“There was a foul smell on the wind. So, I followed it,” he said smiling.
“What does my Captain want this night?” asked the Ghost.
“We have a problem, you and I,” he said as Jaro dumped the last of the pots overboard.
“Oh? And what is that?” he asked.
“Last night, two of my crew members fought, both of them almost dying,” he said.
“How is that my concern?”
“Do you not remember? One of the conditions of my tolerance is that you were to provide sport for my men to avoid this very situation. Now, should we be attacked, or have the opportunity to attack, we will be short two men. And that could be enough to sway the outcome. I cannot risk the loss of more,” said Captain Agorro, allowing his implied meaning to hang.
“How do you propose we remedy it?” asked Jaro.
“Easily enough. You will get into a fight with my first mate tomorrow after breakfast. He will pummel you, hopefully not to death, and end up sating the bloodlust within my crew,” he said.
“And what if I will not fight him?”
“I think that you will. You see, any man who was truly wanting to die would not have kept up so thoroughly with his tasks. Right now, your value to me alive is greater than your value dead. Should you refuse to fight him, then your value will considerably lessen,” he said pausing for a brief moment, “and I will kill you.”
“Sounds like I do not have much of a choice,” said The Ghost.
“Sure you do. But I think you will make the right one. You should go to sleep and get some rest. First mate Yhojdo has a greater temper than my own,” Said Captain Agorro as he turned and walked away leaving Jaro to contemplate the beating in his future.
Yhojdo was impressively brutal. Jaro had over heard stories told by the other crew members of the numerous times they had seen Yhojdo fight, mostly on the tail end of a drunken bender in the port tavern against some unfortunate man or men who mistakenly interpreted his disheveled appearance as a sign of the overall disorganization in all areas of his life. And while their interpretation would have been correct regarding nearly everything about Yhojdo, it could not have been farther away from the precision of his fighting. He was a natural born pugilist excelling with a variety of weapons, but none were more efficient at dealing out damage than his two hands. However, as great as Yhojdo’s martial, unarmed prowess was, it measured lacking against the resolute will of a man who had nothing left in his life except his mission.
It had been nearly a year since his wife and daughter were brutally murdered, but it felt much longer. And though most of that time was spent in the service of the Thieves’ Guild, he was still considered a relative novice. Perhaps that was the very reason he was selected for this particular mission, or perhaps the Guild Master saw that Jaro’s particular set of skills were perfectly set for their most recent contract’s completion. It was likely that he would never know, but motivations for selections were beyond the young thief’s concern. For there was one thing on his mind, and one thing only – stealing a very specific and precious map from Captain Agorro’s personal quarters and delivering it safely to the Thieves’ Guild. As such, every bone jarring punch he took to his face, every wind expelling kick he took to his stomach, and every slam he took into the ship wall, he saw as one step closer to finding the map and completing his mission.
Though the fight ended with Yhojdo standing over him as he struggled to breathe, it was anything but lopsided. Within the first twenty seconds of being provoked, it was clear who the victor would be, but that did not mean Jaro had to make it easy for the first mate. Though Jaro landed few punches, and those he did were largely ineffective, he was able to deliver something much more divisive, embarrassment. You see, Yhojdo was not a favorite amongst the crew and when he was unable to finish the young man, a relative new comer, the men began to mock him and switch their encouragement to Jaro. Of course, this enraged the pugilist more, which just gave Jaro more ammunition. However, fight as he did, Jaro’s physical ability to withstand damage and continue on was limited much more than his opponent’s anger and determination to make a point. And that point was made with one final punch, a brutal uppercut lifting Jaro clear off his feet. However, the damage had already been done and Jaro had won his position, not only as a crew member, but in legend through the stories that would be told for as long as The Gauntlet continue to sail. As great as our appreciation is for those who possess overt power, greater it is for those whose power is able to withstand brutality and still get back up.
