How odd that I should turn to you, dear ink and parchment, to sort out my jumbled thoughts, seeking momentary refuge from the incessant rocking of the waves. Where I normally find comfort in caressing my lute into prose and song, I discover that my muse has eluded me, for my overwhelming sorrow and loss have eroded those talents normally gifted me.
Being of enough maturity at my young age to recognize the naïveté of my few years, I have been content to seek out those who have survived far more of this cruel world’s beatings and learned from their experiences, in hopes that I myself can avoid those same beatings and experiences. I have gained courage in following those bold, decisive souls, becoming braver still to occasionally offer up my limited wisdom in contrary to their sometimes-impulsive whims. But today, to find myself without guidance or companionship, I have been prematurely thrust into adulthood, proverbially pushed out of the nest by my once-nurturing mother-hawk. I have but no one I can turn to for consolation, no master wise in fate. Even those priests who turn to their Gods for answers have deserted me.
I now reside on this cursed ship with only Flana (my younger by a woman’s birthing cycle), Donovan (a rugged sailor ill-trained in ways of war compared to the companions I have admired for these past halfayear), and the mindless vapors I summon each morning to aid in the task of limping our two ships back to Velen. I spend what feels like eternities birthed by the devils themselves trapped in my own despair of worry and doubt. Though of course I must bury these manners of conscience lower than that wretched temple from where this destiny arose, so that I may at least appear to my two shipmates the determined and confident leader, eager to burden the quests of those comrades I’d come to depend upon.
Oh yea, the thought of my comrades wells tears upon my cheek that I must brush away quickly hence one should see me. What of Jaran, my mentor and confidant, who against my strong wishes tore off her own arm rather than spend one more moment with evil Leech attached to it. Her screams of agony pierced my own heart reminiscent of the pain that must have yielded them—I could not bear to watch and am ashamed to admit I hid in the shadows far from those horrid sounds that haunt me still when my weary body finally collapses for a moment’s sleep.
What of brave Jarl and Kalkrix and G’kar? My heart lightens at the thought that they could be safe from harm on a tropical island somewhere, with ample food and Dwarven Ale that numbs the muscles that were so recently ripped and bloodied. Though I know this is merely a waking dream and, though I cannot bear the thought that there is no hope left, I know the likelihood of me joining their service again is as bleak as the omen of bad weather that came that cursed Mid-Summer’s Day.
But upon reflection, overcoming the impossible has been as regular in my days as water and bread since I left the comfortable trees in search of adventure and knowledge. When my muse returns, only music can allude to the rush of fear and excitement coursing through my bones when 20 day ago I ascended to the surface on broom, only to find our loyal Silverfoot Sailor and its crew under attack of honor-less pirates. How could one young girl possibly triumph over two dozen barbarians under the control of one at least as trained in the ways of magic as I? In mere moments our entire crew of brave sailors was slaughtered despite my vain attempt to entangle those murderers in webs of magic (which brings to me thoughts of she who trained me in that wonder of magic, and how I was blinded to her deceit and treachery! But this digresses me from my tale! See now why my oratory talents are awry?).
Neither did pure Donovan aid my odds, for he was being bested by steel and thus my attention would be diverted toward saving his life over that of simply wielding my beloved wand of fire and igniting the lot of traitors in a flash of flame. Pleased in me must be Corellon Larethian who must desire my muse to spread His word upon these lands that I should survive that trial of lightning and chaos and save the lives of Donovan and Flana. Or perhaps it was Oghma who urged me into that weaponsmith shop in Velen that day, shining light on a fine new bow whose destiny would be to slay those of greed and apathy with but a single arrow from her string.
Nay I fear in my heart I pray to both of Them that more such adventures find their way to me, for only in the heat of battle my mind would turn away from lamenting my loneliness and paralyzing fear. These long empty days allow me only to drown in it.
With all those mournful bodies of our previously hard-working sailors on board, be it not surprising that my thoughts frequently drift to pitying souls in pain. Though I feel honor-bound to put these men properly to rest in Holy Ground, it also brings me to frightening visions of unearthly beings we have encountered in the past. I have vowed to better my skills with the enchanted mace I hold in my pack, the only weapon apparently effective against such cruel beasts. Dare I say that I already feel more dexterous with it!
For at least some fortune has our pitiful troupe that the winds be at our backs, and Donovan tells me we should be in Velen come the morrow. I would hazard to think that our sturdy Silverfoot Sailor rolling into port towing a scoundrel pirate vessel will be an odd sight for even citizens of a large city which thinks themselves to have seen everything. But perhaps the resources of that fair city may settle my heart and provide me truth on the fate of my dear comrades….