Greystone Charities

[Cepht]

A tall, scrawny sin'dorei priest walked the length of a long weather-beaten dock. He looked at the ships stationed in the bay for a moment, then back at the water, taking note of its brilliant orange hues and sparkling peaks. In the distance the setting sun shone warmly.

Pleased, he placed his slender hand into his sack and retrieved a fine quill, a bottle of ink, and finally a small leather-bound book with a dull brass clasp. He opened it to a blank page then returned his gaze to the sea, staring at her silently.

"I've brought my journal this time as you suggested", he said, but the sea does not respond. He took his pen and began to write:

"Today was a fairly productive day. I managed to find some Fadeleaf and Mageroyal, but no Goldthorn as of yet; perhaps tomorrow. As for my commitment to Greystone Charities, I did manage to find another person in need. A fellow elf who goes by the name Raffimar. He seemed to be a rather pleasant individual and possibly willing to help. I'll have to find someone who can fulfill his need. I think I know just the person too. Oh, how I hope I run into her soon.

Reminder - prepare a gift for her. Swimming potions! She'll like that.

He then looked back out to the sea and asked, "What? What's is it? What are you telling me?", but the sea did not respond.

Randian closed his eyes and slumped his shoulders, looking out to the sea he began to speak:

"Actually, there is something on my mind. Ophiria, the woman who was looking for her long lost friend. I.. I really did try to help her. I prayed that her friend would show up, and sure enough he did.. But how was I to know that he would be such a mean person? I just assumed he would be normal."

The sea remained silent.

Randian sat there and reflected carefully then spoke once more:

"You have a good point there. The next time I offer to find someone I'll ask a bit more about that person I suppose."

He then clasped his journal shut and placed it back into his sack. Slowly he rose to his feet as a large ship pulled into the dock. Boarding the ship, he said to himself with a smile, "Greystone Charities shall thrive. I know it will." With a gentle step and a light hum he moved to the side and leaned over, staring into the water. He thought to himself, "And so too shall the Order of Light and Shadow."

[Cepht]

Exhilarated, Randian parts company with Fenrir and walks along the lower board walk towards the bait shop. He takes a seat on the edge with his skinny legs hanging over the side. Still soaking wet, he manages to retrieve his journal and pen from a water resistant sack.

He fixes his gaze upon the sea and sits there silently, looking first at the sparkling peaks, then takes note of a few fish just below the surface of the water. "Whats below that" he asks himself in a sort of ritualistic manner as he closes his eyes in thought.

In his mind's eye he begins to passively imagine what may lie beneath the depths of the sea. Almost drifting off to sleep, he begins to nod but awakens from the feeling of his head giving way. A few moments later an image comes to mind.

A turning cog at first, then a familiar face or two, pleasant to look at, welcoming. Next an image of a large keg fades in. It appears to be swollen, perhaps overfilled. It groans and creaks as if about to burst. He looks around but nobody seems to be too concerned. The keg grows further and begins to sprout a leak. A golden stream of beer flows out. Panicked, he attempts to stop it with his finger. Within seconds another stream forms, and then another. The floor is covered with large puddles of brew and froth. He calls out for help but nobody seems to notice. His heart pounds heavily; his hands and feet sweat. Why ? Why don't they care?

The barrel breaks apart and its contents flow freely in every direction. To his surprise an old bloated carcass is washed out from within the broken keg. Upon its head is a golden crown encrusted with thick, thumb-sized rubies. Its absolutely disgusting! To think that everyone has been drinking this swill! But nobody notices this? Why?

With a spritz in the face and a loud thud Randian awakens shaken and startled. Next to him lays a soaking wet crab cage, and a slightly annoyed goblin who gives him a disconcerting look as he begins to pull in his next trap.

Adjusting to his awakened state, Randian squints and peers inside the crab cage. Harmless little creature he thinks to himself. Staring at it a bit closer he notices something rather strange - a long black lock of hair stuck in the greedy crab's claw. Tied around the lock, a once-white lace ribbon.

