Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

Ralston had given me this gift a few moons ago, why not use it tonight? The things I learned today should not be forgotten.

It started with a meeting of a friend, one whose friendship came from bumping into the road. Her name is Kadri, I think, and she is a red wizard. I don't know who would be reading this diary other than me, but if you're not me, please understand I knew as much about red wizards of Thay as I knew about... well, anything else. Nothing. Oh, there are rumours here and there, or what I think are rumours... But it all sounds so rediculous, so silly, how could anyone believe any of that?

But they do, and claim first-hand knowledge. On and on, the one known as Thedran told of his proud accomplishments against the Thayans. He seemed intent on seeing Kadri squirm, saying the many things he intended to do were it not for the law, that he had hung three of 'her kind' under the very tree she stood under. It terrified me. I mistook him as an Order member, and despite his angry dismissal it gladdened me to know he was not. How could any group condone the things he'd done, the things he would do?

The elf beside him was no better. Thedran claimed everything he said as fact, but he just... it did not appear to me he cared about truth. He wanted to break her, through words. The things he said, it would do no good to repeat around civilized company, it's just evil.

"Where I come from, a red wizard's robe is the fully flayed flesh off a Thayan. Keeps you warm, it does."

The smile that was on his lips, that's what scared me the most I think. [The period seems overly large, the quill having lingered there a moment too long] Through it all, I stood by my newly met friend. What goodly soul wouldn't, with the obscenities hurled relentlessly in her direction? I tried to get them to stop, to show them that their words were torturous, but they did not care. They had lumped me together as a slaver, and I almost wanted to cry out.

But Kadri said things I was not ready for myself. I know their words goaded her hostility, but I knew her to be honest, a goodly soul to dispel all the terrible rumours surrounding the Thayans. But her words!

"The Thayans like to steal elven children while they're young." Thedran had said. He no longer cared if she was listening at this point, all he did was go on and on about the crimes the Thayans committed in his head. Or worse, that they're true. He went on. "The elven folk are long-lived and set in their ways. Collar them while they're young, and they'll know nothing but slavery."

She was not denying this, that's what was beginning to worry me. Thedran droned on about the cruelty of their wizards, his words I no longer wish to paraphrase nor remember. But her reaction, that I could not forget.

"I have never done those experiments or beaten a slave in my life!"

The implications.._ [the quill absent-mindedly drags out the last period] I asked her if she had owned slaves. She did not answer. She did not even look me in the eye. It was all she could do to remain to appear dignified.

I don't know when the conversation ended. Master Faevra was there, that I can recall. A comforting presence, a voice not tinged with hate. He spoke of her warmly, after having encountered her storming into the inn. No, Rhys did not seem blinded when talking of the Thayan woman, that were it not for her affinity he would like to teach her himself. I feel that with all his knowledge, knowing what the Thayans do to his people (remembering his ectures), that he could speak warmly of a known red wizard. Ilmater [ink here has been blurred and scattered here by a water droplet, or a tear] his soul, I think. It warms my heart to know that there is at least someone in power who doesn't believe the only way to combat evil is to stab it as many times in the heart as possible. Love is a powerful force, one I wish more would harness.

Ah, I'm sorry dear reader, it appears alone in my thoughts I ramble. Let us think no more evil today, it will be a new one soon and I wish to begin it happy. Perhaps it is time to take my books out of their dusty hiding place, gift them to the orphanage as sir Lance suggested to me. Perhaps if I meet Kadri once again, I will explain to her my near slavery. And that Ilmater forgives her, as I do. There is good in her, I can feel it. Angry words and venomous thoughts will do no good, it must be love that turns her from her path.

I have a confession to make. I am selfish.

I fear that, deep down inside, I am not really trying to help. I do what I do because I want to feel needed. If I do things for people, it makes me feel like I belong, and that comforts me.

For so long I’ve been drifting through life. I moved along the whims of others - first my mother, then my [a scribble added later right before the word, spelling ‘ex-’]husband. I was never needed. Recently I have been propositioned twice, first by Sir Dannic, then Sir Lance, to join the Order of the Radiant Heart. I can still recall that warm feeling in my heart the first time I was asked, that perhaps I had found a home at last. I would have accepted right then and there were it not for Sir Uriel suddenly asking them questions, planting doubts in my mind.

I can’t explain why, but I was in tears then. It was innocent questions, things I should have been asking, but for some reason I felt pain when he got the knights to grumble. I felt that I dreamt for the first time, and some evil voice came tearing my consciousness back to reality. It hurt, but it was needed. Blessed Uriel, please do not think ill of him. I feel that, it’s a good thing what he did for me. He was watching out for me, making sure I did not think with my head in the clouds and join the prestigious Order out of some daydream fantasy. When Sir Lance invited me, I found no wrongs in his words, though he prefers to show by example. Well, I’ve never seen a truer expression of the word Paladin. His goodness touched my heart, and though I have delayed my answer for a week I feel that when the decision comes, it will be the right one.

I think I am greedy, that I do kindness because it fills a void in my heart.

Today I visited the orphanage and spent a whole day with little Dannic and Jessica. I used my remaining money to buy them food, as Sir Lance suggested. It was all I could do to prevent myself from crying as they ate. Not out of sadness for myself no, but gladness. I’m afraid diary, that I am not a wonderful cook. But as they ate, even if it was the last of my money, I was glad that I was sharing myself with the two children.

It did not satisfy the void, but that small thing made me feel a little better. Perhaps with enough things like that, it might join to become a whole?

But if not, then that’s okay. A little bit is better than nothing, right?

I am sorry diary, the children and I had a grand adventure out of the orphanage and all I could think of was them eating. Perhaps later I will ask Ralston about Talona’s Tear. That… thing in the well certainly seemed insistent to get it into my head. Hopefully someday I could get G to visit the children one of these days. She is certainly a lot more fun than boring old me.

There once was a priestess, a healer who walked the lands and tended the wounded. She was a Sister, an Ilmatari, the storyteller’s friend. Judging from the awe in voice, she was an exemplary personality. I write in terms of the past because I was told the story of her death.

Three Bhaalists beset themselves upon a man, inflicting heinous tortures and wounds. My Sister, with Ilmater’s will, killed them all. She paid the price. Her injuries were grievous, blood pouring from multiple wounds. With no hesitation, she carried the man all the way down the mountain into Nashkel. Steadfast determination a dwarf would’ve been proud of. It was there in Nashkel where she could properly tend to the man, and succeed. But the journey killed her.

I do not know why Tyressen saw fit to give me her cloak. Did he see how I shuddered in the freeze? Was it an apology, a guilt-price to be paid with a memory? How could I accept? How did I accept? To walk in what was hers, I felt the shoulders of the past weighing down on me. Yet, it seemed more wrong to refuse him. He seemed to treasured her memory, what if I just throw it back and told him it’s not good enough?

So now I wear the cloak. Despite my reluctance to accept a memento (or wear a cloak at all in the first place), I think I shall wear it proudly. After all, my sister died a hero. Perhaps a part of her yet resides within the cloth, ready to protect me from harm and cold. I only hope that I can become at least half the woman she was supposed to be, if only to show Captain Tyressen no cause of disappointment.

He has more good inside than he realizes, more love somewhere within. I only wish I could see with his eyes, think through his mind, feel the things he feels. There is so much pain in his soul; it makes his heart impenetrable. And that’s a weakness.

One cannot remain a Rock against the relentless tides of the ocean; eventually Umberlee would whittle such a one into sand. So too his feelings are too well guarded, if only he would let in help! The way he antagonizes Kadri, it is as if he dares her to act. He dares her, I think, to cause him harm. He claims he will not attack women, so how else could I think him but a man seeking repentance?

Two days ago I confronted my friend Kadri, a known red wizard. Out of friendship, I implored her to tell me the truth, to clear the air between us. I did not know what to expect, but I can honestly say that what she told me was not I wanted to hear. When it is ever?

She is in truth a slave owner. Seven personally owned by her, thirty more by her father alone. All elven. She tells me they are not mistreated, that few even prefer their lot in life. I trust her, of course. And why not? She trusted me first after all; it is only fair that I trust in return.

She posed difficult questions. Should I ask her to release every one of them, only to be bought up by a harsher family? What of the lot who know no else? She tells me honeyed words but despite my best efforts I could not find a happy understanding.

If she tells me there is no cause of suffering, is it still a cause I trouble myself with? The problem she tells me is with the system that allows such suffering, and admitted to her credit that the Thayan one makes it all too easy.

But she loves her country, which at that point I had only just learned the location of. How do I tell her to fight against the system? Thay is not the only root of suffering after all, why do we focus on them? What are we if not bovine, drawn to anger at an easy red target? I would just as soon turn Thedran against his Dukes than ask dear Kadri to turn from home. If only I had the wisdom to see through it!

- -

Apologies my dear diary - Ilmater please forgive your humble servant. I have no cause to feel such anger, for Thedran only spoke out of love for the children. Oh yes, he loves, I do not care what the others jest. He is concerned with my association with Kadri, that, despite trusting my intentions he does not trust hers. A delayed spell planted in my clothing, poison in my food, I cannot believe Kadri would even think such a thing and yet. . .

No, she would not.

- -

So I am banned from association, this is the source of my frustration. It… is not Thedran or my banishment that angers me, I rage against myself. Am I so selfish that I think the children can’t go on without me? That I am the source of their salvation, ready to guide them along the right path? I am a newcomer in their lives; they have endured without me before. What difference does it make if I do not come again? I laugh at myself – how did I expect to teach the proper path when I do not know it myself? The truth is I need the children more than they need me. There are better people, wiser people... I stay away not because of Thedran’s distrust but because I do not trust myself.

- -

It rains all the time now, I am still thankful for Captain Tyressen’s gift. The cloak warms me when the weather howls, shields me from unwelcome storms. I never knew you, sister of mine. But you did no wrong when you gave the Captain another chance, for despite his best efforts he is not the monster he claims. The things he suffered. . . continues to suffer. . . all because he cared too much. The hand of the Broken One is strong within. He speaks of envy to m - do I speak of revere in proportion to him? I know little of suffering of myself; his life has been nothing but, multiplied by our difference of race. He speaks of hate compounded by hate, yet showers a poor priestess with kindness.

