Bellamy Bashira
Bellamy Bashira
Traveling Hero out to make a name for themselves
Current Location
Exploring the Shar
Alignment
Chaotic Good
Age
34
Children
Gender
Male
Eyes
Brown
Hair
Brown
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Tanned
Height
6'4
Weight
220 lbs
Post hangover contemplation
What in the gold plated fuck am I doing?
I knew what I was doing now, bitching and complaining as I replant the garden after the Ranger's dog wolf dug it up for no reason.
But why was I replanting the garden. It wasn't even my garden. I'm not a gardener by nature and my last attempt at gardening had been a disaster that took the city guard a week to clean up. This was Pari's garden, something that she left with a half assed goodbye behind like her cat.
The care and maintenance of this patch of dirt was far from my responsibility, yet I was sat on my knees patting dirt around a tomato plant in the hot sun.
Why do I bother with things that aren't my problem?
I suppose a good excuse was a distraction from my hang over. Or maybe I didn't want Talima to get upset. Maybe I knew no one else would get around it it. Vern and the ranger didn't seem the type. Noct certainly isn't one to nurture life. Teremun is more a cook than a gardener. Vurak did water the plants, but had made no effort to actually fix the garden after Sineafar's mess.
Maybe it's just something Bellamy would do.
I mean, I was supposed to be pretending to be him. Pretend to care. Pretend to be generous. Pretend to worry about other people.
I suppose it did good for people to see Bellamy doing humble things like gardening.
It wasn't doing me much good, baking in the sun while in the middle of a pounding headache. Hard to make process on gardening and thinking when every minute or so all thoughts divert to how shit you feel.
With a groan of defeat, I roll backwards to lay on the dirt. I stare at the clear sky above, vaguely annoyed at the pathetic wisps of clouds that do nothing to block the burning judgemental sun.
What was I thinking about…
What am I doing?
That is the question of the day.
Last night's conversation had done little to help. Teremun and the ranger going on about how they didn't understand my goals and all. Nothing I hadn't argued with myself about. It was a stupid idea, but I was kind of stuck in it now.
Turning over a new leaf, doing acts of good as myself in the name of Bellamy would ultimately be more in line with what he eould have wanted from me… but it wasn't without consequence. Trying to get out of it would most likely result in hurting Talima, my parents, and being stuck in jail.
That's how I know I'm not a good person at heart. I know myself pretty well, all things considered. I'm not evil or anything; I don't like seeing people get hurt and I'm not intentionally going to bring harm for personal gain or anything… but I'm selfish, more interested in protecting myself than doing the morally right thing.
Part of me does enjoy this life… the thrill of going into the Shar, the prospect of discovering something… I enjoy that. Doing my part to keep a cult from destroying Qesir?... I don't mind it, but I'm not about to suicide my way into a fight I can't win.
So what do I do?
Maybe start by getting out of the sun… should finish the garden first.
At the very least, the sweating is helping with the hangover, but not the dehydration.
Even if I want to stay to complete my original goal, I had set up my own timer. The dominion was coming to talk to Talima, and it was without a doubt they would find me.
Honest logic dictated I should pull up roots and move to a new town, that would be both easy and sensible… I knew I wasn't going to. Part of me is drawn to the hidden treasures of the Shar, the other part of me was concerned with Noct. At this point I can't leave Noct, and they have resisted all my attempts to persuade them out of their shady path… so at this point I guess I'm just here for damage control out of a vague sense of responsibility.
…
I stand up from my work, the garden is repaired, the tomato plants restored to their former glory, standing tall just like the person that planted them in the first place.
I look over my work but feel no pride. My head is filled with too much turmoil.
With a sigh of defeat, I pulled a piece of metal from my pocket and stare at it, hoping for an answer. I had once claimed that I would not taint Bellamy's legend by bending the knee to man, beast, or god… but did I even want to finish that legend? Was it worth it?
The holy symbol in my hand is old, a little rusty on the back. The front face is worn clean by a bad habit of rubbing it in stress, but the symbol of the faith of the nine is still visible.
"... Don't know why I keep you sometimes" my habit of talking to inanimate objects had yet to yield results, but why not keep trying?
"Its not like I expect much from you all… I don't exactly pray on the regular… but I still remember the main idea." I closed my eyes, drifting back to youthful memories of learning the faith with my brother on our trips to church, I may have stopped attending when I had the freedom to do so, but I never forgot "Gods guide, and men act, and the seasons turn from light to dark and back again until the end of time… well… I could really use some guidance right about now"
One last look at the symbol, then to the tomato plants… I turn to go back inside and escape from the sun
Broken Masquerade
I stared into the mirror, and a completely broken woman stared back at me.
Distantly, I recalled the memory of my vanity. When I would spend ages in front of a mirror, agonizing over the fine details of my appearance. Carefully applying make up, bushing out my hair… I had been beautiful once, full of life.
The woman that stared back at me now couldn't be more different. My dark skin paled from months without sunlight. Hair an untamed rat's nest as I never had the time now to maintain it. One eye milky and blind, the other dark brown and bloodshot. Half my face was marked by deep scars and the other was a blighted and burned wasteland of ruined flesh.
