Sometimes a simple break for a cold drink with a friend is enough to renew some perspective on life.
If I could spend my time ever that way I would, but one must train. Especially when that one is slow to visit the trainers anyway.

Frightful times, but haven't they ever been so?

Every time I wake it is to the criers call of raids that harry the towns.
Small, inconsistent, seemingly random raids.
After the massive attacks I've seen, I should consider these a respite. And yet...I consider them all the more frightening. Either the more powerful beasts are being reserved for some purpose, or some-thing seeks to distract us with the petty attacks.
I do not favor either option.

Though I missed much of the meeting in Branishor, I've heard tid-bits and rumors. I've meant to corner Viv and ask her about some things but I've yet to find a good time to do so. Of any in the Order I know, her I feel the most comfortable in talking to.

From what I hear, opening the doorway and jumping in seems to be a favored notion. Before I left I'd heard some question if there was any other information to be found regarding the era in which those fighters took the 'weapon' into the doorway but I don't think anything is actually known. Pardon me if I sound the coward, but I'd hope we know a bit more before we callously throw lives into Deaths maw.

I've my Royal Crystal back now, thanks to Lucy and 'Tasha, and I oft find myself worrying the crest with my thumb. I'm glad to have my talisman, such as it is, back with me. A reminder, and a promise.

All there is left is to dig; I"m convinced there must be something else in the remaining site. Something to help us gain more insight into how to fight.

Training...a practice that I was never all that fond of doing before my time away. Back then, I'd make a mockery of myself in telling others how lazy and slow I was. I'd laugh as I told them that I wasn't very good at training, that there was no point really in trying. I helped fight where I could and never even cared to think I'd one day be able to do more.

And now, I train so much. But feel as though I get no where. I've spent endless marcs with daggers and blades in the Lair. Certain things come back to me in muscle memory. But in some moves, I hesitate and wait for clarity that will never come. Wait for feedback from vision that isn't what it once was. And those moments of hesitation could be my death. Or another's.

Now I make a joke of it myself again, the lack of training and skill, but behind it is pain and fear. As I watch more and more raids and see tendrils, darkness, and know I am helpless. As I dodge the tendrils from the plateau again and again in my dreams and hear the cry of that volunteer perishing in the dig below.

I have never been much of a "Godly" person. I've seen Gods. Sung for them even. But I was never one for praying to them. And since my time away, I'd mostly pushed them out of mind and hoped that their vision didn't stretch to see my failure and my weakness in leaving, and in the questionable things I did while away. Perhaps that is why my vision never healed; perhaps my shame wasn't punishment enough in their eyes.

I was weak once before, but now I hope to be strong. I hope...and perhaps with some help, I could pray.

Life and Death... Sometimes I believe I think too much. Far too much for a plain rogue who used to be a street rat.

But after advancing through the mountains, taking kicks from centaurs along the way, and getting to the dig - there were too many things, so fast, that now bear some reflection.

I watched volunteers trek through the mountains in a frightened huddle; like a herd of bos. Perhaps unkind of me to think so, but I watched one snap in fear and run off to gods know where. And part of me could not help but feel contempt for the coward, and immediately following, shame for such a thought. I think my heart has perhaps hardened a bit from how I first felt here. I understand that mans fear; but I know there is no room for such in this world, in the things we adventurers face.

I remember trying to get down to the western dig in a violent haze, blades slashing and tendrils slipping along the ground like poisonous vipers. I remember dodging around everyone elses movements, avoiding the tendrils myself. I remember sliding down into the dig, spotting red splashes and thinking nothing of it at first.

And then everything crystallized in a moment of clarity and I saw the emotions flickering across Brou's face. I saw the stark fear in the faces of the remaining diggers as others came down to dispatch the demons. And I saw the torn remains of the body on the ground.

I couldn't think immediately why the body, the sight of that body, evoked a well of sorrow in my heart. It was just a body. How many times had I seen someones remains rain down from the sky when they took an ill planned trip through a cannon? Bodies were torn, and then they came back.

But this one wouldn't.

Whoever that man was, he wouldn't come back. He wouldn't jump up at a monument ready to go. His family wouldn't need to set a place for him at the dinner table anymore. Death had claimed him in an instant, and it was not to be undone.

Which made the translations that Quarrus read out in the other dig site all the more terrible. Death, held at bay by the Seals in the throne room. A weapon, and adventurers failed in detonating it. That dark, metallic hand reaching out ready to claim us all like that poor digger.

Some of us though are so numb to death anymore. Myself included in that. A trip to a monument is a simple inconvenience, not the end of a lifes journey.
Maybe it isn't supposed to be that way though.
Maybe we are the unnatural ones, holding back Death. holding him at bay with childish hands that don't want to face the end.
Maybe the darkness in me, the fear, wants to think so, wants to give up.
Or maybe...I just think too much.

Scraps of stories,
buried treasure?
Deeply hidden past.
How far down,
Whats the measure?
one poor seal to last.
So high above,
feel the zephyr?
Awed by lightening blast.
Keep on digging,
feel the pressure?
Adventurers amassed.

