Letters to the Dead
Hey, Mamela

Sir,

It is another night. I keep a close watch on 'Chee as best I can. I believe I know how closely Bonded you are yo him. I will protect him for you. I am nothing compared to you, but I shall do this.
I still think you are out there somewhere.
I learned something today at the docks. A Human said something to me. He wanted me to listen.
"Hey, Mamela!" he said.
He said to listen.
I cried again today and the Male heard me, I think. He said "Hey, Mamela!" and commanded me to come to him.
I did.

The Male told me a story. He said it was from his tribe of Humans that live in a place that is very warm and filled with strange animals. He said that Humans have things called spirits. I think it is like me and my Kat'Rah, but not the same.
He said a Human's spirit and body are two things, not One like mine. And he said if I think hard enough, you will hear me.
I think I believe the Male. I wish I could tell you his name, but I cannot pronounce it.
I call him Mamela.
He calls me Mwanafunzi. Sometimes Mwana for short. He says it means Child or Pupil.

I told him a story of you and me today when the great bright One-Star was disappearing. I told him how you called me Imp for the first time.
Mamela smiled at me and said he thinks you accepted me in your way. He knew I was happy.
I will find mamela again soon, I think. We share stories and I share the ones I know of you with much pride. You are considered by me a Friend-Brother.
I will keep you alive in any way I can and if this is how, I shall do it.
I will watch over 'Chee as best I can.
I will keep Home safe too.

I will return tomorrow when the One-Star disappears again. I will bring you some Sumatra, I think.

I miss you.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Within Temptation

On the fourth night of this newborn addition to his already faithful ritual, the blue-skinned imp crawls out to the shoreline at his usual midnight-hour. Pen, paper and ink in his pocket and coffee in hand/paw, he lets himself listen to the waves for a while.
What to say tonight?
What emotions come tonight?

Down on the sand the coffee is placed, the nightly offering that it is. Out come the paper, pen and ink.
Alas, it takes him a while to start writing...

Sir,

What shall I say to you tonight? Nothing? Anything? You already know I miss you. You already know I believe you are out there somewhere.
You are an enigma to me, do you know that? You are as 'Chee said once, a bastard. But also, you are strong and a hero.
Did the sea do that to you?

I almost broke my promise to you today. I cannot tell an untruth. I almost did. I was very tempted to. I have heard humans say that it dulls the pain but, when I tried that stuff, rum...I did not like the way it made me feel.
I did not break my promise to you. I almost did, but I did not.
Most of me is glad that I did not.

Perhaps soon I shall tell you a story. You have your own stories, I know and I imagine what they might be. Still, I shall tell you one soon I think.
Perhaps you will understand me a little better if I do.

-Renne

This, like the letters gone before, ends up flung from the imp's hand even before the ink fully dries to be cast to the sea.

Letters to the Dead
Gray-Haired Child

Out here. Again out on the shoreline at midnight with his offering of coffee and things to write. Last night he'd written and delivered the story he'd promised. Last night, he confessed his fear.
Last night, he admitted he's alone.
Alone.

Most of his life he'd been alone, really. Long ago, the twins had offered their company. He'd loved them as the brothers they were but it wasn't the same as the bond he'd witnessed between the twins themselves.
Through his years in the Outworlds, he'd witnessed several kinds of bonds.
He'd even had one of his own for a while with Pendrell. True, Pendrell had been taken but Renne had come to grips with it and had found a way to still hold what had existed as cherished.

But what now?

It's the question he'd been afraid to ask. It comes with the emotion he'd been afraid to touch on but like everything else, Renne had come to try and analyse everything.
He'd come to realise understanding is half the battle.
What now, Mamela?

Tonight, he gives voice to the confused anger in his mind.

Sir,

You are cold, did you know that? You are cold! You do things I do not often understand right away, but I eventually begin to understand. This time, you have outdone yourself. You are confusing me beyond Analysis.
You are clever, Sir. You are very clever.
But you are cold.

You draw me to you and twine me into your history, however insignificant you may think I am. I do not know what you truly think of me, but however you do, you have drawn me in and now I cannot flee.
Most of me does not wish to flee.
You drew me in and then you vanish.
Without a word, you vanish!
Am I so small that I am unworthy of you? Of being strong for you if you need it? Ah, I see. You are strong yourself and you are always-strong with 'Chee. I am merely there to make you laugh, is that it?
You are clever, Sir.
And cold.
Still, I miss you. Still, I wish to be there for you. I wish to find you happy and proud and without pain.

You are a confusing human!
And I still miss you.
You are clever and wise and cold.
And a hero of mine.

I hope you understand that I expect nothing of you. I only wish you to know my emotions and perhaps, one day in some eternity understand that I value you more than you know. Maybe one day you will understand that I am not so weak that I cannot assist you if you should need it.
You may need me for no more than laughing but I am here.

I cannot turn away now. You have shaped me to be as I am. I will be here and I believe you will come back from wherever you are.
I will one day understand why I find you so cold so often.
And perhaps one day you will understand me.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Words Shaped by Rain

Sir,

I know the air is cold when the water falls from the sky and I know you would probably tell me to go back in. I cannot right now. I find myself in need of this time here, even with the cold falling-water brings. What's that word you call it? Oh, right. Rain.
I am sorry if I anger you being out here now, but I must be out here. I find myself feeling nearest to you when here or in the kitchen.
It's the smell of coffee, you know.
It's your smell, coffee and the great salt-water.

I know your smell. It's yours alone.

The smell of 'Chee is different. His is rougher, more like the smell of oak trees and salt and that smell thunder makers have after they make their thunder.
That is his smell and I smell him closest at the bar and in the Dark Room. You know the room I mean.
It's the one I used to fear going into.
I no longer fear it.

I know you will return, Sir. Or, even if you do not, I knwo you are still here and you still hear me.
I know the same of 'Chee too. I am doing my very best to protect Home and watch over 'Chee.

I wonder, Sir, may I hear one of your stories someday?

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Hailing Vanderdecken
(Dated for March 29)

Sir,

I bring your Sumatra tonight. I bring another story as well. I went to Mamela this morning and he read to me from a book I found at the place-of-books.
It was a story of the sea, he said, about a ship that lived a long time ago. Mamela said that ships are alive.
I know they are.

When you allowed me on "Dream" and "Balclutha", I felt them as alive. They do not live as you or I do. They are a different kind of alive.
Well, Mamela told me of one ship. It frightened me, really.
He said Humans call it the "Dutchman Flying".
In his story, Mamela said that the "Dutchman Flying" did a terrible thing and is forever bound to roam the sea and try to sail past something called "The Horn".

What is The Horn, Sir?

Is it a bad place for ships to go? It sounds so.
Mamela said it is a place even sailors are afraid to go to. I do not think I like this "Dutchman Flying" and the curse Mamela said it has. I hope you never meet this "Dutchman Flying", Sir.
If you do, I wish to be with you. I know you are strong and very well might not need me, but Sir, I fear you facing such a thing alone.

You might be angry at me Sir, but it is the truth. It is my truth. I am entwined with you, with 'Chee and with Home. I let myself become entwined, do you know that?
I came back...
I wanted to come back.

And Sir, I shall keep coming back.
I know you will too, be it in the form of Human or memory.
I will wait for you here and at Home.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Casting Collar and Crown

Midnight again. The storm that had battered the shoreline had calmed off, allowing some relief. He'd come out as soon as the rain, thunder and lightning had dissipated.
Home.
He'd called many places home over the years, but none had lasted so long. And few, would he ever return to.
The ritual is always the same now.
The words are what's different.

Sir,

What are you thinking tonight? I have your Sumatra for you. Are you on a great adventure? Are you being still and thinking about things?
Whichever it is you are doing, I am here doing it with you. And you are here with me.
I still smell you. I still hear you.
Do you wish to know what I think you are doing? I think you are standing strong and smiling at the wind. I think you are letting yourself have some serenity.

I am not serene, Sir. I know this. I am not peaceful and I am not very calm. I cannot stop moving for too long, you know. But when I move around inside Home, I smell you.
If I listen, I can hear your footsteps and your laugh.
I must listen closely though.

And Sir, please do not be angry with me, but I am encountering trouble. 'Chee has disappeared and I cannot find him. If he is with you, please tell me. If not, I shall try to find him.
I am trying not to be afraid, Sir. I am trying to hold to what you taught me.

I shall return again, Sir. I promised I would.
And I will.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Kobayashi Maru Won

Restless. Again, so bloody restless. Torn between repetition and the unknown, the blue-skinned imp sits at the shoreline with his usual offering of Sumatra, pen, ink and paper.
He'd been out here for hours already and his thoughts had become more bleak by the hour. No. Those thoughts aren't what he'd like to be thinking.

Perhaps a compromise.

Home, maybe he could...
Yes.

Writing in his usual fashion of slow care -- and even then his penmanship is deplorable -- the imp casts his newest letter to the sea and invites a new idea into his mind.

Sir,

I am restless. Have you ever been? Yes, I know you have. I am restless now. I am torn, Sir. I do not wish to leave Home at all, but it pains me, the silence.
The Captain has not yet called on me, but I shall find him. I believe I shall go on an adventure.
I will not be gone too long and I will continue to write and talk to you. I cannot fathom staying but neither can I bear parting, even if I know I will come back.
I am in need though. I am in need of movement, learning...

Please Sir, forgive me. I shall keep doing my duty. I shall keep my promise. Perhaps I will tell the Captain some of my stories of you. I will come back, Sir. And when I do, you will know all my adventures.
I will write them to you as they happen.
And that way, you, 'Chee and Home shall be with me.

-Renne

Getting what little sleep he has lately allowed himself, the imp makes damn sure Home is clean as a whistle, safe and locked down except for the one other that comes here.
Leaving a note on the bar and with it, another bitten-off chunk of oak, the Tree Biting Imp slips out and down to the docks.
Now, to find the Pride and Fury...

'Chee,

I search for Captain, the Captain of Pride and Fury. I grow restless. I will go on his ship and learn to be a real sailor. Home is clean and safe. I will come back and please, you come back too.
If 'Chee likes, I will write back and tell of adventures.
Please know I am here if 'Chee has need of me.
Please stay safe.
You are much valued.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Swimming Up from Lower Egypt

He'd taken another day to find the Pride and Fury. One couldn't measure his relief when he finally found her docked. Crawling as carefully as he did the first time across the gangplank, Renne's ears come up to listen. Hearing the quiet of the night, the imp crawls clumsily toward the Pride's bow. He's only learned a scant few sailor-type words and not even their meanings yet, so he's careful for now to stay on the decks.
Finding what seems like a decent spot to sit and write, he takes off his oversized peacoat and hat. It wouldn't do to either stain the sleeve with ink or completely smudge any writing.
Thankfully, he'd managed to procure some dry, unbrewed Sumatra. It might not be as good as the brewed stuff but he's clumsy enough with the coat.

It's now he uses this quiet moment to write. He'd started this tradition to keep his sanity. He'll faithfully keep to it even if it means drowning in the Nile.

Sir,

I am sorry I cannot bring you a cup of your Sumatra, but you see, I cannot carry it on the Pride and Fury. I bring you the Sumatra in its dry form. Perhaps you might like brewing it yourself? If not, please do not be angry with me.
I do not know this ship like I know Home yet. But I will learn, I promise.
You should see the Pride and Fury, Sir. It is a beautiful ship. Almost as beautiful as Balclutha or Dream, but they have the smell of you and 'Chee, so they are a little more beautiful to me.
The Pride is beautiful in its own way. I believe I shall learn much here. I will tell you all about it and when you come back, I shall show you all that I know. I will be a good sailor and I will speak better English too.
And Sir, I will get a tattoo. I have thought about it for a long time and now I am sure. I shall get one. I am not sure what I shall have it depict though. What would you say?
Does it hurt?
Mamela said to me that all good sailors can get a tattoo. I would not get one to say that I am a good sailor yet. I am not a good sailor yet. I will get one that reminds me of Home and 'Chee and you and all that I have called T'hyhar-an.
Captain has not called on me yet but I will speak to you from here. I wish to hear when Captain calls upon me.

I think I will explore the Pride now so that I may begin to know it like I know Home. Please stay safe, Sir.
I will come back. I promised you that and I hold myself to it.

I miss you.
-Renne

Barely, he waits for the ink to dry when a few pinches of dry, ground Sumatra are sprinkled onto the letter itself. Paper folded, the imp gives it a great hurling throw to customarily cast it to the waves.
Now the fun part.
Useless eyes narrowed, he puts his things away and neatly folds his peacoat. Now he only hopes his coat and hat are in a spot out of the way of any crewman's path as he crawls along the deck. Finding a stretch of rigging, he smiles.
Ah, almost like Balclutha...
It's almost without any hesitation the imp starts climbing. He was nervous before on Balclutha but that time was different.
Sir was there with him.
Now, he's on his own.

Pushing back his fear, the determined imp sets his jaw, closes his eyes(not that it'd be any different) and keeps climbing. Alas, he cannot chase away the words Mamela had said so sternly to him only days ago.
"Don' be swimmin' in de Nile, mahn."

Letter to the Dead
The Price of Earthen Laughter

There was once a tradition started. Years ago, a candle in the window was that tradition. It's still there on an island miles away from Rhy'Din and still burning.
Some years later, another tradition had come to light.
He still remembers the tattoo; how it felt when his fingers had been allowed to run along its contours and lines. He never knew the significance, if any but that was all right.
Now, writing yet another letter, the blue-skinned creature occasionally lets his right hand run along his left arm. Only his old scars lie there.
For now.

