Fate is such a delightfully quirky thing. It was just this very day, earlier, when I had decided to return to Aldwythe's Landing, but grew perplexed at not being able to find my way. I didn't spend a great deal of time, assuming I'd forgotten the true path. It had been a very very long time.

By mere chance, I'd paused many marcs later to press a stale lemon tart into Low's pack when he offhandedly inquired if I'd heard why the pathway to Aldwythe's was closed. Stunned, I half wondered if his words were in jest, as they quite often are. But it explained much. He said one could still get there by the ferry. I hadn't thought to try.

Smells prick memories wide open again. I will probably carry the scents with me when I decide to leave, but it may be a while before I do. I am Cleric to the bone, but haven't always had to walk every blessed place I wished to go. Oh that it were possible again.

They are nervous and wary, as they should be, for there is much to fear. Patience will win them once again, it will. At least I hope it will.

I wonder if I would be allowed to take one of the furs from the pile. It would be nice to hold the scent tucked up under my chin when I rest. I will ask.

It was unexpected. Jael has labored to keep spaces about her, though for the most part it has not been necessary.

But it was nice. Jael has never had a mirror before.

Though I have always held them with high respect, I have to admit that I don't always understand Warriors. Especially the Iron Knights. They are often decisive, precise, pragmatic, strong. Sure of themselves and their opinions. I always feel safer when I see their unmistakeable footprints near, and do not doubt their loyalty and dedication, not in the least. But I find it hard to follow their logic, at times. It doesn't make them wrong, not at all.

I stumbled across the demon, but he would not engage me, so especially after all the warnings to be vigilant in the raids, I stood guard over him until someone came. Synvasti soon joined me, and we watched a young Cleric dispatch him without difficulty. Quickly healing her, she introduced herself, and her name stirred something that I couldn't immediately pin down. So I followed her into Milltown to find her engaged in explanations to a gathering crowd.

She was the on they had told me about, the one turned to ash! Yet there she was standing before us, alive and well. She and my guild mate, Akassa, told those of us gathered of what had happened to them, stunning us into many thoughts, provoking speculations, stirring up considerations. There was, it seemed at first, differing thoughts of how to proceed from this point but it soon became apparent that there was more agreement than discord.

Sorryn spoke of prayer, questioning what could stand against us with the gods ever watching over us, and the remembrance of the Purification Ceremony was brought up. My heart moved within me. She was right. Strength and force does not always prevail on its own.

Her voice was lyrical, even if she wasn't actually singing, it sounded like a song. Her note said Low thought we should meet, and when we actually did, it was disorienting to finally find someone else who looked like me. An awful lot like me. No one looks like Jael here. I'd gotten used to that.

So when Low asked us both, in jest, of course, we group-smooched him, catching him off guard. I told him, then, that the cost for this historic gift was to decide which of us were prettiest. He tried, not real hard, we were, after all, nearly identical in looks, and he left without a final verdict, but I realized as the evening wore on that he really needn't have thought too hard on it. She was!

After many wandered back out of the Inn, she began to tell Topaz & me of her home, of the curious customs and creatures, one of which really caught our attention. As described, it seemed similar to a lizard, and yet the more she told of it, lizard seemed too plebeian. Topaz suggested a dragon, which seemed more fitting. But dragons are not small, and I'm not sure how smart they are.

Perhaps it was the Brewsky, perhaps the dulcet cadence of her voice, or the absorbing image of the color changing Zostre. Or maybe the sense of kinship that seemed to circle me like a winter cloak. I followed her to her guildhall, fell asleep in the sand and dreamed of a place I cannot remember.

The sweet surprise seemed mutual, finding the Lady Ellyana, and finding her awake in a portion of the hall I thought I had already checked. My joy tinged only by the worry of noting her unsteadiness. I did not ask, it is not my place to do so, but I wonder what has wearied her so that she could not remain on her feet for long. Still, she is a lovely as ever, as vibrant and pure. She spoke of her Beloved and the strength of their love, undimmed by the scant time they share together. I do not doubt it whatsoever. Not for a splitmarc.

Quietly she blessed my ring with a blessing I'd not ever seen before, and infused more than soft glowing into my being. I want to hear how she learned of such, wanted to hear much of what she has seen and heard and knows. I noted more that seemed new and unique and precious, and had all I could do not to beg her refrain from her rest so that she could tell me of all, though I could not begrudge here the rest she richly deserves. It will have to wait, and will be worthy of the wait, of that I'm certain.