Tears stained my cheeks as I continued to stare at a reflection I hated. I hated myself, inside and out and had for a long time now… last night had just been the straw that broke the camel's back.
Months and months of not showing my face. Lying daily to everyone I meet. Painfully binding my chest. Dressing in layers of over-thick clothes. Constant stress and worry that someone might find out. The growing danger of Qesir. Even while trying to do good things, ending up slipping all too easily back into old habits. Meeting Talima. Managing Noct as they seemed to lose the small grip on reality they had.
My every day had been a fresh wave of stress and agonies, but I endured it through my self loathing. Just punishment for what I've done I would tell myself every time I nearly pass out in the street from heat stroke…
But now this? A stack of papers that had set my blood to boil. People I thought rightfully dead apparently alive and keeping busy. Vengeance had tasted sour the first time I thought I had killed that wretched bastard Dominique and his minions… but despite the vile taste, is give anything for another chance at it.
The news had been too much for me. Despite Noct's insistence, I had snapped. Revealed myself to our companions, told them the truth and laid myself bare.
It may have been an over reaction. A poor decision made in the heat of the moment, after all, I'm known for those.
But…
It felt
So
Good
Even just for a second, I cast the weights off my shoulder and I could be myself. Actually look my companions in the eye and say what was on my mind.
But it was a mistake. The look on Noct's face was enough to tell me that. Noct will not forgive me, and by all rights, Noct shouldn't forgive me at all. I'm the reason Bellamy is dead, I took that from Noct.
Our entire reason for coming here was stupid and childish. I told myself I wanted the world to remember the hero my brother could have been… but I was just hurt, lashing out and making wild decisions. I used my mourning as an excuse to run away, to not face my crimes and my parents. I tricked myself and Noct into believing I had some noble cause to do right by my brother… but the truth was I am just a coward and you can't live in a dream.
…
Feeling a fresh wave of exhaustion, I slink away from the mirror and drop heavily against the bathroom wall. Curling into a ball of self pity, new tears form in my eyes.
Oh Bellamy, you perfect, stupid man…. What would you say to me now? I wasted our life not listening to you. Wasted every chance you gave me to put me on the right path.
Now you are gone, and your sister is all alone, caught between missing you and hating you for throwing your life away for mine.
I am broken… and I do not think I will ever be whole
Gone Fishing
Truth be told… I don't really enjoy the act of fishing. I like eating the fish I catch and I go fishing pretty often… but the act of fishing isn't fun to me.
Tossing a line and sitting idle for however long it takes some fish to notice your bait is not a thrilling activity. It's pretty unlikely you are going to catch anything significant off a small pier anyway.
I've seen several boats along the docks willing to sell their services for deep sea fishing where you can catch the big impressive fish… but that's more a thing for tourists who want to pay for the experience. That being said, Teremun might enjoy it, mostly because by the end he would be practically garunteed a large fish to cook.
I don't go fishing for the love of doing it. I go fishing because it's a good way to pass the time and think. A chance to get away from the Lodge and stew in my own thoughts for a bit. The others held little interest in the activity. Down by the docks there was little chance Pari might encounter wildlife she hadn't already seen, drawn, and studied. Vurak, as always, had tinkering to do and projects to work on. Teremun was usually satisfied with whatever fish I might bring, so felt little need to go himself. Noct would join me occasionally, but rarely fished.
Whenever Noct did join, we would usually just chat or Noct would watch the scenery and the open ocean for inspiration. Although, knowing Noct, they may be a little more interested in the activity if I went fishing at night rather than in the day.
.for now, I was alone. Today the pier was mostly empty and quiet. Perfect for me to find a nice spot to settle down and cast my line out into the water.
As I watched the gently lapping waves, I took a moment to let my mind wander as I considered my brief time in Qesir.
The few days I had spent here had been more dramatic and intense than anything I had experienced in the six months that Noct and I traveled. The Black Fang, That Monster in Bailah, the infinite mysteries of the Shar, and my strange new companions.
It was a lot to take in.
Sure, the entire crux of the new direction I set for my life was to do something Heroic and have the name Bellamy Bashira earn its place in history. I had expected danger and drama… but expecting something like that is very different to experiencing it.
It was times like this when doubt sinks in, as it often does. Could I do what I had planned? Should I be even trying?
Others had been quick to point out that they thought my goal carried a distinct amount of foolishness and arrogance… they were perhaps right about it being foolish. Noct was very much my enabler, despite how foolish a concept it was.
As much as I was rising to the challenges being thrown before me, I wasn't entirely sure if I could continue to new the rising escalation.
Hell, moreso than just the rising challenge, did i deserve the chance to be doing any of this? A new form of doubt had been eating at me since we reached Qesir. The weight of the story I was trying to tell was starting to press on my shoulders as I realized just how difficult it would be to maintain. Image and identity were fragile things in my hands and the past was more then willing to knock them away from me.
Could i actually succeed my goal as intended? Did I actually want to? Did some part of me crave the release of failure and discovery?
