The Journal of a Wanderer

[This is the first installment of Willow's journal/back story. I was originally going to wait to post this when I got the back story completely finished but as that is taking longer then expected I changed my mind to post it in installments. Enjoy]

The first of Kythorn, year 1371

I cannot go on like this any longer. I cannot bear loving one so dearly when I do not know who I myself am. I must find out what there can be known about my history, if anything at all, before I go completely mad. I am mad already. How can I not be? I hardly know what it is to be human (if indeed that is what I am), what it is to live in this world, and yet I feel so strongly for him. I cherish, adore, delight, respect, nearly worship, and most of all, yearn for the very man to whom I owe my life, my teacher in all things, Gilraven Leafguard.

But he must never know, as long as I do not know who I am or from whence I came. I could be a beast in disguise with every intent of my heart bent on evil for all I know. Please Melecky, might that I be merely human.

If only I could remember one thing from my past, from before the day Gilraven found me. But alas, it cannot be. My mind has no recollection of anything before that day, it is as if there is a dense cloud in my head that obscures my vision and I cannot see past it.

The first thing I can remember seems like a surreal dream to me now. I do not even know if I can find the words to describe what I felt. My memories of that day are foggy to me as well. I may do better to tell the story as Gilraven to it to me all those many times.

********

The sun rose into a clear sky that morning on the 18th of Marpenoth, year 1364. A young man stood outside a hut at the edge of the wood seemed to be contemplating the rising sun as it shone through the trees. His amber eyes crinkled in a smile as he brushed the hood of his green cloak off of the unruly black hair on his head. As he blew out, his breath formed a small cloud in the crisp air. He let the light of the dawn caress his skin for a short while then turned, replaced his hood, and walked into the wood behind him.

The handsome young man, Gilraven would smile teasingly at me as he said this, was none but himself. He had just been hired by Sir Auric Rainsworth that same spring to act as warden to his estate on the edge of the Arch Wood in Archendale. He was but 16 at the time.

That clear morning mid Leaf Fall was very significant, he would say, because it was the very morning when he would find a strange visitor on Sir Rainsworth’s lands.

Gilraven strode down the wooded path that bordered Sir Rainsworth’s land as it abutted the Arch Wood. All was quiet that fine morning, nothing seemingly out of place, everything as it should be. It seemed his patrol of the wood might be a peaceful one that day.

Ahead of him stood the ancient oak that marked the corner of the Rainsworth estate. It’s leaves had all turned marvelous shades of red, yellow, and orange and most of them carpeted the forest floor beneath the great tree. It truly was a beautiful sight. As Gilraven came closer to the tree something caught his eye, there was a color among the leaves that did not belong there, the color of something like the skin of a human. His pace quickened toward the tree and his eyes grew wide as he saw that it was the skin of a human. A girl lay naked on her side under the leaves, knees curled to her chest and arms flung out in front of her. She looked to be just on the cusp of womanhood, maybe 11 or 12 years of age. As Gilraven neared the girl and saw her eyes were closed he feared the worst. He reached down to touch her shoulder and was relieved to find it warm.

Gilraven quickly took his cloak off and placed it around the girl’s naked body. He shook her gently to waken her but she did not stir. Unsure of what else to do he picked the young girl up in his arms and carried her back to his hut at the edge of woods where he waited for her to waken.

Gilraven told me that it was a few hours before I awoke in his little hut. He said that even when my eyes were open I did not seem to be completely there. My eyes were wide like a deer startled by its prey. Gilraven said it was like I was in some sort of shock. He tried speaking to me but I didn’t respond, I didn’t move, I didn’t even make eye contact with him. It wasn’t until he touched my hand that he got a reaction out of me. I startled so badly when he touched me that my breath came in short gasps and I soon passed out.

All of this is still a blur in my memory. Only when I awoke again after passing out from the shock in Gilraven’s hut do my memories slowly begin to clear. I still cannot tell day from day but certain events mark the passing of time in my head. The first event I can remember is waking up and feeling something strange and rough on my skin. Gilraven had kindly dressed me in one of his shirts and pairs of pants. The clothes felt odd and uncomfortable but I didn’t know how to get out of them. I wriggled and picked at the fabric trying to get it off of me, only managing to get tangled in the shirt that was much to large for me.

Gilraven, hearing my struggle quickly came to my rescue. His presence, at first was alarming but soon, in my frustration with the shirt, I didn’t care. Gilraven stilled my thrashing with a firm yet gentle touch and spoke to me words I did not understand. Something about his voice soothed my nervous behavior and I was calm again. I realized that he, too, was wearing the strange things I was wearing, but they looked much different on him. I wondered why, when the things that touched my skin were so uncomfortable.

Gilraven soon left the hut and I was alone. The shirt began to itch and so began the picking at it once more. I was more careful not to entangle myself this time and soon managed to slide out of the itchy thing. What a relief it was to no longer be itchy and uncomfortable.

I do not know how Gilraven ever convinced me to wear clothes, but some how, some way he managed it. In those early days I was next to useless. I knew nothing but what I saw, heard, touched and tasted, and even what I knew I barely understood. Gilraven had to teach me most everything like one would teach a child. Some things came easier than others, walking, for instance, was almost instinctual. Other things were much harder to learn because of my complete lack of knowledge and understanding. Gilraven was a patient teacher eager to teach me everything he knew. He told me often that he had never heard of anyone quite like me and that the fact that I was different made me very special in a world full of marvelous things.
I followed Gilraven for 7 years. He was the one that gave me the name Willow because he said that I reminded him of willow tree. He would tell me as we would walk among the willows on the banks of a quiet stream that like the willow tree I was strong and lithe, and that I drank deeply of the streams of knowledge. Sometimes he would also remind me of how quickly a cutting from a willow takes root and is planted in a new place, “You, my Willow,” he would say, “have also been cut off, but see how quickly you have grown.”

