Acquiescence

The tavern is not the nicest in Port Kar, or even in the area of the unnamed canal on which it resides. It is quiet, frequented mostly by regular patrons. The food, honestly, is terrible, but it is honest. Honestly terrible, even. There is no wine to speak of, but the keeper will augment the usual paga with a vat of kal-da on the weekends. One of the main reasons I chose to stay here was the keeper's acquiescence to boarding Tasta. "It is a quiet place, she'll keep it that way," he said. Of course the acquiescence, like the ability to tie my small boat to the dock at the side of the tavern, increases my rent a bit - but it is not unreasonable. I think, in addition to the security a sleen can bring an establishment, the keeper is allowing Tasta stay for one, overarching reason. She doesn't think his food is terrible at all. The monster still needs her exercise, so I make use of the few narrow passages and alleyways available to foot traffic in the vicinity of the tavern each morning. Once, I made the suggestion she swim alongside my small boat, thinking that might be fun for her. The sleen took one look and about half of one sniff of the canal and stared at me as if I had two heads. I am pretty sure she understood the suggestion, and her stare was an irrefutable refusal to entertain the notion. Cheeky monster.

Acclimation

Underneath this smile lies everything.
All my hopes and anger, pride and shame.
I'll make myself a pact,
Not to shut doors on the past.
Just for today, I am free.

"Why are you here, of all places?" is the question I ask myself most these days. It is not to say that my room above a non-descript tavern in Port Kar is not sufficient to meet my needs. I have a window that overlooks a long, winding canal. In the morning, before the fog rolls away, I enjoy opening the poorly painted shutters to watch the more industrious of vendors and merchantmen poling their little boats and gondolas toward another workday. There are few streets or land-based thoroughfares in Port Kar. Most own some form of watercraft, be it only a raft, to get from here to there. It is an adjustment for a man of Ar, used to tree-lined boulevards and impressively wide avenues, or even filthy, prostitute-filled alleyways, to get used to. You find, quite quickly, however, that the scarcity of sidewalks does little to impede their citizens. There is even a market, I am told, that gathers around a monument to the 25th of Se'Kara, the day Port Kar claimed her Home Stone. Unlike the impressive figure of Hesius in the Great Square of Ar, this monument is erected in the middle of a large, inland lake, in the the vicinity of the city's arsenal. The trades and bartering of market day are done almost exclusively from the decks and planks of the vendors various boats and rafts, each abutting one another in close proximity, the crowding an accepted and even anticipated coming together of humanity.

I will not lose my faith.
It's an inside job today.
I know this one thing well...
I used to try and kill love.
It was the highest sin.
Breathing insecurity...out and in.

I purchased a small boat yesterday. Nothing all that impressive. It is painted bottle green and is navigated with a single oar. Often, the oar is used as a pole, as many of the canals in the city are quite narrow, and some are deceptively shallow. Though it is unimpressive, the fellow that sold it to me pointed out the advantages. "Pretty floaters get to bein' stole tha' much quicker," he pointed out. It made sense. The rental of my room increased a bit with the privilege of docking my 'floater' to the tavern's moorings. Not that I have a private slip or anything. It just knocks around with the other boats, one more rope amidst many. Still, it makes me smile to see it bob in the shallow canal with the others. I suppose a sturdy boat in a city like Port Kar is much like a trusted pair of sandals in most other cities.

Searching hope, I am shown the way to run straight.
Pursuing the greater way for all...human light.
Holding on, the light of night,
On my knees to rise and fix my broken soul...again.

I will work my way out to the market around midday, acclimate myself further to the watery 'streets' of Port Kar on the way. There are literally hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of canals that bisect one another in nothing that resembles sensible right angles. This city is like most. It is illegal to create a map, and it is a capital offense. While the city is eager to welcome strangers, it is not so amenable as to let them draw up directions to their rich and famous. Not to mention their armory or other strategic points of interest. Most, despite their reputation for inhospitability, are more than happy to point you in some direction if you simply ask. You might not get where you intended upon going, but you will undoubtedly find yourself in some place of interest.

Let me run into the rain,
To become a human light again.
Let me run into the rain,
To shine a human light today.
Life comes from within your heart and desire.

*lyrics from 'Inside Job' by Pearl Jam

Port Kar

I have never understood why they are called 'round' ships, but I am told it has something to do with being wider through the beam than the 'ram' ship, which is more suitable for war than cargo and transport. I still imagine something more literally round, somehow, or at least ovoid, right up until the moment I see one of them anchored to the docks. The Drums of Tabor was a twin-masted craft with a crew of twenty four, including officers and sailors. I signed on to be the twenty-fifth. There were, of course, a few hundred slaves manning the oars. I make no claim of exemplary service to the Drums of Tabor. Szol of the Poets, though he appreciates the beauty of Thassa, well understands her disdain for him. The Captain was a good sort, and said he knew my name. This is always, still, a surprise to me. He did not know me for my songs, nor even my plays, for which I was not disheartened. While it is pleasant to be remembered for a verse or a well-written turn of phrase, my hope is that such things are savored most keenly in the moment, as they happen, when they are the most relevant, the most timely. It turns out that a crew member of his was in the City of Ar several years ago, and was served by a whore in the Anbar District.

"Paaarsha, ewned by a blook cawled So-luff-ahr," the Captain told me, doing his best impression of his First Mate's accent. After getting a look at the First Mate, I can't say I remember him, so I don't know in what capacity Portia served him, or if she served him at all. It is best not to gainsay the details of a man's memory, for two reasons. First, if he had been served by the 'Earner,' then at some point in time his coin made its way to my pocket, and I am grateful for that. Second, he clearly knew the girl and who owned her at the time. The Boarding House had become a tourist destination, it seemed, at least while it lasted. Several of the girls gained a bit of celebrity, though I would never have encouraged such a thing.

The upside of it all is this; the memory of a whore, and the respect for that whore's owner, allowed me to sell my service to the Drums of Tabor in exchange for passage to Port Kar, Jewel of Gleaming Thassa. I've booked a room here, above a tavern overlooking one of the countless canals. How long I will stay here, I do not know. Strangely, at this point in my life, it feels as if I am precisely where I am meant to be. A bit dingy, and the stench will take time to get used to, but still...precisely where I am meant to be.