3 Mirtul, 1373 Brother Anton's Staff

This afternoon added another mystery to an already confusing day- Brother Anton's staff.

Never having used the staff in battle, I knew little of it except that it was useful when clearing a path through the underbrush and that it's ornate cap might help identify me as a Son of St. Sollars to stangers.

During our encounter with the dark horseman I was certain that his fine and terrible blade had parried one of my blows, but upon later examination there was not a single mark on the staff to attest to this fact. Curiousity aroused, I sat down after my afternoon prayers to examine the weapon.

Drawing my dagger, I attempted to carve a small notch in the staff and found that, try as I might, I could not coax even a splinter from it's surface! Like stone it was, but still I could feel the warmth of the wood in my hands! Holding it at arm's length before me, I found the weight of it no more than that of a simple oak staff and it balanced perfectly about the center.

Odd. The weight of the ornate end cap should have made one end much heavier than the other, but it's crafter had somehow maintained an equal weight at each end of the staff. I spun and struck a non-existant enemy with it, then returned it to a ready position at my side as my new companions watched my display in amusement. A most perfectly balanced specimen.

I looked closely at the cap, a casting in silver. Two hands clasped together, covering the end of the shaft. The fit was perfect, the craftsmanship exquisite, as I had come to expect from a silversmith of the Yellow Rose. No gaps or seams existed- as if the metal and wood were wed inseparably. The red cord about the wrists was certainly ornamental, but then I noticed something odd about it-

I turned the staff in my hands to be sure, looking without success for either end of the cord. The cord was not simply tied around the hands as much as simply wished into being about the staff! It had no beginning, no end, no knots. It simply....was.

I smiled to myself, remembering Brother Anton's words as I began my journey:


"Young Pavel," he said, smiling, "here at the monastery, all is what it seems to be- but in the Vast this is not always so!"

He handed me the letter. His face became serious and suddenly seemed very ancient.

"A stone may not be a stone, a tree not merely a tree," he told me as he pressed the staff into my other hand, "Take nothing for granted. Treat all things as if your senses are discovering them for the first time."

Knowing this was a goodbye of sorts, I held the staff against my chest and offered a student's bow which my mentor returned. As he turned to walk back to the monastery steps I could hear one final murmur of wisdom...

"...remember- the most profound discoveries are still the ones closest to your heart."