The Journal of Jaelle Thornwood

[Carillon]

Do not judge the spider so harshly as she hangs suspended by silk, weaving her web. She does this not out of malice, but out of the desire to survive. Certainly, you feel compassion for the fly who wanders into that web, and wince as the spider pounces on it and entangles it, but the spider does not kill out of malice. She does not take pleasure in her deeds, or feel shame in violating some unwritten code of honor--she merely sees an opportunity, and seizes it.

Consider the spider, friend, as you read this journal, for there are many parallels between it and this book's author. Remember,too, that not all can be selfless heroes and heroines, and some who have lived hard lives bear hardened hearts. Above all, though, do not confuse beauty with goodness, for that would truly be a grave mistake. The spider's web may look beautiful glittering in the dewy morning, but should you choose to come too close, expect no mercy from the spider herself.

[Carillon]

Last week, I finally made it to the southern regions of Mistone. The cities here are grand and rich, bordering on opulent. Certainly, Port Hempstead is a far cry from the squalor of the outskirts of the Bracken Water Bogs. I feel as if I may have finally put enough space between myself and my birthplace--at least for a time.

Port Hempstead seems like a good place to set up shop for a while, I think. The surrounding countryside is rich with materials I will need for potions, and the people are so wealthy they seem to want to shower me with gifts. No fewer than three people gave me healing potions upon hearing I was new to the area, and several of them even volunteered to show me around.

Between odd jobs I can secure in the towns and the gold I can find on the little monsters I manage to slay with Nida, I've been able to purchase a bit of equipment. They require that one have a special badge to use all the public potionmaking halls here, and though I tried to sneak into the hall without one,  it seems impossible to get far without such a badge. I fear that I shall have to purchase one if I cannot steal it, but I believe I have enough gold to do so.

One of the women I spoke to today has led me to believe that poisons are outlawed in this part of the world, or at least that open sale and purchase is frowned upon. Although it means that I will have to be careful of my contacts, I am actually pleased by this news, as it likely means less competition. I hope to be able to replenish my supply of poisons, potions and poultices soon, and supplement my income this way. I think it unwise to water them down or substitute colored water or teas for the real thing, at least among the experienced adventuring crowd. Although this would certainly increase my profits in the short term, I fear that they would quickly catch on to the gambit, and in the end it would put me out of business.

I have also managed to find a protector of sorts, a man by the name of Marcus. He seems quite smitten with me, and I am rather enjoying the whole affair. His concern for my wellbeing is almost touching, and he seems very generous. Certainly, there is much to be gained by encouraging his affections--at least until I can find a more powerful or wealthy admirer.

[Carillon]

The gods must loathe me! Apparently the first man to show an interest in me is now Mistone's most sought after bachelor! Marcus, though useful and sweet, seems too naive and stupid to work this out. He seems completely ignorant to his female friend Huntemara's feelings for him, and furthermore seems to believe that the philandering Xeenite he fell into bed with last week really loves him. I actually met the woman, on a trip to Lyn. Her name, Silver, is made complete nonsense by her red hair, and she is the kind of grasping, predatory, lustful woman that I cannot stand. She also seems to show no great preference between men or women, but was quite impervious to my charms, adding insult to everything else. I have half a mind to put poison into her water canteen when next we meet, but I have not decided whether such a poison should be strong enough to do her real harm or merely keep her crouched over behind a bush for a week or so.

Speaking of impervious to charms, aside from Marcus the men of this continent are frustratingly difficult to seduce and lure! I met another potion maker by the name of Eghaas, but though I did manage to convince him to show me where a few alchemical plants grow and give me a few ingredients, he seemed to show no more interest in me than a eunuch would! Scratch that, a eunuch would have shown more of an interest.

I continue to try to replenish my potions and poisons so I can set up shop. I have had some small success with the lesser alchemical concoctions and a few poisons, but the strongest poisons and most powerful mixtures still elude me. Also, I have yet to devise a good plan for selling those which the law deems unethical without being caught. I continue to plan, however.

Among my plans must be a way to lure Marcus away from these grasping women, and secure his promises so he will feel too guilty to leave me. The idea that he is trying to abandon me troubles me greatly, though it should come as no great surprise after all the others who have done the same. If I am honest with myself, though (which I prefer not to be whenever possible) there is a deeper kernel of fear here than with the others. I know not why. We fought bitterly about it last night, and I used every trick I knew to try to keep him at my side. I even did something I had never done before, and alluded to my sad past. That seemed to stir him, if nothing else, and he swore to protect me even if he could not be with me, or some such nonsense. He made camp for us, and I fell asleep by the fire almost content, but when I awoke he was gone.

