I’m going to be posting them on my new writing blog here as I finish them. I’m going to be working on polishing the next story, and I think the one after that is ready to go. I’ll probably start the fifth one when we get back from our trip.

I’d love some critique, if anyone feels so inclined, so feel free to let me know if you end up reading anything. Thanks!

I thought running at night was supposed to keep you up. Hmm. I can’t tell how I’m doing on my fitness goals, either. I’m losing fat, but gaining muscle, since strength training is a part of it, so I’m actually gaining weight. I hope this is a good thing.

These days, when I’m not working out, playing music, or working, I’m frequently writing. I’m working on several related short stories with the hope of digitally publishing them later in one joint volume—maybe several. I don’t want to post them here yet, but feel free to message me if you want to read them. I’m somewhat ashamed to say that they would be in the same section as Lord of the Rings. I’ve got two stories completed, and I have two in progress. And if you’re wondering, my favorite redhead alter-ego Lenus is a character.

That’s all I’ve got in me tonight. Good night, folks!

I won’t try to hide that this is about Janelle. She’s really a balancing force in my life, and I don’t admit that nearly enough. She’s a great source of strength for me, and I find myself leaning on her a lot more than I originally thought I would.

So here’s to Janelle, and many nautical references to come! Cheers!

Here’s what I came up with:

Oh shit!

This piece is a pre-cursor to this piece, which occurs after Caelum has recruited a few other kindred souls (although we only see one of them in that piece).

The smells of fish and saltwater filled the air. Clanks of armor accented the unusually somber marketplace sounds: merchants advertising the freshest fish and the finest crafts, customers haggling for the best prices, birds squawking and fighting over scraps of food abandoned on the ground, all sounding over the steady crashing of waves against a quiet beach.

Thus was Marrbank. Marrbank was a small fishing village that soon found itself a minor port as well, being the closest town to the Sederan Empire. Naturally, when the Sederan Empire decided to forcibly expand into southern lands, Marrbank was the first town to be sacked. Feeding and housing the steady stream of soldiers soon became the town’s biggest industry, although not a very profitable one.

A pair of armored soldier clanked down the crowded street. Others had walked quietly, simply patrolling, but this pair shot intimidating glances at citizens, looking for trouble. The citizens regarded them cautiously, careful not to stare or give any reason for provocation.

Caelum Deleon was careful to duck into a merchant tent as the two soldiers walked past. The shield and sword on his back had already attracted a few unwelcome stares, and his black leather brigandine attracted a few more from those who looked closely enough at it to recognize it. After the two had walked past, he returned to the street and walked in the opposite direction.

He walked down to the end of the marketplace and into the heart of town, where the taverns and inns were. The crowd in the street had thinned out outside of the marketplace, and fewer people were talking. He felt each stare as people passed and was careful to keep his eyes either straight ahead or on the ground to avoid drawing more attention to himself than he had to.

He veered left at an intersection, heading toward the Scarlet Harlot, a tavern he had visited the day before. From down the road, he heard the patrons laughing and swapping stories as they did at all hours of the day. Upon arriving, he saw a group of soldiers inside, laughing heartily over drinks. Caelum walked past the door as nonchalantly as he could.

The buildings grew smaller on the outskirts of town, some being replaced by tents. The occasional child would run by, giggling, and he passed a few adults carrying food, but the streets had thinned out considerably. Content that he was less likely to be noticed, Caelum began peering down alleyways and into open buildings. It didn’t help that he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.

He soon entered the residential section of town. The streets were almost abandoned, since most people were in other parts of town working or sleeping off a hard night at the tavern. He turned a corner and saw a pair of soldiers in a back alley holding a teenage boy at swordpoint. Their backs were facing Caelum. He immediately stepped back behind the corner he had just turned and listened the best he could.

“…And do boys like you always carry such rich pouches of coin in this town?” one of the soldiers asked.

“It’s my father’s. I was going to the marketpla—”

“What do you think, Bennet?” asked the other soldier.

“Do boys like you always spend the day running errands for their fathers instead of working?” asked Bennet.

“I—” the kid made a few desperate attempts at words, but failed to get a whole one out.

“Look, kid, we know this isn’t yours,” said the other soldier.

