Meditation?

I’m… I… things-

There are a few attempts at writing, which are heavily scratched out, before something coherent begins.

I’m s’posed to take up… meditating now, as part’ve a type’ve trainin’. I guess that writing what I think or feel wouldn’t hurt that any. Help me… help me get some’ve what’s maybe buzzin’ in my head too loud down unto paper, down in a book where I can shut it when I’m done.

I don’t want to sound like things are worse than ‘fore, ’cause they really ain’t. I think I’m gonna get better, be strong, less runnin’ and more holdin’ ground. Least, that’s what I’m hopin’ for.

Verrin and me’ve decided to become brother’n sister, after a fashion. We understand each other, and we’ve both caused each other a world’ve hurt–maybe it’d be better to cut our losses and not have nothin’ to do with each other any more, but this’d just be one more thing I’d be runnin’ from. Sides, it’s my responsibility to stand with him where I can, after I… after I tore down everything else he had. I can’t abandon him and save myself.

The Silverlord’s taken up trainin’ me, and that’s also part’ve why I’m s’posed to be meditatin’ or whatnot. Want’s to teach me not to run, or somethin’–which is an awful nice thought, but I don’t think there’s no trainin’ you can offer that teaches a person that. They just gotta learn by example, and I figure maybe that’ll work out.  The personal attention by a superior any somethin’ I’m much used to, but the lessons are valuable ’nuff. It’s more responsibility, though, ‘nother person directly lookin’ over me and seein’ that I do go and mess things up.

Few nights ago, at the meetin’, I was promoted to Guardian. The first time I was offered promotion was a while back, when… when I’d first got a glimpse’ve a memory, got a glance at the vicious thing that lives under my skin somewhere. Was also when I’d turned Zaliron away, and felt like everythin’ was too close and that I didn’t have the distance to uphold that new rank. Now… now I’m gonna try, rather than runnin’. I wasn’t definitely ready then, and maybe I ain’t really ready now, but I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

This is… this is important ’cause’ve what else it meant. I…

I can’t be strong, can’t stop runnin’ if I’ve always got someone to run to. Someone that… that maybe I unfairly built my hopes ’round as bein’ not part’ve the rest’ve my life. And that ain’t fair. It ain’t fair to maybe attach your romantic feelin’s to someone on the grounds that you’re hopin’ you never got to worry ’bout it interferin’ with your ‘real’ life, your life’ve duty.

I think I regret that more’n anything, what I did to Kaste. If I had only… if I had only stopped and thought ’bout it, just taken a damn second to think- I could’ve stopped it from becomin’ what it did. ‘Course, I was convinced that I didn’t have the time, didn’t have the right frame’ve mind, that it wouldn’t have mattered. I wanted a gods-damned place to hide once the Verrin stuff was all taken care’ve, and it wasn’t till afterwards that I realized that that… it ain’t right to love someone just for what they represent, not what they are. I… I know I love Kaste right as a friend, that that’s for who he is, but my romantic feelings were too hung ’round escapism. Was the same gods-damned way with Zaliron, and that ain’t right.

Gonna try to learn from my mistakes though. Ain’t gettin’ romanticly involved with no one no time soon, far as I’m concerned.

What doesn’t kill you…

Roughly three pages are completely filled with what seems to be the same phrase, over and over again. The letters are disjointed, and standard punctuation and spacing appears to be used very infrequently. In one of the more legible cases, the phrase reads as: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’. Eventually, more coherent writing emerges.

Or maybe that’s just what people gotta tell themselves, so they can feel like they’re movin’ forward ’stead of in circles all the time. I don’t feel stronger. I just feel kind’ve… broken.

I hate this, I hate all’ve this.

Worrying Over Nothin’

Zaliron wasn’t mad ’bout me seeing his mother, wasn’t mad ’bout the potion, wasn’t even mad that I kissed Kaste. He told me that he didn’t blame me for it, that I couldn’t be held ‘ccountable for the effects of a potion, and then said something with “ain’t” and everything. I don’t even think he’s gonna smear Achates ‘cross a wall or nothin’!

I helped pick up his house after the recent mess, and I realize that I’m seein’ it like a… home. It’s scary and dizzyin’, really. This ain’t something that I can… leave at any time, not anymore. I can’t just get up and walk away.

He said he loved me.

I want to know that I love him too. I think I’m broken, ’cause every time I think ’bout what love means, all I can think of is loyalty. I’m loyal ’nuff to put even some’ve those Blood Knights and Priests to shame, so that ain’t the problem. Is that what love is? Loyalty so strong I’d drown in my own blood rather’n see him like he was when Arathael hurt him?

