Marikoth: Journal of the Mad Elf

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Rafe
Posts: 3

Marikoth: Journal of the Mad Elf

Post by Rafe » Fri Nov 04, 2022 3:53 pm

As I stood in the stern of the boat, on a voyage to Arandor, I retreated further into my cloak. The cold spray from the water, the lack of wind, and the thick fog meant for a slow and cold journey. Not that I cared. Time wasn't a problem for me. I'd lost track of Ayda, my traveling companion, not that she couldn't handle herself. I didn't hear anything that sounded like a fight on board. It was early yet. If she wasn't sleeping off the drink from the night before, she was likely curled up somewhere miserably hung over. We were heading south, and the sun hazily rose behind the fog, off on the port side.

Kelt lay off to the north somewhere, as we'd set sail from there. I'd spent the last three decades, since the outbreak of the civil war battling all across Kelt. That's what I loved to do after all. I lacked the patience to sit back while a new generation of humans was born, bred, and raised to fight. After all, if a war goes on long enough, eventually all the humans that would be an enjoyable fight get too old. Their children are too weak. I don't pretend to be even a little chivalrous. I don't subscribe to the 'traditional' ideals of honor. I've never been in a 'fair' fight. There are only fights. They're not good, or bad. You come out on the other end, or you don't. I don't fight for a cause, I don't fight for a banner, I've never served a country, a kingdom, or a lord. I live in the moment, because that is all I enjoy anymore. As an elf, there is some strange sensation I can't quite explain. I'd side with my 'people' if we were facing annihilation.

Maybe that's just my mother's influence. I didn't know my father, but my mother, Melarue, was a wandering warrior like me. She didn't talk about him very often. My first stepfather, Ardin, knew him. Whatever happened between he and my mother didn't end well. I don't know if Ardin would have told me even if I'd asked. He didn't live in fear of my mother as long as he lived, but as they get older humans tend to talk a lot less. They slow down. They suffer from aches and pains. He died of old age. I don't know if that bothered him. After I was born my mother settled down for a few decades. It wasn't a peaceful life, Ardin and Melarue had made a slew of enemies as they traveled. Wronged clients. Rival warriors. Previous traveling companions looking to cash in when their own wealth and luck had run out.

I was pretty young when I killed my first man. I'd been left alone at our house. Truth be told I'd seen him lurking around for days. Not much escapes an elf, and by then I was fairly good with a bow and knew my way around a sword even if I didn't own one myself yet. He captured me while I was relieving myself in between doing my usual chores. I woke to a kick in the gut. He was making sure I hadn't died, at least he said as much as he went back to tending his fire. The sun was setting. I gathered from some landmarks I could make out he hadn't taken me too far from home, but we were far enough away that even elven hearing wouldn't have picked up calls for help if I'd tried it. Probably why he didn't bother to gag me. My arms were tied behind my back. Sewn into my sleeve, was a ring with saw teeth around the outside. If he had been more experienced, he might have known to check for that. Using my fingers, I'd managed to break the single string that held it in place. I scooted away from him, shuddering, in truth I was freezing but he likely thought I was afraid. I slipped the ring around my finger, but I knew I'd cut them doing so. When I managed to get my finger through the rope, I knew I'd cut it all the way through. I quietly and carefully fumbled around behind me until my hands found a decent sized rock. Better than being unarmed.

He was shorter than me, but I could tell he was stout. I was tall, but in those days, wiry. He'd have leverage if I grappled with him. There was a club sheathed in his belt, and at his right hip was a crude looking knife. He wore a suit of boiled leather armor, lined with a bit of mail, meant to absorb blows and stop most knives. He wore a leather hood to hide his face, but it wasn't a proper helmet. I knew I wouldn't last against either weapon with nothing but a rock. He'd cleared the ground for a fire and moved most of the usable wood. I began to wimper. Loudly enough that it made him mad. "Quit your mewling, knife eared brat." He'd spat as he stomped over to kick me again. When he kocked his foot back to kick me again I brought my arm around from behind and slammed the rock into the center of his soft leather boot. He stumbled backwards and cursed but began trying to unsheath his club. My joints were stiff from the cold, but I managed to get to my feet. His head snapped back as I hit him with the rock, and I threw myself into him to pin his hand against his body so he couldn't draw the club. He grunted and tried to force himself forward, but with his head thrown backwards he couldn't stop my momentum. We tumbled backwards, and I kept rolling to ensure he couldn't get on top of me. Now that I was on the other side of him, I tried to kick him in the head, but I missed and hit his shoulder. I was cold, unarmed, and nightfall would arrive soon. Escaping wasn't an option. I got to my feet again and went for some leather bags he'd set out. Provisions, but what I wanted was one of the leather straps. I quickly loosened the buckle on one of them and wrapped it around my left hand. In the interim he'd managed to get to his feet. A bit of blood trickled down from underneath the hood, but his breathing was fine. He had the club in one hand, and his dagger in the other. He lunged with the knife, and I went for his wrist. I didn't need to do anything other than control his hands, but I couldn't grapple with him. He tried to swing the club downward and I held his other wrist. He tried to throw himself against me to knock me off balance the same way I'd done to him some moments earlier. I released my hold on his wrists, and he backed away. Knowing he didn't have reach on me he tried again with the club. This time I caught it. The leather wrapped around my hand lessened the blow as the head of the club caught in the bit of leather stretched across my palm. It still hurt. I managed to wrest it away from him and moved it to my other hand. When he lunged with his knife, I didn't bother to swing at him. I stepped back and smashed his outstretched hand. He dropped the knife and roared trying one last time to tackle me I tensed and exhaled forcefully. He was trying to use his weight and leverage for having lost both his weapons. I didn't bother trying to rain blows down on his back. With my injured hand I went for his face with my thumb, trying to gouge one of his eyes, and using the handle of the club I smashed his left ear. Then again. And again. He howled as my thumb found its target and his momentum came to a halt and he stumbled. I didn't relent. I don't remember when he went down, or how long I'd hit him, but eventually there was no more crunching of bone, just wet sounds beneath his hood. I panted as I staggered away from his body. I couldn't stop shaking, not from cold, but adrenaline. I let the club fall into the earth and stumbled over towards the fire. I didn't quite make it, and fell into the dirt.

