3. Yana at the Docks

Yana at the Docks


  • The walk along the docks in the early morning is quiet. The shops haven’t opened. The drunks in the alleys are still sleeping. People sleep in their hammocks on decks of ships of all shapes and sizes. The sun pokes over the water, promising a warm, cloudless day.

    I want to pay attention to it all. I want to drink it all in, but I am distracted.

    My instructor showed up when I hadn’t expected. A man came running to me several days ago, asking if I’m Yana, saying there’s a Dwarf in dark robes looking for me. Before I even finish the conversation, my instructor is at my side.

    We talk at length about my training. What I’ve done. What I’ve not done.

    …and what I am going to do.

    My final test has been decided.

    I will be traveling to Damara soon to face masters of the elements. In one breath my instructor tells me I will do fine. In another, that the test will be deadly. Very deadly.

    The meeting was brief. He’s given me a date.

    With each sunrise, the date looms closer.

    As I walk further along the docks, I pay attention to this particular sunrise. It marks the beginning of a new day. There will be no other like it.

    And I begin to wonder, just how many I have left.


  • For DM Stuiped…

    Adventure. To explore the possibilities and the unknown.

    I’ve decided not to wait.

    I sit here on the beach in an old shift, purchased from the market for a few gold. The sand is cold under my legs. The waves lap rhythmically on the beach. My hair blows in the gentle breeze. The sound of gulls is distant. The horizon is undefined, the grey of the sea merged with a dark and cloudy sky.

    I focus

    Within moments, I feel warm. Emotion bubbles forth.

    Rage…

    Desire…

    Lust…

    …All focused in a cauldron deep within me. A draw from it, extending my Ki, the force of my spirit to it.

    I feel the heat rise. The air shimmers about me.

    I draw further. I try desperately to project it outward. Anything to get rid what’s building up inside me.

    Pain.

    I drive through it. I ignore it and focus on the effort. There has got to be another way to get rid of it. There must. If I can only push it out, hold it in my hand, extend it through me and get rid of it.

    Intense pain.

    I watch in horror and amazement as smoke rises from my clothing. The fabric smokes and turns black. The pain becomes unbearable.

    I yell.

    Flames pour from my mouth, rippling across the beach and over the water. The thin layer of water on the sand hisses briefly and steams. I fall back on the sand exhausted, tired, and hurt. My body is red in places. It is all I can do to crawl over to my pack, and apply one of the magic balms. Its coolness encompasses me, the pain ebbing away.

    Later that evening I visit a seamstress in the market. On the corner of my silks now, is a little dragon. It’s snake like, and scrolls over my left breast and over my heart. I’m not sure why I put it there. Perhaps as a reminder of what I did. A token of an adventure in self discovery.

    The gold embroidery glistens in the sun.


  • The plague is almost gone. People come out of doors, unafraid of with whom they might touch, or share a drink. I can tell the difference with my eyes closed, just by the sound of the docks. The cacophony is louder, and filled with more varied sounds. As an exercise, I close my eyes and pick out individual conversations.

    I sit quietly on the bow of the Lazy Day, and face the water. It’s moored to the docks, and bobs gently up and down. Its captain is elsewhere, no doubt buying supplies for the morrows venture into the Ice Lace. But he knows me, and lets me spend time here when I want to retreat from the world. Sometimes he takes me out and lets me dive from the boat. He’s a good sort, an old world fisherman whose family has grown and moved on, wife passed away some years ago, and now spends his time quietly living life and watching time pass by.

    It seems lately that I’ve spent a lot of time waiting as well. Lord Gallows has a task for me, but has had some difficulty tracking this creature down, so I’ve heard nothing from him. My instructor is worrisomely absent. My queries in the Lucky Ferret go unanswered. Letters to mom go unanswered. I post duty on the docks, but lately it’s been standing and guarding.

    Watch, listen, and wait.

    I use the time to practice, but fear the outcome of a few things I’ve learned. I’m afraid to take the next step on my own without guidance.

    I build up the fire inside, but each day I take less and less of the drink to release it. I try to focus on pushing it outwards, but nothing happens. Fear of the outcome is my wall, and I’m afraid to climb it, out punch my way through it.

    The sun begins to climb the sky away from the horizon, signaling the start of my shift.

    More watching.

    More waiting.


  • I’m standing next to Jack in front of the Bard College. He’s a good sort, with a round, congenial face. Recently married. Wife pregnant with their first. Really good with a carving knife, and makes little models of animals, carts and buildings.

    Captain Velhar is off to the side talking with Lycka. Aelthas is standing next to Senator Ronan, who is looking thoughtful. Far ahead of us, Lisa directs the passersby to stay back.