[Carillon]

It seems fortune is not as unkind as I took her to be. The past few weeks have been good to me. I have had much luck acquiring gold in my travels, and in beginning to replenish my stock of potions and poisons. I have met a few people who seem willing or easily goaded into aiding me in my travels, and few who have hindered me. I've also been able to reassert my control over Marcus, though I am still troubled by the affair. There is something unsettling about the whole thing, as if in trying to control him so hard I have allowed him to capture a piece of me. The other day we encountered a group of hostile creatures which he called bugbears, and he was nearly slain in the battle. Without a thought for myself, I drew the bugbear's attention and threw him a potion, giving him enough time to slay the creature. I was wounded in the confusion, and even though Marcus healed the cut without leaving so much as a scar, I am still troubled by this. Such altruism is dangerous, and could easily lead me into danger. In the future, I will have to try harder to chill my feelings and curtail my impulses, lest some feeling of affection for this man lead me into more serious trouble.

I must also be more careful in who I choose to try to seduce! I managed to briefly win the attention of a Toranite by the name of Lance Stargazer, and in exchange for no more valuable currency than a few kisses found myself receiving a warm dinner and a fine pair of new gloves he had made and was not using himself. Unfortunately, as it turns out this Toranite and Marcus are acquainted, and there was a very awkward encounter with all three of us by the fish pond near Hempstead. I was sure the deception would be revealed, but it seems I have escaped for now. My heart was beating so fast, though, and I could feel my cheeks flushed--I have resolved to be more cautious in the future, lest I loose everything I already hold in trying to grasp something new.

[Carillon]

I met an interesting man by the well in Hlint the other night. He gave his name as Virtue, and was indeed most diverting. We bantered for some time, and I wonder whether he may be a potential customer for either my curative draughts or some of my less .. wholesome brews. There may be some potential here beyond the commercial, as well. He is certainly charming enough to merit further consideration, should we cross paths again.

The woman who is always smelling people, Abi, has also agreed to purchase some of my poisons. Aside from her disagreeable habit of always leaning in to sniff at you she is a pleasant enough sort, and I have not yet had any cause to dislike her. We met in Hlint after I had been struck by a poisoned arrow, and she said she was going to take revenge on the bandits who had shot me. I gave her a vial of weak poison to take with her, and told her to dump it in their stewpot, which she seemed to agree was a most amusing idea. Let them see how uncomfortable poisons can be!

[Carillon]

I returned to Alindor last week for the first time in a very long time. Nothing has really changed, but I don't know why I should have expected differently. It was a little strange, being back there, but I needed alchemical supplies and there were a few things none of the merchants on Mistone had been able to import. One plant in particular I had a terrible time finding. Strangely, it grows like a weed in parts of the bog, but cannot be found anywhere else, it seems. And so I returned home, after thinking I might never go back.

The mud is the same. That I can vouch for, at the cost of a small purse of coin in fresh stockings and boots. I think perhaps it is the mud that stays with me, after I have managed to push all else about that place from my mind. I can still feel it, sucking at my boots, staining the hems of my gowns, creeping up my stockings until there's nothing to do but throw them out, if they're light coloured. I've never been able to make them come clean. The only solution I've ever found is to wear black, and even then, it's just that the stain doesn't show.

I stayed well away from the hut, or what might be left of it. I don't even know if it still stands.

[Carillon]

It is over with Marcus, I think. I pushed too hard, and drove him into that accursed Xeenite's arms. I was collecting venom in the Silkwood, and took a nasty bite, and just then the two of them wandered in on me. How I wished it had been any other moment than that one, with the twin red weals of the spider bite on my calf and me so weak I thought I would faint.

Neither of them even had the courtesy to look ashamed of themselves. He just stood there, and cooed over her swollen belly. Gods above, I don't understand it! She was standing there, fat with another man's child, and all he could do was grin at her, and stare stupidly at me. I found myself wishing I could disappear, so that's what I did. If it weren't for the unborn child, I think I would have poisoned her and Marcus be damned.

[Carillon]

After running into Marcus and his accursed redheaded Xeenite I felt in need of a little diversion, so I traveled to Vehl. Vehl is a good city for diversion, it seems. Near any kind of amusement can be purchased there, if one has sufficient coin. I was fortunate enough to arrive on the same night that a traveling casino had come to the One Eyed Harpy, so there was plenty there to distract me from my thoughts there.

At first I wandered the tables aimlessly, but soon I saw a tall human man winning at cups and went to watch. He was very good indeed, never seeming to lose sight of the cup with the ball or get confused for an instant, even though my head was spinning. He won a few hundred coins while I watched, and then felt his luck running dry and took a break. I took the opportunity to introduce myself.

He was a pleasant fellow, quite polite and fairly charming, but there was a dwarf with him that was ruder than an orc. Apparently the man was married, and the dwarf felt compelled to keep him faithful by insulting me. I didn't especially mind. I've been called worse things by far, and the insult gave me the perfect excuse to suggest that the man, whose name was Sallaron, as I recall, apologize by buying me a drink. He agreed, which put the dwarf in a foul humor. I can't say I was particularly unhappy about that.