I must have passed out from shock, because when I woke sometime later night had fully fallen. The embers from the fire were burning low. It was almost out. I ached from brusies and wounds. Where I'd cut my finger with the saw had stopped bleeding, and my left hand where I'd caught his club was swollen. I got to my feet and stumbled to the fire. Availaing myself of a bit of his provisions I poked at the fire as I sat there trying to keep from freezing. It had been him, or me, and I won. By the time I returned home, a day later, both my parents had returned. I couldn't lie to my mother, but she didn't seem even a little phased by it. Ardin shared a drink with me over it.


I was wrested from my thoughts as someone stumbled towards me and didn't even bother to attempt to avoid running into me. "Morning Mari." said Ayda, groaning as she rubbed at one of her eyes. "Got any water?" I passed her my canteen. She leaned over the railing and vomited, then promptly used it to rinse out her mouth before taking a drink. She slumped down against the railing and slowly inhailed and exhaled as she set my canteen down. "Go a little too far last night?" I asked. "Fuck off." she responded. "Awfully rude for someone who just borrowed my canteen." She gave a tired smile. "Fuck off, please." I nodded and leaned over the rail beside her. On the horizon, Tilverton had just come into view.

Rafe
Posts: 3

Marikoth: Journal of the Mad Elf II

Post by Rafe » Fri Nov 04, 2022 9:21 pm

I don't consider myself a philosopher, but I've been around a lot longer than some of the ones everyone quotes and praises. I've even met a few of them. Terribly irritating when they're quoted later. Especially when the quote isn't right, or someone's recounting of the individual is so far from truth it probably belongs in the realm of lies and fables.

Now why would I have met them? Bodyguard work, of course. I don't mind philosophers, scholars, even religious types. The problem with someone who claims to know everything, or have a world view that will solve all the things that have ailed mortals since time immemorial though? Well, someone who claims they know everything and have a world view that will solve all the things that have ailed mortals since time immemorial is one of those problems. Only someone who can protect themselves, or hire someone who can, should espouse that kind of dribble. Epecially something as grandiose as challenging the collective wisdom of the world. Hearing that can piss someone off. Sometimes they don't like your ideas. Sometimes they don't like what your ideas will mean. Sometimes they can't understand what you're saying. Most of the time though, someone who talks that much as if the very gods themselves are looking down on them to hear what they have to say? Natural impulse is to shut someone like that up, and why not, people who talk that much are naturally annoying.

That's especially true if they're human. They voraciously pursue whatever their inclinations are, most of them anyway. They are ever busy, ever rushing, industrious when they want to be, studious beyond what an elf could ever manage, and they try harder than even the most stubborn of dwarves when it suits them. Some of them anyway. The rest though? Silt in a river. Going wherever the current takes them with no particular direction until they settle at the bottom. I'm sure that sounds judgmental.

Since I arrived in Tilverton, I've not seen too much. It's a hole, but nobody bothers me. To be fair, if they did bother me, they probably wouldn't do it more than once. Ayda went on to Arandor already. I'm not quite ready to head back. Though I suppose I shouldn't say 'back'. I was born there. I have no memories of the place though, or anyone there. I'm not going to whine about fitting in, or lament that I might end up being wholly the opposite of the elves I run into. I don't know if I will be. I don't care if I am.

My first night here? I ran into a thug on the western end of town. Tried to mug me. When I went to throw him over the pier, he screamed that he couldn't swim. So I ran him through instead. Quick and clean. Much more humane way to die than drowning. Earlier I said humans put everything they have into some of the things they do. For these folk? Seems it's crime. Suits me just fine. Criminals are like monsters. Nobody cares if you kill them. Nobody cares if you take their things. Nobody cares if you grind them into the dirt. In a place like this I can reach out in any direction and probably find ten of them. Sitting idle doesn't suit me, but somewhere between sitting idle and having a goal is the simple state of putting off boredom. I don't have a goal at the moment, but until I find one? Snuffing out some of these consortium goons probably won't keep my skills sharp, but it'll stave off boredom.

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