Andrew Reid - Letters Home

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Wedlar, Augra 18, 1463; afternoon

Hello Mother.  I write this from a berth on the Jakzonvilet heading toward Hurm.  I mentioned to you before that I was going to learn to sail; well, this is it.  I will be keeping this letter in a journal format as I can't send it from the ship, so please forgive the length.

Let me back up.  I am learning to sail.  Why?  Because a friend asked me to.  He thought it would make me more useful.  And so it will, if I survive.  I also got the feeling, after several dreams, that it is time to look for Grandmother Rose's Bella.  How I am to find her I have no idea.  I trust in our Muse and as my friend Emwonk says...flow.

And so I'd been keeping an eye out for a ship looking for crew and while around Fort Vehl on other business, I saw a flier stating the Jaksonvilet was hiring and training.  In hindsight I should have wondered about that.  Most of the ship folk I've met are for all intents and purposes illiterate and perhaps that should have tipped me off that the captain wanted something more in her crew that the usual warm bodies; she certainly expects at least some of us to be able to read as I saw no one crying the contents.

I signed up.  I am Jimmy Fishhawk for this trip, a young man with shorter brown hair (cutting it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be - in fact, I rather like it shoulder length and probably won't grow it much longer again - but the brown dye and I disagree) and tattoos of predatory birds on my face.  It's a simple disguise but it seems to have worked so far.  It's still amazing to me what an accent and a slouch will accomplish.

The interview itself was brief; name, what sailing experience do you have, can you take orders, strip to the waist.  Oh yes - no women allowed on board (more on that later).  I was hired on as were a number of others, forming as motley a band of recruits as I've seen gathered.  Oddly enough most of the recruits know Andrew.  As this journal might get lengthy I'll write them down so we can both keep them straight.

Kurn is a dwarven mercenary whose hygiene is painfully non-existent but he knows his shiphandling.  I would blame him for my falling off the wagon as I have (sorry Mother), but since he is not the one wrapping my hand around the bottle right now I really can't.  Nonac is a goblin I have traveled with a few times before.  He's clever and more intelligent than most of his kind, which makes him...still pretty unpleasant.  Rockhead Howling Wolf I like a great deal and he's a good soul.  He's also a dwarven bard, sadly a difficult thing to find.  I'm glad he's along even if I'm just Jimmy to him - and he took the cook's position which is a blessing as the man can really sing his way around a kitchen.  Jay I know and am less comfortable with than I used to be.  He's a mercenary through and through and is now sporting one less eye than before.  And for some reason when I tried in the past to bless him with a protection spell from Ilsare, it didn't work.  It simply would not stick to him.  I haven't tried it since.  There is also Nihaer, a dark elf who is not of Aunlyn's (do you remember me telling you about him?) ilk at all.  I get the sense that he'd be as comfortable in the Deep as he seems to be on the surface.  I don't trust him and I have avoided him so far, although I do remember running a "gauntlet" for him some years ago.  I don't think he recognizes me.

And finally, Will Black.  He seemed as out of place in his own way as I did, speaking loud and swaggering.  I thought it was because he's not that tall and built slim.  Until I heard his Tilmarian accent, which lead me to ask where he was from.  And as I listened to his answer something struck me...the vocalization, the inflection, the way he deepens his voice when he speaks.  I watched Will closely after that and became sure of it.  He's not a he.  He's a she.  The sway is there, and the way a woman's arms bend around their chests automatically where a man would use a straight arm because he has nothing for it to bounce off of.  The way she stands, shifting hip to hip, when her mind is occupied and she's not concentrating on being Will.

She's a better actor than most; she must be to have bluffed her way past taking her shirt off during the interview.  I hope to Muse we both live so we can discuss this as I'd love to hear her story.  I tried to tell her I knew and that I would not turn her in but I'm not sure she understood.  It's not like I can say it aloud.  But that puts me in a quandary far worse than if I'd not heard what I heard and saw what I saw in her.  I cannot watch a woman hurt, Mother.  I cannot.  I stand behind and let them go ahead.  I give up my seat.  I spread my cloak, I open doors.  And she is a woman.  How do I overcome three decades of my own conditioning?  This is going to be a very long trip.

I digress.  There was one applicant who was not hired, the wife of a Rofireinite cleric I know, and I don't know what she was thinking.  Daniel (her husband) was not going to be happy to see his lady sailing off with a ship full of mercenaries and no Rofireinites (or Toranites -- both were specified on the flier) allowed, even if women were allowed to apply.  She was refused, of course.  I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when she explained to Dan what she was doing; especially as I was at the wedding and one of her vows was to OBEY him.  I imagine the implications of those vows might be sinking in by now.

I took the time allowed before we sailed to speak to friend who has been laid up with an illness.  I'll divert here to say that I have become accustomed to this woman's determination, vitriolic or not, and to see her sitting with her arms bandaged, trapped in a Rofireinite temple with only law books to read, upset me.  I offered her a sheaf of my writings to read, bits of this and that - poems, songs.  Also unfortunately an erotic dream I had about a woman I love but can't have that will doubtless bring some questions later but by the time I remembered that I'd left that in the stack, she already had it.  The Rofireinites are burning everything she touches when she'd done with it and I would not have been allowed to take it back at any rate.  I wasn't even allowed in the room.  So I hope she will keep that secret, if only to not embarrass a lady whose friendship I would be lost without.  And I must be worried to have written all that out.

Bunk time is over.  Perhaps I should have slept?

[RollinsCat]

Wedlar, Augra 18, 1463; evening

We're underway.  It hasn't been what I expected so far.  At no point until after we pulled anchor did we see the captain; we only dealt with First Mate Harris and Master at Arms Jericho who was half orc I believe which would make him rather old.  Not that it had any effect on his function as an enforcer.  The crew quite clearly feared him.  

Once aboard we were sent to stations immediately and began to leave port.  We were expected to keep up with whomever we were working with and I'm sorry to say the orders came hard and fast in terminology I did not fully understand and I failed more often than not which earned me snarls, sneers, and the occasional kick from the man I was teamed with, George.  Kurn took to this ship like a flea to a dog and was made full crew before we'd been out for a day.  And he gave himself a nice promotion not long after -- keep reading for that account.

The crew is spread out doing whatever is at hand.  If it is not your turn in a bunk or time for a meal you are on deck handling sails, keeping watch, oiling anything that can rust, mending canvas and ropes...there is always something to do.  I am up in the mizzen mast learning how the ropes control the sails and how to adjust them.  It is very intricate and interconnected, each rope affecting the others.  I find myself likening it to an instrument which makes the work more interesting to me.  I am paired with Fred now, as George -- well, let me tell that story.

George was not a patient man.  His communication with me was restricted to barking out orders and glaring at me when I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing.  His patience reached an end when I tied a rope off in the wrong location and he lashed out with his foot -- this earned him a warning from the First Mate.  The second time a rope slipped through my hands (which I have taken to wrapping and the burns are going to be days healing) he kicked me in the shin, and was ordered out of the rigging by the First Mate.  Jericho was waiting.

I remember how quiet everyone became.  Singing stopped.  Conversation stopped.  Work did not stop, work never stops, but we all watched.  The only accompaniment to the tableau was the wind and the sea, Mist's own serenade to death.  

Jericho punched George flat.  He began to stomp on him.  The orc enjoyed it -- you could see it on his face -- but he was methodical, working up and down George's body with a controlled boot, until the man was unconscious and bleeding.  The First Mate called him off after some time and George was left there to stain the deck.  Rocky, Will and I all offered to heal him and were informed that we'd be joining George if we tried to aid in any way.  We were then told that anyone fighting without specific instructions to do so would also feel Jericho's loving touch.

The mood was understandably subdued after that, although at some point I sang one of the songs I learned from fellow bard Lyle Underroot, titled "Sixty Men at Sea".  There wasn't anything else to do.  There was no way to heal the injured man; he lay only a few steps away from Jericho.  So we worked until afternoon when the captain came on deck.

She strode out and the quiet chatter between sailors stopped cold.  I had asked Fred about our captain earlier and his response was hushed and fearful; I found out why.  Jericho came down from his station and picked George up, shaking him, demanding he get back to work.  George remained unconscious.  It was possible he was dead at this point.  I pray to the Muse he was, after what happened next.

"Time to take out the trash".  The captain's voice is not strongly accented, very clear, very practical.  Not as cold as you'd expect.  But at her command Jericho took George's ragdoll body to the side of the ship and dumped him in the ocean.  I felt sick and still do -- you see why I had hoped he was already past our mortal coil.  Drowning is a horrible way to die.

The captain joined the First Mate by the wheel.  I was above them and took time to sense her Al'Noth.  She did radiate magic, although it could have been from items she was wearing; I will have to attempt to differentiate further on that.  She stayed a while to watch the crew, had Kurn made a full crewman, ordered the First Mate to send one person to her quarters for dinner, and left.  And just my luck, he chose me to clean up and meet our captain.  I didn't even know her name yet.  In fact, I still don't; she's just The Captain.

I rinsed off the salt and sweat, threw on the one decent outfit I packed, and reported to her cabin.  I don't mind saying I was nervous.  She was wearing a high-collared, long-sleeved dusty rose dress which threw me; such a prim and gentle garment to wrap around a core of ice.  I was pondering that when she ushered me to some comfortable cushions and began to question me.  I kept my Jimmy hat on until she called my bluff and asked me who I really was, and Mother, how do you answer that?  I sat back, eyed her calmly, while inside I was asking myself: now what?

I opted for a partial truth.  I had said Jimmy was from Creedo, and decided to admit I was instead from the Telish Throne although I did not say where.  I spoke more like myself (and all those "nosirs" and "yesma'ams" were starting to stick in my throat anyway) but I continued to insist I was only here to learn to sail, and why not?  It's the truth -- part of it.  She asked why I did not sign on to any other vessel, why this one, a question I have asked myself more than once today.  But again the truth -- the other vessels want seamen already trained.  She is willing to give that training and overlook a man who does not know his fore from his aft.  She asked if I was willing to take orders; well, yes, I've been doing that since I came aboard and have not yet been given Jericho's unique stamp of disapproval.  

She gave me an appraising look and ordered me to go above deck and start a fight.  I should not have vocalized that last part about Jericho.  Really, I shouldn't have.

All the way up all I could think was how quickly can I be made to die?  I didn't want to drown.  I don't want to drown.  I never want to drown.  Who can kill me the fastest?  When I reached the deck things got quiet and I must have looked like a dead man walking.  I looked around and selected Jay, thinking he'd be the right person to finish me before Jericho turned me into a welcome mat.  I walked over to him and punched him.  Just like that.  For future reference, his jaw is pretty hard.  I asked him under my breath to kill me and quickly; at his surprise I could only say "Captain's orders".

Then I heard whispering behind me, Will urging me to hit her.  I spun around and wanted her out of the fight, away from all this -- had she been able to be whomever she really is, maybe.  But if she's outed as a female she'll be thrown overboard and in a fight her chances of discovery are greatly increased.  I mean, hips!  Chest!  So I leg-swept her, and rather well as she went spinning across the deck on her backside.  I whipped around to Jay and threw another punch.  He just stared at me (not a ringing endorsement of my hand to hand skills) and moved down the rail while my heart sank.  I stopped, and was ordered to keep fighting and to fight until one of us was dead.  Well, that was the idea was all I could think.  But then I heard Will whisper yet again -- "trust me".  Trust her...hit her?  