Sometimes my wandering takes my feet one way and my mind another. The strangeness of the world stops me for a moment and words must be written or lost forever...


O 'ware the twisted path
hushed murmers lead astray
wil 'o wisps beckon strangely
down to darkness and decay.

Watch the swirling shadows
don't get caught up in the dreams
disguised demons, poisoned thoughts
a mind is ripping at the seams.

Fear the darkness rising
Is it wings that block the light?
Or merely shadows, greedy gulping
swallowing us with wicked spite.

Time again where the days are dark more than light and the air is crisp and cold. Many slumber like the bears in the snow, hibernating until everything awakens once again. I find myself enjoying the stillness in the air and the hushed sounds in the earlier marcs of the day when most adventurers rest.

Excitement still simmers for Altitan, from what I see. I haven't gotten a chance yet myself to actually see anything - I should ask for a portal sometime - but I've heard it described enough to have an idea. I haven't heard any more about the 'helpful' guardians nor seen anything on it myself. I wonder what clerics and chanters would do if suddenly they were banned from attacking any guardians anymore? Imagine no more spells or blessings!

I find myself pondering relationships and connections often of late...perhaps because of all the emotional turmoil I see around me. Something happened when I was away, something thats shifted my perspective and view on people. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy company and sitting at the Inn with an ale. I treasure my friends and loved ones. But I feel reserved. One step withdrawn from it all, looking at everything from a far away perspective. Waiting for the ax to fall, waiting for any trust placed in others to prove false and misplaced. Maybe that is just what happens when you fight long enough, so you can stay strong.

Maybe the quiet here isn't all because of the cold. Maybe everyone waits like me, speculative and unsure. Waiting to see if the seals break, now that the wooden bars are destroyed. Waiting to see if anything comes from Altitan, so long quiet. Waiting to see what the bronze from the tunnels reveals. Waiting, waiting for The Darkness to make its move.

Wandering and training...little else to be done these days.

I stop by the Throne Room, often, and under the tunnels even more often. I have a scroll in case I need to get out quickly, but something, some compulsion makes me want to check down there more often. Its cold, and eerie, but I don't like the thought of whatever it is sitting down here unwatched either. Seeing as little else is happening other than the constant invasions in Caer I may as well do something useful.

I talked to Viv about some of my thoughts...even if they are foundless, can't hurt to search every avenue. I fished back in the depths of my mind for details I haven't tried to remember in ages but alas, I think my time spent away washed away more things than I remember.

I crawl into that old cell still, to read the comforting glowing script on the wall. Sometimes its easier to fall asleep knowing that few will venture there, and the memories of the Ceremony of Light are strongest. I wonder if anyone else still holds to the hope of that time...the sense of accomplishment and purpose. I wish I hadn't lost the Royal Crystal I once had but its long been sold off or stolen I'm sure.

The silver coin in my pocket is a comfort at least, and the image of the Sword well traced by my thumb. A pitiful talisman to be sure, but a touchstone of hope in my mind.

I often wonder what the Gods think when they look down upon us...if they are puzzled by the emotions that drive us humans.

Like children, they kick and scream
like animals they roar.
Like fiendish demons they sometimes seem
and their dramas often bore.

Tantrums ensue more often than not
and tempers often flare
Blood runs quick and scortching hot
and often they despair.

Trivialities become everything
whispered venom drips into ears
grasping hands with greed do cling
And they cower from baseless fears.

Is it any guess why gods do wonder
at what animals they are
for who are the demon's that plunder?
Is it humans, or those they deplore?

I have sat and thought back upon the past much lately. Especially with this festive season upon us, the first one I've gotten to enjoy in oh so long.

Mostly, dear journal, I've sat and walked through my memories in your pages.
And the thought I keep returning to after reading my past is simply how young I was, then. And how old I feel now.

I read the words here and the thought echoes in my mind....'I was only a child...'

~ I was only a child, maybe 7 or so summers to my name when the village was raided, the houses burned and my world crumbled.

~I was only a child when the Old Man took me in after that catastrophe, when he convinced me to talk again, and gave me a new name for my sweet voice, a name which I could use to separate me from the painful past.

~I was only a child when he passed away, mere summers later, and I was left, alone on the edge of the city. When I looked at the map of Valorn upon his cabin wall and decided I would try to go to Dundee, despite how far away I knew it was.

~I was only a child when I walked the dirty filthy streets of that nameless city. When the urchins on the street grabbed me from danger and death and gave me a place with their group. When I began to sing on streetcorners to distract passerby's from little grasping hands and sharp knifes separating plat pouches from owner. When I started to walk the rooftops and blend into shadows and break into homes.

~I was only a child when I took the plat and ran away, old enough to know that I could make it to Dundee now and foolish enough to think troubles would end there.

~I was only a child when I got here, even after I gained a sword, a home, a profession, love...I was a child playing an adult game and once shyness melted away I was thrilled by the trivial silly things of the world, and by my own skill and wit as a rogue.

