Sea Legs

The morning speaks for itself I suppose. Lim Dul has emphasized to the captain that he may have been the main target but it could just as easily be that members of the Iron are being watched. Tales tell of others in the Iron encountering them.
 
I suspect that the Skaven ruined the supplies to keep the ship from getting to Emberhold, when that failed, killing the captain is the next best option, likely requiring the ship to return to port.
 
The day is young but we can do nothing but wait. So I write.
 
I've made many mistakes in life—we all have. But long ago, I came to understand something:
 
Every moment I am in is exactly where I am meant to be.
 
This illusion of self—the mind taking credit for thoughts it cannot predict—is nothing more than a puppet of the gods and universal forces. Like a leaf on the wind, life unfolds, one thing causing another, each moment shaped by forces greater than we comprehend. I see that I am part of it all—woven into the fabric of existence, bound to the very essence of blood and bone, air and fire. I am a force of nature, of magic, of fate itself. I am a witness and agent of fate. I cannot take full credit for my strength but it matters that I use it. I am not solely responsible for my flaws, but it matters that I try to fix them. My only unique contribution is how I custom process these experiences.
 
My companions do not see my resolve. Some among them see my head bowed and mistake it for insecurity, for doubt, for a man struggling to maintain his worldview in the face of failure. But they are wrong. I am exactly where I am meant to be.
 
Yes, I can admit to myself that I made a mistake in trying to prove to Lim Dul that the world could be trusted. I own that. It is not something I would normally do, but in an effort to silence his incessant grumbling about efficiency and wasted time, I thought, I’ll bend a little. And in doing so, I gambled with Jestin’s life.
 
I paid guards to escort Jestin, a man cursed with lycanthropy, to a house of healing in my place rather than do it myself to garner a little favor among my group.
 
The weight of that gamble can never be fully known. It is not unreasonable to believe that city guards can be trusted. And yet, I failed Jestin after imploring him to trust me. That failure is mine to bear.
 
But be that as it may—I did not kill the man. In fact, I gave him a better chance, at least on the surface. We do not know what has become of him. If he is alive, if he has not succumbed to the beast within, if he has not harmed the ones he loves, then I believe he would still welcome my failed rescue. I did the best I could. And if I am like the leaf, then this path was always the one I was meant to walk—perhaps the only one I could walk.
 
My will, my faith, my resolve—these are not so easily shaken.
 
People speak of killing, of right and wrong, as though they are distinct things, neatly separated by lines in the sand. But the truth of the world is this: killing happens. I think one should not kill lightly but that is a projection. Things are what they are. The world turns not on morality, but on who can make killing legal. My battle is often fought with steel and magic, but my true war is one of ideas.
 
I do what is right, and that is all I can do. I spread my influence where I can, but I cannot force it upon others—only demonstrate it through my actions.
 
My head is not bowed in shame or doubt. It is bowed in grief and mourning. My pause is not a weakness of will or morality. I pause for perspective, for understanding, for tolerance of others.
 
Let them misunderstand me. Let them see what they wish to see.
 
I have nothing to prove and what they see says more about them than it does about me.
 
I failed—but it could unfold no other way. And so I carry my failure, not as a burden, but as a lesson. I sit with my grief. I allow myself to feel the pain, to cherish it, to help me remember. I do not turn away from my weaknesses—I make them my strength.
This does not break me. It reinforces me.
This world is in desperate need of help. And who better to answer that need than me? I am built for this. I am a rising star. I will continue to be a beacon doing the moral thing until they can all see it clearly.
 
That in the end, all that will have mattered, is how we made each other feel,
 
how anyone suffering anywhere puts everyone at risk due to the suffering persons desperation, mental ailment, and impecuniousness driven lash outs,
 
how we are all destined to lose everything thing and everyone, so why would we want to be anything but kind to one another?
 
They do not understand, because I do not shine brightly enough yet. But it does not matter how distant my goal appears. I know the way.
 
The darkness of this world will beg for me to stop before I am done. But I will not stop.
I want to succeed—but I do not need to succeed. I need only to do the next most moral thing.
 
I never claimed to be a leader. I am simply here, in the moment, becoming one. I do not need to be perfect, because I have them. Together, we are strong.
 
And if I lead them, they will help me show others the way.
 
Lim Dul believes himself to be a mentor, a manipulator—perhaps both. He plays his games, but they are only with himself. His jabs amuse and remind me. He does not shake my resolve. He has lost something, and his pain is not so well hidden as he believes. He has experience that would take a lifetime for me to earn, and so I will learn from it no matter how bitter his lesson. Use it. When the time comes, I will rely on him. After all, we go to war together.
 
Rory is refreshing in his directness. Honest. Genuine. He hides nothing, implies nothing—he simply says. Some mistake him for a fool, but they do not see him as I do. His speech is accented, but he knows both languages well. I suspect he struggles with a language barrier alongside his speech impediment—not for lack of understanding, but because he lacks the words to compress his thoughts into meaning. Yet his insights are often brilliant.
 
He cuts through the noise, reducing complex problems to simple truths. Perhaps this is something he has had to learn. I am not saying he is never wrong—but his wisdom has proven invaluable. And when the fighting starts, he is more savage than any beast I have encountered. A lethal force of nature. I trust him implicitly, and I am grateful for his presence.
 
Freya is reliable. Cold, but capable. She does not trust easily—or often. I have not yet earned her respect. But I will-
 
… what now?