Lance wishes to be judged by actions, not by words. I feel the Captain should be judged the same. He can try to frighten me with embellishments of evil, but it is only warmth I feel when he treats a young girl sweet treats. Buy the ignorant city woman a room, so for once she is not frightened under the stars.

I sleep warm tonight, diary, and safe. The kindness is too much in his heart. The words are just words.

A few days ago we came under attack. Gathered loosely about the fire camp where friends come to gather, a curious man began to ward himself, heavily. His features are foggy in my mind, and when I try to call upon specific features my mind simply refuses to picture it. It did not help that there were constant groups of adventurers vying for Ilmater’s blessings and his servant’s attention, asking if I could revive friends rendered unconscious by lucky lizard men’s blows. But this has since fallen routine for me, the banter sounded light amongst the various groups as risk felt quite a few stone’s throws away. I hardly noticed the man myself were it not for my proximity to him, his warding filling me with a feeling of dread. No sooner had I turned to watch him did he open a gate and called upon a devil.

If it were not for the constant rains, my clothing would have been my only protection but Tymora smiled upon me then, for I had naught to wear but my adventuring garb. Nevertheless, I looked at the thing and saw the evil in its eyes, but it was not why I froze in my tracks. It was not but a minion, the true evil laid with the man who called it.

“Leave.” He told us, his vocal chords amplified by the magics he casted upon himself. “Leave, or die. Your choice.”

Thinking on it now diary - where my thoughts could easily be paused - this brings me back to a conversation between myself, Thedran and the Captain. Thedran had mused upon the Amnish situation, asking the other man where he stood, if he had chosen his side. Tyressen had, and the Rock wondered aloud if there was even a choice to begin with. “Honorable men do not have a choice,” he told me. “Do I stand aside and watch them burn our homes, slaughter our families, raze our homeland?” he continued on, past my silence. “No… there is no choice in this matter.” He stated with finality.

As I had told Captain Tyressen later than night over (bless his merciful heart!) apple juice, Thedran was wrong. There is always a choice. Sometimes it is the wrong choice, but that is something people have been trying to live with for as long as time. Even the Gods choose wrong at times, it is in the dealing of the aftermath of a decision that we define a character.

I had a choice to make as well, and leaving was not it. I was, I am, not a warrior. My armor was on but it was a simple thing, my God’s powers already exhausted upon others to keep them safe. I’d unslung my shield and wielded my mace, but the weapon was just for show, a prop used to frighten mere bandits but I fear this man was beyond that. “Leave, or die.” He repeated himself.

The crowd had thinned around me, my heart thrashed against my chest as the man turned and cought my eye. Fleeing was not possible; his gaze hammered me where I stood. My vision quavered, failing slowly. Light disappeared from view. My breath seized within my throat, my hands numbed at my grip.

Thedran Rock drew his blade with a crackling ring, the sound so tuned, its music so loud it was as if a cacophony of angels blew behind me and tore through the invisible bondage. If it were not for Ilmater’s steadying support, I would have collapsed right then and there. I looked around, and saw that Ilmater indeed had provided me with such a guardian – the angel locked combat with the devil.

Still, the battle did not look good. Despite Thedran’s bravery and extreme skill at arms, the man had warded himself to the maximum. Our singing blade did not have the time to prepare himself. Then, out of the shadows blades appeared behind our mighty champion stabbing at him from behind. My mind was frozen in horror, but my legs were on the move. It was only after my mind regained composure did I notice the Fist had join in the fight.

The Bruiser and the Champion, two men who kept vigilant watch over this tiny stretch of road where people liked to gather. Together they attacked, and the man who called the devil had to deal with two fronts – them in the front, Thedran in the back. He made a choice, and Thedran took the opportunity to ram his great blade viciously into his back.

But he was not alone. The man in shadows slipped a spell over the Fist men, and to everyone’s horror they turned on each other. Blow for blow they matched, comrades tearing through each other as if terrible rivals. I worked as quickly as I could to keep them alive, long enough to shake off the spell’s conviction but before I could get to the Champion, his friend and ally had dealt him a mortal blow.

Thedran could do naught to help for he was occupied with the shadowy menace. Before he could land a decisive strike the masked man slipped within the shadows where one could not see. But the Rock knew how to roll with the punches, where a slithering shadowy slip from behind turned from fatal to not. There was a lot of Rock to strike, but the battle had been prolonged and the shadows were taking their toll. I was too late for the brave Fist man; I could not let Thedran fall the same fate. I rushed over readying a heal spell, and that’s when I felt the icicles stab behind my back.

I did not remember much then. There was an angry spasm of pain followed immediately by ever chilling serenity. I remembered falling, for how long I could not recall but where the ground was I never knew. The moment never came when I’d hit it, for large strong hands had cought my descent and for a moment I thought, “My Lord, have you come to take me?”

His warm, comforting presence was there and though I could not see, I felt his smile radiating to myself, driving away the chill. “No child, there is much for you to do yet.” My lord responded.

Another hot flash of pain stabbed me as the fluids were forced out my lungs and air flow resumed, the dagger punctures forcing themselves closed as the holy spell worked its way within me. When my shell-shocked mind regained some semblance of order, the scene played out in my imagination. The Bruiser stood somberly over a fresh corpse, his gaze halfway between his fallen comrade and the dead man who caused it. Sister Althea stood over to my health, uttering prayers I knew that saved my soul from being jettisoned to the realms of the dead. Slowly, the hands that cought me placed my recovering body gently against a boulder, and then Thedran the Rock made his way to the deceased Flaming Fist Champion.

A look was all that passed between Thedran and the half-orc Fist man, yet that was all it took for understanding to come between them. One look, no wasteful words. Silently, Thedran wrapped his cloak about his former comrade, picked him up and made to set off South. The Bruiser bodily slung the two dead attackers, making his way North to the gate which Master Rhys Faevra commented on later speaking distaste, that the purpose would be to raise them only to hang them for their crimes. Sister Althea ran over to Thedran to offer her assistance to help the fallen one’s soul reunite with his body, but Thedran coldly refused her.

We wandered the rest of that night searching for answers, a reason for the attack and found none. The Fist was silent on the matter, and Thedran was nowhere to be found.

It had taken me this long to piece together these fragments I barely knew, and they still bother me to this day. Today, the peace of the fire camp had been broken once again but rather in a more pleasant way.

Bak Hazo and the red minstrel. Once again the fire drew a crowd, friends greeting friends and making merry. An elven woman had caused commotion amongst those who knew her, holding a newborn babe in her arms. This also caused commotion amongst the large inner workings of Thedran, who promptly drew his blade and menaced the red wizard Dimitri who stood simply relaxing under the shade a few paces back behind the elf. I had to agree with the wizard, what purpose did it serve to threaten him? What reason could he possibly have for attacking the infant babe? It felt unnecessary and cruel – did Thedran know no mirth in life? Oh, but he did, diary, he did. Today I glimpsed the other side of the Rock, the moment when the red woman came.

She was an old friend of the coast, knowing even more nicknames than the one I know as Boots. She did not seem to acknowledge the news of children with very much amusement. Still, she played on old friendships relations as well as she played her fiddle, which she demonstrated her skill on after noting the absence of someone named Julie. The sound was divine, crisp and sweet – she was clearly a master. Immediately the clearly half-giant Bak danced happily to her tunes, were it not for my inexperience and, frankly, shyness, I would have joined him. I am glad I didn’t.

Thedran, between his duets with the red-cladded one decided to share the stage with Bak. Demonstrating extreme skill and bravery, he graced around the whirlwind of the Hazo with delicate routines that one would think they’ve practiced their performance if it were not for knowing the half orc’s mental agility. Or physical. Yet there they danced, and I could swear by my God that in that horribly disfigured face there was a smile somewhere there. As for my fortune of not dancing… well.

The one known as Boots decided to jump in the merriment when Thedran went to his lute for the second time. She danced near Bak for a few seconds until she was promptly picked up with no effort whatsoever by the mountainous Hazo and spun through the air for as long the music played. I think the scarlet woman found amusement in her friend’s predicament for she did not stop her play until the song’s dizzying conclusion, and I suppose I could only look on in wonder when I noticed Sir Lance made no motion to rescue her. I was not sure that they trusted Bak more so that they trusted her, should Bak had accidentally let her go.

Ah, but of course the night could not pass without the drama to temper the happiness. Fighting had also broken out, during the playing and after. Common bandits attempted to rob us and were promptly sent packing. More fighting broke out, especially after alcohol was induced. I was hit by an errant fireball.

Ah but no, it was even later tonight that dampened my mood, often as common now as the rain falls around the coast. I had accepted the offer to join the Radiant Heart alongside a gnome named Gaervin. After the talk Lance had already given me once, our conversation shifted to Thay. That was where I faltered. Gaervin had been an easy one to accept, but I came with Thayan baggage.

Kadri. . . I know you meant well when you said that if your friendship caused me harm, you would no longer seek my company. It is for that I do not abandon you now, for if you would sacrifice for my sake, I would sacrifice for yours. I cannot support what your country does… I will not. Evil exists in these lands as well but not so openly flaunting it like your rulers, they are the problem, as everyone tries to explain to me. But what possible good could come from alienating you, threatening you, forcing you to leave? So you go back to your countrymen, find comfort in their ways and do nothing to make a difference? I have been taught a way to divine what is in your heart but I will not do that, for I trust you. So I will defend you, because I believe you’re good! Someday. . . if you’ll let me. . . perhaps we could make a difference.

A scarlet tale is brewing in Roaringshore, and I am not sure if it is any more welcome than the talks of Trade City Wars or Red-Robed Wizards.

A few days ago, gossip spread amongst the fire of pirates capturing a man. He was a known man, they, known pirates. The very same ones rumored to have slain a contingent of Fist members. News of the man left Vanira the Boots visibly upset, and she left soon after. Indeed, if he were a friend it was very much implied that that the axe hung not far from neck.

