Andrew Reid - Letters Home

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zarianna
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Angel, thank you for sharing.  I am deeply honored that you trust me.  And I am also very happy that you've decided to become friends with my Muse.  She makes a very good friend and a very good listener.

I write to let you know that I will be in Port Hempstead for a while.  The sea elves have told whomever they confide to that the next wave is closing in on the city, and we're abuzz here getting ready.  So if we don't see each other, you know where I am.  Please, Golden Rose, find out if Leringard is in danger as well, and take measures to keep you and your family safe.  Even Raz, whom I have not yet had the opportunity to really know; I do him disservice to judge him so harshly for all that he's trying to protect you.

If you have need of me, send word to the Tower.  I will be out doing everything I can to save every life I can.  

Until I see you next

Andrew



To:
Margaret Reid
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother: A short letter, and this time I mean it.  Please dig up and have ready one of Grandfather's paintings of Grandmother Rose.  Also, if you would look for Randy Stuffigans?  I'm pretty sure he's in a box in Opal's old toy chest.

I will be visiting shortly and returning just as shortly.  I'm sorry I won't be able to stay long but word is the next natural disaster is close to Port Hempstead and I intend to be there when it hits to help my new home.

I am looking forward to seeing the family, but not at this time since I won't be lingering.  So if you could keep this quiet for me?

I'll see you very soon, my first Muse

Your loving son

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother, my progenitor.  My soul is eased, having visited with you.  Thank you for the painting and for finding Randy.  The painting is safe from the storm coming, rest assured it will be returned unharmed.

I've thought about what you said.  I know where my heart must go, and I know the current situation is untenable for long.  I'm still not sure how it will all fall out.  But I cannot, and will not, abandon someone for my convenience again.  When I left, that was easy to do.   But I'm not that man anymore.  

And yet, despite my newly found resolve to not bring pain, my heart, and my Song, have been changed forever.  Ilsare (and Her friend, as I mentioned) have conspired it seems, as you wicked women are wont to do.  So what can a man do when a siren calls?  I would have better luck trying to resist the tsunami by standing in front of it, or trying to set our Muse up on a date with Vorax.

On a side note, I do hope you appreciate the irony of you advising me to "let her go".  Especially considering the nature of my leaving my birth city.

Having thoroughly enjoyed pointing that out, I will add that letters might again be scarce, though I doubt I'll be able to resist these inked confessions I keep sending you.  I am touched that you keep them.  I can't stress enough, it was good to see you, Mother.  In all this time you had become something else in my mind; a presence, but not one I could hug or hear anymore.  A goddess of my secrets.  Once again I have your sage advice in mind in the voice it was intended, and you only reminded me of my rapidly advancing age and appalling lack of children (not likely to be remedied by my racial woman of choice any time soon) three times.  Most restrained, for you.

Joking aside the wave comes and I will be here to meet it.  Thankfully the town is in full preparation.  There will be, Ilsare willing, no lives lost.  I will write as soon as I can to let you know how we fared.

Give the family my love

Your loving son

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Kyle Pandorn
Care of Angel's Guild Hall
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Kyle; we have met only once, but I understand you follow our lady.  I am not sure how much time you've spent in Hlint's shrine, but something has happened.  What I know, which comes to me from a priestess of our Lady named Annwyl and to her from Samilla Jaanson, is that Nicholas Nedina was found slain in the forest outside of the town of Hlint.  His fiance and town guard Alison Grader was found slain in the Ilsarian gardens the night Nicholas disappeared.  An adventurer has said that the guard had been murdered by figures in black and red robes and masks and that they then carried off Nicholas.  Guards sent to search for the priest told a tale of battle with Corathian followers and demons in the forest.

I hope we can count on your help, once this wave passes and before any trail goes too cold.  Nicholas should not be a footnote; he deserves justice, as does his lady.  Annwyl takes mail care of Calise in the Hlint Shrine, and I take my mail through the Tower Academy.

I hope to speak to you soon

Andrew Reid




To:
Zira and Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Zira, Zari; I write you both as something has happened at the Hlint Shrine that cannot go unaddressed.  Annwyl contacted me (Zari, Zira can explain who she is) and told me that Nicholas Nedina was found slain in the forest outside of the town of Hlint.  His fiance Alison Grader was found dead in the Ilsarian gardens that same night.  An adventurer has said that the guard had been murdered by figures in black and red robes and masks and that they then carried off Nicholas.  Guards sent to search for the priest told a tale of battle with Corathian followers and demons in the forest.

Annwyl and I ask for your help.  Please let us know, either of us, soonest.  You can reach Annwyl via Calise at the Hlint Shrine.

Yours in the Muse,

Andrew
_________

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother.  I lived.

The waves came.  The buoys did their job, and it looks like some will be recoverable although we're still waiting for the storm to die down enough to see.  

I wanted to write all about it, the words have been burning in my mind as I toss and turn in this damp room, although that could be the fever I've developed.  But now that I have dried the paper enough to write I can't describe what happened.

I need to.  Let me start slowly.  Volunteers and the magicusers and druids who set up the buoys and coral breakers began to assemble on the docks in Port Hempstead as the storm gathered force.  Zari and Zira and their brother Zak were there, along with a number of people I knew or recognized.  Quite a few I had never met before as well.  And two musicians I hope to see again, a halfling gypsy woman and a man who blurred the line between brilliance and madness with surgical precision.  Her name I didn't catch, but his is Farros Galder.

The redoubtable Mister Galder and myself began to play for the assembling group.  His style is far removed from mine; he prefers thrashing beats and lies on the E string like it insulted his mother.  Still, I found myself pulled into his personal vortex of sheer crazy, so strong was his charisma.  

We played on through the rising winds, and the halfling woman created a bubble wherein the storm's noise was lessened so we could discuss what to do.  The waves were pounding over the docks by this time and the first flashes off the magically reinforced buoys were visible in the blackness.  Several of us had put forth the idea of reinforcing the shields with one last combined effort, making the shield an inverted V with point forward to deflect the waves that got through the other defenses.  

Zari was one of the first to start pushing for this, and I could not have been more proud of her then.  She's so new to our faith; new, in truth, to faith of any kind that extends beyond her immediate family.  But she stepped past herself and gave, and trusted in the ones around her, and stood with us in the face of what, for a moment, looked like certain death.

We started to combine efforts.  Jaelle arrived and joined the the strongest magicusers to knit our talents together.  We all poured our various magics into the shield; Alex and I sang, and sang, and sang.  Jaelle joined in and along with the halfling and Farros we performed the most exciting concert I have ever heard.  Nothing I ever did in Huangjin can touch last night.  Those who could threw in their will and those that had no inkling of how to contribute to the shield kept those of us who did standing upright and braced us.

I saw the wave coming in.  There were many waves of course, some of them taller than the buildings around us.  But the wave - let me call it The Wave - looked like a mountain range of water running forward to drop on us.  I don't remember the previous wave nearly as well, as Elaine and I were fleeing for our lives in the most directly opposite location as possible.  Yesterday's Wave is now a permanent part of my memory and I fear I will have many more dreams of drowning as I had in the wee hours of this morning when I was finally able to snatch some sleep.

The buoy webs did what we all hoped they'd do, and I am not merely a little proud to say that my suggestion did seem to help.  Each successive layer of the shield nibbled at the wave's power until it hit the "point" of our final shield.  It wasn't a complete success.  By then Hedessa, one of our powerful contributors, had fallen and we were pressed to fill the gap her magical power had left.  So the wave was imperfectly cleaved, and many of us were hit with perhaps seventy-five percent of the remaining Wave.  I was washed back and took more damage than I realized at the time, and Alexander is damaged, but he is tenacious like his creator and hung on to play for me through the rest of the waves that hit and beyond.

