3. Yana at the Docks

Yana at the Docks


  • Its passage through the air creates a ripple, almost inaudible. It’s different than the whisk of an arrow or the whine of a bolt. The urgency of its change in pitch tickles my senses.

    I move my head three inches to the right, and the rock whizzes by my ear.

    I turn to face my attacker. A man about seventeen perhaps, slender, but with muscular upper arms and shoulders from working on the docks. He takes another rock from his left hand and shouts, “Fucking Guard!”, and throws it.

    His aim is excellent. He could probably kill rabbits with his throwing skills. The rock hurdles towards my nose at alarming speed.

    I open palm it, slapping it aside just enough so it passes to the left of my head.

    He gives an “Oh shit” look and runs. The crowd parts a bit as I shout that he’s under arrest. Truly a formality at this point, because he certainly knows I’m going to arrest him. He doesn’t get very far though. He makes the classic mistake of looking over his shoulder while running, and trips over a bench.

    I catch him in seconds. I hope he resists, and obliges by stumbling to his feet and throwing a powerful but sloppy punch at my head. Easily blocked, I step inside his swing and pivot on my lead foot, using his position as leverage against him. He goes over my shoulder and crashes into the bench he just tripped over. He holds his head and doesn’t get up.

    Two privates come by, and I order him arrested on charges of assault. Some people stare. Some watch, but pretend not to. Most go about their business.

    Thus starts the first ten minutes of my day.

    I flex my hand a little as I walk down the docks. It’s going to be sore for a few hours from deflecting the rock. I have no itinerary today which means hours of relentless boredom, punctuated with additional moments of possible violence.

    I wander from pier to pier and make it a point to stop at the Lazy Day to say hello to the captain. He’s not there though, so I begin to wander aimlessly keeping my eye out for trouble. My thoughts begin to wander aimlessly as well, and I think about Jay some, and oddly, Jaelle.

    Each person handles grief differently. Jaelle seems to wallow in it though, in a self destructive, “look at me I’m going to die” attitude. It’s not only grief, it’s a cry for attention, and several have heeded the call. I’m not sure how to act when I straddle the border between pity and disgust, so I just ignore it.

    It makes my heart sick that Jay died faithless. I loved him once, and a part of me, oddly, almost shamefully still does. But his death is not going to destroy my life. He may not live well in the afterlife, but the good parts of him will live on in my memories forever.

    That has to be enough.


  • I’m sitting on a pier, my legs dangling over the water. The sun is bright and relentless. The water reflects it in a thousand stabs of light that twinkle and burn my eyes to tears.

    So I tell myself.

    Mom informed me yesterday that Jay is dead. Killed in a bar room confrontation by Oscuran guards.

    There is a part of me that rejoices. The part that feels that Jessica has her justice, and things are settled. The other part twists and writhes in my gut, feeling his absence.

    I loved him once. A part of me still does, and always will.

    I wish things were different.

    I sit here quietly, and close my eyes. The cacophony of the docks floods my senses, and I pick out each sound and focus on it in turn. The docks were Jay’s home, as they are mine now. Remembering the good part of him is the only homage I have left. The docks will help me do that.

    I squeeze my eyes shut, and think of something else.

    The other day, a box came to me. It contained a short little poem, and a hibiscus, but was unsigned. It wasn’t hard to find out who sent it. Benji had delivered it to the guard barracks personally.

    That was awkward.

    Benji and I sat by the south gate in Norwick and talked for awhile. He had been hoping our friendship would turn into something more. I tried to tell him as gently as I could that it wouldn’t. All the while listening to him I couldn’t help thinking I was a substitute for Marie.

    The number of good friends I have in this land I can count on one hand. Benji is one of them. Our friendship now will never be the same. There will always be that backdrop of awkwardness between us now.

    I will always respect him for trying though. My master once said that the only people that fail are the people who try.

    I wish things were different.

    I sparred with Aelthas yesterday. He was in good mood, having bested all challenges, including mom. He didn’t take me seriously though. What’s one unarmed elven girl against six feet three inches of muscle, discipline and steel?

