Writing Pains

by **Noven** on June 1st, 2015, 3:04 am

Spring, Day 53, 514AV

Noven stared at the blank sheet of parchment, quill held awkwardly in hand. He'd been frozen in this position for no less than an entire bell. His face was locked in frustrated concentration, his joints growing stiff from being immobile for so long.

Godsdammit. The fugitive wanted nothing more than to crush the delicate quill in his hand and give up right then and there. But that terrible, aching need was still howling for release. Burning him inside out with a fierce desire to reach out to the pale skinned, pale eyed Initiate so many innumerable miles away. Yet the words to match, to possibly even sate this yearning, would not come. No matter how long he stared daggers at the blank, cream colored rectangle before him.

Sighing, Nov passed a weary hand over his face. Then he ran it through his hair and left it tangled midway, knee jouncing as he struggled to think of a way to begin. The man knew how to break a knee cap to pieces, stuff a corpse into a barrel, make enough soup to feed a hoard of famished orphans, and somehow get that furball of a Gibbat to sit still for a full two ticks. But Krysus. Starting this letter was turning out to be harder than anything he'd ever done.

As if he had sensed the human's thoughts, Wick raised a groggy head and wiggled his nose beneath the bottom hem of Noven's pants to give him a quick lick. Then the dog was back to sleep, dreaming of whatever it was that dogs dreamed of.

Without thinking, Nov reached down to give the mutt a quick scratch behind the ears, knee now calm and still. Many a night Wick had offered him solace when nothing and no one else could. It was a small comfort, but an appreciated one nonetheless, and the fugitive could not deny that he was glad the pup had refused so resolutely to be left behind. He had tried placing it in the care of a few friends before the Bay escape, even attempted to make it board a ship to Syliras with Dina and Maggie. But the dog could not be made to do anything it did not want to do. Soon as Nov turned around it would slip away and return to its human's side, as impossible to get rid of as a blood sucking flea.

Night after night of sweat-drenched nightmares and bells plagued by the need to Vex proved, however, that the only thing his pup seemed to leech was a measure of pain and self torment. Wick was a tiny pinpoint of light in otherwise smothering darkness. Hence, his newly given name.

A dozen different openings had sprung up in his mind, but he mentally crossed them out one by one. Dear Keene. Dear Beloved. Hello. To the Warden Initiate who has scrambled me like a pan full of eggs.

Nothing seemed good enough. Nov scratched his head in consternation before looking down at the pup. Wick opened one sleepy eye to glance up at his human before smacking his maw a few times and rolling closer to Nov's feet.

The Sunberthian let loose a long, tired exhale.

"This is gonna be a long night for you and me, Wick."

by **Noven** on September 22nd, 2015, 6:02 am

He fought the urge to chew on the feathery end of his quill. Writing a letter couldn't possibly be this hard for everyone. It had taken a good bell just to think of an opening, and the best he'd come up with thus far was simply:

Keene,

But what next? How to even begin this ill-begotten tale of starvation, blood shed, and longing? He couldn't even try his hand at a first draft. Quinn had only lent him enough paper for a two page letter, and Nov had the feeling he was going to need every inch of space he could get. He'd come harrowingly close to scratching out the single word he'd written; gods knew how many more he would have to rework before he was done. His only saving grace was that he even knew how to read and write in the first place. It was uncommon for a Sunberthian runt, to say the least, and had it not been for this sole fact Noven would have given up long ago.

With a slow exhale, he dipped his quill in the ink again and tried his best not to leave blotches everywhere. If he was going to see this through before his own, untimely death, then he'd better start writing something. Anything.

Hard as it had been to start, the words came a little easier once he began to remember everything. There had been the ship ride home. A long, arduous journey for someone with no sea legs to speak of, and an even more distressing welcome once he was home. Several of the orphans at Sunset had already succumbed to Winter's frigid conditions. Some of them were mere babes, others older children who had struggled with illnesses for some time. Regardless of the victims' ages, it was a timeless lesson out in the slums. Only the strong survived. The weak died, and often with no one to mourn over their frozen corpses.

