Andrew Reid - Letters Home

[RollinsCat]

To:
Karinna Oshaka
Wetwood Lane
Oba District
Huangjin
Tilmar

Dearest Karinna;

I could not let another day pass without writing.  All these long weeks I've missed you, your smile, your wit, your beauty - yet, despondant though I am, I have found so much in my new home that I fear I won't be coming back soon.

Angel of the Ancestors, don't wait for me.  A woman like you should have someone to adore her and I fear I will be a long time returning to the silken softness of your arms and the stardust sparkling of your eyes.  Remember me with fondness, as even across the oceans I remain your humble admirer.

Andrew



To:
Rheashi of House Kagorn
18 Mido District
Huangjin
Corsain

Beloved.  I can hardly write this, it breaks me so.  I ache for you, for your feather touch and languid grace.  But, despite the wishes of your family, I cannot marry yet.  The world is too large, my star, and Lady Muse won't let me rest until I've seen all of it.  I have come across oceans to find a place where my song can begin anew, but not without a neverending regret for what could have been.  Remember me with fondness, but don't wait for me.  A lady of your eclipsing beauty should be at the center of someone's heart, and try as I did, you know - you told me so - that my Heartsong will always be first.

I wish you as much joy as you can bear, Bellissimo.

Love,

Andrew



To:
Marian DePaine
Last House on Stevedore Alley
Mariner's Hold
Alindor

My sweet, I write to tell you with deepest regrets that I cannot return to you. I have discovered a new song in my travels, one I must follow - my Lady calls me stronger than ever, and as much as I can hardly tear my eyes from your hair of liquid gold, your dulcimer laugh, your sugar kisses, I must listen to my Heartsong.  Please don't wait for me, for I truly believe a woman with your mind and gifts must be appreciated, and I can no longer be the man to do that.

Remember this, though.  I will never forget our week, my ray of sunshine.  This I swear to you: I will never forget.

Your humble admirer,

Andrew


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

Greetings and song, Mother.  I've arrived on Misone, safe but worse for my travels.  Apparently the ship I booked passage on was not only a cargo vessel but also a cache of small-time pirates.  I was to have been robbed, killed, and dumped overboard but I was able to convince them to let me play each night, and worked in the galley to remain useful during the day.  This saved my skin, and thank our Lady they didn't search me too closely so the coin you gave me remained untouched (if somewhat unsanitary as well).  

They took my Bella, though.  It has been a long time since I've cried, but that night after I swam the distance to shore (they threw me overboard anyway, since they had to make a rather swift about-face from the Hempstead docks), I sat on the rocks of the beach and sobbed.  I miss my Bella.  I find myself even now, weeks later, trying to play her, my arms moving over a ghost violin.  I am heartbroken.  And it will be a while before I can afford a replacement.  They took my rapier as well, and my journal, and, well, everything, even the spare clothing I had packed.

I still have my velvet jacket, at least.  I was able to earn some coin with the help of some wonderful people, and have bought a new rapier, although it's only a copper one.  However I've become determined to learn to use it.  I know I've only dabbled before, and I apologize (AGAIN) for wasting Mr. Very-Expensive-Sword-Tutor-Matthews' time.  I will repay you for that someday.  But I digress.  I've found a small school that will take the little I can currently offer, and I've been practicing.  I think Father would be proud, at least a little.

I've found a new song here and I've been working on my voice, since my Bella is gone, sundered and sullied by the grubby hands of a third-rate fiddler pirate with delusions of talent.  My heart's song is growing and I know our Lady is guiding me.  But oh, the loss of my violin, Mother.  It hurts.

Oh, a request, if I may, dearest Giver of Life - I would appreciate it if you did not reveal my whereabouts to Sire Tarak Kagorn.  Or Rheashi.  Or Karinna, or Megan, or Damia.  I'm starting anew, and while I love them all, I think it would be best if they did not find me.

Especially Sire Tarak, if that's alright with you.

Give my love to Father, Opal, Gramma, Aunt Holly, and my brother.


Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

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

Dearest Spark of my Spark, beloved Nurturer, thank you for the letter.  It's good to hear from home and to know that all of you are doing well.  I'm overjoyed to hear of the dishware contracts you've signed!  With coin coming in through winter I rest better knowing you'll all be well fed and warm.

News from me, let's see: I've won a contest.  I'm very excited, as I felt Muse with me stronger than ever.  It was a contest of frightening stories and although there were some tales of great skill, I was judged the winner.  I told the story of the Hi no Tama, nearly the same as you've told it to me growing up.  Although I was able to augment the telling with an interesting clear stone I found, a cantrip of light, and a cantrip of flaring light.  It's amazing what a tiny bit of magic will do for a story.

I was not the best though.  I was surprised to win, to tell you the truth, Mother.  One elven lady who did not stay (had she, she'd have won I'm sure) told a story while she conjured visions to illustrate it.  She was masterful, her voice and magic-pictures held me agog.  Such skill!  Her name was Jaelle if I remember correctly, and I usually do.

Although she left, there was one other whose story was so well told I'm still wondering why I was chosen.  I did not catch her name but her clothing and confidence lead me to believe she follows our Song as well.  She told a tale in rhyme of an adventure gone wrong, and I was again captivated by her beauty and her story.  I would have judged her the winner, had I been Lord Fortrand, the patron of the contest.

And of course, I've met some lovely women at the competition as well.  There was a halfling of such quiet strength and conviction she rang to me as a symphony.  Her name was Jennara, Knight of the Wyrm.  Do you know how some people are a ditty, some are a song, and some are such complex notes they become something more?  She was something more, so much seen and felt that I could hear her song as an orchestra.  I will write a song for her someday.

There was a sweet woman who is also a lover of our Muse, Annwyl her name was.  I regret that I was unable to speak to her long, as storytelling was not her art and I dearly would love to learn what is.

There was a flame-haired woman in armor and an elven woman in a red dress, an elf who attracted a lot of attention for the glimpse some got of her skin color (and how dearly I'd have loved to speak to her - what tales to they tell, down there?  What bogeymen haunt the dreams of those who inspire such fear under our sun?  What stories do they tell to their children?  Oh, to know this...).

And there was one who captivated me beyond all the others.  Elohanna Min Alitae.  She was a petite star, a Flower of Voltrex, and her sound...what can I say?  I heard her, her quiet notes, winding into my song...how we could blend...  I must find her again.  She said she was the headmistress of The Tower, so I have a place to start looking.

Ah, I've re-read that last paragraph.  Just let me clear my throat and I'll do it for you, Mother.

"Andrew.  It's long past time for you to stop chasing every woman whose voice you fall in love with.  You are getting on in years and I'm tired of making excuses to your playthings!!

(How am I doing so far?)

Honestly, I don't know where you got this flirtatious fixation from.  Look at your father and myself.  We're both dedicated to Ilsare, and we've been married for thirty-two years!

(Winding up for the heart touch here)

As much as you adore your niece and your cousin, I just don't understand why you can't settle down and have some children of your own.  You'll look back on this someday and regret you didn't, mark my words."

Write soon, Maman, and give the family my love.


Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

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

Mother, beloved giver of life!  I know it hasn't been that long since I last wrote but I had a transcendent experience with a woman last eve.

I hear you rolling your eyes.  Read me out.

I have written of her before; her name is Jaelle.  She was one of the persons telling stories at the contest I won.  I saw her in Fort Vehl and had to stop her to tell her how much I enjoyed her tale, and we began to talk.  I liked her immediately - she's both clever and intelligent as well as beautiful physically.

She has great power, raw power, elemental.  So I was not surprised to find (to guess, actually) that she worships our friend the Lady of Storms.  And, I was warmed to know, she also plays the violin.  She understood, when I told her about Bella.  She really understood how it is - like losing a lover, a close friend.  We talked of that and so many other things.  She aided me in a bit of a crypt job I'd taken, where I got to show off my skill with the rapier.  And I am proud to say that it could be called skill now, by a myoptic septegenarian perhaps, but still.  I'm getting there.

We spoke of Huangjin.  She is the first person here that I've admitted my birth home to, and why.  We spoke of music - she's perhaps seen me at the Clamshell, and has herself performed there.  She's a member of the Chord!  We spoke of violins and rapiers, and why we choose them.  We spoke of so much, I told her so much.  I've not opened up to anyone like that in years.  Excepting you, of course.

And here is my confession to you, my confessor.  All this time, as much as I enjoyed her, as much as I admired her, as much as her physical beauty tugged at my heartstrings (among other places), I found myself hoping that we could be friends.  Not lovers, to fade when the next voice comes along, or lifemates struggling to remain faithful past decades of boredom, but friends.  I began to value her in the hours we spend treading a dank and dusty path beneath a dank and dusty city.  I looked forward to her verbal sparring, her innuendos, her insights.  Her questions, and her advice.

Mother, I think I've found a friend.  It's rather confusing.  Lust is so much easier.

As a side note, I've been on my first real adventure, on Alindor.  You remember Mariner's Hold?  My companions and I traveled to a small island nearby to rid it of some bugbears that had taken root like a furry and vicious-toothed weed.  I tried to help with the fighting, but several difficult to repair tears to my jacket later, I found restraint the better part of valor and sang from the back and helped with the healing.  Those things were tough.  I am writing a song about them and will send it when it's done.

All in all I'm settling in nicely here, and making some coin to save for my next violin.  I hope to find a good luthier, although Jaelle says she has some instruments and I hope to visit her soon to see if any call to me.

Be well, dearest Mother, and steel yourself - I feel that as fast as my life is spinning now, you may be deluged with these missives.  Probably more for my benefit than yours.

Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Jaelle
130 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Night Sky:

His name is Alexander.

~Andrew



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

Thank you for your kind letter, Mother.  I found it on return the Scamp's Mug, although one of the barmaids had already opened it looking for valuables.  She apparently though a thick envelope must mean pawnable goods; how disappointed she was to discover instead the thickness was due to the quality of your paper and a lot of, I quote, "really big words".

Such is my lot.

I apologize for the bitter tone.  It has been a few weeks of ups and downs.  Let me tell the ups first, to cheer myself: I have a new violin. He's a wonderful instrument - deep and soothing, given to lamets and romantic ballards.

I'll shorten the story of my acquisition.  I went searching in Leringard for the lady who stole my head, Jaelle.  I found her within an hour - Muse was keeping my interests that day.  We retired to her home to have a long talk, and I met some of her family.  I can only say that a friendship that was an exciting prospect has become a treasure.  For you see, she is a luthier of no small talent, and she had dreamed of a violin of her making ending up in my arms.

We played together, her on a piano and myself on a harp.  You know what that does to me.  And then she introduced me to my new companion, he made of hickory and stings with a matching bow.  That was the final cement and I am certain I would die to protect this amazing woman now.  I'm a lucky man to know her.  Jaelle made me a supper of roast beef and bread that rivaled your cooking, if a different type - her skills in the kitchen are as good as her skills on a piano.  I hope I can arrange for you two to meet someday.  You'd like each other.

A lot of words for a woman I'm not trying to bed, eh Mother?  I'm hope you're enjoying this.

My violin and I have spent the last weeks getting to know each other; his string that comes a little loose after a few hours, the sweet spot on his bridge, his high registers that provide such startling counterpart to his rich voice.  He's like a cello at times, and he's bigger than Bella was.  I have really enjoyed playing him.  I cannot wait to introduce him to Bella.  I have decided that I WILL find her someday, if she's to be found.  They would make a lovely couple.

Alright, so it wasn't that short.  Really, did you expect it to be?

Now, for the bad.  After learning the streets of Leringard, I returned via ship to Port Hempstead, intending to use a map I'd acquired to find Hlint and make my pilgrimage to the shrine there.  That pilgrimage is what this letter should have been about.

Instead, I mis-read the map and ended up in some small town, I never did catch the name, with a fairly large graveyard and many crypts.  My curiousity owned me, after my trip into the City of the Dead under Fort Vehl, and I went exploring.  One crypt was unlocked - no notice, no signs, so I poked in my head and promptly had it nearly removed from my shoulders by undead so fierce and strong that I didn't stand a kitten's chance in a wolf's den of surviving.  I scrambled out but they knocked me unconscious and in the process my coin purse was slashed.  Fully half my gold was lost down a deep and oddly placed well on the floor.  I don't know how I got home but I woke near the bindstone in Port Hempstead feeling sick and poor.

Now I'll have to wait and try to once again save.  I've got a little left, it didn't all spill, but I cannot believe, Mother - I really can't - that there is no sign or warning on that crypt.  There was a little girl playing outside, near the graveyard!  What if she went in there?  There were no guards!  I know children, they'll get into anything, dare each other to do it.  Who else might get hurt?  I'm going to march back to that town and demand they put up something to prevent people from just wandering in and dying.  Careless, thoughtless, dangerous!

I think I pushed one of my own buttons there.  I'll let you know how that goes.

Also, I have permission to use the crafting hall here in Port Hempstead now, which is another reason my purse is light.  I've nearly convinced myself to sew, unmanly as that seams (get it?) to save money on repairs.

Please let Father know that my rapier training progresses.  Master Granouche is teaching me parry and counter-parry and coule, where I feint by sliding my blade down my opponents.  If I keep training, he's going to raise his price, so I'd better be about work soon with as little coin as I have left.  But honestly, I'm enjoying the exercise.  I feel stronger, my lung capacity is increasing which helps my singing.  And, how to put this - while I was in the crypts with Jaelle those months ago, she asked why the rapier.  Why not the short sword, or katana.  I had several good reasons, but none of them were the truth, or the whole truth anyway.  The basket hilt is good protection for my hands, which need protecting if I'm going to keep playing instruments.  I like the light feel, and it was what we had for me to learn on.

But there is something about the rapier, and fencing, which is closer to art than most swordplay I see.  I often have notes and songs pop into my head as I fence, and I realized the other day it's the way we use the rapier.  It's a bow that's a weapon.  Some of the moves are almost like playing.  I can't explain it better than that - it's art that kills.  Or disarms, in my case, as I'm not sure I want to spill that much blood.

