flapped off while the Captain and I followed the other Captain to the Ferret. The thing that was not in fact the Captain ended up killing Claire before we finished it off after we denied it a private chat with the real Captain.
Claire...she didn't deserve that. We took her down to Dagon, but he said she might not make it back. That deaths from devils were trickier to return from. Everyone's spirits were pretty low after that, as we all trailed off. Jay especially, thinking of how a little difference could have made that body his mother‘s. I tried to put on the smile for the Captain, but it just wouldn't stick. I mumbled something about us needing a safe word for the future, so we could really know it was us and not something wearing our face.
And she gave me her name.
Not Sabre, not Sammy. The name her mother gave her (or maybe her father...?). I’m not so careless as to write it down here, but it was pretty. Delicate. And suddenly I could see this little girl with long black hair, scurrying around the deck of a ship, casting secret, but proud, admiring glances at a woman with hair just like hers at the wheel. A woman who may’ve looked a great deal like the one I hold close to me now. I could have cried, to think about the things that that child would have to go through in the years ahead of her. But I didn’t. I gathered her close, and we walked off to find our own private piece of darkness.
I’ll never marry. Not really. The promises that that implies, the responsibility, it’s not for me. But if I did…I could do a lot worse.
Bad day. With an end that wasn’t as bad as it might’ve been.
-
Entry 250
You can flip a coin, over and over. It might come up heads the first time. And then the second. And on to the third, the fourth, the fifth, on and on. But even if you get heads ninety-nine times in a row, you can't be sure that it won't come up tails for that hundredth flip.
I've believed, since I was eight years old, that nothing in my life was certain. That was my one certainty. There would be no mysterious organization controlling my fate, pulling me towards some fate they had planned, no higher power setting down my destiny and pushing me towards it, not even the gods. They would give me, at most, a nudge here or there. But the ruling outside factor in my life, I knew, in my blood knew as I hurtled through that window at eight years, three months, and twelve days of age, was chance. Luck. Good or bad, a coin toss or a spin of the die, these would be the things that tried to shape me. Time has failed to change my opinion on this matter.
But chance is random. Of the millions of possibilities in this world, any could happen to me. And not all are nice, or clean, or fair. Part of the beauty of a truly beneficial, utterly random happenstance is you don't have to be prepared for it. It just happens. There isn't really a need to worry about one coming, then, is there? All you have to worry about are the bad ones.
But if I constantly worry about every horrid little possible event, there's not much room for enjoying life. There's no way you can be prepared for some either, as I see it. That slip in the mud that throws you in the path of the horse, the rope that came loose and slammed you overboard, some arrow meant for a deer that lodges itself in your flesh instead, because you felt like a walk in the woods at that hour on that day, they all might happen. Or maybe you learned to dodge arrows before, or to balance better, or just tie a better knot and those moments came along, then slid by like any other in your life after a blink and a breath.
That's why you learn to accept it. All of it. Life. All at once and deafening, even when you're sleeping, chance is there, and maybe tonight's the night it whispers your ship goes down, or maybe it thinks it'll be the night a person climbs into your bed just because they were lonely, and then you've fallen in love and there's three snot-nosed shorter you's tugging at your ankles. It would drive me mad if I went around worrying about it all. Or at least moderately anxious. And that's undesirable.
It can't be entirely helped of course. I worry some. I just try to worry that much less than the average person. Let them pick up the slack. Learn to let the bad pass over you, not through you.
Pavel seems to be the latter to me. All the pain in his life, the wrongs and the misfortune, he seems to hold on to. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe I'm wrong. But that's how I see it; he comes back and he hasn't let that pain lessen in him, hasn't tried. I might pity him if I were that sort of person. Or maybe not hate him quite so much at least. No use crying over spilled milk though, eh?
Yana's learned the former way, I think. Maybe I was the first lesson, maybe not. I wish I hadn't had to be one at all. She told me how she felt, and I was lost as to what to do, and perhaps stupidly, perhaps not, told her the same. It hurt her, I know, and trying to cheapen what she felt for me with words like "You can do better" would just be making it worse. I tried to be tactful, but you can only lessen the blow so much. The upshot is, I don't think I had to. She looked me in the eyes later and said "It sucks, but I just have to get over it." I felt closer to her then, I think, then I ever had, for a brief moment. Even if she didn't feel the same.
The Captain…Sabre. She gets cut on the sharper edges of life, I know. But she lets those cuts heal, even if it might be easier to pick at the scab and watch it bleed again. She tries so hard for her happiness, sometimes. I do my best to facilitate that...I love how she tries. She's braver than she'll ever let herself believe. And I love that doubt too, I think. I'd love if I could kiss it out of her too.
Some people are touched by the gods from birth. Set out to do great, perhaps terrible things, prodded by some divine finger down the path that watcher on high (or low) chooses. I'm grateful that I don't count myself among them (though maybe I am, it's uncertain, that's the gag of it), and have a bit more latitude to operate in. I don't by any means think chance's the sole factor in making me me or what I'm living my life either. I think that most of it's been me. Sometimes fighting a coincidence, sometimes just flowing along with them. I'm more than chances. Everyone is.
But I found a goddess who said she'd blow on those dice for me before I gave them a twirl occasionally. Palm a card here and there to see that that arrow doesn't stab me just yet. That's why I chose Tymora. To help me worry less, help me fight this vast randomness. Maybe that's sort of what all the gods promise. But she's upfront and cheery about it at least.