The next day, talks of the Hellstorm slaying a man. If it were the same man, I could not tell. Unfortunately diary, I am as bad with names as I am with combat. There were no Boots at the time to know with certainty, but news of blood did not stop flowing from the name of Roaringshore. Geza had come out of her typical (literal) invisibility to share news of a harper, hanged for the crime of being a harper. Names had not been tossed willingly enough for me to stick to memory, but that night had been notable for me for it was the last I saw of the Crimson Minstrel.

The next day, today, was another day spent with the poor amusing Gardener. Once again the topic had shifted to Thay, and then to Amn, both of which my Brother proved to be very opinionated of. Eventually two women arrived and… changed the subject, but that will be a story for later.

Sometime later Brother Daedrin left to catch the Candlekeep ferry to Roaringshore. …Things happened in between, but when he returned it was not with welcome news. His face was flushed, breathing heavy as he approached disheveled. If there were blood on his clothes, his garment’s color had mercifully hidden it, though it should turn black later. He approached from the North, clearly having run the way.

“Lance – where is Lance?” he said, still catching his breath.

“What about him?” asked Miss Alison.

“Dead – there are many… dead in Roaringshore…” he replied.

“What? Who? When?”

He continued. “A large number laid… on the port, clad in armor… As well as Scarlett. A necromancer animated her body –“a pause, for his breath as well as ours. “I was too late to get the body to safety.”

He looked shameful then, guilt-wracked. Shirtza had kicked over a barrel. Unfortunately, my Brother had more to say. “The bodies had been boarded onto a ship – by pirates.” More questions, quick answers. “I heard a guard yell Hellstorm! Or HellStrom… I did not know what I was looking at… I still – I don’t know… I left sail to find Lance and aid of paladins… this is not a thing for a small band of mercenaries…” He eyed Alison then. “Nor a jester.”

It was at that moment when Thedran arrived. News had not reached him – my Brother was the first messenger. When he had finished retelling his account, Thedran glared for a few moments in sullen silence.

“You mean your cowardly weak knees took you away…” He turned then, making his way to the direction of the ferry.

“Is that the most important thing you took from that?!” yelled Alison behind him.

“That man would heal Garuet if he needed it.” Garuet, who is that? It sounded… familiar. He continued over my thoughts. “But he left Scarlett. And what would you do?”

My Brother had an outburst. “No you fool! I ran to bring her back – only to be routed by a necromancer!”

Thedran had been ignoring us by then, gruffly telling the young Ilmatari Panward to stay out of it. When he had gone, however, Miss Alison had a different plan from ‘Stay here and away from danger.’ Having dispatched his message, Brother Daedrin had left north toward his gardens.

“Gather around me, those who intend to come.” She said. Aside from the tiefling women and Daedrin we did, and felt the immediate rush that came with a well-practiced haste spell. We ran then – and overtook Thedran and his berative objections. Despite his clear distaste for us inexperienced Ilmatari and Captain Sky, he did seem to respect the Lithe Jester and did not stop us when she led us forward.

The ferry had objected to ferrying such a number as we, so reluctantly we cought different ferries ( /// Because that ferry is the best coded ferry in all of Toril /// ). Regardless, we had all arrived and decided to go through Roaringshore together. Thedran kept some distance, seemingly wanting nothing to do with Alison’s idea of ‘blending in.’ I have lived here for three years, and always heeded to stay away from the docks. I was not convinced myself that Aearion’s Miss was not somewhat crazy. Oh, but I should not judge. She brings to mind a quotation I had come across three years ago, when I was still learning my letters. The brother who was teaching me teased me often about it – I think I am still too reserved. Regardless, it goes as such:

“Confine yourself to observing and you always miss the point of your own life. The object can be stated this way: Live the best life you can. Life is a game whose rules you learn if you leap into it and play it to the hilt. Otherwise, you are caught off balance, continually surprised by the shifting play. Non-players often whine and complain that luck always passes them by. They refuse to see that they can create some of their own luck.” (// Chapterhouse Dune, Darwi Odrade //)

I suppose she might be mad. But there is a gut feeling that Miss Alison merely knows too well the play of Life. With her, I feel like a child…

Unfortunately the Docks could tell no tales. Daedrin had the right of it – or at least, the bodies had been taken away. There were no signs of the former struggle, the smell of blood washed out with the smell of sea and excrement. Blood has been bled here before – the patterns would be indistinguishable with time. Thedran saw what he saw, and cought the ferry with no comment. Miss Alison figured to sample us to the local beverages, to ‘put ‘air on yer chest.’ Whatever that meant, it did not mean apple juice. The brew was not kind.

When I returned from the head, Miss Alison had converged upon the wife of the Captain Kalma. She spoke oddly, her thees and thous leaving me to wonder to where she hails from. I had suspicions with Captain Tyressen sitting at the bar, but he did not seem intent on trouble.

“Was your friend in red with an elf? A woman, very pretty?” said the blonde-wife to Alison, seemingly overhearing her conversation at the other table. This question I believe led to miscommunication, but I shall write what I recall to the best of my ability.

“Yes, I believe so…” stated Alison. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“Her I remember very well.” She said with a cold, cold smile. “The last I saw of her, I was sitting on her chest, stabbing her about the face and neck.” I looked about, nobody moved. Tyressen coughed his blood, but never turned. From where did this confidence stem? Rolling over people’s thoughts, she continued. “Then someone struck me from behind, and after that, naught.”

With a chilling amount of civility, Miss Alison asked politely, “I see. Why, pray tell, were you stabbing her?” I did not feel safe there, but Mercy praise the Rock had fled our company!

Carrying on the tone of pleasantness, the tall woman replied. “She stabbed my husband, and when the fighting began, I felt it prudent to remove her.”

“Why did she stab your husband? And who is your husband?” said Panward and Alison, one said then the other.

“Kalma, captain of the Sea Wolf.”

Miss Alison seemed to smile at seeing an old friend as Lilah Hellstorm removed her hood. “Oooh! You must be Lilah!” She gave her hand. “I was invited to your wedding, I am Alison.”

Miss Hellstorm did not take the hand, she instead bowed and touched it with her forehead. “A pleasure.” She said.

Panward had sidled up to me at that point, asking if we should kill her. A novice I may be, but Gods he had truly been sheltered! Did he not feel the power she held within that place? I made no motion, hoping he would follow by example.

Alison barged on. “So, that Scarlett was trying to kill old Kalma huh? Who hit you do you think?”

“I could nay say.” She motioned to the chair between her and Alison. “Please, sit.”

“Oh, I can’t really stay. I’m with friends, and we’re all a bit nervous about being here. Eh…” She looked at us, not wishing to cause the pirate queen offense. I did not – I went, hesistantly, and sat at the opposite end of her table, grateful ever of the solid wall behind my back. Panward and Miss Sky did not wish anything to do with her, and stepped outside.

“I assure thee, naught will harm thee here.” She told me. She had then returned her attention to Alison. “Twas a brawl of sorts. A traitor of some kind revealed themselves.” Forgive my funny writing diary; it is difficult to translate her accent into words.

“Interesting.” nodded Alison. “A traitorous necromancer in your midst. We should hunt him down, together.” She paused. We drank. People drank this stuff?! She continued. “How is the good captain anyway? Did he survive the assault?”

A smidge of pride walked with her voice. “Of course.”

“Oh, good.” Alison nodded, not batting an eye at her next question. “Is he still lousy in the hay? I could never teach him anything.” Ale would not be my first choice to hide my feelings in but it was my only choice – I drank, chokingly.

Lilah broke the silence with a hearty laugh. “I was a virgin prior to our mariage, so I am unsure of the standards.”

Miss Alison responded with her own laugh. “Oh, bless your heart. I think it’s fantastic. Believe me, you’re better off not knowing what you’re missing. …So tell me again, why would Scarlett try to kill Kalma, here, in his own fortress? She never struck me as the stupid type.”

“I am unsure. I was walking back from the ferry of Candlekeep, and there they were, walking toward the piers. Three elves, bound, and many of the crew. The elves tied… and chained, with the Hellstorm crew with Kalma. And he had been stabbed.” She continued through people’s reactions. “So we brought them to the pier, flogged one whilst I questioned the other two.”

“Which elves were these? Did you know their names?”

“I believe one was called Catam… the woman was very pale and pretty. Big Robb flogged that one, Catam, to death.” Another name bled out in Roaringshore.

Alison nodded. “Ah, yes, I see. Why? What crime did he commit?” Lilah merely shrugged. “No idea, huh? Catam was looking for Tonia Gelvin… Do you know what happened to her?”

“Kalma’s daughter?”

This surprised Alison. “Nooo… Kalma has a daughter?”

“There was talk of her, aye.”

The conversation had lost me, but I remember the words. “Well, Tonia was not Kalma’s daughter… Tonia had a daughter with Catam, who Catam was also looking for. I am not sure why he came here… but maybe he had a clue.” She drank. “So, let me recap. Three elves were being flogged for no good reason according to you, and then Scarlett tried to rescue them and stabbed Kalma?”

“Nay, Kalma was hurt prior to the flogging. One of the them stabbed him.”

Panward had wandered back in, and inserted his thought into the conversation. “If she’s an elf herself, I suspect she would feel compelled to take action.”

Alison shook her head. “Scarlett is no elf. …So that leaves the question of why you were stabbing Scarlett again?”

“I stabbed two elves, so if thy friend is nay elf, than…” she shrugged.

“No no no… you seemed fairly sure you were sitting on Scarlett’s chest and stabbing her. You said it like you knew her.”

She grinned, and chuckled. “Sorry, I meant the pale pretty elf.”

The conversation led nowhere, partly due to miscommunication. It was thought the lady of the Sea Wolf held back information, but we had exhumed our sensible options regrettably. Miss Alison headed to Candlekeep to look for her husband, and the rest alone with their thoughts. I am unsure of what happened still, but I feel… remorse nonetheless. I know not the names of the dead, but if Scarlett is who I think she is, then the Coast has been deprived of that much mirth. A father and husband, lost as well and no one can say where… Who would know the mind of a necromancer?