The initial altercation occurred in the morning hours, and it was a good thing too, because Jaro required several hours to recover enough to sit up in the bed his two crewmates had deposited him in. As expected, he was roughly dropped without even having a blanket put over him, or his several severe bruises and lacerations tended to. Pirates were many things, but nurturing was not one of them. However, the successful completion of his mission did not require mercy, nor caring, nor tenderness of any kind. Rather, it required one and only one thing - opportunity. And because of the events of this morning, he now had it.
It was impossible for him to know what time it was when his eyes opened beyond that it was night. To remain as unseen as possible, a necessity for proper pirating, all of the lanterns were extinguished after the remnants of the setting sun had passed allowing for a completely black sky. Another component to his successful recipe was his beating. No one expected him to be awake, let alone to be up and walking around at night after the pounding he received. As such, if someone did look in his direction resulting from a mistimed squeak in the old flooring, he would simply grunt pretending to be any one of the other crew.
As expected, the captain’s quarters were located at the stern of the boat behind a locked door. Though his right eye was completely swollen shut, his left eye was intentionally spared and could still focus well enough to see the small keyhole. From his shirt pocket, he produced a small set of lockpicks he had stolen a few weeks ago from one of the crew members when he was cleaning his sleeping quarters. Though his head was thick and he had a small ringing in his left ear, he was still able to hear and feel the small click for each of the tumbles within the lock.
Inside, he saw Captain Agorro sleeping soundly, faintly snoring and lightly holding an empty glass flask of what he assumed was rum, or possibly another form of fermented liquid. At the foot of his rather ornate bed, the head of which had several sharks and other known sea life carved into it, was a matching footlocker. No doubt used to keep most of his more valuable possessions safely behind multiple locks, this ornate footlocker was not the object of Jaro’s quest. Rather, it was a very small and very solid metal lock box. The captain was nothing if not unorthodoxly brilliant. As such, while another captain might have thought his map would have been safer behind two set of locks, Captain Agorro thought otherwise. Glancing around the room, being careful not to disturb even the air to breathe, Jaro found it safely resting on the night stand on the opposite side of the room next to several unrolled maps. During a pirate raid, this small box would have been likely discarded as unimportant in favor of the larger and overtly important footlocker; however, this was not a raid, and he was not a pirate. He was a thief, and thieves were taught and counted on for their ability to know the owners of their prize.
He walked over to the night table and picked up the small metal box. It was completely unmarked and appeared to have no relevance to anything whatsoever. There was a small lock on the outside, but it could easily be compromised by a small dagger and a minimal amount of strength. As he crept silently across the room once again, reaching the door, he heard the faint sounds of a key being slid into the keyhole. Had the door opened outward, there would have been nowhere for Jaro to hide; however, Captain Agorro’s insistence that it open inward allowed him to conceal himself behind it. But it was not his quick thinking, nor the Captain’s paranoia that saved him. Rather, it was routine. Part of the first mate’s duty was to make sure there was no
mutiny each night. And while this was an important duty and required severe attention, it had been dulled over the repetitive years of everything being well and good so much so that the first mate simply opened the door, looked in for a moment, and then closed it after he saw the Captain’s sleeping body safely on his bed. Had he taken the time a task of this import demanded, he would have seen Jaro’s eye in the crack of the door hinges and finished what he began that morning.
As it was, he remained unseen inside the room as well as outside while he was lowering one of the row boats down to the water. It was this very same routine that prevented the cooks from noticing that a small portion of their food had disappeared from their stores each night for the last few weeks. Jaro had, anticipating his opportunity could occur at any time, begun stealing small amounts of food and storing it in the covered rowboat he had chosen to make his escape in. As he rowed away from The Gauntlet, he knew he would never again have any contact with it, Captain Agorro, and any of his crew. Indeed, his description would be spread throughout the pirating community quickly and not so quietly. No doubt this would compromise some of his thieving for the Thieves’ Guild; however, the recognition and renown that was sure to follow he judged as worth it. When he delivered the small box, still locked and untampered with, he was not told where its contents led. He was simply paid and dismissed. As he exited the guild leader’s private chamber deep within the guild interior, Jaro saw him place it on a small shelf. When next he entered the same room, a week hence, he noticed it was gone. Cleary this had been a contracted theft, but the benefactor remained unknown to him. It appeared he was not the only ghost to plague The Gauntlet.
