A Mason's Tome

[Dugs]

I do not know what I will build here — not yet. A wall, perhaps. A name. A pyre. All three, if time allows.

The city stinks of desperation. Like sweat soaked into cloth left too long in the sun. Refugees beg. Merchants bark. Cutthroats smile too easily. I've seen it before — rot beneath dust. But rot makes fertile ground. If you burn it right.

I saw the shade of the giant on my way in. A good omen. Big things were buried here once.

I've taken quarters near the Krak. The stones are old, cracked, and worn smooth from the weight of bodies leaning too long against them. I understand the feeling.

My axe is sharp. My back is straight. I've coin for armor and an ear open for work. I don't care what flag it flies under, so long as the pay is clean and the cause isn't foolish.

If I die in this place, I hope it's on my feet. But if I live — I'll leave something behind. A wall. A name. A pyre. All three, if time allows.

Glory to the Klaxon.

[Dugs]

A few days in, and the dust's settling under my boots.

Kana Morai and I fight well together. She throws lightning — red, wild, fast — and I follow with the axe. Not many things stay standing when we come at them from both ends. Doesn't take words. Just instinct. She moves, I move. So far, it's worked.

Got my footing with La Banda Rossa. Took effort — earned, not handed. They made me speak the oaths: win the fights, don't make them look like fools. Fair enough. I don't fight to lose, and I've never had patience for fools. Cloak's red now. Feels like a target, but I've worn worse.

Crossed paths with an Ashfolk, said I reminded him of an old Balestriere. Didn't say if the man was noble or just loud. Doesn't matter. The old Balestriere's bones are dust, and I'm here now, taking on his hopes like coin dropped in the sand. I'll spend them wisely — or loudly.

Got a little coin on me. Been thinking about picking up a block of stone, carving something into it. Not sure what yet. A warning. A grave marker. A statue, maybe — something big, something unignorable. I've always worked better when I've got a plan to follow. Chaos is for the dead.

Bought armor off a Janissary — Aldric. Said he'd charge me extra for following Agaslakku. Turns out he follows the fire too. Typical. Cuts a man and then offers him a bandage. Maybe we'll cross blades, maybe we'll share a toast. We serve the same god, not the same cause.

Heard of a woman called Dudley — another Agasian, runs a forge. Might be worth meeting. Won't chase it, though. Not here to beg. Let the work speak first.

People've started calling me Carver. Started with Kana. Spread like heat in dry wood. I don't argue. It fits.Long as no Balestriere calls me a fool, I'll wear the name like steel.

Got a job coming. Need to teach someone how a mouth breaks. Already picked the words, just need to drive them home.

Praise Agaslakku. Praise the fire. May the weak be crushed, and what stands be worthy.

[Dugs]

Worked too much. Planned too little. Took a hard fall — lungs seized, vision faded. Thought that was it. But the flame in me stirred, coughed smoke, and held fast. I'm close. The next step's in reach. One more stone on the stack.

Kana's climbing, quick. Her lightning's got a snarl to it now. I watch and wonder — will she join the Red Band like I have? Or does her path wind toward something grander? Politics, maybe. Power's got a different shape in her hands.

Ran a job with new blood today. Almost died for it. Thought I'd seen discipline, but it went out the window when things went loud. I lashed out — told a girl she nearly got me killed. But truth is, it wasn't her fault. Not all of it. She's green. So am I. I carry axes, not answers. If she's still breathing, I'll owe her an apology. Time'll tell.

Met Themis. Secretary of the League of White. Calls it a League of merit — says anyone can rise. Maybe. Maybe not. Don't know where I fall in all this yet. I've sworn to the Banda. Maybe that's enough. Maybe I let Kana pick a side for both of us. Or maybe the Condottiero will give the order, and I'll follow it.

I find something honest in writing this. Putting thoughts to page. Got more coin in my pocket than ever before — which just means there's more to lose. Raiders put Flint down like a sack of salt. Would've done the same to me. I need thicker plate. Sharper edge. They call themselves Agasian too. Maybe they understand the Advance better than I do. Or maybe they just like to take.