I saw her feathery lashes settle to close out the light, and a with still a faint concern, decided to watch over her for a time. She was safe here, true enough. I realized, as I wished I could infuse her with a bit of strength, that I perhaps drew more strength from her, even as she rested, than I could ever give I return.

For not the first time since encountering her, my eyes misted as I saw she still bears the simple ribbon given long ago, surprised that it was not more tattered. I tugged ever so gently at a curl of her glossy hair with fondness, her lips drew up into a small smile.

She had spoke of new guildbrethren, and greetings had soon come from Darklotus, who has grown much since we hunted together in the Tombs. There were other greetings, some bearing news of the Door to Altitan. And the one that had willed Jael awake again ...

I do not remember so much embracing, from so many, nor so freely given. Would that they could know how it deepens the roots of connection to anchor Jael once again, each touch a tender tether.

Now, to train again. Or rather, to gather more plat. It is necessary. But perhaps first, to go see the Door.

I woke to an empty Inn, though mirth & melody seemed to hang still in the air like the sweet & sour scent of ancient ale that still stains the weapon-nicked wood of the tables. With dizzying speed, the first greeting came, that from my guild-brother, Pallas, and that one of kind delight, to my relief, devoid of any justifiable reprimand for an abstract absence. I half expected to have fallen into mist and memory, or met eyes frosted with overtones of questionings. Not so. Not from Pallas.

At his urging, I gathered my wits and meager belongings, after a curious rummage through my pack that left me shaking my head, and meandered to the guildhall to view the expansions he hinted at. I didn't get far. With the stealth that only Rogues have mastered, he slipped in behind me, apologizing for the startling and offering to affix bells on his hems as warning, to which I advised against.

I freely admit to being entirely enchanted by the fire rocks, and am certain the place will be a ready refuge when warmth is needed, within and without, and I'm quite certain the Lady had much to do with the design, if not all. And the meadow ...

Another message came, abrupt insistence to come to the doors of Altitan, but without context and against wisdom, I declined, and soon Lowrenzo arrived as well, enfolding my boney frame into one of his encompassing embraces and stealing his trademark smooch before I could dodge it. He never fails to coax laughter from dark Jael. From all, I wager, all but the monsters and the jaded.

I should have gone to him at his beckon, I learned later.

It is good to stir again, to waken. I feel as if I've traveled a trail too near a rain-weakened slope that has given way, covering it, and I no longer wish to return to remove a single stone.

I feel as if there rests within me a fire stone of my own, a life source to warm me.

I noticed her pass by, and began to follow even before the Crier urged us to. The crowd swelled, naturally, and I hurried word to Tarryn to come into Milltown. She was understandably in awe. Soon Isoyami came too, and there was a note sent to me to "come quickly to Milltown", at which I had to smile, now fully certain that I am generally invisible. As Tyandra tapped the ground to gain attention, I wasn't certain if it was my imagination that the earth shook beneath us.

Naridith allowed me to Bless her for training to regain the levels lost, and I watched the spiders skitter past as I stood in awe at her words back to me, that she "wasn't aware that there were those who actually enjoyed making people 'sparkle'". I explained that few things bring more joy than to know there are those who carry my enchantments. I did not choose to be a Cleric, it stains deep into my bones.

We discussed this as a guild, each offering our thoughts on it, referring as well to Urkki's ... when and to whom to give Blessings, is it ever right to say "no", should we ask coin in return, and so forth. Each will have their own view on the matter, what one can live with.

I've decided that since I cannot seem to remain awake long enough to properly Mentor any, much less Sponsor, as dearly as I would love to, I shall do what I can to support those who can. There are usually gifts given, and it costs, not only time lost to training, but purchasing gifts. I'll never be rich, but can give what I can. Perhaps, vicariously, I can feel useful in the retention of good souls to our cause.

I found myself telling someone who asked how I was, that I felt like a crystal on the ground .... pulsating with life and a passion of Light. Yet untouched by any hand. I shall keep the Pendant Nael gave me glowing whenever I'm awake. It doesn't seem to weaken me overmuch to have exchanged it for my Amulet, at least not what I am battling these marcs.

I passed along the Ring of Hope to Desarae. It seems more appropriate that she have it.

I hadn't thought I'd wake at all, much less in time. I missed the lion's share of it, yet in time to hear my guildmates chatter about Anu's multiple portals! I had to see, and raced to the place in time to watch the last one fade. Soon there was another one, and one by one, everyone left through it! Not even sure where they were going, yet always intrigued by portals, I stepped through as well. My feet slowed, hesitant to find myself swallowed in a crowd again. And I'd no gifts to give them. Suddenly, he was there, surprising me by not simply scurrying past like everyone else. He gently encouraged me to come, even offered his arm.

