Diary of Amarithia

Today was such a long and boring day. Adventuring usually comes off as flashy, exciting, romantic. There is nothing, I mean nothing, romantic or exciting about standing around in a boiling volcano fours hours and hours fighting disgusting eyeball … things.

It was Klo’s idea. Something about a specific quality eyeball that’s needed to lure another … eyeball? Something. I don’t know. All I know is that eyeballs are gross and volcanoes are hot.

We spent I believe five hours there, through the course there was me, Gafgarion, Klo, Alviine and Zjin. Joined by Fishy, Nanner, Keir and Ceriss at different points to help out.

I was the last to get the eyeball thing, and by the end of it I was ready to ask why in Ifrit’s I wanted one to begin with. As I disgustedly tucked it away in my bags Garion warned me to keep it wrapped tight because they can divide at will and before I knew it’d have a hectaeye in my mogsafe. That’s terrifying! I want it out of my moghouse now. But they actually want to go find more in various places. I’m wondering if maybe this wasn’t a grand practical joke on me by Garion and Klo.

(( I’ve said it before but just to reiterate, for new readers and/or my LS. I love comments. Even if a post is IC, I welcome out of character comments ^^ Bloggers are all ego maniacs anyway. We all know we just do this because we love ourselves and want everyone else to love us too.

I mean .. we do it for artistic expression. Totally. And not that other reason.))

I was going to ramble on about my fishing adventures when I picked you up book, but realized I hadn’t updated on what in the world happened to Garion a few days ago. I don’t know why it matters, as if anyone will ever read this thing. For the sake of completion:

I honestly have no idea.

My betrothed shows up on our doorstep bloody and battered and I still have no idea why. “Hunters” he said. He told me a story, long ago, that explained very vaguely why he left his homeland, why he works so hard toward his return there and why he is always getting into scrapes with these “hunters” but I don’t believe a word of it, honestly. I don’t know what to think anymore.

You’d think , that such important pieces of personal history and current events would be something you would trust your future wife with wouldn’t you? Apparently though they aren’t.

…. I shouldn’t complain. I’ve known since the first days we spent together in near silence hunting leeches in Bubumiru that he values his privacy and doesn’t like to talk of his past. I know whatever it is it’s painful. I see him looking out over the western shore of Haven at night. I know something there calls to him.

It’s just -

I should have just written of fishing.

I’ve spent the past nearly two weeks on patrol with my company of Royal Knights. It’s not trying work, except on my feet, but for the occasional skirmish with a passing group of orcs it’s terribly boring. Days spent traveling with a group of lively, active, young elvaan (mostly men, thank you Altana) sounded like a wonderful idea in theory but in practice gets very old. Especially since my commanding officer seemed to greatly resent the presence of a Temple Knight among them, as if I were there to tattle back to the Papsque should they step a toe over the line.

I was very thankful to finally return home.  Until late my first night back when I heard a great thump against my front door. I live in Haven, the island home of my linkshell, and save some special guest the only people present on the island are usually Lost Boys. Had I been in my moghouse the idea of someone or something thumping loudly against my door in the early early morning wouldn’t have been so strange but in secluded Haven I knew for certain it meant trouble. Or a drunken green haired taru. Either way.

It was instead, a half conscious and heavily bloodied Garion. I’m not one to panic in an emergency, I can in fact seem rather cold in my interactions when things are serious or dire, but really it’s just my way of dealing. Panicing, crying and being emotional can come after everyone I care for is safe and the offending parties have met my sword in their gut.

Back to the story. Garion sat crumpled on my door step, a large gash near his right eye that seeped blood down his cheek was the first thing I noticed, the crossbow bolts in his shoulder and side the second. I helped him inside, may or may not have made a comment about him bleeding all over my rug, and set in a flurry of locating and healing his wounds with my meager skills.

As I pulled the bolt free of his shoulder and stemed the blood flow in a manner that I’m sure Aydann or Nanner would label as two kinds of sloppy I tried to question him on what happened. He was in no mood to talk. More propped up in the kitchen chair rather than sitting I finally felt a touch of panic as his eyes rolled back and he went limp, blood all over my yukata from catching him as he nearly fell from the chair. He’d simply passed out, with all the blood staining he and I I’m not suprised.

Dragging a fully grown unconscious elvaan man up a flight of stairs and into bed is a feat and I’m unsure how I did it. Adrenaline I guess. It wasn’t until he was cleaned up and safely tucked into our bed that I let myself slump confused on the floor and have a good cry. I think I fell asleep there, with my head on the bed and still wearing my stained yukata.

(OOC: After a brief forced hiatus, forced being comcast doesn’t like you if you don’t pay your bill, I’m once again back in Vana’diel. Updates to follow soon ^^)