Layla's Journal

Member created stories, poems, & other creative work.
Mikayla
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Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

The Journal

Layla sat in the sand, watching the sky catch fire as the sun set across the horizon. The beauty of the sun and sea never ceased to amaze her. As the sun set, Layla lit a candle and leaned back against a large rock. It was not particularly comfortable, but it would do. She opened the leather-bound journal in her lap, pulled forth a quill, dipped it in an ink pot and began to write. A moment later she frowned and tore the page out of the journal and set it on fire with the candle. This was not her first journal; there had been another ( http://www.alandfaraway.info/phpBB3/vie ... lit=aliyah, ) but it had been lost years before. She had not written much since and her writing skills had suffered for the neglect.

I cannot write the common tongue any better than I can speak it. She thought to herself. Fine, I shall do this in Alzhedo. It is a more beautiful language anyway. She dipped the quill in the ink-pot and began to write again.

*****************

My name is Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud al-Taorahl. I was born in the Taorahl drudach of the Erare sabban of Calimport to Ibrahim the navigator. In other lands and at other times I have been a thief, a pirate and a murderer. Though you, dear reader, will doubt the veracity of a condemned and wanted criminal, what I write here is truth. This you will come to know by the time I am done. In the meantime, I encourage you to read without judgment, only curiosity. To quote a poet and a poem:
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.
I'll meet you there.
First day, Marpenoth 1, in the year 1384, beach near the Port of Skaug.

My companions and I are engaged in an endeavor to rid the Moonshae Islands and the world of the Stones of Discord. The Stones are powerful relics of Myrkul and their mere presence wreaks havoc upon the isles. Over the last two years eight of the stones have been collected. Four more must be found and dealt with to end this threat.

I have not undertaken this task for love of the Moonshae Islands or their Queen, nor have I undertaken it for coin. I undertake this task for more selfish reasons which I will describe later. For now, I will describe my companions.

Zova.
Zova is a Rashemi woman, brown of skin and hair, tall, strong and athletic. She is an adherent to one of the mystical fighting arts. She is beautiful, but not in the sensual, painted manner of the dance hall queens. Her beauty is the beauty of the athlete. She is a warrior, courageous and fierce, with mystical control of her body. I have seen her heal her own wounds with but a thought. She and I have been casual lovers off and on over the years, but our friendship is not based upon that. We were both part of an ill-fated expedition into the underdark once, the expedition that claimed the life of my friend, Argos Klax, another adherent of the mystical fighting arts and someone that served as a mentor to Zova.

Zova has recently been elected to be the leader of our crew, our captain as it were. I certainly played a part in precipitating that occurrence. Zova is disciplined and direct, calm and thoughtful (except perhaps when it comes to sex, which she pursues with a ferocity that would challenge the ravenous feral instincts of the of Prince of Cats) and of my current companions, she is the one I most trust to be our leader, which is why I worked so hard at seeing that come to fruition.

Layali.
Layali is a bedine woman, tan skinned with sandy hair, and quite beautiful. She is Zova’s lover, and a sorcerer as well as a sneak. I think she is perhaps the most intelligent of our crew. She does not speak much, but her eyes are sharp and quick and so is her tongue when she finally lets it loose. Her ideas have been excellent and she is a most welcome addition to our crew, even if her addition caused me some heartache. That heartache was my own fault of course. Lonely as I am, I foolishly thought that something casual might become something more than casual when I met Zova again. More on that later. About Layali: I listen very close to what she says. If we could combine her shrewd mind with the arcane skill of Toby she would be nigh unstoppable. One day she will be an arch-mage of consequence I think, though I doubt I will live to see it.

Mal.
A woman of some (or perhaps all) elf-blood and druidess from the Wood of Sharp Teeth. She has a fire in her that reminds me of an idealized version of my younger self, or perhaps just a younger self I wish I had been. Mal’s fire is more directed and controlled than my anger was, however, and she is infinitely more tied to a conventional morality. Still, her passion is refreshing and welcome. And during our confrontation with Toby, her passion was an undeniable asset. Not only did she press Toby for answers, her growing alarm and anger made me seem reasonable and measured, making it easier for me to find out what I wanted to know. I would write more, but I am only just getting to know her. She needs a new hat though. She looks like a damnable dirt farmer.

Lily.
Lily appears to be a human woman and a slave of some wizard in Skaug. Lily is more like the real me when I was younger (Mal being perhaps the fantasy me); irreverent, angry, mouthy and not very smart even if she is clever. I’d like to believe I was a fireball of passion like Mal, but the truth is I was probably just more of an ass like Lily. Only with more opium. Writing this journal reminds me that I used to smoke a lot of opium. How things change. Still, over time I became a pretty useful addition to most crews, if a volatile one. Mayhaps Lily shall follow suit. Also, Lily is direct and I appreciate that.

There are more members of our crew; Arizma, Horatio, Camelia, Aglaril and Toby. But I will end this entry now and write about them tomorrow. Prudence would dictate that I write the truth about Toby now. That truth is undoubtedly the most important truth I will include in the early chapters of this journal, but I have never been very prudent. Alas.

Until tomorrow then.

Your faithful recorder,
Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud al-Taorahl
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
Mikayla
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

[OOC: Feel free to comment if you have comments. And by "feel free" I mean .. make comments. Dammit. Otherwise I feel like I am writing to an audience of zero. Which may be true actually. Dammit, have I become Rumple and are my library posts my high-five? Sheesh. Desperate times.]

Third Day, Marpenoth 3, in the year 1384, baths beneath the Dance Hall.

I awoke to find my companions gone. It seems they had gathered together and used magic to travel instantly back to Callidyr. That they would leave me behind without a word struck me to the core since my whole reason for following them on this quest was to find a family of friends.

I should note at the outset that I read my first entry in the journal and I was surprised to say the least. I sounded like some dry historian. Not my voice at all, so I will try to write more plainly, the way I think and feel, not the way I think things should sound.

I made my way back to Skaug and found Horatio. We bought the whore Sasha from her owner and took her with us back to Callidyr by ship. She is free now, we are just trying to make sure she gets a good start on freedom from here. Horatio may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he is true to his word and he really does want good things for people. I am not sure why, but at least I can trust his word.

Today’s entry will be about Aglaril Shaelara, the elf swordsman.