We stayed to continue reinforcing the shields until the storm had died enough to be merely a sluicing rain and an angry ocean.  Somewhere in all that a whale was beached on the coral blockade the druids had raised.  A sea elf of my acquaintance and a druid I did not know rescued it, all of us on the docks cheering them on (excepting the few who were suddenly hungry for whale steak).  By this time I was unable to sing and barely able to speak.  

Most of the night from here on was a blur, although I remember watching as they tried to help the woman Hedessa.  I learned she was a Xeenite, possibly a priestess although I'm not sure I heard that right.  Sometime before the first wave she fell, the gap in our defenses that caused the misfire of the shield, and she bled from her mouth, nose, and ears.  She kept screaming about pain.  I felt, and still do, that she was fighting something inside her mind but I'm not a healer and the halfling gypsy, Alzira, and Jaelle were already attending her along with Ben who is a local guildsman, and a halfling named Tod (to whom I owe a great deal from the last wave).  So I stood back and observed a while.  A number of people including Jaelle took Hedessa off to find help and I found an isolated place to play to the waves.  

Alex is hurt, and I'm hurt, but during the apex of that freakish storm I did something I want so badly to do again that it's a cold iron sliver in my soul.

I think I might have played some of my Song.  It was all so confused, and I had let go completely to fight the water.  At some point I forgot where the music started and I ended, and Alex and I moved away from the others' tune.  I don't remember what I played, though, and this is killing me inside.  I spent the remainder of the night until my legs would not longer hold me playing on the docks.  Even with poor Alexander soaked to the point of weakening the glue and his bridge cracked and one string completely gone, he stayed with me, trying to find the music again.

The Tower was locked and I discovered well before the storm hit that my little tent was commandeered to hold a passel of small children, so I borrowed a cold, damp, but structurally sound room in someone's evacuated home to sleep in.  Pray the guards don't come around and find me vagrant.  I'm not well, mother.  My back hurts in some interesting places and every muscle is bruised.  I'm running a fever, my nose is dripping, and my voice has gone on strike until further notice.

I do have to add that regarding my love life, things have once again changed and I pray to Muse for the better.  Zari found me while I was trying so desperately to remember even one moment of my Song, and she was as beaten as I after our efforts.  But for a mercy, she seemed to understand my need to be alone.  I had spoken to her sister earlier to beg her help, and I pray that Alzira understands; I think she does.  But Zari said, as she walked away, that she didn't mean to fall in love with me.  So Zira must have spoken to her about the limits of what I can offer, Ilsare bless her.  She is a good woman.

I cried while Zari walked away.  I cried, in part because I now have the potential to hurt her very badly, and because our Muse has shown her love again.  I hope this is healing for her.  I know I could have traveled with her and slept in a warm bed.  She's even given me a key to their home which is a gesture of friendship and trust that I think her friend Raz will not share.  But to give her that hope after I have made clear that I can't give her what she has only just realized she wants?   I will not shatter a fragile and budding faith with that kind of selfishness.

I'm starting to sound like Daniel.  I need to go out and drink heavily and lie with women of loose morals before I am tempted to take vows.

I'm kidding myself, of course.  The woman I want to hold is busy up to the graceful tips of her ears and so I curl in this corner, trying not to spill the ink with my shaking hand, and confess yet again to you.

Well, that's the long version of my short reason for writing.  I'm alive.  I will go forth and offer help to the mages and druids to set up the buoys yet again.  I'm sure this storm is not our last.


Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother, I am enclosing a separate letter along with the request for you to see to its delivery.  I do not have a full address but many of the couriers will know where to take it if you ask.

Trust me that this is not a catastrophic relapse on my part but rather a piece of something more important.  

I have faith that you will arrange speedy delivery; timing is important.

I will explain more later.


Your loving son,

Andrew


To:
Zarianna
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Angel; I am not sure when but I may be incommunicado soon, and I don't want you to worry.  I will be traveling and I have no set location or return time.

I loved your song and I'm practicing it.  I will disagree though; it's not easier than dwarven, just different.  There are more syllables and pauses but I will say the sound is much less harsh on the ears.  Of course, as neither of us are dwarves, it is rather biased of us to say that.  I'm sure that dwarven poetry is as soothing to them as ours is to us.  And now I'm determined to find some, having just wrote that.

Take care, Wild One, until next we meet


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Katrien Hommel
108 Port Hempstead Docks
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Milady;

I write to thank you again for the work you did on Alexander, my violin.  My skills fall far short of being able to repair more than strings and your time and gentle ministrations were a caress from Ilsare herself.

I thought you would like to know that since your repairs, my friend has a new voice; he is deeper than before except on the top end of those fine new strings you gave him.  There, he has acquired a feminine voice, as lilting and sweet as a concert soprano.  It is a pleasing contrast and both of us enjoy it.

I would very much like to play him for you and share some of your time, graceful lady.  If this would please you, I take mail at the Tower Academy, the address of which I'm sure is known to you.

Thank you, Beautiful Piper.  My friend is whole because of you.


Yours in the Muse,

Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

Andrew,

I never said Elven was easier. I said Elven was prettier. It doesn't sound like hacking and gagging and spitting. It's musical in and of itself. As for your going away, if you would please leave your key on the shelf before you do I would appreciate it. Just in case something happens and you lose it, I would prefer not to have a stray key floating around unaccounted for. Thanks, and good travels.

~Zari





To:
Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

I will of course return the key.  I should have given it to you when last I saw you at the storytelling but I was preoccupied and have been for some time, as you have noticed.  I will make a trip to the house on my way east and put it on the bookshelf by the fireplace outside your room.

I am truly sorry I missed your story, and the rest of the contestants as well.  I do hope you will consider sharing it with me sometime when we can sit and talk.

And Zari, I am sorry I cannot return what you were willing to give.  It was never my intent to cause you any pain.  It still is not.  But I see you walking away from the pittance I offered with head held high, and a new-found faith, and an inner strength that guides your course.  And though I would miss our rampaging fun, I am also very glad this is how it ends; you the master of your destiny with no tears to waste on a wastrel such as me.  New talents and interests that you wear to such great effect (I refer here to the paint in your hair and on your graceful hands).  And most of all, our Friend to speak to in times of your need.  

I won't play priest or pretend I'm wise.  Still, I cannot help but wonder if this was meant all along, because the woman I see in you now has conquered some of the fears and hurts of her past.  Which is more than I can claim, truth be told.

I hope you will consider this letter an offer of friendship.  You and your sister are remarkable women and I'm sure Ilsare will cause our paths to cross again.


Yours in the Muse,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Calise and Others Whom it Concerns
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Dearest Calise:

You may have already received word of this; a group of our Lady are en route to assist in the investigation of the death of Nicholas and his lady. Kyle Pandorn and Annwyl will be among them as will myself.

I send you advance notice and I apologize if this runs parallel to other missives. I ask that you gather all that is known about the deaths and names of witnesses we might question. To those I have spoken to the sentiment is clear: This atrocity cannot be allowed to go uninvestigated and those responsible will be held to their justice.

We should arrive on the outside of a week.


Yours in the Muse,

Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Calise and Others to Whom it Concerns
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Dearest Calise:

I am writing at the behest of the others concerning the preliminary results of our investigation.  Sadly we were unable to determine much as the weather and wildlife have obliterated most of the evidence.  We did find a ritual site and the site of the guard's battle, and what I have to report will not ease your heart I fear.