I'd have hated to missed hearing his toast to the Newlybondeds.

Actually, I don't know what I'd do without him lately, our Leader. I guess that's what the best Leaders do. I forget, too, how good of trackers Rogues are, as he found me near the hunting grounds he has been fighting in, and put one of his lockpicks to good use on my Prize Box. I tried to give it to him, the Amulet, but he said he had no need of it. I'll give it to Azure. She'll find someone in perfect need, I'm sure. I still have the one she gave me, still haven't gone to the forge with her as I promised.

That's a good goal. For now.

Do you hear that, Jael? It is the soft sliding hisss of the crack re-sealing, and things settling back to as they have been.

So she is not to be a Sponsoresse, it would seem, this Jael. The disappointment of it feels like claws inside.

There must have been a wrinkle in the universe this past day… or more likely a full blown crack! For a Jael to go from marc upon marc upon multiplied marc, more marcs than she can count, more marcs than seemed reasonable… to go from luckless try to luckless trying so often that it seemed as if fate deemed it firmly destined out of her reach … to have the cord of her goal stretched as thin as the gossamer of spider’s silk … to not only finally “finally” learn the Blue Blessing she has wanted to learn for ever so long, but also to hear the good news from Azure that she should “choose a prize” …

It’s not that the days have been without warm spaces here and there. Low asked Jael to “wish him luck” and how could she not laugh? He would not want her “luck”, no sir. I’m thinking somehow he knew to ask on this specific Lucky Day, so she ended up wishing him so anyway. Not that he needs it. Even if it means he must not steal smooches anymore …

There was the unfolding morning when the crystally grit of sand caked the moist cracks of her loosely fisted hands, as if to imprint itself into her flesh. One breezy night less lonely for a marc or so.

And then, the next spent resting with smiling cheek resting against the cool wood of the ale scented table, another small dream soon to be realized, to enter the temple once more. Something a Jael is not often asked to do.

More beautifully unsettling, the call to make excuses to leave the Inn, to come, to listen, to promise to help… to help? Jael, of all people? She declines at first, gently and with protest, but then relents, says she will do her best. Something disturbs her someplace deep inside, and it is not humility, however false or not, or inadequacy, however apt. She realizes, after much afterthought, that she herself has learned to distance too. To unfold only so far.

We hate the cold
Yet we unfold
Only so far….

As a tiny new rose
Hesitates to expose
What could be

Still, is has been a good day.

Pallas invited me to open my incredibly rare treasure box in the Rogue's Lair beneath our guildhall, and I was delighted to find Myst had followed me in. I realized as we bantered while he opened it that it was pretty historic for me. Not only the box, but to find a knot of us together in our hall at one time. Awake. The pleasantness of the few moments we shared there blunted the disappointment of what the box held.

When the conversation drifted to the topic of bondings, as it seems to quite often lately, I felt the old tenseness begin to tighten my muscles, and the prize from my box, a garnet ring, bit into my calloused palms as I kept myself from rudely clapping my hands over my ears. It seemed even more glaringly meaningless as Pallas gazed down at the similar one on his powerful hand, and my heart ached at the longing he hinted of for the giver. As soon as was politely possible, I found my way back to the familiarity of the spiders.

But not before bringing the Blue Crystal to the statue to find out if the hard won jewel would reward me with the Blessing I have been seeking for so long. Without ceremony, and quite without great emotion, I inserted it, only to stare at the fifth parchment identical to the first I'd once been so eager to learn. The gods surely find me lacking in understanding of the power of Light, it would seem.

For a precious dozen marcs or so, I held both box and crystal with such high hopes. It felt so good.

The unraveling day was hemmed with my unreasonable end of another conversation I regretted, and I retreated to the depths of the spiders' lair to try and piece my heart together. I counted each breath until they were as measured as the sea's rythmn, until it filled the deafening silence of the littered darkness. I drew out my Holy Ring and peered into it, reminding myself of the power of Light, and invoked that very power to heal and stop the bleeding of anyone in the area ... which was only myself. It seeped and saturated and permeated deep into the empty spaces I'd allowed to tear loose ... and it filled me, like Ethucan wine poured into a glass, leaving room for nothing else.

There was startled skittering as mushrooming laughter bubbled to the surface. I slept, then, without dreaming whatsoever.