I have known Aggie for a few years now, since my time living in the Gate with Horatio. I cannot remember exactly when I met him, but I think it was at the tavern by the docks, the one with the red lit interior and the hookahs. He seemed like an aloof ass, but he’s an elf. He was very pretty; almost as pretty as any girl and certainly had hair most girls would envy. For the most part I made fun of him, because, well, why not? Well, I suppose the “why-not” is because is a very good swordsman and easily could kill me in a straight-up fight. As it so happens, Aglaril was associated with Horatio and the woman I would come to love for a time, the Knight Caine Kross.

And so it came to pass that I occasionally found myself scouting for warbands that Aglaril was in. He was not a particularly good leader and did not seem to seek that position, but he was a deadly swordsman and a fierce fighter. Naturally, this only made my insecurities more pronounced so I teased him more. To him, I think I was just an annoying pest who occasionally did a bit of scouting so he would temporarily tolerate me. Over time, while I appreciated his fighting prowess, I did not see much character in him and I rather dismissed him as an arrogant, aloof elf, fairly typical of his kind.

Since returning to the Isles I have met him again, and again he is embroiled in the affairs of my friend Horatio, or more accurately, Horatio finds himself embroiled in Aglaril’s affair. Aglaril, Toby, and the sorceress Arizma seem to be the three people who have been part of the hunt for the Stones of Discord the longest, and who have seen the most success. Given our luke-warm relationship in the past, I was surprised at how happy I was to see Aglaril in Callidyr. I suppose I really have gotten pretty lonely; most faces familiar to my eyes are gone or dead now. Aglaril was still the glorious blond elf in shining armor, but he seemed less aloof and more connected somehow to the events of the moment than he had been before. I almost thought we could be friends, but he is a great elf hero, the kind they write stories and songs about, and I am no one really.

And then I heard him sing. We were on the road to a village in the swamps of Alaron, and out of now where he began to sing and in that voice I heard a soul, a real soul. A person, whole and complete, not just some sword-swinging ass with a fancy name and title. I have to admit my surprise. I shouldn’t be surprised of course. Elves are people, if a bit longer lived and full of themselves, but I really should have known that they could have souls and artistry too, it just never really appeared to me before.

Aglaril and I started talking and I told him about kissing Noor Al-Fulan when I was 12 and all the things that followed. Well, not ALL of the things, I left out she-who-shall-not-be-named and the temple, and I never got to how I came to be a pirate and all that, but he got the basic idea. I have not told anyone that story for a very long time. Felt good to do it though, felt like we could be friends. I don’t think Aglaril is ready to open up to me yet, but, it could happen in time. Still, I think he sees me as a friend now and for the first time in all the years I have known him, I see him as a friend also. I laughed and told him and Horatio I had doubled my number of friends – to two! Aglaril protested but I pointed out that while I was friendly with Zova, since I had slept with her, she didn’t count.

Anyway, I never expected to be friends with an elf, let alone some great hero swordsman elf. I hope it lasts. I will not live long in his eyes of course, and honestly, I never really expected to live as long as I have, but for the time I have remaining, it’s nice to have friends.

A last note: Layali, the bedine sorceress, being the smartest of us all, went to Skaug and bought that slave, Lily, free from her master and brought her back to Callidyr. Lily be full of piss and fire and I like her, but sometimes she talks to much and I just want to slap her and tell her to shut the fuck up and let the adults talk. Which brings to mind a very serious, important question.

When did I become one of the adults?

Sincerely, your chronicler,

Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud al-Taorahl
Last edited by Mikayla on Thu Oct 05, 2017 9:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
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Ithildur
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Ithildur »

(( Comment to follow:



... AWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

after that session and this... now I just want to give Princess a big giant hug every day even if Aglaril (probably) never will.

thanks for your writing, always entertaining and gives a nice little peak into your PCs' soul. ))
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It’s not the critic who counts...The credit belongs to the man who actually is in the arena, who strives violently, who errs and comes up short again and again...who if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement, but who if he fails, fails while daring greatly.-T. Roosevelt
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Arianna »

:wtg:
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by gonz.0 »

I was always reticent to respond to your journals, as reading them one after another without interruption of someone else's perspective felt as if I was getting a better insight into the Layla's mind.

Since you are requesting, I will say, I am always a big fan of the journals. Especially Layla's journals because I've interacted in character with the character of Layla. I think it is brave as well as very entertaining. I will also say, I held off on reading them before Horatio and Layla became friends, as I was resistant to seeing insights into her mind that I felt she would not share with him. I look forward to these journals as much as some look forward to the next episode in a chapter play.

I have considered doing this for a long time myself for Horatio, but I held off as I do not think that people would deal with him IC as well if they knew his mind as much as his outward self. This is why I say it is brave. Kuduos Mikayla.
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"Where morality is present, laws are unnecessary. Without morality, laws are unenforceable." -Anonymous

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Mikayla
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

Yay comments! Thank you. At least that way I know someone read (or at least skimmed) what I wrote. I appreciate that, thank you.

**************************

8th Day, Marpenoth 8, 1384. Griffon’s Rest tavern in Callidyr.

I find myself asking a question I have not frequently asked myself before.

Why?

While we were sailing to Callidyr, the rest of my companions went before the Queen with Toby. Though I do not know precisely what transpired, I have learned that the Queen has detained Toby. This may be the worst result possible. Though I helped precipitate the confrontation on the beach that brought Toby’s condition to light, it was not my intention to bring him before the Queen. I only wanted to know the truth about Toby.

Why?

Well, these days I am a bit pickier about who and why I kill and what I risk my life for. On a dark trail outside a lodge our little band was attacked by assassins. The first attacker was a distraction, and Zova, Aglaril and I dealt with him quickly. The other assassin, the real threat, managed to nearly kill Arizma in a split-second and then ran. It appeared he was after the stones that Arizma possesses. Toby and I chased him down and it was my arrow that killed him. So now my life is at risk, and I have killed. But for what exactly? Toby would say it is for the Islands and their queen, but Toby also casts disguising glamours upon himself to keep us, his supposed companions, from seeing his true form.

And that led me to ask why am I risking my life and why am I killing people?