Nicolas was used in some kind of ritual.  For what we don't know, as there are so many possibilities.  It was a ritual involving great anger.  Two of us, myself being one, were briefly at the mercy of the rage so strong was it.  This brings me back to wondering about Nicolas's past, begging your forgiveness, but such anger is often reserved for those we know - and his lady was not targeted.  I may do further research on that, and any information you can pass on about Nicolas would be helpful.  

My gut says (and I should here note that not all the others agree with me) that it was a summoning.  So take that as opinion and not fact.  He was tortured before his death, and a sharp knife of some kind was used to carve some of his bone while he was alive.  I regret to put it so succinctly but that is what we discovered.  Beyond that we found no creatures or any evidence that the perpetrators were still nearby.  After all this time, I don't think they would be.  

After discussion we concluded that it was his good heart and nature that made him such a potent victim; without further investigation I can't think of another reason he would have been chosen.  One thing I forgot to ask was his personal devotional power; would he have been a formidable opponent?  If not, that supports the above argument.  

I would suggest to your guard to continue to keep a wary eye on the woods.  I will also send word to Lorax and Echo as my map shows them as close enough to be visited by either our murderers or whatever it is they may have called up.

Again, I am sorry it took us so long to get there and that our investigations brought no comfort.  If I can offer anything that might ease your heart, it is that Ysaline with some help from Annwyl, Laaren, and myself, cleansed the ritual site.  I hope this brings peace to Nicolas' soul as well.

Annwyl, Laaren and Ysaline will be visiting to check on that new rose in the garden.  If there are any further developments, you need only call on us.  I feel confident any of us would answer your summons.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid



To:
Captain of the Guard or Proxy
Guard Garrison
Town of Echo
Mistone

(Letter repeated and sent to the following address:
Captain of the Guard or Proxy
Guard Garrison
Town of Lorax
Mistone)

To Whom it May Concern (Captain):

My name is Andrew Reid and I am writing concerning an incident in Hlint that you should be aware of.  I am not writing in any official capacity but merely as a concerned individual who wishes to give fair warning.

Six weeks ago (plus time added for this letter to reach you), a beloved member of Ilsare's fold and his lady, a town guard, were murdered.  A witness spoke of two elves and a human; I believe the genders were one male and one female elf and the human a male, but this was an impression from the one living witness.  They were dressed in Corathian garb and there was a demon present as well.  A battle ensued near the shrine to Ilsare, and the woman was killed with both arcane magic and weaponry.  The man was taken and used in a ritual in the woods near Lake Nox.  

We have not been able to determine what the ritual was for, but certainly anger played a great part.  We could feel it in the air even this many weeks after the event.

I send this to you in hopes that nothing has happened, and nothing will, but you should be aware.  Should there have been, or be, any activity of such a nature I beg you send word to myself via the Tower Academy in Port Hempstead or to Annwyl Cadi care of Calise, Shrine to Ilsare in Hlint.

With Respect,


Andrew Reid



To:
Buddy
109 Hempstead
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Good sir, I have some of what you requested ready for your approval.  I take letters at the Tower Academy; please let me know when we can arrange a meeting.

Are you also a member of a tradesguild, as your cousin?  If so, perhaps we can work part of my remuneration in trade, as there are a number of items I would like to acquire.

Until we meet next, salute


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Annwyl Cadi
Care of Calise
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Annwyl, my friend.  I take pen in hand per our discussion as the silver buckle gin beside me crooks a finger, and hope this is enough to keep it capped.

I can't put into words what your quiet faith has done to help me lately.  Yes, what I said to Ragnar was correct, and I have to accept that my desires will never go away.  Perhaps it's best to accept that I will fall to them occasionally, and I have to trust in those I love to help me swim out again.

I have recently been deeply inside my past, with a mandate from myself to hold nothing back and dive every depth until I found what I needed to help another.  And I did, how I did.  I think I can lay the pipe aside; at least, I have not walked to Fort Vehl looking for anything to fill it since you took the last pouch.  Bless our Muse that I have absolutely no herbalism skills at all or I'd be out in the forest right now.

My solace is that I did find something of use, as I said.  That and a barrel of worries for the lady whose song is part of mine.  I'll leave that for now, dwelling on it doesn't help my willpower any.  

I did emcee the pie poetry contest at Alazira's pie contest, where Jaelle bested me with ease with her superb poem of overindulgence vs. moderation. Jennara won with her simple two-line poem.  I can appreciate simplicity; on Tilmar, our traditional poetry is very short.  But I think there might have been other reasons Jaelle didn't win though I have yet to confirm this.

I will sing my song for you and recite Jaelle's poem as well when next we can sit, and talk.  I am determined to have her over my knee in regards to songs and stories at least once, though, and to that end I am working on something that I would like to have your opinion on.  Again, next we meet.  Perhaps then we can finish that dress for you that you have something to dance in.  Please invite your love if you wish; I'd like to hear both your stories, how you met, how you've come to be who you are.

Well, writing about writing is sparking my Muse.  I have a song to finish, and another stewing about in my hindbrain, so I will finish this letter with a note of thanks.  I believe I will extend my agreement with you through today, and leave the bottle sealed.  I make no promises for tomorrow; if you get another letter, you'll know.


Your friend in the Muse,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
Hopefully still somewhere around the Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone


Andrew,

I don't know if something is bothering you but I found this song that I've been practicing. I'll sing it for you sometime, but I've enclosed the lyrics for you. I don't know who wrote it, but it's pretty.

Love,
Zari

*Enclosed on a separate piece of parchment*

Send me a Song

Take the wave now and know that you're free
Turn your back the land, face the sea
Face the wind now, so wild and so strong
When you think of me, wave to me and send me song

Don't look back when you reach the new shore
Don't forget what you're leaving me for
Don't forget when you're missing me so
Love must never hold, never hold tight, but let go

Oh, the nights will be long when I'm not in your arms
But I'll be in this song that you sing to me
Across the sea, somehow, someday
You will be far away, so far from me
And maybe someday I will follow you in all you do
'Til then, send me a song

When the sun sets the water on fire
When the wind swells the sails of your hire
Let the call of the bird on the wind
Calm your sadness and lonliness
And then start to sing to me
I will sing to you
If you promise to send me a song

I walk by the shore and I hear
Hear your song come so faint and so clear
And I catch it, a breath on the wind
And I smile and I sing you a song
I will send you a song
I will sing you a song
I will sing to you
If you promise to send me a song



To:
Zarianna
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Zari.  I have not written in some time, true - I've been away and diving into my past.  I apologize for my distractions.  Things have been difficult, as I'm sure you divined at our last meeting during the pie contest.  I'm working on it.

I believe we might be neighbors soon.  I have a benefactor; I'm a paid musician again!  Well, I'm a theoretically paid musician, again.  But I should be soon.  When the coin passes hands and approval is meted for my work, I will first repay your sister in full and then be renting a room in the Twin Dragons from the lovely lady Tyrian.  So my promise to accompany your songs may then be fulfilled, and we can use the stage to practice.  In fact, I foresee more bardic contests and entertainment now that I will have a venue so close that I can stagger to my room after to sleep.  Much like the Scamp but a thousand fold above for quality and class.

If I sound excited, I am.  I will write when we're - no I won't.  I'll walk on over when we're neighbors and knock.

