Trade Ledger (Lynneth)

[Moonlighter]

Some poems penned in a steady hand in the margins of some pages of Lynneth's well worn trade-ledger... the others are filled with various business dealings. Records of trades, tithes, bribes, deals, caravan fees, and the like.

Ode to the Krak
Amidst the dunes and scorching heat,
A solitary Rose blooms at my feet,
In a time where life is harsh,
The road is tough, travelers parched,
there is a place a where lost souls meet,
to share with friends an ice cold drink,
the Krak des Roses, what treat,
A fortress strong, a sight to seek,
Alone in the desert's endless sea,
There blooms proud, a sanctuary.
So come and rest, weary traveler,
Find refuge here, your soul to gather,
In the Krak des Roses, haven true,
Amidst the sands, a dream renewed.

Edha the muse, silent and serene
With colors and canvas, her soul does sing
Her hands weave magic, her brush does speak
Words fail to capture the beauty she seeks,

A language of colors, that needs no words,
Her works a symphony that needs no chords,
In her canvas, dreams take flight
Her brush a wand that creates new light

Come one, come all to taste the divine,
Brews can be provided for a modest price,
The Wanderer's touch, a mythical blend,
Live and Drink, on your journey to ascend

[Moonlighter]

The Lion
Kythaela the Lion, a fierce elven blade,
Her skills in battle, by all are praised.
Proud and sharp of both tooth and claw,
She leaves her foes in frightened awe.
A true warrior with strength and grace,
Her enemies fall and leave not a trace.
For gold and glory, she fights with zeal,
Kythaela the Lion, a legend is real.

[Moonlighter]

The Sage
Varin, the wyld-walker, a force to behold,
His whip bites with a ferocity untold.
A sage of the wyld, he knows the old ways,
And tames its beasts with his skillful gaze.
With pipe in hand he wanders the sands,
A wanderer wise, in these untamed lands.

[Moonlighter]

A wine-stained page is left otherwise unmarked, except for some writing in an unsteady hand. Several errant and half-formed lines have been crossed out in a drunken fit, and the remaining poem reads...

Amidst the desert sands we do roam,
With visions of the past and our future known.
Through song and steel we can make them grow,
But only if thy trust is truly shown.
The road is long and danger near,
In brotherhood and faith we shall persevere.
From Old to New we make our way,
Guided by honor, come what may.
With courage bold and our hearts set free,
Our bountiful Rose shall come to be.

[Moonlighter]

I hate this.
I hate this.
I hate this.
I hate this.
I hate this.

I did not ever expect to win this election.
But I thought for a hopeful moment or two that I could.
I did not expect to get dragged into all of this.
Distanced from my friends and companions.
Called into question. Cast, unfairly, into doubt.
An entire public referendum upon my character.
On my judgment. On my virtue. Or the lack thereof.

Traps laid by friends and foes alike.
Awful truths found and oaths sworn to keep them secret.
Complicity in what I know to be wrong as a result.

Maybe they're right about me after all.

Why did they not just trust me?

Men and women I helped along the way thrust their knives into my back, eager to see my blood spill.
Is my death a beautiful one, I wonder?  Will I be cast as a hero or villain after?

I have never said the words, "I want to be Legate."
But the soul of this place was worth fighting for anyway.
I remember well her words, a mantra I hold to my own heart and often repeat.
There are some burdens we must bear with as much grace and dignity we can muster.
Even as I slowly bleed out.

And then rebirth.

[Moonlighter]

In the sterile room, time crawls at its pace,
Anxious whispers echo, tears leave a trace.
The weight of guilt and sorrow, burdensome to bear,
In limbo, we linger, caught in this snare.
Interrogation awaits, the truth to unfold,
The drudgery of waiting, a tale yet untold.

".. Sana, Leiah, Pirouette.. Such awful deaths." Sephidra sighed. Words that cut through me, and my steel, like a bitter wind.

The others, Leiah, and Sana, I was sadly not there for when it counted most. I could live comfortably with the delusion that were I, somehow things might have played out a little differently.  A comfortable little lie to tell myself to make the burden of their untimely passing lighter. To carry on in the face of it all. To live with myself.

Perhaps I could have urged caution at just the right moment, had them not put themselves at risk. Called for a tactical maneuver to urge others to close ranks around them and keep them safe.  Raised my shield to intercept some blow headed for their neck. Placed myself bodily between some threat that would destroy them and weathered it where they could not. Called down the Wanderer's boons at an opportune time to give them a second chance at life. Crushed something, or someone, with Lyric, before it could harm them. Done something to stop the quill upon their final chapter.

With Pirouette, I can no longer deceive myself. I was at my limit, fighting desperately with all that I had in me to protect her, to save Amelie, to pay for my past mistakes with Alfred, and with others. To keep myself alive. I will never forget trying to anchor her to me. To save her soul, at the very least, where I'd failed otherwise. To keep her with me, to honor promises spoken and unspoken. I will never forget how I felt watching her slip through my fingers. To get pulled into the walls of skin and mud, where not just death, but a fate worse than that awaited. To look down at my hand, and realize it held not her, but a pile of skin and gore.

