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How I laughed and I laughed and I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.

Yet--

Coin is coin.

They can twist the reality of the world with a swirl of their fingers or the mutter of a few words. They can wield force fields, fireballs, and death itself.

Yet mages can be so ridiculously inane and neurotic. Spending so much time talking nothing of substance or speaking mad drivel.

Seeing the ones standing tallest fall is always the most amusing. Even when they do not realize it or refuse to acknowledge such. Hearing one speak so surely of things they do not comprehend always makes me laugh a little inside.

He said the words with his voice tinged with terror and malice and hatred. Clearly he thinks it something to be avoided, shunned, looked down upon: "You are better than such base deceptions".

What is deception but a shield absorbing a blow so that you are not injured? Or deflecting aside an attack with your own blade? Or simply jumping out of the way of an arrow? After all, if you are true and righteous, why not let the axe strike your limb? Why not let the arrow land upon your skin? Why not let the fireball burn you?

Deception is being elsewhere than where your foe strikes. Deception is striking where your foe does not know where you will strike. Deception is, like he did, not answering a question directly, only offering coy responses, or not even offering an answer at all. Deception is a degree, a choice, an action shifted from the present.

Deception is merely existing in proximity to another's ignorance. And ignorance is a thing in ample supply where thinking creatures exist.

No one is better than such base deceptions for we all employ them one way or another. We all exist in a world where certain truths exist that we would rather they not. And we all exist in a world where we work actively to change the present.

The one he said those words to is a wise girl. And surrounded by wiser friends and compatriots. She will know that his words grind up against reality.

But him? He acknowledged that others thought him deluded. Perhaps that means he can come to the same realization.

Like potions of discipline, but for concentration.

"tHaT'S aGaiNsT thE lAw."

Turn about is fair play. But, of course, a table that turns once can turn again. And again. And again.

And a thing that turns, naturally, can turn quickly. Or slowly. I consider myself a patient woman and, frankly, the apparent fallout I have been getting to witness has been amusing enough as it is.

Sometimes, the greatest fun is watching things unfold as you refuse to apply the brakes.

~ ~ ~

Digging through ash and sand. Stabbing harpies in the back. Dodging undead. Speaking half-random words at a giant stone head with eyes that eerily seem to be following you.

What a romantic outing.

~ ~ ~

So I wrote that I need to stop gambling with mages. But what can I do about the most interesting and eccentric of people being attracted to the most queer of arts?

I have not done anything concrete yet. But poking at her eccentricities was incredibly amusing and should the opportunity present itself I doubt I would be able to resist.

Besides, being around someone so loose with their coin purse is a great way to make money.

You can learn a lot about a man by how he behaves in a parlay. Not that there is anything wrong with striking from surprise. But knowing that one's attitude and personality allows for such is very useful information.

I do not mind working with--for--him. Why not take advantage of a situation where I can double dip? Coin is coin. So long as I am useful, I am valuable. But I certainly shall not trust him enough to carelessly turn my back on him.

I need to stop gambling against mages.

"Those of the Warrior want to be warriors."

I tell myself not to presume too much. Not to forget that beneath the surface of waves is an entire underwater world. That there is likely more to the simpleton, the idiot, the zealot.

And, yet, I am still caught off guard now and then. Yet again I am reminded that I, too frequently, judge too much of a book by its cover.

Despite her rough edges and her tendency to focus like an arrow upon a single thing in the distance, there is an elaborate and mysterious elegance to her. She has lived a tale of high drama and deep perseverance. Behind her empty thousand-yard stare are the experiences that would have broken most men. She is a gem of numerous facets buried beneath dirt and gravel and sand and ash.

I knew I liked her for a reason.

~ ~ ~

Narwen's brother is quite the sight. I hope he visits the Well more often.

Typical. I put my thoughts down in elegant and beautiful prose and it suddenly all falls apart a few days later.

When I saw the Condottiero march up to him yelling and screaming as if he was personally responsible for the death of a hundred family members, I wondered what it was he had done. The answer, a few hours later would reveal, it turns out: the exact same thing he did last time. Just how many dead women was he going to display upon the floor of the Chamber of Rule?

Yet again I am given another reason to be very assured in my decision to keep him at and beyond arm's length.

I suppose I should not have been surprised he repeated his actions. He was not exactly reprimanded in any meaningful way for the first time. If I was in his position, I would think I could get away with it again and again. But, it turns out, there are those in the Balladeer's College who do indeed have spines stiff enough to hold up their principles.

The fallout has been calamitous. And I am not merely speaking of the Wyrm taking the opportunity to invade the Palatial Pyramid. Three dead. One seemingly gone to ground with no traces left to follow. I wonder if he left of a broken heart, his relationship with her certainly seemed to have something underlying its surface. But that might just be my gossipy mind at work.

The web has, very suddenly, become very still and silent. I can feel my mind growing a little mad at the sudden loss of interesting stimulation.

