You were so naive back then, Ren. Letting Dorian write the letter to Carson like that? Placing your voice into another person - how uncouth! No wonder why you had gotten yourself into so much trouble. You hadn’t found yourself, yet. Even so, you were looking so intently for me, in that time, which I suppose to be a commendable thing with the mental juggling necessary to distinguish friend, foe, freight, fight, fear, or flight. I sometimes wonder how your shoes and skin would have fit me if I were to travel back and to steer those choices either more tailwind, or, let’s be honest, more headwind. Sail headstrong into the storm. Somebody told me that once - I no longer remember who.

I also wonder what happened to the letter. Did Carson burn it in an arcane fit, or toyed and scratched its contents meticulously, combing through and playing with its content like a cat with a mouse? If I recall, it was composed to contain something along these lines:

“Greetings Carson. I am with my family currently and away from Malkara, to which I apologize most profusely. As I am beholden to yourself and the Camonna Tong, I may offer the following morsel of information: at the docks in a warehouse in Malkara, you may find enclosed a crate bearing the marking 413. Inside its contents are innumerable treasures that I had previously seeked to exploit for personal gain - its contents now belong to you. Do not inquire into the methods by which I have sourced this information, as they are currently beyond the scope of my understanding. I trust that this is of sufficient value to you and will, upon future address, discuss this with you in person. Regards, Ren.”

Did the letter say that? I can’t recall. This is the only thing I have from that time.

--

The scar itched as I waited at the front door. Shoreline Manor was home, but I felt a bit empty when I came to the door. The last few days were rough. I cried big whale tears until there were no more to give, but I didn’t have anything or anyone to wipe them away. After Simon came out and gave us our gifts, Narcel’Uss and Ildan got swallowed into the night. I guess when you see something like Simon, it changes you. They were pushed past a point. I don’t know if they broke, all I know is that they’re gone. I did everything for you, Narcel’Uss. Why did you go like that?

A dandy in Dega rags is at our entrance as I arrive. Dorian is gesturing and setting J to read through some scroll - a contract, maybe - while he poses shirtless, his brand to Nurzhan staring meekly forward. Narcel’Uss thought the whole thing wrong and all sloshed around. I did too, and even more so now. A false idol without power or influence on another false idol. I have seen and tasted power and it tasted like wet iron, soothing and warm. And yet it was shackling, like seafoam spraying over the hull of a ship. It may be refreshing once or twice, but soon enough it will wear and tear at its exterior, leaving nothing but rotted wood.

“How much is the contract?” I ask our dashing leader. That’d be the reason to have a noble inside the manor. Money, greed, prestige. Simon told me this was a true thing and I believed him. To his side were a couple of unfamiliar faces, warming themselves to Jeremiah’s cooking and seeming like they have some familiarity with the manor. Where did I go? Who did I become over the past few days?

The elf glared at me for a moment. He looked like he was just out from the frontier, with a hardened shell around his body matted in the colours of wet rain. He called himself Åke, and his business was with Bird Girl. I sized him up for a moment - youth on his face. No creases or etchings, a stone wrapped around a grub. This was a boy. Nothing more, at least not for now.

Closer to Jeremiah was a more oddly dressed person. Smelled nicer too. A rare type - not many like this out at sea. And not many around my haunts at the dock. This was a noble breed. They addressed themselves as Kirin, or Rinn. I bet they have twelve names in all that depend on the occasion. Rinn too was beholden to Bird Girl for the time being. A relief to them both. Some good still in this world.

“500 gold.” A fair amount. I consider the docks and what was being held there. That is a gift to Carson. I dare not share it with my companions. I don’t want them to feel what I’ve felt.

We make our way north by the river. A pirate in Rilador trappings named Raphael greets us to secure passage. This is a dangerous game. If he is close to Kangar, we might have to kill him. But this is far from Volos, far from friendly waters. I take a gambit and secure passage. Not sure what will result. Before we go, I ask Dorian for a favour. Before we go for this contract, I need to take care of business in Malkara. I have him write a letter to send to the Crimson Sail. He looks disturbed when I tell him what to put on the parchment. I don’t care why.

We sail for some days and I lose myself to the waters once again. The silence is pacifying, and part of me thinks that it might all wash away right here. All of the guilt and fear and sadness could wash away right now. But it doesn’t. Too many things don’t want that to happen.

J gets excited as we pass through her druidic grounds. Something strange is warping the nearby woods, and we stop along a narrow capillary of the river to check it out. A Mystic is near, J says. What questions will weigh on these shoulders now?

I trail behind my adventuring party as we investigate the Blanchwood. Colour drips from the woodland and fades like paint. The party seems to be standing on edge. All I can think about is money.