Also, please share this portion with your sister.  Thank you for letting me contribute to the contest.  I garnered perhaps half a percent of the total monies, so it's a modest start for my efforts but I'd like to think that it entertained.  I know the children were, especially by Jaelle's poem, which really was far better than my effort.  Although my mind was wandering something fierce that day, I seem to remember someone mentioning that Jaelle didn't pay entry to the poem contest - is that why she didn't win?  Although I found Jennara's poem quite entertaining in its simplicity, neither hers nor mine compared the the Ballard of Finnias McPhee.

Again,thank you both for letting me participate.  As soon as I am given payment for services rendered in song I will plop the True directly at the orphanage.  I look forward to accompanying you when you sing the song you sent, Zari, for your voice lacks only training and with that you will be quite the songbird.

Yours in the Muse


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Tyrian Baldu'muur
137 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Milady Baldu'muur, I write with a spark of undiluted joy in my heart that my efforts of late have paid off in a most concrete sense.  I have acquired the True to rent one of your most luxurious rooms.

I would prefer the second one you showed me, if the prices are the same.  I will be in Leringard later this day if you will be on premises to take my deposit.  I have fulfilled my contract to the sisters Alazira and Zarianna as promised.

I look forward to being your tenant and to many nights of entertaining you and your other guests.  I also wish to discuss the possibility of hosting bardic concerts and competitions from your lovely stage area.

Until I am safely within the timber arms of your home,


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
Reid Pottery
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother, progenitor, my first Muse.  I am writing you in a kind of joyous haze, one that for today is not helped by anything but my own jubilant mood and a night's sleep that deserves a paragraph of its own.

I have a home.  My benefactor has given a hearty stamp of approval to the work I have done and have started performing, and paid me far more than the initial offering.  This alone let me complete several debts; I have a new pair of boots awaiting resizing, ones that are heavily magic'd and will serve me well for a long time to come.  I have a new cloak of supple panther skin, that I have dyed white and embroidered (you did read that right - I suppose Grandmother Rose's insistance on us learning this was in fact justified) with our Muse's blazon.  I can't help but say: It looks good.  Very good.  I bought and paid for a mahagony bow for Alex, an older one my landlady had that she doesn't use.  And I was able to make good my debt to the lady Argali, a dwarf of stellar heart who loaned me my rapier until such a time as I could pay.  I am, today, this moment, this breath - debt free.

I have also spent days in cornfields, stripping, shucking, and picking to feed chickens to get eggs.  I cannot possibly stress to you enough how mind-numbing this is and my hands are covered with little slashes and cuts from the leaves.  However the contract I took will pay me six thousand more True when I complete it, and I am perhaps seventy-five percent done.  Three boxes of eggs, of which I have been paid for one, with a second ready, and a third started.  I also sold a box and change of aloe I've been collecting.  With that money, and once my debts were paid, I went straight to Leringard and took a room at the Twin Dragons Inn.

I must describe this room.  I'll preface; you remember our conversations about the Scamp's Mug, and my closet there, all of eight feet by eight feet and empty save for two families of mice in the walls and the constant smells and sounds of the bar below.  Might I add, for an alcoholic, not a good place to attempt to stay sober.  But it was what I could afford.

Now?  Oh, mother.  I am looking around in between sentences and I'm still in shock.  Mother, I have a BATHTUB.  I had to buy it and it was an expense, but I have a tub!  I spent a good two hours in it last night, soaking until the water was completely cold and my fingers resembled califlower.  It was bliss, but not the most bliss.

The room itself is perhaps ten steps wide and at least eighteen or twenty long.  Double what I had before.  The workmanship is solid, the floors clean, and it is insulated by a hallway from the main gathering room and the bar so I don't smell the liquor and can barely hear the noise even when a group is in loud conversation.  I think a concert might penetrate the walls, but then again, if music is being played I'll be out there, not in here!  The common room has a stage, and the stage contains a piano that I tuned this morning, and a lovely harp with a very lush sound.  The harp is double strung so it's a challenge for me to play but I have already started to familiarize myself.

I digress.  The room comes furished with four large crates, and that alone makes it worth any price let alone the modest deposit requested of me.  All of my skins, bolts of silk, and tailoring materials have a home not on my back.  I was shocked at how much taller I felt, not that I need to be any taller - I'm already bumping my head on every doorframe as it is - after I unloaded my packs.  My landlady, a lovely and seemingly gentle woman by the name of Tyrian Baldu'muur, had also placed a rug of firey reds and yellows with a dragon on it.  While this is pure decoration, it does remind me of the traditional rugs from home, with a Tilmarian hook to the stitching.  I like it.

I have saved the best two things for last.  First, with a good portion of my newly found wealth, I took purchase on a desk.  My desk.  The one that this letter is being penned on right now; broad, heavy, oak, with little gnarls and swirls in the grains.  It wasn't the smoothest or most flawless - in fact, I chose it because this oak had a number of flaws.  The wood under my fingers, though expertly sanded and polished, has a history.  Here, three inches to the left of the inkwell, something large burrowed and left a cupping in the surface that I am using for nibs.  Here, along the edge, a long shallow bump that is so hard it couldn't be sanded down - the wood concentrated around or against something, struggled, and became so condensed that mere sandpaper was no match.  I run my fingers over that bump often.  Under the paper, exactly where I find it most comfortable to write, is a round pattern that looks almost runic; I'm trying to find the words to describe it.  It's as if water leaked in, causing a rot, but the rot stayed contained in a circular pattern that winds in on itself.  If you look over this letter, especially this very long paragraph I can't seem to end, you'll see a light trace of that pattern where the wood is ever so slightly indented from the damage.  Follow the pattern in, and it ends on itself.  A spiral.

Besides this and many other lovely marks of a long life, the desk has several sturdy drawers and is large enough that I have already stacked it with books and still have room to write.  I have a proper, lined book for my musical transcriptions and scores now.  It's propped up in the center that I can move it to my music stand easily.  My desk.  My world?  Sometimes it feels like it.

And finally, that which I am in a writhing esctasy about.  My bed.

Technically, it's Tyrian's bed, since it came with the room.  I chose this room in part because this bed is not a canopy and is also a lot longer than the other I saw.  In fact, nearly long enough for me; I only have to sleep slightly canted.  After a lifetime of sleeping on the mats at home and never fitting quite right (I'm sorry, it had to be said.  They were never long enough even when I was a child) and a year of lying on a bedroll above the Scamp that was also too short, after a lifetime of cold feet, I have a bed that covers me.

I will try to describe the sensation, with proper build-up of course.  You, mother, being of average height and father as well and the both of you wondering where I came from (I blame Grandmother Rose - you knew that Alindor blood runs tall!) cannot understand what it is like.  After buying and taking delivery on my furniture; I was able to pursuade them to move it that very day as the shop is only steps away from the Inn; I spent the evening arranging and fussing a bit, not unlike a woman doing her hair.  I took my bath.  I wandered out to play the harp, had supper, came back, and wandered around the room.  I can pace now - this is a nice ammenity.

After a few hours with Alex and when it was quite late I was tired enough to go to sleep.  This has been my habit for most of my life.  Nothing I sleep on is comfortable for me so I work myself into exhaustion so that I can actually drift off.  Funny story, here - at the Breath of the Muse, the woman in charge had a room made up with me in mind.  A gong in our oldest tradition, a piano, a harp, and decorations again very Huangjinese.  It was a work of art to live in.  And it came complete with a bed-mat that was...too short, leaving my ankles and feet once again on the cold floor.  I could not cry but to laugh.

