The few manor houses in Bree-land are all of a similar design, Therefore as I look around the vast hall I would have acquired for myself on the hill I am at once reminded of the smouldering ruin I made of my parent's mansion home. Nonetheless, this is the one place I can come now and be alone. I wouldn't normally have brought anyone here under any other circumstances but just across the village in my humbler abode by the river Kríea sleeps. I have enlisted the aid of Leecher Cartwell who attends to her on a daily basis. Is it wrong that some small part of me prays for her death so I can avoid breaking the gentle girl's heart? I should think it is.
Death, it is the one constant in life. As we live and breathe every man, woman or child. Death will soon come for us all. I have become talented in it's execution over the years. I have become a Grey Man. Though my garb is black, I think that would be the more appropriate term. I slip by unnoticed, no man rating me as a threat but when I walk into the room with three other men and I have a job to do. If their lives are to be forfeit. There is only one of us walking out alive. Am I a good man? I think not, but I do not kill without purpose. But slipping beneath notice isn't completely as easy as it once was. Though it is not too difficult.
Skarletta once called me Darkman through her gift thus others too started to doubt me. Am I a bad man? I have tried to be as kind to anyone as I can possibly be. I know what I am. I am a threat. But a threat to very few. We all make choices. And I have chosen to channel my urges towards the betterment of society as a whole. If I were to go into my reasons. You would think I have fallen down the slippery slope of vengeance the same as my father had. To some extent, you would be correct. It consumed him, warped him into a vicious killer. There is no doubt his blood runs through my veins. But I am not him. I have tempered the beast within.
The urge has grown less though it still remains, coming back in bloodthirsty bouts. Tell me. Will the man who brutally raped and beat Kriea deserve what is coming to him? I think so. I have already killed for her when the landlord who had enslaved her prior to all of this called my bluff. Will I enjoy the process of it? Yes. But she will never be harmed by him again. Tell me what kind of man that makes me. Poor reader, for it is a philosophical question I have wrangled with for a very long time. No, I do not hope for her death. I care too much, it is curious. I do not love Kriea however. I want to for my son's sake but I do not. If I can be a part of his life without endangering him, I will. I will never forget the day my two year old brother was kidnapped by brigands with a very nasty grudge. Cleaning house and murdering all of their associates will tend to do that.
The death of Emion Dourthe partly by my hand echoes in my mind as Neyaa and I drink whiskey in the lounge of the manor. She is a comforting presence. She has grown into a fine woman since I first saw her over the horizon as a boy and I could not summon up the courage to speak with her. And I thought she was beautiful then. I have always kept my distance because of Hardoleth and now Deredan. How did it take so long for me to realise who she was? As it happens poor reader she was my first boyhood crush. She was to be my only boyhood crush. Brief, though it was. I showed her around the manor. She seemed impressed and said she wasn't aware that I was a man of means. My answer was only a fool announces the true extent of his wealth to all he meets. The trading company I ran did better than expected, the venture to Gondor and the exotic wine now readily available in the Prancing Pony can attest to that. We spoke of many things, we spoke of the Dawn. I showed her my sigil. She said she wore hers with pride. I have confined mine to a locked chest. The truth is I do not yet feel an affinity to Hardoleth's company. Not yet. At length we talked of Kriea, we talked of Aemalia and Taala and my oath. She told me of how when she gave birth to Branston. She had done so alone. That she had not come to an agreement with Hardoleth that it was for the best. Oh, that man was a cunt. A wonderful cunt, but a cunt all the same. If you'll pardon my language. But I felt this curious urge in that moment to hold her tightly and never let go. Emion tortured Rannie, I judged him responsible for the death of his wife. His life only seemed a fitting price. But on second analysis the time I spoke with Neyaa about it I began to have my doubts though maintained an indifferent facade. Still, Rannie assured me of his cruelty and I had seen it myself. He scarred her for life, Marred her pretty face. I will not regret notching that poisoned arrow all that time ago. In a way, you could say I did Neyaa a favour. No, that's one secret I will never let slip.
I feel like the contents of my mind now resembles a chest, bursting with junk. And any moment now the lid is going to blow off. Why do I keep all of this inwards? Why must I lie to all whom I meet. My writing hand continues to freeze. I cannot even share my thoughts with an inanimate object such as this leather-bound book without feeling an intense discomfort and anxiety. I keep the secrets I keep because to be who I am requires anonymity.
Cirywen was most astute in her observations. I am hollow. But I allowed her to see it. I do not know what to make of this young girl. What she says could be true. But it could also be a front merely to probe the depths of my mind. Lulling me into a false sense of security. Why did I entertain it? Perhaps I want to believe a girl like her is capable of change. The cynic in me says otherwise. She looked at times sympathetic, at times nervous about what she would be embarking upon. She clearly knows that I can see what she is. She even embraced me. Spoke of the desire for something real. Even as she rejected me. I do not trust her. What is real? What I had with Rannie was real. She was wrong about my implied lack of honesty though. Had she approached me in a different manner I am certain I would have opened up. Even if not entirely truthfully.
The most skillful of lies are weaved through the strongest foundations of truth. It pains me that I can not completely bear my soul but it is all I know. But she gave nothing untill now, she got nothing untill now. Her behaviour implied to me that she was only interested in games. So games were what she received. But this is out of character. I still think it could be a deliberate ploy. Still, I did not utter a truth I did not want her to hear. Sometimes you must pepper an individual with some truth so that when it comes down to the lies. They will then believe you without question. Those that are willing to listen. In any case. But she is a sharp one. She intrigues me. If she is sincere, Then I was wrong. She is not like Eacanwyn at all. But I will not hold my breath. I would be telling a lie if I said I did not want to bed her.
So I am embarked upon an experiment, Two examples of opening up. Two people. Neyaa I am sure will not tell anyone that I am far wealthier than your average merchant sellsword. And with Cirywen we shall see. Whatever will I do with this book? Fuel for the fire should be it's purpose. But writing my thoughts at least seems to ease some of my pain. I still have my wagons and though the men under my employ are on leave I have a decision to make. Do I still continue to run operations, or do I pass over the company to another. I am with the Dawn now. I suppose the fire can wait.