Sometimes, no matter how prepared you think you are, how braced and on guard, how blessed and bright and fully armored, no matter how keenly sensitive you are to your surroundings and your own weaknesses, or alert to the traps you sense may be laid for the unwary and unsuspecting ….
Sometimes you still find yourself bleeding for no apparent cause …

sometimes the breath and life is simply knocked clean out of you, and you find yourself at a Life Monument, perplexed and aching.

And sometimes it’s the best thing that could happen to you.

Sometimes …

I've been sorting through the items that bulge from my bank account. Some things, such as the Templeforged Armour that was passed along to Myst, have been useful and valuable by nearly any measure, and are happily back in use. I am sadly mystified as to why I've kept other things, and try as I might, I can't remember who gave them, or what they signified to me at one time. I withdrew some things, intending to sell them and give the plat to a good cause. But I found I couldn't just sell them. They were gifts, and should not be sold. Not that they mean a thing to those I've slipped them to.

There is a time to save and a time when it may not only be impractical, but detrimental to do so. And not only because there isn't space for hoarding anymore. Clinging to things that may or may not be woven into the fabric of who I am and have become can become knots that tangle and impede. They can choke me, and silence me.

And yet, there will always be things that I carry that won't make a bit of sense.

I was dazzlingly delighted to have the luck to awake JUST in time to hear the echo of the Crier still reverberating Guildsister Darklotus Myst's name, and scurried to find her. More luck prevailed that I didn't have many steps to do so. I owe her more than a costly coating of metal, but it makes me happy to see her wear it.

Someone asked me why I joined with the Twilight Serenity. To be honest, it was more than anything because of Nael. So to find out that he had just narrowly left the guild before I sloughed off the Long Sleep was disheartening and inexplicable. I plied him until he explained the best he could, and I had no choice but to accept it. But the guildfolk have grown more precious to me each day. There is never explicit dischord that I can detect, and it is seasoned with a good mix of wit and wisdom. Our Leader is honorable and kind, and possesses an intelligence and great knowledge of things that I highly admire. Sometimes it seems as if he keeps a step between any real closeness to anyone, but I sense that he has invested the warmest part of himself into his Beloved and is fiercely determined that only she sees those parts of his heart that are meant for her alone. He is, after all, a Rogue.

It's immeasurably comforting to have someone to whom I can liquify myself and pour a small part of my heart as if it were finely ground diamond dust into the creases of his robes for snatches now and then, knowing there isn't the tiniest flicker of possessiveness or demand for ownership, implied or not. I've owned too much and do not wish to own more. There is Light within that sustains, a force of Life that gives real strength. But it glows more brightly with added friendships.

Such as Desarae. One more ally as well as inspiration in my prolonged search for one more Blessing learned!

Brisingr Blaze was one of the first to not only greet me when I awoke after my long sleep, but also the first to seek me out and sit near. He's still one of the kindest souls I know, and warms me at each greeting sent. I am weaving more and more new friends into the network of my life, some will forever remain mere acquaintances, but others promise to become knotted more securely. I do not entice them intentionally, as I have seen the spiders entrap their prey in their hopeless webbing, but it seems natural to gather them.

None seems as natural as Isoyami. He is as a dear dear brother, as if stitched into the deep places of my heart since birth. I shake my head at his pranksterings, swell with pride at his many hard-won accomplishments and goals achieved, smile at his uncanny luck, choke back full throttled laughter at his wit, sigh with a shared frustration with the Blue Guardians ... but he catches me off guard with the beauty he allows to escape now and then. Who cannot love beautiful things.

I realized that there is motion inside me these days, even when I am still and motionless. Even when I am dead asleep. I close my eyes and see the bearded gold of ripe grain bobbing in the summer zephyrs. I hear the sssssis sssiiiiis ssssisss of tiny sand bits as they shift in the salted winds. There is the faint tinkle of icy crystals in the frozen airs of the upper mountains when the snows are pried out of the clouds or off their resting places in the heights of the trees or across the rippled drifts. Even in the stale, cushioned silence of the underground spaces, there is a motion .... even if it is nothing more than ancient dust disturbed in passing, and then falling again into tense layers. The sound of your own sweet breath may be all you need to hear to remind you you're not yet dead.

I'm still carrying around some of the foodstuffs Anu made for me, although I have started tucking them into deserving packs. Or at least I have decided they look like they could use a bit more flesh on their bones! It's amazing how many gaunt, almost skeletal folks there are here. Perhaps they train too hard?

"There once was a woman named Jael...
With a smile through life she would sail.
We'd see her one day,
But needs must go away.
But tis a favor to pick up her trail."

It seems my narcoleptic tendencies have proved to be a muse for Azure ....