So I forced the confrontation on the beach in which Toby revealed himself. At that point, I was done, for the most part at least. Mal, the druid, was not done however. She pushed the situation and eventually, Aglaril, Zova, Layali, Mal, and Toby used magic to return to Callidyr, leaving Horatio and I behind. Toby appeared before the Queen and has now been detained.

So why is that bad? Well, if Toby is released, then how can he trust the people that forced him before the Queen? And how can we trust him? It seems only a matter of time before we are at odds. Very lethal odds. I would have preferred that we not take Toby before the Queen, or, failing that, if we did take Toby before the Queen, that she put him down. Now, if Toby gets out, he will see us as enemies and we cannot put any trust in him at all.

That said this I find I have little desire to write about Toby so I will stop there.

Horatio stayed behind in Skaug to free a whore. That was not my intent, I was merely left behind because I was not around when the others decided to leave. Such is life I suppose. So I joined Horatio to buy the life of Sasha from her owner. Surprisingly the deal went through as planned. In my life, I can count the number of important deals that went through as planned on one hand and still have fingers left over. I was amazed. Once the overlord opened the ports, the three of us boarded ship and sailed north, eventually reaching Callidyr after changing ships.

And now about Horatio: at this point he is my oldest friend, though truth be told we are not as close as most people would think of “old friends.” My feelings about Horatio are complicated. Not for romantic reasons; I have no such feelings for him in that way. Instead, they are complicated because he is both my oldest friend and someone I find I often have little respect for, and those two things I find difficult to reconcile.

Why don’t I respect my oldest friend?

I will start with this: I have often warned him of his love for the whore Thai’s. I have mentioned that she has a cold heart and will simply use him to his detriment and her benefit. All of that is true.

What is also true is that I am not entirely different – I am a friend to Horatio, not a lover, but I feel that our relationship is not that far from his relationship with Thai’s – which is to say, its one-sided. My heart is not entirely cold towards Horatio, of course. I did threaten to kill Thai’s if she harmed him and I did that because I do care for him. At the same time, however, I find it hard to respect him and I cannot quite figure out why. I seem to have more respect for the Bedine sorceress Layali, whom I have just met, then for Horatio. But although Layali and I seem to share a similar practical outlook on life, we are not close friends and have known each other only a brief time. Why then do I find it easier to respect her than Horatio, a man who has been my friend for years and who has been quite generous? I do not know. Horatio even took to the sea for a while and I can hear that lower class Waterdhavian sailor’s accent mixed with Iluskan and Ffolk in his voice – he is beginning to sound like me. But somehow that is not making us closer.

I never claimed to be wise in the way of people, even myself. Indeed, I am usually the opposite of wise as my relationships with Nisha and others have proven.

In regard to the stones, my companions continue the quest, mostly without me. I wonder then what I am really doing here. I did venture out on Oman with Zova, Layali and the former slave, Lily. We killed trolls, or rather, Zova killed trolls while the rest of us loosed arrows. Except Layali, who used her spells to make Zova even more powerful. We also explored the island until we climbed the side of the mountain and found a frost-giant that nearly killed Lily. I remembered that time up in the mountains above Silverymoon when I was nearly killed by a frost-giant. This time, I slipped quietly away. While others were using whatever magic they had to make themselves invisible, I just eased back into the shadows and let the giant run past me. Then I stayed out of his sight and made my way down the mountain. It was a long walk back and I had time to ponder on recent events as well as to dwell on the past. And I was left with one question.

Why am I doing this?

Sincerely, your chronicler,

Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud al-Taorahl
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
Mikayla
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

Layla sat on the quay in the Callidyr harbor, her legs dangling over the edge. In her lap was a folded cloth full of plump juicy dates. She plucked one out and began to eat it slowly, savoring every moment. When it was gone, she began to write in her journal….
***************************************************************
Dates! I was on the docks in Callidyr and I smelled something familiar. I followed the smell and it led to a woman eating dates. She pointed me to the merchant selling them and they were beautiful. Plump and dark and everything I remember about them. I have not had them since that first Green-Grass festival so many years ago. Made me think of my sisters and my brother, but not in a melancholy way. I remember breaking fast with them and gorging on dates. It was as if all the good things about Calimshan were inside that one lovely fruit.

The merchant said there is an importer in Waterdeep who regularly brings in food and other treasures from Calimshan. I have been in these cold, savage northern lands so long I almost forgot Calimshan and all its wonders even existed. That date brought me back. With the sun shining for once in Callidyr and that lovely date to eat, I could almost feel the warm breezes of Calimport, smell its streets and see its colors. I believe I will visit this importer and see what other treasures of my homeland he has to offer.

Now, less joyful news. The wizard Toby is going to be released. I am not disappointed that he was not imprisoned or killed – indeed, I never advocated for him going before the Queen – but I am worried he may be hostile now. Time will tell I suppose. One thing is certain: while nothing about Toby has really been settled, the last few days have taught us much about the Queen.

Finally, a word about Zova. I mentioned her previously, but I wish to write about her again. Day after day my faith in Zova grows. Is it her leadership? No. It is her fighting ability? No. Is it her discipline? No. All of those things are worthy of respect, and I do respect her for those qualities but more so, I find my faith growing in her because I believe she deserves it. She is one of the few people I have ever met that I believe would not betray or abandon a friend or ally. She is someone whose ‘goodness’, for lack of a better word, can be relied upon. In that, she is nearly unique. I think she is only the second person I have ever met who I can say that about. Recently, she asked if we could be friends. I have always thought of her as a lover, not a friend, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I would be better off with her as a friend than lover. I think I will accept her offer of friendship, and be the better for it.
***************************************************************
Layla closed the journal, leaned back, shut her eyes and turned her face to the sun. For a moment she was back there, in the house in Taorahl, laughing with her family. She tried to hold on to the memory without letting it slip into the darkness of disappointment and anger. There had been good times before everything went wrong.

She picked up the journal and opened her satchel, but hesitated before returning the book to the bag. She did have one other taste of home with her. There was a bag of coffee beans tucked away deep in her satchel. She had been saving them, but, when would be better than today? The sun was out, she had dozen dates left, the sea was calm and there were many ships to watch. Besides tomorrow was ever uncertain. She reached inside the bag and began digging around for the coffee beans. She found a small sack inside her satchel and she knew the bag of coffee beans was in it. This bag had a bunch of her old things, including the beans, a small mirror, and some clothes. She opened the sack and reached inside. She felt the coffee beans but there was something else. Paper. She pulled it out.

