Legends of Belariath

Khristoph Maelese

The Journal of Khristoph Maelese: Days 11-16

Day 11

This entry I pen one day after its happenings. I have finished my chores for this day, quickly, efficiently, and all in avoidance to Caoimhe's eyes. I am ashamed for my actions yesterday, that which I will now record on this piece of parchment. If she were to approach me for my comment on my speakings to her... I would know not what to say to her. After I'm finished with this entry, I will head to the Inn to hoist a mug of pear cider to my lips and quaff deeply. But not to forget. Nay.

In celebration, that the weight is finally off my shoulders. That my insides do not feel like they are twisting with a life of their own. My secret has been bared, and I was there, before my sweet Caoimhe's eyes, telling her the best I could, despite my sheer embarrassment. I only wish the delivery of my devotion to her had gone so much better...

I am getting ahead of myself.

After performing my duties a day ago, I realized that this tome had come undone. One of the thongs binding it had sagged loose, and so I tightened it the best I could, re-lashing it, and trimming off the excess so it wouldn't be snagged and come unraveled again. Praise the Cross for my bookbinding toolkit; when I need it, it's always there, ready to serve.

Caoimhe had arrived with a bag of apples. Small, green, tart ones. Smaller in size than the ones my father would grow, and that I and my eldest br--we would harvest. It reminded me just a touch of home, and I mentioned it. She seemed apologetic, and I realized we had spoken a bit of my past at the baths. I told her that it was not a problem. And it wasn't. Still isn't.

There is nothing I can do to change the past, but live for the future.

Caoimhe then gave me some wonderful news... She was to bake the apples with cinnamon and sugar. I mistook this as a call for pie, something I was terrible at. No, it appeared she was not one to make pastries, either, and the apples would be baked as such. No complaints here, baked apples are splendid, and with cinnamon?

Cinnamon is a spice that holds many treasured memories for me. Father once ground two sticks during a particularly good year. Well, good for us; our neighboring - and heavily competing - farm had been struck by the frost that season; our orchard was hearty for cold weather, and withstood the chill, losing only twenty barrels of apples. A pittance, really. He was kind to me that day, to find that our sales would be high. Even my brother did not flog me as much. I even saw a smile from my mother.

There are more, but that one jumps to mind first. We all sitting before a blazing hearth, mugs of ale spiced with cinnamon. Of course, it was diluted, but one could not drink the sludge mysteriously called water that came from the wells. It was only fit for keeping the crops from drying up, the sediment in it strengthening the soil in the same breath. We were a family, if just for that evening.

Back to the subject; I delay in my own thoughts too long. As she began to peel the apples, I heard a soft voice from across the meadow, asking if any were home. That same voice made my lady visibly stop in mid-chore, grasp my hand, and nearly tear my arm from its socket to see the owner. His name was Tyson Thriste, and his very presence seemed to make Caoimhe most happy. I saw it as an opportunity to meet someone she would call friend. If she trusted him, so would I.

I rushed as quickly as I could with her, lest I fall to the ground and she begin to drag me the rest of the way. Once she released my hand, the two hugged tightly. His reaction to my presence showed the highest respect. Truly, he was a man of the highest regards to me, then and now. I was to find out that he was responsible for the groundwork of the Healer's Guild, which still hadn't completely opened yet. Something to do with the King's permission or such.

We exchanged words, I jokingly chided him to the fact that he was the one to blame for the large soon-to-be pile of work that I would tirelessly scribe. It seemed another was nearly mentioned by Caoimhe, someone who did not seem to pull their own weight for the erection of the Guild. I will draw no conclusions, but was not Kyrspeth part owner?

We stepped back inside, I gave him a casual glance. Even in the dim light, I could see the scorch marks that pocked his attire. I knew not what to say at said time, so I said nothing. We walked inside, and he had mentioned making some bread for supper. I decided that now was the time to reveal the monstrosity that is Survival Stew.

Bishop Carl Daeru, my field instructor, passed on a little recipe I found to be delicious during my training. With a few vegetables, herbs, and spices, one could liven up a humble bowl of water, making a strong, yet tasty broth and light soup. What it lacked in substance, it roared in flavor. And it beat gruel any day of the week.

Tyson mentioned stopping studies in Unigo at the smell of his baked bread. I found Unigo to be a tower, made of magic. Her addition to the meal would be a salad. She did not seem to like Unigo. Something about strange people in charge. It was then that Tyson said something very devastating to her... that Zarias was deathly ill from old age.

I continued preparation of the stew, attempting to stay silent as to not trouble them with my noise. I could not carry on, however, when I saw Caoimhe's full reaction to the news. Tyson was quick to rush to her side, embracing her warmly, comforting her. This was best; these two knew Zarias longer than the few moments I had heard his name. She cried, and my heart sunk deeply. To see her hurt like that... it buried me in grief. My empathy to those around me is strong, but double is its effect for her.

Kyrspeth's whereabouts were questioned, and I intoned that I had seen her a few days past. I had no idea where she was at that time, though. It seemed she may have the power to heal, where Tyson's efforts had failed him. I had no doubt that his power was strong, but it did not seem enough to help Zarias's situation. Perhaps Caoimhe would be able to do something?

She seemed so ashamed to weep, but none would blame her for her emotion over the fate of the mage. Tyson seemed equally stricken, but did not cry himself. A strong man, indeed. He even offered to trade a few years from his own span to give Zarias more time. To this, Caoi only seemed more heartbroken; that Zarias's life should not come from the death of a friend, that Tyson's life was no less important than the ailing master of Unigo.

I tried busying myself with the cooking again, and I saw how troubled Caoimhe was. She tried to hide it by diving right back into peeling apples, but I knew that might be a problem if her eyes were still watery. I offered her my cleanest blotter rag, the cloth that I usually wipe my quills on after I'm done. Yes, the ink had long-since dried, and was only stains across the fabric. She cleaned up, just a touch, thanking me and citing her verbal apology for her actions.

I was only more sorry that I did not know Zarias well enough to properly share their feelings on the matter. My hands were tied. To feel powerless in the face of the one you hold dearest is like facing the chill of banished hope. It struck a wound nothing could heal. I pray I am never powerless to help her in the future, to stagger and fall under the mantle of 'there is nothing you can do'.