Slightly Unnerved, he makes a quick entry in his journal:

"Alas, I've found someone to fulfill Raffimar's need. Hopefully he will be up for a small group trip just beyond Tirisfal Glades."

- Reminder: Find that potion for Amelia! It was not at the bank. Must have misplaced it."

[Cepht]

From the tip of Randian's pen a spilled a stream of words. The pen moved fluidly with sharp quick turns, leaving serifs and tails on his letters. The letters, long, black and spidery dripped with style and perfectionism.

"It seems Ophiria's need has been met. Her and Inuleki are now reunited, and the two look quite happy. One small victory for Greystone Charities, one larger victory for Ophiria."

Drawing a final glyph he placed a dot to the right and laid the book down to dry.

A horrible waft of death and blooming mold caught his attention. The aroma so foul, his eyes teared and his neck filled up to his uvula. He could literally taste the bitter fragrance. Looking up he saw a rather ripe forsaken woman pass by.

"Kingsblood!" he exclaimed. The woman turned and looked at him. With a dismissive wave she shook her head and continued to walk. Randian placed his face in his palm with a quick sigh. The only way to get there was via the Plaguelands which was infested with ferocious beasts, and Undercity. He began to write a letter:

"Dear Amelia, I regret to inform you that I shall not be able to join you and Raffimar. Please go ahead to Tarren Mill without me. I ate somethign bad and I..."

A tearing sound shortly followed, then a crumpling as he made a ball of the letter in his hands. He clenched the wad of paper with his fist and hit himself in the forehead, "Courage! Why couldn't you have been born with some courage?" He stared off the side of the dock and into the sea.

"Tell me, where does one find courage?", he asked, but the sea did not answer.

"Is there a potion or a prayer? Perhaps a spell of sorts? How is it that some are born with it and some without? Is it acquired or learned? Or must one be born with it?"

He waited patiently not expecting an immediate answer then said to the sea, "I'll leave that question with you. I trust you'll answer when I'm ready to hear you."

Seeing that the inked writing had dried he took the book carefully and closed it, then fastened the brass clasp and placed it into his sack. Slowly he began to wander into the distance muttering under his breath, "Curiosity did not kill the cat. Courage did."

[Cepht]

With a soft clap, a small wave of water slapped the rocky north sea shore as Randian peered down from the side of a cliff. It withdrew shortly, drawing with it a light salty foam, then slapped the stone again. Staring a bit further and deeper Randian gazed into the water as if searching for something.

A large white bird landed on a rock nearby casting a long, drawn out shadow that stretched over the surface of the stone. It cocked its head to the side wile looking at Randian with an inquisitive, yet penetrating stare. Randian was careful not to move lest he frighten the fowl away. Something about this bird intrigued him, though he was not sure what. The contrast between the immaculate, white bird and its twisted shadow seemed to be rather contradictory, yet they belonged. They were inseparable; they clashed, but fit.

As his attention moved to its fiery beak, the bird leaped and took flight. Not having any choice in the matter, so too did its shadow. He looked back to the sea and asked, "What is the meaning of this? What are you teaching me today?" But the sea did not answer.

He took out his leather-bound journal and pen and began to write:

"Still no fruit to pick. I keep sowing the seeds of this charity, but no more plants. I suppose I should remain patient and let time run its course.

Reminder - Don't forget to attend Nia's party. It would be quite rude to forg..."

He lifted the pen as a thought came to mind. He trembled from the inside out as it washed though his head. The thought seemed to have a life of its own, and within seconds it began to change something inside him. Hours passed like minutes, minutes like seconds, and the sun dipped down into the sea painting the water a fiery orange with a touch of red. As the euphoria faded his hands stopped trembling and he began to write in the last minutes of sunlight:

"There was once a naaru and a demon who waltzed in the heavens. When the naaru was closest, the sky would bear its blue chest and the sun would radiate though. When the demon was closest clouds would form and the sky would darken; rain would fall and the sky would explode with tongues of light and thunder. The two were in love and were inseparable. When they danced too fast they were pulled apart, but refused to let go. Their arms and wrists would stretch and tear causing unbearable pain. When they danced slowly they became closer. Finally, the two came to a halt. Hand in hand they faced one another and became one."