It was no surprise that it was beginning to weigh on me.a journey that started on impulse, a knee-jerk reaction from my life being turned upside down. In many ways my journey had only just begun, yet it had already been six months. That's a lot of time to think about something.
I still did want to do better, to be better, To earn the chance I was given but the mere act of standing here and calling myself-
Hmm? Oh.
A fish was nibbling the line
Facing the Bull
The first night in Qesir has been a long one and it doesn't have the courtesy of being over yet. An illusory Dragon, organized bandits, and gods know what else. I'm no stranger to brawls and disasters but something about this strikes me differently.
My companions are still spread out and recovering from the attack as well. Pari is still limping after her stupid stunt. Teremun is keeping a prisoner restrained. Noct has run off to find our Kobold friend… it's a lot to process as I stand there, looking over the pickpockets that didn't survive the battle.
The adrenaline is starting to die down now, my body registering all the pain it had been ignoring. My gambeson is soaked with my own blood from several stab wounds. Noct's magic had saved my life yet again, but the pain was not so quick to fade.
Was this just how it was going to be from now on? Throwing myself into battle with no garuntees of coming back out? I supposed that was what heroes did. Noct was certain to try and spin tonight's events to some grand tale of my bravery and combat prowess. Noct had been relentless in the pursuit of the shared dream thus far, spreading the name of Bellamy Bashira to every ear that would listen and some that wouldn't…
That was all according to plan… but…
My hand comes away from my gambeson, the leather glove stained with my blood. Even on my first official night doing anything vaguely heroic, I had come so close to failure.
----
I was reminded of a memory, a few years ago now. When I had faced a rampaging bull. It had been a day like any other, walking the streets and going about my business. Tymbren was a busy place, people mulling about the streets and living their lives. At first I paid little attention to the bull. A passing glance told me enough, it was on a lead with a farmer placating it with feed probably leading it to someone that had bought it or to a pen in some part of the city. It was not the biggest bull I'd ever seen, not yet in its prime. Not an uncommon sight.
But disasters happen. The farmer would later tell me that a bee had stung the animal. At the time, all I knew is that the docile beast had suddenly broken it's lead and was charging through the streets. People were running and trying to get out of the creature's way. I was quite intent on staying by the side lines… but I looked up and saw a mother and her daughter, fleeing the creature.
Some people have terrible luck. The little girl tripped, hitting the dirt. Right in the path of the raging Bull that was closing in fast. The mother, realizing that she didn't have the time to pick her daughter up, did the protective parent thing and but her body between her child and the Beast in a vain attempt to shield them from harm.
I immediately knew neither would survive collision with a raging bull.
At the time I was not so inclined to self sacrifice and heroism as I am now, but instinct is a funny thing. I was moving before I had the time to think about it. The smart thing probably would have been to tackle the mother and child, try yo get them out of the way… but I'm not the smartest person as history will prove.
No, my dumb ass decided to take the bull by the horns and try to stop it.
My hands tightened around the horns of the raging beast and I tried to stop it. Immediately the full weight of the creature collided with me, a shockwave of pain throughout my body. It's head impacting my chest and thankfully only breaking four ribs. Still I held on to its horns, locking eyes with the animal that only seemed to grow more furious as I struggled with it.
Six seconds is a very, very long time under certain circumstances. Each second holding that bull was a new thought, experience, and emotion.
One second.
I knew that this animal was probably going to kill me. By goring or stomping, if I let go it was going to do everything in its power to kill me.
Two seconds
Every muscle in my body screams in protest, quaking with effort.
Three seconds
My shoes are sliding through the dirt, I'm being pushed backward. I'm losing. I'm going to die.
Four seconds
My heel catches in the ground. The beast and I are in stalemate. I have traction. I have leverage.
Five seconds
I take my chance, I can do this. One last push, all my strength to twist the horns of the Beast and pull it's head to the ground.
Six seconds
My strength prevails as I pull the creature off balance. It hits the dirt with a mighty thud, I can already feel it furiously trying to lift it up as I struggle to keep it pinned.
What happens after those seconds is a blur, others rush to my aid to hold down the bull and subdue it. It finally accepts defeat and calms down. I am fretted over by an apologetic farmer. Thanked by a worried mother. It's hard to focus through pain and exhaustion.
The feat I accomplished was difficult but not impossible… but it was one I would take advantage of. The tale of wrestling a bull to the ground was great for telling in taverns when sharing a drink with friends and strangers.
But over time, the story was embellished. The Bull became bigger. My victory over it easier. More impressive, more dramatic. There was nothing wrong with a few additions to the story if it got me a free round of drinks.
But in the back of my mind there is a doubt… of if I could face that bull again. What if the bull was now as large and strong as my embellished tales? Would people expect me to be able to perform in the manner I had in those stories?
----
I think now of the bandits I fought tonight. I had been victorious in battle, but only barely.
I knew Noct would use this to spread the legend… but their story was likely to be grander than the truth. Exaggeration. Embellishment. Just like the bull I had fought, the bandits would be retold as stronger and more skilled. My battle less of a struggle.
People may even be inclined to believe in such a tale. To expect of me such feats of bravery and skill.
But I wonder how, how long until stories exceed my abilities? How long until the Bull grows too large to defeat?