“We know you stole it,” said Bennet. The kid said nothing.

“We’re going to have to liberate this from you,” said the other soldier.

“And you know what happens to thieves,” Bennet said patronizingly.

“No! I— I— I can return it!”

Caelum took his shield off of his back and strapped it onto his left arm. He crept quietly toward the soldiers.

Bennet grabbed the kid’s arm and the other soldier raised his sword. Caelum was just outside of the alley at this point and sprinted in, bashing his shield into the soldier with sword raised. Bennet spun around just as Caelum swung his shield and struck the side of his head, instantly sending him to the ground.

The second soldier had recovered at that point and took off after Caelum, who had turned and sprinted back the way he came. Bennet wasn’t far behind him.

Caelum ran down back alleys and across streets, trying to lose the two soldiers. He was entering a more populated part of town, and the commotion made everyone stop and stare.

He turned a corner onto a busy lane. Citizens, merchants, and travelers walked about everywhere. He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because almost immediately, a gloved hand reached around his head and pulled him sideways into a smaller alleyway. Within another instant, he was inside a door. He heard the clank of armor as the guards ran past the alleyway just before the door closed quietly.

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked a woman.

Caelum’s hand was on the hilt of his sword, but hadn’t yet pulled it out. “Who are you?” he asked.

“No, I’m asking the questions here,” the woman declared.

The room was dark, but Caelum’s eyes had adjusted enough to make out a tall, thin but muscular woman with short hair that stuck out at odd angles. Her hands were planted firmly on her hips. He noticed two daggers attached to her belt, still in their sheaths. He relaxed his grip on his sword.

“Alright,” he said, “what do you want to know?”

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Caelum Deleon,” he responded.

“And what brings you to Marrbank?”

“Just travelling through.”

“Where are you heading?”

“I’m just travelling.”

She shook her head. “Bullshit. I saw you earlier, peeking your head down side streets like an idiot, studying the locals. You’re looking for something, and you wouldn’t bother the soldiers unless they had something to do with it.”

Caelum sighed. “If you must know,” he said, “I heard that there was a rebel group around here.”

“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” The woman cocked her head and studied Caelum for a few seconds. “Why are you seeking out a rebel group?”

“Because I’d like to join,” Caelum replied earnestly.

“Why?”

Caelum silently wondered how long this interrogation would take. “Sedera took my home from me. I want to take it back.”

“Well, you should know we’re about the re-instatement of Verris.”

She said “we,” which meant that Caelum had found exactly whom he was looking for.

“I too want to see Verris re-instated,” he boasted. The woman nodded slowly. Caelum chanced a question. “What’s your name?”

“Mielle,” she answered. “Mielle Harpswell. I’m with the Faithful Flame.”

Caelum didn’t tell her that he had heard the group referred to as both the Fleeting Flame and the Flaccid Flame in his two-day stay in Marrbank. Not quite the rebel group he was looking for, but it was a start.

“Can I speak with your leader?” Caelum asked.

Mielle shook her head and blinked hard. “You don’t just get in that easy,” she said. “We’ll be talking to a lower-ranking revolutionary in a neutral location. You try any funny business, we kill you. Understand?”

“Understood,” said Caelum.

Mielle bent down and peered out a crack in some curtains covering the only window in the room. Without looking back, she motioned to Caelum to follow and darted out into the alleyway. Caelum followed.

Out of the dim room, Caelum finally got a good look at Mielle. Her ash blonde hair seemed even wilder in the sunlight. She wore a sack of a gray shirt with long sleeves, although he could see the outline of a hardened leather jerkin underneath it. A black belt hung loosely on her waist and held two worn but sturdy daggers on either side of her. Black pants were tucked into some brown leather boots, and Caelum noticed that there was another small stiletto strapped to one of them. She walked briskly and confidently, but nondescriptly enough to blend in.

Mielle led down another alleyway and into a small door on the back of a building. The door surprisingly led right into the Scarlet Harlot. The bar patrons were as happy, drunk, and loud as they had been the day before, and the soldiers were now gone. Everyone seemed caught up in either a story or a meal.

Mielle laughed heartily and walked up to a lanky man sitting alone at the bar.

