Day One
My friend Volo says I should write this down, lest I go mad. Maybe he's right. My world has been roughly picked up and turned upside down. Need I tell you that a woman has done this? Probably not-It's a common enough tale.
I can't think. I can't sleep. Food holds no appeal. A wasting disease would hold no more misery for me...
There I was minding my own business, thinking about buying a trifle for my most recent Amore, Marlah, when a street urchin stepped into my path and bent to retrieve something in the street.
Our collision was surprising if not spectacular. Before I could excuse myself, the urchin, or what seemed to be so-A blue lamb's wool cape concealed its features-righted itself and looked at me with some suspicion. En! Lle fiose amin! She almost hissed at me.
"I beg pardon..." I couldn't finish. A hood with fine silver embroidery on its border concealed her features, but nothing could hide the eyes that looked out at the world. Beautiful grey eyes of such depth that one could be lost forever without seeing them again.
Those eyes widened in surprise. She looked away and shifted the grip on the bag that was the cause for our collision. Her gaze found me again. The hint of a smile twitched her lips. I died right then and there. "Lle anta kaimel?" she asked as she swept past me, her smile was as radiant as it was suggestive.
I don't recall how long I just stood there in the street of the port of Highcliff. Someone passing by must have bumped into me hard enough to break the spell, and a spell it surely was. Those eyes, those grey eyes-Witch's eyes!
After making sure my pouch of coins was still in my pocket, it wasn't a thief that'd bumped me then, it was still there, I made my way to the boarding house that was a bunk room for our crew until the cutter was ready.
Day Three
I need to get myself over this malaise-Maybe if I write my thoughts down, I'll find release. Where do I start? I am under the spell of a witch and I don't know how or why. After what happened last night, there is no doubt.
Last night, as I sat alone for once, even before my first mug of ale... an empty, restless feeling... no, that isn't quite right. Something called to me-Gave me a feeling that there was somewhere I just had to be. I cannot say that I blindly followed it-My eyes were wide open. I had a choice, you see; To sit with my full measure of emptiness to go with the ale, ignore that siren's song, or to follow, the gods help me, to wherever it would lead.
Choosing the latter, I made my way past the few houses in this small village that is growing up around the port we now call Highcliff. The narrow path through the bracken led me uphill to a clearing at the bluff overlooking the harbor.
The clearing here was awash with the silver light of the full moon overhead. Some devoted sailors would call this moon 'the face of Selûne'. Some more superstitious souls would call it 'witch's moon'. Seated here with her hands on her knees, palms turned up, was the woman I'd run into the day before last. She sat still, not moving for a span of minutes. As if on cue, she raised her arms and began to sing a song like nothing I'd ever heard before. It was the singing of an earth-bound exotic bird. What happened after that, I cannot recall.
I awoke the next morning in the center of that clearing alone, stiff, and sore. After a long, joint-popping stretch that did little to ease my discomfort, I took a long, careful look around the clearing. The sound of the waves on the beach below and the calls of numerous shore birds were all that I could hear.
Getting my feet under me to stand, I looked down. Martin, lle anta kaimel? Was traced in the dirt at my feet. When I reached down to retrace the letters, my heart lifted... then I was overcome by a powerful sense of loss-That something was wrong-Something was missing. That woman-She was connected here somehow. She couldn't make me feel like this... could she? Unless...
...a WITCH. She's a godsdamned WITCH! Volo tells me to calm down before I do myself an injury. To the HELLS with his calm down!
Day Five
Volo has approached me this morning. He looks like he's afraid I'll bite. He put his hand on my shoulder, in spite of his misgivings, and said, 'Let's talk about... your adventures, huh?' He spared me a look of real concern and continued, 'This has got you behaving like a madman... Huh, what's this?' he asked, fingering a chain around my neck that I hadn't noticed until now.
'Don't know,' I replied, looking down to see what it was, but the chain was too short-My chin was blocking my view.
'Here, let me,' he said, fumbling at the back of my neck and pulling it loose. After a quick look, he laid it into my open palm. 'Looks like a moon-stone. Where'd you get it? You rogue you.' He raised an eyebrow. 'Tell us, Martin,' he said, winking at my friend, Wellend Way, who'd just come in. 'Cattin' around on Marlah... Hmm?' That got a laugh at my expense from them both.