Then there had been the incident with a woman he'd mistaken for Scarlet. A fellow Vexer, the first Noven had met in a long, long time. After that, his brutal but intentional capture, which he had barely escaped with the aid of Bitzer and Palaren. He made sure to leave their true names out and obscure as many specific details as possible. After all, he was still a fugitive, and he was certain the other former Scars wouldn't appreciate having their identities plastered all over this pathetic excuse of a letter.

After that...well, it had all gone to hell. Nov wrote with pained focus, his writing legible but glaringly imperfect. There were countless blotches, crossed out misspellings, and half-assed guesses whenever he couldn't be bothered to waste more ink. He swore almost as much as he wrote, and by the time he was finished the man was utterly drained.

But at least, he reminded himself as he held up the letter to skim through one last time, he had something to show for.

by **Noven** on September 22nd, 2015, 7:26 am

The finished letter wasn't terribly long, poetic, or even pleasing to the eyes. It looked like Wick could have possibly done a better job. There were ink specks and splotches everywhere, letters of various, bizarre consistencies, and patches of black that partially covered his innumerable mistakes. But thank the stars above, it was finally petching done.

Misspellings and penmanship aside, the letter was heartfelt. Nov let it dry overnight before he rolled it up the next morning and sent it to his new little helper, Junior Library Assistant Quinn. She had promised to make sure it was at least comprehensible and mail the safest, quickest way possible. The Sunberthian had never sent a letter in his life, so he was grateful for her help, if not a bit anxious at having someone else read his letter. He might have been more forthcoming with his true emotions had he not known other eyes would see.

Once approved and readied for mailing, the letter appeared as follows, misspellings and ink blotches aside:

Keene,

Sorry I've taken so long to write. Things have not been too good here. The trip back was hell and between puking and being soaked every bell of the day I don't know how I managed not to jump ship. The dog helped some. I finally gave him a name. It's Wick, like a candle. I'd explain, but that would mean I have to write more, and I figured you'd understand it better than I could write anyhow. Can you still remember when we tried to catch the damned things? What a day...me with the yelling and running, you the stone cold poker face. You could win some heavy bets with a face like that Keene. I can't keep mine nearly as cool when I think about that night. About any of those nights.

When I got back home, I found out seven of the runts had died. Four were babes. I expected more to be honest, what with them being so weak, but our wetnurse was in a state. I was told she'd wept for four nights straight. One for each babe. The other three were older but one was sick before and the rest just a bad cough and not enough food. It gets worse here year after year. Sometimes I don't know even know how this city stays alive with so many young ones dead. And still somehow there are always more mouths to feed.

Not long after I came back a woman followed me. Another like me, if you can believe it, but she was not the one I've been looking for. She almost got herself killed but I saved her at the last tick. Now I wonder every night if that was a good idea. Guess there's only one way to find out. Just hope that if she tries to, you know, hurt me I've got a fighting chance.

I don't know if you've heard yet, but things got hairy in the Berth. A bunch of us had to make a run for it. The city got too dangerous and we had no choice. I think someone stronger and smarter is behind this, but I can't be sure who and it isn't safe to write his name. I can't tell you where we've run to either, only that we all made it and are doing alright for ourselves so far. Right before we left I tried to help the Wolf find some answers. I won't go into the details, mostly because I don't want you to go around killing the bastards (most of them are dead by the way) but I'll say this. I didn't think I'd live through it, not until the Wolf and Uncle came to bail me out of that hellhole. I found some stuff out but it was too late. They'd already gotten Wolf's friend and we were next. It's a miracle we even got out alive.

I've missed you, Keene. I've been sitting here for bells trying to find a better way to say it. Something that might impress you. But I'm no good at this and I've wasted enough candles giving myself a headache, so there it is. I think about you...a lot. If I had more time, I would have tried to think of something better than that ring to give you, but it was all I had. I hope you are doing alright. And I hope that greedy bastard Nuit is still angry over what we did. I still grin when I think about it.

~~Stay safe,~~ Forever yours,

Noven

The last phrase to be crossed out looked suspiciously unlike the rest of the black patches and clumsy handwriting. A small bit of payback for Noven's endless teasing in regards to Quinn's feelings for Mister Wayne, but what he didn't know couldn't hurt him.

And so the letter was sent.