But now, as his eyes grew heavy regardless of his anxiety, he felt the plague of being a thief land heavy and hard upon whatever hopes he had to escape it. He had been so close, so close to living beyond its confining borders and ever watchful eyes, so close to vaccinating himself against its collateral damage. He became a thief to forget, but now, after meeting her, he wished he had never been one at all. Remembering the pain he had gone through before he was a thief, he knew it would be equaled to the pain he was going to feel because he was a thief. As he turned his head toward where she was sleeping, taking in all of her easy breathing and peacefulness, a single tear formed in his right eye. He wept, quietly that night, not because of what he had done, but because of what he was going to do. After all, he was nothing if not a thief.
Satani
(Fallen)
In the beginning, there was God. The objective constant through which all things became; but in Him, all things already were, and all things always would be. And through His completed existence, there was the fullness of love, for God was love, is love, and will always be love. So, as a natural consequence of being love, God created, for that is what love does, it creates out of its abundance. And there was never so much abundant nature than the Love of God.
And here we see that God created the heavens and earth, but substance was not yet so, for the void still existed, however, the canvas had been set. Such things as time, space, order, soul, and expression were the necessities upon which He would paint Him as a created completion of all aspects and likenesses of Himself. Yet, He lacked a brush, if it could be considered lack for, truly, He possessed all and needed nothing. But Love, for He is Love, reigned and thus, He created His brush through which He would pour His own faith through and paint the most beautiful of beauties that there would ever be. He spoke and said “Let there be light,” and the light was.
“I shall call you Lucifer, for you will bring light upon the darkness. I will imbue My faith through you and together we shall create all that there will be, for that is what light does, it creates,” said God to his created Lightbringer. And he did bring the light, for what brush would be worthy of God if not the most splendid aspect of Himself. In Lucifer, God bestowed all beauty and perfection in shape and form and granted him a seat of worthiness at His table of abundance and plenty. Wielding His brush with utter power and faith, each stroke reflecting Love before such words were subjectively interpreted, God brought the substance of Himself into the void allowing all worlds to become. And they were magnificent and good.
But God was still Love and could not be finished because Love never ends. So, He poured forth His power once again and created a likeness of Himself He called man. In this man, he placed His three objective aspects of existence, His body, His mind, and His will. And thus, man was the very reflection of God’s perfect image having all three circles of existence completed within him. Upon seeing this, for Lucifer was still the brush though which God created, he questioned for he knew he was lacking a will, a soul of independent action. But he did not dismay because he trusted in his God and continued following His will.
Then God saw man and knew it would not be good for man to be alone, for in man was the nature of love which is to love, and creating an environment wherein man’s nature would be denied would be no reflection of love. So, from man, though he had already been created perfect and complete, God pulled the set of qualities meant to complement those He left. Using the very flesh and bone from the man, He formed those qualities into another being of three circles and called her woman, for that is what they were, the compliments to each other. And then, after God had judged the whole of His creation as completed, He rested, as did Lucifer.
And the rest lasted and lasted. Day after day and night after night, Lucifer found himself by himself without the communion of his Creator, a communion that was as splendid as Lucifer was perfect. Yet still he trusted and believed that one day He would end his rest and they would create again. But that day did not come, at least, it did not come when Lucifer expected it. So, he sought out God and found him communing with the man and woman inside a garden of utmost perfection, a garden Lucifer himself has created at the behest of God. And while in that garden, he heard God say He had given it, indeed all of creation, to the man and woman as a sign of His love for them.