I spun around and met one of her blows which I am sure was intended to hit lightly but at that moment Nonac interjected himself and took out my knees.  I have not mentioned the recruit's tour of the ship when he decided to climb up my back and ride me as a mount which resulted in me slamming myself into the bulkhead until he dropped off like an engorged tick; add the knee incident and I owe that little green rat a little special attention at some point.  Because of his kick Will's punch caught me full in the face.  She really packs a hit.  The entire right side of my jaw is swollen.

It was then that I finally understood what she wanted to do and with her bluffing skills and my performing skills I thought we could pull it off.  Nonac had moved back so I swung at her and we commenced to a full-out brawl, whaling back and forth until I straddled her and "beat" her into the deck.  I did not enjoy it.  Even pulling punches I left marks, and the entire act made my skin crawl.  I have no idea how long we played at fighting until she lay still and I staggered away, more exhausted than hurt.  I waited for Jericho's boot, his meaty hand on my neck, but instead he moved toward Will and the more experienced crewmen turned back to whatever they'd been doing.  It's the loser that suffers when a fight is sanctioned, I found out.  But, he'd shaken George and if he shook her I knew she would wake.

The First Mate ordered me back to the Captain's quarters yet I could only stand there, unsure what to do to help Will.  Rocky had come up on deck by now and in a sotto voice he told me to go, do as I was told, which lead me to believe he  had a plan; and so I started to head below decks and I heard him casting and distracting Jericho with some patter.  Step by step my feet slowed though as it sounded as if things were not going well and I heard Will protesting something.  

I couldn't walk away.  I never can.  I turned and ran back up to find Will trying to fight Jericho.  He had dumped her by the rail and ordered her to jump off the ship, she was standing her ground, and at this point everything went to hell.  Nonac had set a rope trap that damaged Jerhicho, Kurn was moving toward him, Will was trying to punch him...I thought we'd have a full-blown mutiny on our hands and so I sang every spell onto Will that I could, focused on giving her the advantage.  I was going to spell Kurn next -- he was standing behind Will -- but he didn't need it.  He sauntered the few feet to Jericho (have you ever seen a dwarf saunter?  Really, it's a sight) and picked him up -- I cannot stress enough how impressive that was, given the height difference -- and walked him over to the rail.  Most of the recruits, and some of the crew I think, were yelling for Kurn to toss him overboard.  First Mate Harris was trying to holler over the din for Kurn to stop but the moment for reason was long gone and into the ocean Jericho went.  At least he was conscious -- he can try to swim, unlike George.  I did check the sides of the ship in case he tried to climb back on.

Kurn then informed the First Mate that he, Kurn, was the new Master at Arms and began to bark orders to the crew.  Harris seemed to accept this.  Will dusted herself off and got back to work.  I once again went below decks to the captain, limping on kicked knees and rubbing a sore jaw.  She seemed a little surprised that I was not more badly damaged.  She also made note to me that life at sea is tough -- this is the way it is.  I informed her that she had a new Master at Arms and her only response was pity, Jericho was very effective.  A core of ice, indeed.  We didn't have time to complete our talk as some business came up that she's attending to so I sit in my berth and write while waiting to be summoned.

Life at sea is hard, yes.  But I've sailed many, many times as a passenger and volunteered to help on other ships (peeling vegetables and scrubbing decks, true, but -) and I can tell you that she's full of ox poo.  By and large the ships that I've been on have had harsh discipline but not discipline that involves sanctioned fights to the death, or throwing men overboard for minor infractions.  There is discipline and there is blood sport.  I know which this ship favors.  There is --

I'm summoned.  Time to hide this and put Jimmy back on.

[RollinsCat]

The Ritual

His skin hurt.  He felt like a hank of salt pork.  Ocean spray coated him -- the wash bucket had been used so many times that rinsing with it was pointless, now.  The berth room was filling with deckhands off rotation. He set a cup in an empty bunk and dug from his pack a mahogany box not much larger than his hand, instead of joining them in sleep.

A few of the crew glanced over as he sat in the corner of the room opposite the former Master at Arms' hell chamber.  The box lid opened with a brush of his thumb and he took out a small four-footed bowl, checking for cracks.  The underside was stamped REID POTTERY.  He smiled; one of the few pieces he'd made, ever tried to make well, and the green crackle-glazed bowl had turned out very sturdy.  He hadn't had to replace it yet.

The cup of ocean water he'd wedged between the bunk's mattress and frame was taken up and poured into the bowl.  He sat cross-legged, his back to the corner, and lifted from the box a glass phial of oil; three drops on the surface of the water, not an exact count but rather the smallest amount he could use.  The oil was clear and he could only see it by the reflection of the dim lamplight.  The phial was snugged back into the box and a vial pried out, containing a pouch.

His face shifted as he uncorked the vial and pulled out the pouch.  His innocent smile faded, his blank gaze became reflective.  A wrinkle between his thick eyebrows formed a shadowy dividing line.  He was still looking at the pouch when a voice next to him made him jerk and nearly drop the little bag.

"What're you doing?"

From the bunk nearest him; not a man he'd met, but one he'd seen doing wood repair on deck.  He started to speak and let out a breath instead, remembering Jimmy at the last minute.  "Somethin' my da taught me, respectin' my ancestors.  Prayin' for good weather."

The crewman grunted. "Praying to the wrong one, kid.  Try asking Lady Doom." The man rolled to face the wall, conversation over, and inside a minute his eyes were closed and his breathing even.

Pouch in hand, he waited.  The room was a cacophony of sleeping breath, half-muttered dreams, snoring.  He counted sixty heartbeats, sixty exactly, and then untwisted the wire holding the bag shut and took a pinch of the dust inside.  He rolled forefinger and thumb together over the oil floating in the bowl; the greasy rainbow turned ash grey.  He wiped clean and rinsed his fingers and re-packed the pouch.

The last thing out of the box was a white candle stub. A flint and tinder lay in the box as well but he stood to light the candle from the oil lamp.  Resuming his cross-legged position, he sat for a few breaths with his eyes closed.  His forehead and jaw relaxed.  Then he opened his eyes and touched the burning wick to the oil.

A blue flame sputtered, low and bright.  He leaned across the bowl, arms folded around his torso, and began to sing as softly as he could.

Andrew, Andrew, sweep the floors
Glaze the pots and do your chores
Andrew, Andrew, do these things
And you can make our Bella sing.

Andrew, Andrew, come with me
Time to learn a melody
Andrew, Andrew, tall and thin
Let's go play some violin

It was a song his grandmother had sung to him from the first day she'd shown him how to hold the rosewood-inlaid violin under his small chin, how to grasp the bow, where his fingers went on the neck.  Their little deal; he would obey his parents (mostly) and she would spirit him away a few times a week and teach him the secrets of the sound he so coveted.  "So you won't beg me to play every day!" she would laugh, but they both knew it was more.  He looked at the pouch and felt the frightening hollowness again, for a moment as much as when he'd first heard his mother's always-calm voice telling him that the fever had taken his grandparents.  Their deal; he hadn't bothered to keep it after she died.

He shook himself.  The blue flame was gone, the ashes now floating in the berth's salty air.  No one had woken.  He stood and took the bowl to a porthole, returning the water to the sea.  The box was carefully packed and returned to his duffle, and only then did he curl up on the too short, always too short bunk.  

His thoughts were like logs floating down a lazy stream, bumping and jostling and rolling.  He meant to ponder the captain and the ship and what he'd learned but instead his mind wandered to the tall red haired woman standing at the gate to his father's yard, playing her violin and singing...

He began to dream.

[RollinsCat]

The Dream

...he is bumping into something, his body rocking in a steady back-and-forth.  His eyes feel crusted shut and he tries to shake his head in the water to clear them...water, so much water...the gluey lids peel open and he looks up the side of the ship and is suddenly so cold he can't feel his limbs.  His entire being is his sight - just sight.  There is no sound but for the slapping waves that form a rhythm against the wooden sides of the ship and this panics him, forces him to listen for any other sound but then he begins to sink...

The captain is there.  She stands on the deck with her arms crossed over the railing, one booted foot resting on the lower lip, leaning over to watch him.  She should be so much farther away...but she is right there, her hair drifting from her hood...what color is it? He can't see the color -- he can't see any color.

She is saying something.  Her lips move, and he bobs up with a wave, close enough to reach for her, grab at her, pull himself up, but his arms won't rise.  He can't feel them at all, only the knowledge that they must be there because...because...humans have arms?  What is she saying?

Her hand comes from behind her back and she's holding something.  Wasn't it just on the railing?  He can see the feminine shape of the instrument, knows immediately what it is.  Who it is.  He hears singing and the waves are percussion; Andrew, Andrew, tall and thin...he wants, wants that violin.  Trying to breathe he feels cold water rushing into his sight so he stops, focusing solely on raising his arm.  He feels the right one move up, longer than it should be and barely under his control but there, and then the wave recedes and the captain becomes a dot miles above him.  He panics again, the cold water filling him and he wants to cough but can't find his mouth.

Then he's bobbing up and he reaches this time.  His arm is a block of wood, unbelievably dense.  What's dense?  Hickory is dense.  His sight snaps back to see the captain just feet away and he tries to lunge; his movements are painfully slow..  He forces himself forward in pure desperation -- Kurn turns to him -- where did he come from -- and barks for him to get back into the sails, this ain't no pleasure cruise!

He tries to grab the railing as the wave's crest drops, manages to snag the lower lip of the deck by her boot tip.  He is holding on, wondering where the rest of his body went to, when she lowers the violin to him. What do I hold it with?  He tries to look up but can't now -- all he can see is her foot, and Bella.  

He makes his decision.  He lets go of the deck and grabs for Bella, feeling the instrument in his hand for one brief moment.  The flare of triumph makes him shiver, moreso for the sudden crushing realization, following immediately on the heels of that joy, that he's falling...

"GIT OUT OF BED YOU LAGGARDS!!  Ya want beauty sleep ya can do it with the fishes!  Cookie says grub is up an' I say yer bunk time's over!"

His eyes snap open and he's disoriented, still moving back and forth as the ship rocks.  The other men are groaning and getting out of their bunks and he does too, but not before he looks down to see his right hand clasped tight around thin air...

[RollinsCat]

Threas, Augra 19, 1463; evening

Hello Mother.

I'm lying in a berth, staring at the slats of the bunk above me -- or I was before I started this letter.  Our rest rotation is four on, four off, and I've slept hardly any of it.  I can honestly say I'm as exhausted as I've ever been.

Above me, tied to the main mast, is a woman named Will Black.  I'm sure that's not her real name.   I have not had opportunity to ask.  Tonight I will take the beautiful adamantium rapier made for me by a friend; he christened it Muse's Sting; and stand guard over her to prevent the rumors I heard regarding her chastity and intent to separate her from it from coming true.  No one takes what isn't freely given from a lady.

And yet I'm not going to release her.  

Muse, this is a long story.  Now that the cliffhanger is out of the way, here is what has happened.

I was called back to the captain's quarters after my last journal entry.  She once again gestured for me to take the cushions.  She seemed satisfied -- not pleased -- that I followed her orders regarding starting a fight and we exchanged tense chitchat, her asking where I've sailed and such.  From all I could tell she is as straightforward as they come -- atrocities to the crew aside.  Something niggled my brain, take a chance, trust...