To attempt to change the subject, and to perhaps gain insight where she had been during her departure, I tried to find out where she had acquired the cinnamon. She told me it was from Coeur d`Lane, the same place she had sent Night earlier. Only, instead of keeping this information to myself, I happened to let it roll from my tongue. She took the gesture in stride, but I felt poorly. Whether his trip was nothing important or not, I should've kept what I heard to myself.

It appears an Apothecaress lives in Coeur d`Lane, and she would be coming to Nanthalion, the current providence I am in. Providence? City-state? Country? I am not sure what to call the land I am under, what formal title it holds in the words of lords, dukes, and people with power. However, she said that her trip was completed well, and that the Apothecaress would come. Great news.

I helped her get the cinnamon from the top cupboard she stowed it in for safe-keeping. She looked so cute pawing for it that I hesitated just a few moments to watch her. I hope this wasn't too cruel, but I did gather it for her, my height just a bit more than her own. She then comforted Tyson, mentioning his injuries. It appeared someone named ShaKa was to harm a friend of Tyson's. Aphris helped Tyson by knocking him cold with a stun bolt. Hmmm, I still don't see how this helped. Perhaps to save him from a violent end at the hands of ShaKa? The continued conversation seemed to prove just that, and they were unhappy with the fact that ShaKa seemed undestroyable.

Her reaction was saddening, that she took solace in Zarias's condition, slightly, that with his current state, that there would be a decided lack of resurrections, and that there would not be a block on the cycle of life. I personally believe this to be false, whether this is the ideal of a druid, or just Caoimhe, I must speak out. If the gods do not want to take you back, if your work has not been completed, then resurrection is possible. There are times when even resurrection cannot bring one back. That is the time the gods have decided that your reason for living has been done.

They are mysterious and powerful, and should never be questioned. Such is their will, and I obey without reservation.

It appeared that Tyson had had a scuffle with his step-father, keeping the condition of his mother from his son. Their battle sounded to be quite an affair, leaving the step-father beaten quite badly. I'm glad that Tyson was not crushed; who would be around to bring him back to the realm of the living if he were to fall?

I nearly tripped over the man as I crossed the kitchen to check on my pot of Survival Stew. My feet are often the source of great trouble. If only I could stand on them better. Very much burned the insides of my hands, but pride would not let me admit the damage. It wasn't too bad, but enough to make me wince. I mentioned a time where I grabbed a shield that had been used for fire bolt practice at the Clergy hall, something that Tyson piped in that he had done as well.

The soup was finished, and so was the bread. Caoimhe had forgotten the salad she had mentioned. The stew and bread was more than enough, though, and afterwards, we had the baked apples. The talk was small during the meal, mainly compliment passing. It was all very delicious. Tyson's bread in the stew was an excellent combination as well, and the wine that Night had brought earlier was the perfect addition to the food.

I gathered the plates and dishes as they went to the drawing room. She asked me to join them after I was done. Of course I would. Continued conversation of Tyson revealed him to be a Knight, and a Cleric as well. He seemed slightly depressed that no god or goddess had whispered for his ear yet. It's true that these things cannot be rushed. They shall let you know if they accept you, no sooner. You may invoke them, beseech them to allow you to become their vessel, but only they can accept. I was fortunate enough to have them all bound to me, although if my will had been any lesser, the fasting and prayer I endured for an entire fortnight would have driven me mad.

Then again... Who's to say I'm not?

I am saddened for his loss, and I shall not go into detail here. I only hope that someday, things will work out for him and his relationship. However, he will always have me and Caoimhe to be there in any hour of need. I extend whatever friendship I can offer to the man. He may dominate me in experiences and physical power, but I've been known to surprise a few with a word or two of wisdom. Too many nights in the Clergy hall’s library, I fear.

She informed him that he could stay in her home as long as he wished, and I thought that was excellent. I wouldn't be alone so much when I cleaned the house, as Caoimhe was often away, doing this or that... the same with when I would go to the Inn for a drink - which I would really like to have right now and we'd miss each other in passing. He chose a room, near both me and Caoimhe. He was pleased with what he saw, and that was good.

What happened next, should never have. Jealousy. Jealousy over what was not even mine. Is not mine.

I told myself not to become too enraptured in her charms, that she did not mean to entice me, that everything I had built up was some great fantasy. She had but just gotten to know me, how could she love me so quickly? I saw a very touching exchange between her and Tyson, a kiss that seemed to teem with the memories of days gone by. It should have done nothing to me, but I was flash-frozen and roasted at the same time. Cold sweat poured from my brow.

I gave them a quick reply, something to do with my tome, and exited as fast as I could move. I wished to see no more. I couldn't continue to do this to myself, to suppress my own feelings. Such a thing was beginning to make me internally ill... not from health, but more to the fact that I was a coward. A gutless coward. It was time to come out with it, and accept whatever fate I would.

So exhausted, I threw myself upon the bed. Tomorrow. She would know all tomorrow. I heard only soft voices from beyond my door, the air still as death itself. I knew they were talking about my sudden departure. Still, Morpheus tugged at my lids, and I allowed the Master of Dreams, god of sleep to take me to another place.

I believe, at this point, the mighty Aphrodite had had just about enough of my horseshit.

A sharp pang in my stomach brought me to consciousness, overriding the sleep god's call for my presence. He would have to wait. My explanation would come, and it would come now. I steeled myself, wondering how long time in the mortal world had passed. My heart beat hard. Slowly, I realized that the thumping in my chest was not the same rhythm I heard to my ears.

My chamber door was being knocked upon.

I knew who it was.

All my feelings became a maddening blur. My shame, for my feelings. My resolve, that I could do nothing to change my irrational love for her. My hate for myself to have let it go this far. Everything. It knotted up in me, and I was struck physically sick. I thought I was mute, until my tongue broke through, making barely coherent words. I softly greeted her.

I knew it was her.

My perception of heat and pressure began to spin wildly out of control. I held my equilibrium at bay, sitting ramrod straight. She asked if she could enter. I came back with a poor excuse that she could, that this was her manor. I was visibly shaking, teeth chattering. I felt awful. Not just my constitution sapping, but that I was putting her through this. That only seemed to worsen it, and I began to cry.

I... was crying.