After we had our drink, I left Sallaron to go watch another table. A tall man with grey eyes was playing a betting game with cards, and appeared to be losing fairly badly. As if to show the cards were not cursed, the person at the table agreed to switch the decks, and while he was waiting I took the liberty of capturing his attention. We watched another game for a while which seemed simple enough--a coin flip, with even odds of winning or losing. I persuaded the man (if he told me his name, I cannot recall it now) to try his luck at it instead, and he agreed on the condition I flip the coin to bring him luck.

A lucky flip, as it turned out, which was fortunate for him as he wagered high. I tried my own luck with a heavy purse, and doubled my coin as reward for the risk. It actually looked as if the casino workers might leave with lighter purses than they had come with, especially with the arm-wrestling dwarf they had hired losing to every challenger. It looked that way, but then the man from the cup table started betting there again. He lost a thousand, then two thousand, then another two thousand coins in the space of a minute or so. I overheard a little halfling nearby who was disgusted at the amount of coin that changed hand.

I suppose it was simple spite that made me do it, but I offered him a wager of my own: one coin toss. A thousand true from my purse to his if he won, or a simple kiss from his lips to mine if he did not. I think I had been hoping he'd take the gamble, and that he then might lose and have to break his word to me or his promise to his woman, but he didn't seem to think the risk was worth taking. Strange, because it was the next wager that had me staring: a fortune! A hundred thousand true, on a single game of cups. Perhaps he thought his luck from earlier would return to him. It did not, though he managed to look surprised when he lost. Perhaps he was still in shock when they escorted him into the back rooms.

The gambling died out soon after that. I suppose the casino workers were sated by their latest kill, and everyone else felt that fickle luck had left them for the night. Nearly everyone went home then, but the grey-eyed man stayed to buy me a drink, as a token of his appreciation for the luck I had brought him. Or so he said. As I understand it, though, he had come out well ahead because of my lucky coin toss so perhaps it was the truth.

I suppose it was boredom or loneliness, or perhaps if I were honest with myself, some hollow feeling linked up with Marcus and Silver, that made me do it, but I stayed and we talked, and I let him put his arms around me and stroke my hair. I smiled, and encouraged him, and it was no challenge at all. Cold beds are lonely places, and he was from another city and so was I, so it was not such a great leap, I suppose, for us to keep each other company for a night.

I do not expect to see him again. Even if I did, there would be little potential for gain there. Apparently he has a lady already, a red-headed woman. I am not sure why it pleased me so much, to see him unfaithful to her. There was solace in it too, though, and some brief measure of peace, at least for me. I only grew restless after he had fallen asleep, and I left before he awoke. I thought perhaps of leaving a note, but it seemed to go against the spirit of anonymity the night had held. I do not think he would have been very surprised, though, to wake and see me gone.

The whole thing now seems a little like a waking dream, all swirling tables and cups and cards and coins, and even now the details grow blurred. I was not sad to leave him, but I will remember his eyes for a long time, I think. They were so startlingly grey.

[Carillon]

I spoke with Brian in Hempstead today. He caught me taking out my frustrations on a helpless tray of barley, which I proceeded to burn to a crisp. I think he is sorry that things have turned out like they did between Marcus and I, and he certainly seems to think Marcus is a fool to imagine he will be happy with the Xeenite. Brian believes her faithlessness will drive him away soon enough.

He told me a little of himself, too. His is a strange tale, of thievery and deceit and pain, and I believe it is just as sad as my own tale. The scars on his back certainly speak of hardship. I suppose that is why he so rarely takes off that strange mask he wears. Or perhaps that is the case with all of us, and his mask is just more literal.

Marcus is nowhere to be seen, for which I must admit a small measure of gratitude. Brian tells me he is at Tegan's house, thinking things over. Tegan, as it turns out, is Sallaron's lady, which I find an amusingly ironic turn of events. Of Sallaron I have heard nothing. Perhaps he was too afraid to go home, after losing such a fortune.

The one person I do seem to be seeing with startling frequency is my grey-eyed stranger from the tavern. It seems to me now that he is in every city I visit, on every street corner. I remember thinking those grey eyes of his might haunt me, but I did not imagine my words would come so true.

[Carillon]

I suppose this brief respite could not last, and I should not be surprised that my path and Marcus's finally crossed again today. I met him near Spellgard, on my way into the desert to gather sage plants for my potions. Brian was there too, and several other people I had been introduced to at some point, including Tegan. I did not stop to say hello. Nor did I notice when Brian followed me into the desert. I was lucky, and protected by magic, but the scorpions made short work of him. The scorpions need not be very big if there are many of them, and it did not take them long to sting him to death.

