Rob Lark's Notes & other Tidbits

[OldBear]

//the Cover Of This Book Is In Black Dyed Leather With No Distinguishing Marks On It. Much Of The Journal Has General Notes Of Observations Or The Start Of Poems, Ballads, And Other Ideas. In The Margins Are Series Of Numbers In Various Combinations. One Expert In Coding Might Determine That This Code Is A Simple Substitution One, That Requires Knowledge Of A Particular Book Being Used For The Basis Of The Substitution By Page And Word. Throughout The Writings That Follow Some Items May Be Easily Read The Others Will Be In Code To Prevent Prying Eyes Discovering Certain Information.
 
 
 The Inside Cover Simply States: To Rob, Love Nightingale.
 
 Some general background information on Rob.  He doesn't often tell anyone about his religious beliefs.
 
 Worship: His mother worshiped Islare. Rob gives lip service to the prayers but has not found much use in worshiping the gods at this time.  
 
 Rob stands about five feet eleven inches tall.  He has broud shoulders that slim to a narrow waist.  His eyes are green and his hair is sort of copperish color.  His skin appears well tanned.  He cannot seem to grow a beard to save his soul.  Even when he does not shave, which is often, the most beard he gets is a scraggly looking shadow of a beard.  He wears his hair long and over the ears since they are shaped a bit differantly then most humans.

[OldBear]

The story of Rob Lark actually starts about five years before he was born. It starts the morning after a terrible storm wracked the coast along the port city of Hurm. As normal after such a storm, a few of the villagers were out combing the beaches to see what might have washed up upon the shore. This day they found something beyond the normal driftwood or wreckage. They found frail young looking elf lass, of about 130 years or so. Her skin was of a light copper shade with golden tresses down to her waist. The remnants of her gown had subtly embroidered patterns that seem like simple knots, but as one tried to follow them; they found them to be quite complex and
 elegantly embroidered. She was unconscious so they took her into the village. The local healer kept her at her house and it was almost a week before she regained conscious. Unfortunately, she had no real memory of her life before she washed up on the beach. In a small bag that was attached to the belt at her waist was the remains of letter. Most of it was ruined but it appeared to be a letter of introduction for someone by the first name of Elenya. She appeared to have been hired as a tutor for some children since her family had no money for a dower for her.
 
 A few of local villagers helped the young lass find a place to stay. The wife of the local tailor had recently died. So she moved into a spare room at the shop and did the cleaning and cooking for the old gent. As time passed, they learned that she had a real skill in sewing what was called by the locals as "fine stitchery" and embroidery. The towns folk soon came to call her Nightingale because when ever she was working or doing anything she was singing or at a minimum humming. She had a lovely voice and some were know to drop by the house owned by the tailor for any excuse just to listen to her.
 
 One day a young sailor stopped by the shop. He had just been promoted in rank and needed an appropriate officer's garb to wear on board. He had little in the way of funds, but offered to trade a lute that he had that was lightly damaged. Being a kind hearted old soul the tailor agreed then promptly forgot about the lute. When Nightingale found it, she asked if she might try to repair it. To the surprise of both of them, it turned out she not only could repair it, but she found she could sketch out the designs for other instruments. It
 seems she had a skill for such a thing that the body remembered even if the mind did not.
 
 The years went by and Nightingale slowly became a member of the community. Her embroidery became sought after for special dresses. As
 she would stitch them she be often heard to quietly say:
 
 "Oh Ilsare, Heart of Gold, bless this work on this dress I am about to craft with great beauty, and bless the one who is to wear it with your gift of love."
 
 As the tailor grew older she took over running errands and deliveries for him. On those occasions when she would have to leave Hurm to travel to nearby communities he usually hired one his neighbors to escort her. One day, he had an important delivery to a very wealthy merchant in a near by town. Unfortunately the man who normally went with Nightingale was gone for a wedding. She offered to travel alone, but the tailor would have nothing to do with that. Desperate to get the delivery timely made, and being unable to physically do it himself these days, he hired one of the sailors that were ashore on a few days leave. The first mate said he was an honest man and
 that he would protect Nightingale. Unfortunately, he didn't mention the man's fondness for the bottle while on leave.
 
 When they arrived, he headed for the local tavern while she conducted her business. When she went to find him as it was time to return home, he was three sheets to the wind as the sailors say. Not having the funds to purchase a room for the night and not willing to use the tailor's gold from the sale, she headed home by herself. Normally this would not have been a problem, but her luck ran out that fatefull evening. It was just about dusk when she came over a rise and ran into a band of pirates that had come ashore in a nearby cove. No one knows why they were there that afternoon. Perhaps it was to visit a local fence or maybe to bury some stolen loot.
 
 Later that night, frantic with worry, the old tailor chivied some of the locals to go look for Nightingale. They found her bruised and battered body beneath a tree to the side of the road where she had been cast aside barely alive. It was about nine months later that Rob was born.
 
