It was dark. A crescent moon drifted in the black abyss of the night sky like a forgotten and fragile gem, left behind to shimmer its crystal neglect upon a resting and oblivious town. The town was still; a sleeping child, slumbering peacefully in the womb of its mother. Where a quiet blanket draped like a shroud over the fields of men, stretching over low and desolate plains and the muscular arms of mountain ranges. It stretched over a multicolored patchwork of farm fields, dotted with light to darker grays, silver as the moon shone upon the rivers and lakes. There were little tiny lights that marked the last stubbornly candle, dying slowly as its wax waned and eventually killed its own flame. The uncanny stillness that lingered beneath the soft wisps of low lying clouds was contagious, like a gentle affliction that overpowered even the most hardest of men. Or, those that still roamed the night in what might be the hours of the wicked and sleep-deprived.
It was within that town in that a young man was sitting, staring up into the skies, unable to sleep or close his eyes as that certain emotion of change overtook him with an almost physical anxiety; Gorlen has been awake for what must be the last few hours of an aching dawn, the soft light of a new morning lighting the stream beneath his bare, cold feet. In his usually calloused hands, trained by the wield a dagger or a sword and conditioned to hold a mug or glass, was a piece of parchment. It's strange, the man thought as he leaned back on the moist grass, how sleep can sometimes elude you so easily. Much has been plaguing him recently, none of which really mattered and some of which he tries to, for the sake of his own sanity, shove back into those little used chambers of one's mind. Truthfully, he was scared to visit these rooms in his thoughts.
He didn't know what to write, yet he wanted to put ink to parchment, felt a need to put order to his chaotic inner ramblings. The frustration and anger at his own state only heightened the need to do so. He needed to figure out a way to bring in more money.
They brought the house a few days ago, paid for it by Piperel's brother and a little out of her own coin she had. Yet, he had nothing to give. Nothing that he could truly call his own. It never bothered him till now, really. Never gave it another thought till all this happened. Ever since that day they moved out of Pip's apartment Gorlen's been desperately searching for a way to make a sustainable living. It's not something one can honestly get use to, trying to change your perspective of living, of surviving, he thought by himself. A man gets use to the comfortable life, only lived for oneself. It's free and doesn't cause for the millions of other worries that taints one's mind.
He's been meaning to hand in more contracts, go look for a hidden vault of treasure, start dancing in the streets, even thinking of begging my Amoryl to start teaching him to play the lute. He was desperately looking for possibilities, other than relying on the uncertain offerings of a sellsword.
It was as he laid there that the thought sprung him - Pipeweed!
Gorlen grinned and started his way back inside.