Sir,

My mind has been strange. I ended up sleeping even if I did not wish to. And Sir, the dreams came again. I cannot bear the dreams. I woke up crying again, Sir.
Yes, I cry. Many nights now, I cry. Sometimes I smile though.
Sir, I have made a decision.
I am going to get one of those tattoo things. I do not yet know what it shall depict, but I shall get one.
If anything, it shall remind me of you and the happy times.
What do you think, Sir?
I remember what you had. you had a Great Serpent climbing up one of those things. What is it called again? An anchor, I think. I remember it though, Sir. It was most aesthetically pleasing. Did I ever tell you? I hope I did. I think I did.
If not, I say it now, Sir.

Now, I shall get one put on me. I do not care now if it may hurt. If it does, it will be manifestation of the emotions inside me.
If it does, it is a part of the penance I believe I pay.
I pay it willingly, Sir. I discovered my errors but I discovered them too late.
You need not know which ones I speak of.
I am learning from them and I will not forget.

The pain will be part as my penance.
The result shall be in honour of you and the times I heard you smile.

-Renne

Some have called him a monster. Some have called him just plain strange. One gave him his most cherished nickname and that one instilled only further Renne's sense of duty, honour and tradition. Dusting his most recent letter with dry Sumatra and casting it to the sea, Renne crawls from the Pride and Fury to the Maritime.
Still, every night he scours the place clean and crawls through it as if to capture the whispers in the walls.
Alas, the whispers in the walls only drive him to tears.

Escape. Hardly thinking at first, Renne moves with that stiff autonomy of a time once before.
To think Home could have such an effect is an odd, frightening thing. But, what is, is. So, to the Red Dragon the imp journeys.
If anything to while away a few hours with company other than his own thoughts.

Letters to the Dead
Starry, Starry Night

The weather had gotten cold again, too cold for him to handle without a slight temperature tweak. The weather however, never stops his tradition or his thoughts.
He has things to think on.

Tonight, he shies away from his dreams....
...only to have his memories.

Months ago, he had heard of things up in the cold wastelands of Northern Rhy'din. Months ago, he was told to stay behind and keep watch over Home.
Months ago, the world was like a Van Gogh masterpiece.
Now I understand what you tried to say to me...
And how you tried to set them free...

Tonight, the imp stays a night at Home with his thoughts both chaotic and calm. It's up here he not only pens another letter, he too completes his best rendering of Harold's face.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Sir,

Where are you? I do not know but I am thinking. I hope I have you right. I only know how I believe you appear. I remember the nights of the Christmas. I remember the people that came through Home's doors. Some of them, I liked. Some of them frightened me.
I remember your words of years ago and when you last spoke to me. I miss your voice, Sir.
Please, say something. Just once.

Tears. He hadn't counted on that again. He'd underestimated his emotions. Halfway through his writing, the imp crawls downstairs and up onto the Maritime's bar.
No. Not here.
Down again, he moves into the back room
Yes. Here.

Silent, silent night
Laughter rings as solid light
Listen now, to songs of life
With a mind that know the shadows in my soul
Shadows never known
Burdens left in the darkness-land
Soothed away by unseen hand
At night cried away in the warmth of oaken wall

Now I understand what you tried to teach to me
And how you suffered for your strength, I see
And how you tried to set them free
They did not hear you, they did not know how
Perhaps they will know you now.

Silent, silent night
Memories live within warm walls
Catch the sound in silent halls
Reflecting sunlight as only oak can do
Past thoughts living still
Voices heard and a heeded will
Lives entwined in the summer day
Are changed with the coldest thunder's fray

For they deeply loved you
But still your pain was true
And when no light was left inside on that silent, silent night
You took your life as heroes often do
But I could have told you, Harold
This plane was never meant for one as beautiful as you.

Now I understand what you tried to teach to me
And how you suffered for your strength, I see
And how you tried to set them free
I could not listen when I knew not how
In my tears, I hear you now.

I loved you then and I love you now, Sir. I will find you again and I will understand.

-Renne

Tears and dry Sumatra make an odd scent when blended with barely-dry ink. So too, do memories of laughter and the smells of wood and salt make a painful but beautiful portrait.
Folding his letter and taking it to the sea to join all the rest to wherever they've gone, the imp crawls away as soon as the message leaves his fingers.
Months ago, he knew that Harold had inexplicably gone North to the coldest places of Rhy'Din.
Now, the one with blue skin ponders what was up there. Now, he entertains the thought of going up there himself to find out what it was.
Months ago, Renne could not understand.
Now, he's determined to find maybe more than a man missed.
It's only a thought at this point, but one too tempting to pass by.

~<>~

*Starry, Starry Night, Don McLean

Letters to the Dead
Tell-Tale Dreams

Haunted. Tonight, it's one word that is accurate. He'd not touched the very idea of eating in some days and sleep only comes a close almost-second. The haunted air about him couldn't be escaped in either thought, meditation or even scant hours of sleep.
The nightmares never stop.

Going back and forth from Home to the Pride, his mind wanders in a myriad of directions. Some bear laughter. Some bear frightening realities.
In the end, the imp ends up back on the Pride with yet another letter.
And this time, a confession.

Sir,

I cannot hide it any longer. The dreams frighten me too much. I woke from one and found myself in a tremor. It alarmed me, Sir. I am thankful though, no one heard or saw me.
I despise my weakness.

It was the dream that woke me, that frightened me.

I cannot hide it anymore, Sir. You and 'Chee haunt my dreams in ways I never thought possible. I know 'Chee is still here. I know you are still here, but far away.
I wish my mind could know this too.

Sir, in my dream, I gave back your thunder maker. In the dream, you asked me to use it. Then you used it on 'Chee and me.
You frightened me.
Please tell me my dreams are only dreams.

-Renne

This letter, with a dry Sumatra offering, joins its predecessors. Alas, this one had an unusual air about it. Unlike the others, this one had only glossed over the dreams that have taken to haunting the imp's head.

-The night had fallen on Home and all of Rhy'Din. He'd followed the Duo back home and found them safe. It was for him, a confusing moment of hope and for at least another day, he'd nearly forgotten he had the Thunder Maker in his possession.
He couldn't keep it. It wouldn't be right.
--feared weapon--
--prized artifact--
Inexplicably he couldn't return the thing to Harold personally, so he'd settled for a note and the possession kept wrapped and protected.

It was then that things changed.

Thunder crashed in the night and no one knew until long after.
Words were spoken in a cold, stilted tone.

And then he came up out of the water one night as the imp came down to the shore.
He smelled like himself, of warmth, coffee and salt. But he wasn't him. So the imp backed away until he heard the voice.
"You're a man now, Imp. You're a man now."
That voice, the words made the imp almost-smile. Then he felt strange arms embrace him.
The arms weren't the same. They weren't warm and pulsing with life.
The arms were cold, drenched in ages of sea-water and felt like flesh still disintigrating. The chest Renne's head found itself against was hollow, incomplete and festooned with years-old seaweed.
And there was no Rhythm.

The sea roared around them with a steadily growing rage. Rain began to pour from the sky in cold torrents.
He spoke again.
"You're a man now. So take it like a man."
The voice wasn't warm. It lacked tone and inflection. The voice's emotions were impossible to Analyse. The stranger/hero let go of the imp and stood back. He grinned a ghastly grin on a face with flesh melting off the damp, cracking bone.
Renne felt the cold metal against his chest.
He heard the sea create a great tsunami.

And then he heard nothing but silence.-

On the deck of the Pride and Fury, Renne wakes with a jolt and tears streaming down his unnaturally pale face. The dreams had returned as he knew they would but he'd fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion.
The only thing he can at the moment be thankful for is that he never wrote out the complete dream.
Living it inside his mind is frightening enough.

Letters to the Dead
Grass Dingbats Fly...

Sir,

I have plans in my mind now. I have been thinking and thinking hard. I shall do two things and after those two things, I shall go with Stephen-Captain unless he calls upon me first.
He did take me on and I have no intention of leaving Home forever. I cannot do that, as you know.

While I do these two things and when I go with Stephen-Captain I shall still speak to you.
I can almost let myself imagine you speaking back and saying one of your funny things.

My two things? I shall get a tattoo.
I remember the portal thing you spoke of, when you asked me to stay behind. Sir, I stayed behind as you asked. I did.
This time, I will not.
I will find that thing unless I am asked not to. By you or 'Chee.
I do not know what this portal-thing does or why it is at the front of my thoughts. I can only Analyse.
You said the Female went to her home through it.

I do not know where it is. I do not know what it may do with me, but I will find it.
I will not deny that I am curious about it. Perhaps it may be able to teach me about your Mouth of Bar.
Perhaps it may at least tell me where you are. Or at least that you are well.

I know I was told you are gone but I still hear you.
I still smell your Sumatra.
I still hear your laughter.

And yes, grass dingbats do fly when the moon is made of green cheese.
You said so yourself.

-Renne

~*The letter floated swiftly along. The great winds carried far and wide, losing a few pages, erasing a few words, but all in all, the letter, one of them anyway, was intact. And the recipient? Well, the lad was walking along the grassy fields casually, listening to nature whenever it chose to talk to him... so when the paper began floating down on a stray gust of wind, he looked up purely by accident. He watched it fall, and when it is within reach, he snatched it, balancing the pole on his shoulders... he cannot understand the glyphs upon the paper, for he was not native to this land. Perhaps that was why Rhy'Din, strange though the world was, deemed it right he should recieve this. He rushes home to his teacher, the one living in the mountains. Scrambling up the rocks, bare-feet and all, he bursts through the door. It wasn't locked, which wasn't surprising; so far from civilization, what bandits in their right mind would trek so far to gamble on what might be so little?*~

The lad rushed up the stairs excitedly. "SHI FU! SHI FU!" He called to the room before he came running in. The occupant of the room, sitting in a chair facing the window, slowly turned his head to the young child of no-more than thirteen summers...

"Yes? What is it?" He asked in a soft voice. He sounded tired, but rather one might say he was bored... but spotting the paper in his pupil's hand, he gets curious. "A summons for me?" It was not often anyone contacted him; too few knew when or where to find him...

"No, Shi Fu!" The lad said hurriedly. "A paper from the heavens! Perhaps it is the Jade Emperor communicating with us?" The lad hurried forward- was he made of energy? -and thrust the papers into his teacher's hands. He then stepped back and made way as his teacher rose up...

...And walked to the desk. Laying the paper out so that he may read them easier, he discerns that this is indeed a letter... but not for him OR his pupil. It was addressed to someone named, 'Serr'... and the one writing these papers? Aside from what many would call terrible penmanship, and possibly many misspelled words, this raised ink was rather interesting. Touching it with a finger, the gent gives it a sniff. He then turns to his pupil. "I'm going out. If it's written in raised ink, chances are, the writer can only READ raised-ink." A simple deduction... he leaves the house and travels into town on his horse, Stargazer. It had taken him some time to re-learn after his accident, but he'd progressed wonderfully, thanks to Stargazer being so patient.

The local town was hustle and bustle, but in Rhy'Din, this and any variant was common. The only uncommon thing in Rhy'Din was normalcy, really... it takes him the longer part of three hours to find a store that even KNOWS of raised ink, and he buys them out, leaving dozens of gold coins and telling them to keep the change. He wasn't sure why the store owner looked ready to faint, but if that huge grin was any indication...

Stargazer took him home swiftly, but gently. The accident had taken it's toll and still did to this day, but he managed. Walking upstairs, he returns to the room and the desk; his pupil was waiting, and watched him with expectant eyes. He sat down, and decided to start this off simple enough... taking the quill and dipping it, he taps off the excess and begins to pen his letter, dipping fresh ink when needed.

Renne,
You do not know me, or my pupil, but we have, by chance, intercepted a letter meant for this 'Serr' you write to. Many words have been removed by time and wind, but I was able to read much of it. This 'Serr' seems like a nice person, and it seems you miss him dearly... I wish to know more about him and yourself. Will you tell me? I am sending this letter by hawk; if you wish to tell me more about this 'Serr', and about yourself, leave your response to me rolled and ready by the front door of your home. My hawk will be waiting. If you will not answer, then leave a tree branch instead. My hawk will understand. In case you are curious, the hawk is named, 'Revanche'. It is a foreign word, I am told it means, 'Revenge'. I purchased her from a dealer. She is friendly, despite her name.

He paused for a moment, letting the ink dry. He wasn't sure why he mentioned the hawk's name... perhaps to build a bit of familiarity? Perhaps as a token of faith? Of friendship? He wasn't certain he'd even get a reply from this 'Renne'... but, it seemed to be the start of something. The start of what? He wasn't sure, but then again, being a wanderer, he often let the wind decide where to go and what to do. The wind brought the letter; maybe it had brought something else, too... picking up the quill and using a fresh piece of paper, he writes a little more.

I am certain you will be surprised to recieve a letter from someone other than 'Serr', and I hope you do not think I am too strange to respond to. I do not often interact with people, for I find that too few seem unafraid of that which is considered different. I am ending this letter now, and I will wait in hopes of receiving a reply.
Respectfully yours,
V. D.