~I was only a child when I broke hearts like one breaks an egg.

~I was only a child when I found a new place to call home, and ones who would welcome me with open arms into a newly formed guild.

~And I was only a child when I left it all, turned my back with barely a goodbye and walked away from it all with a troubled mind, a darkened soul and a burden that felt to heavy to bear.


I don't feel much like a child anymore, and I can look back on these things and so many more and feel that who I am today is no one to be ashamed of. All the pain, all the people whom I may have wronged...I hold them close to my heart. I try to never forget them. But I move on. And I look forward. And try to be the best version of myself that I can. One day I'm sure my tally of dark deeds will catch up to me...but I'll meet it with a grin, and see if I don't just laugh in the face of Death.

I probably shouldn't be staying down here. I know I've heard tell that its best to take a teleport scroll with you when you go, but I don't have one. I just wanted to go see, especially after talking with Tus. And after the talk in the Inn, about it being too quiet lately, and that being a bad sign. And especially after I went to go check on the door in the throne room, which I've done nearly every night before I take my rest, and seeing it bowed out and painted over.
Maybe its intuition or just a silly fancy but I feel as though strange things are afoot. And more than just festival silliness. It would be nice to enjoy a quiet fall fest, seeing as I haven't been to probably the last 5 celebrations, but I know that the best time to strike is when your enemy is relaxed. And our enemies are far smarter than us.

The light glimmers from my torch upon the bronze veins threaded through the walls, and I hear Tus's words echo in my mind again.

I sure hope he is wrong.

There is a land that beckons with an allure like the sweetest of wines
A taste stirs a thundering in the blood,
memories awaken, how brightly it shines.

Bring me home..bring me home...to the land that I knew.
Though darkness rises, brightness shines
in those whose heart holds true.

There is a land that calls and sings a song of the sirens refrain
A whisper summons the exultant sting,
emotions simmer, joy is pain.

Bring me home..bring me home...to the land that I knew.
Though darkness rises, brightness shines
in those whose heart holds true.

There is a land...whose warmth I missed...bereft and cold at night
A haunting burrowed in my chest,
spirit flagging, losing sight.

Bring me home..bring me home...to the land that I knew.
Though darkness rises, brightness shines
in those..whose heart...holds true...

My goodbye.

Who would have thought? I can grow smiles.

I think I'd like to try that some more.

It grows harder and harder to venture back, more difficult with each passing day to muster up enough energy to wake up. Each time I open my eyes it is the same view, the ocean and the beach, coarse pebbles and rough sand beneath the cloak I lay upon. There are few I even speak to anymore, but I have only myself to blame for that. I think I've walled myself off from the majority of society. Sounds horribly pitiful and pathetic to whine about being lonely when I'm the instigator of the situation, but I don't think I'm well known for being rational.

I think another reason I seek solace in sleep is the horrible guilt I feel for the guild. We fare quite well with Pallas, but I feel like I am more of a hindrance than help. I contribute nothing, and worse than that guilty admission is the fact that right now I don't care that I contribute nothing. I'm being horribly selfish and sulky like a little child, but even realizing the fact isn't doing much to change my attitude. I wonder what is wrong with me? Is it the fact that I still have no purpose? But you'd think that with no purpose here I'd move on...and yet, I keep on crawling back with no purpose in mind except for the fact that I feel I should be here. Something keeps me bound to this place, and though it is by the thinnest of threads that I cling, here I still am.

Not much else to write about...for someone who once took so much solace in written word, I find that the words are only a bitter mockery anymore.

Suddenly it happens. You gaze back at the past and realize how much has changed and how much you yourself have changed. You come to realize that you no longer want things that used to be oh so important. That you now need things that you would have never thought about before. Or that you now feel things that were previously unthinkable. Some say that in hindsight everything becomes clearer. I think its just another perspective that we ought to pay attention to, and maybe thats why I find a bit of interest in looking backwards.

I can see a wry, crooked smile upon my face as I gaze into the water and reminisce. I can see lines etched by worry along the corners of my eyes that I don't remember being there before. I think about who I was and who I am and read the old pages of this journal in an attempt to figure out if the two are the same anymore. This stream of life, this chain of events that has lead me to the path my feet tread now. I sit and wonder what we are supposed to get from it. What lessons to take to heart and what past memories can be let go. I suppose it it would be rather naive to think that we can make our way through life without letting things change us but its amazing to think about the little things that seemed so unimportant, amazing to look back and see how much they can affect us and how much they can change us. How one person could have changed the path you were going to take and diverted you into another one. How a few shared words in one moment of need can make you re-evaluate all you know and believe. Each event of a persons life, chained together by the connections they made and the people they held close. Fate determined by the chances we take, the choices we make and every breath we take. Any given moment in our lives is a culmination of all that has come before it, a humbling thought to anyone I would suppose. But who I am now is not who I was...it is the same but different, as a good friend of mine once said ages ago. A contradiction that never fails to make me smile at the thought.