Would it be prudent to ask Thay for help?

--

As for my other story…

--

Over the past two months - my entire life within the Gate - I have been received with many flustering offers of… companionship. Do not get me wrong diary, deep down it is very flattering… and I have yet never taken… the vow of celibacy, but I do not feel… ready for such feelings. The last time I was with a husband… I suppose I should be grateful he had never taken me to bed, but being sold to slavery is not an easy thing to forgive. Besides, I had originally been given to him as a gift. I have not known love then; it is a difficult concept to be with now.

Still, it is comforting that the men I meet have been nothing if not gentlemen. They seem to respect my reluctance, my space. They never take it beyond playful banter, and the occasional massage. Why massages? No… I am conflicted right now diary, because of the one known as Shirtza.

It had started off innocently enough. The two tiefling women, Shirtza and Vellin had been bantering Daedrin about tieflings, and likely as not he attuned himself to their… unusual closeness to one another. As I learned later, they had merely been friends but Shirtza did ask him if there was a problem with women bedding women. My brother found it an odd thought but so did I – why would a woman bed… a woman? What was wrong with men? I was certain that if I looked for companionship, it would be in the arms of… well, a man… but now…

They had been talking about flowers. My brother is a flower peddler after all. They then cought my gaze staring overlongly, and coyly invited me to join them. Let me write the exchange as best as I… remember.

“Well, would the pretty girl next to you want to join us, gardener?” said Vellin, the red-clad red-haired tiefling, winking at me.

“Only if you buy some flowers…” he replied.

She blushed. “Did you really just offer to sell me her flower?”

…

… …

I needed a fan. I needed a drink. I needed an invisibility spell (Ah, but everyone and their badger can see those!). I needed something with the ability to make myself not there! Anywhere! Shirtza had laughed intensely… almost falling off the bench…

And then… drawn to my discomfort, they approached. We were to be friends. I looked at my brother pleading with my eyes, ‘Save me!’ but he had business to do with pirates. It was a lengthy interrogation, new questions fired as soon as I could answer them. I was not sure where the conversation was leading to, then suddenly… The one known as Shirtza leaned over as if to whisper another loaded question… instead… she grabbed my head, and kissed me on the mouth!

…

There are… simply not enough ellipses on Toril for me to sum up my feelings. It was not unpleasant… it was not expected. It was confusing, confounding, any similar words I can recall and so much more! I had asked them earlier how it would work, how a woman would… love a woman. I did not know it possible, but it is! Gods! Love was strange enough as it was, when did it decide to become stranger? I think I still would still seek a man… but perhaps it is a less strange thought… should a woman seek me.

[harsh bold lines scribble madly for the next couple of lines]

I should thank Miss Alison here as well… were it not for her, I would not have found the way out of this pickle…

I suppose I’ve made a fool of myself.

The Living Saint of Ilmater had come to visit the Gate. She looked every bit as I imagined her, with glowing halo and… more. She was heavy and pregnant with child, but by the Lord if anyone could waddle with so much poise, so much divine, it would have been her.

There had been a gathering in front of the inn, for the Fist had need of volunteers. When I had gotten there after some disentangling from Shirtza (who, while flattering, is at least satisfied with not pushing our friendship.) the man (who seemed in charge) had been bickering with an old man and woman, and like as not a crowd had gathered, if not there merely for the sake of being in the crowd. The great doors to the inn then opened as the elderly folk left – and there walked out Saint Merielle.

I’d only heard the stories… read the accounting… to actually see her in person… I was flabbergasted. Gods! I found myself frozen on the spot, thankful for the rows of people between me and her.

And then she moved… with myself directly in her path.

I do not remember much of how I followed, but I do remember sneaking peeks and quipping responses from behind a bench. She was terrific. She was terrifying. Clad in naught but a robe, brandishing a broom, barely able to move, she was flanked by two of some of the deadliest fighters I’ve ever seen - and yet she held all the power. Thedran didn’t merely listen – he obeyed. Tyressen had been in a funnier mood than usual and I had a feeling if she said ‘Hi.’ he would jump and ask, ‘This high?’

It warmed my heart to see Thedran the way he was. I thought I’d seen his softest around the Scarlett woman, but no. If he’d been asked to hold an infant, I’d be very surprised if that child didn’t sleep soundly in his arms. Such a good heart… why he says otherwise I do not understand but rumors are rumors and I prefer the truth. I’ve seen naught but kindness in his actions if not his words. Lance spoke favorably of his character as well as the Saint herself – if there are words to be taken I will take theirs.

Speaking of whom, after she’d finished her weaving of flowers she’d invited Sister Althea and I to join her at the memorial on the hill. I’ve yet to read her account of those times, but through tales regaled by those who knew I had an inkling… Perhaps I should visit the sanctuary for once… I serve my brothers and sisters no good from hiding my existence. Maybe they would have a copy.

When we arrived at the site, she’d intended to perform a ritual which we’re to continue in her absence. To remember the names of those who fought all those years ago, to remember the deeds and sacrifices of those left unnamed. Their duty… now ours… To bring Mercy’s light through the dark times ahead, to help those who cannot help themselves. If we’re to call the Gate our home, then is it not Duty to defend it? I’ve lived here for naught longer than two months, but never have I found a more fitting place to call a home. I accepted this – I’ve chosen my side.

…Still, there comes a point where talking fails and all one can do is hold on to faith. My mind is still torn by the Thayan issue – and I was relieved that it was Althea who brought it up, forgive my cowardice. …It was as they say, even the Saint of Mercy could hold no love for the ones in red… She unrolled her sleeves and there, standing prominently amongst the variety of scars and wounds was the brand of the Thays… marking her property…

What would a naïve child know anything of suffering, of her suffering? I could read the books and move air with lips but what words has she not heard over and over again for longer than I’ve known my God? Recklessly I told of my relation, the friendship I refuse to abandon because all I hear are words. Saint Meri herself just spoke of… there is always good on either side. …I admit I do not know Kadri’s heart, and there is a chance she could be using me…

[The next lines seem written some time later, the handwriting written more smoothly.]
Brother Hawat had once remarked to me after a day about the town. It had been my first day amongst the Ilmatari, and I could not stop asking him questions. He praised me for my naivety.

Before I could defend myself he disarmed me with a smirk. “Ah, do not wish knowledge so easily, young sister. In knowing a thing, you become trapped in your intelligence. Think of children – ah, but you are but a child yourself! …You children have an enormous capacity to learn, and it comes from naivety! How much have you learned today?” More than I knew yesterday. “And tomorrow, there is another world to learn! Do not be in a rush to grow up, trapped in absolutes. Keep your heart open, as well as your mind.”

I was told my friend was a wolf dressed in wool, calling the lamb her friend. Should I close my heart then, to a friend because she may be evil? Saint Meri said that sometimes, the only mercy to offer those who offer… no mercy… is the mercy of a swift end. It pains me still, to recall her verdict. Keep an open heart, but not for them. I suppose it is no wonder then, that she is the Saint. For unlike the others who view my cause as worthless, she had offered me this:

“If you value your friend, try to guide her to a kinder path… but remember, it is easier to drag one down than draw one up.”

Being open and sincere leaves me open to obvious dangers, I will admit it. But I like to think that, if I were to die, that I’ve made no decision that I can regret. Perhaps I should accept Kadri’s invitation to go on excursions once again, to know each other better. I arm myself with knowledge, I temper judgment with faith.

--

Days before I had received word from Lotrik that something threatened Gullykin, the hin village. Before I could ask him what, he had taken off running towards the Friendly Arm Inn; I think to find a crowd. On the way I’d run into a sellsword who snuck about some distance behind me, wary that I may be a bandit. After exchanging greets Lotrik had arrived with an entire force – three of whom I recognized: Elycia Innovius and brother Daedrin. We had a bit of confusion when no one knew where Gullykin was supposed to be, but there came Zorn running, wailing bloody murder.

We made haste then. The metallic tang of iron hung heavy in the air, the crimson implied ran heavy. Gullykin glowed with an evil gleam – fire hid glowing in the smoke. When we had arrived, we were greeted by the sight of two dead hin guards, looming over which were…

…Giant undead rabbits.

Puffy white tails. Hopped as they walked. Long floppy ears. The size of a man. My connection to the Divine had left me with an unquestionable knowledge that they were not alive – and looking into their supernatural red eyes, one could feel the evil magic radiating within. The fronts of their mouths had been painted with the blood of the innocent – and our party flew into a rage. In the confusion, I had spotted Ralston Dash running about, doing his best to attract the beasts’ attentions despite not having his weapon on him. No doubt it had been his magics, then probably exhausted, that kept alive the town resistance until we arrived. Zorn seemed to be doing the same – such brave men.

The battle had been exhausting, but in the end we had prevailed. The sell sword had demanded reward from the mayor who came out to thank us – a little rude, but the man did earn his prize. Daedrin and I spent the day and most of the night with tending to the town, healing the injured and raising those we could. Elycia had gone into the wizard tower to speak with Ralston about the Gazette, and Daedrin and I did not question that she had not come out when we set off… foolishness…

When she… approached the fire early in the morning, she was halfway dead. Limping on a broken leg, blood awash her face and clothes, the source of which her head… the truly worrying thing had been her eyes…

Both were swollen and blackened, a sight so familiar to I had almost wanted to cry. Those were the marks I’d seen on women over the three years I’d stayed in Roaringshore… the sources of which all too obvious and the women begging for secrecy…

She regaled her story, after some frantic mending. When she awoke, she found herself at the bottom of a large staircase in a pool of her own blood. She did not know how she got there or how she ended up the way she had – she could only recall entering the tower to meet with Ralston… then nothing.

Despite our best efforts, we had managed to restore her physically but we could not seem to help restore her memory. Even with the best restoration spell I knew, her mind could not remember the events of the tower. She had reached over to clasp something near her neck, and in her horror, her symbol was not there…

It was the symbol of Milil, given to her by an old friend and something she had never lost. She was adamant about that point – it had always been with her… We had volunteered to walk back with her, to retrace her steps… we searched all throughout the tower for naught, for the symbol just was not there. If her other injuries were to be believed… I fear she had not have merely dropped her harp.