I suppose I must have heard him shout, which is why I turned back at all. By the time I got there the others were there was well, and Marcus brought Brian's spirit back to his body with the magic of his goddess. I still do not understand how he can do that, but it is a fearsome and wondrous thing to behold. Poor Brian! I felt rather bad for him. He clearly feels some need to protect me, which is why he followed me.

Well, after that it was more difficult to sneak away unnoticed, and I was worried Brian would try to follow me again, so I went with them as far as Haven. Marcus and I spoke there, and then I parted ways with the others. I will not make myself recall exactly what was said, but it stung as badly as a scorpion's tail, I'll wager. It was foolish of me indeed to ever allow myself to become this vulnerable.

I need to do something, to distance myself and regain my self-sufficiency. I cannot allow myself to become dependent on Marcus, or indeed on any man. I have written to him, bidding him farewell, and to Brian as well. I cannot help but remember the talk I had with Brian in the Scamp's Mug, and I would not feel right to leave without saying goodbye. I have arranged for the letters to be held back for a few days before the birds are released. That should give me enough time to barter passage on some ship. I do not care where it is headed, as long as it is not going back towards Alindor, and is bound for somewhere far away from Mistone. It was a mistake to come here, or perhaps merely to let my guard down as I did. I cannot afford mistakes like this anymore. I will not return until I am certain I am fully in control of myself once again.

[Carillon]

My ship brought me to Dregar. The voyage was long, and I had plenty of time to think along the way. I thought I would feel like a caged bird, trapped on a boat for so long, but there is something restful about the sea. The weather for most of the trip was calm, with enough wind to fill our sails but not enough to stir the water into foam. We did hit a few squalls, as I heard one sailor call them, but I managed to keep from being afraid, and they did not last long.

The ship docked in Lor, and I disembarked at that port. That was a few weeks ago, and since then I have been slowly working myself North. I have taken a leisurely pace, allowing myself to grow accustomed to the land. Much of the continent is very beautiful, and as yet I have seen no swamps, which brings me hope. For now, I am staying out of the inns and taverns and making my beds at campsites or comfortable points along the trails. Travel is less expensive this way, and there is no chance of allowing myself to be tricked into trusting another man. It is not supposed to be like that. I am the one who is supposed to be using them.

I find myself thinking of a blonde archer named Ellis at times like this. She found me drinking alone in the One Eyed Harpy shortly before I left to find passage. I thought she would be cruel to me, for we had met before and no love had been lost between us. She was kind to me, though, in her own way. She took me away from the tavern and to a strange chain of islands. She sets a brutal pace, that one, and we were always in danger. That was good, though, for it gave me no time to pity myself. She also made me an offer, before we parted ways. I am considering it.

There is nothing but time to think here on Dregar, that and time to practice my craft. I try to drive all unwanted thoughts from my mind, which leaves only alchemy, and as such I am making fast progress in the field, discovering new techniques and brews every few days. At least some good has come of all of this.

[Carillon]

I have been here for some time now, enough that Brian has written me a letter and found a way to send it. Gods only know how the blasted bird ever found me, but I hope it grew confused enough on the way back that I will not be found until I want to be. He writes of regret, and how Marcus is a fool. I read half a page, then burnt the pages to ash.

That was not my only reminder of Mistone this week, though. I had been on Dregar for weeks, and seen no one I knew and been unsurprised. I had been from Lor to the tip of North Point, and touched those frigid waters with the toe of my boot, and had not recognized a soul. And then the other day I was just coming from Dalanthar and there he was, staring out at the water there. The grey-eyed man from the tavern in Vehl.

Hardragh. I know his name now, though I did not ask it of him. He was as surprised to see me as I was to come across him. I thought perhaps I was interrupting some private moment for him, and turned to go when he stopped me. No sooner had he done so, however, than another woman came up the path!

She was fair-haired, and wore the symbol of the storm goddess, Mist, whom I now know is Hardragh's goddess as well. She wore little else, though, and greeted him very familiarly. I could not avoid introducing myself then, and did so, but left as quickly as I could. I do not know precisely why, except that there seemed to be something between them, and I was not wanted there. An hour later, though, going back again, I surprised them in the same spot. I cannot be sure, but I thought I saw them spring apart from an embrace. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me, though nothing would surprise me. It was startling enough to come across him like that, as if someone had picked him up and set him down directly in my path.

[Carillon]

It is dull here on Dregar, with few people to talk to and little to do but reflect and make potions. I have begun to amuse myself any way I can think of. I am learning to fish with a bow, which comes with the additional perquisite that I have not had to purchase much in the way of meats from the local merchants and hence am not cutting too quickly into my saved funds. I have also purchased a book from a merchant and begun to read it, but it seems a lot of tripe. The story is unrealistic and the romance is saccharine. I do not remember books being like this, but it has been some time since I have owned one.

