A COLLECTION OF ALL THE WORKS FROM ACCOUNT 8359

In the Farewell Address Commentary, Locke deals particularly with the dichotomy of "reactionary bones" and the future "dream of True Unity." It's ultimately true in any society, torn by backward-looking conservatives and the other pole of progressive liberals.

I think this has added to the realism of Cantr as a game and its effectiveness as a society simulator, let alone it being fun to role-play. It's all really a matter of acknowledging the past, looking forward toward the future, but most importantly, embracing the moment.

Sure, that sounds all very well in words, but it seems intangible and unachievable. From my experience, John's life from 621-1502, which didn't quite span a millennium like Thomas Hobbes', showed a lot of progress and advancement while not only appreciating the past but also making history. It's an important art and task; that's why Jos so quickly invented notes for the game.

Otherwise, there is no credibility, no legitimacy, no incentive, no history and culture to draw upon. If there are no heroes to look up to, no villains to disdain, no goals to achieve, there is no reason to want to accomplish greatness. This is inherently entwined with wanting to add your own page to history, and the philosophical idea of "making your mark".

Now, to be more specific, anyone seeking to persuade anybody to do anything would need to show (s)he is legitimate and worth following. A profound knowledge in history can do just that, preferably beyond "What would Jesus/Maily Yumm do?" Then applying past examples to their own objectives for the future, for example, "John Locke sought to unite this feuding region when he sent his son as a diplomatic envoy to the MacGregors. Shouldn't we send an ambassador to Timbuktu?" Thus, the present, now, is the moment to act. (Procrastination kills.)

Take the recent real life example of the US Congress members using examples of Davy Crocket and the Alamo to the situation in Iraq. Okay, fine, bad analogy. How about Martin Luther King borrowing the words of Abe Lincoln's Gettysburg Address? A foundation in tradition provides the building blocks of the future.

Sure, you may disagree. But I've always believed in the importance of history. And I applied this to Cantr, and I feel I have succeeded with characters of the likes of Guardian John Locke, Captain Thomas Hobbes and Laird Angus MacGregor.

They all took a page of the past to accomplish their lives and renown. This doesn't mean they sought to return to the past, but rather to move forward and change things and evolve. Hell, Locke even retired to make way for the new, dynamic blood of tomorrow. Those who have played too long can stifle creativity, which is Cantr's greatest element.

I retired from Cantr for the next group of ambitious players to pick up the pieces and move on, building on the society, economy, politics, and culture that were already there. And maybe knock it down in revolution every once in a while.

But we didn't forget everything before 1917 or 1789 or 1776...

I know strong players can accomplish great things with their characters if they can muster the right qualities and are in the right circumstances. As long as they capture the moment. Carpe diem.

I have done so.

John Desmond Locke

THE RANGER'S TALE

The March of the MacGregors

These were the days of peace? I suppose they were, as Taowyn, Silly and the Nosse sung songs that echoed through the passive grasslands of the Drojf isthmus. I hummed their tunes as I marched southward toward Krif Hills North, the fabled home of the MacGregor Clan. I escorted Lady Pain, wounded by bandits in Mulof North. These were the bloodless days? I suppose they were, for I saw no visible scars of violence inflicted upon the alleged victim, Lady Pain.

Nonetheless, I obeyed the directions Deputy Ranger Selena Dyon had issued to me. She sent me out on what would become my baptism by fire. This baptism was experienced by all who had preceded me, the heroes of old, who had hiked the trails for goodness and fought the righteous battles in the pursuit of peace. Now, here I was, to fill the vacuum of these legendary men and women, lost to the years of war. The prodigy of their lives left nothing short of an enthused inspiration in me to defend these fragile days of peace as a Ranger.

Quarry-mined stones stood together in unison of quaint design, forming the exterior of Castle MacGregor, outlined through the dawning pinks of the twilight. This deliberate symbol of outstanding pride, honor, and courage, was carried not only by the structures, but those who manned its ramparts. My impressionable juvenility felt humbled upon receiving a saber from Kindle MacGregor. Whether it was her active physique or managerial quality which grabbed the eye, I could not distinguish what it was I found so appealing about Kindle. I scrunched up my rationed nourishments and prepared for the expedition at hand, against the bandits who struck Lady Pain. These creatures, which rest on the darker, latter side of the fine line between virtue and wickedness, would face the wrath of my duty.

Glen Morangie and Bootsher MacGregor also joined me on this expedition, to reclaim the honor of Lady Pain. Their crossbows slung across their boastful chests as they mouthed away. I held the point position, not necessarily because I was the youngest, or the Ranger, but rather, out of irritation due to their constant chattering. This prattling was nothing except mutual praise between the two braggarts, who would arrive late enough for battle, caught up in their throats when battle finally was before them. Lady Pain had been a quiet accompaniment in the quest, though on arrival, she was quick enough to point the accused out amongst the sparse populace.

Those few who had been indicated, failed to respond, and we made our ultimatum clear, reverberated by the now collective voice of our two trailing battle companions. Finally, violence broke out, and although I don't remember which side swung first, we definitely had the final blow. In the course of the battle sequence, as short as it ultimately was, I was able to hone my saber into a sheet metal of justice. It swung precisely from foe to foe, without remorse, for they had wronged and refused to cooperate. Blood spilt profusely from these bandits, as we set their souls free from woeful bodies of guilt.

The March of the MacGregors was now done and over, and we made our ways home. Having honed the skill of battle so proficiently, I didn`t take the time to smell the flowers or lilt amongst the shrubs. I hurried back to Selena with anxious anticipation, to report our outstanding success. However, on my way back, I was astonished to see the corpse of Lady Pain on the side of the road. There was going to be no dwelling on this misfortune, so I did my best to remain in a high of confidence. On that day, I felt that I was well on my way in my destiny...of rooting out trouble and maintaining peace. There would be many more trials to come, for which I had to prepare for.

Besides a quiet promotion to Deputy, there was no majestic medal, no stack of steel, and no cheering crowds upon my return. A Ranger receives none of those, I soon learned, and what drives us, isn't fame nor fortune, but a call to duty. It's what we honor, what we behold as our noble role, and what we will do to preserve it. A Ranger is forever giving, forever unsung, and forever convicted to keeping the fragile peace we now know, through years of war.

In Drojf, carrots were replenished, arrows were restocked, and the path of life lay in front of me, unobstructed, and optimistic. I met up once again with the Nosse้ and the Drojf Council, consisting of Nessa Allire, Jake McGee, and Joram Traske. The road to Djorf Hills South was one that covered fields of green. I saw the random corpse, an ominous reminder of the past, in the serene ruffling of the grass. The lucid lake lay to my southwest, as the shifting seas rose and dropped to my northeast, with the sun setting in a gradient of wild orange hues.

Seatown Road

Looking back on it today, I wonder how many times I have been down this road, a focal point of transportation, communication, and information. It's the busiest road I've ever seen: Seatown Road. Improved during war, yet it had its peacetime uses. Merchants, postmen, and still, simple travelers journeyed down this timeworn road. I know it like the back of my hand. In Djorf Hills South, the Dark Legion Fortress is yet another reminder of the Region's bloody past. Its dark fac็ade is inhospitable and unreceptive. As I looked off to the west, I remembered reading about how Silverfoot had reportedly murdered residents of Djorf Hills West with her garrison of Krif Defense Force personnel, as headlined in Issue Two of the Informant Magazine, by Thomas Smith. The third issue of the periodical publishing criticized the Rangers as a bunch of "dirty pigs. Now, the Rangers are using their so called might to bring fear and to cheat the people they are supposed to be protecting," instilling nothing short of outrage. All the same, it made me skeptical of what this Thomas Smith was publishing and what he sought to achieve, besides greater Regional turbulence. Compounding this, the article about Silverfoot came from Rory MacGregor, a future pirate who massacred the town of Krif after the battle cry, "Cry Havoc!" The magazine asked Rory before turning sides, "What goals do you have for the future?" and he replied, "Build my Fortress, and start a mercenary band." Despite this clear warning, nobody in the Region acted to pre-empt him, as too often the case.

I soon found myself in the lovely town of Djorf Hills North. Governor Devon Dobbs, my lifelong best friend, was co-owner of Dobbs' fast food. During our discourse, I suggested to him that he take political sovereignty of the Northern Hills, which he later did. After this enjoyable conversation, I left with the promise I`d return to this small, loving, and faithful community, whose roots were deep and spawned rich leaves of friendship. The beach was beautiful. Oh, how I'd love to settle here...I thought to myself over and over. For now though, I had to make my way to meet the legendary Maily Yumm of Seatown Forest. It was to satiate a curiosity that had emerged, to learn if Maily Yumm was a greedy dictator who controlled iron for profit as some implied, or was a compassionate being who led with the power of her actions. I pondered this as I dawdled northward, accumulating the modest gift of meat and wool to present as a symbol of goodwill.

Having presented my humble gift as generously as I could, I quickly learned that Maily Yumm was warm and hospitable. This 'Whirlwind' of a lady, as Taowyn described her, was the exact opposite of the Djorf Hills South building I saw on the way down, and for what it stood for. Seatown Forest was a sight to see, home of warriors of the likes of James DeLeo; a town organized systematically to every nook and cranny, by the work of Maily, and her predecessor, Donna Trent. Maily asked me if I needed a better blade, and she presented me one on request. Maily was charitable and concerned with the Ranger Corps, wielding her strength and power to support it. The Corps was her brainchild, to keep intact the days of peace, which we have come to know.

During my time in Seatown Forest, I operated in an observing capacity, as Seatown Forest already had such an effective defense. I listened in on a meeting, which included Joram Traske, Maily Yumm, Alicia Reed, and Silverfoot, in dealing with the issue of Alicia Scarlet, who allegedly betrayed Krif. The past councilor, Alicia Scarlet, admitted to charges of hiring Rory MacGregor to "cry havoc" upon Krif, by using the Stormbringer longboat. Maynard was invited to Seatown Forest for her execution, though whether it was just a trap to bring this reputed evil mastermind to someplace where his legacy could be ended is an issue to be debated elsewhere. Silverfoot was later exonerated from the false charges that the late Rory produced, and the Informant Magazine has since gained credibility in the Region.

I remained stationed in Seatown Forest whilst a case was being built against Maynard. He was accused of creating a criminal enterprise and supporting piracy. His criminal activities were investigated, and the evidence amounted against him. Meanwhile, I journeyed up to the road to Krif when delivering a letter. While taking the short trek on that road, Councilor Lucious Blackheart cried out for assistance. Assailants had attacked Krif, by the name of Valentine, Richard and Mathew Hardy. When I was alerted of the massacre, I proceeded to attack Mathew Hardy without a second thought, for his murders. He fell to the ground like a stone as the scale of justice weighed heavily upon him. I proceeded to send out word of the butchery under the second article of the Corps' covenant, which would later be replaced by the GM postal service. Many people died in the massacre, and their bodies took days to bury. In the meantime, I returned to my duty station in Seatown Forest. I would learn of other massacres in Krif, instigated by people like the very same person who called the Rangers a "bunch of filthy pigs." Names of such scum escape me.

