A thorn among roses

They haven’t spoken to me since we left the ship. Bartz cursed me, which seemed very out of order for him, as he seemed very much the gallant type after my foolish falling into the tribesmen outside the castle wood. And the old man who styles himself Galuf, he has been staring at me with the fiercest and yet softest eyes I’ve ever seen. He unnerves me.

The pirates docked at the port of Tule, and then walked us across the grasslands to the Lake-City of Tule. Being here now, I can understand why my father disallowed me from ever visiting. The Academy of Tule, while well-known throughout the kingdoms, is a beauty among the dens of wickedness that has spawned here. No wonder the pirates love this city so much. But the city seems to be wealthy beyond recognition, and little wonder to that as the builder of the canal lives here and because of their great gift to mankind, was given the task of controlling and taxing the canal by the kings and queens of our fair land.

While my father agreed to the decision to allow Tule as the gatekeeper of commerce for this area, they have not gone softly about it; a constant thorn in my father’s backside, and when times are tough, they restrict even more. What’s more, as of recent events Tule has become like a simpering child; the absence of wind has caused the canal to fill with the most unimaginable horrors (I’ve only heard in rumor, of course), as the Canal soldiers have returned to Tule and are not guarding the canal anymore.

Therefore, few trade ships brave the canal, and only those with sufficient manpower make it through alive. I’ve always believed that Zok, while playing the part of friend to my father, was always ruthless and yet had no backbone, a dangerous combination for someone so important. Perhaps father should have just kept him at Tycoon at his posh estate rather than sending him off to Tule where his corruption blossomed into a hopeless maelstrom.

We have decided (or rather forced) to spend the night at a seedy inn in Tule. The captain of the pirates has taken a room to himself, and sequestered the rest of us (along with his lecherous underlings) in the dining area of the tavern. The dancers are quite lewd, wearing almost no clothes and having no bearing on their sex, but the men seem to enjoy it. Even more, the old man who we found near the scorched rock also seems to be enjoying himself, almost too drunk to stand now but singing at the top of his lungs. Bartz, on the other hand, is sitting quietly near the stage, watching the dancers, hung over with what appears to be his second drink. He must really have low constitution.

I’m such a fool, to go off running to find father when I know he went so far away. I feel pity for the guards I convinced to come. I saw their bodies taken away by the tribesmen; no doubt their families will feel the pain of their loss. While fate seemed to spare me, it does not seem so now. Perhaps this is my punishment for taking the lives of those men and breaking apart their families.

I was surprised at the decision of the captain to spare us. I’ve heard stories from the court at Tycoon of pirates who brave the Median Sea, who have terrorized Tycoon’s trade for the last five years or so. While I am overjoyed to have discovered the location to their hideout, they will most likely just find a new one. Father will be pleased to know the identity of Faris Unworthy, as he is called by the soldiers, or in popular account, Faris the Bloodhound. He is known as a bloodthirsty villain who enjoys gutting the king’s man after gloating victory over them, and then looting every piece of gold and silver from the ship, finally setting fire to the ship and letting it drift to the end of the world.

Seeing the legend up close, though, he looks so soft and weak. Almost too perfect for a pirate. His men adore him, and were I a pirate I believe I would give my life for my captain as well. It’s lucky I was born royalty, then, and to the greatest king this land has yet seen.

I find myself out of place here: the last few days, I have been captured a prisoner by all those around me, from the gob tribesmen, to unscrupulous bounty hunters, to a den of the most wicked pirates in the Median Sea. I hope we will arrive at the shrine soon, and I can finally leave these cutthroats and be taken into the arms of the Cult, who while equally as questionable, at least have the decency of loyalty to the king. I will be glad to be away from this band of pond scum.

Among the Ruins

I have made an error in judgment.  Too late; the town is rubble, and I am hurt, perhaps far too hurt for consolation.

The girl is gone, as well as Cecil.  How did I think this would end?  I should have thought it through more clear, but everything was moving so quickly.  You are a fool, Highwind.  Just like your father.  Your father would have not thought this to the end, and you have caused setbacks.  He ran off to fight and did not foresee never coming back.  You nearly died, Highwind, and you must now make amends.

The town of Mist is gone.  The King’s ring was a wonder to behold; surely as a general against men of war, there could be nothing more fearsome than using the very powers of an army against themselves.  Man’s greatest power is his greatest weakness.  The summoners have been undone by the power of the Feymarch, although how the King found a ring so powerful eludes me.  Why he would choose to destroy and kill all of these people eludes me.  Were it power he wanted, he could have used them, imprisoned them.  The recent bloodlust of our kingdom is troubling.  But if our king truly knew they posed a grave threat, I would support him until the end.  The might of Baron shall have no end, for we are the greatest kingdom the world has ever seen, even before the strength and wonder of empires before.