Memories of a journey 5
It is like Hunger.
Not starvation. To starve is to crave something that is necessary to being alive. Starvation is all consuming. One can be hungry but not starving. To hunger for something specific. A passive emotion, but nonetheless present. It is a want, not a need.
---
I sit by the small table where Noct and I had been taking our meals during the few days as we prepare for the long journey to Qesir. Arranged into neat piles in front of me is what remains of our money.
99 copper, one short of a silver… not very helpful aside from giving exact change. Giving exact change is good, makes the transaction go faster. Short transaction saves time.
75 silver… the bulk of our funds. Silver gets handed off the most, primary currency of the dominion. Had more Silver this morning, but I handed 15 Silver off to Noct to run some errands and have pocket money.
No gold. I had possessed a fair amount, but we took only what I could carry. The Gold I did take went fast. Weapons and Armor aren’t cheap. Neither is travel.
---
This feeling, so like hunger. It can be specific, yet it need not be sated right away. You will not starve. It knows this. It is a patient feeling when it needs to be.
---
The helmet stares at me from across the table, the chainmail veil laying around it. It is blank and dull, eyes of black glass that see nothing, deep scratches across its surface. It is a static, emotionless face… yet one could almost pretend it was judgmental in this moment. The hard metal didn’t have emotion… yet Noct always seemed so good at picking up on my emotions when i wore it, as if he could see the expression on my face behind the unmoving metal.
I stare back at it, leaning forward to pick up a pile of coins, only to let them fall back to the table, clinking together as they landed back in a stack. I repeat the gesture, staring at the helmet since it is my only company right now. The only handle the clink of metal coins falling again and again.
“You know… The Dominion does a lot to make sure people don’t go poor… doesn’t mean they make the cost of living cheap” I talk at my ‘companion’, uncaring about their lack of response. “Everything is taxed in some form or function. I suppose it all feeds back into the system. Dominion does actually seem to put those tax dollars to work… but its no surprise not everyone is pleased”
---
This crawling feeling, it lingers in the back of your mind. Gently clawing at your thoughts, whining for attention. It reminds you of what you want and that you do not have it. It whispers in your ear how to feed it, gives hope that the voice can be silenced. You know better now.
Its easy to ignore most of the time.
---
“But I suppose that’s why guardsmen still have a job” i leave the stack alone for now, picking up a single copper and turning it over in my hand. “Its a good job. Honest work. Make sure the people who don’t like the rules and the taxes are kept in check. Take care of the people who do follow the rules. Dominion is hard on organized crime anyway. Being a Guardsman is usually pretty easy.”
The Helmet says nothing even as I turn an accusatory eye to it.
“Wander around town. Keep the peace. Help an old lady cross the street. Simple, easy, boring… safe” Venom creeps into my voice. I’m not sure why, I'm talking to myself. It's not like I'm talking to any real person. “The Dominion does most of the work. Rules, Laws, regulations and god forbid, audits. Pretty hard for anything more complicated than a petty thief to get in a guard’s way… in theory anyway”
I look at the coin in my hand again, cleaning a smudge of dirt off it with the thumb of my leather glove. Its quite the shiny little copper piece. I can almost see my reflection in it.
I hate looking at this coin.
---
Again, so much like hunger, it seems so easy to quiet this emotion. Just feed it, just a little. Enough to make it quiet.
That is, I suppose, the difference between being hungry and starving. When you are starving, you fill a need, and then you are no longer starving. Starvation is easy to fix. Hunger is not. Hunger doesn't have to go away, it isn’t so easily sated.
So you feed it… then you feed it again. This feeling it begins to get louder. It demands more, and it feels so good to feed it. To have all that is brings with it. The more you feed it, the easier it becomes to feed as well.
Quite the slippery slope, i would imagine.
Hard to see from an outsider’s perspective until it is far too late.
---
“But its easy to get complacent. Living ins a decent sized city, you don’t expect much… so it's pretty easy to get taken by surprise… easier when you are being sentimental” I grimace at the coin in my hand. My free hand rises up to my face, gently touching the skin as memories wash over me.
“But what is a good guardsman to do? What is a good man willing to give up for others. Is being a good guardsman being ready and willing to put your life on the line for someone else… Even when those people have-” my face feels hot, not from old pain, not from the sun coming through the window. I put the coil down and put my face into the rough leather of my gloves, hoping that they are absorbent.
---
That feeling builds and grows, leaving people to do terrible things to feed it. They become blind to the consequences of their actions. Blind to the knives at their back. Blind to the people they hurt.
That feeling, its own kind of hunger, a parasite that eats you from the inside out…
Its only a matter of time until all that is built by that hunger crumbles out from under you.
Then someone else has to clean up the mess. To judge if you are worthy to be saved.
Sometimes salvation comes too late.
Not everyone can be saved.
---
The creak of the door comes shortly after I manage to find my composure again.
Judging by the light humming, Noct is back and in a good mood.
I save face by not turning to face him. Instead I busy myself with sweeping the coins off the table and into my coin purse. Noct is too good at reading my face, whether i’m wearing a helmet or not. Its easier to lie if i’m not looking at them.