    Oh, and then there’s Nure, dressed in red. I swear if she tries to get by me one more time, I’m going to break her nose.

    It seems some sort of powerful sleep spell has affected the college. People mill around trying to figure out what to do. Celebring stops by, and everyone defers to him. A look of irritation creeps across Ronan’s face, and I understand perfectly why.

    When you’ve studied long and hard to be good at something, and people defer to someone else for it, it cuts at your own confidence and feelings of worth. I suggested to Aelthas a few minutes ago that I go inside to take a peek under the protection of a potion. I’ve learned in my time at the monastery to resist such influences, and my elvish heritage would certainly help.

    But no, I was not permitted. I had to stay in front and guard the door and guard. I pointed out there were numerous other guards around without my unique training, but was ignored.

    More and more officials and their friends gathered. Nure tries again, and Adelie grabs her and ties her up. Then she’s gagged, and Devlin, who’s wandered up from Norwick, sits on her. I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it.

    More talking. Celebring tries something and collapses. Lycka wakes him up. Finally, they figure out something and head inside to deal with the problem, under protection of defensive spells.

    Where am I?

    Guarding the door. They don’t even consider taking me along.

    Jack seems content with the situation. I’m screaming inside. I want to get involved. I want to see new things. I want …

    …adventure.

    I suppose to some I’m still the little girl. Maya’s daughter. The strange guard who doesn’t carry a weapon. Good for guarding doors.

    It pisses me off. Someday I’m just going to take mom’s advice, and punch someone in the nose.

    I bet it would feel good.


  • My instructor said to try everything.

    From singing, fishing, and checkers, to darts, painting and jump rope…I tried it all.

    No insight.

    I even tried using weapons for a week, practicing with some of the guards. I reasoned that if I could reacquaint myself, and view it from the other perspective, I might learn something. Thanks to mom, I’m actually pretty good with an axe and shield.

    Well, I got better at using the axe. It’s been awhile.

    No insight.

    I’m as clueless as ever how to approach defending myself better against weapons, while fighting unarmed.

    …perhaps

    …until now

    I’ve been watching Jolly Quickfingers, it’s what he calls himself, hustle the passersby at the docks with the old shell game.

    He doesn’t cheat. He doesn’t need to. He really is that good.

    I know the cheats at the shell game, or the cup and ball. The palming of the ball. The table drop. I’ve seen it all before. But Jolly is just good. Trying to follow his movements as he shuffles the cups around is an effort in futility. Most people just guess. Odds are he wins two of three times.

    So I watch.

    …and I watch

    …and I watch

    After awhile of watching, it became easier. A rhythm of movements. Repetition. Routine.

    Maybe that’s what it’s all about.

    Maybe I just need to learn pay attention.

    A flash.

    The sky darkens. I hustle south and hurry indoors at the Mermaid. The wind picks up, and first rain drops begin to fall as I open the door and rush inside. I go to my room hoping Jay will be there…

    …But it’s empty.

    I flop on the bed and wait, and idle the time by focusing on the fire inside. It’s something my instructor has taught me to do. I focus on the rage, the drive, and the desire.

    I focus on it all.

    Soon I feel warm. Then heat rises in waves, shimmering across my body and outstretched hands. I want to release it without the drink, but I am afraid. I wouldn’t begin to know what to do with it.

    I lose focus, and the heat washes away.

    Tonight I will leave a message for my instructor. I have enough time saved up, and I’m ready for the journey he’s promised me.

    After I see Jay

    After it stops raining.


  • Two men argue over a debt. They yell, scream, and swear. One of them has the shirt of the other bunched in his hands. Pushing. Shoving. A torn shirt. More yelling.

    I sit on a railing eating an apple and watch. When I think it’s going to come to blows I toss it. It’s a good shot, and thwacks one of them on the side of the cheek. Startled, he looks at me. Then the other. I cluck my tongue and shake my head a bit, and they break it up, glaring at each other..

    I pull out another apple. The sun shines brightly. The docks are otherwise peaceful. A sense of relaxed giddiness washes over me.

    I am happy.

    I went to Jay’s room last night, and gave myself to him. It has been something I desperately wanted, but was afraid. Afraid I wouldn’t measure up. Afraid I’d do something wrong. Afraid of it not being right.

    In the morning, I left before he woke. I wanted to wake him up, but he looked so peaceful that I didn’t have the heart. My morning run went by in a blur. The morning swim the same.

    My mind not in the present, but drifting to last night.

    I absently reach into my pouch for something to finish breakfast. Dried meat. Nuts. It doesn’t matter. Instead, my hand closes around something cold. Something hard.

