A Sympathetic Mind: Prelude: Entries
#2 of A Sympathetic Mind
A Sympathetic Mind: Prelude: Entries
By Slair Mongrel
2-9-06
Nov. 12
It's raining and the wind is blowing sand and grit around. My boots are soaked through and I can't feel my fingers. My overcoat's well-nigh sopping. Fuck. I love the rain, but I hate being out in it. My face stings.
I'm sitting under the sagging branches of a tree, getting dripped on. It's a little over twelve miles left to Brackenwaif. I left Tuobrin a few weeks ago. I'm not sure exactly how long. I have to measure time in how far I've come now.
The soft earth is starting to break through to show the hard bones of the highlands. The grass is more like moss-colonies than individual blades. Trees are becoming thinner and don't offer as much cover as they do deeper in the lowlands. I'm dangerously close to being seen. Not good.
I keep walking to the south, stopping just when the top curve of the sun finally sinks beneath the horizon. The sunsets are all the same, but I watch them all the while each time I set up camp for the night. Each color of the Sun's make is beautiful; melding, fading slowly and evenly into each other until the blueberry shade of darkness deepens to black.
I hunt for treecrabs and eat, cracking their shells open with a rock when their carapace-covered bodies are almost ready to pop.
I could have hired a coach to get me to Brackenwaif quicker...
Rain patters against my face when I lay down beside the fire to sleep.
I hope I don't dream.
Nov. 13
Taking a break. Just making some notes for right now.
I hope Sem and Yanne are right about Brackenwaif. They said that for a person of my...profession, there are some prime targets. Not only that, but it'll be a good place to lose myself. No one will give notice to a hyena who minds his own business....
It's only eight more miles until I get to where I'm going, and already I can feel the gold running over my palms....
Nov. 15
The final mile. I had that fucking dream again. The one where I'm not me, but a dragon, or something like one. Anger is my prime emotion. That and sorrow, almost a disappointment in myself. I don't know what is inspiring these dreams; my rations, my sleeping outside, or even the fact that I'm at an altitude where there's less oxygen. I don't know, and frankly, I shouldn't care, but I still want to know why....
It's as black as a grizzly's asshole now. For which I'm grateful. I like the dark. I'll be in town by morning.
Nov. 16
Big news. I can't explain very well. If I try, I'll go crazy. Maybe I already am...
I got into town and noticed that a majority of the people were grouped in the town square. I moseyed down there, eyes peeled for any unguarded coinpurses.
Apparently...executions aren't taboo here. But that's not the big news bit.
When it was over and the crowd began to disperse, I felt something. Not physically, but with a part of my mind.
Through my letters to Sem and Yanne I learned that Brackenwaif is governed harshly by a dragoness. Many people fear her, and with good reason, I hear. I had hoped not to be noticed but I think she knows that a thief lives in her town, now. At least one of my caliber.
Through the forest of necks and heads I saw a palanquin guarded by a quartet of wolves. The palanquin itself was decadent: polished redwood engraved with gold inlays. The curtained partition in the window fluttered open, and the governess Dominaratal Shadescale surveyed the gathering with a threatening, imperious gaze.
Shrinking away to escape notice, I could not at all help but study her face. She is a rare purple. Tall, powerful, graceful, dangerous.
I can't be sure, but I'm convinced that she was scanning the crowd for me.
Nov. 21
I've settled into an apartment, one scooped up for a pittance and a song. It's actually pretty nice considering there are no windows. I was able to secure some funds for myself today that I might obtain a bed and other furniture. The pickings here are fat, to be sure. I must have scored at least a dozen 'purses in the marketplace alone.
But...today, I caught myself thinking about the lady-dragon off-hand. Her face just kept entering my thoughts unbidden...but not unwelcome.
She's attractive as far as dragonesses go, to be sure. I guess it's just my fetish to like tall women of other races. But the brutalities the people here say that she's capable of... Oddly, that just makes her even more appealing.
What in the Pits is wrong with me?
Nov. 22, 4:23 a.m.
I had the dream again. Just why am I plagued with these images of suicide, haltered, love, and shame?
...Why? ...I wonder what Yanne and Semnae will have to say?
Nov. 29: midnight
I woke up covered in sweat...and my own come. I had a wet dream.
She was there, just looking at me, but as naked as if she were just out of the egg. I felt something again, as if she was touching my mind. It was both a wonderful and frightening sensation, but one I love. The dream felt so real!
She stood, and I wanted to go and kneel and worship at her feet. Fates....
If not for the sticky mess in my shorts, I'd count the dream as mere fancy.
Just what the fuck is wrong with me?
I know I'm attracted to Madame Shadescale, but why? She's beautiful, powerful, domineering... and I want to be her slave... Why? Why do I want to be her plaything? Why do I feel so happy that I feel like this? I'm afraid....
...I need a bath. I'll go to the local bathhouse in the morning....