Another amusing diversion that I enjoy whenever I can is pretending to be mute. This technique greatly reduces the number of times I have to speak to disagreeable people passing through the crossroads. Furthermore, it is terribly funny to watch the hapless fools try to communicate with me. They cannot interpret even the most obvious of my signs, and reply only in the crudest and simplest gestures. I must be cautious, though, for occasionally someone I met on Mistone passes through this way, and sooner or later someone who has heard me speak will come by. Something a little like this happened just the other day, after I had played the mute to a trio of adventurers at the crossroads. I went up to Dalanthar to sell some fish, and encountered the same trio, this time with Hardragh. I was certain the game was up, but he did not reveal my deception. Instead, he pretended to translate my gestures, but replaced my sentiments with the wildest statements. Because of his inaccurate translations, the elf thought I was in love with him, I fear! I am certain Hardragh knew he was misrepresenting me to the others, but I believe he found amusement in it. I can only assume it is for this reason also that he did not reveal me to the others as a fraud.

[Carillon]

*written in a much shakier and more uneven hand than the other entries*

I knew women could be fickle, but I never knew men could be so two-faced! Even Marcus's deception with the Xeenite pales in comparison to this! I met the gambler from Vehl, the one named Sallaron, near the crossroads today. I was fishing, and a sound broke my concentration. I sent Nida to go investigate, but grew worried when she did not return. Oh, if only my magic worked here! But I could not make myself unseen, and had to go naked of magic, creeping and hiding behind bushes like a common thief.

Not that it would have mattered, I suppose. I did not suspect Sallaron, of course. Why would I, after having such a pleasant previous meeting with him? I was surprised, naturally, when he appeared beside me as if out of nowhere, but I did not suspect his intentions, even if he was filthy dirty, and smelled worse than a goblin. I even sheathed my rapier and greeted him in a friendly manner! Strangely, he pretended not to recognize me at first.

He spoke very strangely, and I still do not know what game he was playing. At first I thought he was drunk, or that his woman had hit him on the head hard enough to knock what little sense he possessed clear out of him, but as he continued to question me and refused to sheath his blades, I grew warier and began to realize something was amiss. When he realized I was growing suspicious, he ... began to hurt me.

At first it was just my gold. Even as I cursed myself silently for my foolishness in trusting such a scoundrel, I knew I was no match for him. I gave him my purse, but it did not seem to appease him. He was malevolent, and wanted to harm me. He assaulted me, cruelly. He said he wanted to see me cry. That he liked to see women cry. He knew how to hurt people, clearly, and how to scare them. He cut me, with his blade, a long curving slash along my face. For a moment it did not hurt at all, and I thought perhaps that terrible sword had not pierced the skin, but then I saw the blood begin to flow, all that blood running down ...

My cheeks burn even as I write this! If anyone knew of this shame--But no one shall! He left me alive, and that was a mistake. I was naked there, stripped of my magic, but I am not helpless and I shall find him and take my revenge! I cannot think of any way that I can be connected to all of this. I traveled all the way to North Point to be healed, and said little to the clerics who attended to me, even though they pressed me to learn of the circumstances of my injury.

Perhaps by some miracle the cut will not scar, and until then I shall arrange my hair to cover it. No one will know of how he humiliated and assaulted me. I shall find him, and make him pay for what he has done to me! And even then, if people learn of this, perhaps they will only know that he insulted me somehow and I made him pay for the crime.

No one must know how he made me feel. No one must know that he made me cry.

[Carillon]

Curse Sallaron Tempest's rotting soul. May he trip and impale himself upon a spear! May he be torn apart by wild animals, and scattered to the corners of the world! May he contract some foul plague, and waste to death, day by day, until there is nothing left of his accursed, wretched body, and then may his soul be swallowed whole by the Soul Mother!

I cannot put what happened from my mind. It haunts me when I close my eyes in reverie, and the feeling remains when I wake. His laughing face is always lurking now, just out of my sight at the corner of my eye. When the wind blows through the trees, I hear him taunting me, mocking my tears. And even though the wound is healing well, every time I think of it, it burns anew like a fresh cut.

Even worse, I fear the matter shall not be secret for long. I met a man, south of the Forest of Fog. I did not speak to him, but merely inquired with my signing gestures as to where I could find a well to fill my canteens. He saw my cut cheek, though, and insisted on trying to heal it. Oh well. Perhaps his magic will help keep it from scarring too hideously. He then insisted that I accompany him to his house. Oh, how I wish I had refused! For one thing, I was wounded on the way by a bugbear. For another, when I arrived, I made the mistake of telling him how I had received my wound. Unfortunately—oh, the gods must hate me!--he is no backwater peasant, even though he lives in such a small forest village. No, he is someone of some importance on Mistone, I gather, and knows of Sallaron Tempest.