Casting a small scry spell, he determines the origins of this letter are from a beach near a tavern of sorts, and decides that leaving it at the tavern itself would be effective... hoping this is correct, he has his pupil, after the ink was raised and dried, roll them together and tie them with a blue ribbon. Then, the pupil gave a whistle and a golden hawk swooped in, giving a soft cry as she landed on the window sill. The lad went to her, stroking her feathers and instructing her on the delivery location. Bobbing her head three times, she gave a warm call to the taller of the two, and a trilling coo to the shorter one, and took off. The two watched her for a moment, and when she was gone, the lad went downstairs to find some fruit to eat. The taller gent sat in his chair again, and waited patiently as he always did... only this time, he seemed a little happier with the situation...

Letters to the Dead
'Cause No One Will

Sunset. An unusual time for him to be out. Early, to be sure, but he's out tonight early as he is. Too many thoughts run through his mind to keep him still until midnight.
-Can't be weak, can't stand still...

Sir,

I could not find the Female named Trick but I did find a place where Sages of tattoos are. I got mine tonight, Sir. I think it is fitting.
And Sir, the tattoo hurt. It hurt much, but I am glad I have it now. I know I will only be able to touch it once but it will not go away. You see Sir, I had my skin painted once before when I met a Male who called himself the Flower Scarlet. I painted my leg to honour him. But, when he faded away, the paint faded away.
I have not heard from the Flower Scarlet in a long, long time now. I miss him sometimes. The Flower Scarlet, I have not forgotten. I will not forget him.
He is not like you though, Sir.

Sir, my tattoo will never fade. You will never fade. I made sure of that. Tonight, I will tell Stranger one of the stories I know with you. Stranger has asked me and I shall tell him.
No, I will not tell him yet of the precious stories. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Christmas was our story.

I am still trying to be strong, Sir. I am still trying.

-Renne

~<>~

-Simon, Lifehouse

Renne's Tattoo
http://i96.photobucket.com/albums/l197/BlindIntellect/Character%20Possessions%20Miti/RennesTattoo.gif

Letters to the Dead
Silver Linings

Sir,

I am thinking strange thoughts this night, Sir. The sea is quiet and I have yet to hear from Stranger. Do you think I told the first story right? I confess, I did not speak of the darker side of when I first came to Home. I will tell the darker side but not yet. Sir, I do not wish to tell the darker side, but I know I must.
I cannot tell an untruth, Sir. You knwo this.

There are dark times between us, but I remember them with another kind of mind. I do not like th edark times, but I believe they are necessary.

Sir, you have much to learn.
I too have much to learn.

We both have learned much separately and together. I wish to learn more. I wish to teach more.
I will tell more stories if Stranger asks. I will tell them as I know them, Sir.

And I will tell him of you with a smile.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Scholarly Approach: On Transcendence

Sir,

I have heard from Stranger tonight. He seems to understand Transcendence but not entirely. Stranger says he is an Empath of Earth. I think it is like I am with emotion. I do not know.
Sir, do you know what Transcendence is? No, I do not think so.
I shall explain it to you, Sir, for it is what I felt many times at Home.

I have Transcended before. It is when Emotion becomes very great and bright. You see, Sir, I and my People are from a place where Emotion s a solid thing. It can be held in your hand, Sir.
It is how my People are. We are made of this. We Emerge into existence, Sir, when Passion becomes very high. Passion rises and makes the air become warm. When the air is warm, two Mates bring a mineral up from deep underground and from within themselves. These minerals join to make a solid stone.
Yes, Sir, you have seen my Lifestone. That is how a Lifestone is made. The Lifestone allows the People to gain Solidity and be able to touch other beings and other things in the way Humans know as touch.

Transcendence is when we feel such joy that we are beyond touch. You have had me Transcend before, Sir.
That is not a simple thing to have me do.

-Renne

Casting this newest message to the winds, the imp does not go anywhere tonight. Tonight, he sits on the beach and holds his journal on his lap. As Revanche awaits a reply to take back to the Stranger, the blue-skinned creature allows himself a moment of silence before he replies to that correspondence.
The pain of this tradition hits home again.
But, it is a pain he would not do without.
Far better pain, than emptiness.

Letters to the Dead
Gimme That Old-Time Religion

*This one's meant to be light-hearted and funny. A comical salute to the world religions out there, absolutely no offense intended.*

He'd gone back to the library for a while to browse what titles he could read. Still, that book of religions had him puzzled enough to actively seek out someone to read to him. As luck had it, the imp had run across Mamela again.
"Oh, you want to learn de religions eh? Yeh, I teach you!"
It really was nice to hear the great barrel of a man laugh. For hours on the docks, he and Mamela traded questions, comments and even bits of a witty song Mamela decided to use as a teaching tool.

Later on however, even Mamela had to return to his work, so the imp crawls back down to shore with his usual Sumatra offering and a rare smile on his face.

Sir,

I found Mamela today. I am glad I did. Do you remember that book I found? Yes, that one about holy books. I showed Mamela the book and he told me what the flat pages inside the book said. And Sir, it was most enlightening!
I learned of Humans named Mohammed, Jesus, Buddha and Confucius. I learned of Females named Virgin Mary, Eve, Boddhavista and Kwan-Yin. Oh, Sir, the stories are most curious.
I learned that the men Jesus and Mohammed died and came back from the dead to do wonderful things for their people. I learned about Buddha and Confucius and Kwan-Yin and how they taught peace, harmony and balance. And a thing called Chi. I think it is like a spirit but I am not sure.
In the eyes of Virgin Mary and the Male named Jesus, a spirit is the thing that cannot be touched inside a Human. Thoughts, emotions and knowledge. If this is true, Sir, I am sure you are out there now.

All of these beings taught peace and strength. And Sir, yes. They did speak of faith.
You spoke of it too. I shall keep on learning.

Sir, what does "old time religion" mean? Mamela sang me a song today. It was most amusing and I find it even helps me match which gods go to which holy book. I will show you.

At this point, the imp stops to smile and pick out three of his favourite verses Mamela had imparted. Although unable to write his letters with a dry eye, this time at least gains a rare smile.

"Well I hear your god's named Jesus
You can do just as you pleases
Even bless me if I sneezes
Cause it's good enough for me!

*We will pray with those old druids
They drink fermented fluids
Waltzing naked through the woo-ids
And that's good enough for me!

-Lots of folks are into God
And I've often thought it odd
Do they love Him for His bod'?
Or is it ideology?

You see Sir? It is very amusing to me. But it is most....what is the word? Education-bringing? Yes, that. I believe Mamela's song was to make me laugh and match all of the gods easier. It did make me laugh, Sir. I must return the book of holy-books to the place-of-books soon, but I will borrow it again.
I think the next book I shall find will be one on sailing. I must learn as much as I can if Stephen-Captain is to let me stay. What do you think?

I hope I have at least helped you smile. I still miss you, Sir but if this is how I must speak to you, then I shall do it.
It is better than not speaking at all.
You have been good to me, even with the times you revealed anger. I have learned much and I will keep learning.

I hope you know how much you are valued. I have said it before; I shall say it again. Sir, I thank you and I love you.

I must go now. I wish to be with Ty'Rekh for a while. She is a beautiful being, Sir. She holds me upon her back like she knows how to balance me.
Ah, I wish I could say the same of the big Everett! Everett is a beautiful being too, Sir.. He is strong, where Ty'Rekh is smooth and fast. Where did Everett go, Sir? Did you take him with you? I miss Everett. I like him.
But Ty'Rekh is my Ty'Rekh.
I shall go see her now and I shall give her one of those long, crunchy things for you.

I will return again, Sir.

-Renne

~<>~

"Old Time Religion" is both a gospel song as well as a comedic spoof. Most of the verses I have found were gathered and/or written by filkers like Joe Bethancourt. You can find many of the spoof verses here: http://www.ladybridget.com/mp/song_otr.html

" - one of the many verses saluting Christianity
* - one of the many verses saluting Paganism
- - oneof the many verses saluting agnosticism

Letters to the Dead
A Midsummer Night's Read

Libraries. They were an unknown thing to him at one time but then so was the concept of literacy. Indeed, at one time, he'd been illiterate and once, even unable to speak a scrap of English. He'd been an animal, living in the untouched wildernesses of Rhy'Din and beyond. He'd become what most would call "savage".
Years ago, that was what he was.
And not so many years ago, that began to change.

Now, amid burrowing through library shelves and generally perturbing the crotchety old librarian, the blue-skinned creature from another place, time an dgeneral existence finds himself shaking his head at his thoughts.
He'd been an animal in the untouched wilds of only gods-know-where.
He'd been hidden from the pains of loss and friendship.
He'd been protected against the joys of friends and companionship.
Paradoxial.

Strange thoughts indeed.

There it is. Finding the old book on the fourth shelf with its dusty but embossed binding, the imp pulls it down with an ungainly tug.
Not surprisingly, both he and the book meet the floor most ungracefully.

But, for three whole days, that book is now his.

--------

Sir,

I had to return the book of faith today. But Sir, I have another book. It is called "Roll of the Deck". I think this is a sailing book but I am not sure yet. I must find Mamela and ask if he will read it to me.
Perhaps I shall find 'Chee. I like the way he sounds when he speaks and reads. I like the way you sound too Sir.
I miss your voice.

Perhaps should I find Mamela, I shall tell him another story.

Sir, a strange thought came to me when I was returning the book of faiths. It was something you said. "Do not be in any hurry to be a man".
It puzzles me. Why did you say this?
I am curious, Sir, I truly am.

But, perhaps I shall learn this as I have learned to understand things you have told me. Slowly and with time.
I hope I do.

And Sir, I will not touch another Female's thing of clothing! They might all be that tiny.

Ah, Sir, I wish I had more to say tonight, but I do not. I shall go ride Ty'Rekh and find Mamela. Perhaps when I return to the place-of-books, that Female will not be so...irritating? Truly, Sir, she is a vexing Female! She is always thinking I am an animal. A pet! And Sir, she threw a book at me!
The book hit me, but I bit it. No Sir, it does not have the same effect as trees. I surely need to go find a tree.
That Female vexes me indeed.

What is it with you Humans and thinking any being not a Human is a pet?
Not you or 'Chee, Sir. But you understand, yes? That Female at the place-of-books. I believe the proper word for her is "crotchety old bat"?
I think so.

I shall go find Mamela now Sir.
As always, I miss you and I love you.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
What Do You Do with an Impish Sailor?

Sir,

I heard again from Stranger today. He asked me most peculiar questions, but som eof them I think I should have expected. I told him about my People and how we work. And then he asked me if I am blue.
What is blue? I have heard Humans say that my flesh is "blue". I know only that my flesh is set to a temperature. Perhaps temperature makes blue.
I do not know.

And Sir, I explored a little today and took my book with me. I went to a new place on the docks and I heard a group of Males speaking to one another. They were speaking about sailing I think. They used words that you use I think. "Bow" and "mast" and "deck".
I became curious so I went to these Males. I think one of them went to sleep as soon as he was aware of me. I heard a great sigh and then a great thump.
Some of the Males believed me an animal. I do not mind so much anymore. They were thinking they taught me words! Well, they were teaching me words but it was amusing to hear them do it.
One of them taught me something he says that sailors say.
What does "Shivering Timbers" mean, Sir?

I do not know, but I found I needed to bite more trees. Sometimes I need to 'Throw Down' as you and 'Chee put it. I only wish I could do so with a moving being, although trees do work.
I believe it is called relief of stress, Sir.

I thought again on Home and laughter. My mind wandered and I came to that question I asked you the cold-time before.
And Sir, what is a piano? And why is an organ better?
May I find one of these things to learn about them? I think I shall try. I remember you asking me that question and then creating laughter with 'Chee.
Is there something in that question that creates laughter?
I do not know, so i shall find out.
Until then, Sir, I have a gift for you. It is not much, but it is what I can offer. I bit off a pine tree for you and I made my own lines to the song Mamela taught me. It is meant to make laughter in you, Sir.
And maybe in 'Chee too.

I hope the words have come out right, Sir.

We'll venerate a gent from Wales-y
By comparison the rest they pale, see
Sexy beast too good for his shirt-y
Bastardly enough for me.

We will pray to the hair of one man
Who by all rights, he can-can
Be mistaken for a pretty lass and
Wear petticoats for me.

I hope you like them, Sir. They are from my memories of you and the nicknames of you and 'Chee. And Sir, I shall never let you live down the day you sang that you are too sexy for your shirt!
But Sir...
What is sexy?

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Say What?

Sir,

I had much anger today. The stranger that speaks to me said he owns Revanche, his bird that carries his words to me and mine to him.
Sir, I am puzzled. Does not owning a being make that being a slave? I think so. Or is it like you and me? What is that word, employer? I think that is it.
You do not own me Sir, not like a slaver does. I work for you and I freely do so. You have taught me much and I have worked for you.
I think that is what Stranger means. Do you think so?

I must learn more about this. I must understand.

I did some very interesting things last night. Sir, there was a very large being running around in the Red Dragon! Stephen-Captain asked me to ride it like a horse and lead it to its home. It was most exciting but I think I am confused.
You see, the Female named Jewell answered a question I asked.
I asked what a...penis is, Sir. Stephen-Captain said something about one coming out of the Dragon Red's wall, so I asked what one is.
The Female Jewell said it is a rodent.
I think that thing coming out of the wall may have been a very special or strange rodent, Sir. I have heard the word "rodent" before and I believe it means a small hair-covered animal. The animal I rode upon I think was a rodent.
Was that rodent's species of the kind called penis?