    The ring of Tempus.

    The feelings of elation melt away in the breeze. It sits ominous and heavy in my hand. It dares me to wear it.

    I found one, a long time ago. I only used it once, and it saved my life. But I defied destiny and gave it to Devlin. Mom’s friend. A devout worshipper. Surely, he should have it.

    Here it is again. Either it’s returned, or its twin comes to haunt me.

    It is said Tempus only communicates in signs. I wonder desperately what he’s trying to tell me, but I’m afraid of the answer.

    In the mean time, I’m going to go to Jay’s place for lunch. If he’s still asleep I’ll wake him.

    That will be fun.


  • I’m standing here in the sun, the line of the soup kitchen behind me. Dock life swirls around me in chaos. The tension of recent events is thick, and weighs upon everyone here.

    I have little to do but watch, be wary, and think. Sometimes, guard duty is like that.

    Sometimes we reach a point in our lives, and come upon forks in the road. Despite the signs, we stand there stricken to the spot, unable to make a decision.

    That was me, until yesterday.

    I had been invited to be a “Second Knight” in the Divine Shield. One of five people ever asked. It was a tremendous honor, yet a decision filled with doubt and fear. I have no divine gifts. No covenant with the gods. Unlike mom, the gods never pay attention to me, or listen to my prayers.

    I’m simple guard in a city of many. Why me?

    I had the good fortune of meeting with Mariston in the commons, and he said something that had a profound effect on my decision. I asked what was expected, and he said, “To perfect ourselves in the eyes of our god”

    Well, not those words exactly. He spoke them far better I’m sure, than I remember. But the meaning was clear, and spoke to my heart.

    So I said yes.

    One fork in the road taken, but another remained…

    Jay and I had “The Talk”

    Some of “The Talk” was exciting. Some of it made me nervous. Most of it made me want to hide my head in the sand, and talk about something else.

    I left Jay this morning in my bed. It had been a night of exploration and intimacy for me. Something I have wanted for a long time, but was afraid to happen. Even then there were certain things we could have done but didn’t. Both of us wanted more, but I was afraid.

    I took vows of abstinence before I was even old enough to really be interested in boys, and had kept them, even after my resignation to The Order. Now there is so much I want that I find some of my goals pushed aside by thoughts of home, family, and Jay. Silly dreams of a girl with too much experience with violence, and not enough of life.

    Two forks in the road. Two paths taken.

    I pray to Tempus and Lathander that they are the right ones.

    I hope they listen.


  • The sounds of laughter and music filter out into the quiet streets near the Pissing Goat. I pass by on my rounds, and two men stagger out the door, one helping the other keep his footing

    My shift is nearly over, and I walk by, mostly lost in my thoughts.

    Jay and I sat by the fire in the Grapevine Inn. I was in his lap, and we just sat there, his arms around me, and chatted. Though little happened, it was a moment I’m going to remember for a long time. I half expected mom to bring me cookies, and I had to keep reminding myself that she wasn’t there any more.

    It was the only dark moment in an otherwise happy evening.

    I continue with my rounds, and walk past the remnants of the soup kitchen that was setup by the Sisterhood. The tables are still there and pushed against a wall.

    I grew up in the Sisterhood, and still feel an affinity for it, but wonder if it’s even “me” any more. Mom put me on the roster before she left, but like so many things in the past, are just not parts of my life now.

    I walk through the docks, and into City Hall. I turn in my report, and notice a note on the bulletin board. It says the Divine Shield is looking for Knights and men at arms of faith. A warrior of Lathander? Me? I dwell on it a moment, and take those thoughts outside.

    I leave City Hall, sit in the commons, and wonder what direction life is taking me.

    I look up into the sky, and pray to Tempus. I ask him to keep mom safe, and take care of her. The stars swirl overhead, and I watch as one of them streaks through the night, to disappear over the horizon.


  • “Mom, please don’t go. Not now.”

    I felt like a little girl in the Sisterhood again. Mom would leave to go on a journey, and I would pray every night to Tempus for her return. Days, weeks, sometimes months would pass, but she always did.

    She looked at me with both pride and sadness in her face. It was the sadness that hurt. A certain finality to this departure that left a hole in my stomach. Mom never hid anything, even from me.

    “You always welcome to come see me”, she said, brushing my hair behind my ears. Impiltur is no so far away that journey is impossible. Someday, I would like come visit you too.”

    She smiled. It was the kind of smile that could lead armies, or followers to battle. I always wanted it, but it wasn’t within me.

    “But Jay and I, we….”

