Jelondel

A small, brown leather book rests near the edge of the dock at the Koliov port. It appears to have been misplaced by someone in a hurry. A gust of salty wind blows, opening the cover and revealing the final page, along with the closely torn stubs of the others.

From the rogue's diary of Jelondel the Quell: I’ve stowed myself away in an empty, loose-lidded barrel on a merchant ship. A moment ago I overheard a crew member say the ship is en route to Darganof in Terres du Sud.

I am not yet attuned to the sea. My stomach grows uneasy, and my head spins staggeringly with each ebb and flow of water against the bow. But I must remain steady on this journey.

I will miss my home, but the memory will soon become a fever dream—squandered by greed and deception. I can never go back. I’m leaving everything behind to escape that unsustainable existence. I need to make a clean break. Wipe my slate. I used to make my living dishonorably—taking what others didn’t guard well enough: coin, food, whatever I thought I could get away with.

But every locked door I picked… it stuck with me. I pictured the faces of the lives I unraveled—the weight of my actions growing ever more cumbersome, like a bulging coin purse.

Now, I will take this opportunity to show my face where folk can see it. I’ll lead an honest life, earn my keep, and sleep knowing no one’s poorer because of me. Call it redemption, if you like. I call it setting the scales right.

There has to be a silver lining to this. I must be of some use to someone—be it retrieving lost belongings or snuffing the flame of one who has caused great injustice. Better them than me, I suppose.

As I feel the ship begin to slow, I hear the loud clanging of a bell signaling our arrival. I listen closely for crew members and watch through this small hole in the barrel for the opportune moment to slip out and disappear into the streets.

The past is ash in the tide—let the sea carry what I won’t.