 Nightingale never fully recovered from that night. She would still sing and work on different instruments, but sometimes she would just fade away as if caught up in a dream world. She would start then come back to the here and now with no real idea where she had been or what she had been doing. As the years passed, she spent more and more time in this dream stage.
 
 As her time came due, some of the older woman urged her and the healer to make sure that the child was never born. But Nightingale refused saying some good should come from that day. As Rob grew older, it was clear that he had inherited is father's size. He has his mothers green eyes and copper colored hair. His ears had a trace of the elf about them that he learned to hide beneath long hair so that he could fit in with the boys of the town. As he grew into manhood, no matter how hard he tried he could not grow a mustache or true beard like some of his friends did. He could sing about like any other average person, but without the enchanting beauty of his mother.
 
 He did seem to have some skill with the lute and harp, and his mother taught him some of the tunes she could remember and other skills and some of the magic of music that she could remember. She insisted that he learn her tongue, for she said the only true songs were those in the elf language and that the magic of music she knew was only through her own tongue. Interested in some of the simple spells and especially those that could heal the cuts and bruises he got before his mother saw them, was ample incentive for him to learn the elf language. It also didn't hurt that she basically quit talking in common to him for a year or so until he became fluent in her language. She also tried to instill in him a reverence for Ilsare, but Rob saw no use in revering a god who hadn't bothered to restore his mother's memory or to protect her from the harms she had suffered.
 
 On his naming day, she named him Haldamir. She told him that was his true name and not to share it with anyone. For purposes of the town folk, she named in Robert for the old tailor whose home they shared. Life was good in those days for Robert. The other boys learned of his temper and not to call him an elf bastard. He dressed and tried his best to look like the other human boys his age and quickly learned the art of blending in to his surroundings.
 
 It wasnt till the old tailor died and the tailor's brother from Pranz came and sold the place, lock, stock and barrel did things start to become rough. Rob was about sixteen years old at the time this happened. They moved to the loft above the tavern as it was the only place they could afford. With his mother's health failing and spending more time in sort of haze, Rob took to the streets.  Oh he tried working the odd jobs around town and aiding the woodcutter for example. But they were poor and money was tight. His mother needed more and more medicine and some of it was costly. One of the boys he had grown up with worked with a fence who handled stolen merchandise off the ships. Another had contacts with one of the bandit gangs in the hills who offered him a position with them. Rob knew how this would break his mothers heart if she ever found out. So he skirted the edge of the law and would run errands for them but not actually join their groups.
 
 He didnt see the need to follow laws that had not protected his mother, but yet he didnt want to risk getting caught. Besides, he was never sure if one of the bandit gang might have been connected to the pirates that had brutally beaten his mother. "Neither fish nor fowl," he would say to them. "I walk the edge between night and day."
 
 Still between the honest work and the night runs he would make, he could eke out enough coin to pay for their keep and his mother's medicines. He became a fairly good runner bringing in smuggled goods from night drops on shore to some of the more shady businessmen of Hurm. This way he didnt have to kill folk for a living and he figured the duty on imports was a ridiculous law anyway.
 
 It was shortly after Rob turned 23 that his mother's health turned even worse. She had never been robust, and now she was in her dream state more and more. Normally Rob could count on the Madame who ran a business of woman of loose morals off the docks. She frequented the tavern where they lived and kept a quiet eye on Nightingale. Business was always better when the customers could hear her singing in the loft to herself. Some nights, it would bring the boisterous crowd to a dead silence and woe be any drunken sailor who didnt quiet down when she was singing. The crowd would throw him out on his heels and not be to careful whether the door was open or shut.
 
 This night, however, the Madame had come down with a bad cough and had taken to her bed actually alone. Rob's off shore contact was late arriving
 and by the time Rob got home, his mother had gone. Franticly he searched the village but there was no sign of his mother. The next day her broken body was found on some rocks along the shore. It appeared that she had gone for a stroll in her dreamlike state and walked right off the edge of the tall cliffs around Hurm.
 
 Rob went a bit wild after that, taking greater and greater risks in his nightly activities. His friends urged him to be more cautious but he ignored them. He saw no profit now in walking the line. It was not until he missed being captured by the skin of his teeth you might say that he woke up to what was happening to him. Almost a full year had passed, and he had used up a fair amount of luck in escaping and near death experiences. Figuring that Hurm was getting a bit hot for him, he decided to move on to a place a bit quieter and safer for him till things settled down in Hurm. Selling what he had, he filled a sea bag with a few essential items, bribed a mate on the first outgoing vessel and sailed for Fort Vehl. Figuring he needed a name to go by in this new land, he decided to call himself Rob Lark. He figured that the name "Lark" would be a good way to remember his mother.

[OldBear]

As Rob sat on the deck of the ship heading for Fort Vehl, he refelcts back on his life growing up in Hurm.
 
