Sheaf, Part Five

The cleric Karin caught my attention immediately, and when we left the town of Halfbridge, we left together.  She, too, was traveling on a quest to learn more about the world, and we spent many nights staying up entirely too late into the night, debating various scientific theories whilst the campfire burned down to glowing embers.

I would not say that I was in love, exactly, but I admit to a fascination.  Rarely in the life of Joseff had I met anyone with the same passion for knowledge and solving mysteries that I had, and Karin had that passion to spare.  Without a doubt, though, the largest mystery that I faced during that time was that of Karin herself.

Karin laughed, a rich, pleasant sound that made the woods around them seem more alive.  "I thought he was going to drop of a heart attack," she said.  "The look on his face!"

Sheaf chuckled, nodding.  "I told him that he'd get caught, didn't I?"

Karin lay back, peering at the stars through the clearing in the canopy of leaves overhead.  "You always seem to have another trick up your sleeve, Sheaf.  Sometimes, I think you surprise even yourself."

Sheaf shrugged, poking at the fire with a long stick.  "Sometimes I do."

She turned on to her side, peering at him.  "So what is the mystery of the great Sheaf, then?  We've journeyed for months, and I still feel like I hardly know you."

The touch of a frown appeared on Sheaf's face as he murmured, almost inaudibly, "I feel the same way."  Then, it was gone, replaced by a wry smile.  "This from Karin, lady of secrets, cleric of a nameless God and scientist of an unspecified field of study."

It was her turn to frown, now, and the two lapsed into an ever-so-slightly-uncomfortable silence.  They had seemed to wordlessly agree long ago that each of them would refrain from digging into each others past, but the topic still occasionally arose, usually in jest.  Each time, Sheaf felt a pang of paranoia, a need he didn't fully understand to keep his abilities, and the very nature of his existence, private.  Each time, he also felt that he desperately needed to give some of himself up, in order to learn more about this intelligent, skilled woman he traveled with.  Each time, he felt as if he needed to learn more about her, for some important reason he couldn't quite figure out.  And then, there was the Itch.

The Itch was a misnomer, of course.  He didn't have the words to adequately define the feeling that began to originate in the back of his head whenever he was faced with some mystery, some secret, until it reverberated throughout his skull.  It was a combination of a maddening itch that one couldn't scratch, and the feeling of bashing your funny bone against a stone wall, and the feeling of goosebumbs on his very brain.  It was all of these, and a thousand more things, and it was none of these.

It was absolutely maddening.

When the Itch presented, there was nothing he could do about it but search down the truth of whatever was hidden from him.  At the same time, however, he had no way of learning anything about Karin that she wasn't willing to disclose, and, as often as they talked, personal information of any real caliber rarely left her lips.  Oh, certainly, he knew that her favorite flower was the lily, and she had an uncanny ability to cook extravagantly spicy orcish food, but such tidbits of information did nothing, less than nothing, to scratch the maddening Itch that reverberated through him.

Of course, she was hardly the only cause of the Itch.  Anytime he entered a new town or city, it would inevitably come.  Sometimes, the pleasant times, he'd be able to do something about it.  The two of them, working together, would often track down truths, sometimes in the field, solving crimes or answering calls for adventurers, sometimes in libraries, researching the history or geography of the local area.

Figuring out whatever knowledge was hidden from him dissolved the Itch in a wave of ecstasy.  Waves of pleasure radiated out from his brain to the tips of his being, bringing forth a nearly orgasmic sense of satisfaction.  It was never enough, though.  Often, mere hours later, the Itch would begin again as some new secret was brought to his attention, either consciously or subconsciously.

Sheaf looked up, studying the stars as well, and wondered--not for the first time--if he was going insane.  Or, perhaps, if he already was.  His reminiscing was interrupted by a loud yawn, and he looked over to see Karin pulling her wool blanket over herself.  "I'm going to turn in," she said.

He nodded.  "Wake me up in the morning if I try to oversleep."

She snorted sarcastically.  "You?  Oversleep?  Never."

He chuckled under his breath as she turned over, her back to the fire, and began to drift to sleep, as his head returned to troubled thoughts.  Most predominantly of them all, of course, was the same question, the same maddening cause of the Itch that had followed him on-and-off again for months:  Who am I?

Sheaf, Part Four

Note:  This is Part Four of the story.  Part Three can be found here.

I wasn't entirely certain where I was going, but it didn't seem to matter at the time.  I merely needed to move, to seek out something...not new, but new to me.  It was more difficult than you might think, however.  I'd enter towns miles away that the human Joseff had never even thought to travel near, but only to remember only a few short moments later that I had been there, in fact, in my thirtieth incarnation, or my fifth, or any other of my iterations.  It was quite frustrating, because, especially during the beginning period of my transformation, my full memories as Sheath were not available to me, only surfacing at times that sometimes seemed incredibly random.