Seatown Forest possessed some of the most valuable resources of the time, from iron to coal, wood and even silk cocoons. At that time, my appetite for silk cocoons began and I started munching on these delightful delicacies. Unfortunately, not many others shared this craving. On one of my excursions out of the forest, I met my lifelong colleague and friend, Deputy Thomas Petty. We worked together for a short while, operating as a two-person Ranger team. One day, we found the body of Deputy Mae Castillo in the Dark Legion Fortress. She was later immortalized in a poem written by Taowyn of the Noss้e. After this horrific find, I learned to appreciate the time I had with my friends. Nevertheless, there was something of vast importance that needed to be done in Djorf Hills West, before I could settle.

Necessary Conviction by Maily Yumm

Where have all the heroes gone?

Returned to where they`re from.

They brought these peaceful lives for us,

But what have they become?

Those bloody days. Selfless acts of giving

Those who paid with life are forgotten and unsung.

The peaceful times we`ve come to know,

Have only recently begun.

Have we learned well from the past,

Or will this be undone?

Those bloody days. Necessary conviction.

Some have lost by giving,

For they have gone unsung.

And if those bloody days come again,

Should heroes help the young?

Should they have to pay once more,

When they have gone unsung?

Bloodshed

Sometimes to keep the peace, we must war or work to pre-empt, as learned the hard way with the infamous outcome of Rory MacGregor. Maily Yumm, Caitlin MacGrioghair, Devon Dobbs, and I intercepted Maynard Leeward in Djorf Hills West. I don't think the silk cocoons affected my judgment as I acted upon Maily's ultimatum on day seven hundred thirty three, hour five: "This man killed off Krif's old Council, as well as the Council of Drojf, leaders in the Seatown area and also innocent people all across the Region. Everyone wants him dead, and today would be as good a day as any. He is setting up some very nasty things in this Region and I will be more than happy to detail these things. If you care about your friends and your homes, then help kill him."

He was executed swiftly, the final proof of his questionable activities culminating in a 'shit-list' of important Regional figures he was planning to hit off. We were a hundred percent, and then some, behind the set course of Maily, "I'll probably die for killing Maynard. There is almost no way in hell that I will not die for it. It's worth it to me though, and I'll never fucking regret it. Some things are worth more than power, and some things are worth more than living. The heroes of the past didn't know that some things were left unfinished. They did their part, and they paid dearly for it. It's sad to me that so many people don't even know how much people standing right next to them did."

We were not going to let her down, as Devon put it, "That was some speech, Maily. Very moving. I guess the bloody days have come again. And the heroes are helping the young, by ridding this Region of the same evil that prevailed back in the old days. One could say we're doing it for the unsung as well. So their efforts won't have been for naught."

On the way home, we took an extended route, from Djorf Hills West around to Seatown Gardens and finally arriving in Seatown Forest. Though I had promised Caitlin, who had struck the final blow in the attack on Maynard, a ride back to her home under armed escort; Glen Morangie gladly relieved me of this duty in pursuit of his sexual desires with the young lady. I was otherwise taken, for I had begun courting Sulee Maronia, who joined our traveling group.

We had stirred up a hornet's nest. Tensions rose and we were under a potential risk, but it was necessary. I attended a meeting in Drojf after this operation, to express our infinitesimal support of Maily Yumm. My respect for Maily cannot be expressed within my limited vocabulary. I would follow Maily Yumm to the grave, if she asked me to. But, she would never ask anyone to do that, besides herself. When the meeting ended, I was promoted from Deputy of Seatown Forest, becoming Guardian of Djorf Hills North. I could now spend much more time with my friends, and with my fiance้e, Sulee Maronia, but she sadly passed away days after preparing our vows.

Upon my initial return to Djorf Hills North with Devon Dobbs, we faced a minor crisis. Draco Dawn Droufis, a pirate, had attacked traveling Noss้ members in the town. We had to stabilize the situation immediately, before proceeding further. Cassandra Camille, Chanel Davis, Angie, and Haldir Lorean were all victims of his attack, though they all recovered. The culprit escaped, but I declared that I would have my revenge for these dastardly attacks on the innocent. This incident followed Rory's raid by a couple of years, and would be the precursor of Calico Jack's attacks. Calico and his evil companions, Yahsmina and William Peregrine, harassed our coastline mercilessly. We convened a Regional meeting to deal with them. The meetings, as they often are, were all futile.

In the midst of this pirate problem, Maily Yumm led a Regional effort to Pak, to end the source of the problem. She would not return alive. I was troubled as the last words that I had said to her before parting ways echoed in my mind, "Have you lost your will to live?" Vender Ghost would've been Maily's husband, had she returned. He became a great friend of mine when we shared the town of Djorf North Hills together as neighbors. He told me of the older generation, and of the Smoke Jaguars, Craktar, Fuktar, Maynard, Nathan Holmes and other infamous figures. On the other hand, his stories of heroism appealed to me more, and the one that struck me was not Gregor MacGregor's or William Lawson as he was once referred to as founding of Clan MacGregor and being the first leader of the Rangers, but El Adan`s protection of his family, the Nosse้, when faced with the horror of the Smoke Jaguars. Perhaps that left some lasting desire to one day follow in his footsteps, as a father figure. The peace long sought by El Adan wasn't going to be taken away by a bunch of filthy pirates. I would fight in the names of these heroes, as a Ranger. And my duty would not accept anything short of victory from these pathetic pirates.

In Drojf, I met Lilah Morgan during a Regional meeting dealing with the pirates. We hit it off quickly, beginning a serious and romantic relationship. We became companions in our journeys and shared our deal of adventures. We lived for a while in Djorf Hills North, as Eve Desmond became close with my late friend, Solofus the Healer. Devon was with Ella Merrick, the new Governess of the Hills, after the passing of his wife, Eldarwen. Lilah was an entrusted person in Seatown Forest, which was very respectable. The new leader of Seatown Forest, after Maily's resignation and passing, was Alicia Reed, who was given the task of filling the large vacuum of Maily's footsteps. I considered her a good friend, but was gravely mistaken when I sought her assistance in matters of Regional stability. Deep inside, the death of Sulee had bitten away and started to tear at my heart. This never allowed Lilah and me to be wed. We carried on with our exploits, adventures, and quests. On one occasion, whilst chasing Calico Jack with Rachel Williams, the latter docked and locked me inside...while there was a mad Mara Jade murderer outside. I couldn't say much for Rachel's competence. In hindsight, it was rather humorous, and of course, I made the most of the time with Lilah. Mara Jade was brought to justice, but after the event, certain miscreants tried to stain Gary's record for greed and gold. Mamey Dwyer, our mutual friend, joined us on some of the journeys, a constant tease and joy to be around; she was last seen in the mountains with X, a friend of Lord Archorn of Djorf Hills West. Lilah Morgan would pass on after our venture into Pok Southern Mountains, and was laid to rest in Krif Hills West. I was not able to recover all her belongings, as the indigenous bandits denied me the possession of the diamonds, healing foods and rare animal parts she had carried. Material concerns were not priority, so I left with my grief.

Tension

I returned to my duty station at Djorf Hills North, under the watch of late Deputy Radjan Adaven, and my return, was to peace and stability. The untimely passing of Solofus was passed on to me and I briefly consoled my friend Eve. I had a short-lived relationship with Synchronicity O'Shea that came too suddenly on the heels of the other two women in my life. My heart was leaking, and I was doing all I could from letting loose all its blood. Duty called and I was placed on alert when Gregor threatened that he would kill anyone older than thirty. I headed towards Krif, in response.

Joram Traske was there, with his new wife, Lisette Harris. They were a lovely couple, whose honeymoon was cut short due to this Regional crisis. Silverfoot and Gary stood on two radically different sides of the issue. Joram and I stood in the middle, attempting to moderate. Gary was much more condoning of the MacGregor's actions, as it did come in response to the simultaneous passing of two MacGregor Ladies under mysterious circumstances. Silverfoot on the other hand, had a legitimate concern that someone who threatened the lives she was responsible for should not be a Regional ruler. The outcome of Gregor's threat was the creation of a great divide between the MacGregor Clan and the rest of the Mid-North Union, one that took years to be bridged.

Immediately following the tension between the Clan and the Region, was the conclusion of Calico's reign, dying on his own accord. Krif was unable to act in sufficient speed when Maude gallantly brought the Stormbringer to its shores, with his surviving cohort, Yahsmina, aboard. I initiated an operation to capture Yahsmina, who stole the Eldarwen Essence with both Eve Desmond and Kinley Heath on the ship. The latter was Devon Dobbs' first mate, and perhaps a bit more in the eyes of my close friend. In the events that ensued, Kinley opened the questionable idea of having Djorf Hills North take jurisdiction of Yahsmina. However, Eve quickly brought the ship back to Krif's Harbor, where I called into action a team of very able Krif volunteers. These included my new good friends, Chris Myst, and his love: Magdalene Porthos. Yahsmina was soon apprehended, and Eve's courage drew an impression of deep admiration from my heart. She was someone worth revisiting intimately, after returning from Krif Hills West to fix things once and for all....

When I finally got back home to Djorf Hills North, I began an intense relationship with the Chancellor of Djorf Hills North, Eve Desmond, flirting with metaphors straight from the heart and poems borrowed from the inspiration of the stars of the night sky, which I had never taken the time to look at, before now, before Eve. With her, I discovered the way to more profound depths of self, of love, of being, of presence, of life. We would continue to be nearly inseparable, even if we didn't meet eye to eye on all the issues in our lives, all that mattered was we ended up together. I have to credit the two of us of being able to take and give some, for the greater good of making the two of us into one. And the one, who ultimately would become the symbol of our combined love, would be our son, Sean Warren Locke, who carried on as a Ranger, in his father's footsteps.

On my forty-first birthday, a Regional Meeting was called forth, and I participated actively in it. Gregor began the meeting by speaking of coincidences, and drawing seemingly unfounded connections between Councilor Rachel William Big and Drojfian Councilor Joram Traske in scheming the untimely passing of Gregor's wife, Jessamin DuVar. Lord MacGregor also went on to accuse Rachel of hiring Kiefer Sutherland to attack Krif Hills North, as the contractor attested to after being captured during his botched raid. Joram, in his state of mourning for his own wife, Lisette, was still strong enough to vehemently deny Gregor's charges. When I demanded Rachel to be brought forward for questioning, in order to appease Gregor's concerns, Silverfoot went to check for the sleeping Councilor, only to find Rachel dead. Coincidence or conspiracy? I could speculate, like Gregor did, but even when I did consult Gregor privately about the matter of Rachel's passing being so convenient for hiding the real truth, nothing became of it.