I did not give my real name as that much of a precaution seemed prudent but I told her my other reason for being on the Jakzonvilet.  About the GinnyRunner.  About Bella and my loss of her aboard said ship years ago.  She listened and was dismissive of the theft of a mere instrument until I spoke of that thing, that one thing so many of us have and can't bear to part with, be it a necklace, a book, a sword...a ship.  At that she grew quiet, and then she said that which brought the hope I carry with me now; "We'll find your pirate ship and send it to the bottom of the sea."

I took the steps back up to the deck three at a time and nearly flew into the rigging on the wings of said hope.  Things were looking up if only I could avoid doing something stupid, a not inconsiderable request of myself.  I have slacked off on drinking and continue to do so not out of a desire to be sober but out of the necessity of a clear head and now was doubly determined to not waste this chance to find my Bella.

And the best laid plans, as they say.  The captain came on deck and ordered a course change toward Hempstead as we were "going hunting".  Again that champagne sensation in my throat -- we'll find her!  Until she took one look at Will (who was bent to some task or another) and bellowed "What are you doing on my ship?!"

How do you women know each other like that?  It's spooky.  I spend a lot more time looking at women than I presume any woman does, and with a much more detailed eye shall we say, and still Will could have fooled me if it weren't for her voice.

She closed on Will and I cast about desperately for something, anything to help.  Kurn was ordered to tie her to the mast.  Rocky was in the galley I believe but came on deck shortly after, Nonac was cackling something, Jay watched in that disinterested way he does.  I was looking around as the captain said, firmly, that no one was to touch Will and that she was not to be killed but rather left at the next port.  Will took the idea of being tied poorly and put up resistance until Kurn gave her an ultimatum regarding her propulsion to the mast; wisely, she opted to use her own feet.  It was then that my eyes ran over First Mate Harris Ja'ron.  The man who conducted the interviews.

I remember yelling, really letting my voice carry.  I remember telling the captain that if it was anyone's fault, it was his, because it was his job to screen the applicants.  He must have been looking daggers at me but I didn't notice intent as I was on helping Will.  I said that if Will can't read (and I don't know if she can or cannot, but the introduction of doubt is enough) and if he never told her about the restriction then how would she know she wasn't allowed?  Why didn't he strip her as he did the rest of us?

The captain did not change her stance on Will despite my efforts and I actually saw Will trying to chew through the ropes in red-faced frustration.  Honestly that feistiness is rather attractive.  And saying that to her will likely get my kneecaps broken so let's keep it between us?  But the captain did call down the First Mate and after a few disappointed words she cut off his left hand.  Which Nonac promptly started eating.  I think "vile" isn't nearly strong enough a term...

The captain ordered Will left completely alone, ordered me to see that the First Mate did not die, and returned to her cabin.  I tended to Harris but could not tear my eyes from Will.  If I untied her, I'd lose my chance to find Bella.  I kept to my work and tried to console myself that she was at least safe until we docked somewhere.

It was up in the mizzen mast, sailing toward Port Hempstead, that Fred started talking.  He was bitter, saying that at least two more hands would be lost because of her -- Will.  Well, if they touch her, yes.  He said that they were going to "do her" and did I want in?  Muse, no.  I knew then that she'd need a guard and volunteered myself to Kurn and the First Mate.  Harris despite his seething anger agreed that I could guard Will and that was that so I thought.  But back in the ropes Fred kept talking.  About the captain and her father and how things were before he died.  About how there used to be wenches on board, including the captain when she was a youth merely in charge of ship supplies.  

About how they treated those women and the women and children that they captured in the line of whatever "duty" they thought they were performing.  Rape, with no indication that they discriminated between women and children in that act.  Followed by slaughter so there would be "fewer mouths to feed" and they would not be inconvenienced by having to make port to drop off prisoners.

My initial reaction was revulsion just as it is now.  But I started thinking and still am.  A young girl, raised with that horrific suffering, watching children her age or younger destroyed under the orders of her own father; and one can imagine at the same time that young future captain was also aware that her own skin was safe only so long as her father provided her protection.  I presume, again -- for all I know the captain was subjected to the whims of any man on board although some part of me doubts it.

It would make a woman hard, inside.  But it would explain much.  It would explain George, and Jericho.  The discipline.  The fear these men have of her and why her crew keeps atrophying.  I find myself thinking that our captain and I might have a common thread, perhaps a common morality.  It feeds my hope as well.

And still Will remains above me, unable to even wipe the salty ocean spray from her face, while I contort on this mattress.  But I won't release her.  I'm not at peace, not by a long shot, but I know what I'm willing to do for even a chance at recovering that violin.

I won't go to sleep though.  I don't want to dream anymore.

[RollinsCat]

Threas, Augra 26, 1463; evening


Forgive the handwriting, Mother, we're in a storm and the ship is a pendulum right now.  Also we're very shorthanded which I will explain shortly.  We've tied down the sails and are riding out the storm in a cove along the coast of Mistone -- it's all crosswinds out there, the Lady of Storms is having a very bad day.  We'd end up going nowhere and so we wait.

I have re-read my last entry.  Was it a week ago already?  Well, here is the finale, if you will.  At least I pray to the Muse that it is.  Enough blood has been shed -- deserved or not.

Last I wrote I was in my bunk reminding myself over and over that I wanted Bella more than I wanted to spend the rest of the journey tied to a mast.  Evening came and I forced myself out of bed to stand guard over Will; she was understandably not thrilled to see me.  By now I felt my intuition was right and the captain was not our enemy, but Will is young and fiercely independent and did not see things my way.  I tried to explain as we stood there, her resting in her ropes and me swaying on my feet from lack of sleep, but she wasn't hearing it.  So be it.

I took note of the number of crewmen who were speaking with Fred and requested that Rocky and Nonac (who stays in the crow's nest anyway) sleep on deck should I need help.  Tyra's mocking came back to me as I stood there facing bloodthirsty and morally bankrupt men, the only thing between them and a bound woman being my voice and my rapier.  Sometimes as much as I hate, really hate, to admit it -- she's right.

And so I asked Jay to stay close as well, bribing him with an excellent bottle of Silver Buckle, which he drained and then promptly went to sleep.  Don't bribe with booze is my new motto.  He disappeared later and I heard he was rolled into the bunkroom by a crewman.

Rocky and I sang our spells, Nonac prayed to his wolf totem, I brandished Muse's Sting, and we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  The crewmen we were facing down shuffled below deck eventually and we stood there, guarding Will, jumping at every noise and foot tread (or at least I did).

During this time I talked to Will and negotiated her release in exchange for her going back in place after any attack was thwarted.  She agreed too readily but I knew that she needed to be free to protect herself as well.  Rocky had cut her bonds before then anyway and she was armed and ready to go, remaining against the mast so that the First Mate would not suspect.  And still we waited.

It was not until shortly before dawn that we heard yelling and fighting from below deck and suddenly, with an almost audible snap, the picture came together.  I remember my panic and telling Will, Rocky, and Nonac to COME ON and running for the staircase, knowing with icy certainty that it was not Will Fred had been discussing.  It was the captain. I believe I said as much, although my exact words I can't remember.  I ran as fast as these legs will go which it turns out is pretty fast under the circumstances, stopping only to sing my veil magic so we could approach unseen.

Fred and another crewman were in her cabin demanding the ship.  They had no desire for surrender.  The captain had one loyal guard acting as a shield, the other dead at his feet, and it was a standoff but with all the dark looks and muttering I'd seen I was sure Fred would call more men.  

Invisible, I prepared to slit one throat and motioned for Will to do the same on Fred.  And no, I felt no mercy, no pity, no remorse.  I still don't.  Of course at that moment Kurn came in and for a heartbeat I thought it would end there and we'd continue our hunt.  Muse smite me for a fool.  Kurn was in with the mutineers.

From here things are a blur and I'm not blessed with a script-perfect memory so I'll recount as best I can.  I did not slit any throats; Nonac entered and decided to attack a random crewman, the only reason being he wanted to fight someone.  Muse was watching over us in that it happened to be the man whose pulsing neck my rapier was poised over which spared me cold-blooded murder and eliminated one enemy as well.  Kurn was hollering at him "WE'RE ON THEIR SIDE YOU IDIOT" which seemed to confuse Nonac.  At some point I became visible which made Will visible as well.

Heated discussion ensued, mostly because I was trying to avert the mutiny and protect the captain.  Fred lied his leathery behind off trying to sway Kurn, and I told them what Fred had told me about the women and children, about the old captain and about why I think this captain is doing what she's doing.  She mentioned eliminating the original crew, one by one; Kurn and Will were ready to cut her down until I reminded them that we are not original crew.  Although I wonder here -- as much as I felt Emilia was not wrong, her methods...seem almost Ca'Duz.  She actively solicited crewmembers of questionable repute and subjected them to the routine I've described which makes me wonder if her lines had blurred over time.  Yet the side of right was clear enough that I still have no regrets; read on.

The captain (and here I will start using her name, Emilia) was angry enough to not be of much help but then, it's her ship.  Kurn wanted said ship, was willing to drop her off at the next port alive; Will was siding with the mutineers out of pure anger until my voice got through with what those men had done.  I ended up suggesting a duel between Kurn and Emilia for the Jakzonvilet as I'm sure the woman could hold her own against him.  It seemed the only way (to me) to end this.

Kurn was enthusiastic about the idea but Emilia was not nor was she giving up her vessel.  By now Jay had wandered in wanting to get paid; Nonac waited with the mutineers as it offered more bloody gobbits for his belly; Rocky I'm not sure about although I heard him near.  Will seemed to be wavering as the discussion raged.  I walked to stand next to Emilia's guard and set myself fully in allegiance with her.  And then Will stepped forward and suggested that which I don't know I could have thought of but which satisfied all involved -- except Fred.

She suggested that we kill the original crew, which is what Emilia was doing anyway.  Emilia's method of extracting vengeance was slower but more satisfying to her, I suppose; Will said we'd just kill them all and be done.  In exchange, Kurn would become First Mate and Will would stay aboard and move freely, and none of us would be hurt.

Well, the offer of sanctioned slaughter peaked Kurn and Nonac's interest and they decided it was a fair deal.  Fred was executed on the spot and Emilia agreed and asked we finish the rest above deck.  I went up, determined that if this was the answer I would not shirk from blood on my hands, but the remaining crewmen whose death warrant had just been signed didn't line up like schoolchildren as you can imagine.  They rushed us on the deck and a full out fight ensued.  I was singing and trying to undo my peace tie which had become knotted when a crewman caught me across the side with his blade.  From then until I felt Emilia's prayer calling me back to my body I know nothing but that the remaining original crew left a stream of blood across the deck that this storm might not even erase.  Emilia allowed Harris to jump, giving him the option to swim out of some respect for the man's loyalty.  Not that he's going to go far with one hand.  He seemed grateful for this much mercy however and leapt into the ocean without further prompting.

The last man Kurn had earlier strung out on a line to clean barnacles off the moving ship because the man would not stop harassing Will; Nonac, in his gravelly squeak, mentioned we forgot one and cut the line.  And that ended the mutiny.

