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DIR Return to: High Captain Song
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#Post#: 97--------------------------------------------------
Thoughts And Reflections
DIR By: High Captain Song
Date: July 12, 2023, 8:54 pm
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-=Docks=-
At the docks, where the Thassa meets the land
He'd had many names and honorifics given to him over the years.
High Captain. Stormcrow. Skald of Kassau. The only one that ever
meant much to him was Maestro and the one who gave him that name
is elsewhere. Getting their shop set up.
"Their shop." Ha! In truth it was her idea and it was a good
one, but he caught the look in her eyes as she spoke of it and
he said he must go away.
So here he is. Back at the twice burned docks, now twice
rebuilt. The first time by chance, as he just happened to come
by with men enough to make a difference. The second time by
design, as he arrived with Hrolf and other men of the Vegvisir.
The docks were rebuilt and a garrison set up to protect against
this happening again. I'd stayed behind while Hrolf headed home.
Damned if I knew why.
No. No, I knew why.
Guilt at not being here to stop the second fire? No. That was
chance and there would have been little I could do if I were
here.
Guilt about leaving my Mate as she's building our store? Yes,
but that wouldn't keep me from her. Indeed, that would hasten my
travels.
Guilt that I had a hand in empowering whoever was responsible
for this? For some of the arrowheads used to mark the arson
sites made use of arrowheads of my make - Kassau iron with a
certain jagged barb on the point. I've sold such to many in my
travels and it is illogical to blame myself for what others do
with the weapons I sell. But since when have I ever been
logical?
No, it is not guilt that keeps me here. Nor is it, as I claimed,
a desire to protect what is mine, for others can hunt the
Panthers Longbow thinks is responsible. And as my Malora pointed
out, we could focus on our shop and do just fine should the sea
and trade on the Thassa be denied us. And it is not a desire to
be a hero. Or find a good story.
Why is he here? Why is he intentionally depriving himself of the
Mate and slaves and comfort that awaits him elsewhere?
Because someone tried to destroy what he built. And he can't
abide that. Or the fact that the has no idea why. Raiders, he
could understand. Outlaws seeking plunder or slaves would be a
known enemy. But this? This is a mystery. And the Skald of
Kassau... now being called the Bard of Legend by some of the
villagers... he does enjoy a good mystery.
I'm stirred from my thoughts by a knock at the door to my inn
room. It is sparse, but it does offer privacy and is the finest
this village has to offer. I get up off the pile of furs that
acts as a bed, still clad in the simple tunic, trousers and
boots of a sailor in port, as I move to the door and peek
through the gap in the door and the jam, held shut by a chain.
It is one of the inn's maids - a pretty blonde of the North,
curvy and clearly used to warming the beds of any who would have
her. Still she smiles as my chocolate brown eyes meet hers
briefly before she glances down to hide he sapphire gaze.
"Your pardon, Jarl. But my Master wondered if you needed
anything. You were missed at the dinner hour and the people...
hoped you might honor them with a song?" She pauses and then
smiles. "Or if you wish to retire for the night and require
anything, I am to see to your needs."
The meaning is clear. And the invitation might be inviting under
normal circumstances. But my mind is on other matters tonight.
And other faces.
"No. No, not tonight. To any of it. Give my thanks to your
Master but.... I need a night to rest."
I close the door and lock it before any response can be given. I
sigh and return to the furs, sitting down and pulling off my
boots. This sight might stun those who know me well, for it is
unheard of for me to ignore the call of an eager audience. But a
Skald needs joy in his own heart to instill it in others. And
right now, thinking of my Mate and the words she didn't say but
the look that said everything when I said I'd be gone for some
time.... I have little to be joyful about.
I don't pick up the cittern that leans against the wall.
Instead, I sing softly.....
"In every dream through the lonely years, my heart would cry for
my One.
No song in my soul; it was empty from tears, No joy in my days
in the sun.
But at night when I found my rest, A voice would call to me
My heart would swell within my chest, As Her face would fill my
dreams."
It was her song for me, changed up slightly, but the tune was
all hers and the love all too real. And that is far more likely
to warm me on this cold night than some willing wench's embrace.
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