    She put her long fingers over my mouth, and shook her head, “Is for your own heart to follow Yana. I know I say he is trouble, and think will always be, but you want to know secret? Adam was more trouble than ten Jays, and all people of politics put together. But I still loved him because he had good heart, and fight for what believe.”

    “And you!”, she continued, “You lose heart too much! You cannot be greatest warrior in blink of eye! You are still very much young, and it take time, patience, hard work, and much luck. There is always person in land who will beat you at anything. Remember this.”

    She looked to the caravan as it began to trickle out of town. The hole in my stomach threatened to swallow me, and tears came unbidden. Then with suddenness she picked me up and wrapped me in her arms.

    “Good luck Yana. You write letters to me, and will write to you. Come and visit, if can”

    “Yes mom”, was all I could choke out.

    She mounted her horse, and I watched her leave the gate, her feather covered braids swaying behind her.

    …and she was gone.


  • I can’t sleep.

    It’s late. Very late. But after tossing and turning for hours, I get up. I leave the guard uniform at home, put on my silks, and go for a walk.

    Except for the noise from the taverns, the docks are quiet this time of night. I walk through the streets, my feet padding quietly on the stones. I can hear waves lapping noisily, the ships creaking, and the footsteps of every passerby.

    There is a certain peace now that starkly contrasts with the chaos of the day. It’s the other side of this district’s coin.

    When he’s sober, one of the cooks at the Pissing Goat can do a mean fish fillet. I thought that perhaps some food in my stomach would help settle me, and so I head to the kitchen at the Pissing Goat to check things out. The cook was there and almost sober. He was closing up, but after few coins skittered his way he fried one up for me amidst some grumbling. I thank him, and head out into the tavern.

    The room is smoky, and filled with a whole evening of smells. The odors of unwashed humanity, liquor, and straw assail me. I settle down off to the side and eat my fish.

    Despite the hour, several tables have been pushed together, and a dozen of the crew of some unknown ship are having a good time. There is laughter, crude jokes, and insults. Two women of the Pissing Goat are sitting in laps, and enjoying the attention, drink and coin thrown their way.

    I ignore them. The fish is excellent. If this cook could remain sober for longer than a few hours, any rich household would welcome him.

    A shadow moves across my fish. I look up.

    “Hey pretty, why don’t you come over to our table?”

    He’s young. A cocky smile planted over a clean shaven face. But his eyes spell trouble. Too much liquor, a dare from comrades perhaps. Snickering from the table behind me tells me it’s probably both.

    “No thank you”, I reply. I instantly regret dressing in such haste. Showing my badge would have ended all conversation right there.

    All I want to do is eat my fish and go back to bed.

    He looks back at his friends. I glance over my shoulder. More snickering. Crude gestures.

    All I want to do is eat my fish.

    He leans down. He’s insistent. Words spill out of his mouth, a drunken line of seduction so bad I almost burst out laughing.

    He puts his hand on my arm.

    My instinct tells me several things. It tells me to twist my arm away from his thumb and press on the back of his wrist. It instantly locates two places to strike to break his arm. He would draw the knife at his side and I would slap it away, and then kick from a sitting position to the side of the head.

    But I don’t. Amidst some cheering, crude remarks and cat calls. I get up, and go over to the table with him.

    Several of them look me over. Some stare at my legs. Others higher. Too much skin and not enough silk. The kid has a possessive grip on my arm. Relief and pride are in his eyes.

    All I want to do is eat my fish.

    “I’m sergeant Yana of the Peltarch guard”, I say. “I’m also inquisitor to Magistrate Borodin. I am going to go back and eat my fish. If I am interrupted again, someone will have to explain to the captain why a warrant was obtained, and his ship searched for contraband”

    Silence. I break the grip on my arm and walk back to the table. Hushed whispers behind me. The local girls confirming my story. I sit with a sigh, and take another bite.

    My fish is cold.


  • They’re going to be trouble when they grow up.

    Two dirt covered boys, twelve years old. Lost in the twilight in between child and adult. I’ve been there, kind of. It’s a hard age to be. For me, it lasted a long time.

    I watch one of the Hartness twins begin to haggle over some fruit. He draws the attention of the proprietor, then his wife when he points to the boxes in the corner. In the mean time, his brother quietly and with great practice filches a box of strawberries, and quietly walks away.

    The proprietors should know better, but they’re new here. The Hartness twins are inseparable. Every merchant on the docks knows it, and they still lose merchandise to their shenanigans.

    Both kids were very careful to be out of sight of the “Blue and Green”, the guards that patrol the docks. The irony is that I’m off duty, and dressed in flamboyant reds, orange and yellows. I blend in by looking ostentatious.