I think I am very confused, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Devotion of Children

Sir,

I have learned much from my new books. You would not believe the wisdom they have! I am reading the book that says how to make things called knots again. Sir, these knots are very complex indeed. I shall learn to make them though since they must be known. My book also tells how to make a sail work. What is it called? It is a strange word, Sir. "Unfurl", I think it is.
So much wisdom in these, Sir.
I shall learn everything inside my books and I shall read them to you. And then I shall listen to your laughter.

And I shall wait for you.

I will explore and I will learn everything I can btu I will always come back and wait for you. Home will never be left alone for long. It will always be clean and taken care of. I promise this, Sir.
You are running low on your Sumatra. I shall get some for you.

I shall speak to you tomorrow in the cold-time, Sir.
You are loved.

Thank you for letting me hear you laugh.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Small Things

Sir,

I did not find 'Chee or Mamela in the last cold-time or warm-time. I found a Female named Nathen. She lives in another part of the docks, Sir, a colder part. She is a most generous Female. She is the one who found my books for me.
And Sir, I found her a gift like I said I would.

I think she liked it. I bit another tree and then I bit what I took off into a thing called a compass. I do think she liked it. I hope she did.
I think you would like her, Sir.
I told her a story about you, Sir. I told her about one of the talks we had. Sir, you have confused me often, but I am learning to understand what you mean.
I am still confused sometimes, but I am Analysing slowly.

I got to play tag with Nathen too, Sir. She is very funny and very fast when she moves. I will find her again and tell more about you. I will tell the truth Sir, for I cannot do otherwise.
What is the truth?
To me, Sir, it is this. You have angered me, confused me and frightened me sometimes. But you have also done things most Humans could or would not do. You have taught me many things and shown me how to be stronger.
You allowed me to come back Home even when I was afraid to come back. I think when I find Nathen, I shall tell her the story of the night you read to me.
It is one of my most treasured memories.

I will tell her your stories I know with a smile, Sir. I will still shed tears but I know I will always do this. You disappeared, Sir.
I miss you very much, Sir.
Please come back. Home is waiting for you.

-Renne

Writing on the shore tonight, Renne finds himself crying on the very message he composes. But, when it's finished, it joins all of his others.
Recently, he'd begun to keep copies of the letters he writes, if nothing else for memory's sake. Now though, as he takes out his journal to put down a memory in its bindings, the imp just holds it for a while.
I remember when he gave this to me.
This journal. It has seen some years of wear but remains in good condition. It had been a gift of Christmas, and more, from Harold.
This journal...
It holds the bad, the good, the dull and the exciting. It holds laughter, tears, anger and joy. And lately, it has taken on a faint coffee smell.
This journal holds the truth as he knows it.
It's a piece of Home.
And that's all that matters.

Letters to the Dead
Through a Glass Darkly

He hadn't been able to make it to the Beltaine. He'd heard the great crowd and had found himself a little intimidated.
Crowds have always been one ot make him a little leery.

It's always been a weakness with him, that. He never could handle crowds well.

So why are you going on a ship?
I want to learn and become stronger.
Why?
Fir Sir and 'Chee.
There's more to it than that.
For myself, too.
You are only --
I am what I am. I am lucky for it.

He'd had this internal battle before. Coming down to the shoreline earlier than usual tonight, the imp sits there on the sand and lets himself remember. What better time than the present to Analyse and understand just a little bit more?
Renne lets his ears half-flop downward.
His eyes close.
In light meditation, Renne wanders through his own mind to find the memory that's been nagging at him for the last few days. It takes a little while but part of that is his own distraction. Upon finding this memory however, Renne approaches it, like all things, carefully.
At first, he opens it like a book.
Soon, he immerses into it.

-...and just be!... Brothers are brothers...-
Stop. Freeze. Turn back the pages.
-...just be!-
Analyse.

I was not wise back then. Did he understand?
-Understand what?-
I love him.
-Worship the ground he walks upon.-
Yes.
-Inquiry.-
State.
-Why follow? Why instigate anger?-
Love him. Not understand emotions emanated by him.

Two particular instances of that memory, he "replays" in his mind over and over again. If there was one thing he didn't do back then, it was Analyse. If there was one thing he didn't understand back then, was the emotional signature of a volatile, scrappy, strong, magnetic Welshman.

-Anger instigated.-
Yes. Anger confused.
-Proceed.-
...Brothers are brothers...
-Freeze.-
Meaning contradiction. Correlate.
-Impossible. Back.-
...That's what friends do...
-Forward.-
...Brothers are brothers...
-Freeze. Analyse emotional emanations.-
Confusion.
-Suggestion.-
State.
-Comparison. Translate into play format.-
Proceed.
-"Friend", comrade.-
Yes.
-"Brother", comrade. Another duty not that of "Friend".-
Explain.
-"Friend", you.-
Yes. T'hyhar-an.
-Confirmed. He, understand?-
Unknown. Hypothesise, yes.
-Inquiry.-
State.
-You, less than he?-
Hypothesise yes and no.
-Explain.-
He, Child, say. Child not Adult. Child, different kind of duty. Adult, different kind of duty.
-You, unequal?-
Yes, Child. No, Friend.
-Not Brother.-
In Human understanding, no. Love as brother, teacher.
-Correlate.-
"Not all blossom in garden need great glow to give essential life."

He came out of his meditative state with a slow flickering of opening eyes. While he expected to find tears, he did not expect this odd kind of lightness to his mind. Perhaps he wasn't meant to go to the chaotic crowds of the Beltaine tonight.
I shall learn about the Beltaine from the books.
Now, he could not stop himself from writing. Tonight, perhaps both a letter and a thought in his cherished journal later on.

Sir,

I learned about a thing called Beltaine from Stephen-Captain. he said it is a holy day to welcome the warm-time. He called it Spring. I wished to go to this Beltaine holy day but I do not think I was meant to. I found much chaos, Sir.
I have learned something, Sir.

I hope it is not too late to have learned this. I allowed myself to remember and Analyse the words you and I traded a long time ago. Sir, I confess I carried much pain from it at first. But, I made a mistake. I did not Analyse and I did not therefore, understand.
Sir, when you said "Brother is brother", I believed you were calling me less. I believed you were calling me lower, less worth of such.
I believed you wished to keep me away, somehow low.
Sir, I believed that even with our long time knowing each other, 'Chee and Lil-lith would always be where I could not reach.
Sir, i did not and never do wish to stand before anyone. I only have ever wished to be equal, the same as you, 'Chee and everyone that is at Home.
Sir, I believed that I was less, lower.

I was very, very wrong, Sir.
And Sir, I ask forgiveness.

I think I understand you now. I have Analysed and I think I have found the answer to what you were trying to tell me.
I will always love you as T'hyhar-an, always. I shall always find you as Brother to me. But to you, I am what I am.
I am proud to be even this.
I think you were trying to tell me that I could not do what 'Chee or Lil-ith could do, but they could not do what perhaps, I could. I believe, Sir, you tried to tell me that I have another kind of duty different to the duty of 'Chee or Lil-ith. Not lower. Not higher. Only different.
Is this correct? This is what I have concluded but I do not know if it is the truth.

Sir, I made mistakes back then. I did not uderstand the emotions you were releasing. I was confused and frightened. I did not believe then, nor do I now that you are unable to be strong. I know you are able to be strong. You are strong.
But Sir, sometimes I wish I knew what the duty of Friend is and what the duty of Brother is and how they are different.
Sometimes, Sir, I wish you could let me listen to you when you wish someone to listen to you.

I will try to learn this.
Until I do, I shall keep learning. I shall keep Analysing. I shall keep speaking to you. I shall tell you what I learn and what I think. I will not tell you an untruth as I know it.

Whatever I am to you Sir, I am proud to be it.
I am very proud.

I love you.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Gentle Fury, Sane Madness

Sir,

I fear these strange emotions inside me. They are something I have felt before but the time I felt them, they came upon me with speed. I could not stop them.
Now they come slowly. I know they are coming.
But what are they?

I feel these are emotions. I knwo this much. They are as they were before but different. When they came upon me with the speed they did last time, I was slow to remember things I did in that time.
I was slow to remember. I am not slow to remember things.
I am slow to Analyse and Interpret many times and for this, I am a great fool. I shall endeavour to erase this trait I possess.

Down here so near the waves, the imp often lets his imagination stray. Now, stopping in his writing for a moment, he does just that. And remembers.
Here is a lion and a tiger.

Mamela.

Not long ago, he and Mamela spoke after the imp shared a few of his memories. One was good. The other was not. Mamela had smiled and even laughed a little.
Why he laughed, Mamela explained.
"You and he are as different as lion and tiger. But in that, you are also much the same."
So which was which? Mamela had said they sometimes changed from one to the other. Solitary and autonomous.
Yet with a need of those close to the soul to remain.
Strong, sometimes aggressive.
Wary and guarded by a wall of thorns.

Thinking on this, Renne begins writing again. It isn't long before another, more recent memory pushes itself to the forefront of his mind. Jonathan. The docks.
He had asked her why the unknown writer had sent him the message. He had asked what it might mean.
And then he remembers her response.

Sickness isn't always of the body.

It's this strange thought he ponders on as pen scratches across paper and periodically dips into ink.

I found the Female again, Sir. I asked her about the strange message. She said some strange things when she spoke her thoughts. She said that when one is hurt or sick, it is not always Of-the-Body.
Do Humans become sick or hurt whenthey release dark Emotion? I do not know. It must, I think. Pain is a thing that does not choose the beings it affects. Pain is indiscriminant.
I do not think I am sick within my mind, Sir. I am in much pain in your absence, but does this count as sickness? I do not know.
But that is all right. I hear your laughter in the walls of Home and in my head. I hear you speak to me. Sometimes I hear you yell when I go into the kitchen. I did not like the times you yelled, but I am understanding more why you did.
I hold no anger at you, Sir, not really.
Perhaps Mamela was right when he said his words about you and me.

I have acquired more Sumatra for you, Sir. I also learned how to make those things you called cake-pans. I think I did them correctly. They smelled and felt almost like the ones you did.
They were good.
Sir, do you know Doctor? Yes, I believe you do. Are you with him? Is 'Chee with him? I have not heard from Doctor or 'Chee in a long time. I think I shall try to send words to them both.
At least to tell them "Hello". I miss them as I miss you.

I shall try to be back the next cold-time, Sir. If I am not, Stephen-Captain has me learning more work upon his ship. And when I come back, I shall speak to you two times.
I promised you words every night. You shall have them.
And Sir, perhaps you may laugh at me if I do something stupid.

-Renne

Like most other nights, he lets his tears fall as the message is released to the sea and wind. His tears are always the same kind -- Pain, a twisted kind of guilt and grief blended with a bittersweet jo and serenity.
Tonight, he stays at the shore until the sun rises.
When he feels the first rays of warmth, the imp returns to the Maritime. It may be quiet and empty save for the laughter in the walls, but for now it's enough.
Built for the day, it was.
And this day, he allows himself the luxury of curling up on "his" spot in the warm, golden light of day.
Ingonyama nengw' enamabala.

Letters to the Dead
Trees and Mutated Fruits

He isn't late tonight. He's on time at midnight, down at the seaside. In one webbed hand, he carries the customary mug of black Sumatra. In his head, he carries countless thoughts. In his heart, he carries earthen laughter.

Sir,

Tonight, I bring you two words from me. The first, I have sent. This one, I send to you now.
I promised you a memory, did I not? Yes. I shall tell you a memory.
I remember you said you had a Brother-of-Kin, just like I did. I did not always know I had Brothers-of-Kin, did you know that? No, I do not think so.
I did not always know I did. My Brothers-of-Kin did not always know of me either. I will not tell that memory this time though. I shall tell of another.

I was exploring Rhy'Din and other places. I found one that was, at least when I visited, very fascinating. I came across a Male that had much age. He was, as most Humans are, wary of me but he did not try to slay me as soon as he found me.
He was slow, so I was slow with him.
At length, I allowed him to take me to his commander. He said she wanted to investigate me. I was curious too, Sir.
When the aged Male took me to the Female, he told me not to have fear. I let her pick me up. She turned me over and over and sometimes, she tickled me!
She and the Male were very confused, Sir.
And then she went to her sitting place and held me there. She scratched me behind my ear and then she said something that made me very curious.
She and the Male called me a "Fuzzy Mutated Blueberry". Sir, what is a blueberry?
Am I fuzzy? What is mutated?
I do not know.
But they let me explore and we comminucated knowledge between each other. I have not been there in a long time, but I may visit again.
The place and people were fascinating and they were not afraid.

But I still become curious.
"Fuzzy Mutated Blueberry"?

I do not understand this name. I like it though.
I like yours better. It is understood, yes. But it is also true.

I bite trees.

-Renne

Consigning this one to the waters, the imp moves on toward Home. As he crawls in and gives the place a thorough cleaning, he smiles one moment and cries the next.
Memories.
They are both a blessing and a curse.

Letters to the Dead
Rain, Wind and Words

The skies had raged with fury since this morning. They still release their wind and rain well nto the night. Even with this and the haunting sounds going through the imp's head, he still moves down to the seaside.
It's his duty.
It's his honour.

And yet, he finds himself restless. He tried to sleep earlier but the dreams had come again. So, with those reeling him awake, the imp scours the Tavern clean and makes his rounds.

By now down by the angry sea, he still stubbornly begins to write his faithful nightly message...