Food for thought: I saw Emilia's holy symbol.  A silver orca.  She is a priestess of Shindelaria, Mother.  I was and am stunned by this...but as Emilia told me, the sea is a dangerous place.  And she is an orca, not a shark with only an appetite but a protector in her own way.

She agreed to drop us off next port but asked Kurn to stay on as First Mate which he agreed to.  They have some odd understanding, those two.  The attempted mutiny and Kurn's place in it seems set aside.  She mentioned retiring as we stood there.  I asked, begged her to do one more job -- the GinnyRunner.  I could feel Bella slipping from my hands until she mentioned recognizing the name and checking her logs.  And Muse bless me the Jakzonvilet had already come across the GinnyRunner a few years ago, burned and sunk her.  They had looted before they burned and Emilia offered to let me look at the plunder.

It was all in a chest near her cabin, piled; silverware and goblets, plates and some weapons, two mandolins, a guitar, some pan pipes (one crewman did fancy himself a bard, remember) and at the bottom in a layer of dirty neglect...Bella.

My inscription is still on her back.  "Andy Reid, Entertanur".  I didn't cry then, seeing her intact after all this time, feeling the wood in my hands that always brings Grandmother Rose's soft voice to my ears...but I did cry later when everyone else was asleep.  I'm still in awe.  I touch Bella as if she was a woman I love and in a way she is.

I haven't played her yet but to check her strings.  The now-dead savage that ravaged her broke several and one of the pegs as well.  I will clean the grease and dirt from her, replace the strings with better, and I am going to commission some engraved silver pegs; she'll be a regal beauty when she's fixed up.  

Is it a good or a bad thing that I'm not putting myself through emotional turmoil over what I was party to?  I'm not even tempted to drink to excess, or at least not to escape some crushing guilt.  Perhaps it's the quiet way Emilia thanked me for standing with her.  Perhaps it's having Bella back.  Perhaps it's finding depths in myself that I didn't know about; perhaps I'm just a bastard.  I don't know and when I hold my violin, I don't care.

We'll be docking in Port Hempstead soon.  I'm all over the ship as we're down to a (pardon the pun) skeleton crew.  The experience has me confident I can be a sailor on a tall ship again and my benefactor has a job for me already so -- expect more ship antics from your boy soon.

I have much more to tell you , about Minu, about our dog (We have a dog!  He's a Rottweiler and we've named him Tiger), and --

Dinner is ready.  Rocky made biscuits.  I'll write again soon.


Your loving son,



Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Iracce, my first Muse!

Thank you for the gently scolding letter; yes, you raised a very reckless child.  And yes, it's really Bella.  I've finished her repairs and we've spent a lot of time getting to know each other again.  I had taken her for granted for most of my life, mother, knowing that I could cover for any hangovers or bad playing on my part with her beautiful sound.  Now, having not played her in eight years, I know I won't do that again.  It's love, redux - how did I ever manage without her?

I've been on hiatus from touring and jobs, spending my time writing and playing Bella for my own pleasure and acquiring a menagerie that has our animal tender here at the Inn ready to skin me.  You remember Ribeye, my ox, and I mentioned Tiger in my last letter.  Muse, has it been a year?  I got him coming back from a trip when a group of us stumbled on a man, very recently deceased, who had been walking four pups.  Everything pointed to expiration from a poor heart or age, no foul play; we carried the body and the dogs into Fort Wayfare to the guards.  Several members of our group took pups to adopt and Tiger was left, a strapping Rottweiler.  I took to him; he's big and stupidly male and friendly, just like me.  Minu loved him at first sight so we arranged a "joint custody" deal, and we take turns watching him when we're not together.  Oh, and Merlin - that's Tyrian's big watchdog - helps as well.  At first I thought he'd just eat Tiger but the pup won him over and now they're buddies.

We named him coming back to Leringard.  He was a delightful terror on the ship, chasing the ship's cat and the rats, rolling on his back for tummy scratches at the slightest hint of attention, and running headlong into things out of sheer doggie curiousity.  I found myself saying, over and over, "Whoa tiger!" and well, it kind of stuck.  So: Tiger.  He's almost to my knees now when he stands and so barrel-chested strong he can pull me over when I walk him, and his coat is a dark brown and black brindle.  He's a handsome fellow and quite handy with the ladies!  So you see why I like him.

My newest addition is Sonata, a white mare I bought in Orc's Watch.  A horse!  I have a horse!  I remember watching the coaches and the royalty on their steeds during parades and events, usually from father's shoulders, and thinking how very amazing and impossible it would be to have one.  It took nearly every single True I had to buy her - I have one-hundred and thirty-three True to my name right now - but she's worth every one.  To mount her is, weeks later, still a thrill and I don't see it wearing off anytime soon.  I should tell you about my learning curve on riding though - the first time I displayed her I left my friend Sword of the Muse laughing so hard I though she'd wet her chainmail.

I was riding her all over Mistone, getting used to the feeling, when I came across Annwyl.  I wanted to show off of course, I always do, and so I tried one of those riding tricks I'd seen others perform.  I clipped my horse with my heels to make her dance sideways.  A simple trick, yes?  Well.  Sonata, being a headstrong lady (do I love any other kind?), chose instead to sit down, with me on her, and roll over.  My left leg was trapped between her and the grass and I was flailing with my right leg trying to get her to stand up.  Sonata took my frantic thumping into consideration, batted her lovely brown eyes at Annwyl, and ignored me.  Annwyl started giggling then laughing and the more I cajoled and pleaded with the horse to get up, the harder she laughed, because Sonata was apparently making her point to me, the "master".  

Eventually she did stand up and my leg - this the leg that Master Damon has deemed a threat to society and therefore punishes with the brunt of the work in our leaping and lunging training - was now a numb stick and I began to slide off to the right.  Thank the Muse I was able to hook my foot into the stirrup or I'd have fallen off completely and that I would have never heard the end of.

Ah, yes, I almost forgot - that thing they don't tell you about when you start riding.  That inner thigh thing.  The thing where it feels like someone has taken pliers to your tendons and twisted them backward around the bone, then clipped them two inches shorter and sewed you back up without even a drop of whiskey to ease the pain.  That thing.  I've been walking funny for a while.

And speaking of drops of whiskey, no I haven't quit yet.  I'm considering it, although I haven't a clue how I'm going to manage.  I have been getting soft to the idea of children though, mother.  And that means a more consistant sobriety.  Don't go throwing a party just yet, I'm still in love with two elven ladies and so that complicates things.  At least one I know would be nothing but happy should I manage to find a mother for my child; but Minu, I'm not so sure.  Although that situation has been a carnival ride lately.  But that's a conversation for my next visit.

I have to admit that my last trip to the Ice Marshes spurred this sudden parental longing as well.  I don't wish to upset you but I felt that loss, again, that cold divot in the center of my being.  I was far away from a bindstone and instead I was raised by scroll, but the feeling was the same as the first time only worse.  Four times worse, if my counting isn't off.  I have as such decided to keep up my training with Master Damon - I enjoy his company greatly and am honored to be considered a friend - but to continue to push my abilities in music as a primary focus for now.  I have been away from the Resonance of Being for too long.  I need to set myself back on that path.  I'm not quitting rapier, but (and again, I do hate admitting this) Nightshade is right.  Trying at this point to be in the front is asking to wake up under a bindstone more often than not.  I'll revisit putting rapier first when I've learned more of that which is the core of me.

The final nail in my "wanting a child" coffin (and please note, I did not say I wanted a wife - again, I don't know how I'll manage but to trust the Heartsong) was spending time with Rachel.  That's Daniel and Bella Poetr's three month old daughter.  

Admittedly the situation could have been more pleasant.  I was visiting Nightshade, whom I only just found out is free of the arms of the Rofireinite church and deemed healthy enough to fend for herself, and we were having a conversation that didn't involve barbs or defensive posturing.  It was enjoyable, as it can be when she forgets she's an ill-tempered old woman and lets Tyra out to play.  Bella came by and had the baby with her; I immediately commandeered the infant.  Babies have a unique sound in the Heartsong and I love to listen to it.  I sang to her to calm her fussing and was rewarded for the effort with some very blue baby eyes.  I've nicknamed her Cornflower.

While I sang to Rachel, Bella dropped her bombshell - she is quitting her goal of being a bounty hunter.  Well, it was news to Tyra anyway, as I don't keep much company with Bella when Daniel isn't there as well and thus had no idea of her ambitions.  Tyra does not take change well.  Things went downhill from there, resulting in tears, recriminations, and some very pointed observations by Bella regarding Tyra that I could not in any way disagree with.  I sat across from them and watched, keeping Rachel quiet through the raised voices and harsh exchange.  I also kept my mouth shut.  Getting between those two, at that moment, would have been a fair bit more than foolish.

It didn't get better when, some time later, Rachel decided she was hungry.  I'm a fair babysitter - Opal can certainly attest to that! - but not (thankfully) equipped to help Rachel with feeding, I had to hand her back to her mother.  At this point Tyra had a fit, tossing over a bed in her anger at losing Bella's help.  The baby started crying while Bella was trying to feed her and I was left to drag Tyra from the room to simmer down.  Which she did try to do but Muse, that girl has some issues.  Bella came out after a bit ready to leave and justifiably angry at Tyra; I left Tyra destroying her bunk room out of some primal rage and gave Bella a ride back to Wayfare.  Sonata behaved well and although I would not admit it to Mrs. Poetr, I was a little worried.  I should have just put her on the horse and led it but that would have taken three times as long.  Thank the Muse my White Lady behaved and kept a nice smooth trot.

A long-winded way to say, yes, perhaps children.  A child.  I don't know.  It's going to be near impossible to do with my current situation and I'm probably blowing smoke at myself.  So I'll wrap up this letter - I really cannot wait to hear your response to this one - and go blow some smoke.  Kurn gave me some excellent cigars and I think that's just the ticket right now.

Say hello to the family for me.

Your loving son,


Andrew

[osxmallard]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin, Tilmar

Mrs. Reid,

I am very interested in meeting with you as well as your entire family to discuss a lucrative pottery contract.  You see, I wish to commission some fine china for a local family as a token of my appreciation for services they have bestowed upon me recently.

Please let me know when you might be able to assemble your family for a showing.  It is important that they all be able to attend and it will be very much worth your time and theirs.

Kindest Regards,
Horace Locke
72 Fort Thunder
Belinara

[RollinsCat]

*the script is calligraphic-neat and sparse, the common syntax expressed as if it is not the first language of the writer*

To:
Horace Locke
72 Fort Thunder
Belinara

Dearest Mr. Locke,

I am surprised both and pleased that you have heard of our small business.  Of course we are happy to show you our work and negotiate contract.

I am curious why you are requesting of our entire family as two of the children already are working for us, our third not being at home and can be a chore to find him.  I hope you are understanding?

Reid Pottery is happy to present work when you say you are arriving and look forward to seeing you.

Yours sincerely,

William and Margaret Reid

*a flyer with directions to the business and concept art for unique china patterns is enclosed*

[RollinsCat]

*a poster is slipped inside a worn travel journal.  The edges of the heavy parchment are carefully folded around the center to avoid creasing it.*

MISSING

IVANOVA SMITHSON [/SIZE]

Looking for information regarding the whereabouts of Ivanova Smithson, she was last seen on the Gloomwoods on a trip towards Vehl, Any information would be apreciated by the mother of the Lady Mimosa Smithson. Information that leads towards the finding of the lady would be genrously compensated.