    I weaved drunkenly past his defenses, striking quicker and faster than he could follow until I lost focus, and almost beat him. Had I aimed the palm strike two inches lower, victory would have been mine.

    Even though I lost, the surprise on his face was worth every bruise and cut. He helped me up, and took off his helmet, his long hair flowing to his shoulders. His eyes were warm and bright. He smiled at me, a smile of friendship and perhaps, new found respect.

    I wish things were different.


  • I’m on another fast sloop out of Hoarsgate destined for the docks of Peltarch. The wind is from the starboard, and the sloop skips through the water like small child at play. It runs effortless and free in the wind, guided by a stern hand at the helm.

    Fuck.

    I am being thwarted at every turn. Hoarsgate will not cooperate, and there isn’t a blessed thing I can do about it without taking the law into my own hands. Oh I could have. I had the opportunity last week at Norwick’s games. Jessica could have had Justice at my hands, but I stayed them. I am not a vigilante.

    I had planned on killing Jay at the games the moment I found out. I don’t usually enter the unarmed combat, as my training leaves most folks outmatched. However, Jay usually enters. His size, strength and experience gives him an excellent chance of winning.

    But not against me. Not any more. All I would have to do is wait until he entered. In the little make shift arena would be Jay, without his weapons and armor, against me.

    All I would have to do is not hold back.

    But last week I did hold back. It wasn’t within me to be his executioner. I like to rationalize that it would have broken my oaths to do it, but that wasn’t it. I looked down at him lying on the ground, and the part of me that still sees him lying next to me, the part of me that still sees whatever small good in his heart remains, stopped me.

    It burns my soul thinking that he could kill a helpless child, yet I cannot be his executioner. It isn’t within my right.

    I prayed for Jessica last night, hoping her spirit is well taken care of. In the end, I asked for her forgiveness.


  • I’m on a boat to Hoarsgate again. I sit on the bow of the ship with my eyes half closed, and my face to the wind. The cool air of the Icelace streams my hair behind me, covering it in spray.

    By the gods, I love the seas.

    Finding out exactly what happened has not proven easy. The guards in Hoarsgate were rather quiet about the whole affair, and were obviously scared. But people talk, and there were others besides the guards. It took a series of gentle smiles, reassuring looks, and the purchase of numerous drinks to paint a picture of what happened. Charles, the leader of a local gang, his wife and daughter murdered.

    Many were cavalier about it. It was obvious that Charles was not missed much. His wife and child were the casualties of war. Why would someone like me care they would ask? Did I know them? Did I know the little girl named Jessica?

    No I didn’t, but the event poisoned me with its cruel touch. It opened old wounds with its claws, and brought back memories I had buried so long ago.

    In many ways, that little girl Jessica was me.

    I was little, and watched with the horror of a child who doesn’t understand that monsters ~can~ get into your bedroom. The madman who came into the Grapevine Inn and started killing people methodically…he wasn’t a dream. He was a nightmare that came to life, and amidst my screams dragged me out from under the bed. I clawed and screamed. I fought with everything a small child could muster. I cried for mom to come kill the monster, but she wasn’t there.

    And he strangled me. It’s not the death that hurts. It’s the panic and the dying prior that haunts you.

    This isn’t about the law. This is about Justice. The madman was eventually killed. I had it. Jessica doesn’t.

    We have laws that govern the administration of Justice. Most of the time, the laws work well. People are caught. Evidence is presented. People are found innocent or guilty. Punishment is exacted in the name of Justice, and what the majority deems fair.

    I think it’s why I became a guard. To protect the innocents of the world from the madmen. Give them a chance to grow up, like I did. I was lucky. I had people that cared.

    I spoke with people at Hoarsgate. I spoke with magistrates and people of law. Hoarsgate and Peltarch have no agreements or terms of extradition.

    How then is Jessica to receive Justice? Does Justice come with a price? Who decides and how?