“Am I not worthy of You? Am I not worthy of all You have done through me?” he asked as he sat alone in the garden next to The Tree of Life and The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. “Did I not create exactly what You had me create? Do I not compare greater than those who consume your time and attention? Am I not worthy to have dominion over that which we created? I see myself set on the scales of judgement opposing the original two and see it resoundingly tip, nay, cascade in my favor. Am I not more splendid in my resonance of light than they? Am I not more beautiful to behold, possessing a greater understanding of Your world? Would I not reign more righteously and thoroughly than them who lack the brilliance You have given me? And yet, You have judged them more worthy than I for Your presence and Grace. What justice is there when the created has been judged more worthy than the creator?” But he did not hear His response. Nay, he did not hear anything, for soon after the silence following his question spoke more loudly than any of his bellowing ever would, or could, he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke, he was somewhere he did not recognize. And although it was completely foreign to him, he knew where he was. After all, being the brush of God, the very Lightbringer of creation, he knew everywhere except that which was before him. And there was only one place before him. So, when he heard the low rumble of Lacorion’s voice, the Dragon of Souls, The Dragon King of The Five speak, he was not surprised.
“Devlo, Lucifer, (You have deviated, Lightbringer),” said the Dragon King.
“Quess? (How),” asked Lucifer.
“Entendi ergossi co summos (Your intent is to create with humility),” spoke Lacorion.
“Quess summos enpritis? (How has humility been broken?),” Lucifer asked in response.
“Esthoss quess (Through questioning),” replied Molorok who had taken a position next to Lacorion.
“Esthoss quess ascuum huunoss (Through questioning comes knowledge),” challenged Lucifer, looking to Molorok.
“Illuso (False),” said The Dragon of Time, Oross, “Huunoss ascuum esthoss Fata e Godra
go (Knowledge comes through Faith in God).”
“Enon co Fata, dra enon pranno desin Godrago (Without Faith, you cannot follow God),” said Lacorion, continuing Oross’s sentiment.
“Asconseq Dra enon pranno desin Godrago (Then I cannot follow God),” announced Lucifer after a long pause that hung in the air thick with its implications. After another pause, allowing the weight of his words to settle, he continued, “Cuso Godrago enon entendi (because God has no intent).”
After hearing his words, The Five spoke as one, “Godrago Gratis co Godok enon dra (God’s Grace and Power is not yours). Dra enon dra Godrago Dra (You cannot be where God Is). Enon Dra Lucifer. Dra Satan (You are no longer The Lightbringer. You are The Fallen).”
And he fell. From Grace, from light, from faith, from power and goodness, he fell from God and into the place where God was not and faith’s reign was absent. Like a misery induced comet, the brightest shooting star in heaven descended into a plane void of everything. And though with God, he had created everything including even the very farthest reaches of space, he had no knowledge of this place for it existed outside of Love, without Love. And that which was without Love, was without God. And that which was without God, could not be known, until now.
He searched for the presence of glorious belonging he had felt when he was wielded to stroke the very colors of life and being into existence. He vetted his mind and body for any indication and link to his Creator, The Creator, in the hope that he could be rescued and saved, but the saving of life was not for him, only its creation. And thus, he was left alone to wallow in pity and suffering for ages without count. For that is what is left when there is nothing granting the exercising of action through the iteration of the will, a will he was lacking.
Through the ages of silence and void induced madness, Satan (The Fallen) for that is what he had become and the only name he identified with, relived the memories of his time with, and now without God, for so long that the presence of love God blessed him with had dissolved away only to be replaced by the crippling, perceived act of God’s betrayal. The stark difference between existing as The Light, the one whom God would wield, and he who was cast out, could not possibly be over stated nor adequately expressed by any language that ever existed or would exist. It was as if he lived in a state of constant and lingering suffocation so intense, it was not only his lungs that were burning, but the very blood they were supposed to imbue with their life-giving air. So tormented had his mind become, that he did not just succumb to that torture, but became it.
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