A Wayfaring Stranger

[ABitOfVittle]

The Ramblings of a Lad.

---

Who would of thought that a town like this would be all the way out here? Better then the sands themselves, that's for sure. People seem nice, a whole community feeling.

Hope this pans out, can't think of many other places I can go.

Guess the desert is always an option, huh.

Time, as always, will tell. Just got to hope it's singing a sweeter tune then it has.

[ABitOfVittle]

Upon the Page lies a intricate hash-work of scribbled blueprints. Plans to never come to fruition, ideas cut short by logic. Innovation in countenance to conceivable skill. A boy's imagination curtailed by the realism bore by any smith. Though one does remain, a cube--a simple sketch of it. A few notes and lines drawn to it's various parts. Albeit the handwriting was more akin to chicken scratch, something learned in necessity, not in ease.

---

  All of my life, flipping through these old pages now? I've been curtailing ever little idea I had. Because they simply weren't possible. What's a boy to do, when he looks at the world and sees a canvas unwilling to change? Guns, Swords, Armor, that's all I would ever make. Even if I was better then my father, it's all I'd make. At least, that's what I thought. But what happens when I see the extents of another? Of one who has mastered the craft? To see what lies down the road hard taken and harder prevailed? 

  Last night I got glimpse of that road. And now I don't think I can look away. The intricacies flood my mind, the tools fill my hands when they are empty. I smell the soot of the forge, I taste the smoke. I can't shake these feelings of...awakening? Maybe those boyish ideas were more possible then I thought? Maybe if I learn and I mean, truly learn, I can do more then Guns, and Swords, and Armor.

  I guess I should work on redrawing some of these sketches after all. Look at that, pa'. You were wrong for once.

[ABitOfVittle]

Today you woke up, and it was the same as any other. you rolled out of bed. Smoked some Soothe for the aches, went over blueprints while you waited for it to kick in proper, peeked out my window to make sure there were no fires. The usual, the same, the routine. Guess that's how it is, when you find a home. You make routines. Real ones, that is. It's nice...though, today was different wasn't it Cletus?

Today, when you went outside; took a walk to see the sights, a notice caught your eyes. Results, long since awaited. And in your haste, did you skim them...so fast you'd nearly missed your name, no? But, there it was.

    Cletus Klein, Sentinel. And in a few years time? High Sentinel.

It isn't a dream. It isn't a trick of the mind. No, that first hill which you had looked upon for so long, you climbed. You dragged yourself over that edge, and claimed what you deserve. For the fighting, the bloodshed, the ingenuity. You deserved this. And none can doubt it, now.

Except yourself. If you let it happen.

But that's the point of the Climb, is it not? You crossed one hill...so what's the next? Will you create something great? Fight with valor? Nurture these lands you now call home? Maybe, you'll pull the trigger and do what needs to be done. This hill, is more like a mountain. And whatever path you take to climb it; it will only grow steeper.

But that's alright, you're a Klein, and Kleins are made to scale the heights. They are made to claw and bite and drag themselves onto the next leg of their journey.

Being scared, is no longer an option. Hesitation walked out the door, and whilst the rest might be nice? It's around that time to start finding your next trail. To tighten your belt, loop your boots, and find a ledge to pull yourself up. Afterall, the clock is ticking. And if you slow down, it'll overtake you. Good thing Speed is your thing, isn't it? Grit those teeth, partner. And keep that gun loaded. It only gets harder, from here.

[ABitOfVittle]

Wow, been a bit since I cracked this guy open, huh? Guess I got a bit too busy and a bit too erratic to bother writing in here. But, one of those days. I've been picking up too much, learning too much. And if I don't get my thoughts out I feel like my skull's gonna sizzle. The pain of having a Chronomancer's brain, huh?

Speaking of Chronomancy.

I'm finally starting to get it, my own magic. Sure, I always had a pretty stout brain for the flow of the clock--I understood what is made, must wither. What once was, will eventually never be--and what will be, can not come earlier then ordained. But, I've started to find myself thinking more on this path I find myself on. After talking to others, the Timestream as a whole has begun to come to the front of my studies.

We are but individuals upon a raft, which floats upon this stream, it is not possible to go back--nor can you row any harder to go faster down it's banks. You'll never reach the 'land', to do so is to find naught but the most abhorrent stasis. The flow, is decided. And no matter how much one pulls or tugs, they will continue moving down it's current; and eventually? They will sink. That's life, and that's death.

But to think it simple, well, I guess I was wrong wasn't I? Whilst floating down this path, there may be choke points--moments where the stream thins, and we have no choice but one; the ordained and fractional event which determines the streams flow.  But until those chokepoints are met? One could glide down the current, and where they veer along that stream; do their choices change the path they take. A tapestry formed, betwixt these ordained moments; that is where choice places it's part.  And as a Chronomancer, I yield a yet greater yield of this stream's flow, don't I? If I truly master these arts, could I serve to view upon myself the rapids that await; could I save lives? Help those in need? Preserve the sanctity of this flow, against those who deem the natural order too cruel?

I'm just a crafty, backwater Gunslinger, sure. But maybe that's only cause I haven't taken control of my own raft's path, yet. I can change this.

I will change this. For everyone. For myself. And for those I might save from sinking too soon.

[ABitOfVittle]

Once upon a time, this journal was a dream. My father's words, his projects. Written in such vivid detail, how I would slip away with it when he fell asleep, to look upon his creations. His ideas. To imagine them brought to fruition, and how beautiful that would be.

Upon reflection, those dreams were nightmares. A creator who only makes that which takes life, is no creator. But a destroyer. 

Once upon a time, I though my family was all I ever wanted. Sure, the desert was unforgiving. But it was our own, wasn't it?

Upon reflection, our shack was just another ill-gotten gain. I sometimes wonder what happened to it's owner. Did he die before we moved in? Or did...

Once upon a time, I ran away from home seeking to improve myself. To prove myself to those who thought me lesser. I wished to do right by them, and show that I was worth every little moment they gave me. That's not a bad thing, right?

Upon reflection, it was not improvement I sought, but freedom. And freedom, did I find. A new home. New friends. New opportunities.  No more did I have to live that life, but instead I was free to see what l could make for myself. But I didn't break of that life, didn't I?

I lied. I cheated. I swindled. The only line I didn't cross, was the one stained in red.

I wanted to be like them. I wanted to shoot like him, I wanted to forge like him. I wanted to be him. So, who am I now?
Better.
A better shot. A better forgehand. A Runemaster. A fellow who tries his best, and protects those he loves. 
I'm more then he'll ever be.

And yet, there's still one last step, isn't there? To free myself, of that life. To let go of what was; and embrace what is, to look forward to what may be. This journal is the last tether I have, and even now I cling to it in case I find him one day, to show him all I've learned.
But no more. I leave this here, not as a message. But as a declaration.

I, Cletus Klein, am a good man. And yet, I will be better.

That's that.  
[Fire] [Propogate] [Amplify] [Consume]