I had never truly poured tears from my eyes for so long, for so hard, ever. My embarrassment only brought even more. It was a cycle with no end... save for her soft touch and gentle voice. She had told me that she did not wish to be cruel, but she did not wish to lose another to death. Her two former loves had both been cut down by the scythe of the Faceless Angel.

Let her love again, oh mighty heavens above us all. Not for my sake... it wouldn't even have to be me. Just let her feel for someone the way I do right now for her. Let her eyes glow so sweetly, her pulse race, her thoughts be ever-tuned to another once again. To keep a jewel so precious locked away for fear of tarnish is so very, very saddening. I shudder to think she would ever suppress herself on the grounds of her fear for their loss.

We embraced, she wiped tears from my face, and I could see them welling up in her own eyes. I gave her my blotter cloth once again, but she did not use it. Our eyes locked for a moment, and we shared a soft kiss. My reaction was to be as gentle as I could... not to resist her, but not to take too much. She then knew - now knows - how I feel deep within my being. My body and soul are bare to her. She knows that if she ever needs anything, I would not hesitate to move mountains for her. Even if I am not the one she whispers to so sweetly.

I fell asleep after we parted. Straight out, thus, my delayed entry. It's now time for me to have a cider and stop thinking for awhile. Until tonight, journal.

Day 12

What a day.

My eyelids bang heavily together, and I force them open the best I can. I can write so long as I can see with one eye. My hand only need know that the line it travels does not intersect with previous words I have printed, and that's what my eyes provide. My heart gives me the text to allow the black ichors to flow from my owl feather quill onto the parchment, drying, setting what is on my mind.

I cannot delay, for I fear sleep with grasp me soon, and I do not wish to be where I am right now when it does catch me. I will return to Caoimhe's side and stay there with her.

Your interest is caught, is it not?

As I stated before, in my last entry this morning, I finished up and was ready to head to the Lonely Inn to drain at least two mugs of pear cider. Maybe half the bottle, if Grunt was on duty, knowing he would be quick to hand me to simply hand me the large, blown-glass container and allow me to pour it myself.

I was stopped by Caoimhe, who was in the kitchen. I put away my book, and snatched up an unused apple from last night's dinner, and consumed it in haste. Just something to sit in my stomach, to quell my hunger, to take my attention from her. She informed me she was to go to Unigo, to see Zarias. The construct, bound by magic, and I was to find out later, sculpted by the hands of the goddess of magic, Katarein, was magnificent to behold. However, it unnerved her, and she asked me to come with her for emotional support.

As if I could ever say no to her. As if it were ever an option. Of course, I would go. Not too far down the road, we came across Tyson, who stumbled and fell on our approach. It seemed that I was not the only one prone to tripping myself accidentally. He seemed just fine, if not a bit rattled from the impact. She informed him of our journey, and he offered to come along. She seemed glad he asked, another to protect her from the tower. I informed him I would wish to speak to him, but he seemed to shake his head and smile.

I've a feeling he knew, as my feelings are all but impossible to mask. I still wish to tell him I am sorry for excusing myself so very rudely.

Together, we three walked the road to Unigo. A good five mile walk. A few words were shared, nothing important of note. We arrived not but a short time later. After we entered, we were approached by an elven girl, who's name I did not hear, who allowed us inside Zarias's place of rest. As morbid as it may sound, I feel it is the most appropriate choice of words. He seemed like the living dead; he was extremely aged, even breathing seemed a chore for him. Covered in sweat and blood, his hand tirelessly signed and marked official document after official document, the cycle seemingly never-ending.

Caoimhe was already awash with emotion on sight of the poor man, and again, it began to bite deeply upon this vessel. I was informed that everything had been tried, and nothing could restore him from his fate... a fate he sealed himself.

As I understand it, and I may be wrong - it wouldn't be the first time - he invoked a power to extend his human life. Indeed, we humans are short-lived, compared to the many other races that frequent Belariath. However, what we lack in longevity, we make up for in creativity, and our ability to blend with any others without a second thought. Why did he attempt this? It appears he had fallen in love with one who would outlive him, and did not wish a burden upon his love, to allow her to only cuddle with the memory of him, and not his flesh-and-bone body.

From his own lips, he said it had worked- he had felt it. Then it all came crashing down, a backlash that tore fifty years and maybe more from him in one fell swoop. A miswording, an incorrect gesture, a punishment from the gods? Perhaps all. Perhaps none. We are given only so much time, that we need not waste a moment. It is clear I should pay attention to my own advice as well.

Zarias seemed to sleep, then awake quickly, asking if we needed anything. The visit was only for his well-being; if I am ever in need, I need but ask the gods above. But never will I ask unless I cannot obtain it myself. They help those who help themselves, for the needy, and not the greedy.

He had not met me until this time, and asked Caoimhe of me. She told him that I was a friend to her. A good man. This filled me with emotion as well; despite how I had conducted myself last night, she was willing to still call me 'friend'. I was overjoyed, and truly humble.

She asked him if he wanted anything, and his only request was a mug of mead. He had not tasted any in two months. A simple enough request. I was to learn that one there could restore his form, but she would not do it. He would have to learn his lesson, to be made to suffer. This tore me in two. One side screamed out that such a lesson learned was callous, spiteful. The other sadly nodded, feeling that if he was repaired completely, he may very well being researching the extension of his life again. Some things we should never tamper with, and such is the will of the gods.

His decision was his own. This he told to Caoimhe. This broke her heart, made her feel shame that she had felt anything for him, that he would not listen to reason. His decision, he said, was one pondered long and hard, that he knew he could not allow his love to only remember him and not have him close by.

The most despairing thing is that Caoimhe is the authority on lost love. The Faceless Angel had visited her past two, like a gruesome repeat performance, just for her. To mock her? I think not. So gentle, so sweet, what could she have possibly done to anger anyone, divine or mortal? I am not to know, as the answers are not mine to know; the gods are silent on this. As they were silent when I professed my feelings to her last night.

Her own words. 'Death does not kill love.' To miss two, so deeply. I can understand her sheer hesitance to love again. No, I take that back. I cannot. I cannot fathom the feelings that must rage inside her like some fearsome maelstrom. I cannot being to imagine the great pain of knowing they will never walk our realm, to know she must continue, find the strength to walk this realm while her heart beats with two on the other side.