I'm writing all this, because I think may have lost my own way a bit. Caring brings on new worries, and I'm struggling, feeling the bite of anger or a furrowed brow where I used to be smooth and smiling. I'm writing this because I think if I scribble it all down onto these pages, make it real, someplace outside of my head, I'll be able to find that calm again. As much as I ever really had it, at least. Sometimes, I've learned just how nice it is to be all fire, raging, or a small, warm flame sharing its heat, and that I don't have a choice in the matter anyhow. But for the rest, I need to find a bit of that distance I've lost.
Focusing on it's against the whole point of though. So I'll go and drink 'til I'm glassy-eyed and grinning, trying to get my Captain to shuffle along with me in what I approximate as a dance in my state. I'll soak at the baths with Sedea and talk until we're wrinkled, I'll walk Yana's beat with her. Maybe I'll even buy Jay and John a drink then smile as John inevitably pisses Jay off. And even if it all ends up going wrong, I'd like to think I'll finish off smiling. With a bit of luck I might. And I might yet, even without it.
Good day.
-
Entry 244
I find myself with a bit more downtime of late. Demon and shade attacks notwithstanding, of course. Still, that's more the lawfuls business than mine. I'll help where I can, as I don't want anything too damaging to happen to the city, but still, that's what the heroes are for. The ones who promise me "fiery damnation" for the company I keep and such. I'll admit, I'd be rather distressed if Tymora led me to fiery damnation as a reward for my prayers to her.
But anyhow, downtime. Meaning I've got the time to scribble down a few notes about some of the people running around my life I've neglected to record so far. Never know when these sort of things'll come in handy.
Jail- Very light blond, joined the crew, but I'm still the one called Blondie. No justice in the world. Unsure of her choices, as evidenced by her flip flopping between two goddesses, two which are certainly not to be trifled with (especially Umberlee, as she's on a crew with a fair number of clergy). That aside, she's loyal enough in her own way, forward, and there's far worse company around. Human. Likes my behind.
Amar Amadur or Jay- Tall, muscular, sullen, brown hair. He was here before I left the last time. At that time he kept his head down for the most part, quiet sort. I return, and his time as a hand with the Sails certainly seems to have changed him: He's quite outspoken, very blunt, and none too polite. He's a good sort to have on your side on a fight. Out of it…well, the man acts like a petulant child when he doesn't get his way, throwing fits and tantrums. He's been romantically involved with two Sails women so far, and both of the relationships have ended badly. He may currently be working on a third. Don't let his mother near the coat. I don't think he's all that bad, really. We've helped each other out often enough. He may grow up further into a good friend instead of just an ally. We are both half-elves, with the elf on the same side. He says he prefers to talk in elven even, and does so, quite well. Much less standoffish and insulting when we're alone. We'll see.
Amy- Elf woman, and an old friend of the Captain's. Pretty enough, though she seemed to originally think me scum, blamed me for Pavel's departure, as was fashionable, and threatened me about hurting the Captain. Lately she's warmed to me however, though I'm not entirely sure why. Rude, but that's the usual for the crew. I'd even say likable, now that she's stopped the death threats. Well, the death threats with venom behind them.
Yana- Young, pale blond, slim, bendy. Peltarch guard. She's very sweet in this somewhat naive way. Convinced I've got a "good heart", lectures me about drinking too much. Asked me more than a few times about whether I'm going to get married. We disagree on the idea of marriage. Shocker. She's a monk, and has taken vows of abstinence, so no real hope of romancing her. Still, I can tell the vows take their toll on her; she seems to enjoy the casual flirting I throw her way in the form of winks, a small kiss or two. Mostly she just seems lonely. She's got this way of pulling her knees to her chest when we're talking sometimes, that makes me think she wishes someone were there behind her, sliding their arms around her in a hug. Maybe that's why I try to help her with what meager advice I can give for her problems. I like spending idle time with her, she's mostly lighthearted, turns a pretty shade of pink when I continue my one-sided flirtation. 3/4 quarters elf, 1/4 human. (Side note: Her adopted mother fancies me.)
Unfortunately I've got all this downtime because of some damn life-sucking ghost I met today. Feel a bit knackered just from writing all this.
Bad day.
-
Entry 228
I’ve changed since I first arrived in Peltarch. I know it. The people who’ve been around me long enough know it, even if I’ll deny it to most of them. It’s something that wouldn’t seem odd to most people, but it’s an enormous, sometimes problematic difference for me.
Caring. I do that now. Care, that is. About a few select, certain people, but still. I think it’s spreading.
When I first began hanging around the Sails, I was there purely for profit. I wouldn’t have thought twice about stabbing them in the back if it meant a big enough payoff for me. I politely kept everyone at arm’s length, even if they were in my arms at the time. But now…now there are these wretched little feelings in my head. Taria somehow wormed her way inside, even though we never shared anything more than a kiss or a cuddle, maybe because of it. She trusted me with things, sometimes more than I wanted to know. I didn’t tell her anything of my own life, but I listened to hers. I tried to make her feel better when she was down, because I didn’t want to see her that way. It was her and the Captain who finally convinced me join the Sails officially.
And then one day, without much further ado, I found out she was dead.
Stabbed to death in her jail cell. Not looking like she was coming back. I went to the cell as soon as I heard, but her body was already gone. All that remained of the dark-skinned girl I’d called my desert beauty, faced innumerable dangers with, gone drinking with, saved and been saved by, was a dark stain of blood on a cell floor. She wouldn’t laugh, or complain about her chest, or ever get to taste another ale, or feel a ship rolling under her feet, or lean her head on my shoulder with a little sigh. She was just gone.