“So I finally found this guy,” she said, indicating Caelum. “Got a little tipsy and wandered off. I found him near the docks, I did.”

The man smiled and turned his gaze over toward Caelum. “Ah,” he said. “She was worryin’ herself sick about you, she was.” The man yawned and stretched his arms. “Well, no sense making this day any longer than it already is. Let’s get moving back to the inn. I’m beat.”

And with that, the three of them walked out of the tavern (out of the front door this time) and turned down a street. At the first intersection, he turned left and Mielle turned right. Caelum followed Mielle again.

Caelum kept checking his surroundings as nonchalantly as he could. Maybe Mielle would pull him into another blind alleyway, but he guessed escape would be harder this time around. Caelum wouldn’t be hard to spot in a crowd—no one else had a sword and shield strapped to their back.

She walked wordlessly for several blocks until the pair arrived at a small farming ground on the edge of the town. She glanced cautiously around her, and then motioned for Caelum to follow her. She was sprinting now. Once past the wooden fence, it was just a stone’s throw away to a wooded area. A short distance into the wooded area was a large rock sticking out of the ground, worn smooth by countless years of weather. Mielle sat down atop the rock and looked back at Caelum.

“He should be here soon,” she said.

Mielle plopped herself down on the rock, arms on the ground behind her. Caelum shrugged and sat down on the ground with his back against a tree. He looked down at the ground, showing the first leaves of fall. It wouldn’t be long before winter snows made travel difficult. He didn’t have much time.

“So where are you really from?” Mielle asked.

Caelum sighed and smiled. “Well, actually, I’m from Verris.”

“You seem like the type,” Mielle replied. “Stately, elegant, sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Caelum laughed awkwardly, said “Ok,” and looked down at the ground for a few seconds. Verris was known for those things—Caelum knew it well. It was just rarely vocalized—at least, not in front of him. “If you’re so critical of Verris, why do you want to see it re-instated?”

“Look, here comes Accia,” said Mielle, rising effortlessly to her feet. The lanky man from the tavern was now approaching them, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Who are you?” he asked Caelum.

“Caelum Deleon, originally from Verris,” Mielle answered for him.

Accia’s eyebrows went up. “Verris? Very interesting.”

“He’d like to join us,” Mielle said, almost patronizingly.

“Uh, I’d like to find out more about you guys,” Caelum said.

“And that’s why you wanted to speak to our leader?” Mielle asked.

“Well, he’d be the most qualified to answer questions, wouldn’t he?” Caelum ventured.

“What questions do you have?” Accia intervened, much to Caelum’s relief.

Caelum sighed and collected himself.

“Look, I want to orchestrate a more concerted effort,” he said. “Knocking off caravans and setting buildings on fire aren’t really moving us any closer to a new Verris.”

Mielle looked furious, but Accia spoke before her: “What did you have in mind?”

“There are a few different rebel groups, and a few countries or militias who would stand against the Sederan Empire. We rally them, we attack the Empire.”

“I have to admit, I admire your spirit,” Accia said, studying him. “But do you think it’s that easy?”

“We’ll never know until we try,” Caelum replied.

“How do you know we haven’t tried?” Mielle asked.

“Try or not, you haven’t succeeded,” Caelum stated, “and that’s what I set out to do.”

Accia looked over at Mielle, his eyes asking a question.

“Well, I don’t know!” Mielle said.

“It probably is time we change our tactics,” Accia said.

“Alright, we’ll take him to see Marcus,” Mielle said with just enough resolution to give Caelum hope that he would actually arrive there.

A few posts back, I talked about getting an interview with Nyx, a RLSH (real-life superhero) in Kansas City, for an article I’ll be writing for The Pitch. I’ve since asked her if I could do a patrol with her, and she just agreed. Not only that, but she alerted me to a SUPER TEAM-UP that may be occurring in May. Several other RLSHs would travel to KC to patrol for a while. Among them is Zimmer, the recently-elected President of the Heroes Network. So this could turn into a much bigger project than I had originally anticipated (in a good way). Needless to say, I’m pretty pumped about it.

I have decided on my superhero identity. From now on, I want you all to call me Blogodon! I will be a blogging superhero. Mostly, this will involve wearing a mask as I type these entries up.