When I had come across Ralston, I told him of her story. He looked mournful then – and immediately we went off to go find her. He explained to me that on the way to the meeting he had been assassinated – no doubt by the same people who wrought destruction upon the sleepy little town. It angered me that, again, someone would take the life of such a goodly man… But anger leads me nowhere, and I had to let it go. He told the tale once more when we found the Seeker Bardess, and it was unfortunate she seemed to have run afoul of his dangerous enemies…

Could this have been the work of the demonologist who attacked Doron Amar? Would it have been the work of the one who would dare summon pit fiends at the very gate of Candlekeep? Were they all the same people…?

There is so much darkness creeping into the world... it is warming that most have the sense to light a torch.

Two days ago was a time for merriment. The Morninglord called Dean sometimes known as Pete had proposed quite out of nowhere and strangely from Tyressen’s mouth that we must have celebration, and drinks. Lots and lots of drinks. And that he would pay for it. I had tasted the bitter beverage myself on a few occasions but this was my first time keeping it settled. I must admit, diary, that despite some terrible, horrible after effects later on… being in such a state was not… not completely unagreeable. There was music… and dance… and while not everyone was an expert (myself included), everyone did have a wonderful time.

Miss Julindra had been playing her instrument masterfully for most of the night, accompanied by a lovely girl with an equally lovely voiced called… Valquis, I think it was. She had a strange accent though; I would like to know where she comes from. I hope to see her again – I think I’d seen her before during an open stage play by the White Masks. Regardless, she held the stage for most of the night, my favorite song particularly the one about the maid who couldn’t find a… well, it was a very funny song.

I’d danced briefly with Dannic, bless his courage... He was in full armor and still felt compelled to save the poor priestess from a night deprived of fun, despite his obvious male reluctance of the dance floor... Hopefully next time he’d be more dressed for the occasion. He’d made obscene comments earlier on that left us wondering, but in the end he proved himself a gentleman. The Radiant Heart chooses their members well - perhaps he should take Miss Elycia’s suggestion and find a woman… if not to temper him in his odder moods.

Tyressen had been arguing with a dwarf about something, I could not hear what about. Regardless, they disappeared upstairs for quite some time and I did not catch them leaving. Dean, or Pete as he was sometimes called then asked to hold the stage for a few moments, to sing a personal song. It was a song of love… and though his playing and singing were by no means complex, it was clear he’d put his heart completely into it… No, he may not match the trained performers through skill alone, but his playing was by no means less emotional. If I’d words to describe… he was a still lake, beautifully quiet and picturesque as the sun makes His ascent.

At this point I’d been staring at the drink the dwarf had insisted everyone should drink and wondered, why not? I’d taken the vow of peace, not abstinence. I may need to deal with dwarves… or pirates… or just simply good friends, would I alienate myself for refusing to learn to drink a mere beverage? Perhaps I’d been foolish in that I did not fill myself with meal beforehand, but regardless I’d stared down my cup and drained its contents. In one action.

Gods did it burn! My eyes shut themselves of their own accord, Ilmater endure I’d have cried tears from pain alone! It was a good thing I did not stray far from a chair, for to process it I definitely had to sit… and then, keep sitting, as things started feeling funnier. The idea of standing became a sort of chore I no longer wished to do.

Oh, but standing again I had to do eventually. Tyressen had returned, how he returned from the outside when he quite clearly went upstairs deeper inside I’ll never know, but my legs had regained some discipline and there were still dancing to be had. Miss Elycia had taken over for Miss Julindra as this point who, as it turned out, had not ever danced in the Gate. Always the performer, never the participant, as she would say. What an odd mate she chose for her partner… the Captain who insists he can’t dance, won’t dance, and had never danced in his life. And yet there he was, doing his best impersonation of a man trying not to step on a woman’s toes. It was all a very amusing sight from the arms of Patch, who was kind enough to keep me on my feet and move in some relationship to some music I recall was being played at the time.

I’d left quite early, seeing as how the night was going there would have been no way my poor legs would have been able to carry me to bed if I’d stayed longer. The next day there was a freak snowfall, and that was when I met the woman named Chance.

Once again we’d run into the safety of the Friendly Arm Inn, or as Julindra would put it, sprinted towards. The poor girl… naught but the clothes on her back, she was freezing by the fire. We’d gone inside before the snow turned into a storm, and someone in the room had asked, ‘who gone and pissed off Auril?’ Some gathered around the table I recognized, Miss Julie of course, Patch, Varia, Lotrik, Shirtza… okay it was all of them, except the elf who insisted on buying Varia a drink. I did not know his name, but it was amusing to see him attempt to woo a girl shier than I.

The refugees of the fire camp were just making idle talk and I think Shirtza was just starting to get to understanding my boundaries, enough that I no longer feel embarrassed with her around company. Does she truly want me? …I cannot say, nor do I know if I could… want her as well…

When the weather grew worse, the number of people who sought shelter from the chilling cold grew with it. The Flaming Fist patrol man who kept constant vigil about the fire camp walked in, along with a couple of other regulars. There was a woman in black near the bar flipping a coin who came in earlier, making idle chatter with local adventurers. The topic on their tongue was that of Amn, and predictably of their dreams of conquests… Enemies vanquished… Women bedded… Sometimes, when dealing with mercenaries, it is difficult to picture them as little more than children…

Still, it was just chatter. Perhaps being born an Amnian left me a little more uncomfortable than I should have been, so I’d little to say despite Julindra’s insistence. I’d wished the man in the green cloak had shared my caution… What was being said was irrational, emotional, but it was heartfelt. People had lost friends already, it did no good to antagonize those feelings but still… I’d expect better from a man charged with upholding the law…

The green traveler dared the Fist Champion’s anger with spiteful words, tinged with as much bitterness as having already been laid out… The Champion, reasoning already clouded by anger, alcohol… the support of the mob… had taken the law into his own hand.

“What did you say, rat?!” he demanded of the man who would dare call the Fist… an inbred lot.

“You killed those people in Markhold, slaughtering the entire village! You deserved what happened to you and your damned families.”

He’d been struck across the face for his stupidity, and he did deserve that… But words had still lingered, and the Fist man had gone irrational… He’d beaten the man to an inch above death, not once had any fight been returned. Still, it was not been enough… Despite my begging, my pleading, I was drown out by the egging on of black hooded woman and the insane white bearded man… Mercy abandoned his heart, replaced by insanity…

He drew his blade, and struck the man down.

He’d let the man bleed for moments. He denied me a chance to aid. With absolutely no respect for the man’s life, he just dragged his body out of the building, not another word being spoken. I felt dangerously alone there… his actions lauded wildly by those around me… The black woman named Chance, the adventurers, the mad man, it felt like everyone…

My friends of the table remained seated, remained quiet. Maybe they’re the wise ones, I do not know. Would they have defended me had I announced that not everyone in Amn spoke like that man, that I myself come from the area they vehemently hated? I did not know… and like a coward, I sat there and allowed them to gloat uncontested. I’d objected to the senseless killing as an Ilmatari, should I had done more? I’ve long since stopped thinking of Athkalka as my home, so what cowardice stilled my tongue?

Perhaps it was that my friends would have stood up for me… and would have joined me under the gallows…

Still… I should have done more for the man… damn damn damn damn damn!

[Seemingly written some time later]

The crazy white-bearded man with antlers for a helmet was going on about praising the violence that happened. I’d asked him to cease, but he’d tell me to be quiet, speaking on and on of his hateful words that seems to have become tolerated. “Death to Amn!” has quickly becoming a rallying cry, but thankfully there was enough, if not mercy, then sense into people to ignore his madness… “This is part of living. Justice, and destruction, hand in hand, as it should be…” Why none but us told him to leave was disheartening, but at that point, not unexpected…

When things calmed down sometime later, Julindra told us the story of Beren Cross. She told of how they’d taken Saint Merielle, then just Merielle, and… questioned her. Broken bones, nails pulled, hair cut bald, teeth broken in… my sadness had been tempered by the anger the black woman Chance kept trying to entice me with. “Careful with the torture talk.” She would say, “Lest our little Triadic might start to flail herself.”

It is wrong of me to have done so… but I maintained my civility simply because it annoyed her moreso than I wished to be polite. There was a similar madness in her like white beard… but it was a controlled, calculated thing. Earlier in my anger I’d mocked her profession, that mercenary work is a foolish way to make coin. That seemed to warrant her full attention and throughout the eve had made light of my beliefs, questioning my ways, accusing me of playing an imaginary high road.

“Don’t blame me,” she would say, “War is profit. I love profit - a girl has needs.” as she constantly flipped her little coin.

“There are easier ways to come by coin you know…” Unfortunately, not a single one of us qualified as an excellent example. Shirtza slew minotaurs… which was exactly Chance’s point – blood for profit. Julindra and myself relied on good will… Patch had been the only one of the table with an actual… job.

She was civil when it suited her, but never did she take a seat. If I ignored her, she played devil’s advocate on my words. If I addressed her, it led to further arguments. I’d no wish to play her games but she left me with little choice – I’d asked if she wanted a seat - she declined. It felt like anything I’d say she sought to disagree with, why? I must thank Patch for defending me when he could, fruitless as it was to argue with such a woman.

After ‘enjoying’ her company for what seemed like hours… she’d finally lost interest in us. Or at least, in me… For now. She slammed her coin right in front of me on the table just to whisper into my ear…

“Think of me?”

And like that, she was gone. The coin she left was not one I recognized – a pair of antlers within a triangle background had been its engraving. Miss Shirtza had told me she’d known what it was, but did not wish to explain without privacy. I should take her up on that soon… I hope she does not ask for another massage…

Well Miss Chance, you are in my thoughts. But if it’s a fight you seek, you will not receive from me.

I had a chance to talk with Miss Chance this morning, and it does not take a healer to determine she had suffered terrible damage, in mind and body.

