Campaign of the Month: June 2012
Kumori - Journal Entry 8
Brilliant sunlight streamed through thin, wispy streaks of cloud in a cerulean heaven and turned the surface of the sea all around to a carpet of diamonds. A strong, cold wind whipped along the deck and filled the sails overhead. Kumori stood on the forecastle and felt the deck rise and fall with the swell as the ship cut its way through the wavetops. He wore his do, but had left his helmet back in his cabin, and felt the spray sting his face.
He felt content.
The feeling sprang from no discernible cause; they were running from ignominy into the unknown, with no proof outside of his own certainty that there was even a Kaidan to find. The oracle may refuse to see them entirely, or Kumori might not be able to formulate the right question. Even if they succeeded with the oracle, after that there was no telling where they might have to travel. Before him Kumori could see the ocean spreading wide and barren, full of possibility but devoid of certainty.
But still, he felt content.
The sun beat down on his shoulders, the ship rolled beneath his feet, and in his heart, despite all the uncertainty, he knew his homeland still existed. He could feel it calling him as surely as he felt the wind against his back and the weight of Satori at his hip. It was out there ahead of him somewhere, far off but he would reach it.
Behind him, well, that was better left unremembered. A land full of a thousand minor humiliations, ruled by petty kings with no understanding of true majesty. Venal nobles who behaved like merchants, merchants who behaved like yakuza, criminals who swaggered like samurai, the whole social order of these western lands was out of joint. Since the debacle in Bloodeye, it seemed every encounter they’d had with authority in these lands had been a source of frustration and embarrassment. Ahead, Kumori could look forward to Kushar and possibly Mung Li, lands that, though not so civilized as Kaidan, at least had more understanding of true culture.
And he had found allies. More importantly, he had found friends. He felt the closest kinship to Smriti, similarly cast away in a foreign land and separated in time from her family, but Dorrak and Iz’alma had earned his trust and even his grudging affection. The priest Ignatius and the wizard Ian were both still new to him and unfamiliar, but they acquitted themselves well and had shown themselves to be trustworthy.
He had a course again, a purpose. He had companions. He had a budding understanding of what, perhaps, he really needed to carry back to Kaidan. The rest he could improvise. For now, he would simply relish the sensation of feeling content.