Caelum wandered away from the camp for a few minutes of seclusion before drifting off to sleep. He climbed a large grassy hill not far from the camp. He was surprised to find a person lying down on the grass on the far side of the hill. He looked down at the body and made out some blonde hair and white clothes accented with blue.

“Arlia?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied.

Caelum laid down on the ground next to her and followed her gaze up to the night sky.

“I like to look at the stars,” she said, looking over at him. “Helps me relax. I was really into the myths and stories behind the constellations when I was younger, and my father knew them all.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever known one of those stories,” Caelum said. “I was always busy with things my parents found more important than stories in the sky.”

“That’s a hunter,” Arlia said, pointing at a group of stars in the western sky. “He hunted a bear for days and finally cornered it, but it turned into a deer and leapt away. He hunted the deer and cornered it, and it turned into a hawk and flew away. He hunted the hawk, climbing the highest mountain, and finally landed an arrow in the hawk. The hawk fell to the ground. The hunter went to retrieve it and the hawk turned into a beam of Lumen and shot up into the heavens. The hunter followed it and still hunts it ‘til this day.”

“And where’s the Lumen?” Caelum asked.

“Over there,” she said, pointing to a bright star farther to the east, almost right above them.

“Any other constellations I should know about?” Caelum asked.

“That’s a lion,” Arlia said, pointing at a particularly bright grouping of stars in the northern sky. “The lion was born strong, and grew to be the strongest lion in the world. No hunter could capture it, no warrior could defeat it.”

“How did it end up in the sky, then?” Caelum asked.

“Wait, I’m not done yet!” She smiled. “The people began to fear the very existence of the lion. But the lion was actually a good-hearted creature. He killed many of the other monsters that were plaguing the cities and villages. But this just made the people fear him more. The people pleaded with the gods to destroy the lion.

“Eventually, the gods descended and challenged the lion to a battle to test his character. The lion proudly accepted. The fight dragged on for days (some versions say weeks). As the fight went on, the lion grew more and more fierce, wild, and dangerous. When the fight drew to a close, the lion had become a fearsome beast, and the gods had no choice but to kill it.”

“That’s terrible,” Caelum said, staring up at the constellation. The autumn wind blew and a chill ran down his spine.

“The gods respected the lion so much that they placed him in the sky to forever be a sign of strength.”

“Is there a moral to that story?”

“Some things are meant only for the gods,” Arlia said.

“But the lion didn’t ask to be that strong.”

Arlia shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

Caelum picked himself up off of the ground, dusting himself off. “We’d better get some rest before tomorrow. No telling what we’ll find.”

“Right,” said Arlia, picking herself up and shivering. Caelum threw his cloak over her shoulders. “Thanks,” she said, smiling warmly.

The Harrowed Wold is said to be haunted by the souls of travelers who lost their way or met untimely ends. Why the Wold would be haunted and the surrounding lands would not wasn’t a question Lenus had an answer for. Not that she cared. She just wanted to see a ghost and challenge him to a game of dice, and she’d heard that this was the only place to do it.

She had just watched the sunset through the trees from the north bank of the nameless river that ran through the Wold. The only sounds so far were the trees being shaken by the breeze, the far-off growls of angry bears, the steady flowing of the river, and the increasingly loud sound of crickets chirping in the nightfall. No ghostly whooshes, no haunting moans. Of course, night was still falling.

Why Lenus was out here to begin with, even she didn’t know. Partially curiosity as to whether such a thing could exist (Lenus was skeptical); partially boredom, as her life was less exciting since she had left the Thieves’ Guild; but mostly, she just wanted a good story to tell in the tavern. She wouldn’t admit it, but she had been desperately telling and re-telling stories in the tavern to get a laugh, win some respect from novice adventurers (mostly tailors who had ventured into hunting for their own skins), or even receive a sympathetic look for a lifetime of mistakes. Any sort of heart-felt response would do, really.

She turned around so that she was facing south, looking across the river, and scanned through the trees for any signs of the massive dire kobolds that roamed the forest during the day. After several unsuccessful scans, she spotted one, retreating to wherever it was that those monsters slept. She smiled as the last bit of light disappeared below the horizon on her right and she lost sight of the beast.

