Commemoration and Strategizing Mustering what strength she can Lia surveys the wreckage that was once her livelihood for whatever supplies she can gather. She sees none of her fellow shipmates as she riffles through drenched and tattered clothing in hopes of finding some signs of life beyond her own. Emotion materializes once again on her features throughout her search; discovering the captain’s favorite cap, Ol’ Hikreg’s lucky wooden dice, Gam’s (their youngest and newest crewmate) scarf. With the sun past its peak, she decides to stay and create a memorial with all the personal effects she can find. Grabbing a small crate she can sit on she plays her sea damaged flute to the best of her ability to her now lost family. As the sun begins to sink she places the flute with the rest of the items and readies a fire for the evening. Distraught and restless the rising sun begins to great her to a less then lively reception. Searching once more she slowly eats what little rations she finds and discovers a sturdy chest undamaged, ‘Captain Rumeim’s I presume,’ she concludes. She spends a good portion of the morning trying to pry, break and lightly kick the crate open, only to realize in her embarrassment that the locking mechanism was disengaged the whole time. Inside she finds a ships log, a few blank books, some first circle scrolls and a pouch of Truth’s. Lifting a rather large, well bound, and intricate blank book she concludes ‘My Old Grimoire is in the bottom of the Windjammers Bay, so I will need a new one and this should suffice for a start.’ Finally, after clearing the chest she takes what little rations left she finds and begins to move. ‘Our next port of call was Port Hampstead and we were expected to arrive in about 3 days’ time from the attack. I’m guessing my pursuers, whoever they may be, might continue looking that way just in case. If I’m correct, Center and Fort Wayfare should be closer to where I’m currently located. It’s a good location to stock up and find some work as well, for I will need to prepare for what’s to come.’ Following the road north, Lia manages to bind the book of high quality with new spells from the scrolls she found in the chest and begins to write. Even after 50 odd years someone just cannot let it be. Whatever your justifications, innocent lives were lost because of you and you will pay for they were friends, they were my family. Know that when you meet me again, I will be as I was. I will be strong again and I will show no mercy. With that off her chest she breaths in controlled breaths and contemplates for some time before the scribbling continues. I will need a plan starting with the highest of priorities. As a sailor would confess after feeding the fish, “I simply need to regain my sea legs.” Center used to be an adventurers hub which could provide me with capable compatriots. These adventurers have no need to know who I was, but lying will not be wise either; if I stick to a first name basis, then I could potentially keep my secret longer without losing trust. Of course, I will also need to find work in order to attain the power I require to finish this once and for all. The lives lost will not be in vein. While inadvisable at this time, it matters not; I will spread awareness of the deeds that were done to the Lucinda’s Star. Hopefully it will bring the culprits to light, even if it means they find me before I’m ready. Perhaps I will be fortuitous and have others by my side when it happens. I am an adventurer after all now, so I should now be inclined to the habitual behavior of seeking endangerment.((In the word document I wrote this in the font I used for her writting in the book was a Brush Script, or handwritting. Unfortunately I can't transfer that here, would have added a bit to this I think by implementing that she has neat handwriting. In any case, it's still a different font here so it can be easily seperated from the narration and thought bubbles.))
Affiliates: Untried and Established
With her book open, Lia sits contemplating on an all too familiar log, now imprinted with her signature butt groove. Her continued exposure to this reminiscent lifestyle presents itself prominently upon her. She no longer looks battered or bruised and the aforementioned humility can still be seen on her face and hair, but now the materials she exhibits are of some of the finest linens. Demonstrating fine silks and velvets intricately stitched with silver threads might have the generic onlooker perceive her differently as was months ago with her old sailing garb. One must also not forget the jewelry and fine weaponry now displayed on her person; if not for the fact that her wardrobe was tailored for both comfort and practicality, and that she still does not exhibit any make-up combined with a lacking desire to correct her disheveled hair, one might have expected her to be a prude (such as things once were so long ago).
Looking completely relaxed to the untrained eye, a more cognizant observer might notice an undeniable readiness in her posture. While peering within the turning pages she carries a derisive smile coupled with a deceivingly inviting demeanor. When reaching the first blank page of her sizable book, she gracefully handles her quill and observes the sky in thoughtful reflection before writing.
As to be expected, that first run in with Daniel would not be my last. Through a variety forest trampling, dungeon delves, and
She pauses briefly with a wry expression.
trap triggerings, I learned that he comes from a rather large family of adventurers and traders who began a sort of adventuring outfitters guild called Angels. The irony of this chance meeting delves even deeper when I met the Guild’s head (at least I believe she is at its head), who was no other than Ferrit Pandorn herself. A face from the past whom I assisted considerably when she was young in experience and now proposes, essentially, a 180 of that same position. Her prowess on our expedition showed more than a simple proposition of changing roles, to be honest. She recognized me as should be expected, she did live with me after all and at the time I was the aloof one. Still, it took long enough to have me wonder how the rumors of my death became exposed as fallacy to my enemies.