It was Nisha’s last letter.

Layla stared at it. She had forgotten all about the letter. Forgotten about that last night with Nisha in the bathhouse. How perfect that night had been. They had made love there, in the baths, and Layla had the most exquisite orgasm of her life. More importantly, she had never felt closer to Nisha. It seemed their troubles had passed them by. For Layla, it was the single best day of her life.

And in the morning, Nisha was gone, and all that was left was this letter.

Layla knew she should put it back, or better yet, she should burn it, but she also knew she could not do that. The letter was the last little bit of Nisha that Layla had. She unfolded the paper and read.

Aliyah,

First, I want to apologize for writing this letter instead of saying these words to you in person, but I felt it was necessary for not only my future endeavors, but yours as well. As you already know, I have been doing a lot of thinking about my life in Calimshan and my life here with the crew. As much as I appreciate what I have learned and how I have grown, I cannot deny that my time away from Calimshan is over. I do want you to know that I have seriously considered staying; for your benefit, as I know you have professed your love for me and your desire to be with me.

As I have said to you numerous times, I will not change. The truth of the matter is: I could have changed… But I don’t want to. Normally, when I am involved with someone and the relationship becomes work, I leave, and when I leave, I don’t come back. When it came to us, I did come back, even after I ended things, which tells me that I could have truly loved you and made that commitment you wanted. But I didn't make that commitment, something kept holding me back, no matter how many times I kissed you or lied in bed with you, I couldn't give you what you wanted. I know now why I couldn't, because as much as I could have changed, I could not forgive you for what you did. You cheated on me and you could never make me a priority like I wanted. For that, I could never change.

I have decided to return home. I cannot see myself playing music for these savage nobles or whoring my music out in inns, as the musicians do in the north. I will once again perform for Sultans but now, I have more to offer, and that is thanks to you and the crew. I am proud to say that I have learned that I can fight with as much excitement and dedication as I do when I make beautiful music. What I want for my future I cannot find in these lands and I won’t fool myself any longer in believing that I can. I must go where the inspiration is and that is Calimshan.

I am sure you are not of mind to listen to my advice, but I hope that you will read this letter more than once, and eventually hear and understand these words as I mean them. You deserve better than what you have. I mean, you deserve better than who you choose to keep company with in your bed. My advice to you is that if you want something, you go after it, but only it. You cannot desire a commitment and not keep one yourself.

As I do not have much time to write more than this letter before I sail back home, I ask that you tell his highness that I appreciated his wisdom and leadership. Please also tell Rain that I enjoyed our late night talks most of all. I wish you success on your list. Remember that revenge is best served when you yourself are doing better than your victim.

If you ever find a reason or need to write to me, you can send me a letter to the temple of Milil in Calimport. I will eventually receive it there.

Nisha


Tears were streaming down Layla’s face by the time she finished reading the letter. Carefully, reverentially, she folded the letter back up, wrapped it in an oilskin, and gently placed it back in her satchel.

She picked up another date, popped it in her mouth, leaned her back to the sun, and tried to think of those better days gone by. The feasts with her siblings; the days huddled over maps with her dad, and of course, the nights with Nisha. All gone so long, these many years. Passages from one of her favorite poems rolled through her heart ...

I remember when you kissed me and kissed me,
With tears coursing your cheeks, and you said,
"Earthly bodies must often separate for earthly purpose,
And must live apart impelled by worldly intent.

***

Where are you, my beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by vergin_sacrifice »

:cry: :cry: :cry:
:alright:

((Subtext, you brought tears to my eyes.))
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by dergon darkhelm »

You have a skill. Well done.
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by gonz.0 »

That letter and it's effect always pained Horatio, seeing Layla like that.

As always, excellent.
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

I must give my thanks to Rumple for the very personal, extraordinarily creative DMing he has given me. When I first sent my bio to Rumple, he replied with the following words: Read and ABSORBED. I thought he was making a funny, but he was not. This story he is running goes right to the heart of who Layla is, why she is the way she is, and now, may bring it around full circle. Or it may kill her (knowing Rumple, the latter seems more likely actually ... ). I cannot thank him enough. It is not an exaggeration to say that Rumple has saved ALFA for me. That is no slight to Ariana or SSM or Magile or Gonz0 or Ayergo or CnS or anyone else - my inability to connect in ALFA since my return is largely a function of my odd schedule that does not allow me to meet on a regular day/time every week. Rumple has worked around that, and with this plot, gotten right to the heart of my character. Thank you Rumple.

Now, on with the show.



*****************************

3rd Day, Marpenoth 23, 1384, Docks of Waterdeep

The trail of luscious dates and forgotten memories was bittersweet to say the least. One thing led to another and I found myself in Waterdeep, searching for an importer of southern goods. In Waterdeep, I met a man named Darville who introduced me to his dwarf lady friend, Jino. Through Jino, I discovered that my grand-father, Dawoud yn Haroun Al-Taorahl, had been making regular trips from Calimport to Waterdeep as master of his old ship, the Sayid Nasim. For so long I wanted him to fall under my knife and now that he was sailing right under it, I found myself hesitant. My desire to learn what has become of the rest of my family outweighed my desire for vengeance. I decided to speak with Dawoud.

I found him on his ship in the harbor a week later. The ship’s crew was sloppy, undisciplined, and the ship suffered for their poor seamanship. Once unloaded, the crew set ashore for whoring and drinking. My grandfather stayed behind. And so it was that after more than a decade, I came face to face with Dawoud the Black.

Years ago, I was scouting for a group called Knights Draconis, a lovable but foolish band of adventurers and trouble-makers. On one occasion, I crept through a lightless cave, half-filled with water, to scout out the lair of a dragon and its minions. After the battle, several of the Draconis remarked upon my bravery. My recollection was that I thought to myself “what bravery? It is not like I was trying to sneak up on my grand-father.”

That is how large the image of Dawoud looms in my mind. A tall, lean and terrible figure with an iron-hand and sorcerous power. A man who cowed even my father, the great explorer, and in my adult years I began to wonder if my father’s long travels around the world were done simply to escape the grasp of his father.