Suddenly, Lenus was on her feet by no act of her own. A large hand had grabbed her shoulder and yanked her up violently. She reached for her dagger, but a smaller set of arms (although still larger than her own) reached under each of her arms and pinned them up, lifting her off the ground. The large hand released her shoulder and she heard a man laugh to her other side.

Stupid! she thought, How could I be so stupid?

“Well, well,” came the voice that had laughed at her. He stalked around in front of her so she could see him. He was a human, only slightly taller than she was, wearing a black cloak and ringmail hauberk and carrying a worn but sturdy-looking spear. It was hard to make out in the dark, but his black hair looked matted to his sullen face. “Look ‘o we ‘ave ‘ere,” the greasy man said.

Lenus heard a growl of a laugh behind her and a chill shot down her spine. Oh please no, oh please no, she silently pleaded. A clumsy, lumbering giant stepped out in front of her—undoubtedly an ogre, which confirmed Lenus’s fear—wearing equally massive hard leather armor and carrying the biggest hammer she had ever seen.

A quick reach backward revealed that the man holding her arms was wearing studded leather armor. Against one of the two humans, she may have stood a small chance, but against all three, even if she wasn’t pinned, she had virtually no hope for survival.

“She young,” said the ogre.

“Let’s get a better look at ‘er face,” the greasy man said, reaching up for her soft leather helmet. Lenus kicked as hard as she could, aiming for the man’s groin, but he swung the shaft of his spear hard, stopping her leg in mid-kick. She gasped at the pain. The man kept going as if nothing had happened and removed her helmet. Clumps of bright red hair fell across her face. The man laughed.

“A fire-mane, this one is,” he said, looking over at his ogre friend, who laughed ominously. “We’re goin’ ‘ave some some fun with this one.”

The man holding her arms began stroking the front of her shoulder as the other two laughed together. Lenus had heard plenty of stories of unrestrained chauvinism in the tavern, so she knew full well the extent to which they would go to gratify themselves. She didn’t want to think about the ogre. The greasy man reached slowly around her waist to unhook her hauberk, his spear pressed against her shins to prevent her from kicking again. She flailed her arms, but the man in back of her jerked them up, eliciting a brief scream from Lenus.

“Unhand her at once!” came a shrill voice to Lenus’s left. All faces looked over at the voice. A young-looking elf stood firmly with a crude wooden shield in one hand and a copper sword at the other, pointed at Lenus’s attackers. Lenus guessed him to be about her age (around eighteen). The wooden shield was a bit disheartening, as was the soft leather armor that he wore (which looked no better than her own, Lenus thought).

“Go away, boy!” the ogre threatened, baring his fangs.

“No, stick around,” jested the man holding her arms. “You can have what’s left of her. Assuming there’s anything left.”

“I said unhand her, villains!” the elf said defiantly, not changing his stance. (Did he seriously just call them villains? Lenus thought in a moment of detachment.)

“Boy, go away, or there’ll be two murders here instead o’ one,” the greasy man said, lowering his spear toward the elf.

The elf stood strongly for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak. Instead of a word, a violent noise came out, causing all to wince and cover their ears, although the sound was gone in a moment.

Concentrate! Lenus thought. She envisioned the arrow in her head, imagined the placement, and concentrated, concentrated. A blinding purple light materialized an arm’s length from the greasy man’s face and in an instant connected with his face. The man shrieked. The illusionary arrow had struck him right below the eye, which opened up a wound that immediately started bleeding. She kicked back at the man in back of her and connected hard with his shin, which threw him off enough for her to break free of his grip. She immediately grabbed one of her daggers and stabbed at the ogre’s exposed neck. She missed all the vital parts, but startled him enough to fall back a step and allow her to pass by.

The elf raised his shield and fixed his eyes on Lenus.

“Are you alright?”

“Run!” Lenus yelled, sprinting past him.

Unless the men were very fast, she knew she could outrun them. It was a long run to Halerma, but she knew she’d be safe once she got there. All she could think of right now, though, was to run, which she did. She gasped as she realized that the elf might not be as quick as she was. She stopped and turned around and the elf sprinted past her.

“Come on!” he shouted. The three men were in hot pursuit. She took off after him.