It was then she slipped her cloak on and took for the door in a run. Tyson's hazel eyes flashed to my own chocolate ones. I can now only imagine what my emotions must speak when I look upon something, uttering it only with body language. Not saying a word, only with his expression, he told me to run to her.

I did as he 'said'.

She was fast, no doubt in that, her sadness only adding more speed to her gallop. I felt as though I could chase her forever, but if she kept up her pace, I would easily lose her from my sight, no matter how much endurance I might have. She shouted back, asking why she should be so foolish. Zarias would not listen to reason, and she had reacted poorly, or so she felt. She had felt for him, and deeply. Not love, something else.

She stopped suddenly, and so I was forced to as well. Gravel does not seem to like these boots at all, and I skidded, lost control of whatever little balance I have, and toppled to the ground, directly on my face. I landed on my right cheek on relatively soft ground, my nose and most of my face spared injury. Slightly muddied, I gathered my wits about me and took a knee, responding that nothing that she had done had been foolish. That his actions were his and his alone, that none could command him.

She offered me a hand, and I used it to gain ground and pull myself up, not burdening her with my weight. I guess I then held her hand in both of mine, although I was unaware of my doing so, and we continued discussion of Zarias and his fate. It was cruel, but he must know that a beginning and an end have been set for a reason. None are meant to live forever, save the very gods themselves.

My sweet Caoimhe then apologized for, as she put it, dragging me into this. There is no place I'd rather be than by her side, through thick and thin, ill and fair, better or worse. I told her she had dragged me into nothing, that my place was at her side, to be there for her, no matter what. This I voiced without meaningless bravado, without sly intent, nothing but my honesty flowing from my very soul. It shall be true until my end comes, when the Faceless Angel approaches me, shows me my hourglass has run out of sand, and winds back with his fearsome black scythe, ready to harvest me like a gruesome field of wheat.

We were then approached by a man in a hood, whom Caoimhe knew as NightFalcon, a cat person. He wished to catch up with her, and about that time, I realized how I was holding her hand. I released, almost suddenly, surprised at myself. She mentioned no more about it, giving her friend a hug, and a kiss on his cheek, and told him they would catch up later, that she wished to go home. He offered to follow, at least part-way, to which she politely refused. That I would keep her safe.

I may have read more into the words than were there, but logic gave way to extreme pride. I felt like I had grown twenty feet tall and strode the world like a titan, clad in the mightiest armor, shielded by enchantments galore and the pure defense of the gods. To just hear that, even though my own lacking experience with combat and beseechments to the deities, I felt so very happy.

As he left, she informed me she wished to go to town. Of course, I was first to think of myself, to begin to spout out a small list I had prepared of necessary items. I cut myself short when I realized how selfish I sounded. Surely, I would go with her, even if I needed nothing there. She had told me she was getting a tattoo of the Healer's Guild upon her, and that reminded me of the Cross I wished to have, forever etched, on my left bicep. Tonight, however, was not the time, but we would still go to town.

We arrived there, and came near the center of the town, where Dante had led me and Caoimhe before, when he searched for Snow. We were greeted by MacKnight; he looked to be the product of a union between one cat person and one elf. He was quick to inform us, after seeing the direction we took, that the general store was closed. No parchment for me. I've been recycling what I've had, taking the less-important pages I've used for notes and thoughts, and soaked them in water, afterwards letting them dry. They look a bit more gray, but are still legible if I write on them.

I must have more parchment, though, and soon.

MacKnight, however, was part of the weapon and armor store, and the Naked Bird clothing store. I believe he employs Tsuneko, which I had yet to see after my first meeting with him. I forwarded the order for the battle robe to MacKnight, and he took my measurements as we spoke. It seemed Caoimhe had been to him for an armor fitting, and so they knew each other.

He seemed interested in the Healer's Guild. Everyone did. I was glad to be part of a greater whole, to work diligently in the times to come; a candle lighting my work, a chilled bottle of fresh water, and a plate of the wild apples, and I could easily work for two nights in a row without strain, so long as my mind was only focused on the task and nothing else.

He had mentioned his own dabblings in Druidism, and again, she had mentioned her power flowed from another source. It shouldn't strike me as curiously as it does, but I wish I knew. I'm unsure if I mentioned it in my last entry, but she had also said that to Tyson, her power not being as fixated as it used to be with nature, but still bound to the love of the forest.

He asked where I wanted the length hemmed, and the best thing I could think was to pose in a combative stance I was most comfortable with, a slight defensive posture, and he made his decision. The steel-gray robe was to be tailored, and the embroidery of the Cross was to be completed by tomorrow; a touch longer than Tsuneko's offer. Then again, the price was knocked down almost half of what the other catboy had offered.

I noticed that Caoimhe was browsing, eyeing a beautiful blouse. Ice blue. A perfect blend with her hair and coat, and did everything to bring out her eyes. It was also made of silk. She voiced that she did not want anything, but I could see she wished to wear it. Her only complaint seemed to be that the cut would not flatter her form as much, but MacKnight was quick to voice that he could alter it, and have it ready for her the same time my robe was complete.

My thoughts raced slightly to seeing her wearing that, touching off every feature with its pale, and yet intense shade. I quietly looked her over, knowing that whatever she would dress in, the material would be grateful to be hugged by her breath-taking form. Our eyes met, and my very being cried out softly in want for her.

I tried to rescind my reaction. Mine is not to ask, but to serve. I would be there for her, no matter what she needed. This was my pledge, my oath, my promise. I wanted nothing more than to see her smile, and the expression she gave me I shall ever hold dear, for fear I shall never see it again.

Her words, her soft, sweet, feather-soft words.

'I'll take it.'

Heavens above, if I were to say my heart did not stop beating for that one moment, I would be struck down and dead. The power she holds over this vessel indescribable. I paid MacKnight for the work, giving him another coin for himself - I do hope the gesture didn't seem rude, and my budget did not allow for a heftier tip, at least not yet - and all the while, I could not look away from her eyes. Her voice remained soft, each word filling my ears like a warming breath upon them. It spun my emotions to be carried like that. To see her reply in such a way. To me.

This vessel is unworthy.