Gilraven taught me the ways of humans and the rangers as well as all he knew of the world of Faerun, its people, creatures and gods. I was eager to learn it all, asking him many questions. What he didn’t know we would ask our gracious employer, Sir Rainworth, a man who in his prime had seen a great many years adventuring before settling down in Archendale. He head was rich with knowledge of the world beyond the Dalelands. Sometimes he would join us in patrolling his land (when the weather was favorable) and share his great knowledge with us. We had wonderful times together, and I lacked for nothing.
In the last year, though, I have become restless, desiring greatly to know more about my past. Often I ask Gilraven to recount to me the day he found me and the events that followed, how he and Sir Rainsworth searched for any sign of where I had come from or who I might belong to and how they found nothing, not even a trace to connect me to who I was before. I fear my true identity and I feel as if I cannot truly live or love unless I know my history. The more I am around Gilraven, the more we are together, the more I fall in love with him…


Therefore, I must away. It is torture to be in Gilraven’s presence any longer with out making my love known in any small way. Today I set my course for Highmoon. My plan is to show a drawing of myself at taverns, inns, and a few temples along the way. I know not what I will find, if I find anything but I must at least try.

The 21st of Eleasius, 1374

The trail has gone cold.

Three days ago I left Daerlun with high hopes. For the first time in three years of searching I finally found a small lead to go on. The bar maid at the last tavern I stopped in said that she knew a man who could have been my very twin in face and feature. They had met briefly in the small town of Smuggler’s Stone. She thought that maybe he was a fisherman but that was all she knew.

As I made my way to Smuggler’s Stone I dared to hope that my life before had been a normal one. That I am truly what I appear to be, a young human woman. I knew I had little to nothing to go on with this lead but at least it was something. I could not help but think of the possibilities of what this finding would mean, all the good possibilities, that is, I couldn’t bear to think of the bad ones.

When I got into town I went straight to the docks to see what I could find. The bar maid had said that she thought him to be a fisherman so what better place to find him then the docks. The first couple of folks that I asked shook their heads and said they didn’t know what or who I was talking about. Then, one older man, looking much worse for the wear, said he might be able to help me. He studied my picture (I hid my face under my hood) and his eyes lit with recognition.

“Yes,” he said, “This here drawing looks right like young Dickie, if he were a woman! It’s uncanny, innit now?!”

I asked him where I could find this man named Dickie and that I had some urgent business with him.

“Well, now,” the old man replied, “Don’t think you’ll be able to see him today, no matter how urgent your business be.”

“Why is that?” I asked, “Is he gone away from here?”

“In a matter of speaking, miss, yes, he is gone away. He’s dead.”


My heart sank.


“Poor boy died last winter in the storms at sea. Never found his body either. ‘Twas a shame it was.” The old man shook his head wearily.

I tried to compose myself before speaking again.

“Does he… is there any family?” I whispered.

“Oh no, miss. Poor Dickie’s family all died several years ago of the sickness. ‘Twas a tragedy, that. His mum and dad and baby brother all taken one right after t’other. The poor by had no other family to cling to. Seamus took him in for a while until he was ready for the boats. Dickie lived at sea ever after that.”

I asked the man a few more questions but he could tell me nothing. I even found the man, Seamus, that he spoke of but Seamus could only tell me what my heart already knew. Dickie had had no sisters. His father and mother had lived here since they were younguns. Both of them had been the only children in their families, the only ones that survived, that is. And there are no living relatives… Nothing… No hope to find out if I was theirs somehow. Though, I know I wasn’t. It was a dead end trail all along.

My hopes are dashed. Where do I look now? How far do I go? Should I change my strategy? I hear that some powerful mages can do wonderful things. Might one be able to help me? Yet service from a mage is expensive. I would have to earn myself some more money if I were to go that route. And what if they can do nothing for me. What then? What then…

Is this truly how I wish to live the rest of my life, in pointless search of who I once was?

Seamus was kind enough to direct me to the Drunken Duck, the ship shaped tavern at the edge of town. Here I was able to get a good meal and calm my nerves as I sit and think of the events of late.

Three years ago I left the only home ever knew to satisfy my yearning to find my seemingly untraceable past. Back then I was torn. My heart belonged (and still belongs) to Gilraven Leafgaurd and yet my head was unsettled with doubts. My thoughts were a constant barrage of questions regarding my heritage. With so much disquiet within myself I could not be comforted by the admittance of my love. I would not let it come to fruition unless my mind was settled and so I left him without a word of how I felt for him.

In these three years I have seen many things. Well, at least many more things then I have ever seen before, yet nothing in comparison with the wonders Sir Rainworth spoke of. It seems the world I live in is ever undergoing change. There are struggles for power everywhere, it seems, and very few places live in peace for long. Even the deities seem to have a change in command.

Much of this I do not understand, but this I know. I have seen much unrest in my travels, unrest that seems to go hand in hand with destruction. I feel as though, if I were to stay in a state of unrest over my past that I would, too, be in some way destroyed. I do not wish this. I do not want this. I feel the need to be at peace, to hold on to hope, to maybe one day be a beacon to others in this crazy world that shows them that there can be peace.

Peace in the midst of war. How can this be? I desire it and yet I cannot understand how it is to be attained. My skills are not peaceful ones. I have been taught to track and hunt, to use my strength to kill. How can I use these to be peaceful? To bring hope? I do not know.