Lenus ran until her legs burned and her heart begged for her to stop. The elf seemed to have no trouble keeping up—in fact, he may have been holding back to keep pace with her.

After what seemed like eternity crammed into an instant, she saw the light of a campfire outside Halerma. She made it halfway down the beach and then collapsed next to the campfire, hitting the ground hard and spraying sand all over a surprised orc and ogre who were putting away their fishing supplies for the night. The elf had collapsed in a similar fashion a few seconds before she did. The orc and ogre fishermen stared in utter shock at the two panting, disheveled teenagers lying on the beach in front of them.

It was a few minutes before the two of them could offer any sort of explanation. The fishermen were kind enough to offer large flasks of water and spots next to the fire for the night.

After everything had calmed down and the four of them were settling down for the night, Lenus finally addressed the young elf.

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“Jacques,” he said. “Jacques the Gentile.”

“Lenus,” she replied. “Lenus Lionheart. Nice to meet you.”

“Is Lionheart your real surname?” Jacques asked.

“Is Gentile yours?”

Jacques turned his face away from her and gazed up into the sky. “Point taken,” he said.

There was silence for a few moments as the waves crashed onto the beach and the light of the fire danced across their faces.

“Jacques,” Lenus said.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Jacques paused for a second to make it appear as if he did this sort of thing every day. “Think nothing of it.”

“Well then I’ll think nothing saved my life, and that’s not true.” Jacques stayed quiet, but this time out of genuine amazement as to what had happened that evening. “Thank you,” Lenus repeated. Nothing else was said until morning.

The next morning, Lenus woke up sore and exhausted. Her bruised shin had swollen overnight, undoubtedly in retaliation against the running she had done on it. She groaned and looked around her. The orc and ogre had gone, and their fishing supplies were gone as well. Jacques was still asleep next to her. The sun was already well up into the sky. Just east of where she was, Lenus could hear the bustle of activity: children running and playing, shoppers haggling at the fish market, people swapping stories at the tavern. Lenus wondered how many people had walked past them, wondering what such sluggards were doing, sleeping the day away. She shook her head and got up to head to the tavern.

Halerma was a small fishing town, and as such, most of its citizens were small-town fishermen or merchants; but, being right across the great bay from New Jollis, there were a handful of seemingly important people with business or family ties to the capital. One such woman was talking to a friend at a table in the center of the room (the nicest table in the room, Lenus noticed). Both were wearing deep red dresses with red and yellow cloaks. Lenus paid for a glass of mead and sat at the bar, as close to them as she could manage.

“And what about that son of yours?” asked the haughtier of the two. “Is he still romanticizing the Jondan way, or have you talked some sense into him?”

The second woman’s face dropped. “He… has left for Kaj Blood to start a new life,” she said without looking at her friend.

There was an awkward pause as the first woman seemed to be taking this in. “This is the first I’ve heard of this, Ralna,” she said.

Ralna sighed deeply, then looked up at her friend. “He left in the middle of last night,” she said, “after a fight we had. He expressed an interest in joining the groups of would-be heroes over in Kaj Blood, at that new— that— Adventurer’s Guild!”

“And you let him go?”

“No!” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Aramos wanted him to become a hunter, and I wanted him to finish his schooling. We could never agree on that. But neither of us wanted him to go! We told him no! We told him a hundred times, no! I just… Urgh! That boy! Stubborn as a mule!”

Ralna’s friend smiled. “You know he takes after you in that,” she said.

“I know who he gets that from! I don’t need you to remind me!”

Ralna took a good, hard drink from her glass. Her friend gazed wistfully down at her own. “So he’s off to be a hero. What’s he calling himself again?”

“’The Gentile,’” Ralna said, not looking up from her glass. “’Jacques, the Gentile.’ Can you believe that? Not even good enough to keep his family name!”

“Well, the strength of Ralix be with him,” said Ralna’s friend, raising her glass. “Not that he’d accept it.”

Lenus realized she had been holding her tankard of mead in front of her face for some time, feigning interest in it while eavesdropping on the conversation behind her. She noticed the bartender staring at her and quickly shot her gaze down to the bar. She finished up her tankard and left to go find Jacques.