So (and once again I wander on with my dialogue) let Father know I'll finally be ready for that match when I see you both next.  I hope he will be pleased to know that.

Kisses to all the family,


Your loving son,

~Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zira
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

My Shining Beacon of Ilsare;

I wanted to again thank you for our time traveling. You've shown me a songbook's worth of new things, and Muse knows what that means to me.  I wanted to share something with you, if you don't mind.  Perhaps your man might sing it for you?  It's to the tune of "Bonny Green Ginnie";

Twas in a summer’s afternoon
Rolling onto eve
We met by fountain’s gentle whispers
My heart upon my sleeve

Come, you said, with sparkling eyes,
Seeing me naïve
I leapt to sing the world with you
And so we made to leave

You spoke of wonders across the seas
Passionately I did believe
Forest, lake and mountains grand –
Your words did not deceive

But in our time of roses, dear
My heart began to grieve
Your devotion crystal clear
To Toran-loving reave

Yet now mine eyes and heart take wing
When caring round us weave
Knowing that I can know you
What our friendship can achieve

I hope this is not misinterpreted - hope springs eternal, they say, but what I've found in you will last longer.

I am glad I can call you friend.


~Yours in the arms of Lady Muse


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Jaelle
130 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Jaelle -

I have heard of a fire destroying the Leringard Arms, where I found you that cold day some time ago.  There was no word of whom might have been hurt in the flames - I write praying you are well and all things you love are healthy and strong.

Please send me some word, least I come knocking on your door in a blind panic? I have songs to sing you, and stories to tell of myself and Alexander.

I take my messages through the Scamp's Mug.  Please call on me if you need anything.

Your friend,


~Andrew

[RollinsCat]

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

Dearest Family;

Your letters, both of them, brought me joy.  Thank you.  Yes, my birthday came and went quietly, but I spent it aiding others and so the lack of celebratory festivities was supplanted by easing the pain and loss around me.  Or so I like to think.  Sometimes there are wounds a clever turn of phrase and a little music can't repair.  But let me get to that.

I'll begin with: I've decided my Song needs more notes, more sound.  So I've added two crafts to my life expressions; sewing (Father, don't wince) and woodworking.  My woodworking is restricted to hickory, which all the old splinters at the shop say is the test of patience with the art.  It's a strong wood, hard to work by hand, and the grain is curley and goes every which way so hickory prepares your hands and wrists for other woods that are easier to work but less forgiving of mistakes (oak and mahogany). Or so I'm told.  Certainly my attempts have gone wild enough, but it barely nicks the wood when I slip.  I've been focusing on arrow shafts to refine my cutting and planing technique but I'll be switching to planks.  More on that in a moment.

Sewing came naturally.  Moving the needle is like the rapier in that it reminds me of playing the violin.  I'm very proud to say that I'm wearing a new cotton shirt, new cotton pants, and a new cotton velvet jacket that I made myself.  I'm doing my own repairs now as well.  While I've asked for advice and watched the men who work with wood, sewing was just something I had to start doing.  I'm pleased with my efforts so far and I'm about to embark on a lot of cloth making.  Again, more on that farther down.

I've been out seeing the world again, most recently a long trip to Dregar where a group of companions and myself traveled to some old mines taken over by giants.  You know, those smaller races would not have such a difficult time preventing invasions of this type if they would simply build the ceilings lower.  I can bet if a giant were to attempt to overtake a mine built to house dwarves and not twenty-foot-tall dwarves as they seem to see themselves, then the mines would remains safely in the hands of the original and shorter owners.  Ego can be a precarious thing.

But here I am, home again with a beautiful rapier radiating old and powerful magic awaiting my ability to use it.  When I try to wield it now all I get is shocks across my palms.  But soon, my giant-purloined beauty will be flashing in my hands.  For the meantime I've borrowed a fine old iron basket hilt rapier with a flat blade.  It might be mine if I can access the right barter for it, but the items are in dangerous areas, so for now, it remains borrowed.  Father, I've been keeping up my lessons.  Master Granouche has me working on riposte and remise so be sure to keep your guard up after you bat aside my attacks when next we spar!

I've made another friend, she a lady named Zira.  She follows our Lady and has been kind in helping my learn my way around Alindor.  Sadly, she's spoken for; I found her most intreguing but my ardor cannot be reciprocated.  Besides all that I've also met her beloved and he's a man of candor and honor.  I fear my days of seduction might be limited or gone entirely.  Well, except for the lovely daughter of one of the local Hempstead barristers...she seems to enjoy our dalliances.  A bit too much in fact.  What is it about women and honesty?  I told her that I was not interested in betrothal.  I told her that I only wanted a sweet face and warm body to wake to, nothing more - why can't a woman hear this and say to herself, "He's being honest.  I should decide if I can accept this before I let my heart become involved."  No, never do they say that no matter how brutal you are.  Instead, it's "He's being coy!  The poor dear, he's love-shy and it falls to me to convert him!  I will show him he's safe with me and he'll fall for me and we'll live happily ever after!"

It never happens that way.  It never will.  Why does honesty backfire?  It's not like lying will make it any better.  Now this young maid is seeking me out daily, and takes great umbrage if I don't let her know my exact whereabouts or if I go off for a few days.  And, to add sour to burnt soup, she's involved her father and I hear he's asking about me.  Does this sound familiar?  I'm not interested in moving - again - so I'll have to let the young lady down gently the next we meet and pray her father approves of my actions.

I think I just wrote a great deal more than I intended.  I'll leave it for your amusement then.  Once again my letter becomes catharsis for my troubled soul...

And so we come to the end, where I reveal my motives for my crafts.  Recently in the town of Leringard, an inn burned down.  This inn was a tavern, housing, and a gaming house in one.  And normally, I could ignore such a thing - fire is a hazard of every building and taverns doubly so.

But this tavern was one Jaelle frequents.  And when I heard it had burned, and she did not send a response to my inquiry as to her safety, I went there to see her.

I didn't find her, nor did I get word from anyone that she was among the deceased, so I've laid aside my worry for now.  What I did see was the outpouring for this building, this landmark.  People singing the songs that graced those halls, artists painting pictures of the memory of the building.  The whole town mourned the loss.  And it touched me.  I spent days there, playing to raise spirits and dry the eyes of upset children, and in labor to help remove the remains of the building.  Reconstruction will take place and although I've never set foot in the inn, I know Muse wants me to extend myself.  I hear it in my blood, my hands, my heart.  I will make planks and cloth to help rebuild, and this time, my contribution won't be merely a song that fades on the last quiver of the string but the very wood that forms the skeleton of the new building.  I can't express my excitement!  This is a first for me and I am enjoying it.  I will send a sketch as soon as the new building is completed.

Be well and good health and inspiration bless you Mother and Father.

Tell the family I'm well and send them songs of love.

Your loving son,


~Andrew

[RollinsCat]

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

Mother, Father -

I'm alive.  I don't know if you heard about the storms and waves but Port Hempstead is under water and partly rubble.  