When I realized who this Storold was, I left immediately. I fear it was too late, though, for passing through Dalanthar today I saw posters crying for the arrest of Sallaron Tempest for the crimes he had committed against me. At least—and this I am grateful for—I did not give my name, so he could not use it. Oh, to think my shame has been plastered so over the lands! I must find this man before they do, or live forever with this weighing on my heart.

[Carillon]

Tonight I made my way to Hurm, and down to the docks and into the tavern there. One or two people who passed through the crossroads spoke of it to me, and I decided I wanted to see it for myself. It was just as they said: a large ship, beached but still touching the water. Too big to be swept away by even the highest storm tides, but still enough in the water that you can feel the floorboards shifting under you. They shift more after a few glasses of wine. The patrons were exactly as I had heard them described too. They were a rough lot, sailors and dockworkers. I even imagine a few of them were probably pirates, but perhaps that is just idle fancy. Pirates or no, they were the kind of men who come to taverns armed, and don't necessarily respect the privacy of a woman drinking alone.

Of course I am not so stupid as to expect otherwise. I think I knew I would garner some attention, and I believe that's why I really went. Not to see the ship that was a tavern, or have a quiet ale, but to test myself against those men. I believe I needed to go in there and look them each in the eye, and know that if it came to it, I could set any one of them aflame or escape invisibly with my magic if I needed to.

It didn't work, of course. From the first whiff of unwashed sailor, I knew it wasn't going to work. My hands wouldn't stop shaking, and every man I looked at wore the same face. The barkeep stared at me like I was some strange sea creature washed up by the tide when I ordered red wine, and every eye in the place was on me when I took the bottles back to my seat. Or perhaps that was merely my imagination again.

I thought perhaps the wine would calm my nerves, but half a bottle later I felt like we were at sea but I was just as terrified. And that's when Hardragh walked in.

What is it about that man? He finds me at the times I want to see him least, and perhaps at the times I need to see him most. He came in and spotted me, and we drank together for a while. I cannot remember a word of the conversation. I was too busy trying to keep my cheek turned so he would not see the healing cut, and trying to avoid knocking over the wine bottle. We went through a bottle and  a half of wine, talking that way. Eventually he saw the wound, though, and I told him who had given it to me. He took me from the main room then, into a little curtained alcove. It was quieter there, and there were cushions on the floor and a porthole. You could see it was dark through it, but the glass was too grimy to  make out the stars or the water. The fabric of the curtains and the cushions was a little stiff with salt, and there were a few empty bottles and ale tankards scattered around, but it was such a relief to be out of the gaze of the other men that I did not care.

I told Hardragh the whole story, and I am glad I did for I learned something important from him. Sallaron—or at least the man who assaulted and wounded me by the crossroads—is not really Sallaron. Well, the body is Sallaron's, but the soul has been switched for another, a goblin. This explains, of course, why Sallaron did not recognize me, and why he acted so strangely. I do not know if it changes anything, though. It is still the same face I see when I close my eyes.

We talked for hours, or so it seemed. The tavern grew quieter, but the noise never really died away. We talked about so many things. It seemed like an unusual conversation, one which turns strangers into something else, but I do not know enough to say whether it was as rare as I thought it was for two people to speak as we did. Perhaps such conversations are common.

I thought he would want to stay with me, like  he did in Vehl. I would not have turned him away, if he had asked to stay. He did not, though. He merely said he had a boat to catch, and bid me goodnight. I sat alone for a little while after that, and finished the rest of the wine. I thought about finding companionship in one of the sailors in the tavern, but in the end I left without speaking to any of them and made my bed a mile or so away, tucked up above the tideline in a quiet cove. All night in my reverie I saw Sallaron's face staring down at me, sword drawn, but his mouth was turned up in a smirk exactly like Hardragh's and his eyes were grey.

[Carillon]

I suppose I could not have hidden forever, but I cannot help but think it was Storold who allowed me to be found. Shortly after the posters appeared, I began to catch word that someone was looking for me. Never anything specific, never anything tangible, but there was always the sense that I was being followed.

I cannot blame Storold entirely, though. It was my own carelessness that led to my downfall, in the end. I ran across Ellis and a few others by Corax Lake, and dispelled my invisibility to speak to her. I wanted to let her know that I had considered her proposal, and had decided to accept her offer to become her roommate. It was strangely comforting to talk to someone after so much silence lately, and I stayed longer than I intended to and allowed myself to be persuaded to join them in exploring a nearby cave.

It was just as we were leaving that Brian showed up. At first I thought he must have tracked me there, and had been following me all along, but he looked almost as surprised as I felt at the chance encounter. I did not know what to say to him, after leaving Mistone with so little in the way of explanation and then ignoring his letters. It was not that I hated him, but that I had too much on my mind to worry about his problems, and whether Abigail was in love with him or with another man. Such trivial matters. Why should I have cared?