Lenus wandered back to the fishing camp to find that Jacques was not there. She heaved a sigh, then began scouting around, as though he would have stayed within the camp’s line of vision.

“Lenus!” came a voice from behind her. She turned around to face the woods that they had burst out of the night before and saw Jacques running down the great hill toward her. “There you are!” said Jacques as he got closer.

“Listen,” Lenus stated, “would you mind traveling with me for a bit?”

Jacques had pulled a lute from a sack off of his back and began plucking it. He nodded eagerly, too enthralled by the lute to actually respond verbally.

“There’s an Adventurer’s Guild of some sort in Kaj Blood that just opened,” Lenus said, staring directly into Jacques’s eyes as if to keep his attention on her and off of the lute. “Do you know of it?”

Jacques nodded.

“Well, uh… do you know where it is, or anything?”

Jacques nodded again. Lenus was waiting for some elaboration, but Jacques just kept picking notes with a gleeful look in his eye and a dull smile on his face.

“Would you put down that blasted instrument and talk to me?” Lenus exclaimed.

“I’m healing you,” Jacques said at last. His words caused him to miss a few notes.

“What?” Lenus asked.

“You were limping,” Jacques said, “on your right leg.” He played a few more notes, then ended with a slow strum on all the strings. “Try it now,” he insisted.

Lenus, who had had all of her weight on her left leg, now shifted to her right. She made a puzzled face, then jumped up and down a few times to test her newly-healed leg.

“Bardic magic will never cease to amaze me,” Lenus said. “I could have sworn you were just goofing off.”

“Tell that to my mother,” Jacques said with a grin, but he looked sheepish the second he said it.

“So, the Adventurer’s Guild…” said Lenus, changing the subject.

“Ah yes! You’ve heard of it too?” Lenus nodded, much to Jacques’s delight. “What a coincidence!” he exclaimed. “I was just heading there myself!”

Lenus gave a small chuckle to tell Jacques that this was indeed a coincidence and not something she had heard his mother talking about in the tavern.

“Do you, uh, have anyone you need to say goodbye to?” Lenus prodded.

“Me?” Jacques scoffed. “No! I’m what they call a loner, you know? I’m just a lone adventurer, traveling all alone. I don’t need people. In fact, I don’t even live here. I’m just passing through. Alone.”

“And where are you from, then?”

“I’m from… the… east,” Jacques stated with a nervous tinge in his voice. He reached back and scratched the back of his head nervously.

Lenus nodded, although she was looking down at the sand at this point. After a somewhat awkward silence, she said, “So, shall we?”

Jacques smiled and began walking northwest. Lenus followed.

“So Jacques,” Lenus began, “what can you tell me about this Adventurer’s Guild?”

As soon as the door to the world closed, we chatted about the night and how it welcomed us. The lines of conversation blurred together.

“Do you remember…?”

“And then I…”

“I’d never noticed…”

“The guy spilled his beer all over me…”

A Counting Crows tape played subtly, just as I had left it. I planned that before the night began—I didn’t want her thinking I listened to happy music. But something—maybe it was the ever-starting conversation, maybe it was the cool night air in contrast to the stifling club, maybe it was the way “Anna Begins” played faintly in the background—something felt different than I’d planned it. It wasn’t happy—it was just new, like a new beginning or a new year filled with resolutions.

“The cops are everywhere tonight,” I said. “We can’t let them know about our secret plans. I’ll have to turn on the radar scrambler.” I turned on the radio.

“You just turned on the radio,” she said.

“Shh! Do you want them to hear you?”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to keep you from talking much.”

“That’s because I have a special voice scrambler.”

She smiled. “And how would I get a special voice scrambler?”

“Well,” I said, “it’s not easy.” I thought hard about what to say next. Oh, what the hell. “You have to kiss me.”

She laughed. We were conveniently stopped at an intersection. I couldn’t believe I just said that—I’d never actually asked someone to kiss me. But then we were kissing. And then, we weren’t kissing—we were just sitting there, smiling at each other like idiots. But that was alright with me. It was perfectly alright.

The rest of the ride was just a series of lame jokes and goofy smiles. If I hadn’t just kissed Sandy, I would have been ashamed of myself. I parked in her driveway, at the end of a long line of cars. We both got out.