This was not the man I met on the Sayid Nasim. The man I met was old, his lustrous black hair turned white, his glittering sorcerer’s robes traded for the thread-bare shirt of a common sailor. He was much diminished and I told him as much. He offered no resistance, no defense. Only abject acceptance of his fate. When I revealed who I was he did not raise his hands or cast a spell or bark an order, he just collapsed in a chair with a sigh of resignation.

I had imagined all manner of encounters with Dawoud when I finally found him; spells, orders, even begging and I set my mind towards a single goal – pushing through all possible defenses with resolute determination to see my goal completed, namely, the death of Dawoud at my hands in revenge for taking away my family. I was, however, entirely unprepared for this complete surrender to fate and to me. I found I no longer wanted revenge, at least not in the moment. Fate had done far more to Dawoud than I ever could have; my blades might have ended Dawoud’s life, but fate had broken him. It was something I never even imagined could have happened. He was the proudest and most ambitious of men.

I asked him to tell me his tale and he did. A ship-captain in Dawoud’s employ named Hisham ud-Din had grown ambitious and attempted to rise above his station. Dawoud put him in his place. Hisham eventually returned, but when Hisham returned, he returned with a brass-lantern and used its power to take all that Dawoud had; his sorcerous power, his station in life, and even his family. Dawoud was undone and consigned to Hisham’s prior station as a ship-captain working for his master, and it seemed to this fate he was resigned. There was no fight left in this once proud dog.

Or was there?

There was in me. Dawoud said our family did not recognize him because of the power of the wish. All that had been Dawoud’s was now Hisham’s, and so my parents and siblings now believed that Hisham was and always had been the patriarch of their family as did the rest of Calimport. But I did not. Why? Because I had broken away. I was no longer Dawoud’s so when Hisham’s wish took effect, I was not a part of his cursed magic.

Anger swelled in me. Not at Dawoud, nor even at the things that had happened in the past, but at the idea that a man, any man, could and would use magic to effectively enslave my family. I maybe dead to them, as they have said, but as I told Dawoud, you cannot cast out blood. They are my family, even if they do not want me. They are Dawoud’s family, even if he does not deserve them. They are not Hisham’s family.

I will see Hisham undone, or die trying. I do not do this to reclaim my family, though Dawoud has promised this. I do not think I would be good for my family. I have spent more than half my life apart from them and in that time I have done terrible things, and often enjoyed them. I think for good people, normal people, I am poison, and as much as I desire my family back, I would not inflict myself upon them. A family of those who can defend themselves, who have swallowed poison like me before and lived, a family of people like Zova, Horatio and Aglaril, that is a family I might try to inflict myself upon for those people understand what they are getting when they embrace me, and they can defend themselves against what I may bring. My father Ibrahim, my mother Mariko, and my siblings, they are regular people. Good people. They should not have to suffer me. Nor should they have to suffer Hisham.

Nor should they have to suffer Dawoud.

I will free them from all three of us.
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by vergin_sacrifice »

:yeah:


VictoriaSierra - Today at 10:12 PM
Mik.. You are inspirational. I love your writing. I have been puttering around on a dozen little journal style stories.. I'm going to pick on and actually start posting. You rock.
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Ithildur »

Awesome. Looking forward to getting peaks and glimpses into a very personal quest :) Go, Layla, go!
Formerly: Aglaril Shaelara, Faerun's unlikeliest Bladesinger
Current main: Ky - something

It’s not the critic who counts...The credit belongs to the man who actually is in the arena, who strives violently, who errs and comes up short again and again...who if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement, but who if he fails, fails while daring greatly.-T. Roosevelt
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by Mikayla »

Author's note: My thanks to Rumple and to Vergin-Sacrifice for the story that follows. This is the longest and most complicated entry yet in this journal as it calls back to a story previously posted. As you read, you will understand why. For those willing to read such a long story, I thank you and hope you enjoy it.

**********************************

4th Day, Marpenoth 24, 1384, Waterdeep


The dwarf called Jino is dead. Who is Jino and why does her death matter? I suppose I should start at the beginning, but then that would ruin the surprise. I will get to the beginning, but I am not going to start there. Let us start in the middle then, with a chance meeting along the docks of Waterdeep that in reality, was anything but chance. It was, instead, the product of a willful and determined mind set on achieving a singular goal. And it was that determination that proved its undoing ...

*******************

10 Days Earlier ... the Middle.

I was introduced to Jino by Darville. I met Darville in a tavern of course, a seedy dive just off the docks, made of rotten wood and broken hopes. The dancers were nice though.

Darville was sitting at the table next to mine, ignoring the dancers and whittling away on a piece of wood. A common enough past-time among sailors, but Darville had uncommon talent. I could see a ship taking form in his hands, and not just any ship but a dhow from my homelands. I struck up a conversation and together we shared our love of ships over a few drinks. Darville called himself and the others who watch the port “shippers.” It was quaint and sweet. There was one shipper who really stood out in Darville’s mind though, Jino. Jino, it seems, kept a log of every ship that entered Waterdeep’s port, and what the cargo was and who the captain was, if she could find out. At the time, I was still on the trail of those luscious dates and perhaps, trying to find other sweet remembrances of my lost home. I asked Darville for an introduction. I was to a find a memory from the past, but it was not to be one of home.

At our first meeting Jino downed what remained of my bottle of Wyvern whiskey in a single long pull. Even I cannot drink like that. She was gruff and taciturn and all those things that dwarves are reknowned for. I had no idea that demeanor had nothing to do with her race, but instead, was a past we both shared. She had brought her book though, a great tome she held close to her chest and guarded with a fierceness that made me think it held golden treasure inside. It was in this book she had recorded the monthly arrival of a Calishite ship, the Sayid Nasim, and its captain, one Dawoud Al-Taorahl. My grand-father. Jino told me that if the ship and captain kept to their schedule, they would arrive within the ride.

At our second meeting we drank again, though there was no way for me to keep up with her. She was in two drinks for every one of mine and even then I could not keep up. She was a bit more open this time and I learned she had suffered a great loss.

“You know Mirabar?” Jino asked me. I nodded in reply. I had passed through there during my travels in the Silver Marches. “That's where I was born,” she continued. “Somewhere in between then, and now, something really, really shitty happened to me. Something that was very, very precious to me, was taken. So what I had, I have no longer, just the hole that is left.”