I never once called her my friend out loud. I stared at the blood until I felt the burning that heralds tears behind my eyes, then I left.
It’s not easy, caring about people. The dark holes their absence can cause in you. And yet, what choice do we have?
I blame the Captain for the change. She’s asleep now, curled up under my coat in the bunk I’m sitting on, and I catch myself sneaking glances at her as I write. I love how it hits me, whenever I see her now; like a glass of very good, very cold rum. First your stomach, then your head. Until a warmth spreads in both. She makes me feel so much: sympathy, worry, grief, even foreign little twinges of jealousy from time to time. Fondness. Passion. So much of that last one that I nearly forget who I am sometimes, knowing only what I’m doing at the moment I’m doing it. I haven’t been with anyone but her since I’ve returned. I’m surprised to find I don’t mind. And I wonder if I’d be able to resurface from whatever waters she’s dragged me under long enough to appreciate another woman. I look, I admire. Perhaps a kiss. But it hasn’t gone beyond that in a long time.
We never speak completely plainly. I think it’s a bit of an unspoken rule by now: Feel whatever you feel, share it as much as you like, but don’t speak of it. Decipher it from the hearts our fingers trace over each others’ skin, from the whispers in the dark, and the loud thump my heart gives when she rests her head on my chest. She offered her life in place of mine. Nothing for her to gain but my continued existence, and she would’ve done it. Her nose is crinkling slightly in her sleep, and I'm tempted to kiss the tip of it. Enough writing.
I care. And I'm not alone anymore.
Good day.
-
Entry 215
I came back. I came back, and everything was more or less how I left it. Peltarch was a bit more rebuilt, but not entirely. The Ferret was still rubble, the drinks in the Pissing Goat still lived up to the name of their establishment, the only decent spot to get at the stars in the city was still my rooftop. That was all the same; the settings. And the people who inhabited them were more or less the same as well.
John was still a lewd woman chaser, Taria was still a cheery Umberlant, Drelan was still a soldier stuffed into an admiral's life, Hawk was still strange, Mercy was still a foul-smelling agent of chaos, Butterfly would still likely break your arm if you touched her, and Pavel still seemed to like the idea of beating my face in. And Sabre, my Captain, was still in turmoil, as damnably attractive as ever.
I wasn't sure what I would do when I saw her, but that was probably a foregone conclusion before it ever happened, as many would now tell me I'm sure. She mixes me up, so much that nothing matters aside from the next touch, the next whisper, the next look; something basic, something hungry. And I could take it, I think, control it, get a handle on it, if it ever got to be less, but it doesn't. It hadn't. After six months away, the first thing I thought of when I saw her was how far to the nearest dark corner.
There's so much more strangeness mixed in now. She told me all the things I'd wanted to hear from her before. All the sweetness, all the care, coming awkwardly from this strange, small woman I can't get away from, not meeting each others' eyes as we spoke, until the end. Something tells me to run away. Some part of me would like nothing more than to listen. Take the path of least resistance that's served me so well. Run away. Pavel might stop his obnoxious attempts at punches, I wouldn't be getting speeches or other Sails telling me my business. I wouldn't have to feel uncertain any more.
Pavel stuck around, becoming angrier and more desperate. I ducked his punches and held my peace, for her sake. There had to be a breaking point though, and he reached it. He told her either she gave up her feelings for me, or he left.
And he left.
And she stared out at the Icelace, just blank. She loved him. Loves him. And in his strange, skewed way…I know he loved her too. We didn't sleep together once while he was still around. We talked. We looked. Our fingertips brushed. Sometimes we just sat there. I've this thought, though. Whatever I do, however I do it, whatever I feel, I will never, never equal what he means to her. If I save her life, get her a ship, the world's sum of gold and jewels, I can never measure up to Pavel. It nags at me. Tells me to haul anchor, to get away as quick as my boots allow.
But once. Just once, on the docks. She took my hand, and, timidly, threaded her fingers through mine. Her calluses slid over the top of my hand and sat there, unmoving, for a very long minute. Her hands are the only part of her that's not smooth; hardened from hauling on ropes, from swinging her swords, her pads and fingers are rough, firm. Stronger than you'd think, but somehow delicate. I didn't try to kiss her then. We didn't look at each other. Not for one, very long minute.
Maybe she'll take my hand a second time. And I'll feel afraid again, like the first time, and want to run. But I won't.
Because there may be a third time.
Good day.
-
Sabbatical-Part III
_The trajectory of the man being unceremoniously hurled over the side of the ship was fascinating: there was very little in the way of vertical velocity, the men who had tossed him overboard being mostly concerned with getting him off the boat apparently, and not so much with giving him an impressive flight. He flew a few feet almost perfectly horizontal, then started going on a decidedly more vertical course. The coat he was wearing flapped behind him as he plummeted into the water head first, like a bat with worn out wings pausing mid-flight, deciding it would rather fall to earth than continue. Or, in this case, water.
With a loud splash, the man disappeared beneath the calm waters of the harbor, resurfacing a few moments later. It was too far away to be sure, but he probably gasped as he breathed in the air. A bag was hurled over the side of the ship after him, making a smaller splash than he had as it hit the water’s surface. The man paddled quickly towards the satchel, grabbing it as it started to sink, and then struck out for the docks.