The end of an era of piracy came as the one whom had attacked Maily Yumm in Seatown and my friends of the Nosse้ many years back, Draco Dawn Droufis, was brought to justice. He would later admit to being funded by the evil mastermind, Maynard Leeward, upon questioning. Captain Aeren Aeglos and myself, along with Gard Ulker, worked together to end his reign of sea borne terror. We broke the lock to his ship, the Agamemnon, in record luck and time. Aeren jumped aboard, threw Draco off his ship, and I grabbed him by the neck, and tossed him inside the Black Fortress, with some help from Gard. After our successful operation, the town would jump on the opportunity to debate what should be done with Draco, even as he was still breaking down our jail locks, requiring us to move him from building to building. Devon Dobbs found it to be his moral obligation to spare the old pirate, having him rehabilitated to serve the town of Djorf Hills North. To avoid displaying my frustration outwardly, I veiled my true annoyance at Devon's decision with a visit to Drojf, as they prepared for their upcoming festival.

Not Nearly The End

Just because I have ended my novel on paper, for a second time with this redux, does not mean my life`s adventure, my life`s work and my life`s loving, that being solely reserved for my wife, Eve Desmond Locke, is over. I officially vowed in the declaration of marriage, my ineffable feeling of affection, solicitude, fondness, desire and attraction for Eve Desmond, on the day one thousand, seventy. I could write 20 paragraphs on my story, and not nearly sufficiently mention how intensely intertwined and enormously essential she is to me, for that is beyond adjectives, beyond words, beyond phrases; the structure of language is incapable of handling such a prodigious human emotion, take my tried word for it. If you share this mutual wealth of enthusiasm, euphoria and ecstasy, for another, then you know exactly where I`m coming from in my ineptness of man, to give this trial of passion, justice, despite it being my life`s work to have enforced the will of justice, for nearly 30, loyal, dedicated and proud years, as a Ranger. As my vocabulary begins to falter on its nonexistent foundation of schooling, I do emphasize that is something we lack in our society, the will, the determination and the persistence in the name of peace, to provide for institutions of education, so this peace can live forever. Even with the passing on of friends, like Silly and Cassandra, I don`t see an end to this peace, as long as their spirit carries on....

A Farewell Address

"Perhaps this is the cliched ramblings of a man worn old by time, upbringing, and ideology, which has no influence or worth today. If this is what you believe, then all my years as a Ranger have proven both a success and failure, all very same. A success, immeasurable and unquantifiable for it is indeed abstract, and to put it into words that are read and felt is as hard as the trials we have faced. The Rangers, an organization I have served actively and continuously for the last forty years, have achieved a level of security and stability that the people of this Union can live in safety, without wondering how or why it is possible."

"And in that is our failure, our failure to teach, our failure to learn, our failure to appreciate those who have honored the call of duty, commemorating the heroes of old, the Rangers of today, the spirit in which they work, live, and die for. There is a strange duality to it, much like the dualities hallmarking the choices of life, of choosing justice over crime, right over wrong, and of good over evil. For those who do not doubt the worth of these words, then they understand that the defining line has always been the Rangers, the "thin green line" that decisively divides through the ambiguity."

"In any case, our accomplishments have been very real since our dawning in the creation of this Union. Those chronicled in the morning rise of the "Ranger's Tale", only include the first twenty years of my duty; the next ten drawing their perspective outward to be covered by "Echoes of a Life Lived"; until high noon, when the final ten years of afternoon glory were scribed in the "Compilation of Regional Song and Poetry", guarding the Region at large. The Rangers' achievements over the last ten years, for which I have led, whether as de facto or actual Leader, has resulted in the tangible increase of our overall force, a revised Ranger Charter, a permanent Ranger posted for each Mid-North town, the more than doubling of our vehicular capabilities, the proliferation of Ranger equipment due to the creation of the Engineers, and finally, the intangible spirit of good-will that helped repair the bridge between Clan MacGregor and the rest of the Union. Whereas that relationship is the backbone of the Region's stability; the other pole, absent, remains in its tyrannical chains, keeping us from 'True Unity'."

"'True Unity' is a term both controversial, but inevitable. Our course, by the signals of these festivals, the sharing of our spirit, the liberties we desire, the justice of fairness through out all the lands, and most importantly, the unity through strength, where in such a case, the Union may prove to need to be more, a grander Republic, perhaps. This will not happen in my lifetime, not due to my reactionary bones or those like me, but that the time will depend on circumstance, reason, and need. And in that time, I expect the Rangers to be there, uncorrupted by politics, doing what they have always done, the one thing that counts, defending the dream that is the future of the Union."

"So carry onward Rangers, "Give a hundred percent, and then some," I will say now still, as I take my retirement from the Corps. The years have been hard and have been rough and have been challenging, for the problems, the issues, the divisions we have faced; and more importantly, those we have overcome. I stand today, before you, the people of the Mid-North Union, a man whose toll has been taken from him, who can give no more, no better, no harder in this age that has come to him so quickly, to ask of you to accept his decision. It is indeed one of those dualities, those choices of life that I brought up earlier, and remind you of again, which has led me to this impromptu speech on my sixtieth birthday, and to choose now, perhaps selfishly so, but necessarily so, to give my wife the dear attention she has deserved for so long. And it is also time for me to step aside for the younger blood of today, of that which the wisest leaders of them all, Maily Yumm, hoped and dreamt would be able to, by our olden example, to take the charge into tomorrow's day."

"As my last action as Leader of the Rangers, I will appoint Senior Deputy Ranger Jonson to Guardianship, and have him assist Guardian Turin Turambar in the co-provisional Ranger authority until the Mid-North Union decides at their next meeting of who it is that should permanently "lead the way" from today. Rangers, forever unsung, forever giving, forever intangible, lend your ears to your leader's words one last time, and rest him assured, that you will stand where he stood before, in all the yesterdays--"protecting the weak and the oppressed." There is only way to do this though, and that is by going out there and taking the challenges with open arms, but prepared, as they will not always come to you at the moment of your choosing."

"This evening's dusk echoes my final words to you, Rangers, for by nightfall, I am no longer your Leader, so let them be of comfort: I want you to know that when I take truly to the sea, my last conscious thoughts will be of the Corps, and the Corps, and the Corps . . . I bid you farewell."

Locke Commentary

In commenting on John Locke's (621-1502) Farewell Address, we are discussing the progress of the Krif-Drojf-Seatown (MidNorth) area in realizing Cantr's original intention as a society simulator. The beginning of Locke's life reflected on the times, an illusional sensation of peace and idealism (i.e. good vs. evil, right vs. wrong) that resolved out of the years of war, lawlessness, and governmental instability or anarchy. Out of this came history and culture, such as the legend of the Magnificent Seven and the creation of Clan MacGregor, and eventually the MidNorth Union and the Ranger Corps. Locke became a part of this new era, as optimistically written about in his early work, The Ranger's Tale.

However, what was chronicled then in grand illusionment began to falter like the foundation of the MidNorth. Similar to their real life multinational organization counterparts (e.g. The League of Nations, the United Nations), past and present, the MidNorth Union has faced its deal of faults, cases of corruption and general lack of power to pursue its virtuous intention. This then transcended into the operation of the Ranger Corps, though still relatively untainted by the time of Locke's retirement in the transcribed speech.

The following years consisted of Locke's disillusionment in the dreamworld that had been imagined, losing faith not only in the Union but his personal domain. This transpiration emphasized precisely how ingrained Locke was in the Union and how, without his role as protector and leader, he became like another old soldier, fading away. (NB: There are certain structural parallels to Douglas MacArthur's retirement speech, though in most part it is based on Cantr themes. For example, it is in seven paragraphs because there are seven points to the Ranger Code.) The tragedy of his tale, compounded by treachery and lechery, became the material that stories are often written about. And in this light, Cantr has been successful in simulating society through the lives of thousands of characters interacting in hundreds of dramatic events.

Echoes of a Life Lived Compilation Samples

Ol` Friend O` Mine by John D. Locke

Out of my song, I may sing a line

Borrowed from a good old friend of mine

But I do not think he shall ever mind-

Heavy on heart, souls shimmer and shine

To the voice of this old friend of mine

Shut from the world like his poet kind

Tickle, twinkle, touch life in thy spine

As once did to me, old friend of mine

Since it is you who must seek and find

A kindled breath as to ring divine

And singing sweet embers into wine

Unsurpassed in time or any bind

So smile awhile, as I sing this line

This one is for you, old friend of mine.

Embers of Fire (Part I) by John D. Locke

In the day I fret it out on the farms

of a walkaway winner`s dream.

At night I tried through toughs o` glory

o`er impossible terrains.

Sprung from torrential rains o` mind

Quenchless thirst, always worse

It`s steppin` me out o`er the line.

Baby, this place yields us no more sap;

It`s an obit trap, it`s an insanity rap!

We gotta get out, how can I make you see?

Can you see you gotta be here with me?

Let me win some, I wanna be your friend

I want to see your love and care,

Only to make my mind a little less grim

And so wake your heart to my dare!

Together, let`s cut this crap

We`ll shake free o` this wrap!

Will you swing with me when it`s dire?

Can you help me sing embers o` fire?

Remember, I gotta know how you feel:

Can you take someone wild?

Can you seal the real deal?

Taowyn`s Dream by John D. Locke

To dear Taowyn, who was my friend

A friend who cared, always would lend

His time in life, to kin n` stranger

Sharing a dream, with a Ranger

And Nosseling, all very same

El Adan`s dream. In his proud name

He would follow, brung love n` peace

In tunes he sung, every such piece

Rung proud, out loud, with all his lung

Until Joan came, pretty n` young

She lit his heart, the room inside

Soon shimmering, both side by side...

Ending one day, two now just one

But not for long, neither alone

Neither apart, together beam

Their memories, in Taowyn`s dream.

Thomas Hobbes

HOBBES NARRATION

Embarkation

It was still dark when the moon cast me aweigh. The early tide that my modest vessel rode westward of Naron was able to just clear the impending cape, which reached out of the coastal town like a crippled arm. Misshapen muscles protruded on the horizon, their slick rock forms home to mussels and barnacle alike. Astern, a prelude of early morning twilights was thrown against tinted black, forming a multidimensional gradient. The anticipated sun lightened the grave grays afar, as the departing moon left its afterglows to bake in the upcoming dawn, reflecting on the rippled sea.