I don't think the Guardians listened as well to this bit of verse as her usual Blue Hunting Song, though. I didn't dare tell Azure, but .... I'd rather have this scrap of verse than a dozen glowing Blue Crystals!

Sail .... I watched the ships off the southernmost tip of the sandy beach near the estuary for a goodly long time several marcs ago. Slept there, in fact, my robes dusted with a light crusting of salt when I woke to the sound of one single raid .... about as far away as possible. I hesitated, chuckling at my uncanny ability to be in about the wrongest place possible, as usual. But I girded up and set out just the same, and found to my amazement that none else had yet taken care of the demons threatening the citizens. It was odd to fight alone.

Back to the spiders! If there were a crown for Spidery Persistence, I do believe I'd at least be in the running!

I think I was looking for my guildmate, Lav, to bless her up for battle. Yes, bless her, I'm sure that was it, bless her. But I couldn't find her. So I eventually wandered north until I found myself vaguely lost. And then, there they were.

I hadn't noticed them before. Maybe they are new? Still, not new enough that I shouldn't have seen them. Their color captured me, pinning me down in quiet awe. So much so that I didn't notice the Rogue nearby until she said "hello". I whirled to return the greeting, but not before she slipped something into my pack.

She followed my gaze to the little red blossoms, agreed they were pretty, and quietly intoned that she would never dare pick one. I most heartily agreed, especially where they were planted. She observed that they were very rare here. I mistook her meaning, thinking "here" meant where we stood. She meant "here', in Valorn, in general. She went on to list the few places she'd found them.

I disagreed, asking her if she's yet been to Verthedge? She asked what kind grew there, she'd only seen thistles. I'd always thought of thistles as flowers too, and told her they were more than prickles and barbs. Mean flowers, true.

I've continued to think about flowers since then, mostly just before falling asleep. There are the roses in the Southern Plains, yes. Many seem to learn of them early in their training. They were the very first place I went to go check on when I woke again, and I admit I held my breath all the way there. They seem to still thrive, against all odds.

I am so glad.

I used to think they were useless. Flowers. You can't eat them, not normally. They are usually delicate and fragile. They die quickly once they are picked. They don't bloom very long. Usually.

But they feed the soul. It's their rarity that blesses us. Richly.

But they are not mine. I can feast on them with my senses. I can let the cool, silken petals curl and fit perfectly over my old, calloused fingertips for a stolen moment now and then when I need them to. I can think about them, just before I sleep. But I must leave them where they are.

Where they belong.

Can it truly be there are so few? I had always had a sense that they were everywhere. But she's right. They aren't.

It's like a new birth, like a baptism of a sort, this re-awakening after the echoing darkness of a very long sleep. Much has changed. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. It's very very good to be alive!

One of the best changes of all was to stumble across the Mineral Pool beneath my Guildhall. It's as if my circling dreams sprang to life, as if the designer of the pool consulted me first, and asked what I would have desired most for it to have. And so I rest there when I most need the refreshment and healing of the waters. Although doing so means suffering the prankstering of my lively Guildmates who seem to find great delight in making sure I can hardly move once I venture off to the Webs again! I don't often notice, never having been observant of things I should most be observant towards, much to my embarassment! Azure exercised more patience than I deserved while she waited to tuck several WP's into my keeping as I first had to tip my pack over and give it a good shake.

And there, on the floor, lay the most insignificant item of all, among the myriad of colorful clothing and toy-like weapons. But the most treasured.

I have trained a small amount, but find myself almost automatically drawn back to the Lair, over and over again. I must become better at asking others to hunt with me, it makes the effort infinitely more enjoyable, and I usually peer into the darkness when I enter in the dearest hope of finding fresh footprints. Human, that is. They are often impossible to see among the soft rubble of webs that litter the cave floor. But I can often hear their voices. And I cannot help but smile when I hear the lilting song of the Blue Knight. She has a most uncanny knack for stirring up the Guardians I need most.

But I am most often alone among the Spiders. I've learned to ignore their crass skittering, for they hold little power against me now. Still, I never faulter in my admiration of their handiwork. It reminds me of the connectedness of the Adventurers and the gods and the evil we fight, woven together as it is.... sometimes with incredible strength and resilience, sometimes with such gossamer delicacy that it is as if there is nothing there at all to hold it in place.

Last night we celebrated in the Dundee Inn. Awai Isoyami arrived with Anu, freshly triumphant in securing Isoyami's Aegis Crystal after a heartbreakingly fierce battle with the demons below. Anu seemed exhausted, moreso than he has normally experienced with offering aid to others. To hear them tell of it gave me shivers, and stirred faint remembrance of my own fight in the Abyss. Iso could never have succeeded without the Enchanter's help. A strong web knotted together by need. A victory well worth celebrating!