It hit while I was entertaining a young woman and our survival was only due to the lady's keen eyes in seeing the wave approach.  My home away from home is built along the docks and levee walls, so we fled the inn along with the few other patrons that day.  We got clear of the docks before the water struck, and never before have I seen (or wish to see again) such a magnificent, monstrous, terrifying force of nature - especially from mere hundreds of feet away.  All I can remember was the dark sky and how quiet it was right before the water hit and running, and having my feet swept out from under me, holding Elaine with all my strength and trying to stay afloat till the wave receeded.

There was death on the heels of this wave, a lot of death.  Men, women and children swept to sea, the docks broken to splinters, and homes leveled.  My lady friend (not the same young woman I've been with - thank goodness her father did indeed express satisfaction that I was no longer keeping her company, although the lady's opinions of my reluctance cannot be printed least my quill catch fire) took a blow to the head and we were both much battered by debris and nearly drowned.  

We straggled out to the Hempstead fields, where the farmers had opened up thier homes to survivors and had warm blankets and tables of food.  I cared for Elaine as best I could and offered healing to those in need, and I wanted to go back to the city and help.  I would have given much to be able to.  But even now my right ankle is swollen and quite possibly still broken, and I would have been a detriment to the heroes who spent hour upon countless hour rescuing everyone they could.

I'm helping in the aftermath, mostly with body recovery and clean-up.  I've seen more pain in this than in the entirety of my 28 sun-rounds to date.  I've seen children wandering lost looking for parents and parents looking for children, I've pulled tiny drowned bodies from under stone and log, and the only thing keeping me from weeping is my own exhaustion.

Elaine's mother is unaccounted for.  Her father and brother live and she's safe with them as their home was merely flooded.  I am now homeless, sleeping in the fields under borrowed blankets and playing music in the evenings for the other homeless families in the tents lining the road to and from the Port.  I carry most of my possessions in my knapsack, which I snatched up as we ran from the inn, so my violin survived.  As long as I have my music, I'll be alright.

Be safe, and take care of each other.

Your loving son,


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Ranawin, Beloved of the Muse
Care of Calise
Shrine to Ilsare
Hlint
Mistone

Gentle Lady:

I wish that I were writing to report an upcoming festival, but as I'm sure you know, reconstruction on the Leringard Arms has faded to a background note with the horrors still chiming across the coastal towns of Mistone.  I was in Port Hempstead when disaster struck and here I will remain until the town and the survivors are safe to rebuild and restart their lives.

I regret that we have not met yet.  I hope to sit in your company soon; Heartsong knows after what I've seen, merely sitting near you would be healing.  If you visit Port Hempstead, you can find me near the Tower or out in the Hempstead Fields.  


Yours in the Muse,

~Andrew Reid



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

Mother.  This will be a shorter letter than the holy tomes I usually send you but I felt you deserved some notice.  Another wave approaches Port Hempstead and I will be here to meet it.

There are many here working to prevent or mitigate the possible damage, and I've been alongside them, helping with evacuations and scavanging building materials to shore up those homes and businesses still standing.  And with the finding of bodies, which has left me far less cheerful than I like myself to be.  I admit to you, my confessor, that I've been drinking a fair bit more than I should.  Some things happened that left me desiring that warming numbness and this long week has made it a habit.

Don't worry, I'll pull out of it.  I have my music still, and Elaine, however strangely that's gone recently.  Her father has found out about our dalliances and as I feared, demanded I make an honest woman of her.  Do you know those things you really wish to say that you then stop yourself from blurting out because you value the current arrangement of your face?   I supposed that's wisdom of a sort, because what I wanted to say and did not was that to make an honest woman of her I'd have to go back five years and three other men.

But I didn't.

He doesn't have the power to ruin me, bless the Muse.  And ironically she's quite good for me.  We have have a harmonious blend, my little dancer and I.  And,  more ironic, she's not only fine with my roaming eye, she has an accomplished one herself.  So, the closest thing to love I've felt here on Mistone comes with the unwelcome excitement of never being sure if she's alone or not.  How she's kept this from her father for the last five years is beyond me.

Why do all my good relationships come with infidelity as a prerequisite?

There, I've broken my promise to keep things succinct again.  Be well and give the family my love.

Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Golden Angel.

I was thinking long and hard about our meeting, as thinking is most of what's left to me until I blot it out with Tower Malt.  I am so very sorry we had to meet as we did -- with your lovely and enthusiastic sister trying to push us together and your protective brother trying to push me out.  I think, if we met again, I'd like to do so where we can start fresh, without the distractions of other people's perceptions.  Perhaps on a hillside, or near a lake, something you might like to paint.  Someplace that calls to Alex to open his voice.  

I write to offer you a little of myself.  I've already admitted to my lush and philandering ways, something I'd hoped to leave behind me.  And for the philandering half, mostly I have.  At least, I've only embraced one woman at a time (usually until her father or another male relative finds out and ends it).  Not so much the drinking, although my fuzzy worldview was sharper before the storms hit my new home.  I confess I'm not entirely certain I was sober the night we met.  I'm not certain I'm sober now -- I live in a gentle haze, enough to keep the pain away.  For now, I function.  We'll see what tomorrow brings.

I would sit with you sometime, listen to your stories and tales of your youth.  I get the feeling that blue expellations are not the totality of your sins, my lovely ray of sunshine, and if they are, you may wish to reconsider knowing me.  Wine, women and song are not the worst of my bad habits -- although they are the most frequent.  How I ended up this way, Andrew William Reid from a respectable and by all accounts stable family of artisans?  My mother asks that question daily, I'm sure.  I can't blame my lineage at any rate.  I had a stellar upbringing which I squandered thoroughly and kind and loving parents that I took for granted until fairly recently.  My wisdom, such as it is, has come after great lengths and experiences that no book ever taught me, for as many hundreds as I've read.  So you may know this about me: I must discover what everyone else knows through personal immersion, and probably in the most difficult way possible.  It's a bit of a handicap sometimes.  

I would ask that you forget what Zira has told you about me.  She sees me as a friend, but she controls that friendship.  This is fine by me; I could use a mentor in the world and she does understand me better than most.  But to you I give the razor-edged truth: I am a man who does not often say no.  And who sometimes doesn't realize why I should in the first place.

If you can live with that, and still wish to know me, I receive letters via the Tower Academy in Port Hempstead.  If I don't hear from you, I'll understand.


Honestly Yours,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

*written in large loopy script in purple ink*


Andrew William Reid
C/O Whatever is left of the Tower Academy
Port Hempstead


Dear Andrew,
I appreciate your honesty more than you can possibly imagine. I was relieved that Zira did not tell you much about me because I hope that my own past does not affect your opinion of me. I am far from a saint. I like to live life, to experience the possibilities that it has to offer, and all too recently I've found myself trapped in a past I wish I could forget, but as of yet have been unable to.

I feel that it is only fair in response to your own honesty to present you with my own honesty and therefore leave the decision on whether you in fact still wish to know me entirely up to you.