We made the trip back home, she needed nothing more in town. I could feel her eyes upon me each time she looked, and my heart soared. I didn't need to look back to know, I could feel the raw electricity. We arrived in, Tyson appeared to have beat us home. She shivered slightly in the manor, and informed me that tonight would be chilly. I was somewhat lost, dazed, still coming to grips with her soft, yet strong voice she was now using.

She offered me an extra blanket, and she had kept them in her room. I thought she was to go and fetch one, until she motioned for me to follow her. To her room. To go - into - my mind began to shuffle through so many thoughts, it started to hurt. Quickly, I cleared my head, but my feet were almost unresponsive, rebelling my continuation of following her.

Her continued tone, the way her eyes seemed to warm me, like fire. How can I begin to express what I felt... am feeling? Enraptured? Captivated? I believe words fall short. I apologize. This is why I am not into bardic studies; if so, I'm sure I could say what was in my soul so much more fluidly.

I watched her walk for a moment, her own hooves stepping a bit high. My feeling exhausted me, as I am not used to such thoughts, such conveyance, a constant link of empathy to another. The entire day had been an ordeal. I wasn't sure I was ready for what was to come.

I entered her room, her bed was comprised of several cushions on the floor. How clever. Of course, this would be best for her most interesting union of equine and human. When I turned, I saw that the blankets she had piled on a shelf had come crashing down on her. She was unhurt, but still buried under the heavy material. I fell to my knees, and began digging her out. Her eyes danced playfully, and again, I could feel myself losing control of my own emotions.

I made mention of her bed, and she offered to allow me to try laying upon it, something she immediately blushed at. I found no harm in this, and cannot imagine what she was thinking of. I laid back slowly, and I could smell her so very strongly. Again, a feeling I could never describe washed over me, drenching me, and I was slightly afraid. I jolted up, almost too quickly. She told me about her movement in her sleep, that she had dreams.

At this point, everything became sharp, crisp. My body raged hungrily, but I fought it down with practiced skill. I am a Cleric. I made top four in my graduating class. The Cross is far from elite, but well-trained. I would not give in to what I was feeling... unless Caoimhe demanded it of me. I would never resist her. Whatever she wanted of me - anything - she could have without question.

The way she expressed 'dreams', they sounded like nightmares. I quietly took in the knowledge, and gently laid back on the cushions.

Before I knew it, I was woken by a sharp pain in my left leg, in the shin. I curled my stomach tightly, quickly flashing back to my field training, how many times Bishop Daeru had driven us to paranoia that the exercise was live, that we could be ambushed by enemies of the Cross at any time. That all sorts of evil walked the woods in search of prey. My combat experience kicked in, and I went for my hammer... only to not find it there. Panic swelled, and my eyes became sharp in the low light.

I rubbed my leg, whimpering just a touch. The blow was more shocking than painful, but it had hit a tender location. As I gathered my wits about me, I realized I was asleep, next to Caoimhe. She was thrashing in her sleep, and it was her hooved foot that had smacked me it wasn’t her fault.

What was I doing in her bed?

It didn't matter, all I wished to know was that she was okay. In the dim light, I could only see her silhouette. My hand reached for her, and the moment I came in contact with her side, she instantly stopped, slumped back against the cushions below us, and went back to a peaceful slumber. I decided not to wake her, seeing that she was no longer in turmoil was good enough.

My mind began to race once again. Why was I in the room? I quickly remembered our conversation before I lost consciousness. She did not awaken me, ask me to leave her bed. In fact, she seemed a bit close to me. I'm sure it was just because of her rolling in her sleep that brought us to touch. That must be it.

I had to put down my feelings, and now I am done. I will make sure the ink dries, then I will seal my book, and I will take my place next to Caoimhe, hopefully not disturbing her in the process. I am beyond exhausted, mentally, physically, any way one can imagine to be. I made sure to tend to my leg, as to remove any possible bruising, to not make Caoimhe feel guilty for the accidental assault. Thank you, gods above, for the power you have bestowed upon me.

Again, all I ask is that Caoimhe loves. Again, I beseech you, on bended knees, that it need not be myself. This vessel is unworthy; what could I possibly offer her? I have never loved. I have no idea how. And - if she wished to become more physical - How would I possibl-

Day 13

Why did I back away from her? I know something deep inside told me that now was not the right time, but I'm not even quite sure. What would there ever be to fear from Caoimhe? Nothing. Nothing at all.

This is madness. Here I am, awake, shivering in a blanket I borrowed from her chambers a night ago, and even that can't help combat the cold. This chill is not in the air; this frost I feel from within.

Caoimhe must love, not waste her precious emotion upon me. Still, I will not deny her. Whatever she wishes, whatever I can offer, I will gladly give to see her smile. If faced with such again, I will not leave, despite what I may believe is 'for the best'. Then again, I am unsure there will ever be another chance. For me.

If such is my fate, so be it.

Events transpired as such today...

After awaking in my own bed, I realized I was writing in my journal. I left the last entry as such. I'm still not sure what I was thinking of in my half-sleep state. Caoimhe was already awake, she seemed saddened, disturbed. I hoped it was not my departure before the morning. I was to return. I was. She said she understood. I only hoped this was true.

The sweater she had chosen looked a bit tattered, but still looked very warm and fuzzy. It became her; then again, I am a bit biased. She brings out the best in everything. She was drinking tea, well-brewed, with a hint of jasmine. That is fast becoming my favorite aroma, right next to cinnamon, of course. She offered me some, and I almost drank half the cup before I realized what I was doing. She didn't seem to mind at all, giving me a beautiful smile.

She inquired what I wrote about. I told her, and it made me but slightly uncomfortable. What I write here is for me to remember. I may consider investing in some sort of magical camouflage or perhaps a wizard's lock for the tome. Ha, when I've got the extra coin just burning a hole in my breeches. That may take some time. Till then, I'll just have to be very careful.

Still, I don't see myself resisting if she demanded I hand it over. Ill or fair, I would deny nothing. How could I? These words are all from my heart.

Caoimhe must have noticed how nervous I was becoming, and quickly changed the subject; it was time to go to town, to gather my robe, and her blouse. The blue in the material, it was as if only seen in dreams, the kind you see only just before you are woken to face the day. Heavenly. Just like her.

We arrived in town. It appears there will be a new bakery soon. One can only wonder if their bread will be half as excellent as Tyson's. There were several others moving around in town, in fact, one came running right up to me.