Prayers to the Muse that she's found alive

[RollinsCat]

Andrew,

It seems we are needed again to delve into a mystery surrounding one of our own. A lady, Ivonova Smithson, has gone missing near the Gloom Woods, close to the city of Vehl. Her mother, Mimosa, is seeking help in securing her beloved daughter's return.

I feel our Lady of Dreams calls upon us to resolve this. Contact me soonest, please dear friend. I shall be contacting some of the Sisters as well.

Yours in Faith,

~ Annwyl

[RollinsCat]

My Sword -- Your letter is most fortuitously timed as I've been in Fort Vehl on business and have spoken with the Lady Mimosa Smithson already.  If you are on your way here, let's by all means team up to help find the missing lady.  I will update you below and send this via bird messenger the moment the ink dries.

Mimosa is under heavy security and frantic, as you would expect.  She accepted my bona-fides as an Ilsarian and was gracious in meeting me, being most polite and an attractive human nearing midlife; her hair is still shining and dark, and I was struck by her green eyes.  And, upon re-reading, that's not relevant is it?  Sorry.  I've tried to establish some possible suspects and motives, in delicate phrasing of course, and also attempted to discover those who were close to the family and might have more information.

I asked a great many things in the course of our conversation; about Ivanova's past (she had a normal childhood, her "precious diamondheart" was a doll -- the mother seems adamant about this), what did Ivanova do to earn a living (nothing -- she's a perfect lady of society and entertaining suitors for marriage), was there anyone who might wish her harm (of course not, see perfect lady comment).  I asked about friends or people she was close to, thinking that they lived or spent time in Vehl, but she corrected me.  The family lives much farther north, a villa somewhere in Trelania from what I gather; Ivanova is but one of the daughters (although I neglected to get an exact count of siblings), but she was the only one present on this trip.

The event, then, is thus; Mimosa, the father Jonathan, and Ivanova were travelling to Vehl, the father on business and the ladies taking it as a holiday and a time for mother-daughter chatting.  Ivanova is apparently being courted by two suitors (Muse spare me the society way of marrying off daughters like cattle).  Mimosa seemed to not gather any possible relevance to my questions regarding said suitors; sadly, I've seen too many jealous men to discount kidnapping or murder as a way to keep anyone else from touching a desired object.  Avoided that fate once, too, but that's a story for another day -- remind me.

Ivanova has not chosen her suitor yet and so both men are still in play and will require looking at.  Let me read back -- ah yes, the family was travelling to Fort Vehl.  There was in addition to the family two young male retainers and a girl, Nina, acting as a lady in waiting to Mimosa and Ivanova, but no friends or confidants that we might question.  For some reason -- and we really do need to investigate this -- the father, Jonathan, chose to travel through the Gloom Woods.  Why by the Muse he did that I have no idea, when a much safer road runs to the east.  It seems a reckless endangerment of his family but he may have his reasons and I wonder that they are good ones.

A few miles shy of exiting the Gloom Woods, the caravan was beset by bandits.  Given that bandits are thick as...well...thieves, in that area...okay, you can smack me for that pun later.  Given that there are a lot of bandits about, it could have been a random hit; I would not discount the possibility.  During the attack a bandit forced his way into the carriage holding Jonathan, Lady Mimosa, and Ivanova.  One of the young male retainers jumped over the thief, but here Mimosa was uncertain as to events as everything seemed to happen too fast for her.  The boy and the thief tumbled out of the carriage and somehow Ivanova fell out as well.  I suppose it's possible; the attack was on moving targets, which means if the horses were spooked by the noise and screaming it would be a rough ride and she could have simply been jostled out.

The two retainers were both killed and Mimosa's grief was quite eloquent through her sobbing.  I did not detect any prevarication, however.  She says they did not realize Ivanova was gone until the dust had settled and the bandits had cleared off.  And, now you know what I know.

I'd like to question Nina on a few things such as which suitor Ivanova favored, was one of them more insistent than the other, was Ivanova happy with her life?  After all, if she felt trapped in between two bad choices, she may have taken the opportunity to remove herself during the fight and thus become free.  Nina is a young girl however, which calls for someone not imposingly tall and male and with a gentle mien and delicate touch -- namely, you.  

As you come into Vehl be aware there are other search parties around including some Jonathan Smithson hired.  I hope that together we can bring Ivanova home, for our Muse and for her family.


*written lower on the unsent letter*  

Found Annwyl before letter sent - file.

[RollinsCat]

Mother, hello.

I'll be writing another journal-style letter, for your eventual entertainment and to keep my facts straight.  We (Annwyl and I) are investigating the disappearance of a young Ilsarian lady and so I'll be in Fort Vehl for as long as it takes.  

I'll give you the background; the Smithson patriarch, a wine merchant, was traveling from their villa near Leringard to Fort Vehl on business, and the mother and (oldest?) daughter came along on holiday as the daughter, Ivanova, was contemplating marriage to one of two possible suitors.  The caravan was attacked at the edge of the Gloom Woods nearer to Fort Vehl and Ivanova, the now-missing lady, fell or was pulled from her carriage.  It appears to be a simple robbery attempt but for her being missing.  So far, no one has reported finding evidence of her.

Annwyl and I put our heads together and came up with a number of possible scenarios.  We've spoken to the lady's mother, myself once and the both of us once, and were given the name of one of Ivanova's suitors and a map of the route the caravan took.  Not many of our other ideas seemed to pan out; Annwyl spoke to one of the other survivors, Nina, but the young lady didn't indicate that Ivanova would have jumped to get herself free, as I suspected when I found out she was to be married.  I've certainly heard of other women faking deaths to get out of forced arrangements but that does not seem to be the case here.  The mother did not trigger any impressions that she was to blame.  Indeed, the woman was frantic with the crushing miasma of uncertainty.  The father is a possibility -- if his business is poor, he may not want to have to pay bride price (how very much I hate that.  Muse help any daughters I might have for I won't pay for them to be wed and bred, like livestock).  

Where was I?  

The father, yes.  He needs to be investigated.  The suitors as well, and we have one name: Worthington.  The father has paid for guards and a search team, which appear to be working for some elf but we've not seen much of him since I first observed him giving orders.  One of the guards is Phillip who is a Leringard native and so we've been friendly on the basis of shared locale.  He's been handy for helping to eliminate possible kidnappers and I now owe him a drink at the Arms when they re-open, a promise I intend to keep.

I'll be shadowing the father tomorrow, and bless the halfling ladies I know for their excellent suggestions on moving quietly.  I won't trust my upcoming skulking about to invisibility alone.  Tonight, however, I'm taking a very long bath and spend some time playing in the tavern.  We've just come from a few day's outing, following the map and trying to locate the lady, and we're both exhausted and more cognizant of our limitations in forestry.

Let me tell you this, mother.  I'm no woodsman.  In fact, I am the anti-woodsman.  Annwyl isn't much better and between the two of us it's lucky we managed to stay on the road.  There is a road, a path really, through the Gloom Woods which makes me wonder why Patriarch Smithson chose that when there was a safer route through Dapplegreen that leads directly to Vehl?  That he chose a route through bandit-infested woods, with undead to boot, raised red flags with my Sword and I.  And he stopped at Mesgard, which I know little about but I'm sure it's rife with surely ne'er-do-wells.  

We didn't go as far as Mesgard however.  Even with magical assistance that would have taken much too long.  We only went as far as Riam's Fort, a location known well to adventurers for the halfling who seems in charge of it.  A waystop, usually with some work to be done if one is looking for that; the Gloom Woods never cease to be dangerous, after all.  

Annwyl spoke to Riam and he mentioned that we're hardly the first to inquire about the young lady.  After a conversation that spun in circles, it became apparent that bribery was called for and so I laid a considerable sum of True in his palm which got me audience with a hench-type.  I say that glibly but he really did look the part, from his dumbstruck expression (which seems calculated in retrospect) to the shabby wool clothing.  However he had useful information, to whit:

The caravan stopped there on the way to Vehl, and did not tarry.  Neither did the family enter the fort; one of the hired men acted as liaison.  Water and rations were refilled and the caravan got underway.  Interesting that I got the impression the henchman felt an arrangement had been made previously -- it appears the Smithsons did not pay for the re-provisioning.  He also hinted that we should be more circumspect in our questioning which raised my eyebrow but said nothing more beyond that.

We established via a witness that one bandit of the many that attacked the caravan jumped off his horse and killed a young male retainer, and was about to strike down both Mimosa and Ivanova and take a hefty bag of coin when the other retainer, Timmy, tackled him out of the carriage.  Ivanova fell out after that; we don't know how.  Pulled, clumsy, pushed?  Pushed needs to be ruled out, as does the reason for the attack.  Further questioning affirmed that Ivanova didn't make it back to the Fort so our path led forward.  On tired feet we decided to enter a known waylay point for bandits farther down the road.

We found them, and luck was with us as they didn't see us first.  I'm not sure you want to read this but -- well, I've never liked bandits or thieves, and especially not since my Bella was stolen before my foot first stepped onto Mistone soil.  Or was tossed into Mistone ocean, as it were.  I'm sure this colored the outcome.  We approached, armed and ready and (at least in my case) with the imagined intent of allowing parlay for information.  Of course the wretched hive of scum came at us, swords drawn, and I didn't put forth any effort to persuade them to stop.  I sang, Annwyl and her Gentle Persuasion danced, and my song to hold one for questioning failed in the melee.

We tried again on the other side of the road, this time my spell holding a female in bonds of will while Annwyl ran the rest off.  We questioned her and immediately and without practice slid into good-cop bad-cop mode.  Amazing how we work together; instinctive even.  Annwyl was bad cop, as you can guess.  She's certainly more intimidating than I.

The woman was as frightened as she was furious and informed us she was new to the area as the former inhabitants had all been blown to very small bits by a "golden-eyed elf".  I have a suspicion as I know a golden-eyed elf with a fondness for blowing things up but it would be too much of a coincidence, wouldn't it?  He can't be the only one, and I don't like him anyway, so I'll not be questioning him.  Not good detective methodology and I don't care.

We found where the attack happened but as always in our few days, tracking was beyond us.  I tried, mother, I did; I tried to look for the broken leaves and the marks that indicated a footprint, the smells of perfume or body odor or blood, bits of cloth stuck to branches.  What I saw was a lot of dirt with plants growing out of it.  How do rangers learn this stuff?  The only thing I was able to do was follow the magical signature of some strong spellcasting, which triggered a remembrance of some deep booming thunder strikes deep in the forest around us.  We had ignored it at the time, which turned out to be a mistake.

From the faintest of magical trails we found a camp with ten crisp bandit bodies, now tender from insects, animals and rain -- a sight I'll be happy to never see again and that's not even beginning to discuss the smell -- and what we think was evidence of small footsteps, an elf or small human.  We could not follow the trail for long.  There was no sign of the missing lady.  But what we dismissed as thunder may well have been our kidnapper, or the golden-eyed elf, and now that trail is as cold as my feet.

So we returned to Vehl with more information but little that points to anyone.  I will see what I can find out about the father tomorrow.  If he did indeed decide to dispatch his own flesh and blood I'll find a way to find out.