    I prayed to Tyr for answers. None came.

    Perhaps then, it’s up to me.


  • “Crossbow!”, the guard next to me yells.

    I snap my head left and right frantically, searching the unruly crowd for the man in the crossbow. I hear the “chunk” off to my right and slightly behind me, and a guard named Jack two rows down cries out in pain and slumps to the street, his shoulder near his neck impaled by a bolt. The shooter is on a balcony, two stories up. I see him put his foot into the metal stirrup, and begin rewinding it.

    There’s always some asshole in a riot who isn’t content with beating the guards down and causing general mayhem. Instead they take the chaos as a gods provided opportunity to really kill someone.

    I turn away from the line holding the crowd back. Without shield or armor, my style of fighting is less than ideal for this sort of work anyway. I sprint forward, and vault the hedge underneath the balcony.

    One of the lieutenants returns fire with his crossbow, but the bolt skims off the metal railing surrounding the balcony, and tumbles into the outer edges of the crowd.

    The man on the balcony sees me, but I’m directly beneath him, and he can’t fire through the grating. He starts to look over the edge for a shot, but thanks to Glorion’s training, I ascend far faster than he anticipates.

    I vault over the balcony, swinging upwards in the opposite he’s facing. By the time he turns and fires, I’m already inside the front of the crossbow.

    Close quarters. Elbow to the throat. Forearm and back of hand to the face. He begins to turn, so I pivot with him, hooking my arm under his. He goes over the railing, and crashes to the street below. I jump after him, collapsing and rolling to a standing position. He groans and starts to stand, but I sweep and legs and he falls back to the street.

    I kneel on his arm, and raise my right hand to strike.

    The man looks up at me stunned, his eyes wide. The moment stretches out as I fight to control the anger I feel now. This isn’t someone trying to smash windows, or push pass the guards to get to the Senate. This man needlessly and deliberately tried to kill one of my friends. With the back of his head on hard packed dirt, killing him would be easy.

    …and I wonder. Would anyone care?

    The lieutenant runs over. My arm relaxes, and I stand up and nod to the lieutenant.

    “Nice work Sergeant. See if you can get the men on the left to pull back a bit. This riot is getting out of hand.”

    I nod in acknowledgment and I run back to the line.

    Behind me, the lieutenant's crossbows fires, killing the man on the ground.


  • The chaos of Peltarch’s dock district swirls around me in the afternoon sun. People go by carrying boxes. Vendors hawk wares of silk ribbons, small trinkets, and unknown food on wooden sticks. I hear the shouts from several moored ships, and the confused banter of a drunken sailor.

    I’m well known here now. No longer the little blonde waif, I am GuardswomanYana. I’ve paid my dues in bar fights and blood, arrests and chases, inspections and investigations. I’ve earned the respect from some, and loathing from others. I can walk anywhere on the docks, and get a courteous nod, the tip of a hat, or a friendly smile.

    Yet still, I am lonely.

    The number of true friends I have can be counted on…Do I have any?

    I pause at this thought, deeply troubled.

    There are many folks I can call friends. There are people who trust me, who say “Hi”, when I walk by, or feel a sense of caring, mostly because they knew me when I was younger.

    But true friends?

    I purchase a bag of honey roasted nuts from one of my favorite vendors. He keeps them warm, and they are a little sticky, but there’s something about them I find addictive. I buy them, while dwelling on this, and as I walk away the transaction is quickly forgotten as I focus on this troubling thought.

    For all the friends I have, I have none to share my secrets. No one to sit under and tree and share my troubles. No one to hold at night, and listen to my fears.

    I wander by the northwest dock, and watch the old fishing boat “Harpy’s Rest” bob in the water. It’s owned by a couple who have been together since most of the old timers in the dock can remember. They have the boat, each other, and little else.

    For all the coin I have in the bank, and the magic and silks, they are still wealthier than I.


  • I am standing beside the crafting hall in Norwick. The grey skies churn overhead, the heavens open, and the rain turns the ground to mud beneath my feet. I stand without my cloak, and the rain washes over me, soaking me to the skin.