But in between, there were the stars. Bright, dim, they brimmed with delight and then flickered out briefly, mimicking the cycles of the moon and the sun in an unquantifiable pace. Beneath the firmament, there hunched the deformity of a place called Naron. Its oil lamps and waxed candles could not compare with any of the celestial lights; in their attempt of imitation, they were only outdone. These artifices of human design could not outclass what was naturally so, as they had neither the intensity of the crests nor the dormancy of the troughs, while remaining altogether vivid through time and space.

My years in Naron limited my perspective, hindered my imagination, and created obstacles in my pursuit of knowledge. Everything was overcastted by the iron reins of the Ladvicitavoian Empire. As I parted slowly with the Empire's ways, I began projects to change the cold, unpardonable atmosphere that hung low over Naron's citizens. By constructing the Imperial University of Naron, I hoped to clear up the stifling haze that congested the town. However, none of this would have been possible except due to the Empire promoting me to the high rank of Captain of the Ladvicitavoian Guard posted in the colonial port, after only five years of compulsory enlisted military service.

'As of now, the new Advisor of Naron is Lisa Millora, and her second in command is the newly promoted Zany Dane, who will be addressed as Assistant Director. The new leader of the Naron Division of the Imperial Guards will be Sergeant Hobbles*, who is now a Captain. So everyone please take note of this, for these are the people that you must know, ' Emperor Hawthorne contributed to the white noise.

'Thank you, Emperor Hawthorne. I'm very honored by the opportunity you are giving me. I won't let you or the Empire down. Hail to the Emperor, and long live the Empire!' exclaimed Zany Dane, 'And here to victory in all the impending conflicts. We have every confidence in you, General Gartaff. We know that you will lead our troops to victory**.'

Zany then laid her eyes upon me, proud of what she had raised. Those eyes I would never taste, although I have come to hopelessly yearn for them as time goes by. It was her moment of shining, with the audience of Emperor Senecca Hawthorne, General Sestar Gartaff and the senior staff of the Ladvicitavoian Empire present, the heroes of my youth. And who wouldn't be proud of them? Riding into battle, their pomp, fame and fortune in this golden Empire, they had it all. I had quite a lot, too, but I wasn't in that battle they were to engage in, nor would I ever be on the glorious front. I would always be the lonely Naron Guard Captain stuck on these distant shores, the sea teasing my tongue, because Zany would not have it. Gallantry and pageantry with the Empire, though limited, had quickly lost its novelty with me, and I waded into the enticing seduction of the sea.

During the four years that succeeded and would ultimately cause my secession from Naron and the Empire, those celestial beings that I studied carefully this very evening would pull me further and further away from my Imperial appointment. Beauty and aesthetics were not the limit for these skyline features, for they had a prodigious effect in the turnings and rotations of the terrestrial. As I became more distant from my official capacity, the more involved I was with my in-depth studies at the University and experiments in the Naron Navigator, the vessel I would later sail off on. The movement of the stars and the sun allowed me to figure the current time, relative position, or my vessel's bearing, but it proved useless until my ship had her maiden voyage. Perhaps, in addition to finding a use for these seafaring tools and skills, it was the need to find a greater purpose for all of mankind, which compelled me to leave Naron.

The day has finally come, six days short of my twenty-ninth birthday, when the moon released me from my Naron chains. I remain in the dark still, or so I feel, and I should be. There is no greater willingness to explore, discover and understand than when you realize you have not even begun to scale the summit of knowledge. For, in fact, I have not even stepped foot on a mountain and yet I use the metaphor; let me see for myself how these untested legs can endure the climb. Even on the Navigator's mast, as high as the tallest tree in Naron felled for this purpose only, I can only see until the horizon, but on that mountain, I shall expect to see tenfold.

What I do know, though little by comparison of what is potential, is that if I reach up for that moon, it is amongst the stars where I shall find myself. And up way high, aspirations accomplished through inspiration, I can pull myself by these very hands to a state of enlightenment. The sun has now crept up to rise above me, and my sails fill full with the windward draft, for I am beyond the iron grasp. It was the moon that took me to the seas, the stars, the winds, and the golden places in the sun.

As I was the rank of Sergeant at the time, having risen rapidly through the ranks, and the only one with a name similar to 'Hobbles', I presumed the honor of being named Captain 'Hobbles' by the Emperor. My name though, or how I would rather be called, is Captain Thomas Hobbes.

- I would later learn that General Gartaff and Emperor Hawthorne would both be fatalities of the 'impending conflicts' against miscreant mercenaries.

Lady Surreal

Under the warm sunlit morning, free of Naron's claustrophobia, my skin has hued a golden accent and the winds have swept me through lands that are but on the fringes of maps. The sun, enlightening me with its company, has also melted the frigid, rigid ways of the Empire and Naron. Nonetheless, I still wear my leather Captain's cap, once a symbol of my new position in the Empire, but now adorned to show that I am a Captain of a different sort. A Captain of the seas, I risk all my tangibles and trial my intangibles to places exotic and foreign. Each new town is an entry into the Hobbes Encyclopedia, and each change of the coastline is a different stroke for my map of the Mainland. The colors of what I see begin to roll onto the page, my ability and my will growing with each sun soaked day on the waves. I dare the bluffs of the mountain of knowledge, tracking it hard, climbing it higher than any before me. The more sun, the more presence of light, the more I see, and thereby, the closer I am to that ambitious place on its peak. From that threshold, however, light shunned dim on the one human ailment that I underestimated in my last entry, the effect of loneliness.

Wild was my mind but lonely was my heart. It cried with the gulls in the afternoon shadow, those that waited along the balustrade, for what they desired. I would throw crumbs at them, like the ports of call would to me, by allowing me to glimpse but never stay. It felt like reading a page of a book and never finding out the storyline that came before, let alone the climax that was sure to follow. Yet if I remained, I could not indulge myself in what there was to come, and what I could perchance miss by staying. Therefore, my ports of call were limited to several days of accumulating as much information and stocking as many supplies as quickly as possible to sustain my gluttonous appetite for the sea. Like the seabirds migrating to the next ship's draft, I would also move on into the wild blue yonder.

In one port of call though, a young lady happened on me before I could take off once again. My stories managed to enthrall her, enrapturing her starry eyes. I felt them feeding on what I said and she served it back to my wandering imagination, allowing the two of us to gorge on each other's visions. It was sinful how our thoughts, crazy creative ideas of society and civilization, would just lilt off in sky blue desires and never be captured for the world at large. These ideas though, as we thought them, were probably too big and grand for this world to handle, or were they? It may be my old Imperial backwardness that asks that, but to have had someone listening in on me and responding, was everything. She could be single-handedly held responsible for changing my course towards an entirely new landmass, further away from my homeport of Naron. She was cultivating my dreams:

The waves are ridden with anguish. She looks up with pleading eyes and asks me in a desperate whisper, "Why? Why are the waves so tormented?" By the sound of her voice I can tell her heart is up in her throat, and all I can do to calm her is nod. We are beyond the coastal safety of the Mainland. We are going further and further and further away from the place called home, Naron. She knows as well as me, we are going to ride it out to wherever the seas will take us. There is no choice other than northward, onward. The shiver rattling against the barrage of icicles that are prickling down on her bare skin tears a ripple through my heart. I drape my cloak over her shoulders and go to man the helm of the Naron Navigator, whisking us daringly now into the future. A sound captures my ears and spins me around reflexively. It is not the thud of thunder, the thrashing waves or the whistling wind. It is all that anger combined. I open my eyes only for a moment and she has slipped away. My eyes race into the depths, my ears tune out the awful storm, and my heart ripples again, this time in all directions. It searches. There is no gurgling, no gasping for life, no hope but one, me. I leap in. I draw my breath, more than my lungs can handle, and the droplets of rain and tears are being washed away from my face by the comforting hands of the sea. I am being swept into a tide of light. I exhale, and the sun shines through, sparkling, glistening, glittering, mirroring in mutations of reflections. The water becomes translucent. I can see into the future and into the past. I can see where the detours will take me and I can see where the paths would side. Am I alive? Or have I lost myself in that fateful dive? Am I here? Or am I being brought to somewhere in my fear? Is my sight in such clarity? Or are the mirrors of perplexities and complexities drowning me to my deep demise? I turn my head around and I hear the voice of the past. The narrator is the proud and authoritative Zany Dane. This is where I was before now. I inhale, and the water shoots through my lungs, drowning, dying and suffocating. The tinted glass window forward is shutting. I see into the past, but I seek the future. I go for it---leaping into the window of the future with all my strength. Am I to believe it? Or is my sanity being lost bit by bit? The voice of the present becomes stronger as I dive forward. It becomes firm and as deep-set as the depths I had been taken to. Uncertainty becomes security. The window to the past has just shut as I had gone through to the future. It locked and I didn't care, not anymore. My friend, I am immersed in her voice and my mind is set. I am no longer confused or scared. The soothing, calming, loving voice of my dear friend is speaking to me. The voice wraps itself, a blanket, around me. The future nets me like none more than a fish, one wanting to be kept for the adventure, how strange I am! Her presence heaves me upward with all its strength. The water drips from my lips, from my ears, and from my cheeks. The tears of fear leave me. It runs down my face onto the deck and is being secured by the endless sea. The skies are clear again. Then, suddenly, a shadow lurks its way over me. But as it does, I sigh in relief, in confidence, and in trust. It is the voice that I have followed and now it is here beside me. It pulled me from the sea, and back to where I ought be. Hayden is the name of that voice, that friend, that companion of imaginative mind.

A few days after the surrealistic experience, we happened on a new continent to explore. The land was much like that of the Mainland, except whereas the old had Empires; this one had Clans ruling over the estates. They came by such illustrious names as the Stone Knights of the Olipifirovash area and the Clan MacGregor of the Krif area, their customs and stories ranging by the landscape. What remained consistent as we journeyed onward was the feeling that I was ever rising in metaphysical elevation. I felt I was never before closer to the stars than now, but my perspective was distorted. Were they up there way above my head or were they her twin brilliant spectacles that stared at me with delight?

Ghost Ship

The evening's usual tinges of pink were flushed gray by the heavy overcast and dreary fog that soon enveloped the Naron Navigator. Hayden and I had just left this second grand landmass, sailing due southerly, and back to the Mainland. The sailing was tough this time, and doubly so by her sickness, which kept her in her cot for longer and longer periods of time. Once lively and vibrant, she dulled with this strangely familiar atmosphere, heavy air working hard on her young lungs. Salt deposits had discolored the decks; the once hard, rich wooden colors rotting with the years since repair. My steady climb slowed and my work suffered, as I had to pay more heed to sailing us to a safe port, for we were out on the open sea. Looking up only subjected me to the misery of the grave grays that I had escaped by leaving Naron, rather than the celestial guidance of the stars and the sun since present.