The little girl left a rift in the earth, a hundred miles long.  There is no way across, so I shall return through the cave to Baron and seek the king’s audience.  The girl is powerful and he must be warned; it is not my place to criticize him, and I would not seek to demean my rank by doing so.  I have heard tale that our airships will be retrofitted soon, and with a force so powerful and agile, we will have no difficulty fording this chasm and finding Harvey and the girl.

The beauty of the valley, through the destruction, is enchanting.  I can understand why these people would live here, isolated from the rest of the world.  The mountain ranges into the clouds, and the grass is wet with dew that continues into the afternoon.  We will hold a grand celebration of the summoners of Mist in Baron, I am sure, and hold festivities and a dirge to lament their tragedy, treason, and memory.  No doubt they would not acquiesce to Baron’s demands, and were this kind of power to grow against the peace we bring the world, then no doubt that is why they have been slain.

I remember Harvey; I do not doubt he has somehow saved himself and the girl, and run into the wilderness.  Such was the horror on his face when the village was burning and the children and their parents dying from the flames.  His cry of horror and his tender embrace of the child as she collapsed and the earth shook and broke apart in half.  I do hope he is well and safe, and that he takes the girl to safe harbor, but far from the hands of Baron.  For were she to challenge us, either now or in the future, we would surely destroy her.

I pity the girl’s mother.  The summoners of Mist must be tied to their eidolons; perhaps the eidolon is a manifestation of their soul.  As we destroyed the beast, it almost felt unnatural.  But it is a good thing: those beasts have no right to our bodies, and the more of them sent to the nethers where they were spawned, the better.  No magic should control man’s mind or body; that is the very definition of a curse.  Surely the summoners were cursed, even if they chose it.  Why they would inflict that curse upon children is beyond me.

The road is long, and it will be lonely to travel through the mountains without Cecil.  The fog of the cave shall be gone, and forever, the magic of this valley dead.  I shall say a prayer for them during the nighttime hours of my solitary path.

Fallen from Heaven

I shall not refuse my father and my king.

The castle of Baron looks still from the plains. Evil is stirring in the grass. The sky calls to me; the moon is hidden from sight, but I know it is there. I dream of flying during my waking hours, and during the nighttime I see only the blood on my sword and my life falling to pieces.

Rosa, how far I've come. You must be disappointed at the boy you saw as a youth, desiring to change the world. Or so he told you.

I go to my demise; after treason, there is no greater hope.

Kain whispers to me during our battles. We have passed through forest and plain and seen the nests of monsters. For as long as I've been in the sky, the world has been growing with the sharpness and clarity of death. Dogs and cattle are slain by the wayside, farms are lit on fire, villages left in ruin and populated by monstrous creatures with a single eye and the wings of a bat. They hover over the trees, and their gaze turns all creatures against each other. Even the noble Greymark, the Eagle of Baron, has become a wandering scavenger and hideous carnivore, devouring anything in its path. Only Kain’s worthy spear has kept us from harm’s way as we make our way towards the Feymarch.

My armor is stained with the blood of animals and sweat. I tell myself that I answer to only myself, but I find that after so many of years of wearing the dark armor and wielding the sword, my life has disintegrated into nothing. I am a tool of the king, nothing more, and I have done even worse than that: I have angered him and told him he was a fool in front of his whole court. I deserve the punishment and worse: why did he spare me? At least lock me in the dungeons. I’m sure Kain is no doubt wondering that as well, for all the good the king has done for us over the course of our lives.

And yet I wonder, never once has the King acted so unaware of his position. To steal the Water Crystal of the Mysidians is tantamount to genocide, rendering them unprotected from the miseries of both the wrathful seas that boil around their country but also their national pride. But these are treasonous thoughts, and I need not bother with them.

Kain is approaching me.

“Cecil, night approaches. We must move.” His helmet is in his hands, and his hair is matted with the strain of the last five hours we have been making our way through the countryside.

“Have a rest, Kain,” I offer, taking a piece of bread from a traveling sack. “You are troubled by my actions, and we have not spoken of it since I was dismissed yesterday.”

“There is no need to speak of it,” Kain says. He has a powerful voice, one that he rarely uses unless called upon. “You spoke out of turn and were disciplined. You are only a man and you lost sight of what is important.”

I nod to him, and do not answer. He is correct. I have lost sight of what is good. The sword, with its dark metal, calls to me, sings to me. I hate it. But it gives me power, and the power over my destiny. The power over men. At least it did. No longer.