    I stare at the road and the inn without seeing them. My mind is focused elsewhere.

    Last season, I entered the Norwick games as I always do. Since I’ve been little, I’ve enjoyed the athletic and martial competitions this town has. They are a test of skill and ingenuity.

    At least I thought so, until now.

    There are folks who use magic prior to the events to give themselves an edge. I’ve seen them do it, when they think no one is looking. I’ve seen folks come full of magic after an adventure. They enter the contests stronger or faster than they usually are.

    There are folks who pray to their gods for blessings, so that they might win. Do the gods care?

    Apparently so.

    What are the lines between reputation, pride and sportsmanship?

    Have I crossed them?

    For seasons I stayed away from the unarmed competition. I’ve been trained to fight unarmed and unarmored, and prevail against steel, swords and arrows. Against someone who’s never had this training, it must seem like magic too. What chance do they have against me, who have not?

    So why do I do it? There is little test of skill for me to fight any more. Do I do it for pride? Do I do it for reputation?

    Sadly, the answer is yes.

    I spoke to mom about this. She said I earned it, and told me to enjoy it while it lasts.

    …but I’m not so sure I enjoy it.

    The next season’s games arrive in a week. Should I be humble, as I have, or should I hold the Champion’s Belt up high, with pride? Perhaps for a time, this is my moment in the sun. I wish however that Lathander or even Tempus would give me sign for some great deed or quest instead. Victories over friends seem rather hollow.

    I look up. The rain stops as suddenly as it began. The skies rumble overhead, and the sun peeks out, turning a drenched Norwick into a cluster of watery jewels that glisten in the light.


  • I stood before Captain Fortescue, my reports in his hand. “I heard there was trouble in the Pissing Goat”, he said, looking up briefly at me.

    “No trouble sir”, I replied.

    …and that was the end of it. He signed the reports, gave me my new duty roster, and I was on my way.

    It took me a day or two of meditation after the fight in the Pissing Goat to re-enter that state of mind, where everything is clear, and every movement obvious. Now I can do it at will, and I worry that the self assurance it gives me will make me overconfident, and that’s a dangerous mind set to get into. However, I have reached a point in my training where I feel I have accomplished the goals I have set for myself, and I am beginning to look at my future with a different set of eyes.

    Yesterday, a man who calls himself The Herald asked to speak with me. I had spoken with him briefly in Norwick last week, and he called me over in the Peltarch commons yesterday, offering me a drink, and wanting to talk.

    He is an odd fellow. Covered in tattoos that move about like so many scurrying cockroaches exposed to sunlight, my first encounter years ago caused me to recoil. But over the course of my training I have learned to look at people with more objectivity, and curiosity got the better of me.

    I sat and listened.

    He told me he wanted to tell me his story. What followed was a fantastic tale of Netherese cities, old exiles, impossible lifetimes, and an even more improbable purpose. I didn’t know what to believe. At first while listening to him, and asking the odd question or two, the believability of it bothered me. Eventually however, I realized that it didn’t matter. This was his story. This was how he wished to be perceived. When I boiled it all down, it was just the tale of a lonely individual who wanted to talk, and needed someone to listen.

    At the end, I asked him how he wished to be remembered. He replied, “Not at all, I wish to leave this world without a trace”. I laughed inwardly at that, because he failed by telling me his story. The finest mark we leave is in the memories of others. If he didn’t wish to leave a trace, he should have remained silent.

    I find myself wondering how I will be remembered. I am sure Aelthas will one day tell his grandchildren about the mixed breed elf girl he once knew he nicknamed “Legs”, and how she could fight people wielding swords with just her bare hands and snatch arrows out of the air. My legacy will be reduced to a sentence or two, along with the shared smiles of old friends.

    …and that’s OK.


  • This story written with special thanks to DM Stuiped and head DM Andelas

    My master in Damara called them moments of clarity. These are moments where the world resolves itself in perfect detail. Every nuance revealed. Every moment within touched.

