Lost. Totally, hopelessly lost, and now I cannot follow dear Purazon's advice. Do not spend too long there, he told me, it will seep into you - those were not his exact words, but I knew what he meant. Driving horrors with no right to be on Cory's land in Caernivale was fine..... I deal with them and Purazon seemed pleased. But then I stumbled into a dark place I had not seen before with waters and sands and creatures I thought I recognised; but it became clear quickly they were vile versions of what I knew. I came to rest near a chest that had spilled its guts out onto the sands. We spoke some words - then he had to go to answer a call. I had to rest so stayed where I was and now I find myself wandering through the sorrow of a different Caernivale unable to find my way back if I wanted to.

I feel…..quite settled. As though waiting for something. I find myself in a trace like state atop our tower more often than not, legs planted firmly astride, hand resting on the hilt of my rapier, cloak protecting me from the cold night air and the winds that sometimes buffet the tower. Watching….waiting…… but I do not know what for.

Dearest Purazon does not stand so idle. He is researching something, I think, and yet is still punishing his dear body with grueling training. He was to the trainer again the other day. Although it is quieter, the fire is still there in his dear eyes. I will get back what was taken. It consumes him. I wonder, still, if he thinks back to those dark days – that darkest of days – when he stood at Her side and watched the sorrow flow out, mingled with grace and pride. I think back to it often. And to seeing him kneel there in the plains. Another man, or I should say facet of the man, that is not seen often, speaking his oath to the memory and to the skies. The harsh edge is, I think, a defensive mechanism. It is also a sign of the self-control and will of iron that he has; for I sense that what he would like to do is let the passion and anger shaking within his very soul come bursting forth – and what he might do with such a red mist clouding his eyes I dare not contemplate. Worse though would be when that mist drifted away, as I must believe it will, leaving that dearest and gentlest of knights realising what he had done. These thoughts I do not dwell on. Twice only in the long years I have known him have I seen a glimmer of something to distress me when his eyes have fallen on mine. I try not to remember it, for surely it must be a sign that….well, I hope it means there is a confidence that I will be whatever he needs. Should that need be……. Whatever it may be, I will be it and I will accept any hurt. I remember better a time before our paths were set alongside each other’s. I remember sitting quietly in the soft hush of the guild’s private library. I remember the half-light, the shadowy profile of his dear face set in its concentrated study. I remember the graceful hand holding the quill it worked with. I remember the tiniest movements as he worked and the moment when he sat and leaned back in his chair contemplating some completed passage. He murmured words to himself occasionally, his lips moving soft and careful. I could have stayed in the chair where I was, hugging my arms about my knees, safe, warm, longingly contented.

Yes as I stand here atop the tower, many things stir in my memory along with the night air that moves crisp and cold. I look up at the demons’ eyes and their stories come back to me. I hear water flowing from a fountain in a path full of Sunrifter’s glory.

All this quiet to allow such quiet thoughts. How long can it last?

I find I quite like this pirate life. Oh I am not naïve; I know it is not a TRUE pirate life. But it pleases me to strut around the shoreline and the estuary watching the faces on the real pirates that make their home there. They will not fight me; they would not dare. They are still dangerous of course – they still make their mischief and attack those young adventurers pulled by the salty smell of the sea and seeking out the dwellers. They seem rather mystified by my presence. I am mystified myself, actually.

I like to sit and pine for Eldrin and Richard and days gone by when fun was had and lightly indulged in. Life seemed very different then. I remember dancing on the tables in the Dundee Inn with a certain lady pirate. I remember sitting on the dockside dipping my toes in the water at Sunrifterdown listening to tales and thoughts and hopes for the future. I have sat on the damp sands here and done the same – well not listening to tales, but remembering them.

And I pine for that dearest of ones too. They are so very busy at present with writing scrolls and maps and books and instructions and research and new members and……well, all else they must do. A pirate I may be for now, but a lovestruck one, and one who remembers her gods and prays fervently to them. I pray for all those in need, all those who grieve, all those who toil, all those needing rest and healing, and I pray for myself and give thanks for each safe day of passage in the light.

Hojo keeps coming into my mind. He seems to stand afar and yet near, watching this pointless, lazy behaviour. I feel him, somehow, disapprove. I have no real reason to think that, yet it makes me realise I cannot stay here much longer.

I must have drifted into sleep. The wonderful hum of friendly voices and AARRRRRRRS! reverberating across the sands. Amy and Morvan did the most wonderful job - I think all enjoyed the events. It was fun to see everyone throwing daggers and seeing what their random cards gave up as a prize. I would like to say I will treasure the headless hen, but I confess I tossed it into the sea for the fishes. It was good to observe everyone's dagger throwing skills. I am sure Lady Asrai missed on purpose....

The songs were hearty and lusty and worthy of the Swashbuckler. Arnlaug will certainly have been rubbing his hands for the number of empty mugs I cleared up should have turned him a tidy profit. The ale drinking contest made me nervous, but in the end all was well. I have never seen ale drunk so fast - I had not even put my own mug to my lips and Jaltz had finished and won! I think this is just as well.

Guessing how much items cost was an excellent idea for a game!

Raids did disturb the evening and I rushed off wearing my stupid costume and got myself killed by demon spiders that had burst through to the bandits hideout in the dark forest. Hojo berated me for not wearing my armour. Rightly too I think. But when he does, I feel small and as an initiate. He is a fascinating man - I wish I could feel truly comfortable in his company.

My hat is worse for wear - it was not very good to start with. Yet here alone, I think I will wear it a day longer - while no one is looking and play at pirates and think of Eldrin and pray quietly for all I know and love.....and love.

The green room is quiet and has a soft feel to it - I had almost forgotten it was here. It feel wrong to be resting when others are fighting, but my eyes have become accustomed to the light. Hojo is right. Find other places. I will go back to the hunting reserve just as soon as I can bear to wear my armour again.