Elana stood, watching both the man’s brief flight and his struggles through the water. The sight had made her pause on her way back from the market, the handle of her recently bread-filled basket held in both of her hands. She was rather soft-hearted and felt bad for the fellow, who was likely going to be freezing after even a short time in the Icelace’s waters. And all of his clothes were soaked, whatever others he’d had in that bag! Elana bit her lip, uncertain. Her mother and father would already be angry at her for taking as long as she did, but the man would be chilled to the bone. She fidgeted from foot to foot, watching him move closer and closer until, with a very final sounding thump, he heaved his bag then himself onto the docks, gasping and shivering violently.
With a frustrated titter Elana picked her skirts up with a hand and scurried down to the end of the pier where the man was now sitting, curled into a small ball as the dockworkers snickered at him. He lifted his head when her hand touched his shoulder gently, looking up at her through bangs plastered to his face by water. That was the exact moment when Elana Trellem, sixteen years old, would maintain that she fell in love for the first time. The young man would maintain it was the first opportunity that presented itself since approximately a minute previous when he had “reached” Damara, or would have, had anyone bothered to ask him.
Regardless, the dark blue eyes looking at her out of that currently blue, thin face swooped the young and earnest Elana off her small black shoes immediately. This resulted in a slightly awkward silence as she gaped at him, while he took short gasping breaths and shook where he sat in response, waiting for her to say something. When it became apparent that wasn’t going to happen independently, the young man ventured a “H-h-h-hullo-o-o?”
“Oh! …Hello!” Blushing a pretty shade of pink, Elana curtsied, and proceeded to babble. “My name is Elana and my parents have an inn and I noticed you were cold and just arrived in town so maybe you’d like to come stay at our inn because it‘s really a very nice inn I know because I clean it myself every day even that one headboard in the room where my father always sticks the drunks, please? We’ve got the best bean soup this side of the Giantspires and plenty of rooms to sleep in and a roaring fire and, and….and…clean beds!”
The young man sat there a moment, teeth chattering as he assimilated the torrent of information aimed at him, raising a shaking hand to push his wet hair back. Elana, staring, noticed his pointed ears and could barely contain a squeal. He was a half-elf! He’d stay young and handsome forever! And his face WAS handsome! She was so busy happily imagining their wedding ceremony and how wonderful he’d look in a fine cut tunic of blue that would really bring out his eyes that he had to repeat himself, reaching out to tap her hand.
“D-d-darlin’…hey, darlin’! A-a-are th-th-th-there a-any dr-dr-inks at th-this-s inn?”
“Oh yes! There’s-”
“G-good enough f-fer m-m-m-me.”
Beaming, Elana stood and started trotting back down the docks, the young man standing up unsteadily and hoisting his bag to follow after.
Elana’s parents were not as enthused with the young man as their daughter. It was not the fact that he left a small trail of water behind him when he came in the door that displeased them, or that he looked less than a legitimate member of society with his stained, ragged clothes, or the truly heroic constitution he was displaying as he downed a bottle of their finest whiskey by himself as he sat by the fire (“ta take the chill off“). None of that was really unusual in their patrons. It was the large doe eyes their daughter was making at him that perturbed them. Elana was very pretty, and had been dodging patrons roving hands for two years now, some of whom came specifically because of her. She had glossy black hair, a figure that had filled out early on her short frame, and shining green eyes that quite often became soft with pity or compassion, but had never before been filled with abject adoration until now. Her parents had thought they’d instilled a good amount of sense into her about men, “sense” meaning they were trouble and shouldn’t be bothered with until at least the age of twenty. And up until now she’d demonstrated no behavior to discourage those thoughts. Currently however, she was fussing over the latest dock rat to shuffle in through their door. He had introduced himself as Luke, giving them a grin that favored the left side of his mouth before moving quickly to the fire with his bottle to dry off. Elana’s mother and father did not have too much time to discuss amongst themselves what was to be done before other customers demanded their attention, pulling them away. Once business had slowed and they had talked, they decided it wasn’t really a problem; Elana was simply reaching that age, and this Luke didn’t look the type to stick around. So long as they kept a close eye on the two while he was there, there should be few problems. Though they were noting a distinct correlation between how much alcohol Luke had consumed and how many lopsided smiles he was shooting their daughter as she brought him the latest mug. All in all, they were quite relieved when he finally fell asleep with his head on the table. Elana insisted on carrying his bag up to his room as her father half dragged the young man to his room (vigorous shaking and loud voices had raised his condition to only semiconscious) . Closing the door behind him with a click, Elana’s father sighed and shooed her to bed, interrupting her long, heartfelt stare at the portal which cruelly concealed her beloved. There was no logical reason for Elana’s sudden infatuation. She had seen pretty men before, and met them under more flattering circumstances. She didn’t think to question it however. Instead, she whispered a prayer to Sune, sighed dreamily as she snuggled under her covers, and let her mind drift to Luke…what a pretty name. Luke’s mind, occupying a room one floor below and three to the right, didn’t drift much at all, having been beaten into submission by various drinks._
-
Sabbatical-Part II
_Garret grimaced. Garret often grimaced; his natural expression was quite close to one. He had the face of a man who had had that same face bashed in more than a few times, leathery and scarred, though he was scarcely past thirty winters. Garret knew how he looked, and he didn’t care. Anyone else who made something of it would come a few steps closer to resembling him, if he was given free rein. Like that damned pretty boy halfbreed. It was that halfbreed, busy helping to adjust a sail at the moment, who was the current recipient of Garret’s grimace.