He looked at the sea somewhat dumbfounded, then tore out the page and placed it into a small crystal vial. He corked it and tossed it into the water. The sea took the bottle but said nothing.

[Cepht]

Equipped with an inked pen in hand and an opened leather-bound journal atop the Salty Sailor's finest grime-polished table, a pale, slender hand moved across the page leaving behind an elegantly written string of words:

"A dirty glass, or no glass at all; that seems to be the attitude of Nixxrax as of late. I've tried to enlighten him about the rivulet shaped streaks and the mysterious milky matter of which they consist, but he is either too ignorant to comprehend my simple words or else simply doesn't care. Anticipating a decline in his patience, I've brought my own; Problem solved."

Taking a sip from his perfectly shaped glass he looked upon some of the non-Sin'dorei patrons with a smug grin - careful not to be caught. He continued to write:

"Today was a glorious day for Greystone Charities. Valashare, a fine, strong Sin'dorei healer has joined the ranks. I have great aspirations for him. He is zealous and eager to help. Hopefully with a few more good men like him we shall make a considerable dent in our quest to heal our war-torn society.

Reminder - Find someone who can translate Troll-speak to common."

Recalling his rather painful conversation, Randian took another sip and stared at the empty chair where Bojan sat. With a thoughtful swirl of his glass he began to analyze the situation. "What to do about that odd looking thing in his back. It might take a few men to pry it off."

After letting the ink dry, he closed his book and put it away, then withdrew a thick, scrolled parchment. With the same skilled penmanship he wrote at the top center of the page:

Greystone Charities

And below, in a regular sized text:

Dear citizens,

I write to inform you that a charitable foundation known officially as "Greystone Charities" hereby requests assistance in finding fellow citizens in need. We thrive on opportunities to identify and sate the needs and wants of our fellow citizens with resources and services provided by no other than our fellow citizens in order to bring about a sense of peace and unity within our world. Think of us as a free matching service.

Whether you need an item, service, mentor, a student to teach, a lost loved one, or a bodyguard, Greystone Charities will do its utmost to introduce you to someone who can fulfill your need. Do note that those providing resources or services will sometimes ask for something in return. This is their prerogative. You are not in any way obliged to engage with them if you disagree with their terms.

Should you wish to give us a try, kindly look for myself, or any other publicly known member of Greystone Charities.

Sincerely,

Randian

Recruiter, Greystone Charities
Priest, Healer and Expert Alchemist
Low Priest, OLS




Satisfied with his work, he steps outside and posts it on the wall to the right of the entrance to the Salty Sailor tavern.

[Cepht]

The sun had retired for the day and the clouds were busy replenishing the sea. Randian was transfixed on the tiny dimples that formed upon the waves. He watched as if in a trance through an old glass window pane which bore a translucent image of a flickering candle, his stemmed crystalline glass and his journal.

He broke his stare and wrote:

"Oh sky, how many times have you turned your back on the light and embraced the darkness only to retreat and be illuminated once again? Does it diminish your greatness? I think not."

A burst of light broke though the window, interrupting several conversations. There was silence for a brief moment. Angrily, the sky clapped its mighty hands, sending a chill up Randian's spine. The room again filled with random chatter.

His mind drifted and then settled upon a memory from the previous day. Thinking about Eva, he continued to write almost mindlessly:

"Darlenae, how I miss you."

He stopped and scribbled over his last line.

"A rather tall, attractive mage has joined our ranks today. Though I've learned a bit about her thus far, I do hope to learn more. She's intelligent, strong and from today's observation, rather skilled in her craft.

The Death Knight on the other hand, has piqued my curiosity. For so long I had perceived them as being mean and hostile. This one however, seemed to be rather friendly. I'll have to make arrangements to talk with.."