Annwyl also mentioned that perhaps the other daughter, or one of the other daughters, might have paid for the attack as "diamondheart" (her mother's nickname for her) seems to be the current favorite.  A rivalry turned deadly?

Time to play and sing, mother.  Give my love to the family.


Your loving son,


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother, I apologize for the stunning delay in writing.  I assure you it's not because I've been laying a ditch, or a grave.  

I'm not even sure where to start.  I am enclosing the one journal entry that came out of a near-withdrawal incident intact but I tore the rest to shreds.  That's a long story and I'll do my best to remain succinct.

Ivanova.  Let me conclude that bit of miserable failure in as few paragraphs as possible, let's see:  Drunken night of jokes and rebuffed advances with a mercenary young woman who was also working to find the missing lady.  A teaming up of said woman (Dot) and her most attractive friend (Rory) with myself and Annwyl, Rory being a lady with considerable tracking skills which we lacked as my enclosed journal entry will detail.  The finding of the deceased person of Ivanova by the two ladies thus named, and the moving of said body; decisions made in haste to hide the body from a nosy Rofirinite; a long, miserable week-plus in a dilapidated tower in Dapplegreen, babysitting a corpse and writing for a cleric; Dot and myself getting very sick and me running out of alcohol, hence the destruction of journal notes (Dot was too far gone from disease to notice my rage, and my rage was rather pitiful given my condition at the time anyway).

A cleric arrives, Ivanova is too long dead to raise; how is it that none of us knew that?  Diseases cured, the sickness around the tower removed, a flight to Fort Vehl to return the body and a plan to smoke out the killer.  A non-spoken agreement to fail to mention to the owner of the tower about housing the body there.

The parents were...I'm not even sure how to put it.  Relieved that the uncertainty was over and torn to shreds that she was in fact dead.  We had a plan, and we tried to convince the family to let us try it, but the father stalled until legions of people arrived.  The nosy Rofireinite (Roland), the competing suitors (Armand Worthington and Phillipe Silverthorn), Phillip's retinue of Blackwatch...the family guards...more temple guards...at one point there were so many people in the room I could but stare.

I'm slowing down here because I want to vent some shame and you are my first confessor, after all.  We never did find the killer.  Our plan was a good one (we thought) but Jonathan, the patriarch, would not give a yes or no answer to whether we could pursue it.  The mother might have been more willing but we'll never know.  A murderer runs free and yes, I feel culpability.  I still suspect the father, more so than ever now given his reluctance to consider an ambush of the killer.  But the body was returned and that's as much as I can do; the family is long gone and I'm not digging up bones to satisfy my bruised ego.  Still, a very unsatisfying ending to something that consumed some time of my life in pursuit of justice, which I dip into so infrequently.  I almost felt a kinship to the Rofireinites I know, trying to catch that killer.  Almost.

I have sung to and for the poor lady's spirit.  Wherever in the Lady's arms she is, I hope she knows we tried.

Oh, and I'm fairly certain the Blackwatch is suspicious of me for something.  I received many a long and harsh stare from Phillip's retinue and when Phillip and Worthington ended up in a duel, I got swift and pointed confirmation; I tried to use a song of holding to stop the bloodshed and the Blackwatch guards ran me through so fast my song wasn't even fully off my lips yet.  To start a duel in front of the grieving parents (parent -- I won't speak for the father) of a dead girl, who was lying on the table not a few feet away?  That's sociopathic.  Worthington was killed by Phillip after I was skewered and left to bleed out, and Phillip was taken into custody and was no doubt freed shortly thereafter by his masters in Leringard.  A painful and booze-fueled recovery followed for me which set the stage for some changes.

I mentioned my rage.  It was one of the less pretty moments of my life.  I was out of alcohol and trying to write in the damp barracks of the tower, and my hand was shaking.  It had begun to shake a little, even when I had booze in me, but I ignored it and made rosy.  When the first tapping of need hit me I became angry, then afraid, then afraid and angry and frustrated.  I can't even describe it properly because it was too many things at once.  Fear that I would not get another drink before the shakes really hit.  Fury that I ended up needing a bottle to function, again.  Frustration that I could not complete a single sentence legibly.  

I took the journal page I'd been working on and tore it out; in my haste several others came with it and I shredded them, voicing some kind of...Muse, it was almost a squeaking of frustration.  I'm sure it would have sounded comical to any observers but Dot was asleep and it was only I and Ivanova, and she'll keep my secret.  Just tearing those pages did me in and I wept for a little while by the fire.  I wanted a drink that badly.

Obviously I was able to get one, finally, but the shaking didn't stop and I felt a thread of worry.  I involved myself in some things, keeping busy, writing music -- but the tremors would not cease, only abate when I had enough to drink.

A chance meeting with a lady finally tipped the scales.  This lady, a friend, knows me only slightly less well than I know myself but isn't hampered by my self-delusions.  We had a nice talk punctuated by our individual quirks and follies, it was comforting.  But she put in front of me what I wanted so much to forget; that after twenty years as an alcoholic I was paying a price that cut to my soul.  I was having problems writing and playing because of the way my nerves were acting.  The tremors, the quivering.  She simply asked me, did I wish to keep drinking and watch my music deteriorate?

Well, when you put it that way.  I spoke to her of my fear, the thing that kept me from quitting, and she offered to stay with me a little while.  Knowing she would be there; not to pamper me or to nurse me but just be there; lent me strength.  I took every bottle out of my pack, and there were a lot more than I recall having put in there.  I uncorked them and tipped them all over one by one.  Unnecessarily symbolic but I'm a performer, what did you expect?

It was a withdrawal to end them all and I made up my mind about two things.  One, should I ever relapse, I will not quit.  I can't go through that again.  Two, I'm not going to relapse.

And so, tell father that I'm sober and he can call off his hunt.  He wrote me a letter, I'm not sure he told you, expressing every bit of his disappointment with me and a desire to talk this out "man to man".  I will make a trip home soon and tell him we can talk then.  And what is this about a suspicious letter?  If anyone is writing you that you think might be related to me, I want to know and soonest.  I'm not kidding about that mother.  SOONEST.  Please send me that letter so I can assess it.

There is a lot more to tell, I have a purpose in Lor and I'm putting my toe into the line in the sand there which helps steady me when I have a bad day.  I'll tell you more when I get home, as soon as I have a break from my duties.

More to write but it will have to wait; for now I remain

Your loving son,


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

*sent by bird*

Mother.

I'll be home in the time it takes me to get from Port Hempstead to outside Hlint.  I am leaving as soon as this letter is in the air.

First because I genuinely miss the family; second, because I need a little time to be scarce.  I have dabbled in what I should not have although I believe our Lady might have had plans for me in that regard.  Still, the end result left me at my bindstone.  I'm counting on the persons involved not knowing I'm stonebound.  Once they find out?  Who knows.

The story, briefly.  I was near Misted Village in Dalanthar and bumped into friends leaving the area.  They said a dark elf was lurking about.  My experience with black skinned (or blue, sometimes) elves has been with people like Aunlyn, and Ty, a female dark elf I've met; outsiders to their own race, or so they say, with reputations that lend them credibility.  I don't dismiss dark elves as an insignificant issue but there has been an "us and them" quality to the ones I've met outside the Deep.

If it was a raiding scout, Dalanthar needed to be warned; and, well, I was just plain curious.  So I snuck across the stone bridge that spans the chasm there - well, snuck is a strong word, I moved quietly rather - and into the camp area.  After a good look around I found no dark elves and was about to leave when I turned and almost ran her over.

She, and a she that left me undone.  I had no idea dark elven women could be that beautiful, that sultry.  And her voice - Muse, although her speech was almost dwarven in dialect, the way she spoke was melodic beyond words.  I will confess I was nearly mesmerized by the sound, like water over stones in a brook or a gently rushing stream.  I can't describe it any other way.

And, I'd met her before.  She sold me a platinum harp years ago.  So part of me thought, "another of the us, and not the them" (I'll leave it to you to guess which part).  She seemed confused by me, as I flirted and didn't run screaming.  As we talked she edged closer, got bolder, and then asked me if I wished to kiss her.  Between her voice, her body, and my stupid, stupid brain, I said yes.

Muse, what a kiss.

She told me I was her slave, then, and well - you remember where I spent many years of my teens.  Wasn't the first time I'd called someone Mistress but it has been a long time since anyone demanded that of me and I felt like playing.  In truth it felt like seduction and I wanted it.  So I acted the part, completely and wholly.  I called her Mistress and followed her into the bandit raider stronghold, doing whatever she asked.  It was fun, and we both enjoyed it.  I don't doubt that she did.  I sang for her which pleased her greatly and was rewarded with another kiss that made my toes curl; even now, I hope I did the same for her, such was her pull on me.

We met up again later and I fell right back into persona.  We crossed some new and much better trained highwaymen and other sentient vermin, and there might even be a mage there who has found a way to use magic in a magic-dead area as we were hit with a meteor shower on the way out.  Still, we succeeded, and as I had been a good slave, I was allowed to rub her feet.  I let myself go back, back to when just giving pleasure was enough to make me ecstatic.  It felt like...falling in a way.  But I remembered well.  I'm not sure she realized I was acting.  I'm not sure I did either, after a while.

I was dismissed from her service for a rest and left to go to Dalanthar full of anticipation and in a giddy mood, albeit tempered with thoughts of Minuet.  I'll admit I was hoping Minu was in Omer's arms at that moment so I would not have to feel guilty.  

She had beaten me to Dalanthar, being on horseback.  I was conducting business when I saw her talking to another dark elf woman.  I meant to duck and hide, but Mistress spotted me and beckoned me and somehow I thought continuing in that role would be a good idea.  I'm not sure I was wrong; read on.

I will mention that the first thing the other dark elf woman did was fling a dagger at my head.  Probably should have made a run for it then but I was again, curious, so I stood at Mistress's side as ordered and played the big dumb slave.  They spoke in common at first.  They spoke of things I will repeat to you only in person, things I will be writing my friend Daniel about.  A scofflaw I may be but there is a time and place for Law and now is that time if the other woman was speaking truth. It's possible either she lied or her agenda was not what she said.  I'll let cooler heads decide.

All this time I stood, quiet and submissive, listening.  I must have had a tell or given something away because Mistress and the other woman switched to dark elf, a word I only know one thing in: Ilwmaky, which Mistress says is my name.  Oh, yes, I told her my name, my first name, but finding out my last won't be a problem for her.

I was used to being excluded but listening to them I just knew I was the topic and it was a heated one.  I listened further, into the Heartsong, and I could feel Mistress's heart harden and withdraw.  That was bad.

I'll skip most of the details of the fight.  I dodged a few strikes before the other dark elf kicked me in the head.  I remember trying to block another blow, seeing her flail come down, then waking up in Port Hempstead with a splitting headache, blood on my jacket, and soaking wet.  During all of that Mistress watched; she did not intervene, nor did she join in.  The few glimpses of her I got while rolling desperately one way then the other was that of mild interest dusted with irritation that it was taking so long.

So, that is my second reason.  I think fading away for a time would be a grand idea right now and I'm hoping to do it at the new family home.  I might even roll up my sleeves and make some pots with you.