“Where you able to find everything?” I ask, i’m good at keeping emotion out of my voice.
“Plenty of food and most everything on the list. Sadly Dreammaker, I was too late to pick up any crossbow bolts” i could hear Noct going through what they had bought and packing it away into our travel bags.
“It happens, we can shop around before we leave tomorrow, hopefully they’ll be restocked. Did you have any change?” i set the small bag of coin on the table, reaching for the helmet and pretending to clean it.
Noct goes quiet for a moment before answering.
“...There were a few silver left… on my way back, there was a woman and sh-” Noct stops their explanation as I stand, grabbing the bag of coins. I quietly tie it back to my belt, looking down at Noct with a smile.
“Noct, you don’t have to explain every act of charity you make. You did a good thing” I pat them on the shoulder and kneel as I help pack for tomorrow’s journey. This seems to ease the slight worry on Noct’s face.
“Besides, we have enough to get us to Qesir” I lie as easily as I breathe.
Memories of a journey 4
When we arrived in Madras, I was 9f course more than happy to be off the rocking sea and the tight confinement of that boat.
The first major leg of our journey was done and this new land was so strange and exciting and yet somehow familiar. A lifetime of my father's stories had painted an incomplete picture of this land, all at once made whole by seeing it with my own eyes.
I was excited, and so was Noct from what I could tell. My strange companion never ceased to surprise me. All at once familiar and mystified by the hustle and bustle of Madras. If anything I would guess Noct was inspired, although expressions were difficult to figure out through that mask… I had begun to pick up on a certain tone of voice and volume of questions when the beginnings of a song or poem were picking at Noct's mind.
I almost felt bad for dragging Noct away from the busy main streets to secure us a place to rest for the night… but I didn't plan on us staying.
"Are you sure about this, Dreammaker?" Noct sat crosslegged on the simple bed in our new room. In his lap was my helmet, which he held and stared into the eyes of as I set about getting dressed to go out.
"Normally I wouldn't…. But we are in a new place, a new city, a new continent. No one is going to remember us, not in a place as busy as this" I explained my reasoning to Noct as much as I explained it to myself. Qesrir was still a long distance to travel, and there was no harm in taking a day to enjoy ourselves… besides the beaches I'd seen on our way in looked too good to pass up.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder at Noct, who had set the Helmet aside and was working on stripping off his own heavy armor in favor of more casual clothing. I did catch a smile on Noct's face though.
Grabbing my hooded cloak, I pushed open the window and looked out. 2nd story room, drops off into an empty alley. Perfect. I tossed Noct the room key.
"Same as usual. Close the window and lock the door, tell the Innkeeper I'm sleeping if he asks"
"As you wish, Dreammaker"
Then, I jumped out the window.
---
A short while later, Noct and I had regrouped and were now actually enjoying our time in the city. I still had my hood up, but the freedom of walking without my heavy armor was a blessing unto itself.
The city was truly a wonder, walking about to see the sights. Then there was the food. While it pained me to part with what remained of our dwindling coin, snatching up various sweets and foodstuffs from market stalls was worth every coin. From what I could tell, Noct was not quite as enthralled as he had been with peanut butter, but enjoyed sampling the culinary delights none the less.
---
At last, the sea.
We managed to find a small, somewhat secluded spot on the beach, away from the other beach visitors. As we set down up or place to rest. I made yet another risk for the day. Pulling off my cloak and stripping off all but my shirt and pants. I took a moment to bask in the freedom and the heat of the sun on my skin.
My hair caught in the wind, I just stood there for a time, relishing the moment, eyes closed and arms outstretched. For perhaps the first time in months I felt free and at ease. Noct did what he could to ease my worries often, but this was the only time is found that peace without outside help.
Opening my eyes, I looked out onto the ocean. Id seen it before. Looked at it often while we were on the boat. Then it had seemed unforgiving, holding us it it's powerful grasp with no options to go to… but now, on the white sand of the beach, the waves lapping at the shore, the sea glittering like diamond in the distance.
"It's beautiful" I said aloud, my voice soft but unchanged.
"It is. Many poets and writers have struggled into the ages to put it to words, few have come close… I think at moments like this 'beautiful' is enough" Noct mused from where they sat on the sand.
We sat and ate again for some time, cutting off pieces of bread and picking at some fruit. Noct and I watched the sea, speaking of things old and new, and of our journey here and forward.
In time, I chanced the strength of a human against the might of the sea. Diving into the cold waves. I had often taken to swimming in the river near my home, be it for exercise or to clear my head of the troubles of family and work. The river had often been a challenge, with its flowing currents… but it was nothing to the sea.
Even for a skilled swimmer such as I, the waves proved a unique challenge. Moving up and down, crashing at me with walls of water as I moved deeper into the surf. The cool water on my skin eased the strain of my muscles as I pushed farther and farther still.
After a time, I found myself before where they waves crashed. Where the water simply bobbed up and down. That feeling of peace came over me again as I gave in. No longer punching back against the sea, but floating along with it like a chunk of driftwood. Doing only enough to keep my head above water, staring out into the seemingly infinite water. I could stay there forever and there would still be no words for the moment besides Beautiful.
