Leathertail's Log, Vol. 2
-
Inside the cabin of a certain ship moored at the Peltarch docks, a slim silhouette quietly sits up in bed. Rolling its feet to the floor, it spares a glance backward for the smaller shadow still lying there. A gentle hand smooths her hair before the silhouette rises, moving to a heaped mound of leather in the corner. After some rooting, what little light there is reflects off the cover of a small new leatherbound book, soon opened. The faint scratch of quill on page is audible as the figure sits down on the floor by the bed, leaning back against the mattress with a soft creak.
Entry 1
I fancy sometimes, or perhaps fear is the better word, that our personal griefs and tragedies are rather like the statues hidden within slabs of marble: they always have been, always would have been, always are, there. We just don't know it until they're carved into us, in lines of worry, in our grays hairs, in the emptiness that can slip behind our eyes. I endeavored to be friendly to all, and have so few friends. I kept those who would have been at bay and I could no longer say why, if asked. The ever smaller select few I actually allowed closer I have hurt for the same unknowable terror of…what? Being content? At peace? Or of the mere possibility of betrayal that comes with allowing people to be close?
I miss Sedea, Johno, even Mercy in an odd way. I miss Yana. I wish I could apologize to her, for being so lost in my own selfish grief that I couldn't see the quality of the quiet young woman directly in front of me, and for not simply reaching out. I miss the me that never worried about any of this.
In my most recent bout abroad, I came to the Yuirwood. The largest gathered community of half-elves on Faerun, I'm told. When the Captain asked me about it, she wanted to know if I felt at home, like I'd belonged. I told her no; they had all grown up knowing who their parents were, being encouraged to be proud of their mixed heritage by others like them. As for me, I've carried the entirety of my father's legacy to me (besides pointed ears) around my shoulders since I was eight, and the last few years I've been having trouble remembering what my mother sounded like. It was just as foreign as any other land or sea I've been too. I think I might've liked to feel like I was home there, though.
The half-elf I actually ever felt the most kinship with ended up a child killer, and would most likely have killed me and some I held dear, too, if given the chance. I admittedly felt less close to Jay after the murders and attempted murders, but it still nags at me.
Now I've unintentionally influenced what may well be the only living soul left who knows my past into abandoning her happiness to try and make something new, or old, with me. There was not enough nobility or selflessness in me to say no, when I so badly wanted that. Wanted her. And yet...I find that selfishness oddly comforting in and of itself, as well as the part of me that takes a petty joy in this, sees it as a victory over a rival I won by being the worse man. Even the worst parts of you are a comfort when you begin to worry how much of YOU there's really there to grasp onto.
You can shine me up as much as you like, but my brass won't turn to gold, you holies and heroes. Many sincerely insincere apologies. Now back to the arms I remember so well.
Good day.
-
Entry 2
I always loved Tymora, in an abstract way. I prayed to her, but I prayed to her for good luck, that I never had to be involved in. I loved her, but I never wanted to feel her real touch.
Many have labeled me a ladies' man…I never thought of myself that way, but...I have hurt Yana. I hate myself for that...But I couldn't help it. And I'm starting to do the same thing to another woman...though I think Frosty knows that I'm just fooling around. I only make friends with women, and I end up hurting them.
That makes sense then, with my latest encounter...I was fighting to save the world, against my will, once again, and...I fell. Dead, at peace, en requiem...
I was floating...in an infinite void...Nothing to touch me, but infinite blackness...but then I felt a pressures on my lips...the softest of kisses...and I felt her. HER. My goddess was with me...she wanted ME to live...
I rose, I fought, nothing hurt me...blades turned aside when they should have struck me. Spells slammed into walls that should have scorched my hide. It ended...in time...but she wanted me to live.
It's a terrifying feeling, to have a higher being take a personal interest in you, as well as an exhilarating one. And I'm not sure left me alone after that, as I survived a death defying adventure I should not've. But it leaves me unsettled...
I never wanted to be special. I want to be left alone. Don't let me be a hero for the ages...let no one tell my tale. Let me live. Let me LIVE. And live quietly with the woman I love. Leave me alone to be happy...I want no history books to record my tales, I want only to live my days to my own enjoyment. Please...Tymora, just let me be with her. For as long as I can.
Let me be with her.
Good Day.