Randian then burried his palm in his face "What was his name again? George, Frank? Gah! I should have written it down."

Looking back out to the sea once more, he raised his glass to her respectfully and said in a low tone, "Cheers", clinking his glass against the window pane.

[Cepht]

"It seems that courage is more akin to stubbornness than fearlessness. I suspect that its as simple as refusing to react in a fearful manner when exposed to something truly frightening. If this is true, then one who is fearless is not necessarily courageous, and fearfulness thus becomes an asset as opposed to a debilitating handicap."

Placing a period at the end of the sentence, Randian reclined and stared into the sea as he slowly chewed on his revelation. He wondered if this was just another frivolous thought or if it actually bore weight. It seemed to have worked for him on the previous day, but he needed a more sure way to prove his theory. With a determined expression he wrote in his journal:

"Reminder - Travel to Tarren Mill via Undercity with or without company."

He looked out to the sea again, this time with an uneasy expression. He lifted his glass and finished it off, then wrapped it in crumpled paper and carefully placed it into his sack. He asked out loud, "What? You don't think I will go though with it?" But the sea did not answer. Feeling somewhat deflated he mumbled, "Perhaps I'll take some smaller steps first."

Before putting his journal away he made one last entry:

"I've met a Forsaken named Hooker who seemed to be bent upon attacking the sea with her long, stiff rod and undead night crawlers. Though her rationale for her behavior made no sense to me, it appears that providing her with a healthy avenue might sate her desires. Who knows, perhaps her rod handling skill will be of use to someone else in the future. The diversity of services offered and clientele served by Greystone Charities never ceases to amaze me."

[Cepht]

An image of a blond sin'dorei mage faded in. Randian approached her eagerly, but she look away pointing to a large glowing light. His face glowed as he knelt before the majestic radiance that cleansed and healed as it penetrated his being. Slowly he began to perceive the light and its life-force. His jaw dropped and his hands went limp as the light began to radiate from his own core, lifting his frail body off the ground. His body felt as if it would fade away leaving only the light itself. Randian felt no urge to pray or adore the light; he was one with the light, and the light knew his needs and desires. He trusted the light and thus resigned his will to it.

A male voice took him by surprise; "What are you doing?", it asked. He replied, "I'm just looking at it." The voice then prompted him to move along, so he did. Slowly the light began to fade and the weight of his body returned. He was not saddened as it vanished, rather he trusted that he was still bound to it.

A masked spirit bearing loneliness and sorrow stood at the entrance way to his quarters. She called him by name and pleaded with him to let her in. He felt empty in the absence of the light and desired the company of another spirit. He dismissed her but she returned within seconds, this time with spirits bearing pride and grandiosity. He dismissed them too, so he had thought. A smile came to his face as he reflected upon his own accomplishments and the holy light's love for him. Alas the spirit bearing grandiosity kicked the door ajar letting in a procession of spirits clothed in royal attire. They invoked sentiments of entitlement, and fairness; before long, disappointment, rejection, and discontent.

Darkness poured into Randian's soul as spirits with broken limbs and distorted faces danced clumbsily at the doorway. They instilled pain, sorrow and regret as they swayed and cackled. They embraced one another and flashed a seductive smile at him. He held his ears and shut his eyes as if to block them out, but they knew that they were welcome so they entered without asking. They caressed his face and tugged at his robes trying to entice him. He screamed, but they would not flee; finally he gave in. A cacophony of dreadful screams and mocking laughter erupted as they drove him to into a pit of depression and despair. Silence, tainted with misery and self loathing followed but all was still dark as if his eyes were painted over with tar and his ears stuffed with soft clay.

"Why do you taunt me?" He shouted, but the darkness did not answer. Again he cried out, "What purpose do you serve you horrible abomination?"

Moments passed as he waited in the darkness, devoid of all hope. He yearned for an answer but got none. A graven skeleton of a woman clad in a low cut top stood before him with a large golden key in her hand. Behind her a massive black door. She opened the door and beckoned him to pass though, and so he did.