    It is said that the great masters can achieve them in meditation. For some people, they come during quiet moments. A lonely sunset. A spell under a willow tree. A walk alone at night. For others, they come during moments of high emotion or revelation. A lover’s first kiss, or a tender touch. For most, these moments are elusive and never come at all.

    My first one came in a bar fight.

    It was an otherwise uneventful evening on the west end of the docks. I had ended my shift as I usually do in the Pissing Goat. My investigation continues there, and I have made myself a usual sight to avoid undue suspicion.

    Holly was talking to three sailors in the corner. She was flirting expertly with two of them, and keeping the third on an invisible hook, ready to reel him in. Sandi was talking to a heavyset balding fellow that I didn’t recognize. Another new sailor from Hoarsgate I supposed.

    The barkeep laughed at some old joke that Harry the Toothless was telling for the umpteenth time. Barmaids hustled around and avoided gropes. Amidst laughter and derision coin changed hands at a table in the corner. Steins rattled, one falling on the floor.

    All the usual sounds washed over and surrounded me. I paid little attention…until the back of someone’s skull hit the wall so hard, the plank shattered.

    I watched the heavyset balding man walk away. Sandi slid down the wall, a red streak trailing behind her on the wood from the back of her head.

    It was only a brief moment before I leapt to my feet. I had confided in this woman just days before. She and Holly had listened as I poured my heart out to them. Suddenly, I looked upon this man with hate. This wasn’t just an assault on some nameless prostitute.

    It was personal.

    He heard the movement behind him, and turned cautiously but relatively carefree. He was big enough not to worry about most folks, and looked at the little waif before him with little concern.

    I kicked him in the groin with every ounce of strength I could muster.

    His face went pale. His eyes bulged from his head, and he stopped breathing. His knees wavered and buckled. He sank to the floor like some big merchant vessel that had just been rammed.

    …and that’s when I felt it.

    It was a wave of pain in my side, followed by a giddy feeling. I looked down at my right. Blood was seeping quickly from an opening between my silks. A weasel faced man stood there with a serrated kris, slick with my blood. I had been so focused on the large fellow, that I had completely ignored any friends he might have in the corner. I felt stupid.

    …and thus began my moment of clarity. Perhaps it was the shock. Perhaps it was the pain. At that moment….at that precise instant in time, everything in the Pissing Goat became, utterly crystal clear.

    _I watched a drop of my blood make a star pattern in a space between the straws on the floor. The sweat on the weasel faced man’s upper lip. The movement in the muscles of his left arm as he sought to stab again.

    I became aware of two more who were helping him. The skinny one behind me was going to stand on the table and jump me. The bearded one to my left was going to swing a chair.

    Beyond them, five men playing cards. One was going to drop one. The barmaid was going to move to his side. Amidst giggles and false protests, one of the players was going to pull her on his lap.

    Most were going to turn to the commotion. The two guards I’ve been watching were beginning to look up, but I knew that it was all going be over before they even rose from their seats._

    It was if the entirety of the Pissing Goat were the stage of some intricate bardic play, and I had the script.

    The weasel faced man lunged again, but I spin to the left pushing him past me and throwing him off balance.

    The man behind steps on the table. I continue my spin, snapping my leg out and sweeping his. As his head crashes down on the corner of the table, I arch back. The chair whistles over my head from the person who swung it.

    The man in front of me with the knife turns and slashes. I pivot left, grabbing his arm. Elbow to the face. High kick under the chin of the man with the chair while he is off balance. Maintain hold of the arm with the knife. I turn again, twisting his arm over. Snap kick to the side of his head, and he goes down.

    The man with the chair recovers and swings again, but I’m not there as I sway my body left. I see everything before it’s happening. The chain crashes into the ground, splintering.

    Muscle memory and training become faster than conscious thought. Hit to the wrist, fist to the stomach, knife hand to the throat, heal of palm under his chin. He staggers, and a roundhouse kick snaps his head sideways. He falls, unconscious or dead before hitting the ground.