Perhaps it is my pride that had me refuse her offer for room and board as I had once provided her. This log and the dirt are getting no more comfortable and I’m growing weary of the act of soliciting for a bed. I’m also finding it harder to both work and profit at my trade with such little room to store the required materials. An intelligent person would take her offer and yet here I sit uncomfortably as I reminisce on the friends I’ve made.
Lia then stares at the fire in contemplation, gently caressing the scar on her neck.
I should apply that word with greater care, or more appropriately, choose those whom it applies with serious prudence. I now know what I am capable of in fulfilling my damaged perspectives and so much harm came simply by letting others in.
She briskly moves to the next paragraph, perhaps to leave behind the thoughts she just noted.
So it turns out Ferrit is Daniel’s mother or is it, mother-in-law? I guess it must be the latter as I am sure I would have met him as a child, but I was aloof. I learned that he has a son whom I met not through Daniel, but on another adventure. Charlie is his name and with a personality that readily challenges the incisive wit within me. I honestly take pleasure in our bouts and I hope he is dignified enough in character to find amusement in them as well. In spite of his talk about a Delair priestess who has made him swoon, I can’t help but speculate that he fancies me only to have his desire at a crossroads in reference to our respective species. If I didn’t know better I would assume he was Aeridinite the way he talks.
Snickering, she thinks, ‘His loss and it only adds fuel to our much-anticipated debates.’
He is skilled in combat though and I find myself watching him scrupulously to learn from his art; when I’m not blasting him along with our opponents with fireballs. I should really talk to him about this arson lust that leads to desiring the fire’s touch upon his person. On many accounts, this reminds me of another whose proposed aid was challenging to my ego. Going by Sibbicai, this Archmage, who also delights in flame, helped me traverse well-guarded territory for supplies and errands. What startled me, however, was his proposal to tutor me in the arcane. I kept face, but could not help but think the audacity to think of me a mere apprentice. It was a few days later that I realized I was the haughty one. His instructions would be a nice refresher and would possibly help me repopulate my spellbook, but in my experiences, such things can come with a price. What are his motivations to train me? What does he expect of me as a wizard? I’ve been well established long before he started to read and so he might find himself disappointed with certain expectations not being met if his instructions are more subjective than the intricacies of Al’noth.
Another powerful and quite intelligent, if not extraordinary, wizard I’ve grown accustomed to is Armand. A human who refers to himself as a Gnuman, a gnomish half-human experiment? This is quite possible given the fickle nature of gnomes as well as their general mastery of Al’noth and other scientific ventures. Witnessing this spectacle leads me to desire to learn their tongue and I believe I could trick Armand to help me free of charge as well. While I did say intelligent, I never meant in social occurrences. He is incredibly naïve and distrait, misconstruing most conversations; an unfortunate affair for him as he is quite handsome otherwise.
Through a
Another pause leaves a more bewildered expression on her face before continuing.
unique experience with Armand I ran into another old acquaintance from long ago. Connor Garvall.. Garvail… Garvel?? Conner! A sorcerer of old who joined with me in the Arcane Alliance when it was first formed. Back then I found him to be calculating and level-headed; odd traits for a sorcerer and yet perfect for one of his capabilities. I would guess him to be a formidable force now if my prior observations are correct, which they appear to be with exception to an impressive capacity toward impassive humor. Unless he is actually serious?
Lia looks up briefly with a wide grin, excitedly finishing her calligraphy.
Humour, the euphoria to my heart and being and yet a feature so wrongfully removed and replaced with a heart of stone and bile. I also met a Halfling of old who presents herself as Chimes, likely in the portrayal of the bells on her person. I later learned her name was actually Acacea a name I recognize, but vaguely. Still, she reminds me of Ozy, but friendlier and as expected, with humor. Perhaps my draw to her is the wealth of knowledge she possesses. Indeed, as much as the bard of old, I believe I will come to her often for advice and rumination, but most of all, she laughs at my attempts of humor. It is comforting to know that after all the trauma both transmitted and received, the cruelty and dreary nature of this profession, and the persistent issues of my being that continue to haunt me this very day. Someone can still laugh at my minor quips.
Lia then closes her book and stands on that final thought of jubilation. Holding her book close to chest she leaves the area with a gleaming expression on her face.