But not enough to drink ale! Kaballoi rescued me from almost making THAT mistake!

..... Perfect .....

I'm going to tuck it in here, or I'll surely end up losing it before I ever get a chance to give it to Lowrenzo . .

I found the marks you left behind,
Round spots in the sand . . .
Were they drawn with hesitation?
Some oblique communication?
Unintended hieroglyphs,
A puzzle by the sea
You left for me?

I'm not sure I understand
These circles in the sand . . .
Were they etched by hand?
Imprints unplanned?
A hint of something grand?
Or destined to remand?

Though I try my best
A meaning from them wrest,
I have this sneaking hunch it’s where you
Set your mug to rest.

The 'curse' is broken!! OK, not really a curse . . dearth, is perhaps a better word? Crystal drought. Yes . . but no, not now. Just one spider in my way upon waking before the Guardian nonchalantly gave up the precious prize. Just like that. I'm sure others will be less difficult to find. Surely there is a law . . the law of averages, if nothing more ethereal and shrouded in mystery.

But now Jael must be careful next time to not let the magnificent image of the Great Ben intimidate her into giving him her precious Crystal. Much as Jael wishes dearly and truly to shake the heavens and spin Portals to distant places, the scroll was beyond her ken.

*purses her lips resolutely*

Ah, but there is the delicious prospect of a poem promised . . which is not taxing to her little mind at all, but deeply engaging to her heart. *smiles* Even if it is not for competition, nor to impress 'n' dazzle . . just lighthearted fun. Dessert after a bland meal.

Speaking of portals . . and light hearts . . Jael sensed a rare awakening, and scribbled hurried greetings to a very old old friend. Not a wasted day at'all.

I must confess that my spirits flagged a little when I heard that I'd so narrowly missed the Induction for Lilly Quinn, and found many of my new guildbrethren just barely asleep. She will fit in well, no doubt about that. I'm happy for her.

Mercifully, finding myself in low spirits has become the exception rather than the norm these days. My head works in odd ways . . often a single word will become lodged in the flow of thoughts, like a branch in a stream, catching debris and rechanneling the waters around it until I divert some attention to it. Strangely enough, innocently used, "inverted" sprang out of the conversational flow to snag itself to prominence lately. I had to think about what it meant . . reversal, to turn something inside out, or upside down . . or even outside in. Like deciding to put your tunic on with the soft side outwards . . or tip your mug over, preventing it be filled with something you don't like. Or, if your mug is usually tipped upside down, as I suspect is more common than folks think, to right it, and allow it to be filled.

So inverted it is. Like a game, really. Invert what is unpleasant and it becomes pleasant. Invert the gloom and it becomes soft light. Invert the long stretches of lucklessness, and it is bound to improve. Invert whatever can be inverted, and whatever cannot, cannot.

I dwell among the spiders almost to exclusion now, awaiting enough help awake during the fractured hours that I keep . . help to battle the things too great for me alone, things that growl so ominously beneath the Inn. And though alone, I am never truly so.

"You should start a journal" they said. I didn't have the heart to tell them I have since I arrived . . but have often found myself frustratingly muzzled when it came to adding anything to it, especially lately. Almost as if I'm allergic to your pages . .

As someone else once said, "To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go." When you learn to let go without losing so much of yourself in the farewells, there are chances for tasting life fully. One must grow into a healthy self-containment . . flesh that is neither tissue thin, nor so thick that nothing will pierce it.

In choosing one thing, you necessitate not choosing a thousand other equally good things. Is it truly destiny that we come to find ourselves where we are . . always a matter of pointed choosing . . or does something beyond and above and even outside of us guide us?

*simply* I am now bound to the fate of the Twilight Serenity . .

Journal, this lack of words is not like me. May something shake them loose again. like ripe rosy apples in harvest . .

I had thought a good dose of Topaz's poetry would have been the perfect balm to my foolishness, but as it turned out, it was the sear of Night Smoke on a very empty, raw stomach that was exactly what I needed.

It'll take a while to heal.

I have found myself often in waiting. Sometimes it seemed as if it were all I could do. I have backed myself into corners of waiting, have had waiting thrust upon me, chose it, detested it . . acquiesced . . and even accepted it. It has sunken into my being like deep draughts of wine, quaffed until one’s head spins . . or sleep overwhelms. Or peace comes.