There was no easy way out, as there isn't much space on a small vessel like ours. Continuing determinedly, my thoughts still wandered off to wonder, 'What if I hadn't left? What if I had never built the Naron Navigator? What if I had never met Hayden? What if I always stayed on the bottom of that mountain, without the ambition?' My questions were no longer answered because Hayden's condition gradually deteriorated, and I stopped asking her these questions, instead caring more for her welfare. I applied the knowledge I had learned over the years in writing the Hobbes Encyclopedia, and traveling the world, but the cures for this sleeping sickness, as I could dub it no better name, were still a mystery to me.

It would take a mystery to solve this mystery illness. On one day, in this perpetual fog, the Navigator happened on another ship. Its sails were shredded and the hull was in similar disrepair from what I could see on my high mast. When we enclosed the distance, I brought our vessel alongside to board this nameless ship, which was twice the size of ours. Leaving Hayden in her bed, I indulged myself in the privilege of discovering the secret that the mysterious ship held between its planks.

Aboard, the deck was strewn with all sorts of upturned furniture and cracked cupboards, as if the insides were ripped out, in a frantic search for loot and life. There was none left though, hinting that someone had been to it beforehand, but this was only the first layer of my inquiry. When I entered the bulkhead to the main cabin, I found the ship without a Captain, sailing on its own, eastward. The map cabinets were vacant and only the unused pages of the ship's manifest remained. It was a gutted marlin that earnestly fought to stay out of the webbed net grave of all who are sea borne, the sea floor.

Continuing down the hatch to the lower level, I prepared my dagger, as a precautionary measure. The creaking death-throes of the hull's wood kept me on the edge of alert. The hammock fabrics were stripped from their vertical poles, and were nowhere to be found, like the crew that once slept in them. Also absent were the food supplies, ammunition stores and any real sign of life. Not to sound morbid, but finding a body would have at least reassured me of the nature of the attack that took down the ghost ship's crew. All that was left for me was the musty stench of something that had been to sea or wash for too long.

It was not until I came across a decently sized study in the under deck, aside the mess hall, did I discover anything about the ship's origins. The room itself was about the size of my own cabin aboard the Naron Navigator, and it was left in the same chaotic manner as the rest of the ship. A leg of the chair had been amputated, as if to provide for a makeshift club against some beastly foe. Blood had sprayed against the top of a chest, dried for me to find and be left at odds about. Within the stained trunk was where I found an assortment of manuscripts, all of which remained untouched. What could possess such a beast to do so much yet leave these be?

When I brought this information to Hayden's attention, her disposition changed profoundly. The light lit up in her eyes again and she was once more enthralled, this time with the mystery of the ghost ship. We spent a few days speculating the nature and happenings aboard it, and what had made it suffer such an outcome. There were no bodies, no supplies, no real records, and the only clue was that room, frighteningly like our own cabin. The library in the chest was mostly material from where the boat may have been to on prior cruises, before succumbing to its ultimate fate. We left it to its watery grave once we were through with our investigation. Finally, we did the only thing we could agree on about the origin of this mystery, and headed westward, opposite to its last known direction.

Red Moon Rising

There was a red moon rising when the Naron Navigator moored along the coast of the misshapen muscles. An eerie fog laid low over the shadow of this place once called home, concealing its spirit in a claustrophobic cloud. Tides of phosphorescent creatures crawled in the water, reflecting the strange colors of the bloodied moon. Violently, they scurried under the draft of the quivering wind, which shivered my timbers like fifteen men on a dead man's chest. And the curls of my hairs stood as clustered barnacles of my paled bosom, bare of clothing, but heavy on conscience. Glancing ashore, I sought the relief of the undignified waxed candles and the lackluster oil lamps, but they were out. There were no stars either, just the crimson glow radiating from above.

It was as cold that night as Zany's ways, when the warmth within had been denied. Glory, gallantry and grandeur had teased her tongue instead, feeling for the higher, leaving only the beast called loneliness for my dejection. There was no rank, no reward and no rise in the Naron Guard Captain, even after his Captain's cap was worn by the trails and trials of ambition. My journey was a drive to climb and prove, if not for mankind, if not for myself, but for Zany. And who would have thought that having been so high, having known so much, having dined with the starry eyed delight, would lead to only one thing, the downfall. Falling down, down from the peak of purpose, the summit of self-summons, into a dim demise.

Hayden was what made my chest so bare, for she was wrapped carefully into my cloak, stiff. I reckoned with the beast, which returned from the ghost ship, and now had won over, for she was dead. It was a lasting struggle, where sky blue dreams almost defeated the iron hold of Naron's grave grays. The murderous hand of my neglect is nothing but a stratum: tonight, red by the moon's blood coating; yesterday, pale by the numbing of the tiller; once upon a time, golden by those ports of call; a life ago, white by Imperial charge; and before then, the scarlet flesh and bone white of conception. My colors roll off the page, the strokes no longer in control, smudging and running beyond the lines of what is right or wrong, into the abyss of darkness.

This beast of loneliness is indeed no other than that of the mind itself, and what it can conjure by wandering too far. I realize it now, much too late, for its minion of reclusion is what starved Hayden to death. The moans from her chamber, haunting, beckoning me to come, however, I would not, for the pain of seeing her suffer was unbearable. Even when I had fed her, forcibly, she would helplessly refuse it, coughing, choking and vomiting my rations as if they were vermin and I could not expend all my efforts as the Naron Navigator drifted aimlessly. I now asked not only what should I do, but 'Why? Why was she so tormented? ' And sickly and ghost white, all she could do was give me a melancholic nod. Whereas she was my savior once, I was to bear witness to her death.

I have nothing left but despair. To me, I was not only the witness, but also the murdering jolt of her death. I allowed myself to jaunt her away from what was hers, her long, at least longer, life at that port of call with sun swept sands and sea soaked shores. She would swim nude and smoothly through those calm, tranquil, sheltered waters, not the rough, open seas that I trekked ambitiously. The pace, the demand, was too much, I recognize now, but it is indeed, too late. The hour now is too late, too late for her to live, too late for me to come to terms, for I am still shaken and ridden with anguish.

Trembling, I feel her lips with my own; until they touch and quiet away the tormenting waves, dissipating the silent regret. Her lips are now dry and cool, but when kissing them, the warmth of those golden places in the sun return again. I only need to look at her face to see that the moon has turned white once more.

Master & Commander: The Golden Age of Exploration

"I have departed Basillica with Captain Hobbes on the Naron Navigator, and am studying him in the faltering light without any distractions from the going-ons of town. The Captain is not an ugly man by any means, but his features would not be overly striking if it were not for his look of experience. The Hobbes Encyclopedia offers a chronology of the Captain's life, but it does not detail how those experiences have affected him personally. Of course, I'm not surprised that a person would not detail such effects in a note meant to be public. The Captain's skin is weathered by the wind and sun and years, and his eyes have a depth to them which I'm sure must come from the occurrences of his days. It's like there's a whole world in those shiny bulbs, and I'm highly curious to learn of it. But, I worry that probing him might earn me a loss of welcome, so I'll mind my own business...at least for now."

Hayden in her Diary, Day 886.

The second character of my account, Thomas Hobbes, was spawned on day 620 in the province of Naron in the Ladvicitavoian (Lad) ruled Alexian Empire. He was inspired by the town leaders, Corporals Zany Dane and Patrice Stourge, to join the local Naron Guard division of the Lad Empire's External Guard. Rising promptly from his initial rank of Private to Lance Corporal, then successively Corporal, Sergeant, Command Sergeant, skipping the rank of Lieutenant, to earn the rank of Captain in a total of five years, he clearly proved himself as a proficient leader and capable organizer. Despite his professional successes, from securing enemy vehicles during the epic Lad-Alenz/DoUrden conflict to posting guards around the town of Naron in one of Cantr's first early warning systems, which probably had some impact on the DoUrden decision not to press further into the Empire during their advance, his thirst for knowledge was left unquenched.

However, by this time, nearly a decade after first spawning in Naron, Thomas was faced with critical and serious issues in his personal career. Unknowingly, at the time, he was about to make the most fateful decision any character of mine has since had to make, and that was to desert all he had worked for. The town of Naron, his inspiration, and perhaps, his infatuation, was dropped after a lengthy deliberation. He had earned the rank of Captain, Commander of Naron, since his appointment by General Sestar Gartaff, the epitome of his worldly aspirations up until that time. Finally, just before daybreak of 795, he said goodbye to Naron, and greeted his new occupation, the Hobbes Encyclopedia.

To sidestep my character's conviction for the moment and to look at my own, out-of-character state of mind, I could say that I was excited. Nothing to this degree had ever unraveled in Cantr before, so the idea was completely novel to me. The name Thomas Hobbes comes from the English political philosopher who wrote the Leviathan. The real life persona's political beliefs centered on people being essentially evil; they required strict authoritative measures to keep them under control. The other pole would be represented by John Locke, another English philosopher, who believed people were created with a tabula rasa, or blank slate, and so were born free and good. Since I have had characters by both names, chosen by the misleading description of the game, I asked myself at the time if I would play them due to these out-of-character influences. I said no, I wouldn't, I would base their characters on their environments.

The Lad Empire was always criticized in the Forums for being dark, evil, and oppressive, not unlike the government that the real life Thomas Hobbes probably believed was essential to rule the brutish element of society, the people. Locke, on the other hand, was raised in the Mid-North Union, and born into Drojf, where the Nosse sung gleeful songs, having faith in the populace in general. This coincidence continues to irk me to some degree, since it seems the in game conditions have provided for correlation between the in character and out of character personas.

The condition of the known Cantr world in 800 was not as clear as it became today. There were separate maps, which encompassed large expanses of terrain, but never provided an overall picture. For most characters, it was sufficient, but I sought to go beyond that. The maps I am referencing would be the Rylan Ashcroft Great Map and the Armedian Koloff Map of Siom, and the attempts at the time by Rigel Starseeker to begin mapping the shoreline of the Pok Island. By picking up these maps along the way, as well as by his own efforts, and cross referencing with text-based maps, he was able to produce what is the standard Hobbes Mainland Map of the 1300 Edition--now often borrowed in editions by those seeking to compile a "World Map". It is interesting to note that he finished the map of the Siom Island after arriving on the Pok Island, creating a logistical pain when trying to return it for distribution.

Fortunately, there was work being done at the time by Andaru Treefeather, who met with Hobbes when they were both in the Mid-North area, to map the Pok Island in a very comprehensive manner. Every location on the island would be numbered, registered, and marked down, in a large Island wide map, even taking the liberty of naming geographical terrains and bodies of waters--a liberty that Hobbes himself had declined when producing the Mainland map. In hindsight, it probably would have been an interesting thing to have done, and to see how people would accept the concept. In recent times though, I have noticed some characters appreciating their history by naming the Pok continent after Treefeather and the Ladvicitavoi continent after Hobbes.