Again, to last night; I laid down upon this bed, with the stuffed feather mattress and the plain white cotton sheets, the moss green blanket that is clean and mended but not new.  All of it together spoke "come, lie, rest. I will hold you".  So I let myself sink into that bed, with the sheets and blanket over my feet and my toes as warm as they've ever been, and I fell asleep.  Immediately, I'm fairly certain before my head made full contact with the feather pillow.

I have never done that before when I was not in my cups past the barrel or on the tail end of many, many pipefuls of dreamroot (or both).  Never.  I was sober, dead sober, and out like the proverbial candlewick.  I slept until well past dawn, and woke in a most peculiar state.  I felt better, more refreshed, than ever before.  But also, I woke with a sudden and vivid understanding of many things that before were plastered over with drink or sleep deprivation: My posture, the weight of carrying my life on my back, literally; the way my fear for my love and the things happening to her have caused me to remain tense; the years of sleeping on a floor; the way my latest tumble from the wagon has affected my physical being.  All of this in one giant jumble of pain that still wars with the sheer heavenly chorus that my brain perceived upon waking completely refreshed.

I worried this morning, lying in my bed.  I had so much I was thinking and wanted to write and normally, I would just roll to a sitting position and write.  But o, the bed! - the seductress of downy feathers and smooth cotton linen that held me tighter than any Xeenite binding ever did!  I didn't get up.  I didn't start this letter until well after noon.  I worried until I stood, stretching to my full height and beyond without touching the ceiling, and took Alex and played a new score I had heard in my head but not written.  It is for a friend - a symphony for Symphony.  I regret that I was drinking the last time we met, and she does not like this so a little scar was left on what I hope is a new friendship.  But again I wander.  I wrote the score out with Alex's help and it came as it never has.  Once I had begun, no pain stayed my arm, no tremors in my back took my mind from the music, and I was focused as I have not been in years.  So then I decided my worry is a small thing, one way to be traded for another, and I will adapt.  And tomorrow when I wake I will lie in bed and not worry.  This I promise myself, and you.

I will wrap up my wordy but sincerely glowing homage to my new dwelling with the address: All items to me are to go to 137 Leringard, city of Leringard, on Mistone.  Tyrian or Alton, one of her employees, or one of the others will see to it that I get it.  I don't know if she has a postmistress or master here at the Inn yet.  If I find out she does, I will give you their name.

So.  As you most pointedly warned, my trip to the temple did indeed end with me back in a bottle and worse.  The worse I struggled with for a number of weeks but in the end my ceela and my friend Annwyl were diligent in removing the pouches of temptation and I overcame that craving, with one small backslide.  The alcohol, not as easily.  I am sober today.  I was sober last evening.  I was not sober yesterday afternoon.  I was sober the day before yesterday.  It goes like that, up and down.  Today, for ceela and Annwyl and for my Song, I will have a sober day.  I plan to do the same tomorrow - but we'll see.  One day at a time.

Oh, and my love did receive your work and it is safe with her.  I have not had a chance to ask her opinion.  Her life is a twist of too many things lately, I struggle to keep my worry in check.  But all storms let out the sun eventually and so will hers, our Ladies willing.  I have sung a prayer to Ilsare every night for her.  Every night, since the first, and every night until my last.  She is that kind of woman.

Mother, I feel another song and I have work to do besides.  I am performing to fulfill my contract, and I need to get out.  I have sung to Symphony, in her Knight persona per my request, and she declined to arrest me on grounds of inciting the overthrow of a government, so I am comfortable taking my show back on the road.  Don't be surprised to see me playing around home soon - I promise you on our Muse's heart that I will visit when I am in town.

My love to the family, and little Opal especially.  Stars and song I miss her little girl laughter.

Your loving and well-rested son

Andrew



To:
Postmistress
Tower Academy
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Milady, I cannot thank you enough for the gracious use of your address in these long and trying months.  I write to report a new address for myself, one I would appreciate you forwarding my mail to until my contacts have all been appraised.

New Address:

Andrew Reid
Twin Dragons Inn
137 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Thank you again, Milady, for the assistance you've given.

Inspiration guide your steps


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Annwyl Cadi
Care of Calise
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Annwyl.  I have not written in some time, and I'm glad to say I haven't much needed to per our agreement.  I did have a difficult time a week or so back, but a number of things lately have conspired to leave me stronger inside than ever before.

I write to tell you of my new address.  I took a room in the Twin Dragons under the protective roof of Tyrian Baldu'muur.  I have not yet lost the joy of coming home, to this place, and this desk I write on.

Odd.  As I write I realize that I have not had alcohol in here, not in this space.  Nothing to fog my mind in here - it's quiet, I have been writing more scores than ever before.  I had only just realized that - no bottles, no wine, no pipes, nothing.  It's as if I am unconsciously unwilling to lose myself here.

But I wander, as I so often do.  I would invite you to come visit me sometime, as my lodging is large enough for guests.  Bring your heart's other as well, if they will come.

My new address:
137 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

I look forward to sitting with you soon, my friend.  Or perhaps a romp with the battle sisters?



Andrew




Dear Andrew,

It does my heart good to have not heard from you in so long. * She pauses to smile at her own little joke. * I am hopeful that you will understand what I mean by that.

I am sorry to hear that you had more difficult times lately. I know that I should reprove you for not writing me when they occurred, * She shakes her finger at him, across the miles, yet there is a smile in her eyes. * but I find myself unable to do so in much earnest, as I can imagine that you had good cause at the time. I do hope you both can and will tell me of those trials when next we meet; I am also very eager to hear what has transpired to bolster your inner resolve. Please know that I am your attentive ear for good news as well as bad.

I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that you have found yourself comfortable lodgings at The Twin Dragons Inn; it is a place of some renown, I am told. I am even more pleased to hear that your... * She pauses again, quill feather playing on her lips, as she searches for the right word. * ...crutches have not yet found a place within your home.

I will therefore ask another promise of you, to whit: Please keep your home unfettered by those and should you feel their need, at the very least walk outside your door to partake. It will sound silly I know, for me to be imploring you to take those steps, even if they are only few, but please humor me in this. You might find that they serve to give yourself the chance to reconsider what you intended to do.

I like you so very much Andrew and, though my heart is firmly bound with another's, as you know, I care about you profoundly.

* At that, she gets up to herself walk outdoors and breathe in the sweet air of the garden. Some time later, her introspective mood is finally dispelled and she goes back to finish the letter, her composure now returned. *

As you can see by the envelope in which this has arrived, I have made careful note of your new address. You may very well find me knocking at your door sometime towards the end of the first week in Seplar.

Please keep yourself well wrapped in the arms of the Muse until then.

~ Annwyl

P.S. You are always welcome to travel with us Battle Sisters, though we are somewhat unpredictable as to when we convene and even as to our makeup on any given day; there are five of us now, so far. [/COLOR]* * She winks, self amused, as she writes that last * ~ A.*[/COLOR][/SIZE]

[RollinsCat]

To:
Janice of Bands
Breath of the Muse
Near River of Reflections
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Milady Janice:

I wish to thank you for the amazing hospitality you showed our group (Raz, Zarianna, Alazira, Zak, and myself) upon our visit to the Breath.

I cannot speak for the others but I found that my time there broke past some internal barriers that has resulted in progress on a Song I'm working on.  For this epiphany alone, nothing I could offer would be sufficient in thanks.

I cannot help but feel that our Lady smiled on my time there.  I hope you will consider having me back as a guest some time in the future.  For now, in addition to my gratitude, I would like to inquire about the name and address of the gentleman who is associated with the manipulations of vibrations associated with sound - I have been interested in this phenomena and would like to attend one of his demonstrations.

