An example of Nwalme's "grammar" and "spelling"
Ced: sed
Basil: bAsil
House: hOus
Arrow: ArO
"What's a comma?"
Day Eight
I'd rather just forget Day Six and Seven.
Arrived at Master's forge today, and he took note of my cudgel. Suggested that, for a more ranged option, I took some blunt arrows. Unsurprisingly, he didn't mention that I lacked my staff.... Master is a good Elf like that, understands that I've got my own demons and he should just let them rest, or let me deal with them in my own time.
Gave me the blunt arrows, of course. Nothing that wonderful, only going to further mis-match all the arrows I've currently got with me. Taught me where to aim, especially if the adversary is armored. He says that, if you aim at an armored adversary right, the arrow will go right through them. But not the blunt ones.... The blunt ones will just dent it real bad, not a very pleasant experience for whoever's beneath the plate.
Asked Master today, just sitting around eating the broth his wife cooked, why the Human blacksmiths and the Elven ones look so different. Look close, you'll see that none of the Elves look that... strong; while on the other hand the Human ones look like monsters in tunics. Some do, anyway. He thought for awhile, just nodding his head and eating out of his bowl, eventually he shrugged and said that he wasn't quite sure. Just assumed it had something to do with the way Elves and Humans were different. Elves are just naturally thin, wiry, what have you. Humans, though, vary madly. Some Humans are short as Dwarves, or taller than Elves. Fat as a hog, or skinny as a willow branch. Some have beards that Dwarves would envy, or their chins are as hairless as a Halfling's. Their tempers and personalities vary just as much, he says. Master's been in this world for over two hundred years. I simply took his word for it.
Day Nine
So, I'm bored.
My arm's still throbbing, it'll scar and I doubt an infection, but oh well. Scars tell memories, this one isn't a completely bad one.
I was walking through the Capital, hoping there was a fight going on. Instead, I found the most idiotic arse I've ever seen; a Dark Elf claiming to be the prince to all the Elves.... Acted courteous enough, but I suppose he saw through the polite smile. Twit was as spoiled as they come.... Pulled a blade on me, but there are still good people in this world. Some Human, dunno who, decided to walk up behind him and pull out some giant bloody axe he had. Long story short, the arses ran off, but another Darkling came up, and the axeman apparently has an absurdly loose tongue. He apologized after I threatened to club him, but the Darkling wasn't taking it. Swung at the twit, and their styles cancelled eachother out. Axeman wore peasant plate, so he wasn't the most dextrious at the time. Albeit, the Darkling tried to punch him at one point, and I swear I heard his knuckles shatter. No matter, though. Another axeman, without the peasant plate but horribly incompetent, decided to come by then and also helped. They both helped, I'd be telling a different story if they weren't there, but I'm relatively sure it was my bow that got him good. Fell at one point, and when he sprung up he charged me, at this point I had my longbow out and when he charged me I fired. Wasn't really aiming, not much anyway, but the Gods are good, and the arrow went right in his stomach. By then the Darkling Prince returned... and the carrion birds. I swear, the citizens of the Capital are exactly like the bloody things. They all came during the aftermath, well after we'd won and the axemen walked off to buy some ale, and started badgering me.... By the Pantheon, I was half-tempted to just club them all off. I did that to the Darkling Prince, but only because the arse doesn't know his place in this world and tried to stick me with his blade again. Well, sort of. Clubbed him, and the arse fell over into the harbor.... They were all gawking and pointing, and at that point I just gave up in favor of walking off.
Earlier today I saw Tyrin, apparently he shattered something important in his leg and Baz wasn't in to help him.... I wish Ilavi and him many pleasant summers together. I don't care, to be honest. Wouldn't of worked out, anyway. They'll both die before I'm old. Well, well before I'm old....
Been thinking of my mother recently. Father says I don't look much like her, I'm of a mind to agree.... Excepting the eyes, of course. Father says that the Pantheon gave me her eyes. One time, Father claimed they were more black than blue, but he was drunk then. Doesn't matter. I'll never see her, except in my dreams. Even then, that isn't her. That's just who I hope she was, who she might still be today if the Pantheon were less cruel. Father blames the midwife, tells me he did justice that day.... I was born when he was insane, I tell myself that she deserved it, I tell myself that too often. Father never learned, never learned that avenging family doesn't bring them back.
I don't even know... I know it's a stupid, worthless, thing to do, but I try not to think about it. Nothing good comes from that, but it makes life easier.
At least I don't drink.
Day Ten
I just had a thought.
I'm sitting in the middle of the Mead, sitting in the shadows listening to the local peasants and carrion birds gossip, and... I'm a horrible person. What if Tyrin and Ilavi had children? I can't get the thought of Humans with movable ears, tails... I'm horrible, but the thought's just hilarious.
I should probably amend that, though. I'm not sitting, truth be told I'm standing, with the bow and quiver on the floor near me. You'd be amazed how little people notice black-robed individuals when they stand in shadow and it's the middle of the night. Albeit, now that I'm scribbling, one or two of the people who aren't overly useless from ale and wine and what-have-you have noticed me.
I should ask Master for a crossbow some time, considering I've the strength to use a longbow that's larger than a lot of the people I see from time to time. First, though, I need bodkin arrows. Sure, the regular arrows work fine against the peasant plate I've come against, but what if some nobles against the king suddenly find themselves drunk on power and fine wine and wander into the Capital? Albeit, drunkards wouldn't put up much resistance, and I'm not as horrible with a sword as I was, but still. I much prefer the longbow, and drunkards tend to stumble and lurch in every other direction but where they intend to go; which makes them relatively hard targets to shoot at if they're even vaguely far away.