*dried ink across several lines; one sentence, started but not completed, three times*

I am afraid, mother.  Being the target of assassins, being murdered even, is fine if it's me.  But at least one person has had the resources and foresight to know all there is to know about me and has threatened me using you, my family, in the past.  I had to make a deal I did not want to make in order to protect you and even now my stomach clenches every time you don't write for a while.  That's why I'm so adamant; if you get a strange letter, tell me.  If you see someone suspicious, tell me.  Trust NO dark elves, not one.  I'll be bringing money for you to use birds to send me messages as they're more reliable than post, at least for privacy.  

I wish I were not this man who refused a nice quiet life and who has the potential to destroy you.  I wish, very much at times like today, that a life of getting up, doing the chores, working, watching my children indulgently from a comfortable chair then going to bed to repeat it all the next day is something I could do; then I could rest easy knowing nothing that happens is my fault.  But I can't.  And won't.

We'll speak more when I arrive and after you're done chewing me out.

Your loving, stupid son,


Tashe

[RollinsCat]

*sent by bird*

Aya.

You can't imagine how many times I've almost started this letter in the last, oh, twenty years.  The time was never right.  It is now.

So many years lost.  So many years where we were dead to each other, you for abadoning mother, me for being an alcoholic lout.  I've thanked the Muse every day that She's given us another chance to know each other.  In those weeks at home, I started to see in you what I'd not let myself see throughout our childhood; that you are gifted, not just me.  That you are made for more, not just me.  Grandmother Rose lives in both of us and our blood is mingled in the Heartsong.  It is my sincerest hope that we can build anew on that.  Perhaps the shared history that never came to be can be created, together, in music?  And when you are willing, I'd like to hear your stories about those years in the height of Huangjin society...including the really good ones.  Especially the really good ones!

When you get to Mistone, and I'd recommend taking passage to Port Hempstead as it's cheaper and safer than some of the other ports.  I have some people you can look up if you don't find me first.  Left and down of the Port Hempstead docks in the Municipal District is the Tower Academy, and there you might find Instructor Elohanna.  That's my girlfriend and she knows to watch for you.  Since I have no idea if you're going to keep that blonde dye job or not (and I pray not, if irritating father with it was your only reason), she'll verify your identity with my old nickname.  By the way, this is the lady I call Minu, so as not to confuse you.  Elohanna is my sun, and you'll find her a warm welcome when you meet her; if not before me, then soon after.

Also be looking for a blonde woman, tall and muscular, with a greatsword strapped to her back and wearing silver chainmail with a red heart upside down over the chestpiece.  (I think this is so she can look down and see it correctly, but I've never asked).  She's hard to miss in that - that is my Battle Sister (I'll explain later) Annwyl.  She's the one I call "My Sword".  She also follows our Muse and she'll help you get settled.  I trust her with my life and my secrets and you can too; use my nickname if she's not sure of who you are, same as with Minu.

If you cannot find me or either of these ladies and need a place to go, a ways from Port Hempstead is Fort Wayfare.  There is a well-traveled road from Hempstead to the fort that goes through the Port Hempstead fields.  In Fort Wayfare, across from the Inn and under a hill, is a cave; it's been carved into a home inside and you'll doubtless find some combination of Daniel and Bella Poetr, Lana Poetr (we date; again, I'll explain later), Stephan Poetr (throw food and run), or Tod Fellow.  I'm confident most of these people will give you welcome although I have not spoken to them yet.

I didn't say anything to mother and father when I left.  That's your decision and your responsibility.  And I'd still like to meet this tutor of yours; yes, I'm probably going to be overprotective for a while, little brother or no.  Deal.  I have a chest emptied out in my room should you desire some storage space, and you can stay with me in Leringard if you want until you get entirely sick of my hovering and find a place of your own.  I expect this won't take long.

I also have a few little presents.  Does all this sound like a guilty conscious?  It should.  I've been asking myself over and over if risking the wrath of our family was worth helping you escape.

I think it was.  I'll see you soon.


Your loving brother,


Andrew


P.S. Still not drinking.

[RollinsCat]

To: Elohanna Minuet
c/o the Tower Academy
Municipal District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Minu, more news.  Much more.  I've become a father it seems.  Not in the way nature usually does these things, but by adoption.

The story:  I was in Port Hempstead, lurking in case Aya showed up, and having a chat with a brownie named Richie and Symphony (Jennara; have I told you that's my name for her?  I can't remember).  Tyra wandered up with of all things a baby.  I was shocked; stunned, even.  I remember thinking if she had been pregnant, she hid it well, and beyond that any man to have a child with her must have the patience of of god.  Which is ironic upon reflection.

Of course I wanted to hold the baby, and Muse if he doesn't look a little like me.  He has island blood - she told me she found him on Corsain, which explains his straight black hair and the shape of his eyes, although not nearly as pronounced as mine.  I asked who the father was and she said "you, if you want".  I dismissed this as a joke but did mention how easily he could pass for our son, which is true.  And that's when she asked me if I would allow her to say that I was.  She fears losing him, greatly, I could hear it vibrating in the Heartsong.  Especially as Symphony was standing right there while Tyra admitted to taking the child, who she says was near two dead adults (without further information I'll assume they were his parents).  She has not said anything more of how she came to obtain him.  

I'll never be able to say why I considered it.  I'll never be able to tell you what motivated me to say yes, with conditions.  I only know it felt right at the time.  However, as I informed her, using me as an excuse to avoid the law has it's price.  I will be part of the child's upbringing.  I will have say in this, and he will know me as his father.

And, Symphony is not happy.  She distrusts Tyra immensely, as a part of me has come to as well.   I'm certain that's some of the reason I agreed; to keep an eye on her and the boy.  We had a long chat, Symphony and myself, and I have made a promise to Jennara.  Not to Commander Creekskipper, not to Symphony, but to Jennara.  And Jennara pointed a single finger at me and informed me that she, personally, outside of her laws and her church and her titles, is holding me to it.  If I don't follow through I will be the deadest man on Layonara.

Tyra had better not screw this up.  The boy comes first, now, or I will make good.

So, that aside, I have a son.  I'm turning to you, Minu, if you'll offer your help?  I know a bit more than most people think about child care, but not very much about child rearing and this time, I can't fake it with a smile.  I need your help and your advice.  Tyra has been informed that you will be involved in this to the degree that you wish to be involved, as friend, great-aunt, Daddy's girlfriend, second mother - whatever you wish, at least when you're with me.  Which I thank the Muse you are, love.

I've spent so much time in quiet song, praying to the Muse that Tyra finally gains some peace from this and grows past the tantrums and the turmoil, that Aya is safe on a ship that's merely late due to bad winds or weather, that I can manage for once to take my own advice and be a decent father, that you'll forgive me for this sudden and unexpected twist following so close on the heels of my own family drama, that my parents will forgive my complicit behavior in Aya's leaving.  I am just shy of forty and things just keep heating up.

Ah, I have not mentioned but I've spoken to Argali recently.  I'll be focusing more in Lor, and so I will be asking a huge favor of Annwyl soon as they have a home near Castle Mask.  I pray they won't mind sharing it on occasion with James and the boy...

All this and I forgot to mention; Tyra named him Tyr'riel, and we call him Ty.

Did I make a mistake, Minu?  

Love,


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

*sent by bird*

Hello mother.

If you haven't ripped this letter up by now, I'll chance a few more sentences.

Aya arrived and she's safe and doing well.  Very well, despite her constant moaning about poverty and the like.  I've offered her space in my room and she's in and out as it suits her.  We've traveled together quite a bit.  I've made a confident of her, partly because I really needed someone to talk to and partly because despite those decades apart, she still knows how to read me.  It's a disconcerting relief, if that makes any sense, to just say what's on my mind about women I love and wish I loved and want to love again, and all the different names I go by.  To let it all out to someone face-to-face and not worry that I've told the wrong person.  I'm glad she's here.

And mother, if you could only hear her.  I know that you're upset about Vanessa; Aya told me she'll come back often, and I believe her.  She's spent most of her life pleasing you, pleasing her husband, her child, her obligations - she's like a Tilmar camillia, waiting years to bloom and now she's flowering so fast it scares me.  The magic in her music keeps growing in leaps and bounds.  She's learned songs I have never heard and all the rust is gone from her harp-playing.  I think she'll be more accomplished than me very soon.

I will say that trying to keep up with her is exhausting.  Her energy is limitless, her curiousity double that.  I feel like I've run from one end of Mistone to the other even if we've just gone to a cafe for a meal.  I hope it brings you and father some peace to know she's well, and that her little brother is watching out for her - when he can find her.

In other news...Muse, how to say this...I have been asked to be a father to a child.  A boy, named Tyr'riel.  I call him Ty.  I am not romantically involved with the mother but then, she's not romatically involved with anyone.  She's a bit prickly, and I'm being kind when I say that.  But I've known her for longer than I realized (when I stopped to think about it) and I did want a child, and the boy could use some balance in his life given Tyra's nature.  So I've agreed and mother, I already love him.  He's quiet, observant, nothing like me, but I'm sure his more cautious nature will serve him well.  As I write this letter he's on a blanket by my feet and trying to crawl and every time I look at him I smile.

It does mean I've had to curtail some of my activities.  The upside to not being in love with Tyra is that we can do more as we usually have him separately.  The downside will be explaining this to him when he's older; hopefully (and I pray to Ilsare every day about this) he'll appreciate he had two loving parents and not dwell on the fact that he's not biologically theirs or that they did not love each other.

I need to amend that.  I must love her or I would have stopped talking to her long ago.  But I am not in love with her.  She's pushed the envelope a few times too many.  I pray her love for the boy will finish what so many of us have started and given up on; growth, healing.  And if it doesn't - well, we'll discuss that in person.

I was speaking of curtailing things.  I'm volunteering at the Krandor Hospital, waiting on the Resonance of Being and a Katrien Hommel to return my letters, and still teaching although I've had to change my schedule somewhat to allow for Ty.  But things are going swimmingly with my class and I look forward to continuing my activities.  I hope to rent a room for myself and Ty when I travel to the city I teach in, and I've taken steps for this.  Other than that what little free time I have is spent writing music and visiting friends and being a dad.  Which is easy enough right now since he's fairly portable and demands little more than fruit-sweetened oatmeal, milk, and for me to sing him silly songs while he tries to grab my lower lip.

I'll bring Ty home soon for a visit, if there is some assurance that father won't hang me by my ears when I walk in.  Or you, for that matter, but Aya tells me that you understood.  So please let me know when it's safe to return and I'll introduce you to my son.

Your loving son (and by proxy your loving grandson)


Andrew and Ty

[RollinsCat]

*sent by bird*

Ohayō gozaimasu, Mother.

First, yes, I really am a father.  I wasn't kidding.  I've only just picked up my mail in Leringard as I've been living in Tyra's place to help with the childcare and so I apologize for the lateness of this reply.

My son -- our son, I should be fair, because Tyra really is trying to be a good mother -- is nearly a year now and toddling as he started walking early.  No, Tyra and I are not getting married.  We're not sleeping together.  We're raising a child together, which appears to some to be a sort of unholy alliance.  The initial reaction was rather amusing, but oddly, we've found a lot of common ground in our desires as parents.  We've spent a good long time talking about axioms and wishes and religion and skills, things we want for him.  He will be exposed to music and Ilsare -- and if he comes to Her, I'll be happy for him, and if he doesn't, then I'll still be happy for him.  He'll learn to fight and use swords; his mother will train him on that.  I will teach him the little tricks of tumbling and combat avoidance I've picked up over the years.  He'll learn to read and write from both of us, and elven from his mother and nanny.

