Devilish Romances

[Tanda Knighthawke]

Sitting quietly on the bunk which has been my place of safety and solitude, I pull from beneath it my book of souls and a quill. Absently, I open the book to a new page and with quill in hand begin to pen the thoughts that fill my mind. We left Cove today a city in tatters, this new evil that has befallen the realm has sacked three cities and a village now that I know of, Trinsic, Cove, Papua and Paws. Reluctantly I left when I was ordered to retire for the night, Galen still standing silently staring into the flames of the fireplace. No amount of compassionate words, light hearted jokes or tales seemed to draw him out of this dark brooding place. Glances at his frame and features in the flicker of the fire light are worrisome, as the trouble grows in Britannia he retreats a little further into the nightshade. He has been eating less, sleeping less; his mood grows more sullen with each passing attack. Nightshade and liquor can be two devilish mistresses, stealing away your mind like a thief in the darkness. He had been to this hell with them before; it seems an oddly familiar romance, one I am powerless to conquer for him. This demon is his to bear.

I have been hovering in the background during these attacks, casting spells to cure and heal those injured or poisoned by the onslaught of malcontents hired or duped into serving Apex. It is the best I can offer, having taken a vow to harm none, I rarely use my gift to end life and each time I have had to, it drains me. I have come to understand that there is only so much within my control, I think by virtue of my faith in the Goddess I have finally learned to be more accepting of my limits.

Gran, I began this trying to be accepting of your absence, to carry on using this book to record my thoughts, feelings and actions. I cannae continue, you have long been my source of strength and sanity when my life runs amuck. I feel like a ship set adrift, unable to find my running depth, crashing into things and briefly running aground. I have nae been home to Minoc other than brief visits to gather supplies or fill an order in many months now. Galen is certain your absence is related somehow to the spirits haunting either the castle or me. I cannae prove him wrong, to find the answer would require my scrying in some manner and to do so with an unknown entity is risky.

The being that follows me Gran, he worries me. I hear him in my ear, his words spoken in a highland accent. He taunts me with phrases “the white witch indeed”, “surely, witch ye know who I am”, “ah, that’s more like ye, give in t’ the harlot we both know ye are” and his presences hovers near me, near enough to feel his breathing. I cannae see him in either a physical sense or in my mind’s eye. Yet, he fills my dreams with the vivid images of former lovers. I awake with the smell them in my nose, to find I am alone. In the midst of the battle in Cove, as I ran to find a safer place to tend the wounded I heard in my ear “your compassion and empathy sicken me”. Never before now has he managed to break into my thoughts while I am focused on my calling.

As if that insanity isn’t enough Gran, I’ve met a man. Och, well Gran, that’s not entirely true, I had met him before all this chaos. My specialty in life seems to be questionable, eyebrow raising relationships; at least at one thing I am consistent. Blessed Be Gran.