Stop Saying That

A month had passed since I dealt with the blackmailer with the annoying voice.  I had of course gotten back in the hunt for figuring out what was wrong with me, and once again forgotten to do basic things like shave, bathe, or sleep (seven days was my record, well I think it was my record, past a certain point things just kind of blend in to a massive mix of weird, like talking to a tree version of yourself weird).  Scrolls and various old books I and Valrya had accumulated over the years were laid scattered about my home, various potions were brewing, burning, and exploding everywhere.  My "bed" if you could call it that, was a blanket on the wood floor amongst the chaos.  My only contact with the outside world was the occaisional messenger dropping off missives from the Prince about something or another, and the shorty that my shop sent with my weekly stipend of money. Outside of that I was all alone with my research and damnation, a terrifying thought for anyone who's ever known me.

A knock at the door woke me from my most current bit of sleeping while still working moment.  I cocked one of my pistols and cautiously approached the door, earlier I'd had audio hallucinations (well either that or asshole kids banging on doors like the ruffian jerks they are) so I was on the defensive/crazy even more so than my normal bit of paranoia (on a scale of one to ten I'm normally a fifty, that day I was a hundred, yes I know when you set up a scale and start above it it makes the scale stupid). I looked through the peephole from an angle that would be hard to stab me in the eye from (I read that in a story once, or maybe I wrote that in a story once, either way I worry about getting stabbed in the eye), the person knocking on my door was Lisa the shorty who delivered my money (they used a shorty because everyone else I yelled at, shorties and I are a kindred group, they are slighted because of their height and tribal nature, and me because I'm an unrepetent murderer who's lived too long). Lisa had brown hair and olive toned skin, I've heard other shorties call her attractive, but I just didn't see it (and not just because she was short, though that definately played into it).

"You look awful." I'd opened the door a crack and ushered her inside, my neighbors didn't know I got a weekly delivery of money and I didn't want them to know, not that they cared, but still like I said earlier massively paranoid.

"I wish people would stop saying that."

"I wish you'd stop looking awful, look at this place Trezlan you have been going at this nonestop and you still aren't any closer to fixing whatever you are trying to fix." She picked up a discarded piece of paper and recoiled in disgust when she read the first sentence.

"That's not true, the other day I gave myself really bad gas, if I combine that with ignition, boom thats some fire ability!" I'll admit I was grasping at straws.

"You need to get out of this cottage, maybe find those blind guys."

"They are gone, I've tried! I can't find a single one, damned blind order of blind jack asses! How dare they do this to me!!!!" My rage wasn't really sustainable, between all the potions, smoking, and general insanity I've done as of late I'd lost a lot of my ability to maintain anything, let alone emotions.  I was lucky to stay on thought, if I didn't know what being crazy was like I'd assume this was being crazy.

"Look I've got something for you, but you have to promise me..." I was next to her in an instant my pistol drawn.

"Give it to me or I kill you."

"And here you go." It was a small envelope, it didn't smell funny or contain anything that jingled.  Behind me I heard Lisa cursing me and shutting the door, I'd have to repair the damage some other time (and by that I mean months later when I remembered I may have you know threatened to kill her).  The letter was from the Shining Darkness, it was a location, date and time.  Now ordinarily I'd be suspecting yet another trap, but this was different, I freaking knew it was a trap.  Either the blind jerks were setting me up, or the group that the annoying voiced blackmailer worked for were doing it. Whatever was going to happen I knew it was a trap, and yet for the chance to use magic again, I had to go.  Such is the nature of being addicted to power, even if you are going to be killed for showing up, you still have to show up for the chance at getting back on the power train.  One of these days I'm going to use this against someone else for a change, probably the same day I stop chasing problems and start creating them (well you know creating them on purpose).