"Lyre, I..." Her spirit began with the nickname she gave me.
"We ought not to have waited upon that dance." I replied, sullenly interrupting her.
"We ought not have... Waited on anything..." choked out dear Alejandro, my pride and joy, with sorrow that made my heart hurt even worse.

I had gotten too comfortable lying to myself. Deceived both myself, and others, in the process. It is deadly to get too close to you, Lynneth. Not safe, as it should be. Become more, that which they see in you. Find that what you lack and acquire it, whatever it costs you of yourself. Walk the same path as the better men and women who came before you. Succeed where they have not. Embody the hero. Embody the pilgrim. Embody the chalice. Embody the shield. Embody salvation.

Do as you say you wish to do or be doomed to falter.

And even then, you still might.

"It was the first time I lost somebody under my command, following me in but not following me back out. It is not a good feeling to relive it, Sergeant. Hopefully this is not a tale I shall have to tell too many more times, in truth... I suspect I won't have it so easy, though." I looked up from my lap, fighting back tears.
"The burden of responsibility leaves few options but t'bear it, or break. Ye have my condolences, all the same." The Sergeant remarked, frown on his face and quill in hand as he took down my tale.
"'Tis the way of we Waradim to bear burdens. What is one more?" My reply. The tale continued.

"At your side, Recluta... We are NOT dying here!" I remember yelling defiantly, in a voice long gone hoarse as I raised my shield anew.

A trap sprung. They knew we were coming, somehow.

Knee deep in the fallen. That of beloved comrade and my hated foes alike. Rosen cloak, and Orentid mantle.

Armor covered in gore and mud and badly scorched from artillery fire.

Of the many who entered this gate, it was but four of us Roses who remained standing. Many scores more of the enemy lay dying around us.

There were no djinn here. No fiend of earth and flesh. No one, except myself, and the clinical reports of hardened mercenaries to move a quill over what happened this day.

Men and women killing each-other. That is all that it was.

Still, I found myself repeating the same words I said in the tunnels: We have found ourselves in hell, friends. And I will get you out.

"I am unused to the battlefield, Toleigh." I admitted, with no reluctance as I tended to the wounded. To Lion, and Ahura, and even to the loathsome pirate Bruno.
"Mm. It's rough." Came a terse reply from the maceman. How had this not affected him? What had he lived through to shrug all of this off so easily?
"So it is." My gentle hands covered in blood, yet again.

[Moonlighter]

There, surrounded by familiar squalor. Naught but ash, and hunger, thirst around us.

Greedy and hopeful eyes alike assailed us. Wishing for our waters, and our food. For egress from this awful life, though we could not take them with us.

It was not so long ago that this too was my life. A fledgling with naught to her name traveling in ring in search of rumors of crystal clear waters, and of hope.

Many who traveled with us in those days did not make it.

It was only by the Wanderer's grace that I did.

I found myself filled with a profound melancholy. Even as the massive figure ahead of spoke again in his booming voice.

"A GIFT FOR HER WE HAVE."

My curiosity piqued, despite myself. I had to ask. What gift could be useful to a Queen long dead? Surely it couldn't be...

"A gift? What manner of gift?"

"A GIFT, DREDGED UP FROM ASH. COME FROM THE DREAM-TIME. OLD TIME. OF THE AGES.."

The young child rose, holding something in his little hands, swaddled reverently in blankets. Light shone from within, all the same. He handed it up to this strange, masked giant.

"SAVIOUR OF WORLD. OF VERY WORLD. OF LIFE ITSELF. DAKHWAR."

The blankets fell away as the figure boomed down at us. My heart raced. My features flushed. It was all I could do to gasp.

And then I saw It. My depression faded. Hope swelled up within my chest.

Could it be? After so long chasing clues, and trying to unravel mysteries?

"SHE SPEAKS TO ME. SHE CALLS US TO HER. WE SHALL COME TO HER, ALL THE SAME. DAKHWAR FOR HER."

The voices all around us called out.

"DAKHWAR FOR HER."

"They say these... outsiders claim to have had visions. Tell me of them."

The roaring hearth filled the room with abundant warmth. Still, my blood ran cold. It took me a moment to find the words.

"They were of Ibithal, my lady. Telling them first where to find this cup, and then, where to bring it. Here."

She let out a groan, and a sigh, running her hand through her hair. It was all I could do to nod my head in response.

"Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I lay dead upon the Plaza, and she had triumphed in my place."

It was hurtful to see and hear her words so sullen.  The Hero of Ephia's Well. The Grandmaster of the Knights of the Cinquefoil Rose. One who's example I looked to in everything that I did.

The way that others have come to depend upon me.

What words would I appreciate, in such a moment? What would console me?

The truth. What else?

"There would be no home here for us, or our people."

A pause to let those words sink in. Both of our eyes remained locked on a crackling log, burning away brightly in the hearth.

"No home at all, in truth."

I could not tell if my words brought her much comfort.

If words wouldn't, then perhaps deed could.

Dakhwar for Her.