Dark Moon Rising
Sister Helgas Diary
I can already see this group is not going to be a good influence on my “quest for spiritual purity.” The other night Opifera and I went out to a tavern for a drink. I told myself that I would be good and reminded myself of the times I woke up the next morning thinking “What in Morrow’s name have I done?” Bar hopping with a satyr is not the best way to stay out of trouble. Opifera certainly knows how to party and I found myself matching her drink for drink. As the ale flowed and the evening wore on she regaled me with tales of adventure on the high seas replete with life-threatening storms, gigantic sea creatures, double crossings, ribald exploits and the “fantastic” ship she will be Captain of someday. The more Opifera drank the more outlandish her stories seemed to get. Still, I saw something of myself in her—perhaps a glimpse of what I might have become had I not come to the Church of Morrow.
Before long men in the bar were buying our drinks for us. After exchanging several lewd jokes with a pair of sailors we began dancing with them. Mine had black hair, thick, sinewy arms and smelled of sweat and salt. We spun around the room in an intoxicated haze until everything became a blur.
I should have learned from past mistakes.
On another note, I am very concerned with the gang war that has erupted on Hospice Island. The citizens there are suffering and these thugs care nothing for who gets caught in their crossfire. My healing powers have been greatly needed in the area but I can only do so much before I am exhausted. Last week a young child cut down by gunfire was brought to me too late—seeing his broken body and weeping mother was just heartbreaking. Our supply run helped but of course it is not enough. I plan to discuss stepping up our aid with Prelate Daltry if we can gather the necessary funds.