Ah, yes, we have a nanny now (or she will be, Tyra has indicated) which has helped greatly.  Autumn is a wonderful elven lady and she really cares for Ty.  This has not given us an excuse to vamoose and run around the world, but it does make day-to-day working easier.  Autumn is from Dapplegreen and she's lived and breathed that forest most of her life.  Ty will learn from her as well, silent steps and movement, her language and history, and archery which appears to be her primary passion.  I have to remember to bring her a proper target from Hempstead.

So for quite a while life has been very settled for me.  I've seen Minu when I can, watched my son learn to hold a cup and walk and start to say words, and taught my class in Lor.  Of all the existences I could have imagined, this domestic placidity would not have made it onto the first ten pages.  But here I am, father, lover, teacher.

I'm still working at Krandor hospital as well although with my Lor schedule increasing, this might be curtailed a bit.  I'm trying to find a balance.  I know it will be easier when Ty doesn't require constant care.  I'm also going to be a tutor to a young lady who wishes to learn to read and write common, and I'm hoping to perhaps sneak in some social skills as well; she needs them.  It doesn't hurt that I'm attracted to her but I haven't quite felt on balance yet and I'm still trying to figure her out.  She's human, by the way.  And tall.  I wonder if it's my passion or my aching back that's urging me to connect with her?

Aya is fine, and that brings me to the reason I write.  She's started a gathering service, her harp playing has me in shivers sometimes, and she's got a comfortable place to stay in my room in Leringard.  But she misses Vanessa and I'd like to arrange a visit.  I know father is still sore about losing a second potter.  But he's done the right thing in giving Shuichi more responsibility, and hiring on some people.  Muse, he should offer to buy out Tzaro's shop with the money from the Locke contract.  You'll have most of the business in that area.

I digress -- if Aya and I return with Tyr'riel so you can meet your grandson, father must agree to play nice and let her visit Vanessa.  Make it happen, mother, I know you can.  It's high past time he realized that his blood and the blood of his mother is stronger in us than he imagined and just accept us for who we are.

Your loving son and grandson,


Andrew and Ty

[RollinsCat]

Ink.  Quill.  Blotter.  Paper, paper, where is the -

The stack formerly by the bound leather music book was gone.  So was the extra he'd stashed in the top drawer.  Fingers tapped angry staccato on the hickory desk.

She's been letting him color on my notepaper again.

taptaptap tap tap taptaptap taptap

I asked her not to do that.

TAPTAPTAP.

A scrape as he pushed himself out of the chair.  A survey of the room revealed not one single square of beige.  On hands and knees he shoved an arm under her bed and found only dust bunnies and an apple core.

Hells, that's what those ants were after.  He stomped down the hall to the door and tossed the core, ants and all, outside.  Good riddance, freeloaders.  Not welcome in my house.

The crib sheets were thrown back, the sides of the mattress rifled; nothing.  He stood and stretched his back.  Her bed, large, shrouded in mysteries he had long given up on ever finding out,  hunkered in the corner and dared him.

Fine.

He tossed the curtains over the canopy top and leaned in.  It smelled like her, perhaps a bit more than she did which meant it getting close to a laundry day. The sheets he pulled back without haste; the first time he'd yanked them off to wash them one of the swords she slept with had bounced off the top of his foot.

Nothing under the sheets but one of her adamantium lovers.  He snorted and moved the pillows, nothing - wait, a book?  A small one.  A journal.

He froze.

She'd kill me.

But...to see even a few sentences of what she really thought...

His fingers twitched as he hovered on the exact edge of respect and desire.  The book, nestled into the cream-colored sheets, waited.

He left it.

Pillows were tossed back down with more vigor than was called for but took the blow with feathery aplomb.  He lifted the mattress.

AHA.

Crinkling heralded the haphazard pile of paper.  Each sheet was wrinkled, some were folded, some torn, a few looked chewed on.  They'd been colored, as he suspected.  Most of the pages contained only a few lines or dots before the artist had tired of that attempt and flung the paper aside for a fresh canvas.  Or tried to eat it.

He tossed the stack on his desk and started looking for something usable.  There wasn't much but he found a sheet that had been scribbled with vigor along the sides with the middle left empty, almost like a frame.  It would have to do.  Hells, he could make it work.

He put the rest of the papers on her desk, squared neatly in front of her chair.  The bloody knife laid in front of the killer to make him confess.

Quill to ink, to blotting sheet, to paper.  The rustling and scritching upon the page, a sound he never grew tired of.  It had become a ritual over the years; one of his few.  He felt no need to change that.

Iraccee, Mother.

All's well here and I apologize for not having brought Ty to you yet; I was caught up in business on Vanavar.  Aya had also wished to come and I have not seen much of her so coordinating has been tricky.  She's living in my room in Leringard and I'm living at the Tower in Dapplegreen still.

This won't be an overly long letter but it will be a special one for as you can see, your grandson has aided me in the creation.  He's passed his first birthday and we held a party for him.  Tyra made him a vest and a teddy bear which now rivals the dog I made him for his affections.  Fortunately neither animal complains much if one is left behind.

I made him a slide whistle and by the Muse did he love that.  So very much, in fact, that his mother repossessed the instrument "for safekeeping" only a few minutes into his first performance.  Don't I recall a similar story with me and a drum from my childhood?  Regardless, now we must use the whistle outside or when she's not here.  Although I did let him wake her with it once and the look on her face when that whistle went off in her ear was almost worth the bruise I got.

Shiff and Valamara, Tyra's parents, attended the birthday.  Mother, Shiff tried to give our son a greatsword for a present.

No, you don't understand, A REAL GREATSWORD.  Full-sized and made of iron!  Muse, I had trouble lifting the stupid thing.  We didn't let Ty touch it of course.  In fact I recall that it was a touching moment of vocal unison when Tyra and I chorused "you have got to be joking" as he pulled it out of the scabbard.

Still, the party went swimmingly.  It occurred to me then that eventually we'll have to get you grandparents together.  That should prove interesting and I don't think in a bad way necessarily.  Something tells me Father and Shiff are going to get along.

I'm still teaching; in fact my teaching is expanding, which makes my time tight.  I will have a break soon though and Aya or not I will bring you your grandson.

Between teaching, my music, and my son, I'm learning a new art as well, illusion.  Rather exciting and very challenging, for me at least.  I'll show you when I arrive.

As I said, a short letter.  Give the family my love.

Your loving son and grandson,


Andrew and Tyr'riel.


The letter was rolled to fit into a bird messenger tube and sealed with his custom seal - a heart and clef, as his necklace, on a dot of red wax.  Nothing like James' ship's wheel and black wax tucked into a desk somewhere in Lor.  He smiled, laying it aside to sit cross-legged in front of the fire.

Tyra and Ty were on their way back from Daniel's.  He would have arrived after they'd come home but with Connor and Anna's gracious offer of the use of their home portal he'd shaved enough off the trip back from Krandor to have some time to himself.

It had been one enchanted evening, that night in the Krelin Inn less than a week ago.  Symphony had been there, and by the end of the night he'd heard her not only giggle but laugh and make actual jokes.  That had been a great pleasure for him.  Annwyl had stopped in to rest on her way to Hlint, and he'd been delighted to see her.  He always relaxed when she was around.  Their friendship only seemed to age as fine wine and he sang a prayer to the Muse right then to thank Her for Her gift of phileo.

Even if he'd spend the rest of his life wanting more.  Sometimes it didn't hurt as much, though.  Sometimes.

Meeting Hardragh had been...enlightening.  The man had matched him step for step in conversation, even threw a few new twists into their verbal waltz.  For his part he'd kept Jetta's admissions silent and the burly skald had admitted to nothing but at some point, they both knew.  A dangerously interesting man.  I will have to find him again.

And then there had been Connor and Anna, veterans of the Blood War, lovers of such intensity that he had been hard pressed to pay attention to anything but the Heartsong around them.  In the quiet of the tower he let out the jealousy he'd carefully hidden from himself.  To have that kind of love...

Her sound in the Heartsong was particularly intense, as if she was aware of it.  Her magic was similar to his and he'd had to banish his mounting attraction to the same hole his jealousy was sulking in.  He liked them.  He had much to learn from them.  He would not screw this up.

His fingers started to shape a bowl as he thought.  He began to hum.  Connor's illusions during his story, so masterful and effortless, so much like Jaelle's.  As closely as he'd listened during the tales of Shadison and Milara, he could only catch a whisper of the spell's casting, and often it seemed Connor had worked the somatics seamlessly into the cadence of the story.  Absolutely masterful.

He'd asked Connor to teach him, and he'd felt intense scrutiny on the edges of his consciousness from both the man and his lady.  

Connor had agreed.  So it was in front of that company, Symphony and Annwyl and Connor and Anna, that he'd tried his first illusion.  Not Invisibility which he could sing with ease, or its cousin Visage to blur and fade the body's contours; no, a full-fledged illusion of an actual object.

"Make a flower pot".

A flower pot.  Only Symphony.  But as Annwyl had pointed out, he knew pots.  His fingers had moved then as they did now, over an imaginary lump of clay on an imaginary wheel.  He'd sung bits of each illusion song he knew and blended, testing this word and that, shifting the music around into an amalgam of the notes required to invoke the magic.

You have to believe, Connor had said.  He'd tried but it wasn't the same as when he changed his body - his body was a focal point, something real he could see and touch, even when it was hidden in a spell.  But to create a picture out of thin air?  He'd tried visualizing what he'd wanted but that hadn't done it.  He'd moved his hands, sang the song, tested for the right feeling to the music...nothing.

He'd never admit what had finally worked.  Hallucinations.  He'd had a fair share over the years while under the blanket of this substance or that.  He could remember seeing them and KNOWING they were not there, smelling, hearing things that didn't exist.  Okay, he could work with that.  He imagined himself hallucinating.

When he opened his eyes around the rough wooden table in that inn in Krandor, he'd created an illusionary pot.  Not a great one.  It had faded in and out with his concentration, which had never been stellar to begin with...but he'd done it.  He clung to it, trying to make it more solid, imagining he was hallucinating it and that actually made it stronger.

Annwyl had smiled and risen to leave and when he'd spoken to her, it had vanished.  Okay, can't talk and illusion.  But the elation wasn't diminished.  He'd done it.

He would send Connor a letter soon on his progress.  Each night since he'd been home, he'd sat in front of the fire and "hallucinated".  Created little illusions, starting with basic shapes.  A cube.  A circle.  A pyramid.  Over and over until he could hold it.  He grinned - he was applying the same principles of teaching to himself that he used on his students.  Start with the basics.  Become good at them.  Don't rush.  Challenge yourself when something feels too easy; if it proves too difficult, take a step back and try again.  

It was working.

And there was a pot, a bowl actually, suspended in the space between his fingers.  It was only partially opaque and he saw it fade every time something challenged his focus, which was often.  It was a green crackle bowl with four little clay legs.  His ritual bowl.  His thoughts immediately swerved to his grandmother and the bowl vanished.

Odd.  Why had he conjured that bowl?

He began again but a scratching noise turned his head - Tiger, needing out.  More later then...he smiled and unfolded to a standing position.  

It had been a good day, except for the paper.