Sir,

The wind and the water have much anger this cold-time. I hope all of my words come to you.
Did you go on ships whenthe sea becomes angered? What did you do? I found another book today and I learned how the angered sea can do evil things like take beings and not give them back.
Mamela read to me and said that is why he stopped going on ships. The angered sea, he said, holds much danger.
I have fear of this, Sir, but I shall still go.
I must not let fear stop me from learning.
I must end now. The falling water and the angered wind will destroy my words if I do not.

I shall return again. Please stay safe.
And please come back.

-Renne

Almost as soon as he signs his name, the wind rips his message out of his grasp and whisks it away.
Odd how the rain only barely hides a single silvery tear.
Still, the tear is joined by half of a smile as the imp turns and traces his way back into the warm walls of Home.
Tonight, he'll stay awake and drift into happier memories. He'll avoid the nightmares.
Tonight, he'll let himself hear the laughter over the storm.

Letters to the Dead
Beauty or Beast

Sir,

I am not able to sleep again. The dreams, Sir. I will not try sleep again this cold-time. I shall remain here, where I can smell you strongly.
Strange thoughts have entered me lately. I become filled with something I do not understand. It is not anger. It is something like anger but not.
I bit another being today, Sir.
It was not a tree.
It was a Humanoid.

He kicked me. So I bit him. I did the same thing in the last warm-time when I went to acquire supplies for Home.

The tree trapped me, so I bit it. You know that story, Sir.

I believe I was protecting myself, Sir. I bit the Humanoid and the Humanoid ran away. He called me "Monster". What is a monster, Sir?
I have always known this word. I have been called this word many times. But Sir, I do not understand what it means. Except that it is an evil word.
Do you think I am a Monster, Sir?

Whatever it is, I do not think I am one. And you are not one either.
But sometimes, Sir, you can act like one.
I think though, you mean that when you wish to make laughter.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Emerald Sea

This day had for years now been set apart. He had for seven years now performed the same duty as promised on this day. Waking at dawn, the blue-skinned imp sends an early letter to the sea.
One honour would not be forsaken for the other.
And the other would not be forsaken for the one.

Sir,

I go on a journey now. It is not a long journey and I shall return. This journey cannot be forsaken.
I shall leave the door to Home open as you always have. Sir, I only have one regret when I make this journey.

I never got the chance to tell him I loved him so.

-Renne

This letter is a brief one stained in a few early tears as it is cast to the sea. As the sun rises to drench the world in warmth, the blue-skinned creature turns and begins his journey.
He'd make it to the Glen by noon if he was lucky.

Letters to the Dead
Ephemeral

Sir,

I returned from my duty. You know this. I am however, still with a strange feeling. It is not tears like it used to be. It is not anger or confusion or fear. I think it is all of these.
All of these and none of them.

This duty and now my duty to you has brought a lesson to me.

All life is precious. All candles are a beacon.

I knew this before but in a different way. I now know this in another kind of way. I cannot explain it, but I do.
It is strange, Sir.
I believe I know deep down that I would trust you as I trusted him.
And yet we are not Bonded.

It is a strange chemistry, I think. It is a different kind of Bonding, I think. I wish I could put it into words.
You always could. So could he.
He is not here and neither are you, but that is where your likenesses end in that way.
I know he is gone and cannot return. I felt it.
I think you can and someday will.

I bring for you a gift this cold-time, Sir. I heard about it and traded coin for it in the place-of-trading. It is called a leek. I was told it is a plant native to your Mouth-of-Bar.
I bring you a leek this cold-time, Sir.

In the next cold-time, I think I shall bring a story. I must explore a little now, Sir. I shall go visit Ty'Rekh and Seaton again and give them a crunchy thing.
Sir, may I go visit your Dream and Na'ir? I miss Dream and I am curious about Na'ir.
I will not if you do not wish me to.
but I miss the place. What did you call it? The yards-of-ships? You know what I mean.

I shall return in the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Music of the Night

Sir,

The things that came in today were great in quantity. I do not know what all of it was but some of it smelled very good.
Some of it did not. Sir, some of the cargo smelled very, very bad. I do not know what the bad-smelling things were but I know some of the things that smelled good.
They were things like apples and strawberries. The other long shoring men even let me have one! He picked a big, juicy one for me.
I will try to bring you one too if you desire it, Sir.
And one for 'Chee too.

Stranger spoke to me today. He sent me a gift too, Sir. He sent me apples and a thing called a pipe-of-pan. He said this pipe-of-pan is a thing that Humans use to make music.
I shall learn this, I think. Do you have music you are pleased with?
I do not know what pleases you in music. I shall learn anyway. Perhaps I might surprise you.
Stranger asked me of my eyes as well. I do not mind this. I used to. When a being asked and I told that I always have eternal night, the beings I told became filled with fear or they seemed to believe I was fragile, like a relic.
I am curious as to why this is.
I have eternal night. Is this considered an evil thing among Humans?

I shall answer and tell the truth, Sir. Perhaps I shall understand what having eternal night means to those that do not.

Until the next cold-time.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Needles in a Haystack

Sir,

I have not yet found Stephen-Captain. I shall keep searching as I do for you and 'Chee. If Stephen-Captain calls upon me, I will go with him. You know this and you also know I will not cease to speak to you.
This cold-time is somehow pleasant even though I cannot find anyone.
The alone-ness has frightened me many times but this cold-time is somehow different.
Perhaps I do need some quiet time before I explore again.
Before I go explore, I will ride Ty'Rekh again and I will soon visit the yard-of-ships.

I will go inside Home now. I must find sustenance. Maybe I shall hear the laughter again.

Nos da, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Black Hawk Down

He'd always been amused by Archie's love of Shakespeare but he never understood what was being said or recited. Still, it had always amused him to hear the works recited.
Earlier this afternoon, he managed to find Mamela and had asked him to read from Hamlet.
Finally, not only did the imp begin to understand such love for Shakespeare, one particular line kept repeating itself all through the daylight hours.
So now, as he sits on the shoreline to write his newest letter, the imp smiles and lets some tears fall.

Sir,

I have learned one of Shakespeare's tales today. It is the one called Hamlet. Sir, it is a very sad tale. I grieve for Hamlet and his Bonded but I also smile. It is strange but I do.
When Mamela ended Hamlet, I cried. It reminded me of many things but then Mamela told me something. He said it is from another writing by Shakespeare. He said it was about a battle.
There is one part I heard that strikes me in a peculiar way. I think I understand it.

"From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother..."

I am made wiser by your teachings and I think I shall be wiser still by the teachings of Shakespeare. I shall Analyse more days between you and I, Sir. I must remember them all and understand them so that when other days come, I shall be stronger.

-Renne

Another letter joins those already put to the winds. True, he cries like always but this time, the blue-skinned creature speaks as he returns to the Maritime. He speaks when typically he would not.
He smiles when typically tears conquer.
He remembers the fond and the foul and somehow finds strength in them and the words found within a playwright's bindings.

~<>~

"From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
Make him a member of the gentry, even if he is a commoner.
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day."
--Henry V; Act IV, Scene 3

Letters to the Dead
Building Cities from Ash

He'd always known that emotions are fickle. Unpredictable and strange. Even as what Renne is, there are times when all he can do is marvel at sudden changes. Like tonight.
Last night he'd cried for hours after his letter.
And he knew why.

If he knew why tonight all he feels is calm, he might try to explain it to himself.

For now, all he can do is speculate, reminisce and write. Maybe someday he'll understand the great confusing swings that come with that thing called grieving.
It has been two periods the Humans call months.
-It does not matter.-
You will still wait. You will not believe, will you?
-Not until I feel as I did back then.-
You are not Bonded.
-We are but not in that way.-
You think you shall feel it the same?
-Not the same way. The same intensity.-
You are irrational.
-Irrational but still sane. My honour is my duty.-
Hero worship.
-Love. Faith.-

Sir,

Have you ever had emotions like I do now? The last cold-time, I found much pain and sorrow in doing a single thing. This cold-time, the pain and sorrow are still there but it is like they are somehow distant.
I do not understand this.
I feel calm yet I do not wish this strange calm.

Perhaps I shall find Mamela, Jonathan or the stranger. The other stranger left me words I could not find earlier. I listened to Mamela read them to me and I discovered this stranger wishes me to go to the docks.
I shall go, but I shall be careful.
I am curious of this new stranger as I am of the other with his bird.
Perhaps I shall find answers to the questions within me.

After I return, I think I shall release a memory. I miss your laughter very much, Sir. Perhaps I shall play Truth or Dare. Can one play with only oneself? I do not know but I will try.
I will not dare myself to do anything evil or with danger, Sir. But I have little doubt I shall perhaps appear like an idiot. Maybe it will make laughter in you.

Nos da, Sir.

-Renne

Waiting this time for the letter to be carried far from his hand, the imp sheds a tear, then smiles. Yes, the pain is there but not as acute. It comes in waves, much like the sea, or a flame when disturbed and turned into a great inferno.
Either way, be it dull or acute, he'd deal with it and continue to keep his word.
The pain keeps him going in its strange way.

But now, the imp turns his mind to other things. Completing another round at the tavern, he whispers a short native line to the building itself before crawling on down to the salvage yards.
It wouldn't do to miss a requested appointment, would it?

Letters to the Dead
Curiosity's Procession

It was a strange meeting that night. One whispering his name and another -- for all he knew, a 'yard watchman -- hovering close by. Still, this is Rhy'Din. And still, because this is Rhy'Din, his guard remained and still remains high.
As midnight draws near, he gives thanks for the abilit to multi-task when times get tight. So, even as he moves to satisfy curiosity, he writes his progress.

Sir,

It is strange. I heard a Female call to me. I must admit, I do not know this place as keenly as I do Home. I think I have difficulty finding her.
I must keep going for now.
I shall speak more when I am able.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Grant Me the Courage...

He didn't think he'd be out here tonight which, honestly, half-surprises him. He'd come close to not writing anything at all and going off in search of that portal somewhere up north.
And part of him had known why he very nearly turned on his own duty.

Fear. Aloneness.

Shamed as he is to admit it, even to only himself, there are times when he feels abandoned.
And shamed he'd likely always be for such a thought even if in some ways, it shines of truth.

Still, with every creature there is a dark side and a lighter side, often constantly at war with one another. Renne is no exception.
So even as half of himself is surprised, the other is not. And while half of him has the urge to flee, the other half is what holds him here.
The other half is what puts ink to paper.

Sir,

I am in confusion. The stranger called and I cannot find the stranger. Maybe the stranger is in a place where I have not been yet.
Strangely, I am not that worried about the stranger.
I am in confusion.
I have much fear.
And yet I have a little joy.

I found the scent of 'Chee very strongly today before I came to you.

He stops writing for a moment, forcing himself to reflect upon what he'd encountered that was so different in the Maritime's smell.
He knew it was Archie's scent, much fresher than the faint remnants that had kept him company for so long.
And he remembers with it, the joy/anger/worry/tears.
-He abandoned you.-
He did not.
-He said the words and turned from you.-
He was in pain like I am.
-And he could not come to you?-
No. There are times when alone, one must be.
-He is your hero. Too much of one.-
They both are.
-Too much heroes, they.-
No.
-Then why were you left in the dark?-
Perhaps they believed to protect. They are Humans and Humans are not entirely understood.
-You will not speak of this to him?-
No. He is not guilty of anything.
-He left.-
In pain.
-Like you.-
They are strong Humans. They teach me much wisdom.
-And they disappear.-
They are Humans. They have reasons. I do not understand them yet.
-So you forgive them for turning?-
Yes.
-You hold nothing on them for seeing you as less than they?-
It is not less in all ways.
-You hold nothing on them?-
No.
-Your heroes are not perfect.-
Neither am I.

Sir, I smell 'Chee. He is not close by but he was recently. It is strange though. I wish to find him yet I cannot bring myself to do so.
Sir, I must not hide. There are times when my mind tells me both you and 'Chee abandoned Home.
And Sir, my mind sometimes tells me I was abandoned.
I know it is not right to hear my mind tell me this. But it does.
I try not to listen.

'Chee was gone for a long time. You are still gone. I have emotions I cannot understand inside me and it makes fear. I do not fear the things I do not understand. I fear the parts I do understand.
The things I do understand make much fear in me.
The most fear comes in that I must understand more. And that I must do it alone.

Sometimes I fear the aloneness.
Sometimes, Sir, I had the thing Humans call jealousy.
You and 'Chee always had each other.
I have tried to assist when I could but I learned. I learned I am not the same.
I learned I must remain alone.

I do not think you or 'Chee taught me that. I think I taught me that.
I fear it and I am ashamed of it.

But, I smelled 'Chee freshly today. It gives me hope. He is at least nearby or was nearby. If my instincts tell me to find him, I can now.

I only wish it were so simple with you.

I was strong once, Sir.
I was strong with you and 'Chee.

Now I am not.
I am ashamed, Sir.
I am ashamed that I believe I am lost.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Maslow's Law and Martyrdom

Midnight. As promised this time, he doesn't try to run much as he wishes he could. He'd tried running many times before. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't. He'd been able in the past to outrun hunters, slavers, enemies he'd found and even the odd storm.
But there's one thing he's never been able to run from.
The silence.
He's never been able to run from the silence, much as he tried.

Silence begets shame. Shame begets doubt. Doubt begets fear. Fear begets the silence.

And still, for a long time, he'd tried to run from it.