I’d offer her coin back but she refused it – I needed it more than her, she would say. She’d seen me talking with Shirtza about it, and asked why a triadic such as myself would suffer the company of one such as she. Should I, like so many others in her past cast her out because she has a pointy forehead? I told Chance her accusations were not in line with the message of mercy and she turned that right around.

The fey do not belong in this realm, and never have. Even if their intentions are noble, she told me they cannot escape their hellish taint, their inheritance. I did not believe this. She continued that everything we do has been fated to happen – we’re nothing but actors who can only glimpse a part of the script.

The fey are not a part of our play, or so she would have me believe. But I cannot subscribe to that view because well, I’m a simple girl with simple views. Regaling me with fancy twisting words just tends to leave me utterly confused. I cannot accept that life is what she says because, at least with me, a play is a play. Life is life. She can try to anger me with her words… and sometimes she succeeds… but Patch is right. I can only become upset if I listen to her…

…But I do not want to ignore her. Thanks to my overly familiar fey friend I think I’ve learned the entity of her worship… Tymora’s sister, the Maid of Misfortune. She acted as if I hexed her when I mentioned her name and out of respect for Chance’s fear, I will refrain from writing it. She looks so hurt… and travels down an impossible path…

She claims to want to help me, but I think it is her who wants help. She has seen pain… the scars can attest to that… and while I’ve met in my short time several who have known similar pain and perhaps more… most are healthy enough - in mind at least - to accept offered aid. She flinches from my mercy as if I brandished a whip, but her attitude was what troubled me most of all.

Her goal is to prevent misfortune… all of it, and she tries to walk me along the same path. She attempts to belittle my current efforts to aid the suffering but I am not so ignorant that I fool myself into thinking I can end all everyone’s problems. I do what I can, is that not enough?

Her words were a challenge, but I hold steadfast in my faith… If I blaspheme against the Lord… then surely there would be a sign… My blessings are to help, not weaken… If Vifur had died, then is that not a worse fate than coming back wounded, where I can tend to her…? She tells me mercy is a weakness… That, in giving aid… I weaken the person. More words to disagree… For what weakness is there in being together? We must draw strength from each other, not hold back hope and run from problems. Fear of failure, fear of misfortune… I think she lives a very sad and lonely life, if that is what she truly believes… I pity her, and will do what I can, damn the tears she draws…

Speaking of tears…

I had made my way to Nashkel, working my way about the Tradeway offering aid where I could, a life I am slowly beginning to settle into. Journeying North, a little ways beyond the walls of Candlekeep I had run into Miss Laitae, the innocent young elf from Evermeet studying dutifully as a novice in Candlekeep. She had been talking with who I was later told was Midian, another magi dressed in dashing black. It was a little of an awkward meeting, but my eyes spied the dark clad man wearing a skull mask.

Marros.

I did not know his name at the time… but I knew the description. The man who would dare make an attempt for Rhys, in the middle of day, surrounded by friends… He’d been slain times before, twice by Lance’s hand at least if not more but the Lord of Darkness favors his soul too often to leave him dead…

In a rush, he barreled past us and motioned us off the road; I’d implored the two to obey. They’d given me questioning glances when he’d gone over the horizon and I explained who I thought it was… what he did… and a whisper tickled my ear.

“Next time, he will die.” Speaking of Rhys.

Fear held me in place, I am ashamed to admit. He read my reactions, and began to give instructions.

“Do not alarm the others, stand still.”

I could obey, but not control the shaking in my voice… the fear in my eyes…

A black clad Thayan knight passed by, paused by the curious scene. He was not the last… two more would pause and watch - an elf named Pym, and the white bearded man who claims the title of Sir Wiegraf.

“You’re giving this away.” Said the voice, in my other ear. “I suggest you try harder to conceal it.” A knife at my back. I’d apologize… “Do not respond, merely obey.”

“Miss, are you okay?” said Laitae, and to my utter horror came close to check on me… I’d shoo’d her to go away but before she understood it was too late, the voice was now in her ear… I did not hear it, but I saw it unfold in her big, innocent eyes…

We’d been trapped, and Wiegraf callously noted our reactions… “What’s wrong with this one?” He would say, mockingly gazing at the young elven scholar. “Broad daylight, hells if there be some sort of ghost.”

I’d pretended casualness… as best I could. “Laitae…” I would ask. “…Have you ever seen a ghost?” The knife had strayed away from back and I uttered as quickly as I could the invocations of an ethereal spell. “RUN!” I yelled, but before my concentration could finish I’d felt the knives at my sides… corrosive things that pierced my flesh with terrifying familiarity… the same knives that almost stole my life and Thedran’s, all those nights ago…

When my mind was mine once again, I was greeted by the Thayan staunching my bleeding… Laitae in tears above me… bystanders idling curiously, Wiegraf laughing noisily… He had been laughing with the man in the shadows… and he was not finished with his show.

Out he came, into visibility. “The fools of these lands! …You will meet your doom.” Chatter was stopped; the crowd now knew who fed their eyes.

“A swift death from the shadows will greet you, should you turn yourself to the side of the Fist. Join the Crusade into the depths of darkness.”

I was slow to get up, but the Thayan had some skill… Wiegraf had asked, “And who do you serve, you skull-headed ghast?”

“The one and true Lord.” Marros responded. “BANE!”

The manner of his speech offended the black clad wizard and the green clad elf… I do not think they understood what they fought, and to my dismay… offered a show of bravado.

“I could kill you with a thought.” Said Marros.

The elf laughed. Midian the wizard responded. “Do it, fool.”

And within a blink, Marros was gone… and the hands soon followed. They had assaulted poor Midian continually, followed soon of green Pym… neither could move, and Marros drew blood at a leisure.

“Let them be!” I heard myself yell… I’d been in time to restore health to the wizard, and then the hands came for me.

“Now you die.”

Once more he hid, and crushed within the grips of the spell it was all I could do to kick out vaguely... But he was first at my back… then in front… and then all I remember was darkness.

No… before my mind went, I had seen him go after Laitae… she had been crumpled in fear, eyes closed, unwilling to look at the blood that rained around her… She’d done nothing, nothing, and still the hands came for her… she was gone immediately.

--

When I came to, Marros had gone. Laitae was nowhere to be seen. The Thayan had once again given the basic field care, enough where everyone survived… Why Marros had not killed us all I do not know and I worried for the little scholar until she came into the tavern that night… utterly shaken but most importantly, alive…

The poor girl… I fear to ask, that she might be younger than me… Throughout the ordeal her tears ran free, and even well into the night she’d continue to cry, sombering the mood amongst friends. Thank Althea and her compassion… she continued to purchase drinks for the sweet girl, where I feared she would have passed out of dehydration, if not exhaustion.

She was angry, frightened, confused, but most of all, she wanted to return home… She felt unsafe returning to Candlekeep, even with Thedran offering to be her escort, even knowing Marros had fled to Roaringshore. Eventually she would calm enough to rent a room within the inn to rest… but she had triggered longings in me I had forgotten I had…

Where was my home?

--

I told my story as best I could, and Lance and Boots and even Thedran had gone and looked for extended hours for the shadowed Banite… They had already been weary from previous expenditure… the dwarves of Ironfaar… a ship near Candlekeep… it made me feel guilty that I’d invite another problem… one that may not have needed to happen, if I would have taken the time to ask the Order for a companion to walk with me…

Was Miss Chance correct - that misfortune was bound to walk with me? That the high road is the treacherous road to walk? We’d survived, so I try not to take her warnings seriously… but did Fate truly align that encounter on the same day of the earlier talk? It is a chilling thought… for what use is free will, if this is all a script? I hope that it was naught but coincidence. But if I am destined to fall, then it is all I could hope for that none fall with me.

--

I’ve slept on Tyressen’s cloak again… I think the man intends to make me feel a thief…

Tonight I write under the roof of a home, with borrowed quill and ink. The candle provides me with light and, at least to my soul, warmth. I do not know why these particular flames give me so much amusement, when writing by candlelight is not a thing I am a stranger of. And yet there the flames dance so playfully… and how I wish Miss Elycia would wake up and play a tune for it! Oh, but I do apologize dear diary, for I should really make this brief. It had been a long day for all of us, and the two behind me should really get their rest. And I suppose I should as well.

Days before, the topic at the fire had once again turn to the Banite, the one called Marros. Being a direct… witness, I had been asked the story from my point of view and in the middle of the telling, I had thought I’d seen a flickering of his outline running across the background. I’d hesitated and shook my head, fear had clearly played tricks on me. When I’d open my mouth to continue, there he stood… his presence alone openly mocking the company of those gathered there… Dean had commanded Julindra to take myself and Laitae under the roof of the inn, and halfway there his voice in the shadows had whispered in our ears… following our movements, repeating Dean’s command as if it were a jest… The presence of Wendel put an end to that.

Once again we would spend a night under Bentley’s roof, an activity that had quickly threatened to burn through my donation money once again and find sleep under the trees. With the apparent ease the man seems to have in finding me, it was a thing of worry at the time.

When I’d awakened the following morning, Bentley had slid a letter under my door. It had simply asked for assistance and to travel to Doron Amar, signed by Councilor Vanira. After a generous meal of rice porridge (Generous because it was what I could afford and paid for, but the chef had flavored it with cocoa and sweetened milk out of the kindness of his heart.), I’d made my way to the fire as is becoming a habit of mine to catch up with friends. Miss Laitae had been there, and she shared with me a bit of her story, of her parents and their runaway daughter. Out of the love she still bore for them I’d encouraged her to write a letter to them, to put them at ease but more importantly, hopefully to reestablish a bond between Miss Laitae and her home. She’d been feeling homesick recently… I hope the letter can ease her mind even just a little.

Remembering my letter, I had assumed Doron Amar merely needed a healer to assist with the dwarves displaced in the Elven Retreat. I’d asked Laitae if she wished to accompany me, and to my surprise she had never even seen the place… and it pleased me that she had accepted. The road to the retreat would have taken us through orc-infested lands, but thankfully whilst none of the knights were around to escort us, two brave men in the form of a kindly hin named Frog and a silent earth genasi in a black hat who was a follower of Helm led us safely through the woods. When we had arrived… Miss Vanira did not assign us to help with the dwarves. No… we were stationed on the tall bridge above the waterfall, along with what seemed to me a war party.