    The boy passes by me, and I grab his ear.

    “Ow! What the f….oh, Hi lady Yana!”

    The feigned innocence is well practiced. They know me pretty well, and don’t try any foolishness. I know they both carry knives under their shirts, but drawing one now would be cause for a broken arm and the inside of a cell, even at their age.

    …and they know it.

    “Put the strawberries back Dana”, I say tiredly, but with a smile.

    “I’m Drake…that’s Dana”, he points to his brother, who walks up to us, hands in his pockets.

    I could never tell the difference, and simply shrug. “Well whoever you are, put the strawberries back before I arrest you, off duty or not”

    Drake…or Dana, sighs and puts the strawberries back. The proprietor watches in alarm and starts to raise a fuss once he realizes he’s been robbed, but I assure him that the boys have returned everything, and that I will take care of it.

    Both look at me and give me a “whatever” shrug, and walk away, inseparable as ever. I start after them, but know in my heart there is no point. They’ll never change until something truly bad happens, and scares responsibility into their lives, or kills one or both.

    That’s just the way it is sometimes.

    I reach the pier, and sit on the edge, feet dangling over the water. The sparkles of the sun on the water remind me of stars, set on a moving field of gray. If I half close my eyes, I can see them twinkle.

    If I close them completely, I think of Jay.


  • I’m walking through the streets, and I’m assaulted by a cacophony of sounds. Vendors shouting. Sailors and dock workers cursing. Children run through the street, screaming and carrying on. The gulls protest the throngs below them, and squawk their complaints. Someone starts up a stringed instrument, and it’s quickly accompanied by a flute and drums.

    It’s chaos, baked and ripened by the harsh sun.

    I love it. I could walk through the docks a thousand times, and each time would be different.

    I stop for a moment and take it all in, before I sit down on a bench for awhile and let the world pass by. Absently, I rub my arm.

    It was again, a hollow victory at the Norwick games. I win in a sport, and everyone seems impressed. A few comments, people telling me how good I am. I few grins. A couple of pats on the shoulder. But it doesn’t really count. I won at boxing. How many times do the hobgoblins or gnolls come charging in force, unarmored and bare handed?

    I can see the progress. I beat Jay. I beat Lyte. I beat Maythor. Hope swells in my heart, but is dashed to pieces in the first real fight with weapons. I stood quietly on the sidelines, frustrated.

    Now I’m sore from last night’s practice. Two days after the games in Norwick, I met Jay in the basement of the Lucky Ferret. We sparred for an hour before I turned in for the night, he with a wooden practice sword, me unarmed. I might as well learn from the best.

    I still can’t face a good swordsman, not and have a prayer of winning. It frustrates the hell out of me. I try to be patient. The elf blood tells me it will all come in time, of which I have a lot of, but the human in me snarls and gnashes its teeth, telling me to hurry up and get better before I fucking die.

    It tells me other things too.

    Jay and I have this long standing rivalry. He’s bigger and stronger than I, and uses his size and natural skills to counteract my training. We are nearly equal. He wins some. I win some. I use him as a benchmark for my progress.

    When I beat him two nights ago, a high round house kick that caught him off guard, I hugged him in relief. He returned my hug, simply happy for a friend that succeeded. Quietly, he told me to finish it, and win the whole damn thing.

    He can be such an ass, but awkwardly sweet on occasion.

    Me and Jay?

    I squeeze my eyes shut and shake out the thought. The elven part of me tells me to be patient, bide my time, and find the right person. The human part of me?

    It tells me something else.

    I open my eyes, stand, stretch, and resume my rounds. The chaos swirls around me, a little piece of it lodging in my heart.


  • It’s sunny and quiet. Most workers are off today. It’s some Valkurian holiday, and many of the sailors and dock workers are taking advantage of it. Most of the foremen just gave up trying to get anything done. The merchants of food and drink are however, making a killing.

    It’s only eleven in the morning, and already the taverns are full and overloaded. People are gathered outside. Traveling vendors are going up and down the street selling their wares.

    The west side of the docks are mobbed. I however, am on the east side. The loudest sound I have are a dozen angry gulls fighting over the piece of bread I just threw in the water. I watch one of them fly off with the prize. The rest hover around me indignantly, as if I’m the only source of food for miles.

    Peace. Harmony. Balance.

    I had someone ask me about them two days ago. He wanted me to teach him how to live life in balance, how to be at peace, and in harmony with life.

    How do I answer that? I have no fucking clue.

    I stood there listening to him without a inkling of what to say. We each have our own goals, our own sense of peace, and what balances one individual will not balance another.