I ignored their foolishness long enough to take a good look at the charm Volo'd placed in my hand. It was a smooth, round, highly polished white stone about the size of a gold coin. It was fastened to a beautiful, finely wrought silver chain with a tiny, clever clasp that allowed it to be easily removed.
On one side, engraved with fine silver filigree, was a full moon next to a glittering star. These were under a word I didn't recognize; Isilme'len.
On the obverse was a word that I did recognize. Above the tiny line-engraving of a ship under full sail was the name; Martin.
I carefully re-fastened the chain around my neck, the stone settled into place like it belonged there at the base of my throat. The look I gave the two jesters silenced them right away. 'You know what that word means?' I asked them. 'Isilme'len,' I repeated, wondering why that word would send a shiver through me.
The writer in Volo took up the challenge. 'Just a moment,' he said, digging into his sea chest, bringing out a well thumbed book. He flipped a few pages and pointed with a finger. 'I knew it. It's Elvish. Isilme is... moonlight. Elen is...' he flipped some more. 'Elen is star. So Isilme'len is Moonlight-Star.' He looked up at me, obviously proud of himself. 'That your new lady-friend's name, Martin? C'mon give!'
'No,' I grunted at his cheekiness. 'But can you tell me...' I turned to the fireplace , retrieved a burnt splinter, and drew on a stone set into the hearth; Lle anta kaimel. 'Does this mean anything smart guy?' I asked him.
It didn't take him long to find an answer. She'd written and spoken the same question; Martin, do you dream? No witch, I don't. Not of you. That's one place you will never be.
In the days that followed, I had little time to think of that witch-woman. All I knew at that point was that she was probably an Elf. I kept the charm, not knowing whether it would help or harm. I figured I'd rather be safe than sorry, having no idea what kind of magic it contained. If it was charmed at all. It seemed to make me feel good-That's all that mattered.
We were in the process of fitting out two trim two-masted cutters to be named Cygnet and Gosling. My long time shipmate and friend, Wellend Way, and I drew billets on the Cygnet's crew, while Volo was assigned to Gosling. The ships would be sortieing together, so we could keep in touch.
Our spirits are high. We can face almost anything-Even a legend none of us has ever seen or heard about... until now. The legend that is known as The Drow Princess. We sail on the even-tide.
Day Fifteen
The Luskans, who couldn't be called anything but pirates, must know that we're out and about. For the past ten-day, nothing's been encountered but fair winds and moderate seas-Nothing sighted, neither friend nor foe. The Gosling, gods bless her, bobbed in our wake for a day or two and fell farther and farther behind. Her crew was the greener of our two ships-They were a collection of farmers and mercenaries culled from a motley assortment of volunteers, most of them down on their luck, just looking for a way to survive. They were the best of the lot, though, they'd work out after a little seasoning.
We've heaved-to, the captain has decided to wait for our sister. It wouldn't do for us to be caught out alone. The time off will allow us to tend to our mending and catch some sleep. This charm intrigues me. It is completely smooth, even where it is engraved-Unlike most scrimshaw I've seen. It's almost like a piece of amber with a gem trapped inside. It is so fine, it's like... the stone was made inside a diamond. Nothing I own will scratch it.
Our sister has rejoined us. After enduring our captain's curses through his bull-horn, she's taken up station on our port-side flank. She seems to be better with her station keeping now. Her crew now just needs to be blooded. I'm sure the Luskans will accommodate us shortly.
Day Seventeen
At last-A sharp eyed lookout has spotted a mast on the far horizon to our west. It bears strange rigging and the flag of the Illusk. The chase has begun.
*More charm lore; The off-watch crew were exchanging scuttlebutt this evening when I was approached by a usually standoffish member of our crew. Most of the elven archers aboard kept pretty much to themselves and this one was no exception. All I knew about him was that his mates called him Khef.
When I looked up, he spoke; 'I could not help but overhear you... Please forgive me. I mean no disrespect, but the charm you are wearing looks like a corm'ondo... a heart-stone. If I may, I would be pleased to... assist you. May I see it?' he asked.