Slowly accepting now that he can't run from such a thing, the imp finds himself out here at the seaside with his pen and paper in hand and another offering by his side. He'd thought for a while about the books he'd found and whil he couldn't find Mamela, he'd been able to read the titles. One was particularly curious to him called Maslow's Law.
Knowing him, he'd read that first once the chance arises.

Tonight, he reflects on the second half of his day with partially a smile and partially the tears that never seem to stop coming.

Sir,

Home is clean again. I could not stay though. I went out. I do not know why I did. I just did. I suppose I found what I wished to do without understanding it. I found a little place that had jewery in it. I did not like most of the things there. Most of the things there were very...They were too grand. They made me think of some of the Humans I had met in the past that liked to admire themselves. Vain, is that the word? I think so. Some of the things made me laugh; they were so big and ugly!
One of the things was I think somethig to war upon your head. It was most hideous! It had feathers on one side and fur on the other and a thing down the middle. I think the word is gods-awful. It was! I asked the owner what it was and she said it was precious rocks coming down on a chain that was supposed to go over one's face.
Sir, I almost traded coin for it.
I was tempted to perform a joke and act like a...What is the word? Snob? I think that is it.
I did not though. I found something better. It was not big or ugly at all. It was small and simple. Please do not laugh at me, Sir, but it is a gift.
Do not tell 'Chee, please. I wish it to be a surprise. I do not with to create embarrassment or fear or disgust. I suppose when I found it, I thought to say that it is a small token to say "You are not alone". I think.
I cannot entirely explain.
I think it means many things.

I found it and for some reason I remembered the name of a book I found called "Maslow's Law". Who is Maslow, Sir? Did he fight with law like you? I shall ask Mamela.

I shall go back into Home now, Sir. The cold-time is still cold to me and I am tempted to cook again. It calms me.
I shall speak to you in the next cold-time.

Nos da.
-Renne

Almost dashing as soon as the message leaves his hands, the imp scurries back into the Maritime. First into the main room, he pulls out of his pocket a little folded bit of paper. There is no written message on it except to whom it's to and whom it's from. The pendant itself isn't visible right off. Rather, the paper had been folded over the thing as a crude but effective sort of wrap.
He couldn't find the proper words to put rhyme or reason to this pendant but perhaps words aren't necessary in this instance.

'Chee

http://i96.photobucket.com/albums/l197/BlindIntellect/Character%20Possessions%20Miti/scimitar.jpg

-Renne

Leaving it on the bartop, Renne then crawls into the kitchen to let himself get busy with cooking. For once, he allows himself the luxury of imagining something grand yet not.
A small feast, he imagines. A small feast for a Christmas gathering. Yes. Perfect.

In reality, it's no more than a bowl or two of clam chowder but in his mind, he lays out a fine ham with all of its trappings. In his mind, he readies a holiday feast fit for a small cluster of time-and-space-crossed beings called T'hyhar-an.

Letters to the Dead
Many Lights, One Sun

Sir,

I have Analysed what Mamela has spoken to me from the book about Earth and its one Bright Sphere. I am fascinated with it. Life can exist on such a placee that sounds very cold! I wonder how, Sir. Do you know how? Or is this Earth not as cold as I think it sounds?
I know Humans must have a colder climate than I or my kind. But how cold?

I am more and more tempted to find this Earth and go there. I cannot yet though. I cannot leave Home.

And no matter where I go, I cannot flee the silence.

I shall not do as I did last time though. I cannot allow Home to become like the tower. I shall go find Stephen-Captain and then I shall return Home. Perhaps I shall make breakfast again.

Maybe this time I shall not shed tears.

-Renne

Already on his way to visit the Red Dragon by the time his latest letter is flung to the sea, he keeps his head straight forward and eyes closed. Not squinted, just resolutely shut as if it is a physical manifestation of the slow-burn inside his mind.
And he never asks why he's never let himself truly cry yet.

Letters to the Dead
Sinister Whimsy

Sir,

I am here again without knowing what to say. I have not found Mamela yet so I have not learned anything new from my books. I shall keep trying.
Have you enountered 'Chee, Sir? I have smelled him nearby but I cannot find him. I hope he is well. I miss him as I do you.
But you already know this.

I remember once you told me you had a brother like I did. You said like mine, he is not present any longer. Are you with your brother now? Or have you found the brothers 'Chee has?
I do not know.
Perhaps I shall meet them one day.

Sir, I shall tell you something.

Home is still here. Home still stands up and when the Bright Sphere shines, it warms the inside of Home. I remember when you said it shines golden. I think I know what you mean now. Yes, Home feels golden and warm when the single Bright Sphere shines.

Forgive me, Sir. I do that thing called rambling again. I seem to do this frequently.
Perhaps we might play Truth or Dare together, yes? If you wish to, what do you choose, Sir?

Truth or Dare?

-Renne

It would be utterly pointless to ask him why he poses such a question or even tries to start up a game that ideally requires the presence of others. Very likely, he couldn't answer that in full honesty except that it at least temporarily bids the hated silence away.
And inside his mind, he could at these moments hear the sound of laughter.

Letters to the Dead
Seriously Sentimental Steel

Sir,

Have you chosen Truth or Dare this cold-time? If you do not wish to choose, that is all right too. I only try to ward off the silences. I went to the market again for some things. Home is stocked with supplies again and I traded some coin for something. I hope it is all right.
I traded for a thing called a cutlass. It is, apparently, a blade that sailors an dpirates use.
I like mine. When I brought it home, I made it my own and put my name and the name of Home on it.

I shall learn to use it properly before Stephen-Captain summons me and we go to sail on the Pride and Fury. When I am called, I shall go but I shall keep speaking.

I will also do my best to make sure Home is kept safe while I am not there. I do not mean to sound full of pride but I am protective of Home and all within it. Have you heard from 'Chee recently?
I hope he is well. I shall look forward to visiting with him again, whenever that may be. He, like me, must be battling with his thoughts. I wish I could assist inthis but I know not what I could do.
Still, it will be pleasing to find him again.

And Sir, did you knwo that there is a Male that smells like Stephen-Captain but not entirely like him? I do not know who he is. Perhaps I shall go find out and ask him. I am curious.

Until the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Round to Valparaiso

It hadn't been long -- perhaps a day -- before he'd found the powder-dusted note. And really, while he'd managed to read it without much trouble, understanding didn't come so swiftly. Lately things had seemed that way; nearly impossible to comprehend.
The buzz of wanting two men "dead or alvie".
The sky going from sinister to calm in minutes.
And now this.

At the first instant, thoughts raced through his mind. Had the sign not been what he'd though? Unsure of that, or even the emotions behind the words on the note, Renne sat on the bar trying to figure it out.

It didn't seem like there was anger.

But it felt strange.
Still, he wouldn't ask. Under the Maritime's roof, mysteries solved themselves through time and patience.
And this is no different.

So this night, he folds Archie's note and tucks it into his pocket. It may be confusing now, even scathing in a small, uncertain way, but it's from Archie and it will thus be kept like everything else.
With everything else.

And then he crawls outside following Archie's scent twice only to return to a little earth-patch by the sea.
He couldn't fathom why the scent ends here, then turns back. He'll probably not figure out the emotional residue on this spot for a while no matter how hard he Analyses.
But tonight, it won't be Analysed.
Tonight, he keeps his instinctive impressions in his own head and his journal. Initially admittedly, a pang of fear had run through but it had subsided swiftly. It had been followed by a strange, unknown thing.
But as he sits and ponders, he finds that the unknown thing isn't necessarily a warning bell in his mind.
Maybe it's a sign of hope.

Sir,

This warm-time has been interesting. I have learned many things. I learned that a pirate and a sailor do not salute the same way. And Sir, Stephen-Captain said when we sail, we shall be going to a place called Ireland. And maybe a place called England.
Is not that where 'Chee is from? I think so.
If Mouth-of-Bar is nearby, I shall ask Stephen-Captain if I may visit there and learn.

I bring you your Sumatra this cold-time, Sir. And some for myself too. I will not sleep this cold-time. I have much to think on.
I have words from 'Chee, Sir.
They puzzle me but I shall think and understand them. I must do this or my emotions will rise. I do not think I angered him. I hope not.
Therefore, I shall Analyse and understand. Then I will not make a mistake that is too great to heal. I cannot do this.
You and he have been far too good to me.

I shall repay it somehow.
I shall return in the next cold-time.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Wisdom Grows Slow

There are times when small successes can mean the world. He'd been a little paranoid about his gift during delivery but that was natural. Many are often paranoid about their works and he's one of the many that is.
But, the instrument had been delivered successfully to the Pride and Fury and now, he has little to worry about. He'd left it on the Pride since the ship is the one place he knows Stephen will be at least sometime.

Now, approaching the midnight hour, Renne finds himself with a cup of Sumatra at that little spot. It takes a while for words to come out onto paper. It takes no time at all for his thoughts to start swirling in his mind like a maelstrom.

Sir,

I have delivered the gift for Stephen-Captain and Jewell Lady. I hope they shall be pleased by it. Sir, I tried to find Mamela at the docks but the others said he is struck with Influenza. What is this Influenza, Sir? Is it like the Pox-of-Chickens? I had this Pox-of-Chickens once, Sir. Why did I not turn into a chicken? I do not know but it was very unpleasant. I had spots all over me that I had to scratch!
I hope this Influenza is not like the Pox-of-Chicken.
I hope Mamela shall be healed of this.

Sir, I have thoughts in my mind that I cannot explain. Or understand. I had a dream again but I have difficulty describing it. I shall try to soon though. I must Analyse many things still and I must understand.
I have fear that these thoughts shall overcome me.
Have you had this, ever? What do you do about it?
I shall find out. I do not like these thoughts inside my mind. They twist me and make me angered for a reason that I do not know.

Perhaps I shall ask Stranger. Yes, I think I shall. Sir, did you knwo that Stranger lost a part of himself and then got it back? He did, Sir. He said he is glad to have it back but he has learned the same lesson I have.
Somehow I wish though, that he had the chance to hear some of your thoughts. I did not realise it then, but they were wise.
I know it now.
I hope it is enough.

Until the next cold-time.
-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Only Skin Deep

Sir,

I explored today. I found myself in a very new place. It was very big! And Sir, it had a Dragon inside it! And then a creature called a Kobold came in. The Dragon and Kobold acted strange, like they hated one another upon first encounter.
Was this so? I am not sure. Do Dragons and Kobolds hate each other? Do Humans hate other species? If this exists, why?
I understand that many Humanoid creatures display hate or fear toward me because I am so strange to them. I am different. I know this and I accept this. But Sir, Dragons are many. Are Kobolds many? Why would a species hate another species?

Do you hate species, Sir? I do not think you do. You have not displayed such emanations for a whole species. I could be incorrect, but I do not believe you do. But if you do, why? Is there a reason?

When I first came, what did you think?

I know this is a strange question, Sir but at times like this, I wonder. I wonder this not often but when I do, I truly do. I do not think myself full of pride and I do not wish to boast. I am only curious.
I wonder why sometimes creatures are afraid of whole species or just things unknown to them.
I know some creatures can have much danger. Many do. We both know this for truth. But does this mean a whole species has dangers?

I have asked myself this before. I have met evil Humans and good Humans. So you see, Sir, it is difficult to understand how a whole species can be hated.

I am thankful the Dragon and Kobold did not harm each other. I think this Dragon and this Kobold overcame their thoughts. The Dragon and the Kobold taught me something. They taught me what a Salad-Mander is. I was told that a Salad-Mander is a creature that is like any other except that it is "Elemental". I think that means it comes from one thing and one thing only. A Salad-Mander comes from bright-warmth. I think the word is fire.
It was most fascinating, Sir!

Sir, I know I have asked strange questions. And I know I am far from perfect. There are a few life-forms I shall never like. These life-forms have caused much harm and if they ever came to me or Home, I would not let them near. I shall not let any of the beings that have caused harm near Home. Ever.

I shall keep on learning and keep on understanding more.
I must go for now.
Until next cold-time.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Weaving Arachne

Midnight is said to be the darkest hour, and while he can't tell the difference in that and dusk excepting with temperature, he could believe that saying. Crawling out this night with not one but two letters and a mug of coffee, Renne finds himself sitting at the spot he'd found for almost an hour or so. It isn't that it takes this long to write -- he'd already finished his letters just before the midnight chime. Rather, it's a quieter thing. Something becoming slowly ingrained in his already faithful ritual.

Sir,

You might guess it but I come with two messages this cold-time. My first message tells this as I am sure you already know. I am here again though, with many thoughts and few words.
I am not sure how to explain it, Sir. Except that I miss you and 'Chee.
I miss the laughter.
Home.

I told you of my dream, did I not? Yes, I did. I hope to have this dream again and perhaps I shall find this place. Is that where you are? Has 'Chee gone there?
I think I shall try to find out. Maybe Stephen-Captain knows. I may ask him.
Until I do though, I must not sleep. And yet I must sleep. I fear the nightmares but I wish for this one dream.
I do not understand it.
Is it possible to accomplish this?

I must go to the docks now. I shall then return home and take care of it. Perhaps when I return Home, I shall bring my thought-book out and speak into it. There is much I must Analyse.
And much I must avoid.

-Renne

By the time about an hour had passed, the imp reluctantly turns and crawls back inside. Honestly, even with the chill of night, he'd been tempted to stay here longer. But, the rational sliver of his mind whispers of duty and the need to remain doing it.
No. Not duty.