I wish to find someway to be useful, and maybe in that I will find the skills that I need to build on the hope that I have and the peace I desire. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Funny thing. As I have been sitting here writing I have not been unaware of what is going on around me in the tavern. There are several locals in here who seem to frequent this place quite often by the way they act in this place. If I didn’t know better I would have to say they were all a strange family that lived together in this strange boat on land.

It is well after supper and a man, even stranger than the locals has just walked in. He seems to be a knight of sorts, though his armor is in great disrepair. Though he looks quite poor he holds himself as a noble would, handsome head held high. His long black hair is much neater than Gliraven’s ever were… He seems quite charming, though a bit condescending. I believe I just heard him say to the owner of the tavern that he would “stay with the common folk” this night.

A dwarf sitting at a table near the bar with two others has invited the knight to sit with them. I cannot help myself, I wish to hear their conversation. I am shameless, I know.

Later on that night.

What a night it has been. I hope it is all over and that all will be well in the morning.

I will begin where I left off last night.

I sat at the bar a while listening to the dwarf and knight talking to each other. Truly, it was an interesting conversation. They start to talk of adventure and leaving together on the morrow to go and fight for the name of honor. This is quite appealing to me so I ask if I may join them. We talk a while and I find out that the dwarf’s name is Glanin and the knight is Sir Tobias Trueblade.

All of a sudden the barmaid screamed and I look up to see a cat-like thing flying over the bar. Yes, I said flying. The owner identifies it as a Tressym. Finally, in my travels in Cormyr I see one of the wonderful creatures.

That was the pleasant beginning to the strange events that evening.

A short time later a young woman, who appears to be close in age to myself comes running into the bar in quite a fright. She is clothed in all black with daggers and a peculiar looking sword peeking out from under her cloak. She has a heavy accent and is saying something about a mist and a place called Berovia. We do what we can to calm her down, Sir Trueblade even runs out of the tavern to defend her against the mist (how he aimed to do this I do not know.

The young woman’s name is Mirelda and she tell us a bit of her history, of how she lived in a place called Berovia and there the fog (or “mist” as she calls it) is quite dangerous. It takes people and they are never seen again. We assure Mirelda that the fog she is so afraid of will only last the night and in the morning it will be gone. We even go as far as to invite her to come with us in the morning as we plan to travel further inland, away from any fog or mist of any kind.

Just as my mind starts wandering with thoughts of sleep three more people enter the tavern. Two men in strange dress, and one of them carrying a little girl. They introduce themselves as Jean Pierre David, Alecus Troson, and Terra. Jean Pierre seemed to be their spokesperson and he too spoke with a strange accent. These three speak of places only Mirelda seems to know about…

Out of nowhere I hear a voice in my head, come to find out it is the Tressym and that is the way she speaks to us, in our heads. Her name is Bisera and I invite her to come along with us in the morning, if she likes, and she agrees to come.

We (Glanin, Sir Trueblade, Mirelda and myself) talk with Jean Pierre and his companions to find out more about them. They seem to be investigators of this mist that Mirelda is so afraid of. They say that Terra is a “Vistani” (some sort of gypsy race of people from where they come from) and that she does not speak. They found her all alone and half starved in front of a cabin, staring off into nowhere. They think something must have happened to send her into shock. Alone, and in shock. Oh does that bring back the memories… But I must not dwell on that now.

This girl, Terra seems to have a connection with the creatures that come out of this mist and, though she does not talk, is able to help Jean Pierre and Alec in their investigations.

Mirelda tries to speak to Terra in a language I have never heard before but gets no response.

Jean Pierre relates to us the story of how the mist took his family as well as many, many other people at this tournament he was competing at with this thing he calls a pistol (it is a strange device and I expressed my curiosity of how it worked to which Jean Pierre promises a demonstration).

As we did with Mirelda, we assure the trio that our mist isn’t harmful and will be gone in the morning. Just as we said this fog started coming in through the tavern walls and filled the place to the point that we could no longer seen from one wall to the other.

Upstairs we hear clawing noises at the doors. Sir Trueblade goes to find what it may be but sees nothing. When Glanin goes up to investigate he is bowled over by a hound that came out of the mist. This hound does not seem to be normal and has a strange look about its eyes, almost as if it is crazed. We kill the thing, (one of the trio used his “pistol” against the beast making a tremendously loud noise, and the pistol emits a smoke that stings the nose) but as soon as it dies the beast disappears. Truly a strange experience… Terra was quite frightened after that and so our valiant knight goes over to comfort her. As I watch him do this I to was calmed and felt as if I could do just about anything, no matter the danger.

Then the lights went out. Time seemed to move slower than usual as Mirelda handed out torches to ward off the mist. The strange stillness of the tavern is broken by the cries of a young boy and the pounding of his fist at the door above. We go up and find it is Hebner, son of one of the fishermen who ate at the tavern with his sons earlier that evening. He is much distressed as he tells us a story of the child he and his family heard giggling in the fog. He got separated from his father and brothers then hears them cry out in the fog. He says he tried to find them but got disoriented in the fog, feeling sometimes as if he were in a place he had never been before.

Jean Pierre talked Hebner into taking out to where this all started. Soon after walking out into the mist outside the Drunk Duck we lose all connection with the tavern. The fog is truly disorienting. Hebner tells us that he hears the giggling again but none of the rest of us hear it. As we walk on a strange apparition appears behind Terra. It looked to be a thin and beautiful woman with long hair and a peaceful face… peaceful for a moment until she lunges out at us then disappears. It seems that some of the others had seen this apparition behind Terra before, while we were still in the tavern.