He seemed in earnest, so I indicated he could sit on my sea chest and unfastened the chain. By now, removing it by slipping the tiny clasp was second nature, even with the ten thumbs my two hands possessed.
When I passed it to him, he nodded, wrapped his fingers around it, and closed his eyes. For a few moments, he seemed to be in a trance.
Finally, he opened his eyes and smiled. "My friend, Martin, you are a very lucky man. Moonlight-Star, her name in your language, has chosen you.' He held up the charm and said, 'This is indeed a Teu-tel'Corm'ondo, a moon-elf heart-stone. It is one of two. While you wear this one, Isilme'len wears the other. When you two bond, they will be exchanged-You will wear hers and she will wear yours.' He paused to watch me carefully.
I didn't know what to say. 'I... I thought she was a witch...' I stammered. It was a shameful admission-I know. My friend Way's smirk stopped my reply. 'Some friend,' I grunted at him, and turned back to the elf, but not before I noticed Way's grin had widened.
The elf smiled again. 'Our ways... may seem strange,' he agreed. 'But they speak of a life that spans many years. My friend, there are numerous wonders ahead for you.' He raised the charm up, suspended by its chain that he held in each hand. I could see the side with Isilme'len engraved on it facing me. As he slowly brought the charm closer to me, it rotated, twisting the chain until the side that bore my name faced me. When he withdrew it, the chain relaxed and the charm unwound. Her name, once again, faced me. Again, he smiled at my unease.
He then continued, 'The turning of the stone is called n'ruw, lle a'mael... an exact translation is; no doubt, my beloved. The word in your language that we use is; proof. The stone, after you exchange it with her, is an affirmation of your bond.'
'And what if he rejects her?' Way butted in. 'They don't even know each other.'
The elf's face was impassive. 'Then all Martin has to do is quit wearing the stone.' He did not seem prepared for Way's bluntness. 'An elf would return the charm and beg for her to forgive him,' he replied, looking long and hard at my outspoken friend. He handed the charm back, his good cheer gone. 'Forgive my rudeness...'
'Please forgive my friend, tact was never his strong suit,' I interrupted him, glaring at Way. Before he could turn away, I held the charm by its chain and fastened it securely around my neck, the stone nestled into its place. 'And thank you for setting me straight, my friend, I did her a great wrong.'
His cheer returned. He clasped my hand warmly in both of his and said, 'I believe that my sister has chosen well. We have a saying; Amin estela ta nauva anlema, which means; I hope it will be a long journey.' He thought for a moment and said, 'If you have need of me, please call on me.'
Day Eighteen
Our chase continues. It is the Drow Princess, we are sure of it. Her black fore-and-aft rigged sails are a dead giveaway. With one side of her main sails rigged to the mast, she looks nothing like our Lord Nasher's square rigged vessels. Her sails, being easier to set and trim, give her an advantage; She can sail faster with fewer crew members. We are determined to catch her, though, she'd be quite a prize for us to bring back home.
Rumor among our crew has it that at some point she will have to turn and fight. Then our mettle will be put to the test. Sooner rather than later will be fine with us. Morale is high-We will win!
She has turned just as the sun has set. We've been called to our stations. With the Gods' blessings, we will prevail. I must go, my princess awaits...
Day Twenty-four
This is the first day I've felt good enough to sit up and pen a line. It seems like a lifetime since we set sail-Maybe it has been. The first few days I spent here were lost in a fog of pain and confusion. Three of us survivors brought back to Highcliff were quartered in a room at the Inn, tended by someone very near to me. Along with her care for the orphans, Marlah has taken time to care for us as well. Her ministrations make it that much more difficult for me to tell her... I'll deal with that later. I must rest.
Volo came to visit this after-noon. From him I've ascertained that this is the second ten-day and the fourth day since I started this journal. Once I got him past his maudlin concern over my health, he was able to fill me in on the part of the battle I'd missed;
Although the writer's gang boarded the Princess on the opposite side from ours, he was able to get an overall idea of what went on from conversations with his shipmates after our victory. Volo tells me that the battle for the Drow Princess was hard fought and that victory was in grave doubt until Way's group captured her quarter-deck and held it until the rest of the ship fell to our attack.
