Turn Six was, for the most part, in rest.

Turn Seven.

After spending so much time resting, I shall once more attempt to train. Perhaps it will lead to something more positive.

Turn Five.

Words carry on the breeze. Where they fall, who is to know?

Turn Four.

I shall make an attempt to train this turn. Every movement is agonizing, but we are made to overcome.

Turn Three.

There have been many offers of help and assistance. Nothing like an illness that might kill you to bring the kindness out of those that once despised you.

I have remained in Caern. When I found the strength to slip through the trapdoor, I returned to the house my family once occupied. I was rather glad to see it standing, unoccupied, and still painted the same horrendous green it was as a youth. Exploration was a must, but the body was not willing. I took refuge just inside the door and have faded in and out of consciousness.

Emilia has asked my whereabouts. We need to continue our lessons if we intend on getting her to the temple on time; however, with this disease, I fear that will not happen.

Turn Two.

I have relocated to Caernivale with assistance from Lavender. It took two attempts to get me here. The first attempt, the Portal closed just as I was stepping through it; I fell hard to the floor. Fortunately, Lav was able to help me to my feet. She opened a second portal and in I went. Took more out of me to take each step up the Mountain Clearing, across the drawbridge, and finally settle into a chair in my favorite pub, than it did just to move from the guildhall to Dundee's Inn. I was so exhausted that the pain was numbed away, it was as if my mind couldn't bother processing the anguish that surged through my body with each movement.

There was brief respite to be had, though. Even in sleep, the pain torments me.

That is all for now... I can muster no more.

It is as I feared: the blood has turned. I do not know where it is from, I do not know how I've gone so long without being affected, but that does not matter now.

Malasanguish.

Incredible bouts of pain rack my body. It is as if every part of me is on fire, only worse. The Tunnel fires were child's play in comparison.

Exhaustion. With how suddenly the illness came to be, I was even more surprised by the complete sapping of energy. I have hardly enough to even write this down; I expended so much energy just walking from the guildhall to the Dundee Inn, where I reside at the moment. Meditation helps, of course, as it requires being completely still and lowers my heart rate.

I've noticed that things I could do before, even simple tasks like rolling a coin across my fingers, are near impossible...

I've never feared the Final Death. With it mere breaths away, I cannot help but dwell on it...

When will relief come? I couldn't even begin to know...

A new student.

Amilia Rose.

Mute, yes, but that makes it a bit more enjoyable. She cannot talk back to me when I make a demand of her that some consider too much. So far, she has proven to be willing to learn.

This one won't need a good plunge in the lake, nor will she, hopefully, attempt to win my affections like some depraved girl.

It is nice to have a pupil again, truthfully.

I find myself needing to replace my previous source of nutrients. Something has contaminated the Plains Cat's blood; it is inconsumable now.

At least the stalks of grass are still fit for eating...

Perseverance.

Is it always worth it to seek out that lost friend? Perhaps.

Of course, when they are a preposterously uncivilized plebeian and a vapid irredeemably boring odious leach-covered glob of quivering slime, the answer is a resounding no.

Metaphorically speaking, that is.

I offered my services of teaching to someone recently, we shall see if the Rogue-To-Be is worthy.

"Why do you fight with the soul leach dagger and an axe when the falchions would be stronger?"

I've always liked the feel of this dagger. I've had it, or one like it, for a very long time now. As for the axe, that is purely for practical reasons. If my left leg were to give out while fighting, the Axe allows me to grab hold of my prey and bring them down with me. If the fight becomes who is better on the ground, I'll surely win.

--

We all have our likes and dislikes. It is why I wear my Cursed Ring. To be completely shrouded in Darkness, to the point that others would have a hard time seeing me; that is beauty.

Fifteen.

Stupid Farmers.

One less family to till the grounds.

One less group of people to prey on the weak and take them to be sold.

In other news, I've put forth the plans to have the cottage rebuilt. No longer in the plains, now in the snowy recesses of the mountains I once lived on. Elenoire will have a room of her own; equipped with her own door to come and go. We are not together, but she does need a more secure environment to dwell in.

It should be completed in less than a cycle, now.

The candle burns long into the night;
Lighting the path of padded feet with flickering flame.
The hooded figure presses on;
Cursing the darkened, clouded, skies.
A snapping twig on barren path
Breaks the sound of steady breath.
Pausing, turning, searching,
Seeing, cursing, running.
Candlelight extinguished;
path darkened to beyond recognition.
Shallow breath misting the air: short-lived.
Moss-covered cobblestone fence;
The ancient gate swings open:
Rusty hinges screeching like a dying animal.
Eyes, colored red like fresh blood, watching;
poised upon the steeple of decrepit temple.
The sudden twang and thwish of a loosed arrow
penetrates the silence.
The hooded figure drops to muddy knees;
shaft protruding from leather-armored chest.
Hunting Eyes approach in the thickening fog;
Sweeping over the fallen victim.
A Crow's call echoes in the night,
and the Hunter vanishes into darkness.