First and foremost, Razeriem is not my brother in the traditional sense. He is my Raz, and my best friend. He is simply being protective of me because of the reasons of why I told you I have not been with anyone in a long time. I'm not talking elven long time, just Zari long time. I'm not good with relationships, and I'm really not good with monogamy. I don't believe in love. Maybe it's out there for other people but for me it is not possible. Love that people talk of between a man and a woman tends to go in the direction of posession. I'm not looking for a marriage. I'm not looking for children or any family that I would, heavens forbid, have to bring into this world myself. I lost myself for a time and only recently have started to feel like me again. I want to keep it that way.

I'm not good at saying no. It's probably (according to Zira) what gets me into the trouble I get into. I would be interested in seeing you again without the interference of Zira or Raz. I don't paint landscapes, though, and nature is not my forte. I like people, preferably men... and preferably in their own natural state... that's the sort of nature that my art tends to thrive in. I design clothes, but I try to design in a way that accentuates each individual's own beauty to where the clothes look natural and only enhance them, rather than try to cover up something that they might have thought was a mistake in their creation.

If you would like to pose for me to draw you though, I would love to. Your eyes have an exotic shape to them that expresses a challenge that I would love to undertake. Perhaps we can rise to the occaision and capture the intimate quality that is truly unique to you. But for that, it might be that we should find a more intimate setting. If the outdoors is what you prefer, I think we can find somewhere that we can get to know each other better and perhaps each express our own talents to share.

I am looking forward to hearing that beautiful voice of yours once more, though I'm curious to know if you can dance. Perhaps we can test that out when next we meet. I'll see if I can find my tall boots.

Of course I've left the decision to you, so even in spite of my ramblings I know that there is a very real possibility that you may not want to see me again. In spite of what you have chosen to call me, I am far from an Angel. I'm not good at thinking and I find that when I do think it makes things more strained and complicated than it should be and too much like... work. Sorry for the foul language. I'll owe a true to the swear jar for that one. I think that life should be fun. I've alredy spent too many days worrying and hiding and I'm trying to live life to the fullest. I'm a woman in search of inspiration, but when I think of those eyes of yours I think maybe we could work on a little inspiration together.

I look forward to your response and your decision.

Your, Not-so-much-of-an-Angel,
Zarianna

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Zari.  I read your letter a dozen times, and it would seem we're of a mind about certain things.  I would still very much like that intimate chat with you.  And I would not mind posing for a sketch.  I suggested nature not out of a desire to embrace Katia's gentle green whispers but because I have no home at the  moment.  I borrow a bench or a corner of a floor when I can, and sleep under the stars, moon and rain when I can't.  My tiny rented room at the Scamp's Mug may have smelled like a brewery and been home to a number of quietly scampering tiny feet, but it was warm and dry.  I wax nostalgic for a closet over a bar...

I'm back in Port Hempstead, and the town continues to prepare.  Sand is everywhere.  This place will be a beach when the waves hit.  The town is so quiet these days, it feels like sacrilege to talk above a whisper.  I stack sand during the day and try to stay dry at night and steal bottles of alcohol where I find them.  I suppose that makes me a looter.  My consciousness will simply have to cope.  And of course the booze makes that easier.  

I wished to suggest something to you, Golden Rose.  Your sister is right about something - you do indeed speak and act as an Ilsarian.  Whatever you may think of worship, of believing in and loving a God, sometimes you can't avoid how they pick you.  For better or worse.  There is a story to that which I will tell you when we are alone and only then.  It has to do with your first guess about whom I worship, so be prepared.

In any event, Lady Muse has touched you, called to you.  I hear your reluctance to succumb to something that involves both love and possession - and if anyone on this entire world could understand that, it would be me.  But look at me.  Think of what you know and what I've told you.  I run freely, my heart my own, my body mine to share with whomever I wish or no one at all; I make terrible mistakes, help and hurt others, and damage myself with dangerous substances that I know better than to use.

And yet.

I love Her.  I love Ilsare and how She touches me every day.  I see through Her eyes and play songs from the wonders there; I hear as She hears and build tunes from the things that we routinely ignore.  And Muse forgives me, every day, for my indiscretions.  I can give myself wholly to Her and still be me.  I have said it before, Ilsare is the only woman I will never cheat on.

So to that, re-read this: "I try to design in a way that accentuates each individual's own beauty to where the clothes look natural and only enhance them, rather than try to cover up something that they might have thought was a mistake in their creation."  Read it again.  Look in your wardrobes, full of clothes inspired by people you care about or will care about someday.  And think of what I've said.  Because I won't press you on this, not now, not ever; I just wanted to point it out.  She has touched you.

And with that, it's time to find a pillow soft stone bench downstairs as the wizard whose office I am appropriating for this letter has become quite sour of face.  I want to see you again, Zari.  I hope it is soon.

~Andrew

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Zari, Wild Angel.  I wanted to tell you how much fun I had the other day, you and I waltzing on the corpses of our enemies.  Despite your brother's uncanny timing, it was very...freeing, to see you again.

You have a gift in your soul to be as unburdened as you are by the constraints that turn many of us to maudlin drunks.  I find myself relaxing around you.  Not that you can't be dangerous; my remarkable ability to fling myself in front of you right as you unleash a torrent of fire proves that; but you don't worry, so I don't either.  It takes a burden off my soul for a while.

I hope we can meet again soon, perhaps that I might pose for your art.  I confess I'm very interested to see how you see me.

I would ask that whatever bell your brother seems to have attached to your leg, please remove it.  I don't think he'd necessarily appreciate the course of our discussion or what I promised to tell you.  

In the meantime, little wild one, for you:

Will you hold my hands and dance
Where day and night don't follow
Will you spin on song-light heart
Where excess words ring hollow?

Will you walk with me a while
Into my darker places
Will you lead me past your veils
Into your sunlight spaces?

This isn't high prose, Zari dear
It's meant only to amuse you
But an invitation, that it is --
One I hope that you'll pursue.


Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
C/O Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Andrew,

Your words have sung through my mind as I can hear your enchanting voice whether sung or spoken and your lilting phrases most likely accompanied by Alex's own sweet voice. I can almost hear an appropriate tune as if the music itself came from your pen directly into my soul. I find myself humming along to the tunes I've heard you sing, and I can't even help it. I feel free these days. More than I have in a long time. I'm truly looking forward to our next meeting.

Again, I must remind you, Raz is not my brother, not really anyways. Yes, he is acting like it right now, but I assure you he feels he is looking out for my best interest. When we cannot bear it any longer, I know he will give us the space and privacy we need.

I would very much like to hear your story, as I'm sure that when you tell it the words will come to life, and I would like to know more about you if you are willing to tell me.

I've enclosed the finished sketch from when you sang at my house to Zira and me. I had to do much of it from memory, but your figure seems to be alive in my mind and imagination in your absence.

I hope I can be with you again soon. Next time let's try to dance without the gore. Or perhaps we can stroll through the moonlight along the shores that aren't raging with deadly waves. Perhaps a quiet lake under the stars.

Please stay safe and find yourself something or someone to keep you comfortable until we meet again. A stone bench is no place to lay your head at night. But if you must, just imagine you're sleeping on silk satin sheets and down-filled pillows, next to a roaring fire to keep you warm.