There were such high dreams for the Company, and I don’t know if they were ever achievable. I will always think they were, and secretly continue to hope for such. Krakyn and Marron know perfectly well that in ending my indecision, I have in no way ended my deep fondness for each of them. Their merry and mischievous laughter could brighten the spirits of the demons themselves, I swear. Good souls, both, to the very bone.

There are blessings in waiting that cannot be granted any other way. But as armor well worn and even beloved, there are times to seek something more suited.

Imagine a gangly dark Cleric trying to decide whether to dance or sing (heaven forbid) or yodel from the hilltops or tug fervently at the sleeve of everyone she knows who will bear her yammering . . . . or faint . . . or more likely, cry . .

. . . because she finally finally has her UW!!

One Ingot in the bank, stashed there so long ago I can't remember how . . the second from a Treasure Box the two of us opened together, Nael NocTyrn and I (try to imagine our stunned faces!) . . and the third an absolute total surprise, sneaked into my pack while I slept by the combined efforts of Mr and Mrs Spyne/Zezelee . . . Where on earth they ever dug up a droppable Ingot will remain theirs alone to know, since Rogues never tell?!

Bless their dear dear dear souls . .

What happens to all those treasure boxes when they are opened and emptied?

I kept my last one . . or at least I think I did. I wanted to, so perhaps the wanting is making it real? It’s not like I dig in my pack to check on it. I just know it’s there.

Though I am running out of space with all the silver I’ve accumulated while farming . . so much silver that I fear the weight my burgeoning pack is leaving a rather odd trail behind me in the desert. Not that any trails remain for long, since it has been incredibly crowded of late, crisscrossed constantly. There are so many approximately my level that it’s no wonder I am having such a time with the last ingot.

I have overcome the queasy sense of faint irreverence in plying Nael’s latest gift against the desert adversaries . . certain that the arid clime must have desiccated the sugary pastry into a formidable enough weapon that it does not cost me a drop of potions. Perhaps I have displeased fate, as no matter how many guardians I find, I find naught but dulls. But I am by no means entirely luckless, and am still in full awe that my rather unglamorous going away gifts should have invoked such rich insights by my fellow Cleric. I am fearful of opening his tome too often and despoiling the fragile looking pages, but he did invite me to look . . and I . . I find something new everytime I explore . . sense sermons of gentle reprimand . . and more broad spectrums of further healing and tensile peace than I dare hope.

It’s almost ironic that it has taken someone so . . cold . . to kindle faith in me again. Eh, not faith IN me, not that he has faith in me . . well, yes he does seem to, come to think of it, but that’s not what I meant . . and actually, Azure said the same thing . . that she has faith in me, faith that I can do it. I had long ago decided it would take too much asking for help to ever think of gaining my Ultimate Weapon. At nearly every juncture of whatever one might consider landmark achievements, there has been the hope that the Company’s founder would be there to tease me as to why it took me so long . . . before eventually praising my efforts. As he once did.

I’d given up on that as well. And in the giving up, the letting go, there has been a measure of peace. Still, you simply cannot do everything alone. I don’t wake often, can’t keep these eyes of mine open long whenever I do waken. I’ve even asked several Enchanters if they could concoct a spell to thwart this tendency . . . Song has long ago gotten used to the far-flung notes, of not seeing me for countless marcs. The Cold One seems to be accepting it as well, though I catch a sadness in him to which I think I have added. I understand sadness all too well. And alone-ness. It’s not so bad, really. You can get used to anything if you put your mind to it. Even if you bring it on yourself.

Faith. He makes it sound like it’s an entity unto itself. I have always thought it had to be aimed rightly to be worth anything. Maybe I’ve been wrong. Maybe it’s more like a germ inside a plant, a life-source. Not fed by anything outside . . or fed, yes, nurtured by sun and rain and warmth. But only as good as the germ itself? He said to nurture my faith. When I thought about it, I think that is what I’ve been doing all along . . . or I would have stopped waking altogether. Yes?

Evil has a reprobate sort of faith, or it would lose heart and give in to the Light. I don’t consider myself evil. But is it evil to be so guarded all the time? I suppose that’s where the balance comes in . . . and I think I am finding it.

So . . I farm with a purpose. More purpose, to be exact. I have a goal, and someone who cares more than I do that I see it realized. It feels selfish, though, not to gift away every valuable scroll and . . and especially the box of contention. I cannot accept it back, no matter how sad it makes the holder. It is given, and one should not return gifts. I wish he could understand.

But he’s right too. We steal joy when we don’t allow others to give as well. Heh. Clerics . . .

I will forever look back with fondness on that dark morning.