 As a young lad in Hurm, he quickly learned that he had to depend on his own wits to get by. No one was going to go out of their way to help a pirate's offspring, even if his mother was Nightingale. Rob said to himself, "I mean the apple doesn't fall far from the tree now does it? If they want not to trust me then no reason to worry about them now is there.
 
 It was that independant streak that kept him alive and going when all else failed. He could depend on his own skills, for you never knew when the other guy would let you down and holding the bag for something. Course, the old tailor wasn't a bad sort really, but he got his house cleaned and three squares a day so not like he was putting up with them for nothing; and mom brought in her share of buisness too. So not like he was doing them any real favors was it? It was too bad that letter of introduction of hers was as a simple tutor for some rich brat's. I could just imagine if she had been of de nobility. But that is a pipe dream, the letter made it clear she was from a poor family.  They had no funds to support her or to provide for a dower. So they were sending her someplace to teach some music to some children. Still been nice to know where she was headed, could have maybe hit them up for some funds for mom's medicine that last year or so.
 
 Rob also thinks of his days when he was being taught his lessons or at least the times he showed up for them. While in school, he followed the rules when he had to. I mean the tutor's belt was hard and no sense getting beat if one didn't have to. Besides it seemed to please his mother that he was learning some knowledge of the outside world, history and how to write.  Rob grins, Course the fact that I learned early on that knowledge was power in this would was beyond her. Mom is nice and I love her, but she was wrapped up in her own little world. It was up to me to look out for the two of us. If that fat old butcher was sleeping with the mayor's wife on the side, who cares? It managed to get us a better price on some meat occasionally. I mean who was hurt? The butcher could sure afford it. I bet he just left his thumb on the scales for the next customer. Besides his wife was a shrew so who could actually blame him?
 
 It was when he started helping the smugglers that Rob really learned what life was like. "All those so called honest merchants. If they could beat the import tax some, they had no problem opening their back doors to buy what I had for sale. The pompous fools." Didn't they know if I ever got caught, they were my way of getting off the hook? I figured I could trade their names for the guard looking the other way. "I mean, think of it, who wants a young lad in jail when ye could fine the life out of the ones getting the goods."
 
 And he was good at what he did. He could slide past just about any guard posted on the walls of Hurm. He knew the backs ways around the town and the private beaches where his companions liked to deliver their goods. It was too bad about old Charlie however. He was a good man, always a kind word for Rob. "I hated to have to hit him that hard that night, but I couldn't have him singing out for the guard when I dropped over the wall at his feet. I do hope he gets the use of that right arm back soon. I didn't know a blow to the head could do that to a fellow." Least he thinks, he didn't see me that night and I got a nice bit of change for that deal.
 
 It is probably just as well that I headed out when I did. I hated to give up that fence in the next city, but I had to pay off that loan to the smugglers somehow. I bet they made a nice profit turning him into the city guard. Don't want them thinking I would tell on them to make a bit of coin, I would if I had too, but they were steady business not like that fellow.
 
 Oh well I figure there be new pickings in Mistone once I get my bearings. I can't imagine there isn't some racket I can find my way into.  I figure I will just tell folk my name is Rob.  The name Lark might make a good professional name for de streets.  Hmm "The Lark"?  Not a bad ring to it.

[OldBear]

TIME THE PRESENT, ROB HAS BEEN IN THE AREA FOR A WHILE NOW AND IS SLOWLY GETTING HIS BEARINGS.  SO FAR HE HAS MANAGED TO NOT VIOLATE ANY LAWS, AND IS SLOWLY LEARNING THE ROUTINE OF THE GUARDS AT THE CITY GATES.
 
 To say Hurm was a cesspit compared to Port Hempstead is an understatement.  The walls here are tall and thick. I am sure they do a great job of protecting the population of the city from any foes that might want to attack the city.
 
 Margin notes in code are hereinafter shown in red:  The docks seem fairly open and security is definately lax in that area of the city.  It appears each captain is required to handle his crew and not a city watch.  The main gates are constantly manned by two guards day and night.  There is a small pond to one side and some vines along the walls.  I haven't had a chance to see if the vines will hold my weight.  No sign of a way out through the sewers so far.
 
 The ladies here are fair and for the most part willing to talk to the stranger and newcomers to town.  The towns folk seem healthy if not a bit worried about the economy and the cold and dark times we are facing.
 
 The woman that seem to like to adventure are well to do it seems and some succeptable to flattery.  Most however are good with a blade or spell.  Must approach any of them very carefully and watch my manners.  No sense being spitted on their blades.
 
 I have spent most of my time learning my way around the town and the closet one called Fort Vehl.  There has been some work available and I have managed to eke out a living so far.  I watch my coins and often walk when others might sail by ship.
 
 So far made enough gold to buy a well made iron rapier and some new black leathers.  Marks are shaping up but best follow the rules for now and maintain an honest face to the world.  I have not found anyone in the area that handles black market or smuggled goods.  Will keep looking.
 
 Well time to get out and look for more work, I still need to pay the balance on this rapier and need dinner for tonight.