I could not have described my own feelings about leaving home better. Being cast-out from my family, forced from my home, and set adrift without a family had a left a hole in me as well.

Jino did not elaborate further on what her loss was. She was ever the laconic dwarf, but over drinks and loss, we bonded that night. I did not yet count her a friend like Horatio or Aglaril, or a sister like Zova, but I thought she and I were well on our way towards that friendship.

How wrong I was.

After my evening with Jino I met with my grandfather, Dawoud, for the first time in more than a decade. I saw him much diminished, and he regaled me with the tale of Hashim ud-Din, the man who had used the wishes of a brass-lantern to undo my grandfather and take all that had been his. Upon hearing that tale, I determined that I would undo Hashim. My grandfather had said that such a task was beyond me, for Hashim had all that had belonged to Dawoud, including his wealth, his station, and, perhaps most importantly, his sorcerous power. I asked if that meant Hashim also had his former enemies. And that question seemed to light a spark under Dawoud. He bade me return later after he had had time to think on this.

When I returned, the halfling enchantress Isabelladonna Sproutleaf, or Bellie as she is more often known, was with me. I will not lie; though travelling with me put Bellie in danger, I was glad for the company. Despite Bellie’s child-like size, she is no child. Those who see a halfling and are beguiled by their diminutive stature and quick smiles are often undone. I have known many a halfling, including the Prince of Cats, Hajjira the sorceress, and now Bellie, and in each is a core of hardened steel. These are no children, these are people who have learned to live and thrive amongst giants. They are to be respected.

I could not in good conscience, however, drag her into my affairs without fair warning. “I've got te go meet with me grandfather” I told Bellie in my broken, sea-accented common, “ye can come ifn ye please, but be wary, this be a dangerous venture I be embarkin' upon.” The common tongue was not spoken in my house when I was a child. We were proud Calishites. Our tongue was Alzhedo, and because of my grandfather the sorcerer, our second tongue was the language of dragons. I did not learn common until I stowed away upon a merchant ship when I was 12. For a long time I was proud of my accented common tongue; I strove to intentionally warp in it the way the sailors around me did and so now I speak in a mish-mash of Ffolk and dockside Waterdhavian. On the docks and at sea, it serves me well, but elsewhere it is an embarrassment.

“Is just a meeting, yes?” Bellie asked. “No necessity of harmin’ him is there?”

“No.” I replied. “I thought I would murder him in revenge, but fate has done far worse to him than I ever could.” And that was true. The blood-lust I had for my grandfather, the mad desire for revenge that had sustained me for so long had now slipped from my palate like bland, watery gruel. I no longer had a taste for it. I had no idea how significant that development was to be, but I would learn shortly.

Bellie agreed to come, and though I feared for her, again, I was glad for the company. Though he is much diminished, I still harbor a great fear and respect of Dawoud. His shadow looms large over my life, though he had not darkened my presence for a decade and a half.

I led Bellie to the Sayid Nasim and we boarded. Below decks the air was heavy and pungent with the smell of sweat and spice. We found Dawoud sitting in his captain’s cabin at his long table. Gone were the half-dozen chairs that had been splayed about the table on my previous visit. Now, there were exactly 3 placed neatly around the table, each with its own goblet filled with red wine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. What was Dawoud playing at? Had he changed his mind about helping me undo Hashim? Was this his clumsy attempt at poisoning me? There were many questions but few options so I played it out. I introduced Dawoud to Bellie.

“I was not expecting you to bring a friend.” He said in his own accented common. I had never realized how bad Dawoud’s common was before. I do not think I ever actually heard him speak it. His accent was the accent of a Calishite who only gave half-a-mind to learning the trade-tongue, which in all likelihood, was exactly the case.

Dawoud was seated at the far end of the table. There was a chair half-way down one side, and another at the close end of the table. How did he know there would be three of us? He did not know. The third chair is not for Bellie. It is for someone or something else.

I sat in the chair at the opposite end of the table and as is my custom, threw one leg over the arm rest.

Dawoud leanded forward, brows knitted together. “Show some respect,” he said, “close your whorish legs.” I almost laughed, but no laugh escaped my lips. Instead, I just sighed softly and removed my leg from the arm of the chair, then crossed my legs properly. After all these years, he is still my grandfather, and with a word I am a little girl again. It is not quite that simple of course. I could have refused and made a point of rebelling, but why really? My rebellion against my grandfather took place near 15 years ago now and was a rousing success, if you can call becoming a self-made orphan a success. There was no need to be petty and disrespectful any longer.

Dawoud welcomed Bellie politely and then did a curious thing. Despite there being an empty chair at the table already set with a goblet of wine, he retrieved a fourth chair and a fourth goblet and set a new place for Bellie opposite the empty seat.


“Are we expecting another?” I asked Dawoud in Alzhedo. There was no point in laboring through my broken common any longer. Dawoud and Bellie both spoke my native tongue.

Dawoud just smiled at me in reply. “Come, a toast.” He offered, still speaking in common, not Alzhedo. He lifted his goblet.

And this is where we get poisoned I thought. Dawoud may have lost his family, station and sorcerous power, but it seemed he had lost none of his deceit or craftiness. I left the goblet where it was and retrieved a half-full bottle of rum from my satchel. Dawould looked pointedly at my goblet. It was my turn to smile back at him.

“You are the elder grandfather,” I said with mocking respect, “you have the honor of drinking first.” Why would he want to poison us? Had he changed his mind about throwing down Hashim? Had Hashim gotten to him?

Dawoud drank, and so I drank too, but from my bottle, not the goblet.

“To family.” He said.

“To family.” I echoed, and this time I was not mocking him, I meant it.

“Even if they do not know good wine, and have the manners of a camel.” He added.

I had to smile. Despite the insult, it was strangely good to see some of the old fire returning to my grandfather. Though I had long wished for his undoing, to actually see it had saddened me. I discovered I did not want to see my grandfather in this sorry, broken state. Win or lose, live or die, I wanted him to stand up straight and fight with the fire he held in the past. It was good to see his tongue and wit were still sharp.

“How well you know this woman?” Dawoud asked Bellie, while nodding towards me.