    In the end, that’s what I told him.

    It’s what my instructor did. He pointed me at the signs, and I decided which road was right for me.

    The best I could do was teach him how balance his body. I gave him a few routine exercises to do, to teach him the basics. It’s one of the fundamental flaws even good warriors make. They build their strength, their flashy routines with a swords, and slick moves to defeat their opponent, but they forget about balance. A properly balanced body makes all the moves easier.

    A properly balanced life does the same.

    Mom was a master at both. I think if there’s any one thing I would like to live up to, it’s that


  • Written for DM_Stuiped, wrapped in a bow, with a bottle of Riskey

    –----

    I am running along the wall. Crenellations pass by in a blur. The wind is in my face. My heart beats slowly. Up ahead, a gap of 10 paces…then some.

    Limitations

    Wisdom is knowing what they are. With training, they can be removed.

    The other day however, I faced a potential opponent, and I have no idea how the hell I would fight it, or even train for, had I the need too.

    I was approached by the number killer

    The shadows overcame me, my mind reeling in madness. I could not move. I could not fight. I felt a malevolent presence of such power, it rooted me to the spot. I sensed and felt it touching me, then leaving, perhaps realizing its mistake.

    I had truly lured it to me, but it was not the evil priest, or evil wizard I had thought. It was no human being who desired to ascend to great power through ritual and sacrifice. Whatever it was already had great power, and I was powerless to fight it.

    How do I fight such things? What magic must I possess, or discipline of body must I accomplish to even stand a chance?

    Hell, I can’t even fight a good swordsman. I can, just not and win. First, I must learn to get out of the way. At least this goal is within my sight.

    It takes a certain skill to drive your fist past wood, brick and stone. I have been taught to focus my body’s energy, my Ki, and do what the untrained would consider magical. Is it possible to fight the demons and magical creatures of this realm with just this power?

    _The gap approaches

    I jump.

    The wind is in my face. My heart beats slowly. I am flying.

    …

    I land. Legs collapse. Body crumples, tucks, and rolls.

    I am running again._

    Is it possible?

    Yes

    But I already knew the answer.


  • The Zephyr had pulled into port, its crew beginning the arduous task of unloading the crates. Several burly men, a few half orcs, and an ingenious looking crane pulled cargo from the hold onto the dock.

    Mark usually handled dock 4, but he had been relieved of duty and jailed. Payoffs, gold under the table, falsifying records. Fortescue was very unforgiving.

    “Cargo manifest please”, I said

    The captain looks at me like I’m from the underdark. A twisted mask of loathing and disrespect.

    “Who the fuck are you?”

    I show my badge. “Sergeant Yana of the Peltarch Guards”. I hold out my hand. “Cargo manifest, if you please”

    He looks at me with contempt. “I don’t please. Where the fuck is Mark?”

    “Mark”, I say, “No longer works the docks. Now you deal with me”

    His face changes suddenly to one with an eel pasted slime of a smile. He walks up to me, and pulled out some papers….along with a hefty sack.

    “Mark and I had…an arrangement. An agreement of mutual profit. A young w…lady like yourself could find that some extra coin very useful, don’t you agree?”

    I sighed, feigning interest. “Possibly”, I say, “How much are we talking about?”

    “One percent”, he says quietly, looking at the crew and nodding to continue unloading. “Sometimes two, for particular cargo.

    We walk along discussing details, until I arrive at my mark. It’s a large set of crates, and we are briefly out of line of sight of the crew. Without warning, I hit him in the groin. He doubles over, and I hook his foot, taking him down.

    “You’re under arrest for suspected murder, and theft of Peltarch property”

    A recruit comes out from the alley hidden by the crates, and hauls him away. A dozen and a half more guards and defenders wait in the alley, snickering. Chen gives a thumbs up.

    Seizing the ship at that point was easy. Leaderless, the crew capitulated quickly at the presence of an organized force. The crates contained numerous food stuffs, but hidden in each were numerous goods that had been shipped by Hoarsgate and “lost at sea”. Since they had been previously purchased by various merchants here in the city, they were technically Peltarch property.

    I’m sure song and praise will be heaped on Fortescue by the merchants. It’s the captains and generals who always win or lose the battle. It’s the people like me and Chen though, that live or die on the field of it.


  • I humbly dedicate this entry to DM Stuiped and DM Silverfang, who led my characters down the path to the described events.

    Harmony and balance.

    I sat in the audience and watched a display of both. Two people dancing in perfect union. Motion harmonized. Their bodies balanced and poised.

    It was then, right then, that it all came together.