    …and it’s over. The sounds of the Pissing Goat wash over me, their detail lost in the noise. Men lay scattered about this end of the room like discarded toys. Sandi lies slumped on the floor. She’s still conscious but bewildered.

    Almost everyone is looking in my direction, but soon turn back to their drinks, women, and games. For most, it was a brief but entertaining diversion from routine.

    For me, it was an awakening.


  • “It is better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all”

    Wandering on the docks in this cold, rainy morning, I ponder these words of wisdom. Would I have been better served maintaining my innocence and not knowing, than feeling the pain I feel now?

    I still love Jay. I can’t deny it. But he was too hard to love. I went into it with the foolish notion that love changes people, and that perhaps our love would bring out his best, and that we would all live happily ever after.

    But love doesn’t change people. It simply opens doors to a part of them otherwise unrevealed. The rest of them, for better or worse, is just the same.

    Crime has elevated in the docks. I take this as a personal affront to my job and my responsibilities. Yet my mind wanders. My feet wander with them, and take to places on the docks I had no intention of going. Soon, I find myself in the run down alleys of the west end near the Pissing Goat.

    Two prostitutes are standing outside in this dreary morning. I recognize them as Holly and Sandi, two of the regulars who hang out here. They look up quickly and whisper to each other, exchanging furtive glances in my direction. I sit on a hitching post not too far away, ignoring both.

    Sandi wanders over, bringing Holly in tow.

    “Been spendin’ lotta time here sugar. Was a point I thought you’d be making home in the Ferret, seein’ that tall shaggy fellow…”, Sandi paused in thought.

    “Jay”, Holly finished.

    “Yeah, that’s ‘im. So wha’ happened? You two fell out?”

    I look up at both. They seem genuinely concerned, which for some reason strikes me as both comforting and odd. Holly is the favorite of the locals. Sandi doesn’t have Holly’s looks, but she’s shrewd, and sells information to complement her … other sources of income.

    I look away and stare out over the water. “Yeah, we fell out”, I reply.

    Sandi puts her hand on my shoulder. Holly is afraid to touch me. She tried to slap me once when I arrested one of her tricks for theft, and I sent her sprawling out of reflex. I look up into Sandi’s eyes.

    I see sympathy. Not a place I would have expected it.

    Sandi looks at me with sea gray eyes, “Wanna talk ‘bout it sugar?”

    It seems like a ridiculous pair of people to unload my thoughts, but people are people, and sometimes wisdom comes from places you least expect it.

    My master taught me that.

    “Sure”, I say, sliding off the hitching post. “I’ll even buy breakfast”


  • I sit quietly on the stool, dressed in my guard uniform. Across the room, Terren is painting me.

    I feel both flattered, and rather ridiculous. I’m an object of someone’s undivided attention.

    Don’t move, keep still.

    I’m not plain, but I don’t consider myself particularly pretty either. Aelthas calls me “legs”, which is good I guess, but my legs are thick and stout from ritual, exercise, and strength training. At least mom’s have the advantage of being long. The little human in me kept me from being too skinny, and filled me out in other awkward ways. My lips are full. I hate them.

    My mind keeps wandering. Keep still!

    I think about the bar fight I got into at the Pissing Goat two nights ago. It was messy. Weapons were drawn, a rather expensive mirror was broken, and one patron almost bled to death. I tried to break it up, but it turned into a horrible game of which sailor was going to take down the little blonde guard before the other. I arrested eight people that night, and for all of their effort, had nary a scratch on me.

    Am I that good?

    My attention drifts. Stop looking down!

    This is almost like meditation, but without the discipline. For some reason, I am focused on every little itch. Every little twitch and body movement is magnified in my mind tenfold. Terren doesn’t even notice, or say anything, but I notice. I hear music in my head from the street players from last night.

    Stop moving your feet!

    I don’t know what to do about Jay. I love him dearly, but I’m beginning to find his rudeness embarrassing. How do you love someone who embarrasses you?