I think…

I think things are gonna work.

Love Potion?

There are times when I think Achates gets run down a little too much, that he’s well meaning enough, even if it backfires.

Other times I think I’d like to string him up and light a fire under his feet.

I’m not even so angry as I am just… kind’ve shamed. It ain’t gonna be pretty explaining things to Zaliron. ‘Oh yes, you see, while you were hurtin’ and alone at the Inn, I was in your house… making rather obscene advances on Kaste. Sorry ’bout that, no harm done?’

I don’t see it goin’ over well, love potion excuses or not.

Events are cowards. Can’t ever fight alone.

Mazikeen sits in the corner of a small inn room, exhausted and slumped in her chair. The journal is open on her lap, and it seems to take a great force of will for her to move the quill tip across the pages. A little further off a figure sleeps fitfully on the bed, tossing and mumbling.

It started a few nights ago. Alkaiser said he wanted to speak with Zaliron, and I s’pose I just figured it’d be a few harsh words. Guilt ain’t anything new to me, but I should’ve done something. My luck though, interfering then would’ve just made the situation worse.

He didn’t show up at his house that night, and I guess I didn’t think much of it. I know what it’s like to have business that runs over-long. The next day I found a note in my mail from Verrin, the new mage, askin’ me to meet him. It was as vague as that, and curiosity ain’t something that can be easily denied.

He wants me to teach him how to fight dirty. I don’t know what to make of him, only that something ’bout him makes me feel uncomfortable–not because he don’t understand what I am, but because he does. I… well, to make short of it, ’cause it ain’t my primary concern right now, I said yes.

A voice rose from the corner–murmuring something incoherent about demons and fear. Mazikeen roughly brushed a tear from the corner of her eyes, which fell and smudged the ink on the paper.

I can’t believe what they did to him. It ain’t right, you can’t… Gods. I talked to Alkaiser even, and I’ve never imagined myself as someone to do anything like the sort (I might not be the most ardent follower, but I try to keep my peace, ’specially under leaders).

A leader doesn’t break someone that pledges their life to him–or allow a second-in-command like Arathael to do it. It’s… it’s pathetic and wrong and the worst kind’ve betrayal. And I know what it looks like–I go to Alkaiser and he assumes that it’s just ’cause me and Zaliron take our nights together. I ain’t stupid. I know that Zaliron is arrogant, and I know it’s gotta be fixed.

But they didn’t do that. He’s… he can’t even go near demons. He’s been staying in an inn.

Damn them both.

Damn myself for not being more forceful when I talked to Alkaiser. I shouldn’t've settled for what he thought were rational words. He made a mistake. Nobody ever deserves to be hurt like that by someone they’re s’posed to trust. My faith in the leadership of the Guard suffered s’first blow, and I guess for that it stings even more.

I got Zaliron to come out here to Farstrider Retreat, away from Silvermoon. Fetched a few pillows and robes for him, tryin’ to help him get comfortable. Looked like something had ripped through the house, and his demons weren’t happy that I didn’t leave ‘em with any answers. I ain’t much’ve one for conversing with demons, and the only thing I could tell ‘em was to wait some more. And at least get the damned door back on its hinges.

I want to protect Zaliron, and I want to see him better, but I’m sore over some of Alkaiser’s words. He told me that I was a good influence on Zaliron, and I wanted to spit something hard and mean back in his face, but I was too busy cowering and being ’sensible’. I wish people weren’t so damned sure that I’m a good person–well, I mean, it ain’t my job to fix anyone. I don’t want that responsibility. I can’t bear that responisibility.

‘Sides, why in the Nether should it be MY job, or ANYone’s job, to fix the messes of our humble, righteous leaders?

And now? Now I’m angry. All I can do is sit and seethe while the rest’ve the Guard take their digs at Zaliron, and if I speak he looks weaker, or I look over-protective.

Part of me doesn’t care. Part of me wants to say to the Nether with ‘em all, and the next one with a snide comment about Zaliron will get their tongue skewered to the roof of their mouth.

I want to see him strong again.

I will see him strong again. The rest’ve ‘em can choke on dynamite. I’d even be so kind as to light the fuse.

Mazikeen sighs, the momentary rush of anger fading and leaving her with less energy than before. She closes the journal, tosses it back into a bag near her feet. Looking around, it is still very dark inside of the room, save for a few small candles near the bed (she didn’t want Zaliron to wake up in darkness in the middle of the night)–it won’t be morning for a few more hours.

And, from her seat, she knows they will be long hours. Thinking hours. She leans her head back to the wall behind the chair, and watches over the troubled Warlock.