    I was so excited, I left in the middle of the play and sought out Chen. A quick look at the sky told me he would be leaving his shift soon, and I sprinted to the barracks. I caught him on the street, walking home.

    It took awhile to convince him. I needed to work with him after shift. A month I asked. One month. He laughed and chuckled shaking his head, declining. Asked if I was nuts.

    I remembered he was sweet on Jenny at the Pissing Goat. It was one of those odd, casual relationships that had hung on for years. They were both comfortably in love, but were never getting married.

    He had seen this dress in the market. 362 gold and change. He had fawned over it, telling me how wonderful she would look in it, but couldn’t bring himself to spend his entire savings and then some.

    I offered to buy it, so he could give it to her.

    He agreed.

    We spent the next month practicing. Unarmed, wooden practice knives, clubs and swords. It was all so easy, and I wondered why I hadn’t seen it before. Rather then block or resist the blow, I moved with it. Like being drunk, but completely in control.

    He steps forward. My rear foot steps in. Pivot. Motion harmonized. A dance of balance, and he goes over my shoulder.

    He lunges. Rear foot goes forward and past him. Pivot. He over extends and falls.

    He steps away. Forward leg behind his. Step forward. Push forward firmly, and down he goes.

    Harmony and balance.

    There was a hidden lesson in this. One that was revealed to me in a moment of reflection, brought on by the teachings of my new instructor. There is a need for harmony and balance in not just combat and dancing, but personal needs, the drive for perfection, and relationships.

    Particularly between mother and daughter.

    At the end of the following week, I took the river boat to Norwick, and arrived on a cool, clear evening, the sky full of stars.

    I entered the inn. It was late, and mom and the other girls were cleaning up. She looked up at me and smiled, but continued her cleaning. She was tired. Her eyes revealing the despair she was feeling.

    “Mom”, I said, “Can I talk to you upstairs for a moment?”

    The seriousness of my tone must have caught her attention. She paused, put the rag down, and we went upstairs to her room. She looked down at me with concern.

    “What is problem?”, she asked, her voice tired and strained.

    I knelt before her, and looked up. “Mom, will you bless me, in Tempus’ name?”

    I bowed my head and waited.

    I wasn’t sure what to expect. I waited for a long time, until her heard her crying. I looked up. Tears were running down her face, but her eyes sparkled, and she was smiling. Still crying, she reached down and pulled me to my feet.

    “Come then with me, and we will do proper”, she said between sobs, and hugged me.

    Later that evening, I knelt before the monument to the fallen soldiers. The Eastlanders respectfully kept their distance as they often do, when proper homage is given. There, I cut my hand and offered my blood to Tempus. Mom prayed in Uthgardt, and asked Tempus to bless me, mixing her blood with mine.

    The cut will leave a scar, a small reminder of promises made between us long ago, and to Tempus.

    Three days later, I am doing my rounds. It’s late morning. The docks are crowded and full of life. A messenger comes up to me. The wax seal has Norwick’s crest, and the symbol of Tempus.

    Inside, in mom’s rough hand, I read about the vision she had the following night. As I read it, my eyes blur with tears. It seems that originally, Tempus had given her sign that she could not fight again until the blessing of Tempus was given. That night, in front of the monument, it had been, through her to me.

    Now she was released to seek battle again.

    Inside the note, was a large black feather. She is given one with every vision, and ceremoniously puts it in her hair.

    This time, she gave it to me.

    With trembling hands, I put it in hair. I will wear it proudly.


  • The post reverberates with each strike. It rotates on its axis, and small arms of wood move to thwart each move and bruise my arms.

    I strike hard, exhaling forcefully for each blow. Pain courses through my left arm, but I have learned to ignore it.

    Twist, strike, each time faster. A flurry of rapid strikes too fast for conscious thought.

    I am drenched in sweat.

    Damn I feel good.

    I step away. Time for a swim and change of clothes. The Icelace is almost tolerable this time of year. I turn to exit the barracks.

    My victory in the Oscuran tournament was hollow. Jay wasn’t there. Neither was Maythor, or Pavel. It was a good test of my unarmed skills but in order to survive this world, I’m going to need to be better than people who use swords.

    …and there, I lost to my first opponent.

    I’ve seen people do it. Master swordsmen put to shame by the magic of personal discipline and unarmed technique. But it’s a long hard road to take.

    I can beat the average mercenary. A dockworker with a knife is hardly a threat. I –am- getting better…

    …but not good enough.

    I walk out from the barracks into the sunshine, and pad barefoot over to the “Lazy Day”, a small private fishing boat. I know the captain, and he lets me dive from the stern and catch the sun. A few times, he even took me out onto the lake. It was glorious.