The door slammed shut. Beyond it there was only silence; beautiful restful silence . With that, something inside changed, but he knew not what. There was something familiar about this place, but what?

Slowly Randian's eyes opened at the sound of sailors in the distance talking loudly and dropping heavy crates upon the dock. The usual morning aromas aroused and beckoned him to awaken from him slumber. He looked around from his bed and yawned, then took his pen and journal from the night stand and began to write in his usual spidery handwriting:

"Clothed in darkness and light, bespeckled with evil deeds and acts of love, it awaits patiently for its devotee to retreat to its tranquil gardens. Only under the veil of silence may the two join and mesh. It is divine."

He began to recall the events from the previous night: his encounter with Fenrir and the Sin'dorei woman with the mask and strange looking arm. He recalled Joash unexpectedly catching him in the company of a Draenei. A wave of stress and frustration came over him. Skipping down a bit more he continued:

"For the love of the Holy Light, what I would give for the chance to scald Bruhara with blessed water and sear the foul meat off her bones. She threatens not only me, but Greystone Charities with her impish games. What will it take to shut her up?"

Furiously, he looked to the sea for an answer but only saw the shimmering surface and sparkles dancing upon the peaks. With that he shut his journal and put it away, then slipped outside for a walk.

[Cepht]

Once again, Randian took a seat by the sea and withdrew his leather-bound journal from his sack along with a with pen. He looked into the water for a moment, then began to write:

"I've been shoved off the dock and into the sea for no good reason at all. I don't understand what motivates people to do such things. Even when under the influence of a full glass of wine, I'de never find reason to shove a priest off the dock."

Lifting his pen he stopped and shook his head, recalling the event, then continued to wite:

"And as a priest, I get to forgive this woman and act as if nothing ever happened."

Punctuating his last sentance, he stopped and began to refelect on the situation as he lightly bit his knuckle. He then began to reflect upon his reaction to it. Slowly, his bitterness faded. Skipping a line he continued to write:

"Glorious news, a fine young woman with long golden hair and a face that could melt the coldest of hearts has join the ranks. I do look forward to working closely with Serana if our schedules permit it."

Randian closed the book and than looked back into the sea. He paused thoughtfully and then asked, "Is it time to gather them?" but the sea did not answer. Gazing into the water he began to ponder then put his book away and wandered off.

[Cepht]

"Its seems that someone thought it would be funny to slip a small stone beneath my bedding. Half the night has been lost to unneeded tossing and turning. This was a truly impish deed if you ask me, and unwarranted. May light from the heavens char and blister the .. bless and instruct the person who did this."

Closing his journal Randian discarded the tiny stone and laid back down. Within moments his thoughts began to melt and distort as he glided away from consciousness. He looked up into the bright sunny sky and gazed in wonder as it painted him with warmth and merriness. The air was fresh and crisp, the tips of his ears slightly chilled, but not cold.

A crazed bat bore down and grasp an ear and a patch of hair. It flew frantically, drawing blood as it tore and stretched his delicate skin. Flailing his arm wildly, Randian managed to startle and scare the beast. He opened his eyes but all was dark and darkening further; something had changed for the worse.

A crooked woman with a large hook in her hand scurried away in fright. The sky shed burning tears, and upon the ground severed serpentine tongues twitched and flipped in a glistening crimson glaze. A massive black spot crept along the foothills and twisted and warped as it crept over the rocks and dwelling places. A musty, graven fragrance filled the air bringing tears to the eyes of those not accustomed to it. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere, except for a few small openings in the ground.

With panicked haste, blackened fingernails clawed at the damp soil. Mounds of putrid sod were flung as the burning rain continued to melt the flesh off the masses. Like moles, they burrowed frantically and hid until the storm passed. They rose from their holes slowly, squinting as they peered though the thick musty fog.

Randian, flopped over to the other other side, wincing as he clutched his pillow in his arms. The fine satin trimmed blanket was bunched up, exposing his tender feet to the cool evening air. He tucked them in, then returned to his slumber.