---
I returned from the water, my body tired and would no doubt be sore tomorrow, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Laying down on the simple blanket we had brought, I did what came naturally. Laying in the warmth of the sun, the water slowly drying from my skin, I closed my eyes and attempted to nap.
Do note that I said attempted.
"Dreammaker." Noct's voice cut through the haze of sleep that was starting to come over me
"... What is it Noct?" I turned my head, chancing a glance with my good eye.
"We have been visited by a crab" Noct was squatting nearby, carefully observing the movements of a small orange crab. Truth be told, I was surprised he recognized the animal, I hadn't assumed Noct had much knowledge of beaches… but ever the surprise I suppose
"Right… just don't let it steal our food" I said, closing my eye and settling back in to sleep.
"It seems friendly" Noct said, his voice already growing distance. The warm sand beneath the blanket, the kiss of the sun on my dark skin, the exhaustion following a good workout, it distant soft sound of waves. it quickly began to lull me to sleep. The world around me slipping awa-
"Dreammaker." Nocy's voice again, i sighed and did not open my eyes.
"What is it?"
"The crab has armed itself" Noct's voice came with a tinge of worry. In confusion I turned my head to see Noct backing away from the crab, which now held our bread knife aloft in its claw. Swinging the sharp blade wildly.
"SHIT"
Memories of a journey 3
More and more these days, I wonder what it means to be strong.
Sure, one can sit down and wax poetically about the importance of moral strength, of having willpower in the face of opposition and all of that. That I understood. My father had filled my mind with tales of 'strength' in that vein since I was a child.
I had willpower. I had proven I was able to get back up after being knocked down again and again. I had the inspiration to know what true good and heroism was. That kind of strength was covered.
But as much as that kind of strength makes for good storytelling… I knew already that it alone was never enough. I was born into a world of gods and monsters. Where evil, true evil, was a tangible thing that could reach out and kill you. Heroes in stories could not always fight evil with tolerance and understanding.
That's where strength came in, when the hero is backed to the wall and has to fight their way out.
So, to be a hero, I must be strong in all ways. Morally and physically.
My muscles scream at me even now, my body shaking as I continue to push. On a busy ship like this there is no place for me to practice with sword or halberd, only the small private room where I have just enough space for my workout routine. To make up for the lack of blade training, I double my physical workouts and try to push my body beyond its limits even in the small space.
I try not to think about numbers, as moving toward some flat numerical goal will make me begin to expect an end and begin to slack off. Instead, I started when Noct left for the Galley, I knew roughly how long it would take for him to get each of us a plate of food and come back. Between his overt politeness and the long line for food, it was going to be awhile, so I just had to keep doing push ups till he came back.
As I continued to push myself despite the ache, I let my mind wander to try to divert my focus from the pain.
Strength. That's what I was thinking about. That's why I was doing this. That's what I needed more of.
I had always been strong. My parents had ended up with children that were tall of build and strong of body. Exercising to increase and maintain that strength had been more of a hobby in my youth, to improve my appearance if anything. It had helped with my work of course. I enjoyed quite a reputation, people telling stories of when I had wrestled a raging bull to the ground… sure, in truth it was a fairly young bull, but it had been quite a feat at the time.
I had always been strong… for a human. Yet I was only human. I had seen orcs and Dragonborn that could match or well exceed my strength with little effort. My father had spun tales of the powerful Veldrani people of the Pall'tanir, whose bodies were as tall and strong as the mountains. It was a simple matter of birth, these people were just naturally stronger than me, their race was built differently than humans.
Then that was just the physical. I had a companion once, Caliban, a rare sight but a helpful one. He was a freelance wizard, used his arcane skills learned over a decade of rigorous study for those that could pay for his services. Caliban's magic was always appreciated in my work when the coin could be spared. Magic was an ability I could never possess. It was not in my blood and the spell scrolls I had seen were not but confusing gibberish… but caliban, a human like me, had spent a decade of his life in study to tame magic to his will.
But again… he was only human as well. Many elves were born with magic already at their fingertips. Powerful sorcerers existed that put wizards to shame, their magic coming from their heritage and blood rather than from work and study. Twice the power, half the effort.
In many ways, being human can feel as if you are lesser. A human, no matter how well learned, will struggle to match wits with A gnome. The finest of human craftsman will still pale in comparison to dwarven craftsmanship. A friend of mine once said that it was as if, during creation, all the races had been lined up to receive gifts from the god… but when they came to humans, the gods found their pockets empty.
Even my companion Noct, though I am thankful for his abilities, boasts power that no doubt exceeds my own. He may not be quite as physically strong as me, but he had begun to tap into a well of magic all his own with equal power to harm and to heal.
In the end. I am only human. My limits are clear. I have no magic and I will never be as strong as other races. The burning of my muscles was a brutal reminder that I was pushing hard on the limits of humanity.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of the door opening, a quick glance confirming it was Noct. Registering his arrival as the sign to stop, my muscles immediately gave out before I had the chance to allow them to. I hit the floor a heaving sweaty mess. As I lay there panting and trying to control my breathing I was dimly aware of Noct moving around the room. He set the plates of food on the bed, then kneeled next to me.