Next thing I knew I heard Hebner cry out saying “Stop saying that!” and before we could asked him what was the matter he turned and in a voice not his own he said “Kill them.” He then lunged at us with a black dagger in his hand. Out of the mist come his father and two brothers, all with daggers and madness in their eyes. I know they were not themselves. The mist must have done something horrible to them, but there must be a way to fix it. I try to disarm as many of them as I can before they hurt us or themselves and manage to knock them all out but one, who Alec shot with his pistol weapon.

We tie them up, thinking we will be safe to take them back to the Drunk Duck but as we were standing there wondering what to do next our captives start choking. I started to panic and tried the help them every way I knew how without untying them. My pursuits were fruitless and poor little Hebner died because he could not breathe. Miredla quickly poked a hole into the other brother’s throat and finds a coin lodged in there. We take it out (as well at the one we find in the father’s throat) and they start breathing easier.

The coins are made of gold and have strange pictures on them. One side bears the picture of a man with a hawk’s head and the other side has a circle inside of which are drawn an ankh and a star side by side. Glanin tells us that the pictures on the coins are symbols for a deity of the east. I go over to the other boy who was killed and find a gold coin in his death wound.

Only then do we hear the giggling…

I looked up and notice something (I don’t know what) flited past just at the edge of my vision.

It was decided that we should take the remaining boy and his father back to the tavern that we may rest. This is what we have done. Hopefully the boy and his father will live through this ordeal. The boy is in need of some attention for his wounds but once those are taken care of he should be alright. I hope that all will be right in the morning.

Later on the 21st.

So many things have happened; I cannot rightly wrap my head around anything anymore. I will do my best to recount it all though forgive me if I leave some details out.

When we awoke on the Drunk Duck it was still night time and the mist had all but left us. We started talking about our next plan of action when we heard Todemy yelling about something in his cupboards. Come to find out all the food had gone bad. Apparently the mist has control over time and can either stop it or speed it up as it wills.

We decided there was nothing for us in the Drunk Duck so back outside we went to see what would befall us there. As we went along following Bisera we heard the strange giggling come out of the mist once again. It seemed to be leading us, or taunting us, I was not sure which. We found a lone Purple Dragon, named Penneir, scared out of his mind. He told us he was the only one left in the whole village, that he knew of, and that he had been trying to get back to the Drunk Duck but never could because the mist would always turn him around. We wandered around the village with him for some time looking for anyone else that may be alive in the fog, or any clue that may lead us to the dissipation of the dreadful fog. We never did find anyone.

Funny thing, Penneir never could hear the giggling like we did. Poor Penneir.

In our searching around the village we were accosted by ghostly figure in a grey cloak. It attacked us but its movements were erratic and we were hard pressed to hit the bloody thing. It killed Penneir than brought him back to life and turned him on us. Then the ghost had the gall to disappear on us. I regret to say that we were forced to kill Penneir; there was nothing else that we could do for him.

The giggling led us to the west and there we found a strange set up. We opened a door to a house and found it all lit up inside, the perfect picture of a cozy home. Jean Pierre told us that is was exactly how they had found Terra’s house. We walked in and started poking about the place. I picked up one of the marionettes that had been lying across the mantle and started playing with it. As soon as I had set it down it started to move all on its own. It threw something at me that was able to control the movement of my head. The weird little thing gave me quite the fright when it started controlling my head. Thankfully I still had the use of my arms and was able to smash it to smithereens. Three more of the little wooden terrors attacked us but we overcame them without much harm done to ourselves.

We found two things in the house that seemed to lead us in the same direction. One was a scroll that enabled us to breath under water and the other was a crude depiction of a shipwreck somewhere near the lighthouse out in the bay. Something was leading us to something else; I was sure what it could be. Having nothing else to point us into a direction we went down to the docks, grabbed a couple of skiffs and followed Bisera to the lighthouse on Old Captain’s Rock.

Just as we were about to dive into the water another strange thing happened. A dwarf came falling down the rock slope of the island into one of our boats. He introduced himself as Mournaxe and told us that only moments ago he was at his home (which has no name other than “home”) and, unexplainably, he ended up here. He seems to be quite thick headed and yet he had the audacity to call me daft, twice! I must chalk it up to the fact that he is a bit touched in the head. His arrival brought about a needlessly long discussion about how we were going to find the wrecked ship under the water and finally they decided we should go back and get some sort of a map (I don’t think dwarves like water).

Going back for the map frustrated me greatly because it ended up being a rather fruitless endeavor in which we wasted more time then it was worth. In the end we ended up back at Old Captain’s Rock with the same information as before. Alec cast the spell on us that we might breathe in the water and we dove in. Oh, and I almost failed to mention that both dwarves decided to go down into the water wearing absolutely nothing!

On the way down to the bottom we were attacked by sharks that threatened to take whole chunks out of us. When we reached the bottom, Mirelda and I set off to find the shipwreck and we were quite successful! We swam into it looking for gods know what when Glanin found a hole in the floorboards. It appeared to be an entrance to some sort of cave. Taking this to be the way we must go we swam through. Upon entering the “cave” we fell down a tunnel like hole on to an unnaturally soft surface. We are in water no longer in water. We follow as the tunnels lead us, sometimes falling because of our lack of skill at climbing rock.

Soon we came upon an awful scene. In on of the caverns off the tunnels someone had made a gruesome mockery of the Drunk Duck out of posed dead bodies and pieces of sea creatures. The man behind the bar looked like Todemy and we assumed that it was his brother whom he lost at sea. The memory of that place turns my insides.

We left there and entered another cavern where we fought two giant crab-like men. After we defeated them we found some boxes and chests full of treasure. Not knowing what to do with it for the moment we left it there.