He also recounted how my group was flanked and cut off by the largest group of pirates. All that I can remember is that we boarded the Princess from astern. The prize crew found us aft, during their clean-up. Out of the twelve sailors in our raiding party, three survived the bloody encounter. Of those three, I fared the worst. After two day's rest ashore, the other two have returned to Cygnet. The surgeon tells me I have at least another ten-day before he'll release me for duty. I still don't know what to say to Marlah...
Way and his prize crew have yet to make port with our spoils. It seems that they have new ropes to learn. All they know is how to sail our square-rigged vessels. They are expected any day now. It is rumored that the surviving pirates were tried and put to the sword before sunset of the following day on our commodore's authority. I hadn't thought our Lord Nasher would allow it, but it seems the wailing death plaguing Neverwinter has his attention for the nonce. We are thankful that we haven't seen its wasting horror here in Highcliff.
Day Twenty-five
Marlah was upset this noon. Her abrupt arrival should have been clue enough. I wouldn't have been more convinced of her concern if she'd poured the bowl of soup on my head. During our relationship, I'd learned to read her moods more out of concern for her than for myself. She never was prone to violence, though at this point, silence was my best bet. She stood by the bed, seeming to consider speaking her mind. Instead, she served with exaggerated decorum and set about straightening an already neat room. She puttered about in a doing-nothing way, waiting for me to finish.
'It seems that someone has taken an interest in you.' She was now her usual charge-ahead self. Something about her dwarven nature, I suppose. 'A woman. A moon elf woman, no less,' she said, taking my empty bowl the same way she'd arrived, the spoon rattling around and threatening to jump ship until she silenced it with an impatient gesture.
Before I could think of anything to say, she turned at the door. 'It would have been nice to hear it from you though, Martin,' she finished with more hurt than reproach in her voice. Instead of the slam I expected, the door closed with a thunderously quiet click.
I haven't seen her since that door closed. An orphan girl tends the room now and can't or won't say a thing about her mistress. In a way, her silence hurts worse than violence... I'll need to speak with her, it shouldn't end this way. I still wonder how she found out.
Day Twenty-seven
It appears that friend Volo's notoriety follows him closely-Whether for good or for evil seems up to chance. His intentions are good... I think.
Yesterday evening, he entered without much fanfare and announced the arrival of my cure. After laying a sprig of herb on my night-table, he filled me in on his day's efforts on my behalf. Was he helping or meddling? I'm not sure, but have settled on the former.
Somehow he's managed to get an introduction to my dethol'amin-That's Elvish for my chosen. Volo insists that I go about this in the right way. Thanks to him, I now have an appointment to be introduced to her at mid-day tomorrow.
He's also found a piece to the puzzle of my romance; How we met. It seems he engaged her in a quite lengthy conversation. 'She's very intelligent, even for a fey maiden,' the writer assures me. She supports herself by gathering and processing reagents to sell to shops here and as far away as Neverwinter. It was two summers ago when she and her brother were accosted by bandits a half-day's walk north of what is now called Highcliff. They gravely wounded her brother before being driven off by three young men who were hunting game for the village to the south. The others left after routing the ruffians, while one stayed as she watched her brother struggle, then lose his battle to stay alive. That one stayed to help her bury him and return safely home. Volo says she knows it was me.
Volo's tale is a surprise. Yes, I vaguely remember the incident, but... I thought they were two elven boys. Unlike the other two in my hunting party, Wellend Way was one of them, I would not leave anyone, boy or girl, alone out there-Too many wild beasts. So, it was a woman...
The writer brought me back to the present by telling me to brew a tea from the sprig he brought me-Gods know, it cost him enough. He left with a promise to bring Arwen'amin around tomorrow-That is, if he didn't steal her away from me before then.
'Martin Edgewater, may I present Lady Isilme'len of the People of the Moon?' My friend seemed to be overly pleased with himself.
Isilme'len en Teu-Tel'Quessir was indeed an elf. Her face was a bit fuller than most elves I'd ever seen. The fey are supposed to be slightly built, some could even be called delicate. This image of elven femininity was neither. Her full-bodied presence was every sailor's dream, and if Volo was to be believed, she was smart to boot. She would put most women in the shade, he'd assured me. Later I found that he was right on both counts. She was and is most impressive.