I suppose that the meandering thought I'm trying to find a way to explain is that I'm not going to continue being what I was because it no longer is who I am right now. I'm not going to continue on with the goals I devisied years ago upon first coming here. I will not train and fight simply because I feel duty bound to do so-I will do it when I feel like it. Call it selfish, because thats really what it boils down to I guess. I will not stay bound here because I feel like I owe something-I will do so if I feel like it. I hold the title to my own life, and my perspective and means have changed in such a way that I can now see that.

I can feel the wind blowing and it feels like it is calling my name, beckoning me on home. It tugs at my cloak and I feel like I could be swept up in a whirlwind and vanish into thin air...so for now I will follow the wind where ever it takes me. I've always said you cannot cage a wild bird, but I guess it took until now to realize that there is more to my name than an affinity for music. This nomad will wander on and catch sights of other lands, sing songs of other sorrows and delights. But the past and this land will forever be in mind, and should I ever need a place of comfort in which to rest my tiring wings I know there are kind hearts and comfortable Inns where we can share a mug or two.

There are no goodbyes...there are only opportunities for future reunions.

I think most people like to get gifts. They like to feel special, they like to feel like people care about them enough to want to spend plat on them. Gifts make me feel guilty. Like I need to give people something in return, or that I owe them a debt for what they've given me. I suppose little things do not bother me so much, but I generally feel uneasy with the whole thing.
Don't get me wrong, sometimes a little help is welcomed-I'm not exactly the most enthusiastic hunter and my main source of revenue comes from selling things on the market. And, unfortunately, I do not have very worthy things to sell. But I think I was suprised by the fact that people genuinely wanted to help, to give me things to make my journey easier. I wasn't begging or setting out to get a hand-out; I like to think that I'm independant, that I don't actually need people to help me out. But Brou offered to help me get my newest armor and despite all my protests insisted that I buy it and then return the armor to him when I'm done with it. I was touched, but again-I don't like feeling guilty. In my head, I said I'd try to pay him back as soon as I sold some WP's from the bank. And off I went to go sleep.
When I woke up, there was a package and message from Nyghtwyng. I was suprised to see that the package was the armor I needed. She wanted to help me, she said. I really couldn't accept it; how could two people be trying to give me this gift? But she insisted as well, and now I need to go find Brou so I can give him his plat back. That ought to be a confusing discussion to say the least.
Later in the day I was training on Kilican, wearing the new armor along with the faint sense of guilt that accpeting the gift gave me. I stopped for a moment when Low passed by and decided to take a short rest. We chatted for a bit, seems I run into him all the time anymore. I told him I was fighting the landrays, and then running back to Nyril to be healed. Told him I saved on potions that way. Before you know it, he's gone off on some story of potions he got for opening a treasure box or some such. Then he drops a bunch of them into my pack and runs off like some crazy pirate! I feel guilty for not having hunted enough, that people feel like they have to give me stuff to get me through my fight. And I love the help, but maybe I'm just a tad bit surprised that people actually cared enough to help me out. I think I'd begun to grow far too cynical.


On another note, I sat in the Inn for awhile the other day and met a man who didn't seem to have a voice. Sam, thats what he wrote down as his name. It was like playing a game, I remember having to guess things that people acted out at a party once. And its interesting, how you can have such an interesting discussion with someone who can't even talk.

In all honesty, its been a day quite unlike any other recently. For awhile I've felt as though I've been wandering a dream, trying to wake up. Like I'm there, but not really there. It doesn't help that often I wake when no one else I know is awake, or that I wake for only a brief moment to share words with a guildmate. But, now that I have gotten my armor and weaponry back its been high time to start training again.

I've been responding to the many raids recently, but it took until today for me to truly scout out and hunker down to train. I've been hanging around the ant hill, trying to remember the feel of the blades. But ahh, that feel does return swiftly...these blades know their master and once again I can feel my muscles move in unison and dance as though the most wonderful symphony was being played. When I feel these moments come upon me, its like a call I cannot deny. I need to dance the death of swords.

Today a raid brought me to Pico, whom I had not seen in a long while. Judging from the bunny ears and the tail hanging from his staff, I'd say he's become leader of the Clan. I must really be out of it to be missing such occasions. Anyway, he said he had a rare dagger he had no use for...what rogue would not be intrigued? I asked to see it, and it was a Duberry's left hand dagger...quite expensive, to sell on the market. He insisted on giving it to me-claiming, he had no use for it other than a bookmark. A bookmark!! That lovely dagger, a bookmark. I of course cannot use it yet, but he said he saw me and realized it was meant for. I guess that means that someday I'll have to be that well trained then, hmm?

I went back to training down the hill on and off during the day until I received a note from the new Iron Knight Valera that she needed someone to take out some demons in Verthedge. I cannot get through Verthedge. I know, the cannon seems to enjoy shooting me there often. But I had Lunitari as an escort and Anu to enchant me all up for the fight. The demons were not all that hard to defeat with a poisoned dagger and Anu's staff, but it was an exciting adventure for the night. I was glad Valera called upon me...It was nice to feel useful once again. Maybe I should try it more again.