We searched the only part of the tunnels we had not been to yet. There we found a doorway that appeared to fill the archway before us and yet it did not look wide enough to do so. It was truly quite odd. Sir Trueblade “opened” the door for us and a strange sight appeared before our eyes. We seemed to be looking at Terra’s house once again, but now we saw her family, too. A man sat at the workbench, carving. Two little girls played on the living room floor as an older girl looked on from her chair. And a beautiful woman stood at the chopping board with a knife in her hand, preparing a meal.

The touching scene turned to horror as the beautiful lady at the board did the unexplainable: turned on her own family and killed them, all while smiling serenely. And we could do nothing to stop her, for it was all but a memory of the past, of Terra’s past. In some strange way, it makes me thankful that I have no memories from my childhood. If my memories were as gruesome as Terra’s I believe they would haunt me in my sleep every night. It would take a great deal of my will not to go insane. I now know why Terra does not talk.

The beautiful woman, Terra’s mother, the murderess, had been trying to take Terra with her somewhere when she was overcome by the Mist. The last part of the memory we saw was the Mist taking her, against her will, as she writhed and screamed in agony and insanity. It was then the memory loosed its grip on us. I looked over to see Jean Pierre, Alec, and Terra’s eyes all brimming with tears. We were all in shock, excepting the valiant knight who stormed the one room house, now silent and empty, to smite the evil therein.

As he did so, the mist came swirling in and brought with it the cloaked visage once more. Her hood fell off of her head and we could all see it was Terra’s mother. Her eyes were wide with terror and anger as she screamed at us for bringing “it” with us. Then, without giving us any time to respond she faded back into the mist. Suddenly Sir Trueblade was struggling for breath. Something in the mist had gone down his throat. He put up a good fight and, with the help of Mirelda and Glanin, was able to extract the mist that was choking him.

My head was in a whirl from all that had just happened when I heard Jean Pierre speak. He said that the lady in the memory was his mother, to which Alec replied that it was his as well. This little bit of information was quite confusing as both men claim to have been born and raised in two different “realms”, as they call it in their world. The others argue the fact that the lady could not have possibly been all three of their mother’s. I felt some of the others were being a bit insensitive to the situation. Whatever the truth was, Jean Pierre, Alec, and Terra had just lived through (or re-lived) something that caused them great pain and emotional distress. They didn’t need to be hounded about believing that someone was their mother when that fact seemed to be extremely impossible. And why couldn’t she have been mother to all three of them? This Mist does some strange things, after all.

We all felt at a loss for what to do next. It seemed that the woman in the mist was who we had been “led” to take care of (Something about the Mist imprisoning her and her getting free and doing bad things so the Mist wants her taken care of, I didn’t understand it very well). And yet we were under the water and our mist lady didn’t seem to be there under the water anymore. We had to get out and find her again, but the how escaped us. We were out of ideas so we started to rifle through the treasure that we found to see if we couldn’t find something to help us out.

What fools we were.

And, of course I had to be the one to play it safe.

{At this point teardrops start to stain the leather.}

I was trying the wands, not knowing how to use them at all, and Mirelda was trying the jewelry. The ring didn’t seem to do anything thing that we could see, so we thought maybe the necklace should be tried. I was about to reach for it to put it on but I hesitated and Mirelda beat me to it.

Why did I hesitate? I should not let my fear rule me so. Mirelda was unafraid.

As soon as she put the necklace on it began to choke her. There was nothing we could do and, by the gods, we tried! Nothing... There was nothing to be done. In shock I laid out her body and closed her eyes. Then the hopelessness of the situation broke me. I wept for who knows how long. It felt like an eternity. Sir Trueblade came to comfort me (at first my foolish, tear sodden heart thought that it was Gilraven…). He told me with confidence that we would avenge her death and that evil would not be allowed to win the day. His words brought the salve my heart so desperately needed. Hope was not all lost, just misplaced for the moment.

Later on the 21st of Eleasius
I took third watch during our period of rest (I cannot say that it was truly night because, in the mist I had lost all track of time). Sometime during my breakdown, Alec had left to
secure a way out for us. He returned before anyone else was awake. We awoke the rest and though it was explained that we had a way out and must make haste, some of the others wanted to check and make sure the lady of the mist was not still hiding in the tunnels. I knew she could not be but I obliged them anyway by joining them as they checked cavern house again. As I expected, she was not there.

We made it out of the tunnels safely, Sir Trueblade carrying Mirelda’s lifeless body over his shoulder as we left. When we got back to the water we found a rope that Alec had tied to one of the boats and had weighted down with a rock that we may move with more speed toward the surface. We had no scroll of water breathing this time and my lungs felt as though they were on fire by the time I reached the top.

When we got back into the boat I confess that I took a few of Mirelda’s things. I do not know why I feel so much shame about it, I only took her blades and her violin that I may learn them and therefore carry out her memory through the use of them. Some might see my actions as an offense to the dead but I do not believe she will ever use them again, so why not use them in her name? I want to believe this is what Mirelda would have wanted in the end.

As we made our way back to the Drunk Duck we discussed how best to defeat our formidable foe, the lady in the mist. It had already been mentioned that mist creatures were weak against fire but there had to be something more that we could use against this misty ghost. Jean Pierre and Alec said that we may do well to try and trap her in her own reflection for that has been known to work against certain creatures of the mist. I could only hope using her reflection against her would give us the advantage we needed to dispatch her from our world. If only we knew where to find her…

An eerie silence hung over the Duck as we stepped aboard. We all sensed that something was very, very wrong with this place. We where only assured of this when we stepped into puddle of blood that covered the tavern floor. The mist was thicker then it had ever been before and so we did not see the bodies right away, though we knew they must all be dead. Making a quick search of the room we found all the Duck’s patrons brutally murdered in some fashion or another in ways too gruesome for me to record here.