In the Heartsong,


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
Reid Pottery
Potter's Lane
Obo District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Hello Mother.  Thank you for your long and wonderful letter on things back home.  And congratulations on the land purchase!  I look forward to seeing the new house and grounds, and father's new pottery barn.  Please sketch me a picture of the plans and let me know when the housewarming is so I can attend?

Now, on to this tome.  First, let me preface by saying a lot of what I'm writing is for me, not for you, as I find journals tedious for some reason, which on the face of it is odd as I'm quite happy to write songs in one.  So I spill my soul and update you in one shot.  Efficient, no?

Life has changed, in subtle and huge ways.  Collecting my thoughts here - pretend this is the proverbial pregnant pause.

First, I've become something of an activist.  It began as an offer of paid employment as a bard, something that many of us seek (especially when homeless, penniless, and facing major instrument repairs).  I find that purity of art is often restricted to those who have other means and since leaving your timber and stucco womb I have not had that luxury.  And so, as you know, I lept at the chance to make some coin for writing.  My subject was to be a dictator in southern Dregar, one I'd heard of but not much.  A quiet dictator.  Not one of those easy-to-hate, splashy types, sticking heads on pikes around their castle moats.  So I investigated.  I read.  I dug, interviewed...and what I've found, the parts I can verify as unambiguous truth, disturbs me.  

People don't live in Prantz, mother.  They exist, and their daily lives a labyrinth of rules and edits designed to keep them quiet and moderately afraid, all the time.  I walked in those streets (outside the city proper - I am not stupid, after all, merely not wise) and the tension vibrated through the walls; it was palpable.  I wish I was being dramatic.  But this time I'm not.  People moved with their heads down, quickly, to whatever location they needed to get to and without looking around.

Not that there is much to look at.  The city still has the great, thick walls, but the entire ambiance is grey.  Grey as in the mood evoked, like a constant overcast day, not the color although it is that too.  I saw a little of the old city through the eyes of another, who has heard of it from others still.  I saw a city alive in that vision, a city that reached and nurtured.  Not what it is today - stripped, silent, and scared.  The dwarves that run it are unlike any I've ever seen.  The gray-skinned ones are not too different from what you'd expect except for their coloration, but there are some - I watched a few, near the building where you declare yourself and sign paperwork before entering the inner walls - who have bright purple eyes and move like quicksilver down a slope.  They seemed oddly uncurious, not looking me over but merely waiting for something.  A signal perhaps.

At this point I'd written and been performing two songs that encapsulated what I knew about Lord Rael and had been singing them among others around Mistone and Mariner's Hold on a quasi-tour.  My benefactor found them pleasing and paid me a rather hefty coin, hence my current comfortable lodging as I mentioned.  What I did not realized is that my little songs have traveled in advance of me and been the cause of no small consternation on the part of the ruling bodies in those lands.

This brings me to my second topic.  I've been a drunk and a womanizer, absolutely yes I have.  But somehow in all this time I have never seen the inside of a cell -- my sins too small and insignificant in the grander scheme of things, and myself not being a thief by nature.  I almost did finally end up behind adamantium bars, mother, almost, and it would have doubtless been the last thing you'd have never heard about me.  On the same trip as the long morning I walked outside Prantz, my lover was with me, giving me a tour of the lands there.  She had specific things she wished to show me and so we were traveling near Castle Mask when we overheard a woman seeking employment of a bard.  The pawn she was talking to was trying to sell iron weapons, so we offered our services.  My lover had to back out upon finding the location and duration -- it was in the Haft Lake district, an inn there I've never heard of, and a week long engagement -- but I, despite strong inner (and her outer) reservations wished to see what I could learn.  So I took the job and made my way back to the residential area.

They were waiting for my on the road before the fort.  Six Prantz guards, all of them heavily armed and armored.  I pressed on, with the conviction that I was an innocent man.  Why would they hassle a simple bard?  What offense could I possibly offer?

Yes, I know, I know.  Like you've said, it does take a few whacks on the nose before I learn.  So, they stopped me.  Frisked me.  Went through my things, and asked me my name.  I thought I was safe -- I don't keep much on me that identifies me, and my songbook was at home on my desk -- and I gave my name as "Willie".  You can tell my brother that, he'll get a laugh.  Willie the Singer I was, and I stuck to that with a growing cockiness until they found all the temple receipts for the donations I've been making to the Port Hempstead Tsunami Relief and the Leringard Arms Inn Reconstruction stuffed under my sewing kit.

I had five or seven of them.  All neatly printed, with the name Andrew Reid on the bottom of each one.

While standing there sweating a quiet (very quiet) prayer to our Lady, I came across a bit of a prevarication that I had used before and launched into it with all my heart.  I was still Willie the Singer, but I borrowed Andrew's name from time to time -- all the bards do, we all know of each other.  He's popular, that Andrew guy, you know?  Quite popular with the ladies.  Handsome fellow, good singer, but sings awful romantic pap...I went on and on.  I put my all into persuading those guards, going so far as to call Andrew a drunk and a drug smoker.  I think I could have painted a fence with the irony on my tongue.

However, bless our Muse, they bought it and let me gather up my things, my instruments now stained with their grubby paws, and escape.  I was again painfully reminded of my poor lost Bella as I gave Alex a wood oil rubdown later.  And my new lady, a big oak guitar -- quite new, this one, not yet broken in, a virgin so to speak so I am molding her to my fingers and body -- was sullied as well.  Can you believe that they pushed the strings aside and shoved their meaty fists into the sound hole?  It was hours re-tuning her.

But, back to my story.  I escaped to Lor where my ceela was waiting, Muse bless her.  We stayed under cover in an inn there until early the next morn when we made our escape in the pre-dawn light.  I am now cut off from Dregar's southern lands, and have found out I'm wanted in Lor.  I am in the process of taking more precautions.  My benefactor mentioned that I have a bodyguard and I've been watching for a familiar face at my shows, but he's good -- or not there.  Either, I suppose.  Let's hope the former.

I have just yesterday taken another contract as well to create songs that might help shift the fence-sitters on the Diet of Lor toward remaining independent and that I something I can throw all fifteen and a half of my stones behind (I've gained a little, and most of that muscle.  All this rapier is doing strangely wonderful things to my shoulders and arms, although a burly physique will be forever out of my grasp).

The upshot of all this is that I'm becoming involved with the world.  Little by little, over this time since the tsunami hit and I stood toe to toe with the ten and nine to defend it, I've been waking to the fact that many of the people I write and sing about are the last line of defense for this world.  Heroes?  Not all of them.  Not as many as you'd think.  Some want power, some want glory, some want gold, some want to help any way they can.  But they are all willing to make sacrifices others cannot, or they are less frightened of facing their deaths, or some combination of both.  I admire them, and I pity them, and I both hope and fear I might become one of them.  My lover fits this category, though I doubt she'd admit it.  It's a lonely life.

A trip into melancholy lane above, there.  In truth, I have been much less self-pitying these days, with being so busy and so in love and feeling Ilsare's touch on my music.  My songweaving grows stronger these days.  In fact, I'm thinking of moving into new territory with that.  Do you remember my trying to sing myself into notes, to dissolve into the music, when I was little?  I never stopped trying, you know.  I have found a group that does research into that; the Resonance of Being, I think it was called.  I've sent a letter to the temple requesting an address and I will hopefully attend a seminar soon.  I'm not sure what they do but it sounds like something that I would be interested in.  I have tried to break glasses with my voice, as recently as last month, to see if I could manipulate vibrations but the glasses sat there and mocked me in an inanimate kind of way.  Curse the testicles and my octave range.