A lone, morbid cackle echoed though the land as the moles crept from the earth and gathered the remains of their kin. A herd of wild zhevras grazed upon what few scant few blades of green forage remained. In the distance an army of men with blue eyes charged hastily with fish and shield in hand. Their nostrils flared and their stained teeth parted as they spewed forth their battle cry. The fish flopped wildly trying to break free from the clenched fists of the rowdy, angered mob.

The sun began to throb and moan as it watched mankind slap, slash and chop itself into to stew of flesh and ooze. Azeroth was dripping with the rotten fruits of her people's misguided actions. It pulled at its crown in agony, then transformed itself into a great swirling maelstrom of argent light and putrid darkness. In the center of the maelstrom stood a small, fragile zhevra. It parted its whiskered lips and began to speak. Its voice, though quiet, could be heard and felt by all. It left an indelible mark up on the souls of those who accepted its message.

"The time has come! bring forth the few who have answered my calling and I shall spill into their open mouths my wisdom and power. My chalice overflows; why do so few thirst?"

Fidgeting this time with his pillow, Randian straightened the pillow case making it nice and smooth. He placed his cheek upon the flattened surface and began to snooze once more.

[Cepht]

A small steady flame atop a glowing aromatic wax candle sat quietly providing a warm golden glow as Randian wrote in his journal with the utmost care. Each letter was carefully crafted, each sentence carefully ruled so as not to drift at an angle. His eyelids slowly lowered, then snapped open from time to time.

Exhausted, Randian punctuated his last sentence and blew lightly on the fresh ink. When it dried, he put the book away and laid down in his firm yet soft bed to sleep.

He began to sing a lullaby to himself as he closed his eyes. He. Visualized himself floating a small boat in a still pond under bright autumn leaves. Slowly his thoughts were seen and heard as his room vanished quietly.

The boat soon reached land upon which he found himself walking. In the bushes, wicked eyes stared, bugs buzzed, and creatures prowled. A strange looking sword sliced through the air, leaving behind a thin trail of blood that left a crimson line across his face. Horrified at the mess he patted his pockets but could not find a hanky. Panic set in as he realized that his fine robes were stained too. Behind the sword was a man with a strange hat, laughing in his face.

He turned around only to see another human with a sword; this one equally nasty. He begged the man for a hanky or a soft cotton cloth with which to clean his face and garments. The man mocked him instead.

With great fright, Randian leaped from his bed and looked around only to see the remains of a sputtering candle. He blew it out, and tried to go back to sleep but he feared that he might return to the horrible dream.

A clever idea came to mind. Randian tied a fine silver chain from an old necklace around his wrist. He plucked the chain noting the physical sensation, then went back to sleep.

Slowly Randian's thoughts began to shift and change as sleep took its hold upon his soul. The room darkened and once more the man in the funny has was nearby cursing and grumbling angrily. He peeked at him from afar but the man saw him and charged drawing his funny looking sword. Randian looked at his delicate wrist and saw the chain. He wondered if it was a dream at all. He plucked the chain and felt it against his skin; surely he must be awake!

He looked up but the man was gone. In his place was a human woman in a white dress. In her hand she held small shiny object. He approached and looked at it up close. In it he saw a graven image of himself with scaly red skin and horns protruding from his forehead. His reflection hissed at him loudly. He looked up at her and saw instead the face of a deader with a pair of black leather straps across her face. As he leaped backward in fright she cackled and pointed her finger in his face.

Again Randian leaped from the bed, this time covered in sweat. His grasped at his pounding heart with trembling hands as if to seize it. Slowly calmness returned and Randian prepared for a new day.

[Cepht]

Curiously, Randian sat down and opened a small package he had purchased from a vendor in his travels. On it was written the word "Dreamfoil". He opened it and examined the unfamiliar plant, then carefully compared it to an illustration of the plant. The two shared shared similar traits as expected, unfortunately he had no idea how to use it. Wanting to make something with which to suppress his dreams, he gave it a try making a very weak tea.