We were volunteers all, tasked with defending the Priestess Councilor Auriel along with four others who serve the Elven Pantheon. We were told to expect danger… how much of which shocked me with the amount as the night wore on but none had chosen to leave as the priests began their spell.

At the end of it, two of the elven priests had died, unable to have defended themselves as the spell locked them in a trance. I hope their sacrifice were not in vein… Miss Laitae had whispered to me later on of the creatures which had given us so much trouble… Dracoliches… If I am ever permitted to enter the library, I would like to study upon it, I think… Why were the elves attacked by such things?

Laitae had been very brave… never running or hiding, doing her absolute best to assist the warriors keeping the dead away from the bridge. I could feel the growth in her character and abilities, and it brings a smile to my face that she remains humble despite it. I wish her luck in her upcoming test of lore, and pray for happy news should she write to her parents… and receive a reply.

As for how I share a room with her, Miss Elycia, and others of Candlekeep? Well… were I asked to recall the tale by word of mouth I would be at a loss of where to begin. I admit, the reason that led me to seek out Wendel and ask for a chance to study with the learned scholars to be one of a selfish nature… Not at all in keeping with the spirit of the place. It is my wish to learn the workings of the ghoulification curse slowly eating away at Tyressen… and if not remove it, then at least stop it.

Not that it is my sole reason… Still, I feared it almost enough for Wendel to deem me unworthy, for as Elycia had warned me, many do seek admittance into the Great Library for such selfish reasons… But before I could explain much further, a beam of light had come from above, striking me and causing my ring to glow… which I then showed to the Guide.

I’d gone into the story all those days ago of Dannic and Jessica, and the teddy bear that fell down the well. I’d almost forgotten it, to be truthful. The children had been kept safe and fed warm meals and been watched over – what could have been more important? Ah, but of course there was the creature in the well. When I’d made a passing reference to a barely remembered event, that it had asked me of the Tear of Talona, I feared the man nearly lost his glasses he bolted up so quickly. As fate would have it, there was a meeting planned shortly afterwards but I was not to repeat my tale until safely in the walls of the Library surrounded by those with cause to hear.

Afterwards, after having to deal with an episode of Buurk, Wendel seemed to have made up his mind and accepted me as an acolyte. I am to wash the robes, help with the groundwork, assist with what I can, and with permission from an avowed, perhaps even study within the Library itself…

It seemed that I have been accepted merely due to divine intervention, and I fear it not fair for those who were accepted based on their real merits… their character… What had I done to be considered so far? Saved a teddy bear?

I could be asked to leave at any point, this I am aware… But it will not be for lack of interest, I can promise you that diary. I do not claim much knowledge or lore that can be beneficial to this prestigious place… Nor do I claim a mind gifted with amazing potential. I fear I am lacking in all regards when it comes to being learned… but I want to learn… and now I have a home…

Life as an acolyte seems to have brought some measure of peace back into my life; though with the war imminent I do not fool myself into expecting it last. The little black-soot gnome named Sutek had said that the taking of Candlekeep was Amn’s aim . . . but that to me did not make sense. Or I do not want it to make sense . . .

In lighter events, the White Mask Theater had produced a play on the outskirts of the Elven Retreat of Doron Amar. Before arriving, Ralston had handed me a script, saying that he required my services. When I’d opened the script . . . Lord of Mercy forgive the thoughts within my head! It was a tale of Krich Bigsword, a hero whom Ralston had taken upon himself to write about. It seemed he had used the theme of the night of ‘Heroes’ as loosely as possible, all in an effort to promote his own book!

To make matters worse he had drafted opposite of me, playing the role of Krich, another woman! I fear I may never live my reputation down after that . . . I like men, why he would insert me in a play where I must kiss and play romance with a . . . He does this on purpose!

. . . Though I admit, the story was rather good. I knew the tale already of course, and despite everything, I became lost in the play regardless as the show went on. Still, I should be glad he ended it where he did before things became . . . emotional.

His play did win in the end, despite the irrelevance. I felt Elycia had done best in remembrance of the theme but for some reason I suppose the audience would rather watch two women locking lips than remembering the deeds of those who are truly worthy and valorous. Sometimes . . . sometimes I just do not understand.

If the chores were meant to teach me humility, then I am afraid the Gods should refrain from rewarding me afterwards...

Late afternoon, I had decided that I am to not use my spells to make my tasks go that much smoother. I should not have done so in the first place… it is an abuse of Mercy’s power and the lessons Candlekeep may wish to teach. It seems… wrong somehow, being completely reliant on my spell casting. Brother Darpom had been the only one of the Brothers blessed with such a gift, and it pains me to have forgotten his lessons after almost a year. “Show me a completely smooth operation and I’ll show you a cover-up.” He said. “Real boats rock.” (( // Chapterhouse Dune // )) Back then it was all I could do to cast a light spell and heal small cuts, so perhaps it never felt like abuse back then. But I realize now I am in command of quite a lot of power…

So no. No more elementals.

When I’d finished the day’s chores it’d been almost dark. None of the monks needed me for the evening and the nurse in the infirmary had her patients well asleep, so with nothing else to do I’d left the keep. It was then that I came upon a strange sight, little Miss Laitae fully warded, wielding a blade. It was not one of those short swords or knives a bandit might use, it had been a full elven blade, fit to be held in her hands though, as she would later tell me, she did not know how to wield proper.

“The Banite was running past me toward the Friendly Arm Inn!” She told me, out of breath. If there were more she meant to say I did not hear her… for I ran then. Why I ran I did not know, but this time it was not to run away… I needed to confront the man who would thrill in the spectacle of death.

When I’d arrived, there was not a soul to be found. Bastien, Sindaglin and Phil were the only company, the three who kept watch over the fire and of each other. I was not a tracker, but I’d looked around despite the futility. The stars had just barely begun to awaken and Lathander was just about to hand over his watch to Selune when a man appeared, fully masked.

It was not him, and not a bandit, or at least did not intend to harm me. Just another no doubt adventurer, yet another who had fallen to the “mystique” of the fully hooded and masked look. The trouble making gnome arrived then, as well as Laitae and others. I did not wish a crowd, for a crowd was a spectacle and Marros was if anything a deadly showman. It was during my warning to keep their wits about where I’d felt a hand slip into my pocket. I’d flinched away and there he appeared, a ghost of a grin coming briefly out of the shadows before effortlessly cloaking himself with the night once again.

He was changed…

The man that appeared before me for those few brief moments was pale, so pale… no longer hidden amidst the layers and layers of protections and wards he had so often maintained. The mask had gone, and I could see his face – twisted by hatred, the skin growing in an odd manner… but for some reason that hatred was not what I saw. His eyes… when I’d last looked into his eyes it was that of a cold, calculating madman, full of hate and saw the world through a haze of fire. Those were the eyes that brought me trembling to my knees but these… as he disappeared from my view for the last time, so had the eyes that had seen serenity…

There was a brief moment of action every which way I looked, and his attacks had been relentless, though half-hearted. When I thought I’d been able to see him one last time, Dean had struck him down… the power so great the Heavens had opened and scorched the earth where he would have laid, incinerating him straight Into Dust.

It was over.

I think he meant to die. Gone was the showmanship, gone were the words. He wore barely enough to keep warm, his worldly possessions all stripped of his person. His knives were of mass make, and though he caused what harm he did, nothing he inflicted was of a fatal nature. Laitae had been struck from behind so I do not think she saw the change in the man… the last encounter once again bringing her to uncontrollable tears. We would comfort her later, but back then I could not stem the flow of thoughts crowding my head as I helped tend to those wounded. What had happened to the man? Had he cast away the Lord of Darkness? Lost favor with his terrible God? …Had Mercy somehow found His way into his lonely heart?

…I’d never known the man but as a fearmongerer and psychopath, and with Dean’s actions I may never know otherwise, his remains having been taken by the winds. I’ve always had difficulty understanding people’s words, but I am afraid his final actions had left me utterly lost as well. When all was said and done, I’d check the pocket his hand had been in to find a slip of a note within it. “To you.” It said. Unsigned, no explanation given. When I next checked my pack to give Julindra some small relief, there had been an item there sitting unassuming, new. A small cloth sack. In the privacy of my shared quarters was where I stole a look, and what greeted me was a sight which still gleams and confounds me as I write. …A dragon’s hoard of treasure.

What I do with it I do not know – best to ask those wiser. Perhaps the Avowed, or my fellows of the cloth. This is far too much for me to comprehend let alone know what to do with… I require the judgment of balanced minds and the assistance of those who know better than I, of power. I will be glad to be rid of it then.

But if this is a gift of the heart... thank you. May you find peace, eternal peace... If all know you for a villain, if they learn your name and utter eternal damnation... let this diary stand a testament of your soul.

--

Before I’d discovered my sudden wealth, we needed to calm the hysterical Laitae. Through a good portion of the eve she’d spend her time crying in my arms, and when she’d run out of tears she’d finally ask for tea. Dear Alexander had accompanied us to the inn.

It had been several moments when Laitae had begun to laugh once again, her attitude gently addressed to by the stoic, caring man. He’d ask her of her home, of her brother, caringly guiding her mind along familiar paths and memories. The sincerity of his questioning was refreshing to behold, and eventually I too was sucked into the conversation. Laitae had been speaking happily by then, her devious mind suddenly plotting against me…

“What a catch.” She’d giggle and wink in my direction. I’d look at her then, and she’s laugh at me greater. I’d look at her then, but she’d merely continue her amusement from behind a book. “I like this one!” She would mention out of the blue. Yes… I like this one too, I would mutter… drawn easily into the trap.

We’d finish our drinks purchased by kindly Alexander by then, and conversation lulled though he was still much in my thoughts. I find his presence comfortable… and as we sat he never made me feel as if I needed to speak to fill the void… He’d merely been there, content to be around and never pressing us to speak more than we wished. I’d asked Laitae if she wished to return to the Keep and she said no – she was not ready for that. There was still that devious smile on her face as she suggested we return to the fire camp, pointedly inviting Alexander to join us.

