A Tatty Old Journal

[Vicissitudes]

*Hidden in the inside of the back cover of the unwieldy spellbook the hin Violet Figgleleaf wears as a backpack, is a tatty, dogeared little notebook. If one were ever to find and read it, they might have trouble doing so. Violet's handwriting is tiny, spidery and shakey as if written with a trembling hand, trying to cram as much writing into every little page as possible. Of the writing, only the titles are easily read, printed in big childish block letters.*

*There aren't really any lines or margins, but every now and then the writing breaks to make room for sequences of little arcane scribblings, half and quarter parts of spells never really finished. The ink used in these little arcane scribbles is faded more than the journal entries, and an intelligent reader might recognise they were written a good deal before Violet began to use this little notebook as a journal.*

Violet Figgleleaf's Journal

[Vicissitudes]

*The date of the entry is smudged and unreadable*


On the Boat

I'm so sorry, little notebook. I know I was going to turn you into a pocket spellbook, and I know you must have been looking forward to it; but I found something horrible today, little notebook, in the cargo hold of our ship. I feel so horrible for sneaking down there and I know I shouldn't have, but I was so queasy and too ashamed to dash up to the foredeck to... well, you know, throw up. Please don't judge me, little journal... aside from Onion, you're really the only thing I can talk to. Nobody really pays attention to me and they think I'm a nuisance. They're probably right.

Anyway. Down in the cargo hold, after I had... well. Down in the cargo hold, I found my little trunk and was horrified to see I'd left it unlocked and ajar. I'm so stupid, always doing things like that. When I opened it, I found something awful - my spellbook and scrolls and almost everything I owned was in tatters amidst a pile of rat-droppings. My big old diary, too. They had climbed into my trunk, little notebook, and eaten it all. It was my fault, I shouldn't have left my little sugary sweets in there; but even so, I don't understand why out of all the things in the ship to eat, rats would climb into my trunk and eat all my magical papers. Perhaps it's the ship's cat in the kitchen guarding all the food stores... I don't know. I probably deserved it though. It's my fault.

When I realised what had happened I just curled up into a ball, even though I knew how pathetic I must have looked. But it was horrid, little journal, all my spells, everything, gone with no way to get them back - that big old spellbook was like a second home. I've lost it now, except for a few pages even the rats thought were too unimportant to eat, my most basic of spells. Not even all of them, just the useless ones. That's why I'm writing in you, little journal - I don't have anyone to talk to, and you were the only thing I had left to write in.

I'll talk to you again, little journal, when we're closer to Port Avanthyr... I'll take good care of you, I promise. I'll keep you close at hand, and I'll be sure not to drop you overboard.

[Vicissitudes]

*The date on this entry is smudged like the first, an indecypherable inky blurr - it's possible it was deliberate, a sign of Violet not knowing herself what the date is at the time of the entry.*

A Blue-Eyed Stranger

Hello again, little journal. I'm sorry it's been so long since I wrote in you, and I feel awfully guilty for neglecting you. I would have written something, but this boat journey seems endless, and dull... it must be weeks now we've all been on board. I used to entertain myself studying and reading my books, but since the problem with the rats I can't even do that. So late last night, when I thought it'd be quiet, I ventured up into the ship's mess for the first time. So far, I've been keeping to myself when I haven't been throwing up or studying or sleeping, living off my own rations. I feel so pathetic that walking into that mess, so full of too-talls towering over me, was the most courageous thing I've done in months. I'm such a coward.

Anyway, it took me nearly ten minutes just to get noticed in the mess line. Everyone else towered above, the cook not even bothering to look down to see me and serve me my bowl of slop. I think he only noticed me because he thought I was the ship's cat, when I tugged on his trouser leg. He was quite gruff, and just dumped a ladel-full of the slop into my bowl... it left me feeling quite pathetic. I nearly dropped the bowl as I tried to climb up onto the stool to eat, and I was terrified for a moment that people would shout at me if I did, that I'd have to clean it up.

Nobody else sat down at my table at first, and I don't blame them. They're all humans, and I'm just hin, a frumpy one at that. But as I got through half my bowl, a big to-tall came, and asked me... asked me! If I would let him sit at my table. I was so astonished, all I could muster was a nod. I don't even understand why he wanted to, all the other tables were full of people laughing and playing dice. Maybe he felt sorry for me.

He was big, strong... well. It's hard to tell, all too-talls seem that way. But he wasn't scrawny or wiry like the sailors. Handsome, with sandy blonde hair, and a smile, and his eyes. His eyes. Oh, little journal, I don't know how to describe them to you. Deep blue eyes, they felt so strange. Like they were boring into me, judging me. I had to fight just to stop from ducking under the table in fear - I thought he'd scowl at me, or something. But he didn't. He just smiled, and offered me some of his bread, and said his name was Baragorn.

We talked for a bit... or rather, he did. I must have bored him so much, I was too timid to really say anything. Still, when I climbed off my too-tall stool to go back to my hammock, he smiled at me, and said it was nice to meet me. I'm sure he was just being polite though, little journal, I must have been boring him to death. But he was nice. Hopefully I'll see him again during the trip. I love talking to you, and to little Onion, who seems to eat more than me... mostly carrots, when he's not being chased by the ship's cat.