Trying to find another, more appropriate word for his nearly religiously-pious routine, Renne crawls up to the third floor for a few hours' sleep. Perhaps in the light of morning, he'd try cooking again.
If anything, it'd give comfort -- as much comfort as smelling Archie nearby more often.

Letters to the Dead
Hopeful Nonsense

Sir,

I went to Ty'Rekh today. She seemed pleased. I was pleased to find her. I ran with her for a time. She and I like running together and when she lets me ride upon her back, I am joy-filled.

I come back Home though and I hear the silence. I have said it before but i find myself saying it again.

I wish I knew where you are. The dreams say something I dare not voice. Another part of me combats the dreams. Please come back, Sir.
That is all I shall say on this for now. I fear this thing inside my mind.
I fear it will grow and go to other people around me.

I will not speak of it any longer.
I think I shall speak of a memory. Yes.

It is a shame you were not there but it is a memory I shall impart to you. It was a day when 'Chee and I were alone. He told me that he too had brothers. I told him about the twins.
And then he taught me what is called the Alphabet. He said that is how your English language works. I practise it still, Sir. I think my speaking is getting better.
I hope it is.

I shall speak in my thought-book again. And then I shall find more keracite for Cinder. I found a little and I need to go back for more.

I shall cook again too. I need to catch clams soon. I promised Cinder some clam chowder. I ramble again. Forgive me.
I know not what else to say.

I shall go back Home for now, I think. Then I shall do my duties.
Until the next cold-time.

-Renne

Casting this letter off, the imp sits at that muddy spot for a short while and does his best to control the tears. Amazingly, another memory helps in this -- hearing Harold's voice describe the sea and watching a ship sail off to new horizons.

Letters to the Dead
Three Wings, Two Birds

Sir,

I am pleased to be out here again. I am not as angered as I was before, and please forgive me for it. I feel a little calmer this cold-time.
I feel a little calmer here.

Sir, did you know that Vicfryn makes very pleasing casserole? He does. And he is pleasing to be around. I am glad you brought him back to Home. I only wish I were wise enough to answer his questions fully. I could only give him my thoughts.
It hurt to do this. It hurt very much but it had to be done. I could not tell an untruth.

I think he believes the same thing I do. I am not sure but I will not say anything yet. I have still many things to Analyse.
Sir, I do not wish to sound weak but please return.

You know my thoughts by now so I would be fruitless in repeating them. Still, with Vicfryn here and 'Chee here, I must understand many things and do so quickly.
I wish to be strong for them.

Part of me now does not wish to go with Stephen-Captain now that Vicfryn is here but part of me still wishes to go with him. I like Vicfryn very much but I fear.
I do not yet know what I fear. I shall Analyse and figure it out as soon as possible.

I think I shall ask Vicfryn what his thoughts are when I next find him. Maybe even 'Chee, if he should wish to see me.
I find that I am wiser when I understand others. I understand them and myself better.

If I do go with Stephen-Captain, I shall still speak to you. Perhaps I might send words to 'Chee and Vicfryn too.
I shall take my spyglass and my thought-book too. I have a place in my pocket for both of them so they shall not be lost or destroyed. And I shall go see Ty'Rekh again.

My foot still hurts but I made it so my foot will not move for a while. It does not hurt as badly as it did in the last cold-time but I will be careful when I move. And I will avoid the Dragon Red for a little while. I think I shall stay at Home until my foot stops hurting.
When I left the Dragon Red, I passed the docks and the others I work alongside told me it will be all right if I stay Home.

I think I shall go in now and have some coffee.
Until the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Not Gone Fishin'!
(Dated for June 17)

Sir,

Please forgive me for not speaking last cold-time. I do not think you will believe me, but I tell you the truth when I speak of this. Sir, the fish and birds were followed! I do not know what some of these animals were, but many were felines.

And Sir, many of them attacked each other. Some even made angry noises at me! I think I came too close to them.
I did not speak last cold-time for trying to assist Vicfryn in removing the fish.

I have smelled something that awful only once before!

I think I shall go find something to try to eliminate the smell from around and inside Home.

Until the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Baldur's Glory

Sir,

I bring news. The smell is not so powerful and many of the fish are gone. It will take a while for them to go away completely, but we progress.
My foot no longer gives me pain. I tried moving it today and I did not hurt. I can move around again without hardship.
I have not encountered that bully since he broke my foot, Sir. I for one, am glad of this. I do not wish to encounter him again.

You should feel the air, Sir. It is warming to a most pleasing degree. I think you might like it.

I found 'Nathan recently, Sir. She has asked me to attend a celebration called Solstice of Summer. I shall go to this, and I shall return and tell you about it.
I shall learn more about these celebrations. I might go to the place-of-books again soon. Perhaps I shall find something 'Chee or Vicfryn or Ranyor might be pleased with.
The books there I think, are suited for their kind. They do not read with their fingers as I do. But I wonder, how do they read the books without words?
Is it magic? Is it something to do with their bodies as Humanoids?

I shall ask.
Perhaps I may learn to understand these books too.

Until the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
One Light, One Burn

He had gone to the Summer Solstice festival he'd been invited to, glad at least for a time of it. However, it was when he came back that he found himself torn between tears and song. He was on his way back to the Maritime when a vendor's call caught his ear.

In the end, he came back home and first went to that spot by the docks.
Duty/honour still upheld, he makes a silent decision.

Sir,

I went to the celebration 'Nathan asked me to come to. It was most glorious, Sir but something was missing. It was grand but it was missing your laughter and the constant teasing between you and 'Chee and even Vic. I bring back gifts for all of you. I shall give you yours now and then I shall find Vicfryn and 'Chee. Should I wait to give them theirs?
I do not know yet.
I shall go wrap them first. Yes. And then I shall try to find Vicfryn. I do not understand the darkness inside me and I fear speaking of it. Still, I do not think this is good to not speak of it. I wish I could explain to you. Perhaps I can but not yet.
I will tell someone. I do not know whom yet. Eventually.

I shall go back into Home now. I shall speak to you in the next cold-time.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Only Human

The day hadn't been unlike any other. It was in fact, unremarkable. He'd scoured the Maritime clean and crawled his ten rounds as usual after hsi shift at the docks. He'd Analysed, as that seemed to become part of the daily ritual now. So all in all, today was unremarkable.
Except perhaps, that his Analysis came too close to home.

It is this Analysis that he writes of tonight around midnight.

Sir,

I come this cold-time with a clearer mind. Yet in my clarity, I am frightened. I learned of a mistake I made -- not just the mistake against you, but one I discovered not long ago. It is an emotion I am unfamiliar with called Jealousy.
I asked about it today. One of the Humans I work alongside said that Jealousy can happen to any being and it can be a very evil thing but that all Humans get it one time or another. I could not understand much of what he told me but I understand more than I did before.

Sir, I do not have this emotion anymore. I have purged it from myself. I shall keep it away from me. I do not like the thing it turns me into. But, I know now that it exists and though I do not understand it yet, it exists. Therefore, I must accept this.
I shall think more upon this and the other emotions I learned more of in my Analysis. Perhaps I shall try to find Mamela. I heard he is back at the docks again and has purged this Influenza. I have gladness for this. I shall find him and ask him.

I remember asking you something once. I find myself asking it again.

Sir... What does it take to be Human?

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Chaotic Nothing

The night had come on quick for him. Really, it was just another day at his longshoring shift and then on to that faithful, if a little crazy, ten-time go through the Maritime. It was just another day and yet it wasn't.
It wasn't like him to deviate much, let alone for a fair distance but the Steady Seas Inn had tempted him.
Well, it did after the rain had to go and disorient him.

Tonight, he'd visited the place again -- gods only know why -- and tonight, he sits at that mud-patch with his thoughts going from that place to the docks, everywhere and back again.

Sir,

It is quiet again. I explored a little. I got lost though when the water came down from the sky. When I got lost, I found this place. I do not know its name but it was full of captains, Sir! And to think I almost did not salute them!
The place was nice. It was a place for sailors, like Home. But it was not like Home. No place can be like Home.

My thoughts are strange this cold-time, Sir.

I have much and yet nothing to say.

I hope 'Chee and Vicfryn and Cinder are well. The quiet is nice. It was. But I miss company. I miss them.
I have not heard from Stephen-Captain in a while. I shall go find him, I think. He is creating some worry within me.
This quiet...

I shall go find him, I think. And then I must put my thoughts together.
Until the next cold-time, Sir.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Fatua Aequitas

Sir,

I come this cold-time with a discovery. It is from what I find, a delicacy called the butter of the peanut. I do not know why this is but it is most pleasing to my mouth. I found it today when I went to a part of the market I had not been to before. I asked about it when I heard its name called and after I traded coin for some Sumatra, I asked to sample some of this butter-of-the-peanut.
It is very thick. It has a creamy kind of texture and...Well, I cannot describe the taste! It is simply butter-of-the-peanut.
However it is made, it is pleasing. I was told that it goes best on bread. I shall try this, I think.

By now, his thoughts had begun to go inward again and back to Analyses both completed and not. Hesitating a moment and blinking away a small tear in his eye, Renne continues writing on a more serious note.

Sir, I must find someone who is wise in Law. I have been silent for too long and I think one who is wise in Law may be able to assist me in explaining my thoughts.
I shall go inside now. The sky is beginning to release water and a sound I do not find comfort in. I shall return in the next cold-time.
I hope I do the right thing.

-Renne

He releases his newest message without a sound. Or turning back. Crawling back into the Maritime, the blue-skinned imp finds some bread and first tries that stuff truly called peanut butter. It may not make a great combination with Sumatran coffee but that matters not to him. Not now.
Scouring the place clean and putting the remaining supplies away, Renne then slips back out.
Along the streets of Rhy'Din, he begins his search -- for what, he's not entirely sure.
Still, one thing is certain: He must find whatever he must find to level the inner scales.

Letters to the Dead
Underneath the Radar

The quiet had gotten to him again. But, it was more than the quiet that had driven him to the library for the second time this week to scour for books on varying subjects.
The Governor's words had chilled him to the bone.
He had found many on the subject of law, past and present. He had even found a few on anatomy but there was one in his stack this time that he both dreaded and knew he couldn't leave untouched. This book, while the title remained faded, it was a medical tome on things called "invisible sickness".

Mamela was mercifully present at the docks.

It took some hours to get through it all, but Mamela had been patient and went from cover-to-cover on two books with him. One on law and the other on anatomy.
He refused to touch the one concerning Invisible Sickness.
So tonight, down at that muddy patch, Renne brings all of his books and two letters for the sea.

Sir,

I was at the place-of-books for a long time. I was there from the cold-time until long into the warm-time. I wished to find knowledge on many things and I think I have found it.
Some of it is simple. Much of it is not.
I spoke to Governor and she told me many things. Mamela said much too. I do not understand it yet, but I shall keep going and keep trying.
I have some ideas on how I might understand much of this. I have been Analysing much of late and I believe that retracing my own steps and what I know of yours may help me.

I shall speak again in the next cold-time.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Winchester Doors

Sir,

I am Analysing for longer periods than usual. The conclusions are proving to be puzzling. Baffling, I believe, is a word I would use. If it means what I think it means.
There is a block in my Analyses. it prohibits me from proceeding unless I do so slowly. I shall try harder. There is something beyond the doors. You do not find the doors, do you?
No, I do not think so. The doors are there though. They are in front of me, even now.
But you do not find them.

The doors must come open. And yet I wish them to remain locked.

I must go find something again. Perhaps another door.
Yes. I will go find another door.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Holes in the Floor

The first message had no sooner been flung to the winds that his pen and ink come out again. it is tradition and when tradition breaks, it is remedied in this manner.
For most of his life, traditions had been one of the foundations he'd been taught to hold onto -- by both life experiences and the twins.
"A Tradition never leaves you," they had said.
They were never more right.

Few things in this or other worlds proved dependable.

Here, with the Maritime, he had made an unconscious vow to be one of the few dependable things.

Sir,

I have found you. I know where you are now. You are inside my mind and inside the walls of Home. I do not know how you got there, but I know you are there.
I can hear you. I can smell you.
'Chee said you were gone.
And you were, still are, are you not?

You are gone and yet you are here, inside my head. You are nside the walls of Home. I still smell you. When I make your Sumatra, I do not hear myself making it. I hear you making it and laughing or saying some of your strange words.
But you are not here either.

You are the Hunter and you are not the Hunter.

The Hunter came to me, did you know that? He was always there but he came to me and spoke to me.
He did not hunt me then.

I run out of words. I run out of my speaking blood. I must go find it so I shall not run out. I must not run out of the speaking blood.
I must not leave Home undefended.

-Renne

With barely a chance for the ink to dry, this letter is swiftly cast to the winds right behind its predecessor. This, like a growing number of them, doesn't entirely make sense and stands as quiet proof of an insidious thing kept locked inside his mind.
A thing that isn't a thing.
A state that isn't a state, awareness that isn't awareness.

With empty eyes, his face tips upward to the unseen sky.
With empty eyes, he stays out here on that little mud-patch and loses himself in quiet retreat.

Letters to the Dead
Never You Hear...

He still didn't speak of or think of the voids in his mind. He didn't speak of anything anymore, really. At midnight, he crawled down to the mud-patch and slowly penned the traditional letter.
He never knows, nor seems to care, of the voids.