He came with us to the cave, and clearly wanted to speak to me. He kept trying to catch me alone and whisper to me, but Ellis made him leave me alone. I am grateful to her for that. Even after he stopped trying to speak with me, I kept catching him staring. I am certain he saw the scar, and knew what it meant. Blast meddling Storold and his posters! He stayed with us all the way to the desert, and into the cave. There were giants there, and though I tried my best to let the others take the blows I was struck down by one. When I came to, he was there beside me. I cannot say how much I hated that he saw me like that, so helpless and weak, unable to defend myself. I think there cannot be a worse thing in the world than having another see you die, except perhaps what Sallaron did to me at the crossroads. That may have been worse, because I now live with the shame of it. Perhaps, though, even that is better than death.

I confronted him later, once we were outside the cave, and it was then that I learned the depths of his deception. He knew about Hurm, and about how I had met Hardragh there. I do not know how he found out, or whether he was there all the time, concealed in some shadowed corner. He knew about it, though. I cannot believe he knew. Part of me wants to kill him for invading my privacy like that. He claimed to have done it in the name of friendship and protecting me. How dare he presume that I needed his protection? I don't need anyone, and told him as much. I do not think I will be seeing him again for a while.

After he left and I took my leave of the others, I found a letter from him in my pack. I burned it to cinders without reading it. I do not care what he has to say. There is no excuse for what he did.

[Carillon]

My reverie is still disturbed, and it is beginning to wear me down. More and more when I turn inwards at night, the worst of the memories from my past come floating towards the surface of my mind. Reverie has never been easy for me, and there has never been anyone I could talk to about it. Perhaps there is some way to suppress these living nightmares, but if there is I do not know what it is. From what I can tell, the humans cannot suppress their dreams, so perhaps it is the same with these memories.

I think the worst is when the memories are not quite the truth. Sometimes they are twisted, some detail changed, like after Hurm: Sallaron is holding the sword to my throat, but his eyes are grey; I am safe with Hardragh in Hum, and then suddenly he is gone and my cheek is burning with pain; I am back in the hut in the swamps, but it is sinking so quickly that the black mud comes oozing in and starts to fill it up, and I cannot get out. I am drowning in an ocean of black oozing swamp mud and it is filling my lungs and I cannot breathe or cry out; My mother's murderer is there with his sword and she is screaming—except she never screamed when she died, and I know it is really my own screams I am hearing; I am a child again and my father is teaching me to read, but we are at the crossroads and the pages of the book are all blank and I cannot hear him when he speaks. He grows angry with me and turns into a goblin, then disappears into the bushes.

Endless permutations, but the terror is always the same, and I am jolted from reverie. It always takes a few moments after the reverie breaks for the images to fade, and to sort through what is real and what is not. In the daytime, I can keep all of this pushed away, far down into my mind where it cannot trouble me. I can use my will like a great weighted stone placed on the bad memories, and usually it is enough. But I cannot hold up that stone forever, and sooner or later I always need to set it down and try to rest, and that is when the visions come. They are most distorted if it has been a hard day, or if I have already been thinking about something that troubles me. I think the humans would call them nightmares.

[Carillon]

Something very strange happened at Bydell Castle the other day. I passed near there on another trip to Alindor to gather herbs, and word reached my ears of a disturbance at the temple of Aragen there. I was invited inside with a group of other strangers to assist if I could. The Aragenites must have been desperate, but I was curious enough to come see.

The temple is a strange place. For one thing, I have never seen so many books in my life. We had half a dozen when I was a child, and they were all cheaply bound and dogeared when we got them. These books were as unlike those as a glittering emerald is to a common pebble—rich leather covers, gilded titles. The priests treat them as if they were gold, too. They led us down past all those books, though, into a darker corridor. I could feel the Weave all around me, and it was strange indeed, like being shaken from reverie and being caught between the states of meditation and waking. It felt as if my body were splitting, and I was leaving it in a trail behind me, or as if my next step would not hit the ground at all, but would go right through it.

As it turns out, the Aragenites had recovered a tome and performed a ritual they did not know enough about. They had opened a portal to another place, and could not close it, and had lost three of their own and received three beings for them in trade. And what beings they were! I have never seen creatures so beautiful, or so strange. They were winged, and were hued a little blue and green, or perhaps it was just the light. I tried to communicate with them, but they could not hear my words and did not understand my signs.

The Aragenites asked us to go through the portal for them, and recover those who had  been lost by recovering the stone that had allowed them to travel. Foolishly, I accepted. I believe it was the sight of those strange, otherworldly creatures that made me do it. The sensation of leaving the world I knew was the most hideous and jarring I have ever experienced, worse than even the terror of death because I was conscious and aware the entire time. It felt like my entire body was being bombarded by magic from every direction, and when I finally dared open my eyes we were in the strangest place. It was quiet to the point of being unnaturally silent and so clean it was as if nothing had ever lived there at all. I have never seen a place so completely clean.