Suddenly we heard Todemy’s voice through the mist saying that we were not welcome there. We tried to reason with him but he would have none of it. He seemed to believe that the same mist lady we were trying to defeat was his very own angel of goodness sent to him to right all the wrongs in his life. He was under the delusion that his brother, the very same one whose body we found under the bay, had always been out to get him and that he had conspired take what was rightfully Todemy’s (the first Drunk Duck) away from him. I do not know how much of this was true but I do know that Todemy surely did not sound like he was in his right mind.

Sir Trueblade and Glanin charged toward the sound of Todemy’s voice. The coward was hiding himself in the mist and they had a mind to flush him out. As soon as they dashed out of sight Bisera and I noticed the mist starting to roil as it took it took the shape of a woman. The ghostly lady we were after had appeared.

I am grateful I had Mirelda’s blades with me. They are polished to such a degree that they shine like mirrors. As soon as I say the lady of the mist I held Mirelda’s blades before her in such a way as to cast her reflection back at her. It worked and she was stunned for a short time while we all did our best to bring her down. Sadly, she was not stunned for long enough and as soon as she came to herself she grew wings and talons, like a great and terrible bird and attacked us all with her great strength. She did her best to rearrange my innards and I was forced to drop out of the fight. Finally with the help of Glanin, Bisera ended the mist lady. As soon as she was done for the mist around the room started to let up.

What a relief it was to have the mist gone. Yet as it left us it took with it Jean Pierre, Alec and Terra. I find that despite their utter strangeness I shall miss those three. I only hope they find a better life when they return then the one they had before.

The mist also took the bodies of Mirelda and the lady who had so terribly haunted us these passed long hours. When the mist had cleared the Drunk Duck we found that Todemy had been shot down with one of the strange devices Alec and Jean Pierre used as weapons. I supposed it could not have been helped as the madness had taken him to the point of no return.

As we emerged from the Duck we saw that every one had seemingly returned to the village in one piece and were all going about their business as if nothing had happened. I felt that maybe it were better to leave it that way because who would believe our story about the strange mist that makes people mad anyway. But Sir Trueblade, true to his honor as a knight decided that the town authority should be told what happened so that everything may be out in the open. Of course, now all of us are a suspicious lot and Captain Sty, the lord of Smuggler’s Stone desires that we all stay in town until the Wizards of War get here to settle the matter.

Sometimes being good is such a bother.

I am now grateful to Sir Trueblade for telling the story of the mist to Captain Sty and therefore causing us to stay in Smuggler’s Stone for two more days. Even though I had originally been wont to be rid of this place I now find this extra time imposed on me to be quite the rest I needed.

Mind you I still do not appreciate the way the village people look at me as if I were some sort of criminal. They do not understand the magnitude of what we did for them. If it were not for us they would have ceased to exist (or so I can imagine, though I do not like to think about what might have happened had we lost). I should not be so harsh on them, though. Had I not been there myself I would also struggle to believe our story about what happened that dark night.

I wish not to dwell on it, though. I am saddened enough by the death of Mirelda and dwelling on the tragedy of the mist only serves to further my depression. I have resolved to keep my head up and to be hopeful, so that is what I must do.

I brought out Mirelda’s violin today as I sat in front of the place we were staying. I wanted to see how it worked. I have seen one such instrument played only once before in my life so I had an idea of how to hold it, but from there I was completely lost. Strangely enough, as I brought the bow across the stings a beautiful, haunting melody filled the air. I do not know how this is but when I hold Mirelda’s violin to my chin the music just seems to play itself. My fingers move on their own accord as if they know some secret that I do not know. Their dance seems both a mystery and yet familiar to me. I wondered as I played the beautiful instrument if somehow Mirelda had left her mark on the violin and that is what granted me the ability to play it so well. The combination of the music and the memories of the mysterious lady caused my eyes to overflow with tears. I chose not to hold them back and closed my eyes to let my tears fall down my cheeks to the time of the sweet and sorrowful tune. When I opened my eyes again I saw that Bisera, the Tressym had joined me and was dancing in the air to the wonderful melody that came from the violin. We stayed there a long time, both honoring the memory of our friend.

The Wizards of War came this morning to interrogate us regarding the happenings during the time of the mist. I do not think we left a good taste in their mouths. It seems as though they wanted to disbelieve us but somehow found our strange words trustworthy. Well, trustworthy enough to let us go anyway. They promptly dismissed us and told us to leave Smuggler’s Stone. So we headed west, as planned. Sir Trueblade, Glannin, the tressym-Bisera and myself. A strange crew and yet we choose to share the road together.

We reached the small town of Bluestitch early this evening. It seems to be quite the flourishing farming community. I broke off from the rest of the crew to do my usual “scouting”. Just as in so many towns before this I found no new information regarding that which I seek.

There is one Inn called the Cornet and Cabbage. It seems they have quite the entertaining show troop visiting this evening. I reserved a couple of rooms for the rest of my companions. Not knowing how many we may need I only reserved two rooms. The patrons in the common room all seemed normal, though one did stand out from the rest. An exotic looking lady with blue hair and a foreign feel about her.

Soon the rest of my companions made it to the inn and we all went to make ourselves comfortable shedding the excess weight from traveling. Glanin requested a room to himself… should have reserved three rooms, but no matter. They had the space available in the end. We met a very friendly halfling named Warieth. He was very proud to share the glories of his small town to us, even boasting about a graveyard far older then Bluestitch itself just on the edge of town. I must admit I was interested when Warieth claimed the graveyard to be significant historically. I decided to go and check it out when the halfling happened to mention a family that had gone up to bury someone and yet had failed to come back in a timely fashion. Seems like this happened recently and the local authority had looked into things but had not been able to find anything out yet.