    I try to tell him that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, but he seems to take the opposite position.

    I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

    Now I’m frowning. Quit it!

    Ugh…Think about something else. Um…ok, Chen and Jenny. A couple who have been together countless years, are in love, and never got married. No children, no house, no yard with a cat or a big dog. Will Jay and I be like this?

    Wait…Jenny has a cat named Frisky. Chen keeps a lizard in a cage. Do they count?

    I stare off into space and focus on a painting across the room. If you stare at something long enough, your vision gets blurry.

    “Turn your head a little bit to the right”, Terren says.

    Now I can’t stare at the painting!

    I wonder how much longer. I look at the hour glass. Not even half gone…

    …sigh


  • I sat on the pier with Chen, eating lunch. Only the soft glow from my amulet reminded me how cold it was. I didn’t feel it. The amulet protected me, but Chen was all bundled up in furs and boots.

    “Gotta get me one of those”, he said absently, taking a bite.

    We didn’t talk much sitting there. He had gotten into a fight with Jenny at the Pissing Goat last week. Chen had withdrawn into his duty. In that way we are much alike.

    I gave Jay a gift. It cost more than most houses in Norwick, and most of my savings, but he didn’t seem to care or appreciate it. Perhaps he has so much gold that it didn’t mean much to him. Perhaps it was my lackluster way of giving it to him. I had thought perhaps we could exchange something, but a gift is a gift, and I should have simply … given it to him.

    Regardless, I don’t see much of him any more. He’s so often at sea or working at the warehouse, that we only manage to get together once a month if we’re lucky. He had left me a note once that he and his crew were going on a journey. He had thought of inviting me along, but knowing that a Priestess of Umberlee was going to be along kept me from joining.

    I know some women marry sailors. They see each other once every few months for a week or so, and then their husband is out to sea again. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but from personal experience, it’s bullshit.

    Absence makes one lonely.

    Jay’s not around, and I find myself drawn to others who are. It’s not that I love them, but it’s easier and less work. Loving Jay feels like work sometimes, and I hate it. It never used to be like this.

    I tried to talk to mom about it, but she’s not around much either. She traveled west somewhere….where she wouldn’t say. When she returned, she wrapped herself up in senate meetings.

    I pause in my thoughts, and stare out over the Ice Lace.

    Chen slowly gets up, and tosses a small piece of bread crust into the water.

    “Later Sarge”, he says, before walking off. It’s funny that he still calls me that, even after his promotion.

    I get up too. I have some paperwork to file for Lady Borodin, all routine. Fortescue needs the latest arrest reports. After that my shift should be over, and I’ll have time for myself.

    Too much of it alone.


  • Mom?

    I squinted. The low sun of an early winter blinded me as I gazed across the busy docks. She stood there, talking animatedly to Chen and several other guards, who gestured casually in my direction with his thumb.

    Mom!!!

    My heart leapt, and the day’s worries fell behind me as I ran to her. Her eyes crinkled in a smile as she opened her arms to embrace me. I squealed, and wrapped my arms around her.

    For a moment, I was still a child. I think it was the smell of the leather, sweat, and feathers in her hair. I have heard that scent is often the strongest trigger of old memories. Embracing mom like this, and holding her to me made me understand why. However, when I pulled away and looked up, I was startled.

    She looked so young

    It was hard for me to fathom why. I know conceptually, that she is immortal. Others in Norwick would whisper behind her back, and talk of blessings, contracts with the forces of darkness, magic potions, and holy destiny. But it never really hit me growing up.

    …until now.

    As I have grown and aged to maturity, my perspective on the world has grown and aged with it. But mom remains fixed in time, frozen to the moment when Tempus resurrected her. The world around her changes, but she does not.

    …or I thought, until I looked into her eyes.

    She looked so old

    I stared. The depth of them filled me with fear, respect, love, and sadness. In the moments I gazed into them, I understood why even her enemies treated her with respect. It’s not because she was the best warrior. It’s not because she was the strongest. There are others I know that are better, stronger, and faster.

