It feels peculiar to have shorn hair once again. The fire is burning to keep out the winter chill. I do not know why I rode into town the nights past. Only so long you can pace the confines of your study. What to occupy myself with I wonder. There's only so long you can do the books and I would hardly proclaim crossing the i's and dotting the t's and toiling over pages brimming with numbers my idea of leisure. No, I needed to get out of there. Away from the keeper of my Inn so concerned for my welfare. The sultry and subsequently sulking glances of the waitresses under my employ when they come to the realization I am no more likely to breach my code of conduct as an employer than I was. In their defence, it is not that I do not find them appealing, I handpicked them myself for their attractive qualities, a pretty face draws in more punters after all. Surprised in me? I do not mix business and pleasure where it can interfere.
The village has oft provided me with retreat from the town but now it is the village from which I need retreat. It is with sadness most peculiar to me that I bade a fond farewell though in truth I know quite not to make of the woman. These past nights I have found a rare and unlikely solace. The vicious and scathing barbs of a time ago became gentler over the week. I tempered my own tongue accordingly. And I found within her a spirit of adventure that beats within my own heart as well. Most amusingly she persisted upon insisting that she still disliked me. There were no steamy encounters, for although she was possessed of all the bits in the right places I did not seriously entertain such notions, nor has she ever seemed to. Though it is hard to say. At one time I'd have relished the challenge.
But I find myself recently turning not one down but another. One of these nights I will clamber up the hill, leave the sigil I absently turn over in my fingers every now and then. I fear it is time to abandon whatever formal association I once had with the Sellswords. There has been a turn of events I find to be quite irreconcilable. But for now I must bide my time. I fear I owe it to someone in particular. The Captain's daughter in fact. In order to enter a discussion over my decision, with an open mind...
There have been few familiar faces since the gold woman, I will call her. Left Bree. I have checked myself into a room in the Inn there instead of my own. In fact I spent the majority of the day and the night alone. Bar a brief encounter with the Rat's friend and her newfound dark-haired lover, so I presume. I'll not tell him she threw herself at me but a few nights ago. I suspect there's a touchy history there given I once stole my oh so delicate flower from right under his nose. Our relationship on the surface since her murder seems to have harmonized at least.
I regret my harsh treatment of her but it was hardly the greatest time she could have chosen to pull her little stunt. Aside from that I occupied my chair, drank my rum. The burly barkeep giving me strange looks as I paid by coin, pondering perhaps why it is that I would not open the account. The tab I had always paid on time each month. Truth be told I have no grasp on how long I will remain here in this land. Even as I have only just returned to it.
It saddens my heart to read over past entries. Fields of home indeed, you sentimental fool you. I only wish I could pluck the courage up to go speak with my childhood friend again. Ask her why it is she cracked my window. Yet I fear to, as though if I step closer I may find myself yet again snared in that honey-filled web, sweet as it is. I dare not tread. I dare not wrap myself in that warm embrace again. This is what I ran away from. But is this why I keep rejecting women, why I have forsaken the brothel? I do not know what to think anymore.
Oh dear reader when does it end, I write for your pleasure again by moonlight, I hope you find what you seek.
Words spoken to me linger from that fond farewell, yet I am gripped with a sickness. I have been for a very long time. What is it that I do seek?
And why am I always so scared, so weak.
Let's not turn this into a ridiculously terrible verse, shall we.
My life that I seek, I am but so weak. It is terribly bleak. I could sleep for a week. I bleed from my... beak?
Rum, rum, glorious rum.
When drunken quite profusely it is glorious good fum.
Fum's like having fun but with an 'M'. If you didn't know already. I thought I'd enlighten you.
As you may have deduced, I've really put it away today, even by my own standards. Though I believe it is wearing off. I had a nap in a chair in the back rooms, anyone could have picked my pocket.
Rum is a stout companion, always by my side no matter the weather, no matter the grim nature of my thoughts. Combined with a bowl of finest Shireleaf to smoke from well I'm a happy man. Happy he says, ha ha ha.
Though I did forget to eat today. It's not good. There is nothing wrong with the fat man's fare but I was more preoccupied with drowning these thoughts away. Or trying to. Unsuccessfully. The only thing I had today apart from breakfast was a cranberry scone, curiously provided to me by a fair haired young maiden in the most peculiar of fashions. I had caught her pretty smile moments before, I think. If she's not of the Mark I will eat my hat. Though I do not often wear it. Perhaps I should again.
Most... curious. I shall put thee down oh mighty pen, scribbler of drunken verse, ill tidings, deepest of secrets and so on and so forth.
Until we meet again, when I have need of you. One cold and moonlit eve.