Either way — I'll meet them at the summit.

The fire burns.
The fire consumes.

[Dugs]

Didn't realize how soft Ephia's Well truly was. One punch to a League dog's mouth — and now the whole town's howling. Whining, pointing, scrambling to take sides. You'd think I tore the dome down with my bare hands.

The worst of it? One of the bigger names, someone I thought might have a spine, is shouting loudest. Claims I gave up who paid me to strike Themis. Says I broke contract. Broke oath. Says I snitched. Funny — I didn't.

Not sure why he's made it his business. Maybe he wants to see me fall. Maybe he thinks it'll win him a little favor. Maybe he believes it. Doesn't matter. Going to let it simmer. Let the noise settle. If my employers believe him, maybe they'll come for me. Maybe the Condottiero will have my cloak stripped. Or maybe they'll send someone to take my head.

It'd be a shame. I don't mind taking a beating, but I prefer it's done for shit I actually did.

Still, if it doesn't pass, if he keeps running his mouth... maybe I'll cut out his tongue. Though knowing this place, they'd take my whole hand for it. Doesn't feel like a fair trade.

There's more to write, but I'm tired. Tired of the noise. Tired of the lies. Tired of people looking for weakness and thinking they've found it.

Fire still burns. Just low tonight.

[Dugs]

Another day, another handful of dinar. Small jobs mostly — a hundred here, two hundred there. Doesn't seem like much, but it stacks up faster than you'd think. Still... can't shake what that Balestriere said: if you don't give a cut, you get cut. And I'm not ready to get cut. Not yet.

Funny moment today — someone mistook me for a Balestriere. Wasn't my place to correct 'em. Felt good, if I'm being honest. Real good. That's a feeling worth chasing — being seen as the real thing. A pro. A winner. Don't know exactly what it takes to earn that title for real, but I'll find out. Haven't seen the Condottiero around much. Maybe she's watching from a balcony, keeping tabs. I hope so.

Had a sit-down with Buster. Big misunderstanding, but he owned up to it — paid me a pouch of coins and offered a public sort-of apology. I let it slide. Amazing how quick we forget things with the right weight in our palm.

Arthur's still sniffing around, still barking. Eventually, he's going to leap again. I'm running low on potion stock — and that's the sort of thing that gets you humbled fast. But I won't lose to him. I can't. Oaths or no, there's one rule that always sticks: if you fight, win.

But what if the fight finds you again and again, out of spite or boredom? That's the sort of pressure that burns you out, drains your purse dry. Still, I'll manage. Always do.

Kana was sick today. We didn't get much done, but it gave me a chance to work with some newer blades. Not my usual rhythm, but it worked. Made me think — my way of fighting, it's got holes. The double-axe is brutal, but I can't keep swinging wild in every scrap. Might be time to invest in something heavier. Dwarven, maybe. A shield too. Not every skirmish needs a show — sometimes you just need to survive.

Another day down. Another bucket of coin under the bed. Heard Ephia's Well had a dragon once — Argent, they called him. Some say he really was one. Others say he just flew too high. Either way, he's gone now. Me? I don't think I'm built for flying.

But I'll keep Carving — step by step, job by job.

The fire burns. Still.

[Dugs]

Met some new faces today — the Legates. Purple and Gold.

The Golden Elf? Arrogant, sure. But there's a playfulness behind it. Hard to read. Word is she used to sell secrets — spy work, cloaks and daggers. Tools of war I've no patience for, but she might have use for someone like me, even if she won't admit it out loud.

The Purple zealot? Dumb as sand and dragged into the job, from what I gather. Ran for the seat and lost, yet still wears the robes. Can't imagine taking coin from her — but against her? That's another story.

Spent more time with the Condottiero today. Told her straight — I want to rise. If she needs something done, I'm the one to call. The other Recluta have their talents, sure. But none of them bring what I do: size, strength, and a willingness to get dirty. Always heard, if you're going to be dumb, you'd better be tough.