Now I believe Sir Trueblade plans to look into this graveyard matter with me as well. Things only prove to become more interesting.

I’m afraid my temper has gotten the best of me again. Remember the blue haired lady I talked about seeing in the inn? Well, I fear I unleashed unnecessary harshness in her direction tonight. But I am getting ahead of myself. Many strange things have happened in the past few hours.

Sir Trueblade and myself sought out the Purple Dragon to find out more about the graveyard matter. We found her (Mya) and she shared her concern about the missing family and the long overdue word back from the sentinels she sent up to investigate the situation. The knight and I offered her our help to which she readily accepted and even wrote up a commission stating our business and allowing us to wear our weapons freely in the open.

Sir Trueblade and I then set our course for the graveyard with one minor detour to the Cornet and Cabbage that I might outfit myself and tell the others where we were headed in hopes that they join us. The dwarf and the tressym finally did join us but only after we found the two dead sentinels and fought off two wolves and a couple of zombies. Actually, Mournaxe, the insane dwarf from before seemed to have led the group. He came barreling in right as we dealt the final blows on the last zombie. The blue haired foreigner from the inn as well as a half naked man covered in tattoos came along as well. I know them now to be named Seadda and Rodrick.

As pleasantries are being exchanged we were attacked again by more undead. Skeletons this time. Heeding Bisera’s advice I hang back with Rodrick and Seadda until the three stronger fighters take care of the problem. It was a good thing that we did, because if we had not we may have missed the frightened cries of a child coming from one of the burial vaults. Upon opening the vault door we found Tyra, the daughter of the family who had come up to mourn the dead. Now she was the only one left alive, poor thing. She told all she knew of her families assailants. It seems that they were a group of some sort of tall furry monsters that had quite a mean look about them. Knowing that she would be better off back in Bluestitch we send her home on a horse that Rodrick called out of his skin… That will take some getting used to…

We caught up with the rest, finding little until we run across a door with a strange and frightening monster depicted on it. Below the picture of the monster was written some sort of a riddle. The door opened with out any trouble into a strangely shaped room. There was no other exit from the room that we could see. The riddle seemed to be hinting that it was the only other way out. It took us a bit but we soon figured it out and triggered a trap door in the floor with a ladder leading downward.

As you can imagine, what came next was a lot of continual climbing stairs or ladders downward, with the occasional monster barring our way. I will only give the highlights. Mournaxe almost got himself killed, the fool. Somehow he managed to get ahead of our usual trailblazer, Sir Trueblade and was crossing a bridge when it collapsed underneath him. He fell into what looked like normal water but turned out to be an ooze that was hungry for foolish dwarven flesh. We climbed down after him and were able to get him out of there before he expired. Also, Sir Trueblade was almost choked to death by an exceptionally long limbed creature. After getting out of the creatures grasp, the knight issued it a challenge to fight him fairly to which it refused. We had to convince Sir Trueblade that it was in the best interest of everyone that we leave this small evil and seek out the greater one (though, at the time we knew not what that was).

That brings me to the room I find myself in now. We entered this room and I immediately noticed all the statues and partitions covered in epic paintings that filled the room. I would given them more notice had we not been attacked by hobgoblins upon sight. There were two hobgoblins as well as one hobgoblin zombie and we made short work of them. After the confrontation we decided that this room was the best place to spend the remainder of the night and get some much needed rest.

And now we finally come to my own personal confrontation. If only I were a little less hot headed. I was on my way to get a better look at the beautiful pictures on all the partitions when Seadda cast some sort of a spell on me. Having never been around magic that much in my life (that I can remember) it took me quite by surprise and I reacted quite adversely. In hindsight I see that there was no need for me to be so harsh on Seadda. I was not hurt, only startled. I hope I will be able to have a better understanding of magic in the future that I may gain her trust again.

It seems as though the dead find pleasure in trifling with the living through the use of riddles and puzzles. It’s as if they tease and taunt us with the treasure they hoard by waving the key beneath our noses. I can understand how one would feel that grave robbing be an unscrupulous past time. The dead deserve a great deal of respect. And yet, I can’t help but think that if they really wanted their treasures left alone they would seal them away with more security then a puzzle to be eventually solved. I feel as though I have a right to their treasure if I am successful in figuring out their riddles. I worked it out and such is my reward.

As this day ended we still found ourselves in the crypt, deeper than before. The company we are pursuing, the ones responsible for the deaths of the family we came to investigate, are a few hobgoblins short now though we have yet to catch up with their ring leader. Hopefully we find him soon.

We stumbled upon some potentially dangerous situation over the course of the day and, thankfully, have survived them. The first of which was soon after we awoke. Our morning exploration quickly led us to a room that was divided down the middle by a canal. Here we found two deceased hobgoblins which led me to believe we were going the right direction. It seemed the door we wanted to take was on the other side of the canal but before we could even think about crossing over it, a large serpentine shape rose menacingly out of the water. It commanded that we retreat or be faced with the price of our folly. This snake creature had obviously been placed there to guard the crypt below. I tried my hand at reasoning with it, persuading it to let us pass with the understanding that we mean only to catch a band of grave robbers and bring them to justice. Sir Trueblade promised the creature that we have no intentions of looting the graves and this oath seems to satiate the beast so he lets us pass. (My intentions were not as pure as the knights…)

We ran across a ratman (a were-rat, to be precise) in the next section of rooms. He would not die so we decided it best to just tie him up and use him for information. It seems that his thieving skills had been used in the party of grave robbers we had been following. He had split off from the group, though, possibly with the intent to slow us down. We decided to keep him around since he might serve some use in the future.