When a Shark devolves and doesn't eat fish, is he still a Shark?

No.

I will not devolve into a babysitter. I am not one to mollycoddle others. Bluntness, precision, truth. Those are the qualities that I respect, and babysitting someone does not fall into line with that.

Achelle questioned when I became less than who I once was. When did I become someone that would simply babysit others? I did not have an answer for her. Since then, I've taken steps to throw off this chains of childish acquaintances. If others want to learn, so be it, but they had better expect the harshness of reality to come with those lessons.

Some, like Matilda, genuinely do not know better. Having led such a sheltered life, it is not her fault she has so many questions. Too many questions. It makes me crave for the Shadows, and so I find myself separated from others often. Now that the issue has been resolved, perhaps I will find solace. Then, when I am ready, I shall reach out again. If it is too late, so be it.

The Heights of Life

There is no height of life.
All is here to destroy and tear down.
Friendship and Love do not last.
The enemy is not a mystic force of Darkness.
We are the enemy.

There is no height of life.

The Depths of Death

The Beginning,
It starts as a murmuring;
Growing louder with each passing breath.

From down the hall,
Its footfalls echo;
A soft clap of thunder with each step.

A knock on the door,
Bones rap against the wooden post;
Wind rustling through naked limbs of an ancient tree.

Within the room,
Shrouded in a robe of darkness;
Life fading.

At the bedside,
Anxious eyes widen;
Wildly searching for any means of escape.

A whisper in the ear,
Laying on of Primordial hands;
Sudden chill calming quaking heart.

A silent thought,
Easing of mind;
Recognition of a timeless friend.

Rising up,
without pain;
Relief in freedom.

The Beginning,
It starts as a murmuring;
growing louder with each passing breath.

A turn of change.

I have replaced my Holy Ring with a Cursed one. A Cleric cannot wear a cursed ring, of course. So I also changed my profession; returning to the one, true, profession: Rogue.

Marron was kind enough to sponsor me; spur of the moment as it was. I waited several marcs for the right Rogue to ask. She has always been kind to me, and so I decided she'd make the best selection.

Now to continue the dastardly things that I must be always planning.

Fools.

Amulet of Fate.

The temptation of focusing on the small bauble, seeing it glow or fade, is too great. As I hurried down the tunnel, following after the warrior as we sought the woman, I must have dropped it.

Of course, spending fifty-thousand platinum on it, I was rather beside myself with annoyance.

So, when the Shadows are of no comfort, where do I go? Aldwythe's Landing. The most comfortable and calming in all known world, on either side of the planes.

I walked through the packs of Death Hounds, lost in thought of how to obtain another. It is then, as I approached the Ferry to travel out of the plane of Death, that a glimmer caught my eye. How peculiar, in this dark and dreary place, to find anything that gives off light. Sure enough, though, as I used my cane to life the object; it was an Amulet of Fate. How any here obtained one, or how it crossed the planes without a soul to carry it, that is a mystery I am not sure I want to know the source of.

For now, I cherish the temptation of watching this small bauble glow or fade with each focusing moment.

Twelve.

The price paid to obtain the missing Asteroidea was small:

Eight broken ribs; three on the left, five on the right.
Numerous lacerations.
Coughing blood for several turns.

I think the thing that I will miss the most are the three teeth removed by that steel-clad boot. My lip sinks in, slightly, but it is an annoyance nonetheless.

In comparison, I am certain this is nothing, though.

Five to add to the Six.

One leading the other four. He was not the last to die, but his death will be appreciated by more than just myself. A ripping bite to his throat. I can still feel the blood spewing from the gaping wound, pouring over my face.
Two and Three dead with a quick cut to their throat.
Four, same as the first.
Five, a loss of hand to start. Thoroughly drunk when his end came. A bite to the neck, too.

The information I needed was gathered. That is justification enough.

What shall be done?

What shall be done when those holding to the most prestigious of positions an adventurer can obtain acts like a child? Nothing. You can reprimand a child for acting as one.

What shall be done when the veil of transparency is lifted and the actual truth comes out? Nothing. You should never have trusted they were honest to begin with.

What shall be done when turn after turn patience is stretched and pulled and broken? Nothing. Take what you want by force, or cunning linguistics.

What shall be done when leads turn cold and searches fail? Nothing? No. No, now you dig deeper. Pull every resource. Spend every coin.

What shall be done?

Everything.

Dangle a carrot before me and I will plunge my dagger into the soft flesh just below your hard chin.

How that man thinks he can speak to me in such a manner, and still walk the lands unscathed...

Shadows must be protecting him.

This happens. Our pride gets the best of us and we fight; like children, we argue. It will pass, it always does.

Peculiar behaviors.