It was Dante, the catboy I had seen several days before. He was quick to inform me of his new job, helping out as a clerk at the General Store, and he drew a blade on me, in a non-threatening manner of course. It was enchanted, a gift from Ehlanna. It appeared he had shown bravery, protecting his superior at the shop, which I can assume now is Mayalaya.

Caoimhe started to leave, and I could not keep her, so I quickly said my goodbyes to Dante, and followed alongside her. Tsuneko was in the shop, this being the second time I've seen the cat person. He looked to be busy with some other embroidery work, and had become distracted by our entrance. So much, in fact, that he stabbed his finger with a needle. He repaired himself with a wave of his hand, and seemed more interested that the cloth of his current project was not damaged by the crimson from his digit.

I received the robe, the embroidery was exquisite. It appeared the project was a joint- effort, with MacKnight doing the crafting of the robe itself, and Tsuneko stitching in the red boarders at the edges and the Crosses at the shoulders, sleeves, and across the back. Incredible. I took several minutes to inspect it; the seams, the handiwork, everything. All the material felt like it was from the same bolt. I'm not a tailor myself, but my hands are very sensitive to changes. When I was happy, I put it on. Perfect fit.

The next thing to come into my hands was the blouse. Again, I looked it over, with Caoimhe behind me. I stole a few glances. She was so adorable, her eyes shining as she waited for me to deposit the fabric into her hands. I couldn't help but give it another gentle rub; the way it slid through my hands was so very nice. It seemed to flow like liquid from my grasp to hers. Her reaction was priceless, and I watched her expression as she took hold.

Tsuneko was quick to see her eyes as well, telling her to go with her feelings, to try it on. She turned to me, asking if I minded waiting. Did I mind? Not at all. I was curious what MacKnight had done with the cut. He had her measurements from when she was fitted with armor, and had used those. The catboy cleaned around me, and I moved for him. She came out, and my entire being nearly flipped backward on the sheer sight. It was a very flattering fit, it hugged in all the right places. The color, however light, did not seem to look expanded in the light, much like white does when used to paint a room.

It was then that I could feel myself growing very much in want. I did my best to fight down my urges, and I can honestly say that I did a very good job, feeling myself only slip a few times throughout the time in town.

Next stop was the General Store. Dante was on duty, and he was very quick to gather what I requested. Mayalaya was also there, and seemed disappointed I did not greet her quickly. I was slightly wrapped in business, and so she spoke to Caoimhe, taking her over the jewelry section. Dante informed me to place here that he has officially given up thievery. How many people know I keep this? I need be much more careful before I crack it open in the Inn.

As the torian led the centauress to the jewelry counter, I gave sharp instructions to the catboy. That was the training coming out; I did not mean it to sound rude. He did not seem to take it as such, gathering for me a new satchel, a belt pouch with artisan’s cut - for the jars of ink I was to be getting - a pack of torches in an oilcloth, a flint and iron, and two writing kits. The jars and quills went into the beltpouch, and the twenty crisp sheets of parchment were placed in the tome to be punched and threaded later. It costed about half of what I have, but it was well worth it. I am now completely ready to assume my role in the Healer's Guild. Whenever it opens.

Dante was quick to note that with the way the two girls were looking over the polished metal and precious stones, I would leave with nothing. I barely stifled a laugh. Mayalaya was definitely doing a good job, trying to sell the wares before her, and if I had the coin, I would've gotten something more for Caoimhe. There was mention of an anklet that she could wear on one of her hind legs, looping the cannon, but designed not to slip too far down her fetlock. Silver or perhaps platinum, with an emerald inset. It would need to be rounded, no edges to snag or chafe.

I noticed Dante's advances toward Mayalaya, continually trying to make his presence known to her, but she was quick to shrug him off again and again. From what I overheard when we left the shop, Mayalaya is a very proud lady, that she would not be known as a person to drop and give pleasure at anyone's beck and call. She was a warrior, and I respected that.

Caoimhe lightly covered her front with the thick sweater to keep the chill off. I can only imagine the silk did nothing to fight down the cold that was starting to set in the air. Quietly, I followed her home, content to watch her walk. To watch the blouse flow up and down her form, accentuated in the moonlight. I was also somewhat distracted to the fact that I no longer had to shift the old satchel on my shoulder. It has served me well, but whoever crafted my new one seemed to vastly improve the design, it supporting the weight much better with no effort on my part.

She told me that she had a good time, that it offset the mood she had awoken to. The mood was not caused by me, but by a reoccurring dream. I will not share it here, but I will ask the heavens to instill wisdom, so that I may puzzle out its meaning. It's apparent it causes her deep distress. However, when I had touched her while she slept, she had gone back to a peaceful state. She informed me that her dream was interrupted, but was still a bit shaken. Speaking of shaken, she shivered lightly from the cold. She needed to be warmed.

I began a fire in the drawing room, but she then informed me that she wished it in her room. Not a problem, but I was beginning to lose the battle my body was waging. I was going to be venturing into her room, feeling like that... the prospect was beginning to grate on me. A moment of passion would have been quite pleasing, but I felt it would be cheating her of happiness later. Besides, what did I have to offer? What was so special about a Clergyman who hadn't fully matured, despite the twenty-two years which had come and gone?

I looked over her lightly, unprepared for what I saw.

The combination of the silk and the chill air was causing a highly visible hardness in her nipples. I tried not to stare, my eyes focusing on hers, and not finding anymore relief. Her dark eyes burned warmly, smoldering, and I could still easily see her chest, the way the fabric was beginning to stretch tight.

I turned, not wishing to intrude on her room, wanting her to open the door. It was then I turned and was just inches from her. How I wanted her then. I Still do. Mine is not the place to take, nor to ask. She turned the doorknob and gave it a gentle push, and I walked backwards through it, unable to break away from her gaze. Somehow, I did, and made a fire quickly in the place, bringing it to life. I arranged a few pieces of wood that I knew would burn long into the night, but would still need tending if they would last the hours.

My resolve was beginning to shatter, my will taking a serious beating, holding on only by the threads. If I did not leave then, I'm not sure what would have happened. There is no doubt in my mind I would have enjoyed it thoroughly, but I would have been riddled with guilt. She seemed so tender, and I would not wish to play on false emotions. For her to even remotely regret anything she would share with me would be too much for me to bear.