The Hobbes Encyclopedia has always offered more components than just the work of the cartographers, such as tactics, though the maps seem to be the most popular. The now miscellaneous items were the centerpiece of the content when the 800 edition was released, since Hobbes was red hot off from leading the garrison at Naron. At the time, crowbars, healing foods, iron shields, and crossbows were the name of the game, and whoever had those were basically invincible. Nonetheless, he would have been proven wrong by the Lad-Alenz Conflict, had he remained to see the outcome of it. The shocking collapse of the Empire he had worked so hard for came in large part from the DoUrden's successful use of vehicles with 'hit and run' tactics. Additionally, they stored large amounts of healing foods on their vehicles and made sure to remain alert and active, two aspects that have never lost their worth in Cantr, though RD changes with fueling could change this. On the other hand, DoUrden lacked the long term strategy and discipline to maintain control of these conquests, showing less mettle than the (MacGregor and Stone Knight) Clans of the Treefeather Continent.

Cantr also provided other things to write about, such as technology, where an all-inclusive list of machines, weapons, and tools; their operations, necessities, and outcomes; and their overall usage was scribed. This provided a world class level of information to the average character, who sought to make a certain item, or sought validation in the eyes of the Players Department for the knowledge they used to make that item, since at the time the 'Find out in game rule' was heavily enforced. It would be forbidden for you to say a crowbar was used to break locks, curing tub to make leather, or smelting furnace to make iron/steel on any communal forum. Things have changed drastically. As you know, the advent of the Cantr Wiki; the change of the Find out in game rule; and the implementations of new weapons, skills, and inaccuracies threw the dated system up into the air, and so both the technologies and tactics sections were stripped from the Encyclopedia; the technologies section in large part found a new home in the Cantr Wiki.

It has always been important to keep a journal when traveling with Hobbes because of his occupation. What if Christopher Columbus never kept a log when discovering the New World? Would we have Columbus Day on October 12th, celebrated around most of the western world, today? Therefore, Hobbes kept a meticulous, and very tedious log of what he did, where he went to, and what direction it happened to be in. From time to time he would write down background knowledge of places that were being spoke of, which he would find out more about later by exploring it for himself. What irritates me is that the general Cantr populace are too lazy or can't be bothered to read the journals that characters have taken the time to log, in Thomas's case for 500 days. Maybe one day it will be acknowledged, and there will be a Hobbes Day in Cantr, celebrated on the twentieth day of each half-decade. Or not.

The sea, or rather, the Naron Navigator, his darter, has always been the home to his occupations since his 800 departure from Naron. It's a ship that has become world renown and synonymous with his name, one of the best known in Cantr. Sea travel has for a long time been the most affordable, quickest and most effective method of transport, communication and travel. However, it creates the issue where the inland locations are less accessible and do not have a spot really in the Hobbes Encyclopedia. Perhaps one day we shall see rivers and canals, things missing from Cantr's geographical features.

Women have played a part in Thomas' life as well, though never to the sexual level. Mostly, they are for companionship's sake on the lonely seas. Although Zany played an important part, she never joined him on the seas, and would be lost to the past, told in a surrealistic story published above. That story will show how he saw Hayden as his voice to the future, whereas Zany's was of a troubling past, also told in poetry like in the "The Return." Since Hayden's death in the late 1200s, on the cursed Island of Shai, or so it is in Thomas' troubled mind, he traveled with Synthia Zang until once more he took to his own way, finding his way into the company of Weaver and Tanya Grotter. Hayden's passing marked the end of his era as an active Encyclopedia editor, now taking on the burden of delivering the final edition of the Hobbes Encyclopedia to all the seaside locations.

In conclusion, Thomas Hobbes has led two lives. In the one he is best known for, he is the Master of the Seas, but in the other, he was the Commander of Naron. That is why he calls himself by the more ambiguous title of Captain Thomas Hobbes, one that he has earned in either case, unlike some of the ostensible Captains who don't even know the clear difference of a Lake and a Sea or what boats belong to either. Yet, that's not so difficult anymore, with their seas and lakes mapped, their ships catalogued into the Wikipedia, and their technological information made available at their fingertips. The era of intercontinental contact, or the golden age of the sea, which Thomas has ushered in, has finally made clear many of the necessities for further industrial, radio, and technological advancements.

"Spanning from the end of the 700s with the initial release of the Hobbes Encyclopedia, a compilation of maps, information and general knowledge of the seas, technologies and places to be, to the very beginning of the 1300s was an era of intercontinental pioneering, discovery and communication. Over these 500 days, I have met as many people as cycles that have passed, or so it seems, and I am most pleased if only a percent of those have found utility and satisfaction from my print. With such modest need for my contentment, I am personally exuberated by the thought that it will serve those in generations to come, hopefully for good over evil. Whereas some sections will become obsolete, I am certain some bit of it will live on through history, more likely than not, it would be the maps of the shores and the shoreline. The sea is where the measurements have been taken from, and that is my home, and to be remembered to where I truly belonged, not manning the ramparts of Naron but rather the mast of the Navigator is where I ought be if anyone were to make a record of me. Throughout my life, I have buried my thoughts and sentiments mostly in the form of writing, which surprisingly extends beyond the bind of the Encyclopedia. As my words draw to a close, I ask the questions I am sure many a body has asked themselves; what was my purpose, have I served it well and how will I be remembered? I am satisfied with my answer, Hayden."

In the words of Thomas Hobbes, Log Entry 1300 of the Hobbes Encyclopedia.

Sea Splendor (1177) by Thomas Hobbes

Forever! How far does the sea go on?

Will the tide ever confide with the sand?

A thousand nautical miles? Beyond?

Shall the breeze ever cease by our hand?

Never! The ships will always sway

Off the scupper, the water shall still distill.

Our nets are set on animals in the bay

They lay second to us, until we kill for our fill.

Wherever! Chaste splendor is now waste

The sea sliced open and exploited until frail

Fishes flee, clamshells close, in distaste

The wind flays while the gulls cry betrayal!

However, I now know the horizon's end:

Where stolen serenity is just a tragic toxicity,

A mess, which do no less than to mend

And our undersea city is ruined to an unjust pity.

The Return (982) by Thomas Hobbes

The Ghosts, the friends, the foes of the past

climb relentlessly, determined up my shipboard mast

My memories won`t obey, they will not flee

so what I say, is let them be free, and let them see

To hold your breath, and shut your mouth as if to fast

in endless lies of silence, will leave only an omen to cast

My memories won`t obey, they will not flee

so what I ask, is let me be free, and let me be

Will friendship regain its love and last

Or will it all end in the word whose prefix is nast-

My memories won`t obey, they will not flee

so what I may, is let me be seen, and let them see me

The Ghosts, the friends, the foes of the past

climb relentlessly, determined up my shipboard mast!

Hayden (965) by Thomas Hobbes

The waves were ridden with anguish. Hayden looked up with pleading eyes and asked me in a desperate whisper, "Why? Why were the waves so tormented?" By the sound of her voice I could tell her heart was up in her throat, and all I could do to calm her was nod. We were beyond the coastal safety of Zuzi and the Kiii's. It was westward to that place I once called home, Naron. She knew as well as I, we were going to ride it out. There was no other choice but onward. The shiver that rattled against the barrage of icicles pricking down upon her skin tore a ripple through my heart.

I relinquished my cloak over her shoulders and took to the wheel of the Naron Navigator, whisking her daringly into the future. A sound captured my ears and it spun me around reflexively.

It was naught the sound of thunder, of the thrashing waves or of the whistling wind. It was all that anger combined.

I opened my eyes, and she slipped away.

"Hayden!"

I screamed, I yelled, oh and how I cried! I abandoned the helm and searched imploringly over the deck.

My eyes raced into the depths, my ears tuned out that awful storm, my heart rippled in all directions, emptying all the contents it ever knew. It searched. There was no gurgling, no gasping for life.

I leapt in. I took my breath, more than my lungs could handle, and the droplets of rain and tears were soon washed away from my face. I was swept away into a tide of darkness. I exhaled, and the sun shone through, sparkling, glistening, glittering, mirrored in mutations of reflections.

The water became translucent. I could see into the future and into the past. I could see where the detours would take me and I could see where the paths would side.

Was I alive? Or had I lost myself in that fateful dive?

Was I here? Or was I being brought to somewhere in fear?

Was my sight in such clarity? Or were the mirrors of perplexities and complexities fooling me?

I turned my head around and I heard the voice of the past.

The narrator was the caring, yet authoritative Zany Dane. This was where I was. I inhaled, and the water shot through my lungs, drowning, dying and suffocating through tinted glass. The window forward was shutting. I saw into the past, but I sought the future. I went for it--leaping into the window of the future with all the strength I could muster.

Was I to believe it? Or was my sanity being lost bit by bit? Hayden's was the voice of the present, becoming stronger as I dove forward. It became firm and as deep-set as the depths I had been taken to. Uncertainty became security.

The window of the past had shut as I had gone through. It locked shut and I didn't care. My friend, I was immersed in her voice and my mind was set. I was no longer confused or scared. The soothing, calming, loving voice, of my dear friend, spoke to me. The voice wrapped itself around me. The future grasped me, and netted me like a fish. It heaved upward with all its strength. The water dripped from my lips, from my ears, and from my cheeks. The tears of fear left me. It ran down my face onto the deck and was secured by the sea.

The skies were clear again. Then suddenly, a shadow lurked its way over me. But as it did, I sighed in relief, in confidence and in trust. It was the voice that I had followed and now it was there beside me. It pulled me from the sea, and back to where I had ought be. Hayden.

Simple Silence (892) by Thomas Hobbes

It was one of those days, the ones that lay before your eyes, foretelling with strong breezes of a storm to come. Winds swiftly blew all that could not be stowed from the deck, smashing them along the hull's sides. Both port and starboard sides of the deck were scratched, leaving not a trace of the thorough scrubbing it had received not more a few than hours ago.

In lieu of it all, I stood there awaiting Hayden. She had taken the leisure of scanning the market on the center Soarer, which housed the huge Allegiance Outpost. This Soarer from the city of Siom stood tall above all others, adequately being the center stone of the city, to which the large rakers docked to.

Our darter, the Naron Navigator, a sturdy ship of now a little over 200 days calmly swayed in the soon to be disastrous waves, connected to the outer ring of longboats that housed the sailors of the city who worked on the larger Rakers and Soarer. There were at least a dozen ships, and a dozen marine guilds.

Shouts came from the distance, and my ears struck up, worried. They became louder, kidnapping the simple silence that had reigned here so peacefully.