"You're going to get hurt if you keep doing this to yourself" Noct sighs, pushing some of the sweat soaked hair out of my face and patting my brow dry with a cloth. I say nothing, just continue to breathe and try to ignore the pain lancing through my body.
I am only human… but if I am going to stand in a world of gods and monsters and make them remember the name Bellamy Bashira; then I would need to find the limits of humanity, and push beyond even that.
Memories of a journey 2
I always feel guilty about sneaking off these days. I can sit and give myself a thousand excuses: Noct is asleep, the room is locked, it'll only be half an hour or so, etc. Reasonable excuses, but excuses none the less. Doesn't change that I'm bring dishonest…. But unfortunately the guilt hasn't stopped me yet, it's starting to make me hesitate… so perhaps there is some progress.
Even as a walk down the silent corridors of the ship, my mind nags at me constantly. Noct probably knows what I'm doing, they can be quite observant. Just choosing not to say anything so I don't feel judged for going back on my promise to let go of my vices. Noct could often be like that, quiet, supportive and forgiving to a fault… part of me almost wishes Noct would actually get angry and call me out.
Quite interesting how I can be walking and thinking all these negative things about what I'm planning to do, and at no point do I actually stop myself. Addiction and vice is a funny thing.
I glance out a pothole, seeing the dark night sea and sky beyond. It's late… or rather so late it's early. If always had a good sense of time, so if probably put it at around 3am. 3am was an interesting time, so far in the night that few are ever awake but not close enough to dawn that even light sleepers would be beginning to stir. 3am almost doesn't exist to most people.
I knew better than to assume the entirety of the crew was asleep. No ship is ever truly asleep, even on a calm night like this. There is always a skeleton crew to keep the ship moving and on course… but at this time of night, enough of the crew would be asleep to grant me some privacy.
Stepping out onto the deck, a brief shiver came over me as I pushed the door open. The cold sea air cut through me instantly and I was immediately thankfully for the little warmth the padding of my gambeson provided. As I suspected, at a glance, the deck was mostly clear. At best I could see a very bored looking Helmsman who was more focused on a book than he was on actively steering. A look upwards saw a pair of kicked up feet poking out over the edge of the crowsnest… so it was a safe bet that it's occupant wasn't looking down anytime soon.
Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I make my way quietly across the deck, headed up to the forecastle deck. Frontmost deck of the ship and several thick masts between myself and the helmsman should he glance my way. Alone again. Pulling off my helmet, as usual I take a moment to indulge myself in a deep breath. The smell of the sea is new to me still, Tymbren was quite a distance from the coast… not sure if I'm a fan yet.
Regardless, I set the Helmet down on a nearby barrel…. I pause for a second, reaching down and turning it so the visor was looking away from me, as if to make it not witness my shame. I then set to my purpose for coming here. Withdrawing from a pocket in my gambeson, a short pipe and a cloth bag. I'd been taking quite a lot of care to keep the pipe clean and the bag well sealed, not out of affection for the objects but to try to reduce any trace of the smell.
I'd told myself and Noct that I was quitting smoking 6 months ago when we started this journey together… but I am weak of will when it comes to my vices. I sigh in defeat and self disappointment as I begin the practiced motions of packing the tamp into the pipe. Putting the bag away, I clenched the pipe between my teeth as I closed the bag and started patting around my pockets for a match.
"Need a match there, son?" Came a gruff voice from behind me
"Ah yeah, if you don't m- SHIT" I was talking before I came to the realization that I was supposed to be alone and suddenly wasn't. Scrambling to grab my helmet and attempt to cover my face, I was distracted by the sound of that deep voice again, now turned to a booming laugh.
"No need for that now. Overheard the boys chatting that you and that short friend of yours were mighty shy about being seen without that there tin can of yours... but I couldn't see you if I wanted to" the voice said. Daring to look, I saw its source, a large full blooded orc stood at the other end of the forecastle. How someone that large had managed to sneak up on me I'll never know. He continued to chuckle, making his way over with heavy footfalls, idly tapping a long wooden cane in front of him as he came. The orc was dressed in worn but we'll made clothes, typical of a sailor but one that was both well paid and experienced. He was old for an orc, long white hair pulled back into a ponytail and tusks showing signs of age. Most notably, as he drew closer I became aware of his eyes, pale blue and unfocused, a look I knew well.
"... You're blind" I struggled to keep my voice, pipe still hanging from the side of my mouth as I slowly relaxed, putting the Helmet back down.
"Aye. Surprises people sometimes… but you spend a long enough life on these waters, and you won't need to see to sail." He grinned with the kind of confidence that only a life of skill and experience can bring.
"Right… I don't believe I caught your name?"
"Didn't give it. No need for that kind of thing on a night like this." He said, smiling still as he leaned against the railing, it creaking under his weight. He started to pull out his own pipe, a surprisingly ornate piece of work carved in the shape of a lion's head, and pack his own tamp.
In a way, for once I was almost glad to not have to give a name. We sat and smoked in silence. The sweet smoke mixing with the salty air in a way that was surprisingly pleasant. The old orc was the first to break the silence.