“Have you ever questioned what we do, Kain?” I ask him, knowing he will not answer. He does not.

“We must go; it is growing dark, and the forests are stirring with the impatience for our blood.”

I nod in silence. It is true. We have abandoned the world far too long, and in our absence, it has gone mad.

Light

They awoke with a start, unaware of their surroundings.

A forest. Dark, shadowy trees, and the hint of civilization between the branches, of a ivory city, gleaming like a pale moon. The sun was overhead.

They saw each other. It was strange, as if they hadn’t known this moment was any different than any other moment in their small, instantaneous lives. Slowly and tediously, they got to their hands and knees, blinking their eyes, staring, listening. There were noises, sounds in the woods.

The woman, rubbing her hands together, was trying to stave off some kind of cold. A bird flashed above in the trees, and her eyes, calm and strange, followed the shadow.

“What?..” one of the men asked. He had flashy red hair, and a strong face. His gaze whipped to a dark spot in the trees, and then there was a great scream.

A flash of metal, and the spilling of blood. The red-haired man, a maniacal look on his face, gripped the thrown spear, wincing from the wound in his arm. He launched the spear back into the woods, and a moment later, figures began to scurry from the darkness into the open, into the sunlit glade where the people lay, naked and now on their feet.

The green-faced creatures hobbled toward them, gripping steel spears and gibbering in a forced language.

The creatures advanced, and began striking with their spears. First to fall was the dark-haired man with red eyes. One spear stuck him in the side, and he fell to the earth, hissing through his teeth. Lightning flashed in his eyes, and he gripped the spear of the goblin, forcing the creature with a pull to the ground, but the goblin fell into him.

The red-haired man swiftly grabbed the goblin’s tunic, took the spear, and stabbed the creature through the neck. He held up the twitching carcass, snarled, and the other goblins scurried away.
The man with red eyes groaned and collapsed onto the earth, clutching his arm.

“Don’t move,” the red-haired man said. “You’ll only cause it to bleed more.”

“Here,” the woman said as she braced the man’s wound. “You there,” she motioned to the slender man with hazel eyes, “give me something to tie the wound with.”

The slender man, unspoken, walked up to the fallen goblin and tore part of his tunic, and then handed the cloth to the woman.

She made quick use of it. The man with red eyes winced, but the pain fell away, and his face lightened.

“Thank you,” he said.

She nodded, and looked around at the men. “What is going on?”

The man with red hair stood there for a moment, staring blankly, and then said, “I have no memory.”

“Neither have I,” the slender man said. “This is a strange wood. What is this place?”

“It is a place we must go out from,” the woman replied.

“I hear a city to the east,” the wounded man said.

“You hear a city?” the red-haired man asked. He gazed strangely at the wounded man. “I hear nothing except for the rustle of leaves.”

“There are voices, a great many voices,” the wounded man replied.

“Then let us go,” the woman said. “We must tend to this man’s wounds.”


The woman helped the wounded man onto the shoulders of the other men. They grunted, but soon felt the weight shift, and wound their way towards the city.

Bleakrock

Bleakrock is bleak, but strangely vibrant. It's strange, but in the hectic nature of even quiet Davon's Watch and the busy square, the vibrancy of Bleakrock is even more evident. People know you, they greet you, they speak to you warmly even through their thick jackets and heavy gloves. When they greet you they embrace you and speak to you of their children, even though the island has little to speak of for education. A fishing village, some craftsmen and some traders, with the Pact's soldiers having occupied the territory (much to the chagrin of the locals).

Today I encountered a young woman in the wilds of Bleakrock who asked me to help find her friends, who had somehow been turned into oversized rats. I don't remember the details, but she had been very embarrassed about the whole situation, given me a strange wand, and told me if I found them to help her. For some reason, she assumed I wouldn't just waltz off with her magic wand - but on the other hand, I think she was oddly glad she didn't have to worry about carrying the cursed thing with her. There are so few visitors to the island, fewer still that venture into the bear and wolf-infested woods, and fewer still who make it into the ice-tipped lakes searching for themselves.

I admit, were it me and were my friends transformed by dark magic into rodents, I'd hand the thing off as soon as I found someone eager to take it off my hand. I can't say I was eager, more interested perhaps.

I found one of them on the other side of the island, after a particularly cold afternoon of wandering around the northern part of the island in search of iron ore (I've got a contract with a local Davon's Watch guildhouse for supplying them with iron). Turns out the rat was an Argonian. Perhaps I should have just left him a rat.