Sometimes life will have you cross an individual with such raw, unacknowledged talent that you find yourself wondering how it was that the person’s name isn’t lauded in every cornerclub across the province. Geldis Sadri is wasting his time here. He’d be a rich man in Baan Malur with this Sujamma of his. After two centuries without, I was nearly brought to tears by the taste of it. A drink worthy of our greatest ancestors.
I made sure he knew it, too, both with my words and by buying five bottles the stuff. They’re sitting bedside as I write. Makes me look like a drunkard, I’m sure, but I have no intention of doing anything but slowly savoring the drink. Besides, they’re not all for myself. Three of these bottles will serve as gifts to the Urshilaku wise woman the next time I chance to talk to her. I’m hoping they’ll make her amicable enough to give her insight on the ash spawn problem.
I went to fire my armor earlier and found myself once more making small talk - this time with the Captain of the guard, Veleth. A good man, the respectful sort, even while knowing well who I am. He inquired about the resin I was rubbing into the bonemold before placing it in the forge. Apparently, the old trick of coating your armor shalk resin and finely ground fire-salts is one that was lost to the ages; shame, as it prevents wear from ash and fire better than anything else. It was a stroke of luck that the alchemist had some shalk resin available, though it was from her personal stores and cost quite a sum due to it. The amount proved to be more than I needed however, and I ended up giving the remainder of the mixture to Veleth to use on his armor the next time it was in need of repair in return for his promise that he’d continue to repair his own armor as a true Redoran should. He seemed both startled and pleased by the gift. I figured it’d serve me well to have the Captain of the guard be somewhat fond of me, just in case.
Morvayn’s visit last night is still fresh on my mind. For some reason, I find myself mulling over the events leading up to my departure from House Redoran far more than I have in years. It’s as though I had forgotten the Dreams and now, once I acknowledged them again, they’ve returned to haunt me. Dagoth Ur is dead, and I would have hoped that his grasp on my mind would have died with him. These things have their own scars, I suppose. It is not all unpleasant however; quite the contrary. That’s what disturbs me.
Saints bless Sadri and his drink. Perhaps one of these bottles will have to be sacrificed to the evening, after all.
Ariveth had some other business to attend to for the next few days. I had been hoping this would serve as a reprieve from being constantly watched, but unfortunately I was counting my graces.
I’m now being accompanied by a mercenary by the name of Teldryn Sero, who conveniently informed me that he was from Baan Malur and knew precisely who I was and that, though he had no sentimental attachment to Raven Rock like Ariveth did, he was obligated by principle to make sure I did not cause any harm or trouble.
“Principle” is an interesting word to use for “pay” but I’m not one to judge a man’s motivations.
Considering Teldryn’s scathing greeting, I was obligated to return one of an equal temperature, reminding him that he would know well what I was capable of in that case and that he’d do best to watch his tongue.
I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Shame, if I were in a better mood I’d likely find this Sero’s disposition to be agreeable, or amusing in the very least. But House Redoran has my nerves frayed and the lack of any proper form of solitude after reveling in it for so long is steadily blunting my patience. This should be an interesting few days, to say in the least.
“Don’t get too far ahead.” I’ll go where I please you nix-brained brat.