The tea had a barely noticeable taste leaving him wondering if he had let it steep long enough. He placed the empty cup to the side and laid it down in hopes of awakening refreshed and renewed however, hours of turning over and adjusting his pillow brought sleep no closer. Frustration set in and gave way to defeat. Randian laid there and stared at a moon-light tree-shaped shadow on the ceiling. Before long sleep took him away.

An orc standing next to an old wooden caravan grinned while her icy eyes stayed locked in place. To her left a sword vendor stood next to a wagon with a proud display of weapons hanging from the side. He looked at a dagger, then a mace and finally an axe. The vendor began to laugh. Randian reached for the large, spiked battle axe only to have his hand smacked to the side. "That's not for you girly boy!" the vendor cackled. He then pointed to another cart with his massive green finger. Upon the side of the cart hung a slim fencing foil with long pink and white streamers dangling from the handle. He looked back at the vendor who was now bellowing with laughter. As the laughter grew so too did the size of the crowd that formed around him. Men, women, even children pointed and his face and laughed haughtily.

The pudgy orcish faces twisted and contorted as he tried to push though the crowd only to be punched in the face and knocked on his rear. The laughter grew and echoed in his head. He stood and held up his bony little fists only to be punched in the face again. He tried to punch the orc but was too weak to move his arms quickly. They drifted in front of him slowly as the orc continued to beat him blow by blow.

Opening his eyes he looked around. The room was filled with golden light and the sound of birds and a light breeze reassured him that it was only a dream. He sat up and took hold of his leather bound journal in which he wrote:

"Balance. Perhaps I have been in err. I've put my service to the holy light and my fellow citizens at the center of my life. I've made it my vocation, my everything. Perhaps this too needs to be balanced. Perhaps its time for a change... but how?"

He sat in thought for quite some time, then wrote one more line before putting it away:

"Reminder: Seek the tutelage of a skilled warrior. Its time to learn to become tough!"

[Cepht]

An old, drizzling candle sat in the center of the table illuminating both Randian's leather-bound journal and a fresh portrait that he had placed at the end of the table. The portrait was painted upon a canvas cloth which was stretched over a simple wooden frame. It leaned against the wall so as to face him.

He began to write as usual, though his writing had changed somewhat over the last few weeks. His strokes were more angular and he pressed a bit harder than normal. His writing lacked unique the frill and style that it once had.

"It appears that Greystone Charities has been rather unsuccessful. It may be time to put this endeavor to rest. I'll consult the sea and then sleep on it."

He stopped, then quickly scratched out the last sentence as he muttered to himself, "No, enough of this silliness. We'll just end it, period."

He sighed, then took another pull from his thick, beat-up mug. His throat warmed almost immediately, but the burn did not phase him this time. He continued to write:

"It seems that my new mentor has been rather beneficial. Her lessons have had an immediate effect. I must admit, I would never have expected her of all people to hold the very stepping stones to my future. I suppose I'll have to find a way to compensate her."

Randian looked up and began to reflect upon her words, then put his pen back to the page and continued to write with his new angular style:

"Its time that theory be put to practice. The notion that light and shadow can coexist peacefully within society and the individual must be tested and further explored. While light and shadow clash when in a chaotic state, they should blend and neutralize with each other when in a harmonious state. A harmonizing agent of sorts must therefore exist. I suppose it will take quite a bit of trial and error to discover which reagents will work the best. Perhaps I should seek some assistance with these experiments - both in gathering reagents and in performing the experiments themselves."

The taste of mead was unpleasant and lacked the rich body and aroma of a fine, aged wine however, he knew that his distaste for common food and drink needed to be broken. He took the mug and balled his scrawny fist around the handle with his pinky finger sticking out. Without thinking, he swirled it like a glass of wine as he began to admire the portrait in front of him. After a minute or two of staring at the image of himself he closed the book and put it away, then stood, took his painting and left.

[ Due to changes that have occurred in-game this storyline has come to a halt. It didn't go where I thought it would however, it does illustrate a change in personality from beginning to end. It is what it is ]