And as for trying old things anew...perhaps some lyrics can work themselves out of me if I fiddle with my lute long enough.

To sleep, to let days drift by without a care...or to wake, however infrequent it may be, and watch and wait and wander.

Purpose...its something we all look for. Purpose for our existance, a feeling that we are needed or that we contribute to the world in some way. Whether it be the need to protect or fight, the need to search and learn, it is the driving force to actions we take everyday. But what happens when you can't seem to find it?

Things have been so quiet, but to be perfectly honest I've been quiet as well. Responding only to those who talk to me, and generally avoiding any civilized place. I've walked back and forth across land as far as I could see. I've waited for marcs on The Wall just to see if the falling of sunrifter truly was as beautiful as I'd heard from there. I've stood atop towers to see if the wind could bring me some unheard secret or some fresh new scent. I've waited in the shallows of the ocean until small fish decide to explore my bare feet. Listening to the quiet, looking for answers, searching for someone....searching for purpose.

But there is peace to the whisper of wind, healing with each ebb of the tide. And the voices I sought to avoid, they have not pestered or pryed...they have listened and sympathized. And I know that those people are around if I need them. Some voices I have not heard in a long while, and I hope to be awake to hear them again soon. Hard to imagine how much I can miss them...I always thought that I could be a reclusive hermit or learn to live without constant company. Time to wake up and try to become civilized again, hah!

But first, I need to shake off a rather nasty cold.

I spoke to Pallas again the other day, and he said something that I thought about again later. About time, too much time to sit and think. Even though most people think going out and killing endlessly, over and over, is some sort of answer, I wonder if it is a good answer. An answer to the problem of too much time and too many thoughts clouding up the mind. When that seems to be too much for one mind to bear, is the answer to go and talk to other people? To go and occupy yourself with other things, trying to distract your mind...or would aimless killing be better? I just wonder...I know its great to rid the land of more evil while at the same time satisfying pent up frustration, but I don't really think it releases that energy. I think it just sort of...amplifies it. Lets it grow, because once you stop your still not satisfied. And nothing really does satisfy the urge, not any means of repression that could be utilized-talking, wandering, anything. I think that the thing is, one needs to confront the thing that is making their mind do loops to give a flying cannon rider envy. That the reason it nags and pesters us and forces the mind to think on too many things is a sign that it needs to be resolved...not put away. So in that way, thinking so much really isn't such a bad thing, right? As long as we are trying to work on the problems and not trying to find a way to bury them deeper.


Then again...I wish I didn't think too much. I prefer things to remain incased in ice and tucked away, not to see the light of day. I can understand the allure of repression.

Day after day I'd spend wandering to the next town. Searching in vain, asking anyone if he had passed by this way. And when nightfall would come, I'd sit somewhere up high...maybe upon the towns wall, maybe a bell tower...somwhere that I could watch sunrifter begin to fall, and hope that I'd see a familiar silhouette walking up out of the horizon. But after too much disappointment at that, I began to realize it was too little, too late...too much time had passed and I'd made my move far too late. For all I knew, he was at worlds end and never coming back.

I began to realize a couple days back however, that carting around armor and duelmasters that weren't being used was beginning to wear me down. So I sent a message, asking Pallas if he would mind holding my things for me, to be used for the guild armory. It was such a relief to drop that weight...because, it also dropped guilt I had at not fighting, at not helping this land. And it also freed me because now, if I wanted to, I could just leave...the only tethers left however were ones forged by other people. Pallas asked a student of his, Darrix, to hold the armor. I think his vault may have been a bit well...stuffed. I felt a little funny...watching Pallas and his old student. I don't have any of that, I don't have ones that I've taught and passed knowledge down to and it feels almost empty. There is only one I ever sponsored, and I do not think he wanders the lands anymore.

But that got me and Pallas discussing accomplishments, sort of. We sat down in the Lair, and it was...nice. To sit with a cup of wine and just talk, or just listen. It was strange, because me and Pallas have never truly sat and talked that much. I don't know why, but we just never had before. But there was nothing uncomfortable, not even in the silences that cropped up. But it made me glad that I'd wandered back for more than just a quick visit, and it felt right...I felt at home.

I held a small bloom in my hand, a flower of no importance that I had picked up along the way. It had been marcs since I'd plucked it, and the petals were wilting, the stem beginning to dry and curl. It couldn't last without water...and I wondered, how long can a person last without their 'water'? The source of everything that just makes their world seem safe and secure?

I wander around the tall grasses beyond Fartown, like a ghost I slip through the thin, swaying blades. For the most part, it is quiet here...a few bandits who give me no bother, a few dogs whose heads I pat in passing. But no people. No adventurers, no loved ones, no family...I could be seperated from the entire world out here, alone to the peace and quiet. Alone with the soft whisking noise of rustling grass. And at sunset, the light would filter through the yellowing grasses and make everything awash in colors of russet gold, dying greens and honey browns. And I lift my hands up, to stretch for that light above the grass...feel the warmth spread from my hands, watch it glow through my skin and feel lit from within. I let it soak through me, exultant and wild and free, and full as though fit to burst....