I will update you further as updates become available, my first Muse.  This will also be the last letter I send to your current address -- to be safe, I will send them going forward to your clay supplier.  Please let Himoto know, and he can deliver the letters along with your clay, thus preventing your association with me from being discovered easily.  Paranoid?  Yes.  But I think it best.

Give the family my love.

Your loving son,

"Willie"

[RollinsCat]

To:
Annwyl Cadi
Care of Calise
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

My friend, I write to you from the road, performing on the run.  Well, not literally on the run.  More on the run from myself.  I had hoped that picking up my pen would keep my desires at bay and I fear they won't.  Not today.

Yet I want to reach out and so, this letter.  I have had a powerful morose lately.  Nothing drastic, no changes (that I know of) in my life - I'm still unable to enter Lor, still a person of interest around Prantz, still in love, still not penniless, still writing, still singing.  I still have a bathtub (here, I crack a smile - I anticipate you making me pay for that later with barely contained glee).

And yet, I'm in a transition.  Rather than continue to be dramatic I'll attempt to just say what's put me here.  Not quite two weeks ago, I went to help my lover.  This entailed meeting a large number of individuals, only three of whom I'd ever seen before - and all of whom were creatures of such power that my own cosmic insignificance was driven home rather bluntly.  Not that I was vocal about it, for once.  There was a ritual to be performed, the reason for which I'm not at liberty to share.  I had no idea what I could offer but I wished to be involved, and so I was given potions to hand out as a sort of last resort if things went badly and I kept watch for any distractions.  Things appeared to go well and for that I am glad.  But I feel a strange disconnectedness now.

It's not that I saw my lover in the arms of another she appears to know as well as myself; although I confess that I wish I had been able to offer that small comfort.  But seeing her comforted was enough, and I don't own her heart after all.  It's not that I was given a veiled warning from one of the three I knew as to a probable end to my relationship with the lady in question.  It's not even that I failed to rush to her aid when her ordeal left her staggering toward a cliff's edge, although this comes close - I didn't rush forward.  I should have.  But I didn't.

And I didn't because I felt very quietly impotent.  I think you know me well enough to understand how uncomfortable and foreign that feeling is.  I had nothing to offer - I'm still not sure why I was there.  I think perhaps she was giving me something I've lacked, all this time.  Context.  Perspective.  Seeing her among those who are her peers, people who can sing down storms and hold earth-shattering amounts of power in harmony with a simple song.  I felt...feel...like an infant, blindly flailing toward crawling, not understanding what's happening around me but knowing I should.

Having fancied myself a man of (most of) the world, I didn't like that feeling.  Not one bit.

Upon returning to my room, I spent a few days playing piano and gave Alex time to dry and recover.  I found myself unable to write and followed an old rule I have - when the words don't come, fall back to the simple.  I played songs I wrote as a child, and things I've always loved to play.  One slight upbeat note: my piano playing is improving.  I would not be morbidly ashamed to be heard in public now.

I took to the road after that, and I write this from a room in Port Hempstead.  I was on stage tonight - scratch that, I was on a stool propped up on wooden crates.  One does not quibble on such trivial things as potential injury by falling, when on the road.  The crowds have been good, there is no shortage of people wanting to be entertained while they drink.  My words came back a few days ago and since then I've written a few things.  But in all this I have not been able to shake the feeling of utter insignificance.  I don't like it.

Annwyl, I spend a lot of time avoiding pain.  Avoiding work, and avoiding emotional pain.  The tsunami cured me to some degree of avoiding labor, and if I can find anything good in that first, horrible storm, it would be that I left the lazy child in me mostly behind.  But pain, that's another story.  I don't like hurting inside.  That's part of my addiction problem.  The other part I'll tell you later (and has to do with the kind of pain I do like, so prepare yourself for a bit of a shock).  But this pain won't go - and drinking doesn't help.  I've seen how little I've done and for once I don't have a song, a joke, or anything to help me past that.  So now, I'm looking at my options and saying to myself, what can I do?  How can I make a difference?

Of course, the fear of failure lurks in that, but fortunately I have a rather robust ego (contain your shock).  It just frankly bugs me that I thought all this time I was something when in fact...

I have put a letter out to Janice of Bands at the Breath for the address to the Resonance of  Being, and I hope to hear back from her on that although I have not yet.  I am still playing songs for the people under the gray thumb of Lord Rael.  I am still donating food and cloth items to various relief efforts, although this too feels tiny.  I am restless.  My boundaries have been breached with thoughts I don't permit myself - what do you do when you look in the mirror and realize that the image is not, and has never been, who you thought it was?

Perhaps there's a song in this.  I'll try to write one before I go for the Silver Buckle.  And I never did thank you properly for your lovely visit, so - thank you.  It occurred to me that you might like a key at some point, if you need a place to stay while in town or a quick bath.  Let me know.

Maudlinly yours,


Andrew



Andrew Reid
137 Leringard
Trelania


Novlar 17, 1458


My Poor Dear Andrew,

I sit, here in the Temple garden with your letter before me, unsure of how best to console you. My heart weeps at your discomfiture, yet I do not know how to begin. Perhaps my sharing something with you might lighten the burden which so clearly weighs on your heart.

You speak of a sense of disconnectedness and impotence and a fear of failure; I too know those feelings well. Only a week past, I watched, as one apart from myself, while my beloved fell at my feet in battle. But, as part of me was watching, I danced, as I have never danced before, trying with all my might to forestall it, yet I could not. Sa ceela died, there in front of me, as I slew the last of our adversaries. All that I pride myself to be was not enough. And what will happen when next I am called upon by circumstance? As you can see Andrew, you are not alone.

Once my love had returned from the bindstone and was safe again, I went on a rampage, in which my vehemence and frustration was boundless. And, after we parted company that day, I myself turned to bottled solace. But it was all hollow and insufficient. The feeling of inadequacy persits, even as I write now.

* She gazes out over the autumn flowers, efforting herself to strike a happier tone. *

I am so glad that you are able to find comfort in your music, both old and new. I am also intrigued about you letter to Lady Janice. Would that be a journey for which you might wish company?

I had to laugh when I read the wording in your letter: "contain your shock". * Her dourness evaporates in earnest as she writes. * Only you could brighten my mood like that. As to your gracious offer of a key (and specifically access to your enviable bath), perhaps we can discuss that further when next we meet.

I will try to visit you again soon and, until then, please allow the loving embrace of our Lady Muse to envelope you. We are at our best when we open our hearts to Her inspiration.

~ Annwyl

[RollinsCat]

To:
Elohanna Min A'Litae
Care of the Tower Academy
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Elohanna, it was such a delight to see you again.  I enjoyed your company last night, and regretted to find you had slipped away early.

I write to send you the lyrics to the song I wrote and performed at your request, and to give you my address should you wish to write.  I look forward to the day we sit together and you are able to tell me some of your stories.

Here is the song; please share it as you see fit.


The willow speaks
And I ignore
Your eyes are fixed far past the shore
And I can’t bear what is in store
While wind the willow sings

We had our summer
Had our fall
And here we are in winter’s thrall
You can no longer hear my call
While the willow sings

You said you would not leave me while the spring had leaves upon the tree While summer sun warmed our hearts together

You said we’d be as one as long as we had home and hearth belong
And now I stand alone in this cold weather...

With you in arms
We walk the beach
Tears are freezing on my cheeks
Knowing you are far from reach
While the willow sings

I ask the willow leave me be and set you near the snow-capped tree and with aching breath I set you free...and still the willow sings....


