*The End*

Spoken of only to those he trusted, the spreading numbness had finally made its way to his chest. The recent illness didn't help anything, severely weakening him to the point that he welcomed its cold touch.

He knew it would ultimately be what removed him from the world he had come to love and admire, even if he was rarely in agreement with those around him.

Sitting there, in his kitchen, he strained at each passing breath. His eyes wide with fear. True fear. Fear that the Shadows had finally forsaken him. Fear that comes when the realization comes that they had forsaken him long ago. He had met such wondrous people in his life, killed others, intimidated more. In the end, the words of Sehdae Ly rang true, he did indeed die alone. The Royal Janitors, often known for cleaning up the land of cannon fodder, would take his body and discard it with the other refuse; unceremoniously bringing a close to his life.

Clenched in his hands was a note, the recipient unknown, "New outfit, I hope you like it. I hope to see you soon. Please bring the Tisane, I feel chilly lately."

---

So ends the adventures of Nih Betodaru. I'd like to take a moment and thank each and every one of you for your role play over the last couple of years. I would also like to note that the decision by Admin to ban me, while I disagree with it, will not be fought. The admin team has done a great job with the game since Miranda took it over; and, while I've been one of the most vocal people to call them out on their shortcomings, it was never with the intent to insult or harm - only to help with the growth.

It is my hope that those that have long since stopped speaking to me will remember the good moments we had, and smile just a bit.

I will leave you with one of my most favorite poems:

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

The fool that consumes ale to inebriation is only bested by the fool that drinks next to him.

Which is worse, the fools that drink and insult or the leader that defends their actions publicly?

The matter is closed, however; I shall not openly perform at any Blade and Staff event in the future.

The Father Shark of the Night Sky

There in the midst of the water, gliding peacefully in concentric circles, were seven sharks.

The first, being the smallest and most nimble of the seven, swam near the surface of the water. He would break the still waters with his dorsal fin, leaving a wake of rippling waves behind him. You see, he was still young and free of the cares that trouble sharks in their later years. Humans were not the enemy, and he did not have the taste for blood as his brothers did. Did he eat? Of course, but there was not the Blood-lust driving him. Not yet. Ignorance reigned in his young life; only when the Father Shark would cast a darkened and scarred gaze towards the brightened waters, would the pup return to his ritualistic circles.

The second, having lived a mere two years longer than the first, already encountered the primitive humans that walked along the shores bordering their domain. A long slash from gill to pectoral fin was still giving him troubles, now a year removed from the accident involving the fishing boat and the hooked oar. He had learned the temptation of blood, learned how to give into it completely, learned the consequences of not listening to those older, those wiser. He often swayed from the ritualistic circles, and not even the Father Shark's cold gaze was enough to bring him back to the path. It would take the brutality of the third shark to keep the second in line.

The third, despised by the older for his 'youth' and rejected by the younger because of his place of authority in the circles, spent endless marcs swimming his circle. There, in the mixture of warm and cooling waters, where the rays of heat from the 'rifter were just enough to make the water a sickening lukewarm temperature, he would contemplate the path he had chosen. Between the occasionally glances upwards to check on the pups, and the longing looks towards the lower rungs of their ranks, he would devise improbable solutions to eradicating the human threat that loomed over them any time the seas were still like this.

The fourth and fifth, brothers born simultaneously, would spend equal time swimming in their circles before switching. It was their idea, and one the Father Shark approved of without hesitation. Their reasoning was that they were born together, and should share all with each other. When one was struck by the blunt end of a long spear as a pup, the other bit the hand off of the fisherman, then to share in the experience, he cast himself against a reef; feeling the pain and sharing the blood. Kind sharks, they were the most ruthless when it came to protecting the treasure below. Unspoken communication made them deadly, as one would strike just as the other would retreat; never allowing their enemy a moment of rest.

The sixth, direct son to the Father Shark, was to take his place at the lowest rung when the Father Shark went the way of the long flow: taken out to the darkest depths of the sea until his passing. At that point, another pup would be appointed, and each shark would swim a bit lower from the surface. It was this one that truly watched over the Shiver. The Father Shark was almost a figurehead at this point; though it was not always that way. The sixth was meant to watch first, learn, then when the Father Shark determined he was ready, lead. To move to the seventh rung was nothing more than a place of honor after that point.

The seventh. The Father Shark, so aptly named not because he was the sire of all pups in the Shiver, but because he was the provider, the protector, the one to strike first when another Shiver came too close. He swam the largest of the circles, furthest from the treasure, having senses long since trained to distinguish between friend or foe. It had been years since he gave into the Blood-lust, years since he had to lead his six to war with another Shiver. Peace was coming to him, and his ancient soul longed for it. With one eye to the darkness surrounding, and the other towards the treasure, he kept the course.

It was then, as he was rounding the Spear-Rock to the south, that a fissure opened and cast the most brilliant of lights the Father Shark had ever seen. A voice echoed from within, praising him for his duty and dedication to protecting his Shiver. His mind, aged but still sharp, urged his body to swim fiercely towards the light.

Suddenly, the light vanished and the Father Shark was returned to his previous course. Confused, he turned once more to investigate. Upon reaching where the light emanated from, a beam shot down from the heavens, illuminating the Father Shark and suspending him in the depths. Slowly, he was pulled towards the surface, passing by the other rungs of sharks; though, none noticed the light or the ascending shark. Just as he broke the surface, the demon eyes above glowed down upon him, turning his skin from the rough, aged, gray to a pristine black. Further, still, he rose into the air. Each passing moment brought him a greater peace.

Finally, resting among the stars, he looked down and could see clearly each of the Shiver still swimming below. The voice rushed forth, once more, praising his duty and dedication. It spoke of home and joining the Father Sharks of lore. Here, he would rest and watch over his Shiver permanently.

And so comes the constellation of the Father Shark.

Another advancement.

The Trainers have seen to it that I continue my training. I am nine lessons away from being where I was before the disease sapped my body of its strength. Rosaline has been a great help. Sorynn, though she refuses to be paid, would be as well, but I find it difficult to ask her to such a menial task as healing while I train.

Beyond this, there is nothing to report.

Well, it has been several turns since the illness left my body ravaged. Some things have returned to a level that could possibly be considered normal...

My time has been taken by my student, Emilia. She has seen to ensuring I eat; a wasted venture, but one that I will not turn away.

I've taken up residence in Caern, once more. It's been too long since I spent any time here.