“Thank you,” she said. I laughed a bit for no reason. She didn’t break eye contact. “Just, thank you.” She smiled.

“Hold on,” I said, “I want my CD back.”

She flashed one of those you’ll-never-catch-me smiles and dashed for the house. I almost caught her. We paused at the door to catch our breath for a second. A pale light seemed to cast a gray haze over everything, but Sandy’s eyes still shined brightly. The light wind made her dance like a pale candle with an auburn flame.

We went inside. I made polite rounds, saying hello to her younger sister and parents. Her father was quite drunk, and her mother was at least a little tipsy. They must have been celebrating something—bottles and cans were littered everywhere, and they were even more giddy than I had been just a few minutes before.

Sandy came back with the CD and tossed it to me. It flopped into my hands. I pulled her aside.

“You can’t stay here tonight,” I said.

“Chance, it’s okay. It’s not like I’ve never seen my parents drunk before. I don’t need you to play hero for me.”

I sighed. “Alright.”

“You have a savior complex, you know that?”

A savior complex. I didn’t like that.

“I’ll be okay.”

“Well, thanks for the CD,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.” She gave me a weak smile before I disappeared. Back into my car, my sanity. The Counting Crows closed their thoughts as I pulled out of her driveway:

Her kindness bangs a gong
It’s moving me along
And Anna begins to fade away
She’s chasing me away
She disappears, and oh,
I’m not ready for this sort of thing

“So can we talk?” I asked.

He had already sat down on the dock with his feet dangling over the edge, close enough to the water to get splashed by the tallest waves. The sun was setting directly across the lake in front of us, painting the dock, the lake, the sky, and the trees shades brilliant shades of red and orange. The wind produced a steady stream of trees rustling, waves lapping, leaves blowing off of trees and onto the ground. November sunsets were always amazing.

“We can talk,” he said. I sat down next to him.

“Are you…?” I trailed off.

“I’m okay. I’ve been better, but I’ll survive.”

“What… What happened?” I asked him. “With us, I mean.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Then why are we both so alone again?”

I hadn’t realized it until then, but that was the feeling I had been carrying—loneliness. I had spent so many days feeling anonymous when people called my name that I forgot what it was like to be around someone who didn’t need to use my name. Familiarity picks up where recognition falters.

“You don’t want me,” he said.

“Chance, I do want you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I had every opportunity in the world to leave you—“

“It’s not about leaving me, or even wanting me. You don’t see it.”

“Don’t see what?”

He drew his knees up close to him and folded his arms on top of them as if the wind had suddenly chilled him.

“I’m not worth it,” he said.

“Not worth what?”

“I’m just not worth it. You don’t see it.”

I scoffed. “There’s not a price to pay.”

“There’s always a price to pay,” he said earnestly. “Startup capital. Opportunity cost. Whatever you want to call it. There’s always a price tag on life. Me. You. School. Life.” He looked at me suddenly. “Sandy, I am pain. I am uncertainty. I hurt people. I wear people out. I wear myself out. I always do.” He looked away again. “I’m not worth the price that life put on me.”

Chance rested his chin on his folded arms and looked out over the lake at the brilliant sunset. The reds, yellows, and in-betweens shined brightly on his face and his eyes reflected the fiery colors and fluid waves. It was beautiful. It was all so beautiful. But at the same time, I knew it was all so wrong. I didn’t say anything for a few long moments and neither did he. We just lingered in the sunset, wind, and waves.

“Was I worth it, then?” I asked at last.

He didn’t move—but he did sigh. It was a tired sigh. He picked his head back up and looked longingly at the waves.

“Was I worth the price that life put on me?” I asked again. “Because I bought you either way. I don’t know what I paid, and I don’t even really know what I bought, but I bought you. I just hope you’ll buy me back.”

I put my head down on his shoulder.

“Then whatever’s left to pay, I’ll pay it,” he said, “because you’re worth every penny.”

We didn’t say anything after that. The sun set, the wind carried on, and I’m sure the water kept moving long after we left. It may have been the wind, but I nearly cried—at one point, a single tear ran down my face and onto his shoulder. It was beautiful. It was all so very beautiful.