Sir,

The yard-of-ships came to me. It came to me, did you knwo that? It did. I do not know how it did. Still. I could not visit the yard-of-ships.
I found I had to go to procure supplies for Home. I did this. You were there.

Gods stand in the above and they bear the spear.
You are the Hunter and you came down from the stars.
You carry the spear for them, do you not?
And you will bear it, throw it.
It has your name on it You will throw it.

You have the blood on your hands. I hold the bone.
Blood and bone and stone and sand.
Blood and bone and stone and sand.

Be patient, Hunter. You shall throw your spear soon.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Kamikaze Rain

His first letter had been more on the calm side. Lucid, thought-out and level-headed even if it confessed the confusions of a child-type mind concerning the intricacies of even puppy love.

His second letter isn't so lucky.

Sir,

The Hunter, he comes closer. Do you not hear him? He is laughing again. He speaks strange words and changes his voice.
He will hand the spear and you are to take it. And you are to cast it.

Love, that thing. It is harsh, do you know this/ It is. It is as the rain. And I wish to remain dry! Dry, protected from it. Rain, it falls from the sky of fire and burns the sand on my feet. And you, Hunter, taught me of love. And I cannot give the kind that dies in the rain.
Cast your spear, Hunter, to the Hero.
You did not know that, did you?

Yes. Hero. Mine. My hero.

I loved you and I still love you. The Hunter denies and speaks of errors from the past. The great night of Thunder, you remember. I understand why and i accept it now. Hear him not, Sir, please. Do not go near him.
He will cast the rain upon you.

And she, she who carries the frog. She, the creator of strange emotion! Were that the rain had not found me. The Hunter told me of my past and how I lived. Now I speak again of it myself.

*I think I can turn and live with animals
They are so placid and self contained
They do not lay awake at night and weep for their sins
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to a god

Not one of them kneels to another, nor to one of is own kind
That had lived thousands of years ago
Not one of them is respectable or unhappy
All over the earths.
All over the earths.

The Hunter laughs. He speaks to me again. Do you not hear him? He says what I just said. I am filled with emotions I do not understand. I shal take the spear and cast it myself! You shal not go near the Hunter. I shall Hunt with the Hunter.
The spear is mine to cast.

I know where to have it lay.

-Renne

~<>~

* From an excerpt in 'Leaves of Grass' by Walt Whitman

Letters to the Dead
Prometheus' Eagles
(Dated for June 9)

Sir,

I did not go to the place-of-books with the crotchety old bat again. I found another one without a crotchety old bat. The one I used to go to had more than the crotchety old bat! It had Males that hung me upside down! And one o fthese Males said he wished to have my head upon his wall.
I bit him for it.
And Sir, he needs to have a bath!

He does not hold the spear. You do now. Do you feel it in your hand? I know you have it.
Where will you cast it?

I do not know.
The place of the spear has yet to reveal itself. I shall be careful though. Many evil things follow me now. The Hunter is calling upon legions.
I must beware of his forces.
They are stronger than me.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Delusional Genius

Always, since the tradition began, his letters had been faithfully penned and cast.
Always, his letters had spoken of the truth as how he understood it.

But lately, his letters had begun to betray the insanity he knew nothing of how to deal with. Tonight, as he casts his words out, he never realises the strange turn his thoughts take.
Calculated as a genius.
Yet insane, raving as a madman.

Sir,

Night is all around me. Do you not feel it? No, it must not be around you always. The spear must do this, keep light for you. I do not know what light is, Sir. I have heard that it is a good thing.
Whether it is good or not, perhaps the spear and the thunder hold it.

The Hunter came again.. He came with his legions and one other.
He came with his companion.
The Hunter and his companion spoke to me. They did not speak of their target. They told me to watch carefully around me.
They spoke of deception and betrayal. They are not like the ones I have met. The ones I have met shall not be named. To give something a name is to give it power. To give something a name is to give it strength and life.
To give something a name is to remember it.

The words of the Hunter become as commands. I cannot go against these commands. I shall follow them. The Hunter bears knowledge of things as I do.

The Hunter speaks strange truths. And untruths.
I shall find out which is which.

Yet I must do this alone.
I fear doing this alone.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Learning How to Love
(Dated for July 13)

Tonight was an unusualy lucid, calm night for him. Few voids had come into his mind and he hadn't wandered anywhere without memory of it. For days now when he had control of his mind, he'd gone to libraries, asked people on the streets and at the docksides.
"What is Love to a Humanoid?"
The answer was too simple and too complex all at once.

Sir,

I come with thoughts. I have studied and I think I have learned. This thing Humans call "Love" is most complex. It encompasses all and nothing. Bondmates and not. There is one thing I do not understand.
It seems, from these I have studied, that "Love" is taken with a kind of price attached to it. I cannot explain this but this is what I find. Price comes with Love, of a kind.
This is strange to me. The People had never done this but I come from a People that have, perhaps to many, strange thoughts.

Still, I have learned much and while I shall never put a price on "Love", I shall remember these lessons.
I have learned that Love can be different. This however, is I think where the price comes. I will not carry this though. Love has always been and shall always be the same with me.

I have grown to love you much. I would give anything in your name if you asked it of me.
I have grown to love 'Chee. I would do the same for him.
And now, for Vicfryn and Ranyor and Cinder and 'Nathan too.

There is something though, 'Nathan said. She said she is..."inlove" with me. I still search to find what this means. I think it means to Mate. I cannot do this though, for I am Ijiha'a. I am unable to Mate.
Still, I have much love for 'Nathan. I know I could not Bond with you or 'Chee -- we have another kind of Bond, I think. I do not understand it but I accept it.

I must try to learn more of this. Maybe Stephen-Captain will know. Do you think? I shall try to ask him.

Until the next cold-time.
-Renne

Letters to the Dead
The Quiet Kind of Rage

The voids had been steadily increasing. Eventually, they outnumbered the times he was calm and lucid and aware. Only two things were made crystal clear in his mind, lucid or not.
Destroy the voices.
Protect Home.

It was now, all he had left.
So he did it.

The letters were his throw-line.
The spyglass was his comfort.
The journal was his relic.
The voices were his demons. And they mocked him even now.

Sir,

Where are you? Have you encountered Sarah? She is missed. But the Hunter will come for her if she comes here. The Hunter will come after you too.
The Hunter has changed. He is changing. He is not soft anymore. He is hard and sharp and rough.
He stole the spear.

He is trying to steal Home too. I cannot let him.
He tries to drive me away from Home. He says words to do it. And then he laughs.

I cannot stand the silence. I cannot stand the voices. They are nearby but not near enough for me to silence them.
They tell me I am alone.
They tell me I am alone.
I cannot listen to them.

I do not know if they speak truth or not. I fear. I wish to flee but not to flee.
He dances with her, did you know that? He does.
She dances and tells the Hunter things.
Evil things, I am sure.

They say I am alone.
I wish them to be silent!

I am not alone! I am not alone! They are here and they speak. I hear them. I wish to destroy them!
I must not believe them.
I wish to destroy them.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
The Kindest Will

Tonight was unusual. It began after sunset and his shift at the docks. He'd been thinking on all that he'd learned lately and found he could comprehend at least some things. Some aspects. Like trust, loyalty and the need for time and care.
He knew such things well enough.

But tonight, his mind had gone backward again.

He wouldn't let himself come close to Analysis until at least after the tradition had been fulfilled. And he never whispered a word about the voids.

Sir,

I think back and I learn things. I learn more of what love is to humans. I also learn how to create that thing called pizza. I shall try to make it on my own sometime.
I find the spear closing in.

Once, there was a lord in all the world
Then the world overturned in war
His words were truth and his ways were peace
But a people enslaved could stand peace no more.

I go to destroy the spear.

I go alone.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
The Landslide

The nights of calm lucidity had been growing fewer and farther in between. On this rarefying night, he recounts the typical day and pens out a tale he'd learned. Even lucid, rare as it is now, much of his mind still holds onto his innate -- if often misguided -- sense of loyalty.

Sir,

I have not gone far from Home. I do not think I will for a while. I heard at the docks that a creature has begun taking the life-essences of beings called dogs and rats. They say this being is very hard to catch. I shall stay near Home.
If it comes, I shall catch it.
If it attacks, I shall kill it.

I learned a story today too. This Male was speaking about a thing called a Frisbee. It is apparently a flat thing that you throw and you try to catch it.
He showed me one but he did not throw it. I think he knows I have night always. He said that you must be able to catch it in the air.
It is a curious thing, I think.

I still hear the laughter. Even when the Hunter comes, I make myself hear it.
I think I will try to procure a fur. It is a little cold where I choose to try and sleep. When I let myself sleep.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Tower, Reversed

Sir,

I have wisdom grown from justice. I have justice grown from time. Care you to know how? So do I. I have the rage and then the justice. And then I return Home. Home is as it has been. Silent.
The walls still have their laughter and their tears but they compete against the Hunter. The Hunter compels the rage and the rage brings justice. I know not how for it is as a dream.

Home is becoming as a dream.

Would that I could sleep forever and remain within dreams. Without the rage, without even the justice. It brings naught but more rage and when there is no justice to be had, the rage consumes.
And all the world overturns in war.
Leaving Home at the edge and silent, always silent. Were that I could sleep but in sleep, the dreams turn.
You know the Hunter smells of the sea? He does. And he makes thunder whenever he has a wish to. He is the bringer of the dreams and the rage.

Still, were that I could sleep.
And dream.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Stone and Web

Sir,

I Analyse the night and keep the silence. I protect a thing left behind. Still, I am proud to do this. The whispers are not as the truth but a whisper is far better than the silence.
It is the house of the candle.

It is as the Tower but not as the Tower.

The Tower stands no more. It once stood and protected. It warded away and it kept inside its secrets. I have those secrets.

This is as the Tower. It keeps out and keeps me within.
I allow it to do this.

I am as that within the Tower and I am that as the wielder of the spear. Ask me not why, for I cannot say with a word. Need you only to see the mark upon me and understand.
Understand as few have before. If all else comes to fall, I have the voices and the walls. Walls protect. It is what they do.
It is what I have remaining.

I make walls of mine own, I support walls not mine own but that I have touched and held.

I hold up the walls and deliver Justice.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Beloved Poltergeist

The rage he could never remember had come and gone. He knew it was bound to come again but knew too that he could do nothing to stop it.
In some twisted way, it was what kept him going.
In that same twisted way, it terrified him, repulsed him.

It was at the end of one of these rages that he'd found the scent.

The scent was new. Too new.

And it nearly brought the rage back.

--------------

Tonight the tradition was fulfilled as faithfully as always. But tonight, unlike nights of recent past, his mind forced itself to think.

He remembered why the tears never stopped.

He remembered why he had Analysed.

And he remembered why he kept trying to hold on.

--------------

Sir,

I believe I am within a dream.

I found your smell. It was not faint or older like all things inside of Home. It was new.
It was new and it led to nowhere.

I think I am within a trick. A very elaborate trick. The Hunter speaks lies and truths to me, weaves them all into one string. He has more fervour now.
I do not like his fervour.

The smell was new.

Home is not new. I have been alone for a long time now. I can accept the aloneness. I cannot accept the silence.
There are times when I listen to the Hunter, for he is what stands between me and the silence.

The smell was new.

It was your smell. I would know you anywhere.

I think I am in a dream. The Hunter brings the rage. I end up in many places but do not remember going to these places.
The rage brings Justice.
I bring Justice that I do not recall.

Now your smell is here. New. Too new.

Were that I could dance within the great water as beautifully as 'Chee. I could imagine it at least but I will not.
Home is too silent.
The smell is too new.

If it is all that I am to have, so be it.

I shall far rather live within a dream than to go forth alone. Aloneness brings the silence.
And I cannot bear the silence.

Your smell appears in the silence.
I do not understand it.

I understand little now. Yet I fear only the silence and the Hunter.

Had the red sky not turned to black, the Crel could take its wing above. Had the spear not been cast, a heart might still beat.

Had the heart been made practical, it would be made unbreakable.

-Renne

Letters to the Dead
Not Quite, John Doe

Sir,

I have confusion. Much confusion. Your smell is here. It was new. And now I find another. It is a smell I do not know. I must wait though, for I do not wish to leave Home currently.
I grow afraid.
I ended up in another unfamiliar place last cold-time and I heard Humans. Their voices projected strong emotion. I grow afraid in that I am slow, terribly slow, in understanding what the emotion is.

I cannot find te answer in books, Sir. I go sometimes but not much to the place-of-books. I found a word I am curious of but have fear of. This word is "Fugue State". I think it is a state of mind.
I inquired and I heard that it means the mind... Here, this is how the Human said it.

*"Sometimes the mind, for reasons we don't necessarily understand, just decides to go to the store for a quart of milk."

Do you know what this is? Is my mind doing this going for a quart of milk? Does every mind do this? I am confused.
I am confused and afraid.
I end up in places I do not know and do not remember getting there. I do not even remember what I do in these places.

If you are what humans call a Ghost, Sir, even if you were angry with me, I almost beg again to hear your voice.
You have always taught me much wisdom even if I do not understand it right away.

I think I shall recite the prayer. The one you taught me, remember? I shall go say it. Anything, to any god, to any being, anything of mine to rid this confusion! Anything to be rid of this thing that makes me forget!

Anything to heal. Ah, I offer anything to heal and have Home whole. Anything of mine.

-Renne

~<>~

*Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider, Northern Exposure, Three Doctors, 1993