Hayden leapt aboard, her broad sword bloodied, and she screamed to me, shaking me from my sudden shock, "Pirates!"

Without an aye of agreement, I equiped my crossbow as she cut the ropes that docked us to a longboat. Some hunting bow and war bow arrows landed along the port vulnerable side of the ship.

I swung our ship off to the starboard direction of the South, to let her be free with the sea. The blood sprayed, soaked and slid off the side of the longboats; we, the ones tasked with the security of this Outpost that had no natural resource except able sailors and capable ships, were the lucky ones.

And we were gonna need that luck, as we took on our vows to the Allegiance Outpost, and avenge this day of infamy.

The Collection (892) by Thomas Hobbes

Sergeant Grawov grunted, "Ten hut, General Vangle Dalentine speaks!"

"Thank you Sergeant."

His gold cufflings, made with the same gold as the Emperor`s gold Crown shined brilliantly as he rose them to address his humbled audience.

"People of the Empire! I want volunteers, volunteers to fulfill a dream of mine. A dream to make the sea mine. A dream to fill it with our people. A dream to make an Imperial Colony of the Empire," named of course after himself. "Make the Empire that feeds you, fends you, frees you to be free of so called freedom fighters, make us proud. Volunteer! I’m not ordering you to volunteer, I am asking you to, so I will expect to see you all aboard the Colony`s ships as I inspect them, because I have made it an Imperial Demand that you volunteer."

Murmurs rose, a catch could be clearly spotted, but no one dared see it. No one dared be nothing but ignorant. Sergeant Grawov`s voice rose above the murmurs, "Silence! General wants volunteers. Guard- go get some volunteers!"

The resistant were dragged away. The willing were the unwilling intimidated.

They boarded vessels that would be their homes, large rakers that would be manned by guilds of unable workers who were made able. There was a Guild Raker for metalsmiths, a Guild Raker for toolsmiths, a Guild Raker for weaponsmiths, a Guild Raker for dockworkers, a Guild Raker for food distribution, a Guild Raker for even the Guards. The latter being the most comfortable, even if all they had was an armory and some furniture. Of course, that is discounting the private longboat`s for the Emperor and General, who would be the only ones to ever step foot aboard those. Quick pursuit vessels were docked alongside the single line of rakers, most of them near the front of the Colony, whilst the Imperial Colonial Guestroom for the General and Emperor was attached to the rear.

Everything was orderly. No one but the Guards went from one boat to another. When there were problems, they would be swiftly exterminated and buried out at sea.

Food was brought it in raw meat form, and cooked in the food Raker`s many small firepits, manned all the time as the flames were kept with wood that was stored aboard. The specialty items were brought back to shore for usage by the armies. The colony surpassed the Empire`s Capitol in size and strength. This hereby left the General Governor Vangle Dalentine in a prime position to surpass the Emperor`s authority in ability and agression.

Mutiny (899) by Thomas Hobbes

Leisurely, the longboat cruised in from the Harbor, and this enterprise city that rose from decks formed on the docks, to be ferried and maintained offshore. Its laborers came from the land, and worked on the sea. Given the promise of protection, food and forceful convincing (read: intimidation), they worked.

An Underground had formed. It rose from talk, and through it, came treason. Whenever a Guard walked in, systems of alarm were made, so these talks would have never occurred. These workers, these slaves of an unloving empire, wanted not wealth, but freedom. The Sea was an open expanse, endless, yet it jailed them. They could not exit.

The Underground as it became known as, persisted, and the day the longboat leisurely cruised up, would mean a change of the Guard. The Dal Guards from the Capitol had been aboard and in service for at least two and a half years; their ranks had dropped from a dozen to ten, due to sleeping sickness. Not a single event had occurred to incur their usage. It was a safe administrative move, to allocate just half a dozen Guards from the nearby Harbor Colony Garrison to replace these highly valued Capitols. And for the Underground, it was the initiation of their operation.

The Commander of the Guard, General Vangle Dalentine, forces handed down, in simple ceremony, his duty of security to the new garrison troopers who instantaneously through no merit but being aboard became Imperial Marines. They had not been trained as Imperial Marines, nor equipped to handle such role. Sergeant Gwarov led these mere conscripts, of the same breed as the slaves they so kept working.

In fact, once the Imperial Capitol Guards left the new structure, it was left in the hand of only one true through blood Imperial, and it was the ever woman chaser, newly appointed Director of the Colony, Mister Schiesskopf. It was well known through rumor, that he was only appointed the role because the Emperor wanted rid of him and his activities. Never affirmed was the gossip he had flirted with the Emperor`s beloved wife. This was a forbidden thought, and the Imperial brass took a blind eye to the matter, and the Emperor was never informed, in fear of his retaliation, even on the messenger.

The Sergeant Gwarov who was issued a field promotion to Lieutenant, and now led five other recruits who were entirely inept. The Empire had never recovered its grandeur since its war with the bandits of the hills. The armories filled with sabers, crossbows and battle-axes were plundered. More havoc broke loose when these bandits sold for low prices to greedy individuals who had freedom, but abused it for their own wealth and criminal taste. With freedom came responsibility, a lesson that the Underground yet needed to know, existed.

And no later than one day after the Imperial Capitalists were relieved, mutiny by mere hoards of laborers ensued. The Underground leaders who were once the foreman of guilds had sneakily produced from the Empire`s machines, the very weapons that would destroy them. Women threw themselves onto Director Schiesskopf, and soon he was brutally beaten beyond belief. The Weapon`s Guild Employees systematically neutralized the Lieutenant and his Conscripts. The dozen agreed to surrender. The other people worked their way to taking the tools, weapons and shields from the storerooms.

The Underground leaders who had worked to make this happen, could not control their peoples newly found freedoms, as it would be an hypocrisy to do so. These mutineers stole ships and undocked them from each other. Murder, rape and pillaging continued. Some of the mutineers tried to refuge themselves back ashore, but upon the Guards learning of the mutiny, they were had killed.

The Empire had lost half their ships and all of their supplies before they could send back a party to reign calm and order. These people who had wanted freedom, could not at all handle it, and were again suppressed, brutally. The Underground leaders were taken out and publicly shot dead. The rest of the peoples were beaten to a condition where they were barely able to progress on work, as new slaves from the shore replaced them. This was a disgrace for them Empire, and they would do what they wish to retain their rule.

Angus MacGregor

LA LETTRE D'ESPOIRE

The moon, mystified by layers of adorned mascara, strayed onto the majestic mountains that rose up into the night sky. Ominous overcast obscured the point of rendezvous, in a censorship of unity and unanimity. Where the innocence of the snow scarified the summit, where the precision of the peak pierced the purple of the firmament, where the contempt of the clouds covered the mountain's curiae sense of blind justice, was where the helpless lass had bowed beneath. Freckled with filth, tired by the trail, she shivered as she slumbered through the howls of the night. The wretched wolves and the wicked winds wore the woman down to her purest need of survival. As they taunted and tasted the perspiration from her glands out of fear, she persisted with the will of parturiency, mustering her courage. Lashes on the lamented wounds yielded to her stubborn resolve that kept her adrift on the waves which soon became the expansive highlands. Echoes of the howls kept her eyes forward, her stance on the advance, her breaths labored. Gargantuan grass fields wore less upon her numbing sandaled feet than the protrusions of the rock forms that had preceded them on her continuous journey. The darkness, however, remained.

Her saliva expelled mouth gaped in awe of the sight that stood before her, shaking reality into days that seemed to just drift on by in a never ending nightmare. She awoke to the tinges of tangerine that outlined the hope that was in the structure of a two-towered castle; built of quarry-mined stones, it stood together in unison of quaint design and sweat drenching work. Only one more valley separated her from this deliberate symbol of outstanding pride, honor and courage, amongst the breadth of open nothingness. Though not bothering to call upon her eyes to scout her peripheral, what lay to the east were the constructed settlements of the city dwelling lowlanders, and to the west and further south, yonder waters of the abyss sea. Behind her, to the north, were the inhospitable but merciful mountains that offered by their council, a safe passage. And behind that, was the haunting memory of a place once called home.

The letter she held was worth her life. It told of the horror, something she was more than acquainted with, but had the credibility of a seal that spared her existence. A token acknowledged by the winds, the wolves and the challenge she would approach next, the MacGregors. They were the ones who were comfortably housed, as she once was, inside their castle. It was their checkered banner that fluttered dominantly over their arched wooden doors. She was in their land, and now at their clemency. Though shaken, though weary, she stumbled to the portal, the bloody blisters now anesthetized on this final, awkward trot. The shredded linens of the traveling cloak that clothed her was unfit for civilization, but that too, like her blisters, would not stop her motion, driven by sheer exhaustion. Above the frame of the door, on a platform of his own, stood the silhouette of a man with a broad torso and kilted coverings. He squinted at her cautiously through the morning's mist, but as the sun lifted and laid its rays on her neglected countenance, his face hinted a frown of pity. Backing away, he dismounted from the position and lowered himself down a wooden ladder on the inner side of the Castle's wall, then met her as he cracked open one of the large, oaken doors.

"Angus MacGregor of the Clan MacGregor," he greeted in a brogue tongue, affording her the courtesy of a brief bow. She gaped at his well kept figure for a moment, having not come across another being for weeks, certainly not one with his precedent. Jaw squared, biceps built, he was a formidable form, likely the prime alpha male or the heir to an aging patriarch. His kilt was in the same checkered pattern of the banner, folded over his shoulder and tucked into his narrow waistline. Finally, after a prolonged pause, she introduced herself, "I'm Carina Faux of Pok."

"You seem to have had the time of your life, Mistress Faux," he euphemized, making light of her worn and torn surfaces.

"That's one way of looking at it, Monsieur MacGregor."

"I presume it would be my honor to present you to Castle MacGregor," with a wide swooping motion of the arm, he presented the interior lobby of the fortress, the other he extended to take her hand, "without further ado."

"Well, the question would have to be raised sooner or later, mind as well be the former," he grinned at his sophistication, "what brings you here, besides any tender attractions for your host and gentleman of the morning?"

Angus's charm came with the accents of his tongue, the depths of his tone and overall composure in his mannerism, which was supplemented by the glistening marble floors and velvet tapestries that were juxtaposed with the vertical columns of composite stone. She indulged his curiosity, knowing not to turn down the vital key to which she had gone all this way to seek, the Leader of the MacGregors.

"I've come this way, from a land foreign to you, but home to me. Exiled may be the civil word, but the way it was done in was far from civil. My lady, our leader, your Leader's intimate acquaintance of years long gone, though a bond never undone, requires the mastery of thy armies and thy soldiers and thy artillery and thy archers and thy animals of burden to expel those who have overtaken her domain," she took a breath. From her cleavage, she withdrew the envelope with the seal. It was an emblem, with royal red sashes twining the wings of a hawk. Perhaps those who were more knowledgeable of the politics and had a dark sense of humor would jab that the design was a satire for the red tape that had caused the fall of Pok to their enemies.