They had joined the crew at the same time, and Garret had disliked him even then. That dislike had deepened when he noticed a few of the looks the few female crew members cast at the point-ear’s back, deepened further when he refused to return any of those looks, and boiled over once the filth had stuck him with that knife. His shoulder still hurt, damn him! And that coat was trash, anyone with eyes could see that. But he would be repaid soon enough, and then some.
Garret was not clever, but he was cunning. And Leathertail’s patterns were so set that it was easy to memorize them. Not only were they set, they were rife with opportunities: he kept to himself, he had made no friends, took the night watches, and was often found up in the crow’s nest. Accidents could happen that high up, if you weren’t careful. One little stumble into a man, particularly a thin, shortish one like Leathertail, particularly from a large man like Garret, and a person could find themselves plummeting to a very abrupt stop. Garret had made sure he was on the watch for that night directly after the green panted bastard. Sure, he’d had to intimidate a bit and use a favor or two, but it was worth it. A few hours, and Leathertail would get his.
It was in dead of night when Garret slipped from his hammock, heavy toes creaking against the floorboards, kneeling to tug on his boots. He had been too eager to sleep. Now it was time. Slipping up the stairs to the deck, he looked upwards. There was no moon, just stars. In the dark, he couldn’t make any shapes out at the peak of the nest, but he knew that skinny rat would be there. This was far from the first man he had killed. Nor would it be the last. But he got tingles in his gut every time he approached the death of another, he couldn‘t help it. And so it was now as he slipped up the rigging, quiet as he could. One hand, then two slid up over the planks that made up the small, raised platform of the Queen’s Fancy’s nest. A low, circular wall of the same rough planks rimmed it, coming to about a man’s waist if he were standing. Garret’s head slipped up over the edge, dark hair lank, eyes glinting. He was a bit disappointed when he realized that Leathertail was facing him from where he stood on the opposite side of the platform. In fact, he seemed to be looking directly at him. Damn. There was a brief pause as they faced each other. Then… “We don’t have ta do this, ya know,” the lean form said quietly, wearily, little more than a silhouette against the night sky. “Ya can just turn around…I’ll come down, ya’ll go back up, we exchange watch duty…that’s all.” “Yer a clever lad t’ be afraid,” Garret sneered, pulling himself up onto the nest, “but negotiations ain’t an option here, halfbreed. Ya so much’s squeak, n’ I’ll kill ya.” “Well,” the smaller silhouette’s arms raised in a shrug. “I’d hate fer ya ta kill me fer noisiness instead o’ whatever reason it was when ya climbed up here.” “Shut yer gob…who’s at say I ain’t just gonna teach ya a li’l lesson, eh?” The larger silhouette flashed teeth, tensing his muscles. “Well…Ya don’t strike me as a man who works in moderation, matey. Straight an’ ta the point…heh, not gonna kill me…” The smaller one cocked his head slightly a moment, head tilted up towards that of the larger. “…I dunno where people get these ideas about blonds, but trust me: not that di-” Garret lunged for the smaller man before he could finish, arms outstretched. That was what made this slightly trickier than usual for Garret. No unusual marks could be left on the body if it were to be believed that this were an accident. Or at least look enough like one that it couldn’t be proved otherwise. That meant no blows to the face, no throttling…hopefully just a good shove and over he’d go. Which would have worked had he not ducked. Garret’s hands soaring over his head, Leathertail shot a fist into Garret’s stomach. The big man took it with a grunt, his large frame unaffected as he readjusted his posture, grabbing and getting a fistful of ponytail for his trouble. Pulling up on it brought Leathertail up to his tip toes. Garret was about to knock him backward with his free hand when the other sailor’s hand darted out again, fingers digging into the barely, and no longer, sealed wound on his shoulder, clawing at him. With a cry, Garret jerked back, the fist around the ponytail not slackening, jerking Leathertail into him. The larger sailor’s foot went back, trying to find purchase, but there was only air. He released the ponytail then, as both his hands grabbed out, trying to find something to stop him. But there was nothing. As his body tilted back, he saw a dark flash of that damned coat flaring out in the air above him when Leathertail fell after him. Garret’s backward momentum continued as he fell so that he could see first the stars, then dark horizon and the water that stretched out across it, and finally the deck rushing up towards him. His last thought before his body collided with the deck, making a sickening thud, was not one of remorse nor one of fear: he just thought it mildly surprising that things had gone this way. If he hadn’t been dead after his initial impact, the velocity of the other sailor slamming into his body in a belly flop a second afterwards probably finished him off. Rolling off of the body with a groan, the half-elf just lay there a moment, drawing a few pained, wheezing breaths, blinking unsteadily up at the night sky. His ears twitched as he heard the crew stirring down below. Soon someone would come up. He thought his ribs might be broken. He needed to get up. Had to get to his bag. Captain wouldn’t be happy. The bag. Gritting his teeth, he sat up, the strangled scream in his throat filtering through his teeth as he rose to sitting, then to standing, before staggering off towards the door. Through a haze he saw the other people on the stairs. He stumbled down the steps past them, some of them bumping into his ribs, eliciting fresh muffled sounds of pain. Finally he reached the sleeping room, then the last few steps to his hammock, dropping to his knees and grabbing the bag underneath it. Pushing past blades, spare clothes, he found what he was looking for. Grabbing a bottle, he wrenched it free, uncorking it with his teeth before gulping down its cool, liquid contents. Soon, the pain in his chest subsided, each new breath no longer feeling like a dagger stabbing into his lungs. Gently, he set the bottle down, wiping a hand over his mouth from where the potion had drizzled. Only then did he become aware of the stares of the others still in the room, and the exclamations and curses coming from the deck above. His hands reached up, slowly and unconciously, smoothing his collar down. The Captain would, most definitely, not be happy._
-
Sabbatical-Part I
_Merrin was supposed to be securing the rigging. And he was, in his own fashion. The crewman’s hands moved deftly, if a good bit slower than they usually did, weaving the ropes into complex and, more importantly, tight, knots. He had spent nearly his whole life on a boat, ever since he was a small boy; he could tie a knot in a live octopus’s tentacles, if he had a mind to. But currently, Merrin’s usual speed was somewhat hampered by the fact that he was not watching the work that his hands were doing: his eyes, a vague hazel crinkled with crow’s feet from a life of squinting into the sun, were trained upwards.