There are places where not even the faintest of paths can be found, and others worn so deeply by millennia of travel . . where no one dares deviate even slightly. We pride ourselves on being unique at something or other, hoping to stand out above or at least apart from everyone else. But there are paths within paths, and wider paths still. And often fear is what keeps us on the paths we take.

It is not only a small child who can be fooled into thinking that quantity is better. Offer her a choice between five silver coins or one gold, and she will most likely opt for the five, though eye you with suspicion. We learn, we don’t always know best, even when inexorably sincere.

The wind had died as steadily as the day had, and it seemed as if the sun was pulling down the last of hope with it into the serrated horizon. Even the beauty of the lavender striations was lost on me. Me. It always seemed to be about me, in the end. And it was never enough. Nothing was ever enough.

The utter darkness seemed to be presenting a decision that could no longer be ignored. Choose, or continue to lose. The night draped around me like a cloak, woven of the threads of all I had already lost. I fought the weight of it pressing down upon me, though there was nothing to push against. Lighter than silken webs, heavier than death.

There is really no way to explain it. Towards the arc of morning, the jagged hills seemed to insist on the birthing of the moon. The growing brilliance, though only the reflected glory of the sun, so ripe with resilient buoyancy. Luminous and ancient and ageless and immutable. Undeniable. It suddenly seemed so easy. Hand it over. Give up. Trust in the Song.

And so it sings within, and even the oldest of paths are no longer tedious.

And joy is easier than sorrow.

I’d been carrying the ice crystal since I picked it up in the Inn, dropped, I am fairly certain, by BB Onyx after Miranda declared her offering in an impromtu contest the most pleasing. It was about the most beautiful thing in all Valorn . . again, I think I am correct, my memory of it is fading. If ever I could have wished to wake sooner, that would have been the night. Although I would have been extremely hard pressed to settle on just one thing to deem the MOST beautiful. The crystal is beautiful, and amazingly enough, has borne the many days of jostling in my pack with little wear.

I neglected to tell the Warrior I handed it to the other day that it was meant to soothe the calluses I noted on her strong hands, although it was perhaps an intentional omission. I have a feeling she may have taken offense at such a gesture if she’d sensed I thought her weak. Her hands looked like they hurt . . well, not only her hands. Perhaps her posture betrayed the state of her heart, or maybe the way her eyes would simply not blossom into a full smile. But then, why should they to a total stranger?

For a dessert dweller as I have been accustomed to most of my life, the lure of the sea is rather overly romanticized to my imaginings. I am simply more at ease with the familiarity of arid landscapes, brutal as they can be. Still, his gift of the shell reminded me that venturing beyond what we know with concrete certainty isn’t always so terribly dangerous. It is just a shell. The silken surface smooth to the sensitive touch of my fingers and surprisingly cool against my lips as I set it gently against them . . . yet even more startling was the faint sound of his voice echoing from deep inside the hollow channel of the shell when I pressed it against my ear. At least I would swear it his.

We’ve tried very hard, several days now, Marron and I, to wake at the same time in order to face one set of Challenger or another, yet have not succeeded. It seems puzzling that it must be so difficult. Yet it seems to be. I passed a goodly number of marcs one eve in the disquieting presence of the Great Knight, the sober one. My nervousness slowly dissolved as we waited, his kindness extended several times my way. Just he and I. I tried remaining as quiet as I could while he poured over his studies, writing an occasional note, alternating with long moments of brushing at and teasing the thick pelt of Mammoth hide that I have taken to wrap myself with. Not especially attractive, I readily admit, yet I think it makes me look slightly more fearsome to the enemies I’ve been battling. No one has laughed outright at my suddenly increased bulk. Not that I’ve noticed, at least.

Alas . . and alas. The halted construction of the Company’s camp has begun to become overrun with weeds and dust. I pluck and pull now and then, and puff and putter, and sometimes pester Marron to reassure me she has no thoughts yet either of leaving. I’m fairly certain I’d be a strong contender for the largest collection of guild tags here in these lands, and can just imagine trying to apply to yet another guild. I could see myself standing there, twisting a tangle of Mammoth hair in my hands, meekly attempting to meet the righteously indignant and justifiably hesitant stares. “And just why should we, Miss Bletsung, have any faith that you would remain any more loyal to OUR guild than you have any of the previous ones you’ve adhered to? Your longevity seems somewhat lacking.”

So I pray with steady fervency that Cyno will return and take up again the mantle of responsibility that he is destined to fulfill. I will no longer despair, but do whatever my hands find fit to do until that day.

Or until I am released in my heart and by Cyno's express direction to go elsewhere.