I cannot deny the shouts my body was giving me. I cannot deny what I saw in her eyes. I was barely keeping ahead of my own animal urges. If she had but whispered for me not to go, I would not be where I am now.

Still cold, still hollow, still scratching away on brand-new parchment, with an eagle feather quill, using an ink just a shade lighter than what I'm used to. Charcoal, not Raven.

Her fire will need tending, I only pray she hasn't set the latch on her door. I only hope I haven't been locked out of her life for my actions. I can justify until I'm blue in the face, and it still won't smooth over what I have done. I'm so sorry, Caoimhe. My actions were only the purest in thought, believe me. I want only for your happiness. If you wish a temporary slaking, then I shall be there for that as well. I will no longer act like I have the power to determine where you should go, what is best for you. This vessel will no longer resist you. Never again.

I am now going to tend her fire, and take a vigil over her at the foot of her bed. The heat will comfort me, and hopefully, I can be there if she begins to have that awful dream again. To touch her, to hold her. To never walk away.

Day 15

So many things to discuss. So many things transpired today.

I hadn't been to the Inn in a few days, and so I decided to stop by. Caoimhe hadn't woken, and I knew trodding around the manor would only serve to disturb her rest. Entering, I took a seat, and ordered a pear cider. Mayalaya was there, and the torian warrior nodded to an empty seat next to her. I complied, taking a seat, and getting her order as well, an apple cider. It seemed she wished to discuss something with me.

As I sat, another joined us. Thera, a half-elf. She was unsure of her last name, or perhaps was reluctant to share it with a perfect stranger. Mayalaya continued, asking if I had ever done anything that would be considered dishonorable. Before I could respond, she continued, informing me that a friend of hers had fought with Craven. Here is a name I do not like, a freelance seller of slaves and an accused rapist. One could only wonder what started this fight against him.

The torian told me that she had warned Craven that to fight her friend would mean she would face him as well. All three went to the arena, but Mayalaya kept her distance, figuring the two would be able to fight it out fairly enough. She was incorrect in her judgment, however, as Craven seemed to best his opponent quickly. He then raised his blade over his head, according to her recollection, with an intent to remove his existence from this realm. Then again, she said she couldn't be completely sure. I do not wish to judge prematurely, but he seems the kind of man who would do such an act; to dispatch a downed foe.

She attacked Craven from the rear, slicing into his back. Without warning. Quick, clean, precise, with the intent of stopping the possible deathstrike her friend, whom she would call 'brother', would suffer. She seemed so distraught. My hand graced her shoulder, and I told her her actions had only the purest intentions. The attack itself was a bit roguish, however, she did warn Craven that they, her friend and she, would fight as one if the independent slaver would face them. Her attack was also not malicious, a sharp thrust to his shoulder. From perhaps pain and shock, he crumpled in a heap, and she did no continued damage despite her advantage over him.

I could not find fault in her actions. I still cannot.

Thera seemed to be there, but her eyes far away. Perhaps she, too, has someone she loves. I can only imagine I must look like that when I think of Caoimhe. Mayalaya seemed to notice it too, for she gave her a glance. Another came forward, named Azrael, another torian I believe. He seemed to look my hand over before shaking it. Afterwards, he was very antisocial, and seemed to go and brood on something. Mayalaya informed me this was not uncommon for those of his wing color to be moody and loners. Dante showed up, and I informed him that I cataloged his reform here. Of course, I didn't show him, and teased him lightly on the subject. Thera needed some air, and parted company. Mayalaya followed her, fearful to the fact how she seemed lightheaded. Ever the guardian, my winged friend. I saw Iria again, it's been a very long time. I was glad she remembered me. She was busy writing. I was not aware she showed an interest in scribing. Her red spiky hair bounced as she approached my table, and she took a seat.

The catboy mentioned Snow, how he was having new feelings for her. I know Snow doesn't really like me, so I simply wished him the best. Iria and I shared what we were working on, just a bit, when Caoimhe showed up. Iria's a little ball of fire; she struck me with a sharp elbow shot as she addressed herself. I guess I was somewhat lost for words when my sweet centauress graced my presence. The winged one definitely caught my attention with the nudge.

I tried to order drinks for all of us, but Iria had to be off, and Dante seemed very intent on Craven, who had just shown up. He took his leave soon after. I gave Caoimhe a gentle hug, and asked if she had slept well. Our conversation was interrupted by someone's teleportation into the establishment. Caoimhe was very startled, but I had no idea who it was. I felt myself slip into a commanding mode, ready to take on any situation. Her eyes seemed questioning, as if she wasn't sure what she was seeing.

As she said his name, I turned. Zarias? It was him, but he seemed a touch better. Not as ragged, or bent, he was drinking mead at the bar. Caoimhe approached him, pulling me in tow as she moved. I was glad he was looking a touch better, if not leaning into his staff and the bar for most of his support. She asked if he needed anything as he slowly massaged the hair of a slave girl. The mead was all, he said. He then told Caoimhe that he was not happy with the way she left Unigo, and wished to rectify it as soon as possible.

I respect Zarias. He commands a lot of power. His place is necessary for Order to flow. But why did he feel it necessary to say that to Caoimhe? She only had his best intentions in mind. She felt for him, and all he could do is meander over his logistics. She moved away when dismissed, and I followed. I did not touch her, nor sit at the table she stood by. I asked if she was okay, and seemed to bring her out of a trance. She leaned against me, her head on my shoulder. She spotted someone, a girl in purple and white, whom she knew to be called Serra. She was very shy; I believe it to be my fault. I'm sure she is more open to Caoimhe, even though the centauress told her that I could be trusted completely.

More than words, that statement was. I am grateful to hold her trust. Serra had nothing to drink, so I offered to get her something. I felt Caoimhe's hand fall upon mine, fingers interlocking with mine. I gave a gentle squeeze, having to release to get the drink for Serra. She would join us in our drinking of Pear Cider. Some poor girl tried to drink the vile mess that Grunt chugs like water. She seemed okay, getting over the initial shock to her body, and I left her, hoping she wouldn't suffer later for her choice.