There was a young man in the crow’s nest. Had been for the majority of the time ever since the Queen’s Fancy, (personally, Merrin was surprised the ship hadn’t been burned down out of spite by the N’Jastians when they took the docks, due to the unhappy coincidence of its name), had set sail from Peltarch. The young man had given a name, “Leathertail”, and not much else, when he signed up on the crew; following the war most every ship, if it were still floating, had needed new people to replace the dead or missing. So now there was some half-elf in the Queen’s nest all the time.
Merrin didn’t really mind him. Compared to some of the other new crew they’d picked up, he downright liked him. The lad was quiet though. Moody. Took the lookout’s position whenever he could manage it, especially the night shifts. Just sat up there, or sometimes stood, staring out over the waves and the sky. He knew his way around a ship though, Merrin had to admit: He could man the rigging like few others, secure what needed securing, had his sea legs, didn’t complain a lick, and once Merrin had even seen him take the navigator aside. Soon after their course had altered slightly, and the navigator, Jennings, had seemed a bit more snappish than usual for a few days.
The Leathertail fellow could be more than just moody from time to time, however. Once, in the mess hall, one of the other new crew members, a mean-looking fellow that Merrin didn‘t care for at all, Garret, had made a rather disparaging remark about that ratty old coat that was always hanging on Leathertail’s shoulders. Leathertail had just looked at Garret a moment, then with a flick of his hand had sent his mess knife sailing into the other sailor’s shoulder. A bit of a scuffle had broken out, and though quite a few of Garret’s mates had gone after the rather thin half-elf, he’d emerged with barely a bruise by the time the first mate had restored order. After three lashes had been laid on the blond fellow’s back as punishment, he wasn’t quite as unmarked. Merrin was quietly impressed by the way the young man had taken the pain though: teeth gritted, but not a grunt had escaped his lips, just a sharp intake of breath with each snap of the lash. Afterwards, breathing slowly, he had quietly asked for his coat back from the deckhand holding it, and that had been that. Garret had grinned big as the sun while it happened, but seemed a bit put out afterwards, perhaps at the lack of screaming.
For now, however, the half-elf sat up in his perch. Merin doubted he would stay onboard once they made port in Impultur. For one, he wasn’t really trying to make a home for himself on the ship: to date he had no friends, had made no attempts at rectifying that, seemed to just drift through his work, seemingly uncaring of the results of his labors, though they were always satisfactory. For two, the captain didn’t care for trouble on his ship, in particular those who caused it. And Leathertail wasn’t keeping his head down when he ought to. Looking at the sky all the time still points your chin up, as they say. And for three…Garret had been casting more than a few dirty looks at the backside of that brown coat. Merrin knew there would be more trouble to come. Garret, with his venomous green eyes, big frame, and gnarled but strong hands hadn’t been satisfied with the punishment doled out. He wanted his pound of flesh, and Merrin hoped he wasn’t there when he tried to collect.
The older sailor lowered his shaved head, fingers picking up speed as he worked the knots into the rope. Winds had been good at least. With a bit more luck, and Umberlee keeping her wrath from the ship, they should make port in just a week or so. Maybe Garret would restrain himself until then. But Merrin doubted it. Meanwhile, high above, wind rustled old leather and blond bangs, blowing a few stray strands into the path of dark blue eyes._
-
Entry 145
Leaving Peltarch now. Not sure where I'll end up, just hopped on a merchant boat heading west. Maybe Impultur, then south, until I hit the sea.
(Here "The Ca" is crossed out) Sabre told me she had to be alone for good and all, to just be a captain. And to do that, I don't fit into the painting quite so prettily. She says she isn't going back to Pavel either…but I doubt it. I told her, at the end, but in Elvish. I don't think she'll ever know. It's better for her that way.
I can't be around her if I can't be with her. Especially when it's because she doesn't want me to be. And without her...there's little reason to put up with that psychotic sadist Pavel, who seems to think by regularly kicking me when I'm down I'm learning some life lesson. Or Jack, who's eager for my blood. I meant to help Sabre. And all I did was make things worse.
I told her about the way I drifted through life once. She said it sounded simpler, but also lonelier. It never really seemed that way until she said it, looking at the stars with me.
Bad day.