At least I have her and her demands to amuse me.

Everyone thinks themselves smarter than they truly are. Everyone thinks themselves more clever, luckier, cunning than they truly are. Than others.

I sit and I watch and I smirk and I laugh as others around me spin their webs, work their machinations, grip knife in hand, and try to maneuver to get clear sight of backs not pressed against walls.

A spider's web is a precarious thing, however, there is a reason most spiders are isolated, independent creature who do not care to share the silver-threaded homes they work so hard to build. One strong gust of wind, one slip of a leg, one person acting more out of anger than sense, and suddenly the web is no longer a beautiful mosaic of line and shapes, but a tangle of strangling rope. A net of nooses around many necks.

One makes a mistake and they end up falling far enough to snap their neck. But everyone else? They get to experience the joy and rush of choking as the dead weight pulls them down to whatever dark oblivion waits far below.

I am enjoying the show. But I need to remember I am not the only spider on the web.

I am not surprised that things resolved as they did with him. Disappointed? A little. But this is for the best. I do not need to lose another ring finger.

He will be fine. I was not even the first in the Well to make him suffer. Besides, quite frankly, his expectations--once we discussed such things in greater detail--are even a little unrealistic. It is clear he is from a world not like this. Amusingly, it is not him saying demons regularly fall out of the sky of his old world that I found most bemusing but his fairy-tale standards and expectations .

I have, after all, always been the sort of woman who likes to keep my options open as long as possible.

~ ~ ~

Business is booming.

As much as I enjoy his company and find his brazen, brash behaviour amusing, I knew there was a reason why I could never fully trust him--apart from him being of the Banda Rossa, of course. Because I do not wish to end up like her. He must have promised her so much. He must have promised her the same things he promised me: glory, riches, family.

Family.

I learned from one family that trust can always be broken, that one's back can be turned on blood or oath. It was a hard, painful lesson and I will always be wary of family because of how much it stung.

And, so, I was familiar with the sadness I felt when I heard the news of a family dispute within the Banda Rossa turning tragic: what a loving father, brother, husband he is to kill his own mother, sister, wife.

To hoist the corpse up like a shield. To dump all of his own sins into it. To point at it as a scapegoat. To use her blood and flesh like camouflage to mask his escape.

I am not surprised that her fate is as it is. But yet I am still disappointed by his actions.

But why? Even if denied, maybe his many promises still planted some small seed of hope in me? Maybe I was sympathetic to her, yet another woman betrayed?

Or, maybe, because I have come to realize the reason I could never fully trust him: because he is so much like me.

I would have done the same to her if I was in his position. And I would have taken her knife to add to my own collection.

Why must the most interesting people--

Nevermind. She was not that interesting. Just very amusing. Very entertaining. I will miss her enthusiasm for creating havoc but the more time I spent with her the more I realized she was quite the psychopath.

~ ~ ~

It is sad, really, when others do not carefully examine the behaviours and thoughts of others. And even sadder when people do not practice introspection. And, yet again, even sadder when people struggle to realize (or more importantly, struggle to accept) the reality around them.

That poor woman and that brave little boy. The answer was clear and plain enough, was it not? But no one dared to say it. Why did her husband die? Why did her daughter die? Because their deaths were considered acceptable losses, their deaths were the better of the many worse alternatives. And the reason for everybody else's inaction? Because obtaining the perfect result, obtaining "justice" requires too much effort, requires too many inconvenient obstacles to be overcome, requires even more sacrifices.

None of those confronted by the boy replied with the lesson he would need to bear the weight of the world he lived in. None of them, perhaps, wanted to admit they have yet to learn the lesson themselves.

Well, there is at least one other person who understands the harshness demanded by practicality and reality. It is a good thing she was no where near the boy, however, because she would have most certainly made the boy cry even harder.

~ ~ ~

A miserable pile of secrets?

How rude. I am not miserable in the slightest.

Again--why must the most interesting people get themselves killed?

All the ways we are similar to one another. All the ways we are different. One hated the other and part of me wonders if it is because were it not for certain timing and circumstance, they could have been the same people. It is much easier to hate others when they embody what we hate about ourselves, after all.

I was looking forward to seeing how their relationship would develop. If it could be called a relationship. Two fascinating personalities conflicting with one another, conflicting with the anathema in the other. Would one eventually destroy the other? Would the other manage to assuage or avoid the apparent bloodlust? How would ti me tame the other, enrage the other?

Writing of time, I may be running out with him. He did say he would only wait so long, which is entirely fair of him. I do not know what to tell him. Mostly because I do not know what I feel. Such involvement with others seems like a foolish thing considering my track record.

His reaction to death and loss has me thinking keeping him at an arm's length is better. Both for myself and him. Considering my irresistible attraction to danger and gambling, being entangled with him would make things more complicated. Escape and obfuscation, if and when ever is needed, would be more difficult with him holding me back.

Besides, is he even all that interesting?

I suppose just a little.