I did not stay there long. There was a board there, with squares and a small light. There was a mirror, that showed me numbers. I thought I understood how to cross the board, but half way across I stumbled and the light came for me. It was terrible, and when I awoke I was back in the Aragenite temple. I am certain, though, that I left a part of myself in that other place, and I cannot get it back.

The others who were with me apparently managed to retrieve the stone, or one of them did. By that time, I was not really paying attention. I believe many of them died in that other world, and were sent back to the same place I was. I watched those celestial creatures, though, until the blond warrior, the one named Virtue, returned with the stone and they sent them back. The Aragenites recorded our names in their books. That reminded me of Vendar, a monk I met on Mistone. He was always taking notes on me, trying to understand my hand gestures. He would have had a fairer chance at it had I translated them honestly, I imagine. The Aragenites also gave us some coin and a book each. The coin I put safely away. The book I am not certain what to do with.

[Carillon]

I went looking for Ellis in Leringard today, and found Hardragh in her stead. I had come to pick up my key, but when I heard she was out of town that day I went to the card room for a quick game of cards. Hardragh was there, although I am not entirely certain why, as he professes no great love for the game.

As I had no plans for the day, I agreed to go with him when he asked to show me something. He led me down to the docks, pointing out the old temple of Mist along the way. It wasn't until we reached the rowboat and I saw the sign that I realized he was taking me to his temple. I was nervous then, though I didn't let him see. I am unfamiliar with boats, having never spent any long period of time by the water, and I cannot swim for more than a few minutes before I grow tired. He held the boat steady for me while I climbed in, though, and rowed us out to the isle of Mist. It is still so vivid in my mind—the oars cutting into the water, watching the muscles of his body as he drove us forward, seeing the skies grow dark and the waves begin to stir around us. It was like the water came alive, and separated into many little hands which grasped at the boat, trying to pull us under. I do not know why I was not afraid.

When we reached the isle I caught my breath a little at it. The weather was stormy all around us, with the rain coming down hard and the waves crashing against the little rocky cliffs of the island. There was thunder and lightning high in the sky too, and every so often a flash would illuminate Hardragh and I for a brief instant before the boom of thunder rushed in to hurry the moment of silence away. I do not know why, but I felt very small then, like I was standing in the center of something much bigger than my pitiful little life. I asked Hardragh whether it was alright for me to be there, then, and he said that as long as I wasn't an enemy of his Lady I would be fine, but if I were a Shindy I should hope that I could make the swim back. I wasn't sure then if he was kidding or not. I am still uncertain, thinking back on it.

He let me choose a place on the isle, and I went to stand on an edge where I could see the lightning playing over the water. There were the remains of a few shipwrecks visible on the rocks before us, too. Hardragh called them skeletons, and indeed they looked like wooden bodies lying there, ribs curving upwards as the ocean crashed around them. Is this what Hardragh's goddess brings? I am not sure how he or any common sailor can pray to her, knowing how unscrupulous she seems to be, and how easily she may toss their ships onto some reef or pull them down into her black depths.

The rain soaked through us quickly, as we had left our cloaks in the rowboat. I left mine when I saw Hardragh remove his, taking my cue from him. This is not my place, and I must let him guide me here. I believe it would have been an insult to wear the cloak, like a rebellion against Mist's storm. Shedding it and allowing yourself to be washed clean by the rain is an embrace, and an acceptance of her power, perhaps. How can you hold back a storm? How can you do anything but give yourself to the Lady of the Storm, knowing full well your life is in her hands? But on the other hand, how can he do that, giving up control to her like that while never being able to trust her? I suppose the wiser woman would say that he was never in control, but I still cannot accept that.

We sat and watched the storm rage for a long time on the island. He said he had rarely seen a storm blow so long. His priestess saw us there, and spoke to him briefly. I am more certain now that there is something between them besides temple politics, but it does not bother me. He and I are not lovers. We are not really even friends, though I will not deny that there is something between us that makes us more than strangers now. He was careful with me, though. He talks quite openly, and he put his arm around me and drew me to him when he saw how cold I was in the rain. He even stroked my hair and my arms and caressed my cheek, but when I kissed his palm after that he pulled away. Reflecting on the matter, I imagine it was partially our location. If there is indeed something between him and the priestess, it would not take long for word to reach her of what happened on the isle, and it might very well be insulting for him to touch me there. Or perhaps it is not the priestess but rather the redhead he is worried about. I wonder how many women he has?

We sat for a little longer after that, talking sometimes and silent other moments. It was oddly comfortable to be with him there, and I am grateful that he took me there. His goddess is not my own, and I still do not believe I could swear myself to any god, but I do think I understand what he sees in her a little better now. Perhaps I understand him a little better too. Or perhaps not. I cannot help but remember how silent he was, rowing me back to the docks from the island. He is like a stormy sea in some ways—you can never seem to look below the surface to see what dangers lie beneath.