And me? I'm as tough as they come.

She's a singer, the Condottiero. Not what I expected from a Warmaster, but damned if it didn't fire me up. Had me swinging harder than I ever have. Wouldn't mind her voice behind me on the field, if I can get her on board with some real work.

Ran into Valeria too — five thousand dinar bounty on her head. Kana and I had just burned through our magic on a job, running low. But I gave her just enough doubt, just enough edge, and she backed down. Can't say I'd have beaten her, but she wasn't ready to find out either. Truth is, neither was I. That bounty isn't worth what it'd cost me right now.

Need to find Calliope. Maybe talk my way into one of those fancy Stele gigs — get paid to sit and watch. Wouldn't hurt. But I don't care about easy coin.

I care about being called Balestriere.

I care about the steel. That beautiful, burnished armor.

It'll be mine.

All things in time.

[Dugs]

Found an old chisel while I was rummaging through my kit. Handle's worn, edge still holds. Might as well put it to use again. Haven't carved in a while — hands too busy swinging steel, pockets too full of other people's coin. But there's something honest about a tool that never lied to you.

The days stretch longer now. Slower. The kind of slow that eats at you. Kana and I keep moving — working when the work comes, eating when the coin's right, resting when we can afford to. It ain't glorious, but it's living.

La Banda's been quiet. I asked the Condottiero for direction, told her I'm ready, that I want to do more. She said she'd keep it in mind. I believe her. But belief doesn't buy you blood or glory. The truth is, Recluta are meant to fall before they rise — disposable bodies in red. What they don't tell you is how long you'll sit in the dirt before someone decides you're worth dragging out of it.

And still... I wait. Fire don't die easy, not in me.

Kana spent time with the Sisters today. Something heavy's brewing in her heart — she hides it, but I see it. Don't know what she's chasing, don't know if it'll lift her or break her. Doesn't matter. I'll be there, wherever the path leads her. She's earned that.

Day passed without much else. Quiet streets, no contracts, no real movement. I should be glad — no blades drawn, no fresh scars. But there's a rot in stillness. Something foul that creeps in when you've got too much time to think. So I train. I sharpen. I breathe and wait.

Still — not all quiet. Put out a bellow. Called on the Janissaries. Got myself a match in the arena. Aldric — the one who sold me my armor. Heard he's some veteran from the old wars, took up with the Fourth after the dust settled. That armor's seen more of the Well than I have. And now its old owner wants to see if I can wear it proper.

I don't know how he fights. Don't know what tricks he's got.

But I know me.

And that's enough.

I've bled. I've broken bones. I've walked back from things that should've finished me.

He won't, atleast not without a limp.

[Dugs]

Another day sweating in the sand, another bounty raised. Fifteen thousand now on Valeria's head. Knew patience paid — just didn't think it'd drag on this long. Still, I ain't much for bounty work. The sleuthy types, the shadow-skippers — they're hard to catch unless they want to be caught. Real pain in the ass chasing ghosts.

Been feeling distant from the Banda lately. Like I'm drifting. Maybe this isn't the fit I thought it was. Don't see the officers. Don't hear from the Cloaks. Flint's out there fighting like he's a Janissary already, and the rest? Eccentric's a kind word for 'em. Kana's the only one keeping me grounded — she'll figure a path, or maybe they'll finally toss me in that steel and let me start fixing the rot myself.

And if they don't?

Maybe I walk. There's other banners in this Well. That alone might be enough to get someone off their ass.

Not that I hate the place — work's steady when I find it. Bosses ain't bad when they show their faces. But that's the problem, isn't it? They don't. No recruiting. No drills. No orders. No vision. Just silence.

And I ain't built for silence.

I wasn't born to sit and watch. Not bred to wait for someone else to shape the world. If no one gives me the blueprint, I'll draw my own.

Build the pyre. Ignite the night.

Let it burn, until they see the fire from their towers.