-
Entry 133
Sabre Seasaw. Sammy Seabourne. My Captain. Another name when we're alone. The rolling gait of her walk, the way her hair sticks out after she takes her helmet off, the low voice. Her little tantrums. Her grinning for all the world like an eight year old girl draped in my jacket. The feel of her fingers running through my hair when I let her braid it. How wide and lonely those blue green oceans of eyes looked, right before she gripped me to her…
I won't get to enjoy any of it for much longer, I think. Pavel and she have had the worst split yet...but all it ever is is some little game he plays. He says he's had enough, and walks off so she'll chase after him, agree to whatever he wants when he deigns to come back. He's done exactly that so far, and asked of her exactly what I told Taria I thought he would. So predictable. All violence and tantrums. But she loves him, and me... She doesn't. I know that. Everyone tells me I love her, but I don't think it matters what it's called, or maybe even is, in the end. I'll be what I can be to her, help her as best I'm able.
And then she'll go back to him.
I know what Mercy said, but...I don't think she's right this time. The Lady bless the one-legged barnacle though. Her affection is oddly delivered, but I'm grateful for it.
Sierra started making eyes at some druid. I told her to go on and be with him, figure he'd be better for her. If her love is what love really is, I hope she understands a bit more why I avoided it. Love shouldn't be something you can fall into and out of at the drop of a hat. Or maybe it should, really. Make things easier on us all.
I'm starting to feel so sick of smiling all the time.
Bad day.
Tucked into the book's pages on this entry is a small sheet of paper, heavily wrinkled as if it has been over handled, bearing a short message in a different, neat hand: "To your question of before: because you are you (and the heart knows no reason)."
-
Entry 120
Gods, finally I got a night alone with the Captain again. We successfully tested Mercy and Taria's "doomsday device", in a truly magnificent explosion of N'Jastian ammo piles from the walls of Peltarch, and were in a, to put it lightly, good mood. Nothing's changed with her…I'm drowning while I'm on fire, I feel drunk but as if I'm seeing everything clearer than before. I needed that. Really, really, needed that.
I'm a bit saddened to think that that room may be just so much more rubble by this point. I hope we can find another.
And now...there's Sierra. She battles common sense daily to be with me. We've had more than a few tumbles by now, she's written me songs, she says she wants me just as I am and won't take no for an answer. It's hard to ward off someone who doesn't care what you say or do, and is simply set on being with you. Honestly, she's said she doesn't care about me being with other women, doesn't care that I don't love her...I've tried to warn her, but she won't hear it. I do like her, and being around her...but a woman who's said she loves me unnerves me. Particularly one who scrutinizes me as much as she does. She even talked to the Captain about me (and she knows about our continuing relationship).
People seem to mistake not wanting to talk about the past much for a personal love of mystery. The past is just that, behind me, and for the most part I'm content to let it stay there. Sometimes, with my Captain...I'll talk about it. Little bits. She doesn't push. She lets it come if it's to come, and if not, it's left to lie.
Still, Sierra is a charming half-elf lass. Funny, enthusiastic. Pretty voice. And at this point I can't dispute the illogic of attraction, or even love, or the futility in fighting it. I'll give her what I can. And I'm sorry it isn't more. I am. Just not sorry enough to change.
Good day.
-
Entry 111
It's been a bit since I wrote in here…events became too busy for a while. Things have reached an equilibrium since I returned to the crew; many people's initial reaction was to beat me to a pulp, Jack being the first. I let her, didn't try to fight back. Her reasoning was that I was tearing the crew apart, which I was, partially. I don't see how all the blame rested on me as clearly as she did, however. Drelan then proceeded to hit me, as well as the Captain, once. Violence seems to be the only motivator he has. Pavel was the latest and, perhaps last to lay into me. There wasn't much point in fighting back with him either, better to just smile and take it. I've seen what he can do to things unarmed, I wouldn't stand a chance in his style of fight. He was doing it for his own personal pride, I can only imagine.
The Captain, I made my peace with on my own...though it wasn't the peace I was expecting. Things went poorly in my absence, it seems. She missed me, she said. Feels something for me. Again, we left it at that. Plenty of others want to name it, but that doesn't seem necessary, right now. She cares...and so do I. We're still together in whatever way we were before...Though never getting her alone for a night is wearing thin. Whatever else I feel for her, however deep it runs now, part of it is a very insistent need for touch. To see her eyes go dark and dangerous.
She held on to my coat for me. I missed it, I think...it feels good, having it back on. She wore it while I was away.
For now though, I've got a drunk bard sleeping in my lap. Fully clothed, oddly enough. Her name is Sierra (light brown hair, pretty, drawl). She was looking for some slightly more substantial comfort, but she got too drunk, too fast. I like her, she seems nice, and her lack of malicious intent can be a bit of a nice change sometimes. She was actually worried, truly concerned about whether she was a good person or not. Admittedly, she was getting steadily drunker as she poured out her worries, but still...I don't know when the last time was that I knew someone like that, personally. She's also insane, apparently, judging by some of her recent actions. But right now, she sleeps, and I suppose I will too once I've finished off her half a bottle of whiskey.
This isn't how I imagined it all to work out. Maybe we can hold on to some things after all. Maybe.
Good day.
-
Entry 110
Was stupid. Made a mistake. Not really possible to hold on to anything. Everything passes, no point in getting attached: items, circumstances, people…all moves on around you. Should have learned that before.
Know it now.
Good day.