Until next time, know you are in my thoughts.

Your wild one,
Zarianna

PS: I really am sorry about the fireballs. Next time, just stand behind me. If I have to attach you to my waist while I cast, so be it. I'd rather have you safe.




Andrew Reid
Somewhere in Port Hempstead- maybe still the Tower Academy- if it's still there- try there first
Mistone... what isn't washed away


Andrew,
It's not Ilsare, it just is what it is. I like pretty things. I'm not an archer. I know how to shoot a bow (every elf seems to be taught that, it's ingrained into us from birth maybe) but wearing a quiver on my back tangled my hair and wearing a hip quiver just didn't go with my attire. Besides, my dad always used a rapier and ever since he gave me my first one I knew it was the only thing I ever wanted to fight with... other than magic. But this isn't really about fighting. Ilsare is all about love. Me and love... we just don't work out the way it's supposed to work out. Zira always talks about having that one person that someone is meant to be with. I just don't see it. I don't see how one person can only be with one person ever. That seems so limiting. I mean, I know I've been with a couple people that the experience wasn't limiting. Actually, that act of love was more freeing than anything, but the fact is, it wasn't something that was going to then trap us into something we would be stuck with forever. I don't want to be trapped in a relationship. Relationships are for other people maybe, but like I told you before, I'm just not good at them. I end up hurting people that I'm supposed to love whenever I try to be in a relationship. I don't want to, it just happens. I guess maybe I'm supposed to think at the times that I don't, and the times that I do think, it makes things worse and more complicated and stressful and downright terrifying. You seem like a nice guy Andrew. I don't know why you're so sad and down on yourself though. You're beautiful. You've been granted something that not a lot of men have. You're one in a million and that's fantastic. I barely know you, but most people aren't as free with words as you are. That's a gift. Your songs that you sang me that night you were at my house still play through my mind before reverie, and I think it may just be those that have kept my nightmares at bay these past few weeks. I'm not sure I could ever write such sweet melodies as seem to flow from you with your violin... sorry, Alex... together. Your music is like a painting but so much better than I could ever even dream of attempting. It's easy for you to say that you love Ilsare because she so obviously loves you. It's probably hard for you to understand, but really, Ilsare isn't interested in me. If she was, things would've been different. But I don't need to burden you with my past.

I will look forward to our next meeting, be it in the flesh or in writing.

I hope you are able to find a better shelter, even if it is simply in a pair of comforting arms.

~Zarianna

[RollinsCat]

To:
Zari
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Wild Angel, I an undone.  Before I met you, only my mother knew even half of what I told you last night.  I handed you my soul, and I am honored beyond song that you trusted me the same.  And my legs are still shaking.

As much as I want to envelope you in beautiful words, for once they elude me except for this: I am lightened.  My shoulders don't sag as much today, and I haven't touched my whiskey yet.  I haven't needed to.  I have memories to keep me warm inside.

I look forward to our next meeting with a tingling that starts at my head and takes the long trip to my toes.  Until we can enjoy each other again, I pray you are happy and inspired.

Andrew



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

Mother, Giver of Life, my first Muse.  I am alive still, no thanks to myself but many thanks to some unique women.

I've met a lady I must tell you about.  She is...exquisite.  Lively.  A work of art, who moves through this world without questioning all the little things that give us all such fits.  She is as close to a female me as I have ever met which in all honesty scares me more than a little, but I am moth to her light, unable to tear away.  She a Child of Voltrex, which makes us doomed at some point anyway, but then, you know how I feel about golden-haired elven women.  Her name is Zari.  I expect I will write more of her.

Is it love?  Perhaps.  But I can't tell her that, not now and possibly not ever.  Which, on reflection, suits me fine.  She's not the settling type and I have known for some time neither am I.  I still entertain Elaine, and I have the eye of a lovely woman named Marrie as well, who, Ilsare bless, is well beyond her family's shackles.  So my romantic life is busy these days.

I also wish to change my address.  If you have written to me in the last weeks the letters have not gotten to my former home.  Please address any correspondence care of the Tower Academy.  I abase myself of not informing you of this sooner but life here has been a mess.

I enclose to you a song I've written recently for the survivors of the first wave, and I hope you enjoy it.  I think you'll be able to find the tune easily enough.

Wake and rise, stretch and pray
We've lived to see another day
And while we mourn we still can say:
We are here, here we are, here we stay.

Backs to work, children play
Livestock graze and chickens stray
Manure and sweat our new bouquet
We are here, here we are, here we stay.

Hitch the cart and haul away the city's disarray
Like a courted maiden she reveals more everyday
Peeling off the sea's debris the better to display
We are here, here we are, here we stay

Bunched together we in a storm induced soiree
Our city holding tightly to the hopes that guide our way
But yesterday, tomorrow, and certainly today:
We are here. Here we are. Here we stay.

Hug everyone for me,

Your loving son,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
C/O Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone


Andrew,
I'm so sorry about the way I acted at the house. I don't know what came over me. I've told you a little bit about me before, but I guess I just feel out of sorts with Raz leaving like he did. It's not your fault, it's mine. I guess I can put Raz on the list of people that I've hurt. I think he's disappointed in me. He thinks I'm going to fall in love with you. He thinks you're going to hurt me. But this isn't about love, right? It's about enjoying ourselves. He's comparing you to him, and he thinks that the only reason I like you is because you remind me of him. You are a little like him, but you're so different in so many ways. Raz has told me for years now that I am the other half of his soul. When I hurt, he hurts. I only now think I believe him. When he hurts, I hurt too. But it hurts all the more because I'm the one that caused it, or at least, I think I am.

Let's go on a picnic sometime soon? I'll bring the food, you bring the wine. (I hope you like rhubarb pie.) Have you been to the Watchtower above Lover's Lake yet? I'm not really sure if that's what it's called, but the way it looks from up on the cliff, it looks just like a heart. If you haven't been there yet, you should definitely go. The sight is magnificent. I've been told there is also a beautiful spot near Katherian where the rivers fall down the rocks into multiple waterfalls. But given that the Xeenites have a temple in Katherian, if you don't want to go there, I understand. There are a lot of beautiful places in these lands. They're not the same as the ones from my homeland, but, if you want, I would love to share these here with you. Perhaps someday I'll take you to visit the beauties from home.

I hope your appointment went well, and that she brought you pleasure and happiness for the evening. Knowing you, I'm sure you brought her both of those. I hope that she was able to inspire you. I'm challenging you to write a new song. This time, I want something that speaks of something good. Something not so empty as the last one you shared with me. You have a spirit that seems only right when I hear your laughter sounding like rich chimes that bounce from one wall to the other and lighten my very being. I long to see your smile again. I promise not to be so melancholy then.

Until our next meeting, I'll watch the stars and hope they shine brightly for you where ever you are.

Your Wild One,
Zarianna

PS: I've had your clothes that you made dyed and tailored to fit. I'm afraid we had to add a bit more fabric though. I hope you'll like it. I thought the white coat was good for you. I think I was wrong. The passion with which you live your life deserves nothing less than red.