'So Master Edgewater, may I call you Martin?' she asked me, her question the very soul of propriety.
'Aye, Lady,' I answered, trying not to stare. She had me under her spell... again.
Her smile was brilliant, it must be an elven thing. 'So, we finally meet. And well met, it seems.' Her presence lit the room. 'Sadly, we almost lost you to Illuskan brigandage.' The tension in her voice was so overdone, it was theatrical.
That broke the ice. When she took my hands, her smile broadened. I replied, 'Aye Lady, and what a loss that would have been-To miss our meeting again, here and now.' The wink I tipped her way made her eyes dance.
'Then you must call me E'len, Martin. I will think non-the-less of you if you do,' she enjoined before beginning her examination. Those beautiful, unusual, dancing grey elven eyes examined me minutely. A cool hand to my forehead looked for any trace of fever-That harbinger of ill health. The bandages on my arm and right side got a close once-over. They hadn't bore any stain for at least a day now. She proclaimed that as good news.
'It seems that the healers have done well,' she said, as she gently lowered my arm. 'Another ten-day and you'll be as right as rain. Be careful not to tear the sutures now, dear.'
Upon spying the herb that Volo'd left on the bedside table, she gasped and walked around to the far side of the bed. She looked down at me and held my gaze. 'Martin, where did you get this?' she asked, holding up the sprig. Her frown deepened.
'Oh, I forgot about that,' I tried to sound upbeat, 'Volo gave that to me yesterday, said it would make tea that would...'
'Seldarine, no!' her vehemence startled me. The shock on her face was very real.
Things were going south too fast for my liking. The worst was-I didn't know why. 'My apologies, Lady...I...'
'No, no. It is I who must beg your pardon, Dear Martin,' she managed to collect herself and continue, 'I overreacted. All is well, I suppose. No harm done. May I keep this?' she asked, holding up the writer's gift. When she saw me nod, her sunny self returned.
'In trade, let me bring you a jar of real curative.' She mused, 'If I can root this stem, it would more than offset the cost of ten jars.' She seemed to brighten at that.
I was intrigued. 'I don't understand-What is that?' What had Volo gotten me and himself into?
'I'm sorry,' she said, 'this is a Luskan Moonflower, an extremely rare plant that has the most beautiful purple-tinged white blooms.' I could see she was very taken with that tiny bit of stem with a few leaves. 'It has the distinction of having separate male and female flowers on the same plant.'
'Hmm, you can tell all that from that tiny bit?' I asked. She had a very impressive knowledge of plants.
'Oh yes,' she breathed. 'The only thing is that the Moonflower is a powerful hallucinogenic and a deadly poison. Only experienced herbalists should handle it, let alone dispense it.' Her concern showed. 'Where did your friend get it?' she wondered aloud.
'I don't know,' I answered her. 'But I will find out.' My writer friend had some explaining to do.
Day Twenty-eight
...and explain, he did. After effusive apologies and a maudlin bout of self-flagellation, writer extraordinaire, Volothamp Geddarm told all.
It seems that he'd befriended a wild elf woman who claimed to be an herbalist. Her name was Nya, and she was new in town. Needing someone to talk to, having loved and lost recently, she'd found a friend in Volo. Healer of broken hearts-That's Volo.
My friend seemed to have made up his mind. 'I know she meant no harm. Let me go speak to her,' he said with a promise to return right away.
True to his word, he returned with his lady friend in tow. Where does Volo manage to find all these beautiful women? He must have a way with words.
It took quite a while to calm them both down. They seemed intent on driving one another into a frenzy of concern-Each one stepping on the other's protests. Strange, no one was casting blame, except upon himself. Maybe they were just crazy for each other. Or maybe there was something in the well water? I don't know.
To put an end to it I passed judgement on them both; Nya's mistake in identifying the Moonflower offset Volo's error in bringing it to me. My tormented soul would have haunted them both to eternity. Still, the wild elf refused to refund his purchase, citing common law. She and my friend left me then, perhaps to further their discussion of trade laws, but not before I heard her say, 'Caveat Emptor, Volothamp my love.'
Grey Co. Elven Translation;
En! Lle fiose amin!-Look! You surprised me!
A/N Thanks Wyl, italics seem to work! C.