“She is a friend.” Bellie replied. “How, is not important, is the being that is important. She is family now.” My eyes narrowed. Bellie’s lips were not wet. She had not drank from the goblet either. Smart girl. She might survive. My respect for Bellie was growing.

Dawoud gave a faint snort. “It is said you can't choose your family, but it looks like you have.” Dawoud got out of his chair and walked towards me. It did not seem threatening precisely, but I felt my heart beat just ever so much faster. He picked up the goblet I had left untouched and drank from it, draining all of the sweet red wine. “Put that bottle away, will you? We are about to enjoy a show.” I put the bottle the away. Like crossing my legs, it seemed the easier thing to do. Dawoud walked to the wall of the cabin. “You have nothing to fear, granddaughter, nor your friend.”

Granddaughter? He had specifically and emphatically denied our relation when last we met. What trickery was this? Had he really accepted me as an ally in our joint venture, or was this a ruse?

Dawoud banged on the wall. It seemed the truth would soon be revealed.

A moment later the door to the cabin opened and in walked the dwarf Jino.

I do not know who I expected to walk through the door, but it certainly was not her.

“Jino.” I blurted out as much in surprise as greeting.

“Aliyah.” She replied, her hands fidgeting.

I introduced Jino to Bellie, in the common tongue of course, as Alzhedo was not one of Jino’s languages. Jino seemed unusually nervous for such a tough dwarf and took an unusual interest in my now empty wine goblet. The picture was starting to come clear, but the reasons were still obscured.

“Jino, good news, it is done.” Dawoud said gregariously. Jino looked from Dawoud to me. The dwarf sat at the empty chair, picked up the goblet and drank. “Come now, Jino, dont be shy.”

“This be a set up then?” I asked in common. How did Dawoud know Jino? Had he sent her to find me? There was a game afoot here but I still did not know what it was. “Ye 'ad Jino lookin' fer me?”

“Ah, no,” Dawoud replied with a shake of his head, “this is a story best told by Jino. I think you are going to like the ending.”

I was not so sure.

Jino took a moment and then looked me straight in the eye.

“My name is Jino Rockhand,” she said, “Does that mean anything to you?”

Yes. Yes it does I thought. Yes it does.

****************

Many years ago, in Silverymoon, … the Beginning

I sat in the atrium of the Golden Oak tavern in Silverymoon with the fire-genasi witch called Zaara. We were discussing my distaste for wizards when a dwarf approached our table. Mug in hand, swagger in his gait, the dwarf was in his cups but not so far gone as to be unintelligible. His attention was drawn first to me, but the licks of flame crowning Zaara’s white mane quickly caught his eye. His comments were rude and ignorant, but his intent more lecherous than provocative.

We told him he should go soak his head in a bucket of cold water.

“I’ll pour a bucket o’water on yer head.” He said with drunken menace to Zaara.

I slipped my hand around to the small of my back and gripped the hilt of my killing-knife.

“If you so much as get her damp,” I growled, “I will gut you like a fish.”

The dwarf just laughed. Was he that drunk? He started rambling on about having sex with me and how I really just wanted to have sex with him. There was no fear, no pause, no recognition of the fact that I had just threatened him. He simply was not afraid of me. He clearly thought I was just some dumb tavern wench; a slut or prostitute that he could treat disrespectfully with impunity.

My anger peaked and then, suddenly, the heat and rage were gone, replaced by a cold and deadly resolve. I smiled playfully at the dwarf.

“You’re right.” I replied. “I do want to play. Why don’t you get a room for us?” The dwarf was nearly beside himself with excitement.

The dwarf obtained a private room at the Golden Oak. I stripped out of my leathers, exposing the black lines of Thorass script tattooed across most of my body. I waited to see the dwarf’s reaction; sometimes the extensive tattooing frightened people. Sometimes it fascinated them. Rarely was there no reaction at all, but that was the case here. The dwarf was too drunk, too horny or too much of both to care.

“Why don’t you get naked and get in the tub.” Aliyah purred, her voice soft and sweet like honey. “I’ll give you a bath.”

He eagerly complied and soon he was relaxing in the steaming water.

“I am really glad you got in the bath.” I said softly. Because it makes it easier to do this. I thrust my killing-knife into the side of his neck, severing the fat artery that ran to the brain. Bright red blood sprayed from the gaping tear and his eyes went wide. I pushed the bleeding dwarf under water. He struggled, but with the artery to the brain cut, he faded into unconsciousness quickly, and death followed on its heels.

I opened the shutters to the Golden Oak atrium and waved Zaara over. She joined me in the room.

“He’s dead.” I said simply. “I need to get rid of the body.” Zaara looked from the bloody tub to me with a mixture of shock and fear. Or maybe it was anger. I could not tell. “I was hoping you could summon a wolf or something and have it eat him. Ali’Hussein has talked about disposing of bodies like that.”

Zaara walked over to the tub and looked down on the dwarf’s dead body. “A summons only lasts about 20 seconds.” She said. “It would take a hundred such spells for the wolves to eat this body.”

We were discussing how to dispose of the dwarf’s corpse when we heard a woman’s voice calling out loudly and angrily in the atrium. It was the dwarf’s wife, looking for her cheating husband.

A moment later she was pounding on the door to our chamber. The staff must have directed her to the room.

Zaara hastily covered the corpse and I let the woman in.

“Where is he?” She barked angrily. “I know he is in here!”

I tried to calm her down but it was not working. She saw the rug covering the tub, an odd thing in the best of times, and she pulled it back revealing her husband’s bloody corpse. Rage turned to grief.

I tried to console her. I told her about her husband’s drunken lecherous ways, but that did not mollify her in the slightest. I even tried to bribe her, but nothing I said was getting through to her. She was in shock, and I suppose, that was a perfectly understandable thing.

The problem was she became fixated on calling the Knights in Silver. Which was what any law-abiding citizen would do under the circumstances, only, I did not want to hang from Silverymoon’s gallows.

So I cut her throat too.

It was too late of course. The yelling in the chamber had already aroused suspicion, so out the window I went. The Knights in Silver closed the gates so I ended up jumping in the river and floating out of the city. I made my way to the coast and then down to Baldur’s Gate. The Knights in Silver posted a bounty on my head for the killings, but I left the city, the murders and the bounty far behind in my wake.