[RollinsCat]

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

Mother, I love.  I love, and so much more.  I can't put most of it on paper - I will tell you more when we can talk in person if I can even sort it out for myself.  But today, as we watched the morning come spilling into the room, in a quiet moment, I heard that which I have not heard in two decades, that which Ilsare gave to me all those years ago.  You remember.

I have woven her into my Song.  I have set behind the fog of numbness and let the pain become part of it, every pain - the ones I shrugged off and the ones I tried to blot away.  The joy, as well, that would so often slide around my hazy stupor.  And though my hand reaches for it even now, I have set aside bottle and pipe.  Not permanently, because my inner hedonist won't let me, and that is part of my Song.  Instead, I set them aside to avoid a daily donning of the armor of indifference.

I can't say more, only because there are no words except: I love.

Your son

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
C/O Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone


Dear Andrew,
I hope that you're alright. We went back into Krandor after all that bad stuff happened so that we could rescue my brother Zak and that other short guy I still don't know the name of. Danny didn't make it back, but we found his dad Benny. You didn't make it back either. But we found your body. Benny carried Danny's body out, and this guy named Kyle carried yours. He had the same symbol on his shield that you and Zira have on your necklaces. But after we got your body out it dissipated... so I hope that means you are okay now and went through the bindstone?

Please write me and let me know how you are.

Also, I have to ask you since it was brought to my attention, and I feel silly that I didn't ask you before. I send your mail to the Tower Academy. I was wondering if you've seen a little girl named Aislin around there? She's probably with someone named (crossed out)ev Jaelle. Aislin is Raz's daughter. If you could tell me how she is doing, we would both like to know. Thanks.

I hope that you are finding comfort whereever you are, but I hope that you are still or once again in the world of the living.

Until I can wrap my arms around you again,
your Angel,
Zarianna



To:
Zarianna
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Angel, I apologize you to the moon and back that I didn't return.  I woke, as you guessed, in Port Hempstead, and had much to do once I had my feet back under me.  This is the first opportunity I've had to write.

Interesting about Ben; I've met him before and I like him.  He seems to be one of those men that a man can expect to hear the truth from and if it isn't always pleasant, it's at least truth.  I think I took his measure fairly well.  I found out just recently that Daniel is his son, which (between you and I) made me laugh.  It's the nature of children to rebel, as I know so very well.  I bet those family suppers get interesting.

I should like to meet and thank this Kyle you write of, if he took the time to carry my unwieldy body out.  He's part of Ben's guild so I'll ask around for him.

As to your second question, I have seen a great many children around the Tower Academy, but not one I could identify as Jaelle or Raz's child.  But then, there are many children here, although the refugees have started to return home as the fear of danger passes.

The town is coming back to life, slowly, but it returns.  The Scamp's Mug is still missing most of the second story but by Ilsare (or by Shadon, I suppose is more appropriate) they've re-opened the bar.  Piles of rubble clog the streets and the building is still unsafe to occupy but vice will go on!  I can admire that resolve, actually.  And I have a place to entertain again, if not to live.

Zari, I have a favor to ask you.  I need you to teach me.  Zira has gone far out of her way to supply me with the materials to learn tailoring, and I remember that you were going to make her a dress.  I would like to suggest a teaching collaberation.  I will make the basic outfit, and using you as a model, we'll create something to flatter her, something Ilsare herself would want to wear.  I would love to share a creative moment with you, Angel.  And, I'm hopeless with dye (yes my boots are still pink).  You show me how to add the bits and bobs, and how to fit someone, and if you can teach me that thrice-damned corset stitch that I can't master under pain of death, even better.  And we can both give your sister a gift from our hearts and hands.

Keep warm, and don't stop working on that paladin.  If anyone can crack him, you can, Wild Angel.

Andrew



To:
Zira
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Beauty!  I have not written you in far too long.  I remedy that here, with this letter and an invitation.  We have run parts of the world together, and I could not ask for a better guide and friend.  Or a nicer pair of hips to follow behind.  But in all this time, I have not sat beside you and listened to your stories, your life and loves.

I confess shame that I have been so wrapped up in myself, and your sister, that I have ignored you.  I would like to hear your song my friend.  And since your man is part of that song, and a man of such breeding that he doesn't try to bash my face in when I flirt with you, I would enjoy having him there as well.  To hear how you came to Ilsare, how you met him, all of it.

Think on this and let me know if you would like to meet.  Muse willing I might have a little present for you as well - no, not corn.  Or shall I say, not merely corn.

I await your answer and our next meeting with anticipatory joy, Zira.

Yours in the Muse,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
C/O Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone


Andrew,
Benny is not my friend. He is mean and rude and he called me ugly. There's more that he's done in the past, and one part of it Raz punched him for, but that's over and done with. I guess he never really was my friend in the first place. Danny is a bit silly when it comes to his understanding of love and attraction, because for some reason he thinks that Rofie is going to show him who he is meant to love. Silly boy, thinking Rofie could show anyone how to love somebody. Oh, and he's not a paladin. He says he's a priest. Sadly, I think he thinks that means he's also supposed to be completely without normal mortal feelings where attractions is concerned. Though honestly, I don't really want to date him. I think he needs hugs. I think he needs to be kissed, good and frequently. I'll hug him, but I don't think that I'm the person to kiss him. I tried once, but he basically tried to flee from me like I had the plague. It's alright. I know what he thinks of me. Probably the same as what his father thought of me, or probably still does. You're lucky you're a man. People don't see men in a bad light when they behave the way you and I behave. For some reason people seem to look up to you for your way with women (from experience I can tell you those ways are beyond compare *smily face drawn*) But when they look at me, they look down on me, or think that I am a... well... you know. That's why I had to ask you what I asked you that day. If you think less of me. I'm relieved to hear that you don't. Plenty of others have. But why is it that if a woman can show those attractions towards men, and act on them freely, that makes her, as Daniel says, a Harlot, but for men, it makes them... an idol? If Ilsare is as wonderful as you say she is, does she not think that women should be just as free as men, or is that not dealing with her and just dealing with other silly people or gods like Rofie?

I know I'm a bit rambly today, but it's raining again here in Leringard, so I'm staring out of my window at the rain falling in the streets and the thunder keeps shaking the glass as I watch the lightning playing across the sky. I can't wait for the sun to come through again and brighten up the sky. I hope you are well. I miss you I can't wait to see you again, I hope soon.

~Zarianna


PS: I'd love to help you with the present for Zira, I think it's a fantastic idea. And of course you can use me as a model.



To:
Zarianna
125 Leringard
Leringard
Mistone

Angel, I can't speak as a female who loves Ilsare.  But speaking as a man who has lived Ilsare's church his entire life - from birth, even - I know that She will not judge your love of the opposite sex.  Neither does she judge mine.  

There is a caveat in this however.  And I said I would not press, and I'm not.  Let me instead explain.

Your sister has probably told you that Ilsare is following your heart.  And she's right.  For Zira, in addition to her cooking, this means love, the love of one man, a blending, a binding, two individuals creating something greater than their whole.  For me?  It means my music, and letting myself explore every avenue of inspiration.  Love, sex, nature, adventure, pain, loss...and dreamroot, alcohol, and every other hedonistic pursuit I've indulged in.