_Now I do as I please, and I lie through my teeth
Someone might get hurt, but it won't be me
She'll probably feel cheap, but I'll just feel free
And a little bit emptyNo it isn't so hard to get close to me
There'll be no arguments, we'll always agree
And I'll try and be kind, but I'll ask you to leave
We'll both take it easyIf you stay too long inside my memory
I will trap you in a song tied to a melody
And I'll keep you there so you can't bother me-Bright Eyes, Take It Easy (Love Nothing)_
-
The writing on this page is far messier than Luke's usual hand, looking as if the quill were shaking in the writer's grasp. The page is also not denoted or dated like the others.
I hate him. I hate him so badly.
I wish I'd met her first.
-
Entry 100
I can't decide whether Pavel's very cagey, just simple, or a mix of the two. The Captain's got her own plan for how to deal with him. It's not the one I'd like best, but I'll manage it. I do know I've struck something deeper in Pavel though…and it turns out in the end he's like all the others. He gets jealous, just like any other man would. That makes me almost feel better. But I want her skin on mine. The whispers in the dark after.
She could at least not tease me so much. Or maybe she's trying to be reassuring. I've never been so focused on the brushing of fingertips before.
Then there's Taria. She's not so bad as I first thought. She can be downright nice, even. Miss Jack's got her off men and booze for some test of faith, so it's fun to tease her: a touch here, a kiss there, and she can't do a thing about it. I like her well enough, but I think I like the control as well. She wants something else from me even more though. Tenderness. Holding her, a kiss that doesn't ask for anything beyond it. I told her I could give her that. Just not to expect anything more from it. One woman crawling her way inside my chest's bad enough.
Then there's Miss Jack. We were talking about the coming war, and she said she'd just leave, to ride it out in Oscura, or head back to Hoarsgate. She offered to have me come back to Hoarsgate with her; wander around with her, swim with her mentor's sharks. This is the second such offer she's made to me. I'm not really sure what her attachment to me is based on, or of what kind it is. Perhaps we've all got a soft spot for someone.
I'd rather not drive her away. She told me I was in denial, that the Sails were my friends, that I was part of the crew in all but name. That when it came down to it, if my chance came to betray them all for my own gain appeared, that I wouldn't take it.
We'll see.
Good day.
-
Entry 78
Stuck between the pages in the book by this entry is a piece of paper, with a bit of handwriting on it that is clearly different from Luke's, reading "Unfair winds…because fair is no fun." Underneath is a small, lurid sketch of a dark-haired girl and fair-haired boy getting quite intimate.
The Captain's returned. I find myself very glad…I missed her. I wanted her here with me. I don't think I've felt like this for anyone since a lifetime ago. Passing affections, yes. This is new though. The smiles, the secret looks she threw me even when on Pavel's arm. Seeing in her eyes the same look I know is in mine when I look at her.
And now Pavel finds he has a problem. He apologized to me, saying he had been arrogant. He's also told me he was originally planning on leaving the Captain on his trip, but his death screwed it up, as she accompanied him. Lastly, he's now told me to leave her alone, put her out of my mind, that now he won't be going.
I can't walk away from her. Nor do I find myself wanting to, anymore. Pavel seems unable to make up his mind about anything, and I won't throw the Captain away because of him. There's a softness about her I can see even more clearly now. I want to see it more. I want it to see it disappear when she claws at me and come back when I'm holding her at the end. To take her up to the Nest on a clear night.
It's new. But I want it.
Good day.
-
Entry 71
The Captain and I have reached an agreement, setting terms. Things became tense for a short while. Well, tenser. Eventually she found me on the rooftop, and…cards were laid on the table. Still probably not our full hands, but why bother getting hung up on definitions anyhow? It will last as long as it's going to last. And we'll ride the waves until then. I should heed Jack, but I can't. This will have to be as it is.
She does. Not like for him. But she does.
Pavel's going off on a trip now, and the Captain's decided to go with him. I agree with John that it's a pretty piss poor time for either of them to go off, the Captain especially, but I'm not the one to decide such a thing. Too many things are starting to happen now...Jack said she could feel a storm coming. Something big.
I wonder if it's broken yet. And if it hasn't, whether we'll be able to ride it out when it does. Looking ahead's not for me, so whatever tomorrow may be, today (tonight) was a
Good day.
-
Entry 67
Pavel died today.
We were out hunting ogres: him, myself, the Captain, Mercy, Ugor, and Seth. We'd gotten through the cave and out into the hills. After wandering through for a while, dispatching a good number of ogres, we saw something I'd never seen before on a hill ahead of us. It was humanoid, but froglike. Pavel said he'd try to chat with it. And it killed him.
We killed it soon after that, but the Captain was inconsolable. Near useless, just hugging Pavel's body. I told Ugor to grab the body, and Seth to grab his things, then dragged the Captain up myself to get us out of there as quickly as possible. Seth got us through the caves with a spell.
When we got back to Peltarch, Sabre returned to cradling Pavel's body, refusing to let Mercy raise him. Eventually I got her back to the warehouse in Oscura. She's sleeping in her bunk now behind me, and we'll be going to the healer's when she wakes up. She asked me to watch over her and Pavel's body, make sure Mercy didn't try anything funny.
Pavel lied to me.
He said it wasn't me that was causing the problem. The Captain said it was our relationship that hurt him, that he'd told her so. He said I was just like any other of her flings…she said I wasn't...that that was the problem. She also made it clear that I don't come in first. I wish I knew why I was still sitting here, then.
I'm beginning to remember why I was happy when my mother died.
Bad day.