Speaking of that, I've come to wonder if I could break someone's knee with my longbow and blunt arrows. I know, for a certainty, that the regular arrows would stick halfway into him no matter where I aimed, but what of the blunt ones? It would certainly be a useful tactic, then again I should just shoot someone in the elbow and render that useless, too.
Apparently, crops aren't growing very well at the moment.
Oh, and Maggie is wearing a ring again, but her husband died a year ago. Wonder who's charmed the Elfling?
Oh, and did you know Jeffrey's son shows signs of being a Darkblood? Day he was born, it was raining like mad, but the clouds never passed over the sun. Jeffrey and the wife have, apparently, come to the conclusion that they might be able to beat Grief out of him with the strap.
I am oh, oh so bored.... Genuinely considering finding out where Jeffrey lives and stealing away his son, but I know he'll live, even if he is a Darkblood- which I doubt. Certainly better treatment than what Father did from time to time. He'd snatch me out of bed, conjure up a flame, and burn me alive. I certainly tread carefully when Father was drunk; he would do nothing at first, just keep talking and rambling about things I didn't care about at the time.... Though, when he got up to leave, he'd always say the same thing. "Now, boy, I don't care about what you were planning on doing. I expect you back here, tommorow."
Never called me son, sometimes he would call me bastard, but that was it. Never claimed me as a son, never would say I was his, even in private. I like to pretend I don't know why he did this, but we both know. We know too well.
Thinking back on it, it's remarkable that I'm not more scarred from this. Albeit, skin is a bit tender in some areas, but Father somehow managed to change the scars. Bit tender isn't quite correct, though. Doesn't sum it up right. One of the mutes, before Father regained his sanity and let me take care of myself, accidentally bumped into my back whilst I was trying to move down a hallway past him.
It wasn't a light bump, I'll amend, it was very, very intentional. Over the years, it's faded very... fractionally. I don't like people being behind me, at all. The left side of my back, in that slight depression where the bone stops and the skin starts. On particularly hot and arid days, it feels... odd, like how your foot or your hand feels when it's fallen asleep.. On those days, I tried to sleep until it was darker and I could go outside without risking further agitating my wound.
Now that I think about it, it looks like a birth mark. Like someone poured a mix of dye on my back that was different shades of purple. Large, ugly, and horrible to look upon. A slight touch, and it feels like I'm standing close to a fire. If someone hits it hard enough, it brings me back to my childhood where burning it was a common punishment.
I don't like to think about what it would feel like if somone held a candle over it. Though, Father did the equivalent often enough. I make no plans to ask Lathan to fix what Basil botched, it has been a surprisingly long time since anyone's touched it firmly enough to make the pain flare up too badly. I'm used to having to sleep on my stomach at night, tolerating hot and arid days, and living through occasionally having to lie on my back when I have to.
I wonder who will be the first of my friends to touch it? My prediction is Tyrin, assuming no one else finds me whilst I'm swimming, or preparing to.
Day Eleven
Came to a conclusion. Either Father was the best type of person who just got manipulated into doing horrible things, or he was just very, very lucky.
I don't refer to being kind and what-not when I say best type of person, of course. I'm all for kindness, but don't expect me to show mercy without damn good reasoning. I classify people under the "best type of people" category if they're dilligent, and expect nothing but are prepared for anything. Father was that, usually anyway. He was prepared for anything, but he wasn't expecting some things. It was his heart that betrayed him, after all who would expect their lover to slit their throat? Still, the last day he came to teach, he told me the story and said he had no regrets. "A death worthy of song; I won't kill myself, Eminu has already." Of course, the Sisterhood revived him, but he was tired of fighting, the threats- essentially he didn't want to live anymore. I shouldn't write about him as much, he is dead and gone and the Sisterhood will never revive someone who has killed themself.
Still, I can learn from his history.
Day Twelve
Been pondering what Legion has said for quite some time, he described me as: "A rebel without a cause."
While I understand what he was getting at, I don't quite understand his wording. I do not intend to overthrow anything, nor do I really want to. While I would happily fight on whichever side would most benefit me, I do not want to rule; whoever does isn't quite sane, or they were raised to do so. Or, perhaps, they do not understand the absolute horror that is being a king- or queen, for all I care. Taxes, rebels, crime.... I still think that the king should bloody raise the levies and hunt down the criminals, they're just getting annoying at this point. Am I being a hypocrite? Considering that, of course, I was a criminal not too long ago. Not long ago at all. But I struck gold, and received a bag of emeralds from a corpse.
Which I still do not like thinking about.
Master had a strange, amusing, look to his face today. I asked him, and he stated that I was no longer going to become a blacksmith. Of course, I was rather confused and he went on to say that I wasn't the proper material to become a blacksmith. Says that I wasn't born to do it.... Which I hate, we are not born to do anything. We are not given a role in life in out mother's stomachs, we make our way in the world; Master suggests I find a different teacher and that he would still like to keep in contact. I am always welcome at his house. Apparently, Master thinks I am good material for a mercenary, vagabond knight, or just a random brawler. Says that I should establish myself as that.
Hogswash
I respect his opinion, and now that I consider it, most likely I will be unable to become a blacksmith. I am not the type to wait years for a single event, a month is fine, a year is fine, but half a decade or more is a bit much. Perhaps I will pursue my career as a Silvercloak, but I have options. I am not against picking up a life of fighting and thievery, after I killed the peasant in cold blood I feel I could do it again. Or, I could abandon the Silvercloaks in favor of the Rangers, which I certainly have the skill set for.
I'm not sure, perhaps I will think about it on the way back to Kavdam. Or, more likely, enjoy the walk in the rain.