She does not sleep.

Just Passin’ Time

The Faire, even if it wasn’t all set up, was a welcome break from the rest’ve the world.  We tossed a few balls back and forth, and acted like people that ain’t in the business of violence for a living.

Zaliron got hammered, and much as maybe I should’ve warned him off drinking anymore, I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. Whenever someone gets drunker than hell and falls all over himself, I dunno, there’s something ’bout it that takes the evil out’ve him. I mean, he was there lying in the dirt and rambling! Maybe I’ve been worrying over nothin’, right?

And damn, I’m fine with that, even if it’s got the taste of denial to it.

Sea Songs and More

Couple days ago we attacked some of the Dwarf territories. Felt good to be working as a group, seeing everyone fighting at once. Not sure if Aysera was too pleased with it all, but she didn’t say nothing to me about it. I can get why some folks don’t like the fighting; more’n more I get the feeling that even I’m a shade less violent than some of the Guard. Or that I ain’t got the taste for it in the same way.

At the meetin’ after, back in Silvermoon, Sophiel sung us a couple’ve songs. The one that sticks in my head the most was ’bout the sea. I ain’t got any special attraction to the sea, but ain’t it true that all songs ’bout the sea are really ’bout something else anyway? For a sailor lust for the sea is the same as  a greedy person’s lust for money, or the lust of power for those that gotta mind towards it.

What’s my sea then? Some people’re easy to figure out: glory, fame, means. I sure won’t say that none of those ‘ppeal to me, but they ain’t what drives me. So what does? What’s the thing that I could spenda lifetime chasin’ knowing hopelessly that I ain’t ever gonna catch it?

Dunno. Don’t wanna try to find out anytime soon, neither. Questions like that just stir up hurtin’, and what I learned ’bout my past is still too damned fresh in mind. Probably ain’t much difference in running from it than running towards it anyway. I’m no philosopher, but something in me says that those’re just two roads leading to the same clearin’ at the end of the day anyway.

Zaliron got into a bit’ve trouble with the Silverlord, which I’m hoping blows over smooth ’nuff. I know it reflects back on me, and I guess that don’t sit too well with me. I don’t get mad with Zaliron for it, but it makes me angry at myself. I shouldn’t be so ‘fraid of what the rest’ve the Guard will think’ve us. I mean, it’s a poorly kept secret how we’ve been spending our evenings (and afternoons, and some mornings…), and no one’s made a fuss’ve it yet, so why do I feel guilty ’bout it?

Guilty conscience, maybe. And I guess that I can’t help but feel like I’ll be pitied, or some such. I remember full well how Kaste asked if Zaliron had poisoned me, the night of the party. S’funny maybe a few times, but you don’t live s’long as I have, the way I have, by being unobservant. People’ll think that I’m in line for gettin’ a broken heart (or some broken bones, ‘ccording to what Ysabelle said, heh). Act like I’m a poor little thing, like an animal that’s too dumbstruck to know it’s about to get clubbed in the head and served for dinner.

S’hard not to be bitter, ’specially because I don’t think Aysera approves. Least she ain’t treating me like something to be pitied. I confide in her more’n anyone else, and it stings to know that she ain’t happy with it. Can’t out and blame her for it, though.

Things’re better.

Things are better.

Of course, they were worse ‘fore they did get better, but there ain’t nothing new about that, is there?

I went and saw Aysera the day after the party. Can’t say the timin’ was probably the best, being mixed up as I was, but I don’t think I’d've been able to force myself to do it if I hadn’t been feelin’ pretty damn low already. The more time I had to think about Zaliron, the more’n I felt like I’d been a fool.

What’d the Silverlord tell me? Something like, “Even a fool can love more than he’s worth”, right? That ate me up something fierce. ‘Course Zaliron don’t love me or anything like that, but the more I stepped back, the more I saw that he believed what he said to me–the stuff about wanting to prove himself, that he did care for me.

That kind of power… ain’t nothing I’ve asked for. Tore a hole in me that I wasn’t expecting. I carried that on my shoulders when I went to see Aysera, and I’m sure I looked like I’d walked ‘cross the world and back. I let myself into her house which I shouldn’t've done, but I wasn’t thinking all too clearly.

I think what I saw about my past might’ve broken something in me. When I was younger, and I’m not exactly all that old in my nineties anyway, after the Sunwell exploded, I went lookin’ for my mother. I found a bad man on the way, and… well I hurt him, and then killed him. The killing isn’t anything new, but I can’t get the memory out’ve my head now. The hate that I felt was so strong that even now I can taste it, all metallic, like blood in my mouth.