But then the sun fades...darkness creeps over again and my shoulders slump, my arms hang weakly at my sides as I stare blankly upwords. Who am I, base and lowly creature that I am, to try and hold the sun? This meager ant that crawls upon the earth, this ghost that slips through the grass-who am I, that doesn't belong anymore? And I think how I held that false happiness in the sunlight and ignored the dark, how I held back all the questions and fears and desires at bay, let them slumber deep.

But now I can look at these worn and scarred hands and remember times when they used to be soft and gentle. I clench the tired fingers and feel the ache spread from my abused knuckles to my burdened shoulders. How long have I stuck to duty, to work and obligation, to try and wear my body down? How long has it been now, that I have worn the body to ignore my soul? I crave it...I need to be so tired that I drop to sleep at nite instead of lay for hours agonizing, questioning, wondering. I feel like a machine, driving forward, unemotional to all around me-but I want to be that machine. Because I'm tired, tired of being resentful for others happiness, tired of wanting things that don't come true. I'm tired of the fighting, I'm tired of the drama and the pettiness. I'm tired of anger, and misunderstood sorrow and regret. I'm tired of pain. I am...tired. And it seems that the only solace I have found is in that numb state. A state that frees me from the desire to cry and scream at the skies. A way to avoid the crumbling of my mind as I throw myself at the cruel hard stone that is life.



I can catch faint snatches of peoples voices as they head north towards the mountains, but I do not seek them out. I cling to my solace and keep the vast mental crevice I have created between me and everyone else. And I wander and slip through the blades of grass with barely a sound, doing nothing, my hands not even willing to rest upon my blades hilt. I merely wonder how long I can go...how long I can wander without my 'water' before I curl up and fade away. If only I knew what kind of water this flower needed...

Can anyone make a choice based solely upon their own personal opinion? Are we not swayed by actions and events that by force of nature must confront us in life? I get so caught up in trying to seperate the threads that bind me to others, that influence my choice, that it is often easier to not choose at all. Simple move neither forwards nor backwards, and let others pass you on by as you sit within your self induced paralysis of decisions...I wish it could be so simple. But my mind is a fickle, anxious thing and must run around in circles til a decision is reached. Perhaps it is not just trying to figure out what others are trying to get you to do, but also...who wants to make the wrong choice? And with often so many things influencing your decisions, trying to find the right choice is like searching for that key in the swamp. But again, to try and not choose at all for fear of the wrong decision...it is not as easy as it sounds, for this wild mind.
But I have sat quietly for a long while, thinking, contemplating in my solitude. And I thought back to a moment than shined momentarily with that happy fuzzy feeling, that sense of something learned right...

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved to doodle and draw with the ink and quills. She loved all the neat little writing tools, the pots of ink and the sharpeners for the quills, the freedom and excitement in drawing whatever she liked. They were no special drawings, but they were important to her. And one day, she was drawing a self portrait, a picture which was even more important than usual. She wanted to get it just right, the way she saw herself inside her head. So she slowly drew the outlines and the clothes, the head and the arms in the typical crude, childlike fashion. But she was proud of the work, because to her it looked nice, and to her it was perfect. Until someone bumped her arm, and a line jumped from across the portraits arm. And she cried and cried, because it was ruined and they would say she had wasted precious ink. It wasn't going to be the pretty picture in her head no more, and there was no way to get that back. But after awhile she quieted down, and looked at it and began to finish what she could with a sigh. But, in doing so, she noticed she could change the lines...connect one here, add a bit here to the 'mistake'...and then, do the same on the other side...and it didn't even look so bad. It may not be the picture in her head anymore, but it was still right in its own way. In fact, maybe even better than the picture she had imagined. And she finished off that portrait with a sense of pride, because the mistake turned out to not be a mistake at all and everything was right in her world...

I think we often ignore the simple lessons we learn outselves as children, because new experiences and others influence pushes out the things we had thought were golden and true. Thats not good though, because sometimes it takes that naive and innocent spirit to truly understand things instead of confusing and confounding them with other ideals. Because, I've long forgotten that mistakes are not the end of the world-we can choose, and sometimes choose wrongly, because somehow the world keeps going on. And even, sometimes, things end up all the better for the mistakes that we choose...

I hate that I will probably be missing the beginning of Fall Festival, but I cannot be around right now. I need to breathe and find my balance once again-because I'm afraid that I was close to falling to pieces. Too many things push and pull at me at times, and I'm left torn and mangled inbetween as parts of my sanity drift away on the wind. I just...need...space to breathe...time to collect myself once again.


I know Elly is working hard on our guild hall, and I feel even more guilty that now I'm not around to assist her. I know her ideas are just fine though-she has her ways in expressing those things she finds most beautiful, and it always comes out just right. She's ever been a creative soul.