"Our people's wings are clipped; we are caged. I am the lone dove that has escaped, to call upon your Clan's honor, strength and mercy."

He eyed the area from where envelope was withheld with a moment's longer glance than would be given had it been any less attractive a place, but the curves had compelled his eyes. Making sense of the words she had just spoken while studying the sensual shadows created across her body by the embers of the night's now dimmed torches was a challenge within itself. The light from the outside made the stained glass windows glow their colors, but were insufficient to beam onto projections across the floors and opposing walls. Finally, he brought together his thoughts and spoke; no longer as scripted as before, "I reckon you'd like me to take that envelope up to my Lord, who is still in his chambers. I will do that for you. And I will also have arrangements made so as to bathe, sleep and clothe you proper for when we meet again."

"Much obliged," she smiled meekly, fatigue having the better of her now.

Her youth was drained into trials she had never faced the likes of before. She had escaped through the lines of the enemy that had marched against her life, a nameless, feared foe, which had shaken her world upside down. For weeks, she spent her life on the run, through mountains she was unfit to travel, having come from a comfortable life in the palatial compound of Pok. She was not their leader, but the attendant to, and that was how she had come across the opportunity to flee with her life, by carrying the envelope of hope.

Lord MacGregor read the contents with great sentimentality, a lone tear dripping down his pale cheeks. His hand shook angrily as he read of the wrongs that had been done to Duchess Persimone, from whom the letter was addressed, and the Pok people, on whose behalf it was written. In urgent words, it recalled the Stone Knight advance on the mountain side town, a place where he had never been, except in his dreams, in search of Persimone. They took the town by siege, her guards drafting a defense of farmers, merchants, butchers, miners and anyone with two hands that could equip an improvised weapon. Scythes, staffs, knives and pickaxes were armed by the corresponding trades, against an onslaught of spears, crossbows and steel broadswords, mounted on armored cavalry. The city was laid waste to by a barrage of fiery projectiles, which consisted of anything from bodies to gas drenched stones. She beseeched him for his Gregarach, the warriors of the Clan MacGregor, to make their way to revenge what would be the inevitable defeat of Pok.

Before taking apart the seal as to read the letter, Gregor MacGregor, Lord of the MacGregors, took a moment to glance at it. It was red and gold. It was all that was left of the Dukedom of Pok, established by Persimone. She and Gregor had a history, one that went back earlier than his marriage, which had bore him a single son, Angus. His wife had died, but he loved his son no less, as he would be the heir to the Clan. He taught his son to be honorable, faithful and courageous, even if he lacked those qualities at times. Persimone's intimacy with him had begun during their adventures afore even the beginning of Clan MacGregor, which was to say, the days when he was still a lad by the name of William Lawson. He was a scoundrel, a rogue, a mercenary, fulfilling his own prophecies of glory and fame by his own manipulative, daring and audacious plots. This was back in the Days of Peace, as it was known, before the turbulence of war brought it to a brutal end.

He was young and brave and with nothing to lose, trying to make a name for himself, when he was approached by agents of Donna Trent's Seatown Forest. They were reputed for their secrecy, mystery and ample abilities. It was exactly what Gregor was seeking. William was taken under the wing of Gregar Mendal, who took him deep into the forest. The trees shot high into the air, like the masts they would one day become, for ships. Their sails of leaves swung open, drooping downward, providing a canopy where the birds and squirrels would play tunes. He was amended to the way of the warrior, being bold yet modest, strong but merciful, honorable and resourceful. They lived off the forest for days, for weeks, for months, until he was no longer a squire, but an able-bodied soldier himself. They could make a weapon from their bare hands, out of twines, to suffocate a man; sharpened sticks, to impale an enemy; or their own hands, to paralyze a foe. The art of war was a fading one, but William schooled himself to be able to teach it himself.

In the passing of Gregar Mendal, under circumstances that would never be made known to William, he would forge Clan MacGregor, in his remembrance, and change his own name. The brooks and plains of Djorf Hills, Drojf and Krif townships, which separated his schooling grounds of Seatown Forest from his new home in the Krif Highlands, were called the lowlands. To Gregor, they had become a place of waste, of prostitution, of infidelity, of sewage. They were big cities that had no sense of honor or anything he stood for. This was a greater hurt for him as he had served these townships and cities after joining the Rangers, an organization of peacekeepers and law enforcers which patrolled the entire Region alike. These towns unified were together as part of the Mid-North Union. When he had enough of this, he had turned west for the Krif Highlands, as the division between him and these other towns increased. That was where his adventures with Persimone had begun.

They created the Clan by their labors, enticing enterprising young men to join them and embodying in them the charm to attract young ladies to live with them. Slowly, the castle, which would become famed from the old learning grounds of Seatown Forest to the reader of this story, began to rise. It was a cubic form at first, but would later take on a tower, and then another, as the Clan continued to grow. Vassal states were recruited by promises, blackmail and threats alike, and the Gregarach enforced this. However, as they traveled less and Gregor sought to settle within his castle, Persimone grew increasingly restless, finally leaving one night. They were both heartbroken, but continued on with their lives. Persimone would go on to forge the community at Pok, having crossed those mystical mountains and made her deal with them, to bias those large rocks towards the protection and safe journeying of those who carried her seal. The gold of the seal was granted to her from the mountain's breath, the red by tapestry she was given from Gregor, so long ago. Those were the tapestries that lined the castle's walls as Carina roamed about, finishing her bath and lengthy sleep.

It was sometime in the evening when they met again, Carina being the guest of honor, with Lord MacGregor, Angus MacGregor and several Gregarach Captains in attendance. They dined on the roasting of a sheep, supplemented by potatoes and accessorized by carrots. It was purely a traditional meal in the highlands, had on the wooden table that was made of Seatown Forest wood, a gift from Donna Trent after Gregor left the Rangers. She was the one who had really kept the Union together, but even her, and all his reverence for her, could not keep him there. He had met Persimone some time earlier in Drojf, and they wanted to break free. He resigned from the Rangers and formed the Clan. This was the Clan that now would decide the futility or the usefulness of Carina's trip and her people's hope. The discussion had been kept mostly to small talk, becoming acquainted with each other, though Gregor increasingly forgot to hold his lid on the topic of Persimone. After finishing their dinners, they got down to business.

Carina sparked, "So, Lord MacGregor, what is the message you'd have me bring back to my people?"

He looked at her, seeing with the aid of candlelight, intensifying on her eyes. She felt him look right on into her soul, the turbulence that shook her and pushed her much further than she should ever have been pushed. After all, she was just a woman. Gregor saw the fragility, the delicateness, the brittleness of a woman. The reverse side, her daring and brave trek across the mountains, for weeks on end, without his training, he could not see, blinded by years of his chauvinistic doctrine. Across the table, perhaps Angus saw her for that. He had seen the state of her when she had come in, yet remaining dignified. He smiled at her, as they caught each other's eyes, awaiting Gregor's response.

"You won't be going back; it is not safe for you, young lady. I will bring the message in person, with my Gregarach. I will take to my claymore, to my very feet, to my many men, and make Pok rise again against these sadistic Stone Knights. They shall have the vengeance of a lover, the reprisal of a lord and will pay every due to that lady they have taken so much from."

In all these years, he had some romantic sense that she would one day fall again into his arms, and love him once more, as they had so many times before. It was hopeless, but not for William Lawson. Gregor shook his head heatedly, then coolly turned to his Captains, "Prepare the men for departure by morning. I will lead them myself, and I want every Gregarach member equipped with the necessary supplies and their swords sharpened to a point. I will have nothing less. That will be my reply, Mistress Faux."

"Lord MacGregor," she began to demand to join them, but then thought better of it, eying Angus for a second time, "I thank you for your service in the name of our Lady; she will be most appreciative. I wish you and the men the best of luck. Will Angus be remaining here, to protect the castle and its occupants?"

"No, I will be helping my father..."

"Actually, that would be a good idea. One of these days, I will be gone and he will need to prove himself before then, as someone who can take care of the castle. This would be as good a time as any to do so, Angus. I don't know how many more battles I can or will be able to fight; there are many before you. There is no reason to shed your blood when your father is still here, as it would be my duty until I am gone."

Gregor replaced the silverware to the table, to stroke his white beard, as he looked earnestly at Angus. He wasn't sure if it was his desire to find Persimone once again, or his fear of losing Angus's faith in his history, which had him keep his son from the battlefield. It wasn't the fear of losing Angus to battle, though, as this would be a clinched victory. He nodded then, to make his words final.

"Aye, father, I will do as you please."

The parties dismissed themselves from the table, starting with the Gregarach Captains, attending to the business of preparations. Soon thereafter, Gregor excused himself, leaving the two youngest in company. Carina and Angus eyed each other again, in an awkward but curious glow of the table's fading candles, before the former spoke.

"You know, being out in the wild for so many days, has made me kind of used to it. The hills, the grass, the soil, even. When you're out there, it's just you, the sky and the mountains in the background, over your shoulder. It's all kind of peaceful; it lets you clear your mind when the rest of the world is just tumbling down around you. It's lonely, but it's a reassuring kind of lonely."

"You don't reckon we should take a walk, then, Mistress Faux?"

"I don't think it's a bad idea at all."

"I bet it'll be less lonely when there are two of us."

He went around the table, leading her out to the lobby, and back out of the double doors which she had just entered through in the morning. The overcast that had obscured the moonlight had dissipated and the moon's passive rays shimmered gently down on the couple. She turned briefly towards the mountains, as if to whisper something, only to catch Angus's supple lips.

Bio

In January 2006, I was asked to transfer from coeditor of the waning and now fated Chronicles of Cantr independent book project to the Communications Department Editorial Board for Stolen Notes. Up until that time, I spent quite a few years developing Cantr characters like Captain Thomas Hobbes, Ranger John Locke and Laird Angus MacGregor, all of whom were in the top 10 well known characters list. These characters proved to be the corresponding inspiration of most of my Webzine articles, such as my personal favorite: the Hobbes Narration, but I also tried to be creative with others, like the mock-newspaper article.

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Contents

John Desmond Locke

THE RANGER'S TALE

The March of the MacGregors

Seatown Road

Bloodshed

Tension

Not Nearly The End

A Farewell Address

Locke Commentary

Echoes of a Life Lived Compilation Samples

Thomas Hobbes

HOBBES NARRATION

Embarkation

Lady Surreal

Ghost Ship

Red Moon Rising

Master & Commander: The Golden Age of Exploration

Angus MacGregor

LA LETTRE D'ESPOIRE

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