Years later the Paladin Caine Kross convinced me to return to Silverymoon, and undertake a near-suicidal mission to the drow city of Sshamath as a form of repayment for my crime. Of course, while the mission might have benefitted the city as a whole, it did not bring the dwarves back from the dead.

Their names were Gert and Fillkum Rockhand, and it would only be years later, when I was sitting at a table with Dawoud, Bellie and Jino, that I realized they had a child.

**********************

Now ... the End.

“I am thinkin' maybe I killed yer parents.” I replied to Jino.

Her face went red. “That's right you did, you cold hearted bitch!”

As her anger exploded, everything went cold for me. My right hand slipped to the small of my back and gripped the hilt of my killing-knife. My eyes widened a bit. All feeling left me. The game was afoot, and while I still did not know my grandfather’s play, it was clear that between Jino and I, only one of us was leaving this cabin alive.

“There was no reason to it, was there?” Jino growled.

“No. Not really.” I admitted. “Yer pa wanted te fuck me, an' he be cheatin' on yer mom, but they weren't bad people. I was the bad person.” If one of us was going to die tonight, there was no reason not to speak the plain truth. I only wish my mastery of the common tongue was better. “They jes' 'ad bad luck te run inte me.” And that was the truth. Gert and Fillkum were not bad people. Maybe he was a tipsy, cheating lech, maybe she was a ball-busting housewife, but so what? Even if they were, those are just everyday normal people problems. They were not villains. They were not monsters.

But I was.

“Jino came to see me this morning,” Dawoud said, still so pleased with himself, “and warned me you were coming here to kill me.”

Ah, so there was the connection. The picture came clear. Jino had no love of ships. She had been waiting at the busiest port on the Sword Coast for the murdering pirate who had killed her parents. She had been waiting for me. Her life had become about revenge. She knew she could not kill me directly, so when I confessed the truth about my expulsion from my family and my desire to avenge that expulsion, she saw Dawoud as an opportunity. It was clever, but I already pitied her. I knew where this was going. The truth was Jino’s motives were pure, but she had stepped into a game with more than two sides, with players who had been playing for far longer than she.

“So,” Dawoud continued, looking at me with a smile, “I took the liberty of poisoning your wine.”

Only you did not poison my wine, I thougt, and even if you had, I didn’t drink it, you did. And that means … I looked over at Jino. That means you poisoned Jino’s drink.

Jino was grinning now, an evil smile that carried in it her pain and will to vengeance. “That's right, you're a dead woman, Aliyah.” She snarled through her grin. “You will choke, and die in your own vomit.”

No I won’t, I thought, not this time anyway. I just nodded to Jino in mock acceptance of my fate.

“I also had to poison Bel's wine as well,” Dawoud announced, “as a matter of thoroughness. Quite sorry about that.”

Some of the anger left Jino’s face as she turned her gaze to Bellie. “I am sorry.” The dwarf said.

Jino coughed.

Its starting, I thought.

Dawoud began to speak in Alzhedo directly to me. “She is perfectly safe. I poisoned Jino’s whiskey.” He said.
I knew it already. My grandfather may have lost his sorcery, but he was still a wiley old fox. I looked at Jino with as much compassion as I could muster.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” I said, struggling to speak correct common. It the most respect I could pay her in the few moments she had left. “I really am. They did not deserve to meet me.”

Jino’s rage overtook her as she realized what was happening. She reached out for me.

“Shar take you!” She cried, falling out of her chair onto her hands and knees. She began to vomit.

I drew my killing-knife.

“I am sorry.” I told her, and a part of me was. “But tonight, Shar takes you Jino.”

I slid my killing-knife through the base of her skull and into her brain-stem. Jino slumped to the floor lifeless.

That was a mercy. I told myself. A quick painless death is better than slowly throwing up your bleedings lungs and guts.

I picked up a cloth napkin from the table and wiped my blade clean. I looked to Bellie who was, to her credit, still sitting in her chair quite stoically. “I did mention this would be dangerous, did I not?”

She just shrugged. “I assumed. Pirate.” She replied. My fondness for her grew immeasurably.

“You have no value to me dead.” Dawoud explained. It was truth. The renewed fire in Dawoud’s manner was the fire of hope; hope that my unexpected appearance had provided. Dawoud looked to Jino. “She was your friend, wasn't she.”

I nodded. “Yes.” Perhaps not a friend like Horatio, or Aglaril, or a sister like Zova, as I have said, but I thought she would become a friend like that in time.

Dawoud turned to Bellie with just the slightest smile on his cruel lips. “You should be careful of Layla yr Ibrahim yn Dawoud al-Taorahl,” he told her, “see how she treats her friends.”

Indeed. Perhaps the truest words you ever spoke old-man.

Dawoud retrieved a thick sheaf of papers; his account of everything he could remember about his station and position seven years ago when Hashim had used the brass-lantern. In here would be all the enemies Dawoud once had, that Hashim now faced. I took the papers.

As I left I looked down upon Jino’s body, laying in a puddle of vomit and blood. Had I not abandoned my plans to murder my grandfather, that might be me lying there. Jino was undone by her desire for vengeance. I was saved by giving mine up. There was a lesson there. I looked upon Dawoud, the architect of so much misery. Had he not desired to punish and control me, I would not have run-away. Had I not run-away, I would not have been cast-out. Had I not been cast-out, I would not have lost my family and become the murderously angry monster I was when I met Jino’s parents. They would still be alive. But for Dawoud, I would still have my family, and Jino would have hers.

But I cannot truly lay the burden for these evils at Dawoud’s feet. I made my choices, and they were mine alone. The blood of Gert and Fillkum Rockhand is on my hands, and now, so too is the blood of their daughter.

I am poison.
ALFA1-NWN1: Sheyreiza Valakahsa
NWN2: Layla (aka Aliyah, Amira, Snake and others) and Vellya
NWN1-WD: Shein'n Valakasha
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gonz.0
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Re: Layla's Journal

Post by gonz.0 »

Wow. Great story, I'm impressed by all involved.

Though honestly, what had me near in tears laughing was " I assumed, Pirate ".

Wish I could have been a fly on the wall for that one. Thanks for letting us share.
The real Gonz.0
"Where morality is present, laws are unnecessary. Without morality, laws are unenforceable." -Anonymous

Horatio
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