Some time will allow me to do some of my own creative endeavours though; Kylden made me a lute, and I'd hardly played the thing since he gave it to me! Such beautiful work it is, too...I've never seen a finer instrument and wonder, am I even worthy enough to play it anymore? Or have my skills long since faded away, turned to dust as I shoved them to the back of my mind and focused so much more on the fight? I wonder who I am anymore...I always sought to express duality in our lands, a need for art as much as a need for strength, and yet here I was leaning towards those who believe no creative relief is needed. Or at least, for myself. So I think I shall spend some of my time thinking....writing....dreaming and maybe perhaps, a little singing as well. Its entirely selfish...but I'm going to cave to my desires this time. I want some time to myself, I just hope it isn't too lonely...

Another break in the annuals of my thoughts...

I told myself I didn't need to write, to record my thoughts, but I've missed the soothing scratch of my quill across the roughened parchment. I've missed the way it forms my thoughts into some semblance of order. And I've missed feeling like I have something worthwhile to record.


I've had no strength lately, though I've not made much progress training. I've been terribly busy; it seems just as I finish one thing, two others jobs take its place. Theres never enough time to a day, and I feel myself dragging more and more. Sleep is a word foreign now...it takes second place to the things I must accomplish. Today, when the massive raids were called, I felt sluggish to even respond-and it cost me a few harsh blows from the creatures that were invading in the Wastelands. Even though I've found a demon spear, I felt no feeling of accomplishment at the end...I was tired. It was just another thing I'd had to get done, just another thing to work on, albeit a more pressing task. Elly and Pallas, Kel, Lucy and Sky...I went with them to sit and rest at the Sanctuary afterwords, but I could hardly keep my head up. And honestly...I didn't even know what I was doing there. I didn't truly feel like talking or being a part of anything. For once...and its horrible to say, but I had little interest or care in their conversation. I just wanted to sleep...I just wanted to go somewhere alone and curl up. I've felt a bit alone lately...but at the same time, I don't really care to do anything to change that.

Tus...dear warrior Tus, whom I've not talked to in far too long, ran into me at the raids. He talked to me later, saying he had an initiate who wanted to hear of the different professions...and he figured the best thing was to have a representative from each profession explain to her ourselves. He wanted me to explain what being a rogue was like. I was touched...that he would want me to explain my way of life to another, to explain a rogues skills and talents. And I answered her questions and finished talking to her and Tus, and went my own way.

I miss my cleric...we are both so busy, and I know his demands are greater than my own at the moment. He has no time to spend right now, and I honestly have no time or energy to spend if he was even available. But, I feel myself drifting away...I feel like I'm thinning out and slowly wearing out...I need something to tie me here before I become a ghost and slip away like mist...

So I pass another day here in Branishor, hiding out and straying no futher than Kathryan's glance. I've taken to spending time in Elwin the scribes office; I rather like the smell of old parchment, the feeling of well organized antiquity there. I may have accidently knocked over a few ink pots, but at least Elwin wasn't too upset. I don't think the papers were that important, anyhow...

I feel almost guilty, hiding out here from everyone. I've been trying to stay away mostly because...well, I almost don't even want to write it down, because I know someone shall read it. And I hate for my foolish escapades to be revealed for all and sundry-especially when its something I probably could have avoided! And I especially hate to worry people. Namely, Elly-she has alot to deal with as being a leader anyway. And Lucy has still been healing from her injury. And I hate looking like a dangerprone clumsy fighter!

But all of it just had to begin at that mining camp. I had been trying to save up enough for my new armor, and at last decided it wasn't worth it. I'd save the plat and hope I leveled quickly enough to get the next one, since my current armor isn't in bad shape at all. And I was tired of going to the same places over and over again-and I admit, curious to see what was left at the abandoned camp. Which, I must say, was not much. And gremlin looters still abounded, despite the lack of any worthwhile items to loot! So while I was exploring around, quickly dispatching the foolish gremlins who thought me easy prey, I failed to notice the mine shaft.

All of a sudden, there was no earth beneath my feet. Everything solid became fluid and my breath for a moment or two was suspended as though I had left it behind, at that faint glowing circle that was quickly diminishing above me. The smooth descent lasted only a second; I was knocked into the walls, colliding on rocky juts. My armor held fairly well...though I must say the leather does little to shield the body from such blows. I was fine until my left arm suddenly slammed into a ledge and I heard a pop, and a snap. It helped slow my fall when I finally hit the bottom, but I was instantly sick and in pain. I turned my head and saw my left shoulder slumped forward awkwardly, and my collarbone on that side was disturbingly lumped. It took me awhile before I could gather myself, and stand up. Nothing else was hurt, that I could tell..but I could barely think beyond that point. I sent a message, to Dain, even though somewhere in my mind I knew he wouldn't be able to come and help me.

