Ahh, that loqua burns all the way down. Good year, by the taste of it.

Now, where was I? Hmm… ah, yes; I was on the edge of death, or so I thought at the time. I've always prided myself on my unflinching demeanor – you need one to make runs against Valuans, which I've done on occasion – so you can probably tell just how dire I deemed the situation when I say how scared I was. I've stared the reaper in the face lots of times, but he'd never worn quite so frightening a visage as the Jabberwocky did that day.

I still remember it as though it was happening before my eyes this very moment. He was stalking towards me, puffing lightly, that piercing, oddly constructed blade loose between his fingers. I'd instinctively leapt to my feet, ignoring the pain in my back, and slipped back towards the bow of the ship. I never once let him leave my sight.

"Whaddya want?" I'd sputtered, trying my best to keep things nonchalant and failing horribly. The blood was still streaming freely down the side of my face. "You want the ship? Go ahead, take it."

He'd laughed, then, chilling me to the bone. "Oh, no; nothing so crude as this heap. I can recall my own craft as readily as I wish." Slipping one hand into the folds of his armour – one can tell just how remarkable the equipment was by the fact that it had folds in the first place – he'd removed a small, gleaming cylinder with what appeared to be a button on the end. Click, smile, and replace. That's all it took. "I'd suffered a bit of disorientation on my initial descent, hence the crash."

Disorientation! He was disoriented! God, I hoped he would never recover, else he would no doubt have my head on a platter. Hell, chances were good I was still bound for such a fate. I'd stumbled then, eliciting yet another frightening smile from the Jabberwocky.

"So, then, just climb back in it and go. There's no point in sticking around, right?" I prayed desperately for this to be true.

He, however, simply waved a hand in dismissal. "Ahh, but there is: you see, your fellow crewmembers attacked me. Or were preparing to, anyway. I've been taught to eliminate all threats, no matter how inconsequential. And now," he'd said, tapping the deck lightly with one foot, "I have located what I deem to be the final threat. Anybody who is capable of dodging not just one, but two of my attacks, deserves my attention. Do not worry, I won't move nearly so quickly from here on in; such speeds require a great deal of energy, and frankly, I don't feel like performing so quickly any longer. I want to savour this."

I'd blinked. Well, things were looking a little bit better. I readied my cutlass and took up a combat position. It was clear I had no choice but to duke it out with this monster. He'd licked his lips at the sight, now clear that his prey was ready to bite back, and darted towards me.

I'm not sure how to describe how the whole thing went. Simply explaining the various steps we went through in that deadly dance seems inadequate, whether or not I interject with my thoughts during the battle. His attacks, while not nearly as fast, were still performed with a liquid precision, and I'd found myself hard pressed to keep up with those moves so foreign to my way of combat. Pure instinct, time and again, saved me from taking any exceptionally bad cuts, though my clothes were quite tattered by the end. In return, I don't think I managed to so much as scratch him. That armour probably would have deflected any hits regardless, so it probably didn't much matter. His strength was brutal: my old fencing master would have been hard pressed to suppress such attacks, let alone my moderate frame. I'd thought, over a dozen times, that my sword was about to be wrenched from my hand and sent sailing over the edge.

The Jabberwocky was nothing short of gleeful. He looked like a kid in a candy store, slashing away at a manic pace with a perpetual grin lighting his lips. Damned sadist. So many times, I'd wanted to just ram my blade down his cocky little throat, which was a good sign that the fear was ebbing: however, I could tell that he was toying with me, and could have killed me any number of times. Sweat poured down my face in waterfalls: I'm not sure if I saw more than a few beads alighting his fair brow.

Without warning, he'd disengaged, practically skipping over to the opposite side of the boat. "What fun, what fun! Granted, I'm not trying very hard, but you're better at this than any of those dumb elders!" It was around this point, I think, that his bizarre ship had floated back into view, circling us lazily. It seemed unharmed. Whatever the hell it was, it sure was tough.

I say 'I think' because the whole thing becomes a little hazy at this point: I was bleeding from what seemed like a hundred places, fatigue was washing over my senses, and god help me, I wanted a drink something fierce. This account probably makes me sound like a first-rate drunkard, but, I couldn't help myself. It would've dulled the pain a bit, at least.

I'd sneered at him, then, kneeling on the deck, my limbs shaking. I couldn't help it. "Just finish me off, you sadistic bastard. Get it over with."

At this, he sheathed his sword. "Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't deprive this undeveloped little hole of a world of one of its best. I've decided to spare you, island-dweller. Be grateful."

Anger had coursed through my veins at that. He made me sound like some form of vermin. Subhuman. I didn't like such terms. Roaring, my vision still blurry, I'd leapt up and dashed towards him, rather unsteadily, my cutlass poised to catch him in the throat.

"Spirit. I like that." The fact that the Jabberwocky had time to utter those words before sliding easily behind me and tripping me is a true testament to his skill. I'd been propelled into the air and slammed, face first, into the warped planks of the deck. My cutlass was sent careening through the rails and out into empty space. That would have sent me into gales of fury again (it was a present from my grandfather) had I the energy to summon up such emotion. After that last outburst, however, I was spent, and I let my broken frame slip to the ground without further commotion.

He stood over me, then, the Jabberwocky, a self-satisfied glimmer in his eyes. I knew something was wrong – my vorpal blade had never gone snicker-snack – and this creature's head was not clutched in my victorious fingers. The story didn't go like this. The Jabberwocky wasn't supposed to win, was it?

"Farewell, valiant warrior. I hope to meet you again, some day; however, you'll probably be dead before long. May you make your mark upon the world before I have to wipe it clean." And with that, the Jabberwocky was gone.

My eyes had faded, then, and I went to sleep. My dreams were filled with monsters bearing maddening blue eyes.

What else can I say? I got out of it, and made lots of money selling those moonstones. And I've wondered after that man ever since. I know who he is, now, who he really is; even seen him, once, from behind the window of the finest ship I've ever flown. It was an interesting experience, I'll admit, though I've never had the compulsion to lock swords with him once more.

Mmm, that loqua is good.