The worst part is… it felt strong. I feel like part’ve me is crumbling, knowing that I ain’t a good person. I never thought I was, ya know, a saint or anything: but I’ve never really liked the idea of causing anything else pain. If I’ve liked fighting or even killing, that’s cause’ve the speed and the rush–not because I wanna cause any suffering.

That hate though, that desire to reach out and hurt someone that would’ve liked to hurt me, or someone I cared about? That’s got something innit that calls to me, and I think that frightens me a bit. I know what hate does, what festerin’ anger does–I’ve seen too damn many of my kind fall to it in the dark hours after the destruction of the Sunwell. It’ll rot you out and leave nothing behind.

The next day the Silverguard held a meeting, and after the Silverlord warned us to be detached, I was offered promotion to the rank of Guardian. I declined, though I felt stupid and ’shamed for it. But I ain’t no liar, and it would’ve been a lie to act like I was ready to be detached. Took all I had to keep from running away, hiding somewhere, though Lady Kar’lei told me that she didn’t think any less’ve me.

Afterwards Zaliron met me in the Inn–where I had planned on drinking myself dumb. He– I–

Well, we’re together now. That night I got better sleep than I think I’ve gotten in months. Even now part’ve me feels guilty. If I was a good person, how could I’ve slept under a roof that houses that machine? But I did (and more), and I would again. Will again.

I woke up early that first morning, and had nearly half my armor back on ‘fore I could get control over the panic that was all screaming in my bones. I was terrified–knowing where I was, who I had been with, what it might mean…

Then I looked over my shoulder, at Zaliron still sleeping (looking a fair deal less haughty and proud). Was the feeling like getting up your nerve to do something, only to have something go and dissolve the will in you. All quiet I took my armor back off and slipped back between his sheets. It was warmer than his big room and his big house, and I think I was sleepin’ again in the next minute. Maybe he was right about laying down responsibility for a bit. Maybe you can close your eyes to it.

Can’t tell for sure, but I’m wondering if this is what it feels like to be damned.

A Formal Party

Mazikeen sat in a corner of her room in the Silverguard Halls. The Rogue didn’t keep a home of her own, though her mother’s old house (much of it repaired by those who had fond memories and old debts to the healer) was officially under her care. This was how she liked it–permanent homes frightened her a bit: if the need should arise, she liked the idea that she could get up and walk out of a place and not be leaving anything valuable behind.

Now however, those weren’t the foremost things on her mind. The door to the room was locked, and she was curled up in the corner furthest away from it. Any furniture that was orginally there had been pushed out of the way. It would be hard to see her, having made her body so small–but it wasn’t for show, or because she expected any kind of intrusion. Her body language mirriored how she felt: little and confused, backed into a tight space. Her journal was resting against her propped up knees, and beside her, resting on the floor, was a rose that had mostly dried now, after being pressed between the pages of the large leather-bound book.

In one hand she held the quill she was writing with, and in the other a well-crafted, brightly shimmering necklace.

Damn it.

Just, damn.

The formal party was tonight. Generally I’m not one to get well, overly excited ’bout parties. And for good reason, so it seems. I just… just wanted a good night. A happy night. Lisette even convinced me that I should go in a dress, and I did!

Started off well ’nuff. ‘Parently Achates even had a date, which was heart-warming in it’s own way. Zaliron made a scene of that, must’ve laid his pride low. Then he made a scene outta Miralan’s formal attire (though I s’pose it’s kinda hard t’blame him for that–was a bit shocking). Few minutes later he asked me to dance.

I probably should’ve said no, and been blunt ’bout it. Truth is though, much’s I tease Zaliron (gods know I ain’t the only one, or the worst one) there’s a part’ve me that’s curious. Maybe just curious ’cause of how much everyone else seems t’dislike him, maybe curious ’cause for all’ve how he treats Achates and dresses like a king, he’s a fool around women. Instead… ’stead I drew Aysera into it, which I’m sure she ain’t none too happy about. Told ‘im I’d dance with him if Aysera would dance with someone. Didn’t mean for it to be anything more’n playing, but Zaliron took it hard. Guess there’s only so many jokes you can have at someone’s expense ‘fore it sinks in.

Aysera ended up dancing with Erunen, so I kept my word. Zaliron didn’t seem so pleased at first, but after a bit of coaxing he allowed me to keep my end of the deal. We danced for a bit, and he… offered me a necklace that he had made. I was a bit stunned, honestly. I accepted. Why? Damn it.