"So… what are you expecting to find in the desert? " the question was blunt and it took me longer than I liked to find an answer.
"... I don't know yet to tell you the truth. Maybe just a chance to be remembered? Maybe I want to find something important or do something great. A chance to put a name in history… sounds pretty selfish when I say it out loud" unsure of why I was being so honest to this nameless blind orc, I turned away and drew a deep breath of smoke as I stared out into the dark sea ahead of the ship.
"Hehe. You're hardly the first or the last to tell me something like that" again came that booming laugh. When it stopped he turned his head to me, despite him being clearly blind his gaze seemed to pierce through me "there are worse reasons than yours to be setting out on your journey, son. Listen to an old sailor now. No matter what your intentions, if you do good for yourself and for others… then you'll find what you need, even if it ain't what you were looking for"
I digested these words in silence…
"I think I'm just scared… I don't know what I'm doing" I admitted, looking at the Helmet. I had put it down with the visor facing me, I half expected that the dull hunk of metal was judging me as well.
"You should be. Still a dangerous world to be walking into blindly. Lots of horrors in that desert… lot of good too" he mused, taking a deep hit of the pipe again. "But, I don't think the age of heroes is quite past us. Adventures to be had and stories to be told. Something tells me you'll be part of one by the end. Just got to take that first step" he smiled, letting out a cloud of smoke and unceremoniously dumping the contents of his pipe off the edge of the ship. "Get some rest, this ship ain't exactly quite cone dawn"
I watched in silence the the orc hobbled off, too at loss for words to even thank the weird old man for his insights. Once again I was alone, my mind still buzzing in thought. I raised the pipe to my lips, hoping for the sweet haze of calm that usually followed a hit… but I stopped. Pulling back I looked at the pipe, the slowly smoldering tamp in the bowl looking back at me.
"... Take that first step huh? God damn it" I sighed, a mix of defeat and resolve in the pit of my stomach. With one last look at it, I pulled out the bag of tamp from my pocket and quietly tossed it and the pipe over the railing, watching as they splashed into the water below.
Still a long road… but keeping promises is a good first step.
Memories of a journey 1
The rocking of the boat still makes me queasy. My life had made me no stranger to boats, going up and down the river by my home many times but that was on smaller vessels and the motion of the ocean was vastly different than that of a river. Whatever the reason, it left me tempted to give up the scant dinner I had shared with the crew. Mustering the bit of willpower I had left, I stumbled through the door to my cabin and quietly shut it behind me.
Although the ship was far from comfortable, we had just enough money to afford our own cabin for the duration of the voyage. It had been costly, but it was likely to be my last luxury for some time. Might as well enjoy the minor shreds of my privacy while they last.
Speaking of which, as I turned away from locking the door and securing the deadbolt, I regarded my companion for the voyage.the short form of Noct was laying quietly on the bed, turned on his side and breathing quietly. I watched them in silence for a few seconds, unable to tell if they were truly asleep or simply being quiet due to the ever present mask..
I was still unused to some of Noct's habits and mannerisms, but their lack of response seemed as good an indication as any if sleep.
Turning away I took the usual precautions. Double check the locks and hang my cloak over the window. The small porthole looked over naught but dark churning sea but I was not taking chances. Satisfied in my brief privacy, I collapsed into a small chair with an exhausted groan.
I reached up, with one hand freed my face from the sweaty metal prison of my helmet. Taking a deep breath, the salty stake air of the ship still seemed crisp and clean in comparison to when I was burdened of constantly breathing through a veil of chainmail. I sit in silent, rubbing my face and tracing the slight marks the battered metal helm left upon it after countless hours of wearing it. It was times like this I started to rethink the choices that brought me here and the enormity of the task ahead of me.
It had already been a few months but the start of the journey still weighs heavily on my mind as if it was only days ago.
Our task had been done, our minds made up, and letters were written. I gave Noct some space that night, both to pack his few belongings and to give him some much needed time to himself. He deserved that much after all I had done.
In a haze of pain in its many forms, I wandered the dark streets of Tymbren. Without meaning, I found myself standing before a monument. A relic of the great battle that had taken place twenty five years previous. It was a simple thing really, a monolith bearing many names on its stone surface. Countless warriors that fought in the battle, their names immortalized in stone.
I only remembered bits of the battle, I was so young and we were being evacuated even before Kassar was destroyed. Even from miles away, the battle could be seen and heard such was the power being thrown away. Were it not for childish stupidity I would not have even gotten a close up glimpse. My sibling and I had snuck away to witness the war, and nearly gotten killed in a strange bamboo forest.
That I remember vividly, crouched in darkness, both of us holding hands over the other's mouth praying to not be seen… and then we saw the Wardens. Their battle against a strange dark god was brief but it set a fire in our hearts. I knew then and there… THAT was what heroes looked like.
Standing before that monument, lost in memory I questioned if what I desired was possible… I am only human. Could I do what needed done to be remembered as they were?... I still don't know.
But I do know this.
The world will remember the name Bellamy Bashira.
Even if it kills me.
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