    I catch sight of Fortescue moving effortlessly through the crowd. He appears to have an aura about him, as no one moves within ten feet of him. He watches me, but from this distance I can’t tell whether he’s gawking or glaring with disapproval. Knowing him, it’s the latter.

    Well fuck him. It’s my day off.

    I spring from the stern and arch through the air.

    Damn, the water is cold.


  • I’m taking a hot bath now, for the first time in months. I feel I could lay in this water forever. The dye has been removed, and my hair is back to white-blonde luster.

    A part of me liked it black.

    I’m also not drunk. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to go running through the docks again, and purge myself of the poisons within me. A week’s regimen of hard exercise, water, vegetables and fish ought to do the trick.

    I am both disappointed and relieved the Number Killer didn’t show. I somehow expected this grand heroic destiny to follow me around like it does mom. The killer would show up, surprise would be on my side and I would vanquish him.

    Things only work like that for certain people though – The heroes, knights, and paladins of this land. Not for me.

    But after living in the docks amongst the poor and destitute, I have come to realize that “heroic” has a different meaning for me now. It’s the people like Bonnie Tailor who lives in a tent, and still raises her three children without husband or relative to help. It’s Arun the guard who does his job every single day, often unappreciated, and goes home to his family at night, rather than going out with his buddies and spending the coin on gambling and beer. It’s the people that are honored by the monument in the pass. The soldiers with no name who fought and died so that many of us know what it’s like to live.

    In two days I will go back to my duty. I will be Yana the guard again.

    Only a little better.


  • I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last week and a half. I got used to the smell too.

    It is often rather fascinating to see the true nature of people, when they don’t know you’re watching. People who have gruff exteriors, but show great kindness to strangers. People sweet and kind, but cruel when they think no one is watching.

    Arun, a fellow sergeant, has been downright vicious to me since I joined the guard. He’s an old timer with five near grown children, and struggles to make ends meet. Yet the other day he gave half of his lunch to me, knowing he had so little to give. I had to turn my head away, lest he recognize who I was.

    Kayla, one of my recruits, has been nothing but helpful. Though she comes from an impoverished background, she has been trying as a guard to make something of herself. Just yesterday though, she rousted me on the law that I must have 10 coins. She kicked and knocked me to the ground for no reason, and I let her. It was almost as if she were trying to punish her own past.

    I will forever see them both in a different light after this.

    I spend my extra coins on liquor. I am drunk, or partially so most of the time, but I’ve gotten used to it. However, I have learned that while I can get used to it, I still hate it.

    It’s not me.

    I want to run again. I want to swim. I want to keep myself in the best condition I can possibly be.

    Now, I just stagger.

    I begin to wonder if this exercise in inebriation by my new instructor was not to learn to be drunk, but to learn about myself.

    I have not been approached by anyone offering me a better life. No rescuers, Number Killer or not. The complacency of the people around me to the poor and destitute is disturbing…

    …but what makes me truly sad is that I have to count myself as one of them.


  • I’m drunk.

    …or I was two hours ago. I’m not sure any more. I have my back against the wall of some warehouse I can’t remember. I stink of fish, alcohol, urine and sweat. I get rousted by the guards now and then, but managed to keep some gold on me as the law requires.

    I am one of the nameless homeless on the docks. I am a wharf waif who answers to Holly.

    I am bait.

    It’s the only way I can think of apprehending the number killer. From what I have gathered, he…or she prays on the desperate. People who are looking for a way to better their situation, and will do ANYTHING to change it. Perhaps I am wrong. At least I will learn something about the docks, the way of life here, and perhaps myself.

    I have stripped myself of all belongings, save a few knick-knacks and planted personal possessions. I am unarmed, except for a rather sharp scaling knife. I am uniquely qualified to do this for my ability to kill someone without even using it. Only a few people know about my situation.

    I didn’t lie. I told everyone that I was getting on a caravan to Damara. I did, but got off some two hours outside of town. There, I met up with Chen and Kane on the shore. My hair was cut and dyed. I was given old clothes. Face dirtied. I was rowed out to a merchant sloop, and stowed away for a week a more, living on scraps. Later, I was dumped ignominiously as a stow away off in Peltarch.

    I am tired. I am hungry.

    …and I am scared.

    Can I kill the number killer if he comes for me?

    Probably not. But at close range, with surprise, I have a chance, and he needs to be stopped.

    I said my good byes. I told mom I was going away for awhile. I told Luke I had feelings for him. Things I wish I had never said, but always wanted to say, were said.

    If he comes for me, and I end up with an VIII on my forehead, I hope I made a difference to those around me, and made mom proud.