It was going beyond just being playful, beyond just having a good time. I should have ended it. I had thought, Zaliron of all people, for all his flirting, would understand just wantin’ to have some fun. I should have thought more about it… but… I know I ain’t the prettiest of girls. I don’t paint my face in any make-up, or dress in the best clothes. I know I ain’t what Zaliron would be really lookin’ for, and that doesn’t bother me. I’m a big girl, right? I can handle knowin’ that. It was just nice to feel almost like one of those pretty soft girls for once. Nothin’ I’d like doin’ on a regular basis, but, well, it was nice while it lasted.

The Troll Kaste had come with Ysabelle. I guess she’s made outta harder stuff than I’d've thought, iff’n she’s willing to open herself up to the ridicule that might’ve come down on her shoulders. I’ve got no problem with Kaste, or at least, had none. It’s a tough lot in life, being a Troll that has a lot’ve dealings with Elves, and I’m not fool ’nuff to deny that. Kaste and Zaliron have some bad blood, which I’m sure Ysabelle’s got a stake in if I remember Zaliron’s branding ceremony.

Kaste told me… well, announced it really… that Zaliron had a machine in his basement that he uses to torture creatures, like Trolls, for fun. Achates andYsabelle were quick to assert that yes, this was true, each in their own way.

The ink was smeared here, where Mazikeen stopped. When the nervous trembles of anger ran their course, she began writing again.

I don’t know who to be more angry with–Zaliron becuase of the fact that he would have such a machine, or Kaste and Ysabelle for using the opportunity to attack him. They say that they wanted to ‘protect’ me, and I believe this to some extent…

…but I’m not a fool. I was used. I was the tool they used to get to him–and in public, during a party! Ysabelle even went s’far as to say that she didn’t want to see me ‘bruised up’ or some such, after her husband did the same to her. T’say such a thing at a formal gathering, such an accusation, and what’s more imply that I wouldn’t be able to handle myself–against Zaliron?

What sets my blood to boil is that she said that I could handle myself, just a few moments before the tensions hit their peak. Then she turns around, and says something like this? That kind of ‘conduct’ only makes me that much more sure that it wasn’t about saving me at all. Right then I felt like that damned dress was a joke, the night was a joke. I am what I am, and that ain’t something that’s gonna be manipulated so bluntly.

Maybe it was the wake-up-call I needed though: if I am what I am, that sure don’t include something Zaliron could ever really want. It’d be stupid and cruel of me to pretend otherwise, whether it meant tryin’ to fool him or me or both of us.

And there is that machine. How… gods. Achates was right. Part of me is interested, but every other fiber of my being is in revolt. Rogue business ain’t exactly pretty, and I’ve never fooled myself that Warlock business’d be any better. Knowing this, and seein’ how he treats Achates, I can’t refuse to believe my own damn eyes. There’s somethin’ in him that enjoys feelin’ strong by making others feel weak, whether’r not he says he’d never use sucha machine for “fun”.

But I’d be damned more’n a thousand times over ‘fore I’d play a saint. Most of me’s very clear about leavin’ well enough alone, and letting Zaliron find someone more like him, even if it means him hatin’ me in the long run. But there’s this gods-damned nagging feeling in my gut that’s insistin’ that I’m a liar if I tell myself that I’m any less corrupt; the same part of me that would almost want to see that machine. It’s the same part that doesn’t care if I ain’t what’s best for Zaliron, that says I shouldn’t bother caring whether or not I end up hurting him or he hates me a day from now, and that I should go to him. I tell myself I can’t do that, because I’m not like that, I’m not that selfish. I’m not the kinda person that can knowingly step inside of someone else’s heart and take everything I can, without regard.

So why do I feel this aching in my bones, something crying out hungrily that ‘Like calls to like‘, and I can tell myself whatever I want, but it don’t change a damn thing?

Mazikeen stopped, and rubbed at her temples with an exhausted sigh.

I got the potions from Karios today. She was happy to oblige, in return for my protection of her business. I trust her.

I don’t know if I should wait, but I do know that I won’t. Maybe this’ll help take my mind off’ve Zaliron and that mess. I’ll go to Aysera tomorrow. Doubt I’ll be able to sleep, so I suppose I’ll just go prowling ’bout Silvermoon for a while.

Though obviously tired out of her mind, Mazikeen closed the book. For a while she sat in silence–and a serious of violent shudders overtook her, and for a second it seemed like she wanted to cry. Fighting to regain her composure, the Rogue balled her hands into fists and stood. Tossing the journal to her bed, she opened the window in her room, and slipped out–easily scaling down the wall and then dropping to the city street below.