I returned to the table, the bottle of pear cider and a clean mug in hand, and I saw a much more pleased reaction that Serra visually produced. Sweet Caoimhe, she brings out the best in everyone. I questioned myself, if my presence there was more harm than help. I filled the mug, and placed it before her. Caoimhe's hand laid across my thigh, and my own hand lightly draped across hers. Serra seemed troubled again, and she asked if she was intruding. Caoimhe brushed Serra's cheek with the back of her hand, reassuring her that she was not. This time I was verbal; I didn't want the fair-haired one to be under any stress from my presence.

Serra continued to be silent, and the moment was broken by a dark elf slamming his hip into Caoimhe. I didn't notice the motion until it was too late. She was quick to apologize for being in his way, and he had nothing but a contemptible response to her. This was the same Shaka that was to butcher Tyson for standing up for someone? A Dark, Dark power indeed. It was all I could do to stare at the table and hold my tongue.

So, twice my lady had been insulted. Twice she was nice to those who would be harsh with her. I stroked her hand gently, in a comforting way. About this time, someone from behind nudged me sharply. I would learn the tall elven slave girl's name to be Gaelicia. It appears she was recently collared, tricked by Sakkara to wear the thing at her throat. It was all I could do to comfort her. If I had the ability, I would have cast the bondage aside, as she was unwilling to be bound to it, but as a registered slave from the guild, to attempt such would bring me a quick end.

I took her hand for comfort, which seemed to help her mood a touch, and I only barely caught the other two girls at the table whispering back and forth, giving small smiles. The K that begins my name is hard to miss, even in whispers, and I know it arose more than once. Gaelicia's departure was slow and decidedly attractive, the way she walked drew my quick notice, and I am not one to stare at anyone, save for Caoimhe. Sadly, I can see why she was captured.

I had another sip, and offered to refill both the girls' mugs, but noticed they both had barely sipped theirs. Serra enjoyed the pear cider, and looked ready to ask something, but then a small tragedy struck. Dante rushed in, calling my name. I remember the first time he needed my assistance, to help Craven. I was sure this would be much of the same thing. As he described Thera's condition in town, Caoimhe was already six paces ahead of me. I was ever so glad to have her there, as she was a much more experienced healer than I. Serra did not follow us for some reason.

It appears Thera has a curse. One that Caoimhe had no way to remove, and it be told that there is no cure for. She appeared as to die right in front of us, her lips going blue, her already fair skin growing even more pale as we watched. She bled from her mouth, any breath drawn had a sickening gargle to it, and it saddened me to know that there was nothing anyone could do to help. Caoimhe did put a wrote on her to allow her to rest, which was good. I offered to help her to her residence with a make-shift gurney, but Caoimhe said she would just carry her. Thera may be quite light, but I didn't realize Caoimhe to be that strong. Never judge a book, I guess.

Another slave girl, who we found out to be named Alex, knew the way, and directed us there. Caoimhe suggested I gather her something to take her mind off of Thera while she slept in a room near us. I found something fairly strong, and got a second glass for Caoimhe. She had barely touched her cider, and I had had enough to drink for the day. Our conversation was light, until Alex asked us to stay, in case Thera was to awaken and be in the merciless grip of the pain of the curse. Caoimhe readily agreed, and I stayed for her sake as well. There would be nothing I could do, except keep my lovely centauress company.

Caoimhe made sure to visit Thera's bedside once again, exhausting herself further by placing various healing spells upon her. The motions appeared to drain her to a very docile state. Alex led her by the arm to the quarters where we would sleep. One bed, and a touch high. I offered it to her, but then realized it would be difficult for her to sleep upon it anyway. I sat upon it, trying to pull off my right boot as I spoke my mind. I told Caoimhe of how I felt, how she seemed to make everyone's day a touch more special, how her very presence seemed to lighten even the darkest of moods. Just as I was about to tell her how she seemed to know how to do everything perfectly, she went and made an example, pulling my boot off with a light tug.

I continued, telling her how I was angered by Zarias and Shaka's disrespect towards her, and that she showed her feelings, so very sweetly, something that others should try. She seemed quite embarrassed by the barrage of compliments that she did not look at me. Somehow, I found the courage to slide my hand, which had fallen atop her shoulder, to brush lightly against her neck. She did not resist the motion, her breathing paused. I removed my hand slowly, wanting to linger there a few moments longer. To feel my bare skin upon her own. She kissed my cheek, and I kissed hers back.

Her eyes still did not look on mine, and barely looked open. She whispered a goodnight, and crouched to the floor. I was quick to pull the blanket from the bed, and offer it to her. She slid it around herself, falling almost instantly asleep. I tucked it in around her, pressing my lips to her forehead.

I removed my robe and cap, my satchel, belt pouch and hammer. Placing the tome into my hand, I then wrote what is now here. I am ready for some sleep. The bed is not far from her sleeping form, but I will not intrude upon her space. She is so very tired, and will need rest in case we are awakened by Alex for assistance. I only wish I could be more help.

Light and Cross, thank you, again, for allowing me to be part of Caoimhe's life.

Day 16

Precious parchment is wasted upon this entry, but I will chronicle this day anyway.

Alex did not need Caoimhe's skills throughout the night, and so we gathered up our belongings and went home. The day was spent making the manor spotless, inside and out. I am glad for my childhood training of being taught to climb trees; although I am often clumsy, scaling a tree is no problem at all. I was able to ascend to the top of the cottage and remove leaves and other things from the roof. Twice I thought I was going to fall off, but I kept my balance well enough.

The meal was good, with Tyson's bread making the staple once again. Tomorrow, I will need to gather more firewood, as the nights are starting to become a touch more chilly. I got everything done, save for that. Needless to say, there is not a speck of dust in the entire manor, all from good old-fashioned elbow grease.

I spent some time reorganizing my tome, shuffling papers around, and getting rid of the previous letters I wrote to my parents, never to be sent. I'd rather bury that part of my past, and look on only to the future, uncertain as it may be.

It is now time for rest. How I do love sleeping beside Caoimhe. I hope she never has that dream again. I will not question why the gods have not delivered its meaning to me, but I am glad that it has stopped since I have been nearby her. I love her so very much, and pray for the day when she feels again inside her the way I feel about her right now.

Sweetest of dreams, Caoimhe.

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