I take letters at the Twin Dragons Inn, 137 Leringard, in Leringard, Kingdom of Trelania.

With song,


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

Jenra 15, 1459

Sweet Andrew,

I awoke to find you gone, and then proceeded to take shameless avail of your lovely bathtub,  again. Your kindness and consideration I will long remember.

You, my friend, despite what others might say, are a wonderful man who is not always exploiting his charms to take advantage of a situation (you see, even in my stupor, I listened). Were I to tell you the absolute truth, I would admit that there was a moment, as we sat before the fire in the Common Room, when it was I who came close to slipping and succumbing, in more ways than one. Yet you, gentleman that you are, chose to carry me to your room and tuck me into your own bed, while you retired to the couch (or the floor, one;  my memory is understandably hazy as to that point). For that I thank you, as I have quite enough regrets at the moment. Please do not misinterpret that Andrew. I am in no way penitent over the times we have spent together, and we will follow our hearts where they lead, but undistraught and sober.

When I saw my beloved today, I followed your sound suggestion, confessing what I saw as my foolishness and its terrible effect. As you so rightly predicted, sa ceela was more that understanding, both of my error in tactical judgement and my distress over our time together being perhaps shortened. I was however tenderly admonished that love is intended to burn brightly and not some dull thing to be merely preserved. As a result, I shall endeavor to again look to both the present and the future with joy and hope.

Between the two of you, I have been able to finally see wisdom and have begun to right myself again (the whiskey, at least, is now stoppered; the wine is still at hand, yet I forbear, so far). I am so very blessed to be cared for by two such precious people.

I have taken your good advice Andrew and it has proven wise; please heed mine. Write to her whom you think you may have offended, in spite of your mortification, in spite of your regrets at your art possibly transcending your good sense. I am hopeful that she will understand. Our Lady Muse values spontaneity, perhaps your heartsong does as well.

As always,

~ Annwyl[/COLOR][/FONT]


To:
Annwyl Cadi
Care of Calise
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

Annwyl, your letter left me feeling better, and at a moment not too soon.  I told you your love would understand, and after all - milkmaid?  Hausfrau?  I may make you a milking outfit complete with apron as a reminder.  And if you are imagining my face curled into a catlike grin, you are correct.

Sadly, my drinking has progressed to the point where I remember what I do, irrespective of it seeming a good idea at the time.  What I would give for a moment of haze, the same haze that kept me coming back fifteen years ago.  The pain used to be merely physical.  That has passed.  Now?  I slept horribly that night you were on my bed, and not because of the damage of the gin, or ale, or because the floor was uncomfortable (that rug Tyrian put in the room is plush wool, not as bad to lie on as you'd think).  I kept waking with a stabbing, twisting feeling in my gut - why did I do that?  What possessed me?  That is the pain I feel - regret.  Worse by whole measures than any hangover, and as of that night something I have made into an art form.

I don't want to jinx myself by stating equivocally that I am done drinking.  I have a track record that betrays that lie on the most cursory glance.  Instead, lately, when I reach for the bottle, I pull back the memory of the absence of sound echoing shock, embarrassment, anger...nothing of what I intended.  A memory to keep my hand off that bottle for some time to come.  I have kept the Silver Buckle with me, in my pack, as a reminder.  It hurts to look at it.

It has not been a good week.  I have sung to Heartsong like never before, to get me through the withdrawal.  I have not toured, or written, or left my room until just the other day; I fear what people will see, me without my liquid conviviality.  Sick from pain and want and so angry, Annwyl.  I am never that angry about anything but everything, every tiny thing, set me off into fits of invective.  It hurts.  Moreso because I'm not lying to myself this time, and pretending that I'll be sober next week when in fact I intend to fall merrily off the wagon again.

I receive no answer from our Muse, no sense of bad or good.  Which is typical, and makes me wonder - do Rofirein and Toran "speak" to their followers more?  Expect them to figure out less, make things easier to follow?  I wonder.  After responding to an emergency in the forests near Hilm Castle involving deep dwarves, I saw Law in action.  It took no notice of us, and followed its own rulings despite shared risk and different opinions.  They seem so bleeding sure - so absolutely convinced, so totally unable to consider other options.  "Situational" is not a word that those people seem to have any understanding of.  Sadly, this has damaged my view of someone I thought a friend.  All in all, I prefer our Muse.  She challenges me and nothing is ever as easy as marching rote down lines of carefully written rules.

I did wander out yesterday, finally.  I met a halfling named Snez, and he and I made our way to Hlint for no really good reason other than to walk in the cold air.  Or run, as it turns out; why do halflings always beat me?  I'm good for sprints but lousy on long distance.  I just don't have the stamina to run that long.  He was quite mirthful about his victory as you can imagine.  We found others who had been in the goblin caverns there, and the lot of us were challenged to a gauntlet by a man in black named Nihear, or Niher, or somesuch.  I can't do his name justice, having not seen it in print.  After a jaunt that covered Mistone, Krashin, and the Dragon Isles, I returned home tired but for the first time not wracked with the pain of chemical need and also sporting a lovey pair of boots from our challenger, as a gift for surviving.  I intend then to continue this course for a while, to get me past this - I sincerely hope to run with the Battle Sisters soon and sing you to your own victories.

On the subject of our near miss that night, I can honestly say I'm glad it didn't happen.  I don't pretend to know what Muse has in store for us, and if something does become tangible between us I will not hesitate should we be in agreement.  But neither of us were prepared to deal with that kind of aftermath on top of everything else.  As you say, undistraught and sober should be our mantra.  

On that, I am learning something of Love, the Love that is more core to our Lady than my infantile understanding of past.  Things that cause such fierce reaction create a desire for that reaction.  In someone who lives for sensation, such as I do, that's not a good thing.  I did not love - I chased the feeling of love, new love.  Perhaps infatuation is a better word; love's blind perfection, before reality starts knocking chunks out of the pedestal.  But with the friends I've made - I confess, I had but two female friends before moving to Mistone, and one of them is my mother - I'm gaining an understanding.  Friends like you, and Jaelle, and Alazira.  And that flush that I feel with my lover is settling from a wave of emotion to a heartfelt glow, that still crests but day-to-day is calmer.  And I enjoy it.  For me right now, the day-to-day truth inside the larger whole is enough.

Until next we meet then, my friend.

Yours in the Muse


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Keppli Quickhands
Care of Ben Poetr
181 Haven
Haven
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Keppli;

I have written a halfling "march to battle" tune.  I hope you enjoy it, and I will gladly sing it for you when next we travel together.  It's meant to be fun, and raise a smile even in the most dire of circumstances, so don't take it too seriously.

Without further ado:  I Fight For Pie

Evil at each twist and turn
Foes to take what we have earned
And so for battle I march stern...
Because I fight for pie!

I fight for pie!
I fight for pie!
I fight for pie, because there is no better ally

You might think it flighty
You might think it trite
But for most things stressful in this world
A pie can make it right –

I fight for pie!
I fight for pie!
I fight for pie and yes I know the reason why!

Hostility is off the chart
Civility seems a dying art
But a slice with tea sets us apart!
That’s why I fight for pie!

Brutes, bandits and hordes we’ll beat
We’ll secure our homes for safe retreat
A comfy place for us to eat
Another slice of pie!

I fight for pie!


If you enjoy it, please send me a translation to:

Andrew Reid
Twin Dragons Inn
137 Leringard
Leringard
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

Until you save my ruggedly handsome rear end from certain death again,


Andrew Reid