I looked up and say no way to climb back out. I tried to walk west, though the effort drained me, and still found no way. So I began my way east, the only way else I could see. Though I quickly became shrouded in darkness. I was able to see, barely-and I think thats the only way I was able to survive. Otherwise, I think the granite minions would have killed me. I couldn't use my left duelmaster and left it sheathed as I sobbed and hacked my way through the tunnel, not even knowing it was the right way. I don't remember much else...it sort of grays out, until I realize I'm half slumped at the entrance to the mines and Dain is there, gently but frantically saying my name as he reaches out to touch my arm. My left arm. And I screamed, but he said that my shoulder was out of place, and it looked like my collarbone was broken. So he stood behind me, and quickly pulled my shoulder back in and I thought I would die of the pain then and there. The next thing I knew we were stumbling through Branishor and his brown eyes were looking at me anxiously as Kathryan tutted and prodded at my arm. The pain was dull but great...sharp lances as she pushed the bones back in alignment every now and then. Finally she was wrapping my arm up and Dain was then practically carrying me away, to watch over me. I remember seeing Jack....maybe? And the first nite and day after are a blur to my mind-weird smelling salves and strange flavored teas.

But know I'm wandering around...content to let myself heal. The shoulder is still sore but moveable. I have a wrap around my chest and back-some sort of hardened linen and hide-and its supposed to help keep the collarbone in place. But I wear my cloak tightly now, so that no one can tell. I told Dain I didn't want him to say anything-I'd be reclusive and heal out here. So far, so good....now if only I wasn't chaffing at my lack of freedom.

Another moment of insanity inspired by my insipid and confusing mind...

I've felt restless and thoughtful lately. I thought, if I kept training and just made it to my next level, I would be just fine. That the building tension would fade from my shoulders, that concentrating on each move as it flowed from my mind to my arms would drive away the curious little thoughts that burrow deeply. Instead, it just made me tired. And more restless! And even though it was nice to sit and bask within the warmth of the desert, it isn't my place, so to speak. I know, its nice and warm and I hate being cold (even though I am, often). But, it doesn't let me reach down and pull out the answers I was seeking.



So I went to an old place. A place of thoughts, where I'd come with doubts before. A place where someone...a someone whose loss still brings an old ache into my chest...placed her arms around my shoulders and told me it would be alright. Where, despite the cold and the wind, I had felt comforted and soothed by her words and solid unwavering strength. And I stood there...closing my eyes and smiling in memory as I cast my fears over the edge of the precipice. I imagined her strength, right there beside me-because, in truth it was there. It had never left. She may have gone, but with her memory stayed a shard of her resolve. A gift, perhaps...or, a last joke from her. She always said I was stronger than I looked. Maybe, its only now I can begin to believe it...

What brought up these old thoughts, the need to feel an old comfort...? I can't really say. Perhaps a last vistage of guilt, of finding somewhere else to belong and new family. Perhaps a moment where I saw someone smile and lend a hand to help a grubby child up to their feet. Or maybe it was for no reason at all, really, except that we sometimes crave a hug, a bulwalk to lean against. And at the moment, I wanted a hug from someone who wasn't there.

I faced the edge and looked down the maw of the beast...only to see it shimmer and change into my own image. And I waved my hand to wipe clean the slate...

I've been sleeping far too much lately. More than I really think I ought to, at least. I want to spend time with my family, with my cleric, but I stay awake for barely a couple marcs and the next thing I know its early the next morn. And everyone is asleep...


Why is it that responsibilites begin to mound just when you thought you could enjoy some free time? I am begining to think that someone or something has cursed me now, to let me awaken only when all my family and friends are asleep. And, to let me sleep right past their chatter during the day. Spending time with family and loved ones is important...so, is it too terribly irresponsible to lay some of the responsibilities aside until later?!!? Because, I have seriously been considering it lately...and the idea sounds more and more appealing as the days fly by!

My trip failed. Least Pallas thought to grab some stuff for the lute strings while he was training.


I don't really feel like writing much else.

Much as I crave my clerics company, and the solace of my family, I've been looking for a chance to step out and get a bit of air to myself. Pallas's idea for my lute seemed just like a perfect chance.

Kylden, he is going to work on the wood of my lute hopefully...I'm praying that it isn't too hard for him! Not to mention, that it isn't too much work. I can't believe he is going to help me finally get a lute back...its almost unbelievable. But, lute strings cannot be made of wood, of course. Elly had suggested centaur tail hairs...but I'm afraid they'd be too fragile, and definately not of the correct resonance. And, I knew what most strings were made of, it just seemed so..disgusting! But, cats gut it is, and the plains cats are too small I believe. It was Pallas who suggested a cougar, from the granite crags. So, I decided my path.

The harder part, was in trying to explain it to Dain. I don't really want to leave, not truly...and yet a piece of me needs that freedom. This trip, its the perfect chance to let me think, unhindered. And, I'll accomplish something that I've wanted for a long time, right? As they say...two zombie crows with one dull crystal.

I cannot of course strike the cougar; it would swallow me in one bite!! Albeit, a very pointy bite I'd be, with two duelmasters...but, anyway, I'm bringing a warrior friend of mine, she's agreed to help me in getting the cougar. All I have to do, is track the beastie. Its kind of...exciting, and yet I still worry of leaving everyone behind for now. I hope alls well when I come back, and I hope Lucy will be back as well. I shan't be gone too long...