I've been lazing on the golden sands of the beach at Iscax. From time to time I take a walk around the town, looking at the shops, watching all the guards watching me.

For quite a while, the trainers have looked at me with expectant expressions as I walk by. But as I explained to Azure, being able to visit the trainer and being ready to do so are two different matters. Having decided that I should roam different parts of the lands, take other paths in my travels, yesterevening I decided the time was right. Now I'll have no choice but to set my feet in a different direction, as I'll no longer be able to farm the crags I've haunted for so long.

The Crier had called for help in the desert after a portal opened near the tombs. As those of us who turned up cleared the threat, the marc turned, and I knew the Doorway would soon transport me to Ethucan. I made my way to the bank at Dundee, to make sure I had all I'd need. And then to the trainer ... the Crier calling my name seemed rather a surprise to some!

Passing through the doorway drained me:after taking a short while to recover, I headed to the Temple, amd gained admittance to the forge. My armour will now stand me in much better stead against the foes I must soon return to face. I didn't tarry long in the temple - I've spent much time in others, but I found that particular place uncomfortable. The very air carried an unsettling sound to me, an echo from the past of a cleric alternately weeping and praying.

So here I've been sitting, and again memories - both good and bad - surround me. But I must put them aside, and concentrate on the present, and plan for the future. Once I return to the lands, there will be new hunting grounds to seek out, places to farm and areas in which I can train.

While I rest and watch the water, I've been examining a strange dark orb. I found it about a mooncycle ago, beneath the black and twisted ruins of Branishor in N'Rolav. It will be of some assistance, but I fear it might weaken me somewhat. It'll take some exprimentation to discover in what circumstances I'll be better off with it or without it. It also seems to suck light from the surroundings. That's no problem when it comes to picking locks - that depends on touch and hearing so lack of vision is no problem when it comes to that. But even the best of rogues needs to see their way when wandering.

Before I leave Ethucan, I have to visit the bakery. If I forget to stuff my pack with sweetrolls, the guildkin will never forgive me!

I'd never seen a storm like it. I was in Fartown, not exactly minding my own business, when nature's force struck. A sudden thunderstorm sent me reeling to the monument after being hit by lightning, and as I started to recover I saw that someone else had been caught up in the howling wind.
When I say I wasn't exactly minding my own business, it wasn't a case of snooping on somebody. Just a matter of something that intrigued me, and inquisitiveness took over. I really must try to control myself better!
Of course, there's another way of looking at it - checking out any odd things we see is part of what we all do as we labour to defend these lands which are so sorely assailed. Sometimes such actions will uncover a little snippet of information that may prove useful when combined with what others have found. We can only hope that some day we can put together all the information needed to finally put an end to the Dark One's efforts to bring us down.

Roaming and searching, fighting and questioning - it seems to me these are all part of what's required of us by the Iron Mistress of duty. And I suppose, in my own way, I contribute what I can.

The lands ... the gods ... the Queen ... friends and comrades ... guildkin ... those we hold dearest. All of these we owe duty to. And sometimes, just occasionally, we owe some duty to ourselves. Perhaps there's no surprise that, as we attend to the duties which might sometimes pull us in different directions, others may have differing opinions of how well or otherwise we conduct ourselves.
Some time ago during one of my darker days, a friend gave me a shell necklace to remind me that sense of duty could be no more removed from me than the salt tang from the ocean:another time somebody else took it on themselves to remind me of my duties. As I say, our attention to one may give the appearance of neglecting another.

There's a balance, somewhere, between all the calls on us. One day hopefully I'll find it.