    It’s simply because she was Maya.

    Mom

    I continued to stare, and she cocked her head, a curious smile caressing her face.

    “You are good?”, she asked.

    I just nodded, and felt the cold trickle of a tear meandering down my cheek.

    “Good”, she said, “I have time for rest here in Narfell before go back to Impiltur. We should find place for eat, drink and talk. Are sure OK?”, she asked, reaching out to touch my cheek.

    I look up as she smiled down at me. I wondered if the years she was gone seemed like moments to her.

    “Sometimes”, I said, “Someone can be so happy that they look sad. I’m just happy you’re here now. I have so much to tell you!”

    She chuckled, deep throated, and full of mirth.

    “Me too”, she said.


  • The wooden practice sword whistles over my head as I sway backwards. I can feel the air caress my face, as the sword passes to my right.

    It spins and arcs down in a powerful vertical stroke, but I am not there. I move left, and the swords hits the mat.

    I step forward quickly, putting my right leg behind Chen. The act of bringing the sword up has moved his center of balance backwards, and there only one direction for him to go. A simple push, and his body arcs, his feet leaving the ground. He tumbles over, his shoulders hitting the mat.

    I step back and help him to his feet.

    It’s been three days now since my test, a deadly confrontation between several wizards and myself. It’s not what would have envisioned at all. I had imagined I would be going through a deadly maze, testing my ability to jump and strike, and in the end face someone like me, waiting to pass his or her test. But instead it was a test of my reflexes and the ability to improvise. I had to advance and strike quickly, avoid weapons and dodge fireballs.

    I was a hairs-breadth from failure. My last opponent caught me off guard, and brought up magic designed to deflect my punches and kicks. I foolishly panicked and retreated, rather than striking for vulnerable locations. His magic sought me out and knocked me unconscious.

    I awoke to him going through my things, and when he turned his back, I quaffed a potion and finished him. His overconfidence was his undoing, and a stern reminder never to underestimate your opponent. “Beware of arrogance”, my master commented, “For it can be your undoing”.

    Words to remember.

    I have passed this milestone, and have the tools to put it all together. If I focus, I can “see” the sword strokes played out before me, and just be where they are not. Chen commented that it looks kind of funny, to see me sway and move in seemingly random patterns. Perhaps, but it works remarkably well, even if it’s tiring and difficult to maintain focus.

    I wave goodbye to Chen, and thank him for helping me practice again. He smiles a bit, our eyes avoiding the other as we gather our things. It’s a new chapter in his life too, as his promotion to sergeant came through. I know he’ll be around, but I will miss his street knowledge and wisdom. If I ever make lieutenant, I hope to have him work for me again.

    I head outside. My senses are immediately assaulted by the sights, sounds, and smells of the docks. It’s warm and muggy, but the promise of a cooler night comes on a gentle breeze from the sea.


  • I am on the bow of the Lazy Day. My presence there has become ubiquitous. I am fond of the old man I simply call Captain. I admire the simple life he leads, and the jovial and carefree manner in which he ambles through it. When I’m not with Jay or on duty, I spend much of my life here.

    I practice each kata carefully, quickly, and with as much consideration for form as I can on a bouncing boat. It’s a unique challenge that many sailors undertake without thinking, and I want to make it part of my daily training to improve balance and coordination.

    Having just come from a swim, I have little on. What I have on is damp, but it’s too damn hot out to wear anything more substantial.

    Some people simply pass by, going about their business. Others watch and stare.

    I ignore them and focus on my training.

    I feel a certain pride on accomplishing what I’ve done. I’ve come so far since a tall barbarian woman taught a little girl the rudiments of how to defend herself. Now, my goals, while still a long way off, are in sight. To be able to face some of the better warriors this land has to offer, without weapons or armor.

    This coming test will either set me back years, or propel me towards my destination.

    I have one month left to practice.

    Just one.


  • 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.