Sheaf paused, reading the small sign above the door, labeling the building as 'The Last Cow'.  He nodded to himself, grateful to find a tavern after days of hard marching on the road.  He gripped the hilt of Veracity, just in case, and entered the pub.

The Last Cow was kept quite dim inside, with each of the windows heavily shuttered, and the only light coming from old-fashioned torches on the walls.  Still, the room seemed cool, somehow, and was a welcome relief from the oppressive, smothering heat outside.

He took a seat at the bar.  "An ale, please," he called to the barman, reaching into his purse for some copper and throwing it on the table.  Not for the first time, he was glad that he had been able to convince the morticians to release to him all of the former Sheaf's belongings, including his considerable carrying money--had he been forced to rely fully on Joseff's personal wealth...well, it was really good that he hadn't been forced to rely fully on Joseff's personal wealth.  He nodded at the barman as the tankard of ale was slid to him, and took a large drink of the cold, refreshing bevarage.

"Interesting contrast, isn't it?" he heard a female voice say, and he turned to see a small woman slide in the seat next to him.  She was rather pretty, in a stern kind of way, with her brown hair pulled into a tight bun, and a pair of square spectacles perched on her pert nose.

"What's that?"  he asked.

"The contrast this little tavern offers.  In an age of engineering wonders, we see that The Last Cow has rebelled against the ideas of sunrods, powered lights, or any other form of technological lighting, utilizing only torches for illumination.  However, by some feat of magic or technology, they are able to keep the room completely cool and comfortable on one of the hottest days of the year."

Sheaf took another long drink.  "There's a flaw in your argument, ma'am."

"Oh?  And what would that be?"

"You seem to think that the use of torches are the equivalent of the use of a barbarian's club, completely lacking in refinement and intelligence.  On the contrary, the harnessing of fire is arguably the first technological advancement ever made by the sentient species."

She smiled, then, and Sheaf realized that he once again had the body of a very young man, and that logic and reason are oft-times no match for instinct and desire.  "The scholarly type?" she asked, "I do love an intelligent man."

"Oh, I don't know how much of a scholar I am," Sheaf said, wondering if he was able to blush, and knowing that he should know.

She laughed, and the strange holy symbol she wore around her neck sparkled in the torchlight as her head tilted back.  "All the same, it's an absolute pleasure to meet you.  My name is Karin."

"Well met," he said, returning the smile.  He glanced at the holy symbol she wore, which featured a pair of wickedly sharp -looking calipers, and felt the mental twitch that told him that he should know what that was.  "I'm unfamiliar with that symbol," he said, gesturing to it.

"Oh, this?" she picked up the symbol and fingered it reverently.  "I am a cleric of a god of science.  It's little known, but very important."

"Oh?  What's his name?"

She looked at him for a moment, as if pondering, before she shrugged.  "As far as I know, it doesn't have a name.  If it does, it's reserved for far more important beings than I to know about."

She didn't seem to be lying, but all the same, Sheaf felt like she was hiding something.  Still, her personal religious allegiances weren't any real concern of his, and it wasn't as if her symbol sported the skull and scythe of Nerull.

"Hey, why don't you take a walk?" he heard a gruff voice say behind him.  He turned to see a large, heavyset man with the muscles and callused hands of a farmer behind him, sporting a thick, wild beard and a balding head.

"I'm sorry?" Sheaf asked.

"The lady, here, is out of your league.  Take a walk.  I'd like to have a chat with her."

Sheaf glanced at Karin, who had her brows furrowed.  "Sorry, friend, but she doesn't much seem as though she wants to chat with you."

Even as the large fist smashed into the side of his face, Sheaf thought, I really should have seen that coming.  But it had happened so fast that there was no time to react, no time to prepare, just time to be thrown out of his chair and land on the peculiarly cold floor.  He stood, the edges of his vision turning red.  "Sybgib lufecrof!" he yelled, throwing his hand forward.  A giant, shining blue hand materialized before him, speeding towards the man and lifting him off his feet, before slamming him into the wall behind him.

A group of people at a table near where the assailant was now pinned all stood.  "Did you see what he did to Raph?" one of them said, and they all began approaching menacingly, each adding his own threat to a nearly indecipherable din.  A few of them looked at least apprehensive, but there were still six of them.

No matter, Sheaf thought, and he threw his hand before him again.  "Sygib lutecraft!"

Nothing happened.  Well, nothing happened that he wanted to happen.  The only real result was that the three members of the group approaching began to smile, apparently seeing no more danger, and the group as a whole picked up speed.

Thinking quickly, Sheaf drew Veracity, twirling it expertly in his hand before casually slashing the chair he stood next to.  The paper-thin blade sliced through the wood like a hot knife goes through butter, and the pieces of the chair fell to the ground.

"Do we really want to do this?" Sheaf asked.  "I don't know how fast the coffin-maker in this town is."

It turned out that no, they didn't really want to do this.