What this means to you is something I know you won't enjoy.  And I won't ask you about it, Wild Angel.  You share as you see fit.  What this means to you is you must ask yourself, is what you do truly what your heart demands of you, or is it a way to paper over desires you have talked yourself out of?  There is nothing wrong with sharing love in more than one person.  There is nothing wrong with what you do now.  But in our time together, in those quieter moments that we've shared, I have felt your confusion.  That is something you must understand about yourself.  And it means opening yourself to pains you'd rather avoid, and listening to your heart.  

Trust me, Angel.  I know how difficult this is.  I've recently come away from months of foggily avoiding certain pains, instead of letting them weave into my Song, and Ilsare blessed me with a friend that I can never adequately repay for having shown me this.  This doesn't mean that I've stopped enjoying life; far from it.  It means I've opened myself to all of life including the bits that make me want to curl up in a bar room corner with a bottle of dwarven whiskey.

If you wish to understand why we all keep saying Ilsare has touched you, that is what you must do.  Whether you are afraid of the answer or not.  Fear is not a luxury my Goddess and Muse allows us.  Do not be led astray by what others see from the outside; Ilsare is not an easy Goddess.  But the rewards are beyond description.  I can only express them in song, and the deepest of them are beyond words.  Imagine when Zira has been baking after she's found her heart in Argos, how she moves in the kitchen, the way her food and pies taste like magic was baked right into the crust.  Well, by being open to Ilsare's inspiration, it is.  Just as that magic could be part of your designs.

I've said enough, I think.  And thank you for your offer to help me.  I spent some time trying to make myself another outfit and couldn't get past the pants.  I really need your help, Angel!  Soon, and then we can retire to a quiet location and I can run my fingers over your ears and down your graceful neck, and...we will find inspiration in each other.

Until we kiss again,

Andrew

[RollinsCat]

Andrew Reid
C/O Tower Academy
Port Hempstead
Mistone

Andrew,
I read your letter what seems like a thousand times. I've been talking to Zira about it a lot, and while I still feel a bit confused, and very lost, I find that when I'm with you those things don't matter quite so much. I came to the decision that while I don't think that I necessarily "follow" Ilsare, I don't mind being her friend if she'll have me. I know that I've spent many a day lately in a haze that is not completely the fog that rolls in off of the coast of the city, but a mixture of cloudy thinking and fears that I don't even want to fully express to myself.

I don't know if you listen to rumors or not, but I should tell you a little something about me that I didn't tell you before. When I was little I was held prisoner to a man who's power and talent in the Al'noth far exceeded any of my abilities at that time, all in the name of love. What he did to me I don't even want to put into words on paper, but I will tell you that if it had not been for my father I would not be here today. My father is not a perfect man by any means, but he was my hero at a time when I needed one, when I thought all hope was lost. But the point is, I feel like to this day I am still a prisoner to love in one form or another. I'm not sure that I've ever truly been in love before, but I know posession, and lust, and cruelty all too well. And I know the sort of hold that love can have over a person.

You told me before you wanted to hear stories of my childhood. Well, you said youth, but as I'm still young, I assume you meant my childhood. My mother married my father before I was born, but after I was conceived. They got married because of me, but my mother loved my father hopelessly. My earliest memories were of my mother and me waiting by the window hoping that today would be the day my Daddy would come home. Every now and then it happened. Times were hard, the skies were black, and my father was always away on what he said was business. The sparkle that shone in my mother's eyes only for my father and me dulled as the years went by, and she took a job waiting tables in a local tavern to make ends meet. The owner of the tavern would let her take home food leftover each night to help curb our expenses. When Dad came home we had some good times, but those times became fewer and farther between. Finally, that spark in my mother's eyes, the love that she had for my father, simply gave up. She said it was too hard to love someone that was never there. I didn't understand it fully at the time, but that is a different story. The tavern owner was a decently wealthy man who had cared for my mother for a long time in my father's absence. He married my mother. She never had the same spark for him that she had had for my father, but he was good to her and took care of our needs. He made her happy, I just don't think she really loves him.

Zira tells me that part of loving is accepting that love can hurt. But it seems to me that it is not love in itself that hurts, but rather loving without it being returned. You asked me once if the reason I can say that I love my sister and brother and Raz is because I know that they will never leave me. I guess that is partially true, but also I am not in love with my family. I simply love them. They are a part of me, we share something that we were never able to know growing up. We didn't know about each other until just a mere handful of years back. The love that I have for my family is more than just a spark, it's something that envelopes me. It warms me when I'm cold, it comforts me when I'm sad, and it sees me through things that I never thought I would ever be able to do before.

Raz and I made a sculpture of Arkolio Salvorre. I don't know if you ever met him. He was nothing really remarkable, but for some reason he inspired the people of Ft. Vehl. Raz didn't even particularly like him, but he was trying to do something to inspire the people of Ft. Vehl past the dreary every day downtroddenness that they seem to find themselves in. He tried making the statue from a model that he had made rather than from his heart. It didn't turn out very good. So I convinced him to stop turning it into work and try to make it fun again. The finished project was nothing short of perfection. It was inspiration in stone. We shipped it to Ft Vehl and intended to donate it to the city. The official wanted us to bribe him to put it up where people could see it. Otherwise he was just going to put it in storage. I was so outraged that he couldn't find it in his heart to do the right thing. We decided to unveil the statue and cart it through town to see if we could get Sasha (Raz's girlfriend) to sponsor it. But the look on the faces of the people there was... I dont' know if I can even describe it. They had hope. So I told the people to champion it. To stand up for their need to want something beautiful to look at. Well... the guards got angry with me because they got a little worked up, so they put me in jail. They arrested Raz for trying to save me from being arrested, and then they split us up. We were there for days before they finally tried us and sentenced us to a day in the stocks. I don't do well with being a prisoner, but it wasn't until I lost my voice that last day that I truly felt like a prisoner. The fears and memories came crashing back until someone came to let me out.

I don't know what they did with the statue, but my heart aches to think that they might have destroyed it, or even worse, locked it up in a dark corner of a storage room where no one will be able to see it and know the love and creativity that was put into it.

I know there was a point to my story when I started, but I'm not sure what it was anymore. I sort of tend to get off topic sometimes.

I guess I have a confession to make to you. I'm afraid of love. With love always comes loss. Whether that loss is of the person, or of freedom. But when I'm with you I don't feel trapped. You make me feel even more free, and yet you captivate me. Maybe I do want to love someone some day. Maybe I need to be loved by someone that I can love in return. But I need that love to be something that can let me be myself, to express myself completely and to be myself. But I'm not trying to sound selfish. I want to love somebody. There. I said it. But I want my love to empower them to be all that they can be as well, so that we can be whole separately or together, and we don't have to feel like we are shackled by the bonds of love, but rather given wings.

I don't know if that makes sense, or if that kind of love exists, but now you know, and I'm going to mail this letter before my drunken haze wears off and I think better of it.

Until I can feel your arms around me again,
your Angel,
Zarianna