“I would be happy to.” He said to Laitae. “I’d prefer stay next to Louise’ side as often as she’d have me.” He continued. My heart fluttered, but surely he couldn’t mean…? I’d attempt a joke, to lighten the mood. Regardless, onward he spoke.

“And yes, I am not so blind as to not be aware of what you two were giggling about. Truth be told, I find Louise to have a beautiful soul. I hope she chooses to spend more time with me, as I would love nothing more. I hope to see you both at the fire.”

…

Why me? There are several girls for him to choose from… prettier, smarter, wiser, why choose me? I thought I’d lost hope of ever finding a man as my list of female suitors magically piled higher, the men content to keep me at a respectable distance. But despite it all, he spoke of me, he wants to spend time with me! Sweet Mercy and all the Triad how had I become so blessed?

I do not know how I’d returned to the fire, but there I was. Standing in front of the man who would expose my heart so… I’m afraid I might have confused the man with my silence, for he turned to leave, stopped only by my friends insistence he stay. He seemed baffled as well, and called me over for a quiet word…

“Have I offended you with my bluntness?” No, never! Shocked, surprised, given hope, made happy, feel guilty, many other feelings perhaps, but offense? No my charming knight… never. I tried to tell him this, but I’m afraid what came out were a few stuttered phrases and I shook my head instead…

“I can understand the hesitation.” He continued. “I should not have been so bold… it’s just… I’ve scarcely been able to stop to thinking about you... ever since you tended my wounds…” I admit, it was difficult for me to stop thinking about you as well… with your shapely form… the hardened, compact muscles built up through rigorous use… your calloused hands ever gentle with my own… Your deep blue eyes, such loaded weapons… gazing into my own, spearing my very soul…

I’m helpless in those eyes. Before I knew what was going on, words had continued and casually flown over my head. I’d still been in a haze when I managed to make out more words from his mouth… “Lady Louise” he calls me… “Would you grant me the extreme pleasure of accepting my offer for a dance?”

It was fortunate of me then to remember the use of my mouth, for as the music finally entered into my head it was all I could do to choke out a yes!

He lead me through a dream then… a world where none existed but us. I am not graceful… he made me graceful, and for moments I’d felt the most nimble woman in all the realms, a twirling dancing figure a match compared to the likes of Boots or Julindra or anybody else so skilled and dexterous. He would spin me as he will, dipping me and holding me with mastery I did not expect nor could object to. It was a force of nature, a thing so vast that there was no point resisting – merely ride along with it. At the end of it I was soaked, my hood fallen off and I did not care! Not even the rain could have dampened the feelings I was feeling… Let myself drink in the water and drown if it meant I could be with this man, forever!

Another day… another fire camp fight. The orc… Razzaband I believe, continues to play with fire. He is such a well-read full blood and yet… and yet he continues to choose not to mask his face. To show people he is proud of who he is, and people should just accept that he is not like his brethren. Unfortunately reason is not the sole governor of how people react… and someday someone who’d lost a loved one to the gray ones might just scythe through his well-meaning words before anyone could stop him…

And Buurk… poor Buurk, he just might be cought in the middle. His mind may not keep pace with his thoughts but he at least, is no doubt a goodly champion. Yes, his mind is simple, but sometimes that’s better, right? No deep thoughts compounded by thoughts, worrying him if what he does is right or wrong… Like an excitable loveable puppy, he sniffs out the best of the situations and follows it relentlessly. I am envious of Captain Buurk Gerz... even after three dwarves had come at him with axes, he still found it in his heart to be diplomatic… and gave them coin for drinks. The dwarf had threatened to use the money for an axe, but surely after a few more tankards they would be able to see the goodness that radiates with his every action.

Buurk… you are the best of us.

There had been an argument between Laitae, Mealir and Alexander about orcs and prejudice. Laitae had been disgusted with Mealir’s attitude toward Razzaband… and Alex was merely reinforcing her points. Unfortunately, in an effort to counter one of Mealir’s points, she’d spoken against one of Alexander’s examples and he had taken it as a slight on his honor… That she thought him to be prejudiced. He stopped arguing then… I thought he’d been done with it but later on when we talked he thought Laitae had spit on his honor, and he no longer wished to consider her a friend.

I’ll have to fix that someday…

--

When things had settled down, Alexander had finally taken the initiative to steal me away. Finally, just the two of us! I’d barely known anything about him… and him me… my head was a cauldron of questions just bubbling to the surface and then he’d added another thing to the soup.

“Dean questioned me about us, earlier.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I told him I was fond of you, but we’ve not gone beyond a caring friendship. He seemed interested in you himself.”

I was taken aback, and my words could only tell him so. Why would Dean have any interest in me…? We’ve perhaps exchanged a few words of greeting on occasion, and he’d danced with Elycia convincingly enough when he’d thrown his impromptu party… He’d been lively with everyone I could think of except for me… so why?

“A man often wants what he feels he cannot have.”

--

When we’d arrived at his intended destination, I found myself within the Northern Lights Inn. Nashkel had been so beautiful at this time… the snow settling lightly upon the town giving it a simplistic thoughtfulness. If I’d closed my eyes… I’d be shivering. I kid, diary, I kid. Nashkel was simply beautiful, it’s a shame the ambience would be broken soon… as the Duke announced later that day. War would come, and it was not long now until it brings its ugliness over this harmonious, thoughtful place…

Before long my dear sweet Alex would invite me to his patrol . . . to walk with him where good would need doing. We would go up to the very Frost Giants themselves, and then all the way North to combat the undead and trolls with Dean and Buurk. But before all that we had each other to ourselves, and I’d never known such happiness could exist…

“I’d like to keep you as close as you’d allow.” He would tell me. I would have been content, merely knowing he wanted me around. “I was thinking of that… I could share with you my work, and my faith, and you yours. We could work together in all things, should you desire.

…And perhaps, I could consider you as more than just a friend.”

What had I done to deserve such fortune?

[On the next page she seems to have rewritten the entry in her best elven. To anyone fluent in such a language, it reads like this.]

Varia was back . . . and alive.

It seems diary, that her trip to the Underdark had led her to disregard her heavy arcane training, and instead refocus on the discipline she used to share with her foster father, the art of the bow. I’d always been confused at her lack of fondness… her lack of caring. The only emotion I’d seen out of her was occasional anger that one time she had opened up to me, the anger that surfaces when she is ever on the topic of the drow.

But the other day Tyressen had explained to me why, indirectly, with regard to another woman who follows the path of Shevarash.

“Their people are forbidden to smile or laugh.”

Poor Varia… I wish she would seek an alternative to her path of vengeance, but she does not seem interested in seeking out her happiness. I’d not turn her from her path lest she showed an interest in it herself… The same as if I’d remove Tyressen’s holy curse, would he allow me. His curse forbids him to lie to or harm a healer of Ilmater, and whatever intent the person who placed that on him was… I just cannot consider it good. It benefits me… it benefits a lot of people… but it takes away a portion of his free will, and that is not something I can understand as ‘good.’ Only a priest could remove such a thing… and should he request it, I would be more than happy to remove it.

Should either of them ask, I would be there for them.

--

Alexander was different this night…

He’d been assigned as my protector by Lance as extension of the request given to him by Saint Merielle. Taron Lane was unassigned from the duty… and I’d assumed it was for the best. Wasn’t it? I still do not understand why… but he started keeping me at a distance. We would spend more time together I thought… but no.

His duty was to keep me safe, and so he would no longer take me with him on his patrols.

He then asked me if I’d any orders. It felt so wrong… Why would he treat me like this? I’d requested that… perhaps we could just continue as before. That that was to be my order. “Doing so may cause a conflict of interest that will leave me out of favor with my God. Knowing this… would you still bid me as you command?”

...No, of course that would not do. I had told him that I would never make him choose between me and his faith, and so to accept our new relationship while keeping some of the old, I’d thought to graciously accept my gilded cage. And then Buurk came along.

“You want we go hunt trolls?” he asked of me. “Big, big Louise magic!” he would say… in that adorable, garbled tongue of his… I looked up to my new protector then, and he’d given no objection of going, to protect me as I assist my friend and Captain. That was when Varia had reappeared to us… stepping out of the shadows as if she wore it as a cloak. She wore dark, dark clothing, and a deep violet hood. I’d tried to introduce Alex to my friend who had just withdrawn from the Underdark, but before I could speak he merely looked at her with disgust and promptly walked away toward the fire.

…I did not know what to think, Miss Laitae had wandered down the road to us, and though I knew she preferred books… I thought she might try a little bit of field study as well. I’d invite her, and to my delight, she accepted. We’d begin to make our way north… and I signaled my knight that we were ready to make off. He seemed distant and absentminded, and came to me calling me the name he knows I did not agree with. “Mi’lady Louise?” he would say… fine.

“Mi’lord Alex?” I can play this game too!

He’d consider me for half a moment before he would verbally slap me in the face. “I’ve no desire to travel with current company. I beg your dismissal; Buurk will take care of you.” He would glare at Varia then.

“What has she done now?!” I’d ask him. As far as I knew, they’ve never met. Why was he so hostile?

“My reasons are my own, and I will keep them that way. Your dismissal, please?”

No amount of staring at those cerulean eyes would reveal anything to me… After several moments of consideration, I waved him away. “Enjoy your break.” I would say.

What followed was one of the most exciting adventures I’d ever had the pleasure of being on… Despite his notoriously simplistic approach to doing things, Buurk makes an excellent leader. He is strong and able in battle, able to keep the squishy young women away from danger with help from his brother and Lotrik… and Varia seemed most skilled at going unnoticed from hostile eyes altogether.

I’m so glad Laitae had managed to enjoy herself… though her constant attempts to tickle me leaves me most uncomfortable. What had gotten into the little elf lately? Regardless… it is so much better than seeing her cry all the time, I’m glad her humor is starting to show through.

Where had Alex gone?