I found tracks belonging to the others leading through another door toward the east and we all followed after them. The door opened on the tomb of four human soldiers and a minotaur. We found another hobgoblin in here as well, one that was living and breathing, this time. He must have been a magic user of some sort, I think possibly priestly. He brought the dead to life before our very eyes and caused the skeletons of the four dead soldiers to attack us. It took some doing but we took care of him and his boney lackeys.

The priestly hobgoblin died mid air and yet continued to float after his death. Rodrick rode him like a horse for a bit. I found this humorous and asked if I could have a turn. The wild-haired man was kind enough to let me climb on for a bit. There is a strange joy one receives from riding a floating dead body. Doing so may not fit everyone tastes but I certainly enjoyed the ride.

Among the hobgoblin’s belongings we found a note outlining a contract. It was signed by Zarin. We grilled the rat boy about this Zarin and he tells us that this is the leader of the whole group and that he is a magic user. Not much information but enough to make me wary.

We left that room via ladder, going down, once more, to a top of some sort of a pillar. We climbed down again to find another pillar with a rope as our only way across and therefore forward. Sir Trueblade and I took the rope across as a strange and hardly explainable creature came hurtling at us from out of the darkness. Seadda dispatched it without much trouble and we continued on, covering two more pillars.

The next section was slightly confusing, I will not lie. Glanin mentioned that it may have been some sort of labyrinth. I tried tracking the grave robbers through it and some times I had them, while other times I could not tell which direction my own foot prints were going. We went through a series of rooms that all looked similar with runes on the floor. The only thing that changed between them was the amount of doors they had. In one of the rooms we fought some wolverines. I kept expecting to find more foul things in these rooms but we never ran across anything but the wolverines. I was glad to leave that section behind me.

It was after this that we came across a badly wounded half elf at the bottom of a pit. She had been a member of the grave robbing party but they had left her for dead at the bottom of a pit. She was unconscious when we found her but through Glanin’s good work she came to and was able to tell us a few things. Her name was Lyra and she joined the expedition to learn about the history of this tomb and the forgotten kingdom where it lay, not for the grave robbing. She did not seem to enjoy the rough company but her friend persuaded her to join up with them. She informed us that Zarin, their leader, may have looked human but her suspicions told her that he was not.

Lyra pleaded with us to save her friend, Terral, if we could but because of the state of her injury she chose to stay behind in the pit. She promised Sir Trueblade that she would not escape. Our Valiant Knight feels the need to turn her into the authorities since she associated herself with the grave robbers. I argued with him that her intentions were not for harm but, as usual, he would hear nothing of it. Everything is black and white to him. Justice must be done.

We continued on through the crypt, facing a couple of dog shaped constructs (lackeys of Zarin’s), mist-like creatures, hobgoblins, some sort of mummy and way too many spiders for my liking. At one point, Seadda and I fell down a hole. I managed to grab a hold of the edge only after dropping my swords. Something invisible helped me out to the hole and Seadda, being able to fly (she says it’s called “levitation”) was able to retrieve my weapons and escape the hole as well.

As I said, we faced a horde of spiders. I despise spiders in all their eight-legged glory. I have to confess that when those creepy crawlers came out of the wood work I showed signs of cowardice and turned the other way (in the guise of clearing out the rest of the room with Rodrick). When the larger spider came out I had to swallow my fear and charge it. The battle with the filthy arachnids took a lot out of us, especially with Sir Trueblade being poisoned by them. We knew we needed to rest for the night and do some healing.

I took the first watch of the night. After my watch I snuck off from the encampment to scout out what was ahead in this crypt. The historical significance of this place (that Lyra had mentioned) intrigued me and I was curious to see what I might find ahead. What I found is worth recording in detail. Though I have already written so much my hand has cramped several times.

The first room of significance that I entered lit up magically and showed me a wondrous scene. It seemed to be a sunny spring day overlooking beautiful green rolling hills. A darkly handsome knight with shiny black hair stood on the hill beside a man of fair and regal features wearing a crown of gold on his head. Next to them stood a lady whose fiery locks were held at bay by the golden crown upon her head. These three seemed to be enjoying each others company. The image soon faded.

I came to another room where a scene was depicted before my eyes. This one was devoid of the light and felicity made apparent in the first scene, replacing it with tension and fear. The sky was tainted with the ruin of fire as flames licked the horizon. The hill once green with a verdant covering was now brown and withered; the ground is littered with the bodies of goblinoids. The knight and the king stand side by side with blades drawn, the knight wielding two curved blades and the king a single, majestic blade of purple and silver hues. Behind them with a staff of lightening in her hands stands the red-haired queen. As I looked on I felt a charge of electricity that made the hairs on my neck stand on end. And just as the last, this image also faded.

The last scene was the saddest to me. It was filled with betrayal, sorrow and despair. The hill was now covered in snow as if to show that the cold hard ground was as unrelenting as the fate of the royal pair. The fair king knelt wounded in the cold stroking the vibrant mane of his fallen lady. She lay before him as if never to get up again, her crimson blood staining the snow beneath her. The black knight stood behind them, the king’s golden crown in his hand and great malice in his eyes. His blade was following the path predestined for it, it’s goal to finish the king forever.

I did not venture much farther after that and now I have come back to our camp to write all this down. Thankfully I shall get a few hours sleep tonight.

That last image of the knight stabbing his comrade, the king, in the back haunts my thoughts. What horror would drive a person to do that I do not know but I can only hope that I may stay far away from it.