Goodbye little diary. My quill is getting all scratchy, I need to go now to sharpen it some.

[Vicissitudes]

*The date of this entry is crossed out and scribbled over after what look like numerous corrections*

Off the Boat

It's so good to be able to write in you to the light of the sun, little journal, instead of by lamplight in my hammock. We got off the boat thismorning, thought I was a bit upset. The crew made me put Onion in a little wooden crate with some holes in it to disembark because they said he got underfoot and might cause them to trip when unloading cargo. I felt so sorry for him, the poor little bunny, but I dared not say anything. If I had, they might have put me in a little crate too for being annoying.

When the ship lurched and creaked against the dock, I thought we had hit something and I felt that horrid acidic feeling in my tummy, so I rushed down the gangplank as soon as it was laid down. I managed to find a pile of crates to vomit behind so that nobody would see me and think even worse of me - to no avail. Baragorn found me there while I was just finishing. I was so embarassed, and just knew he'd be disgusted; he had been so nice to me on the last leg of our voyage, had shared his food, talked, and even petted little Onion, though I'm sure it was just because everyone else was busy and I was the only person for him to talk to.

He didn't seem disgusted, though, and just helped me up, which I was so relieved at. I don't know what I would have done had he walked off - other than him and Onion and you, little journal, I don't know anyone in this strange land, and it would be a relief at least to know one person. After I recovered, I found Onion's crate and let him go. I was quite relieved he didn't seem so traumatised, though he stuck close. He didn't seem to like Port Avanthyr, and I don't blame him. I didn't either.

Port Avanthyr was busy, scary... nowhere near as much as the harbours of Athkatla, but even so quite intimidating, especially when that crazy woman confronted us. I could barely understand what she was saying, and I was just glad to be able to hide behind Baragorn as we walked through the streets. I feel so strange here. I'm used to everyone else towering over me just like in Athkatla, but here it seems different, somehow. I guess since everything is so new and strange, it seems just that much darker, bigger, scarier. There seem to be far fewer hin amoungst the general populace, and the shortest person I saw was a dwarf with an eyepatch, in scary black spiky armour.

I was terrified, and if Baragorn hadn't been there I guess I would have run like the coward I am. But when Baragorn spoke to him he seemed friendly, and showed us the ways out of the city. I was amazed, I'm sure it's just due to Baragorn being big, and handsome, and good with people. If it were just me, the dwarf probably would have just kicked me aside or robbed me, I'm sure. He would have been able to as well - I'm useless now, even moreso than usual, without most of my spells.

I'm going now, little diary, to try to find an inn that will take my money. People seem to call their coins "stags", here, after the little icon on one side. Sleep well, little diary.

[Vicissitudes]

*As with the previous entries, the date of this entry is smudged and indecypherable. This entry seems even more shakey and spidery than before, as if when writing it Violet's hand was actually physically trembling.*

Green Means Danger!

I feel like such a coward. It's already my first week here, and I'm up to my waist in trouble, and the one time I have a chance to further the High One's cause, I just cowered in fear. He must hate me, little diary, but I can't bring myself to let go of his symbol. It all started at the homey trade hall at the Trading Post - it looks from outside like it's an upturned boat's keel, and inside it's warm and busy and filled with hot food and merchants... it's one of my favourite little places so far.

I was there with Baragorn as usual, little diary - I'm so new to this place, and everything seems safer and more clear with him around. I was taking bites of food from his plate and feeling very guilty about it, even though he said I could, and looking after his sword and armour. They're so heavy, big enough for me to hide in, and I can never work out how anyone, even someone as strong as him, can lift that sword.

It seemed like everything happened in a blurr - Baragorn was asked to do hunt down undead attacking the settlement, the settlement was attacked by zombies and I hid, and before I knew it, I was stomping through the mud on mister Baragorn's heels like a silly little puppy clutching a handfull of scrolls given to me to locate the source of the undead. It all sounded so reasonable at the time, and I was so caught up in the excitement despite being almost scared enough to wet myself...

When I write down on paper what happened, it all sounds so absurd, and even when I remember what happened it seems like some ludicrous, hazy blurr that happened to someone else, not me. If that is what an Adventure is like, I'm not sure I can handle such things... they should be left to brave people like Baragorn. He seems to take everything in his stride, whereas even when I'm trudging behind him, in my heart I really want nothing more than to be back where I was, in my little home in the City of Coin, by my fire, with Onion dozing by the hearth and my big old spellbook on my lap, just like it was before the rats ravaged it. But here, I'm a fish out of water.

Oh! Little diary, I almost forgot to tell you. There was another man with us, I think he was all in black. He looked mighty sinister, and acted all strange too, just hanging back through the fighting and watching. And when Baragorn found... all on his own, really... the source of all the undead, a dirty, mad looking too-tall. I didn't trust him, but Baragorn wanted to confront him, whereas I just hid in the bushes behind a fence. When the too-tall attacked, Mister Sinister hung back... but even so, Baragorn struck the man down, like one of the heroes in the storybooks I used to read when I was even smaller than I am now.

We found the man had some sort of glowing green thing in his forehead, but before we got the chance to look a mysterious woman came from the trees,and pulled it... right from the madman's head! She was... spooky. Like what I imagine a vampire, or a ghost, or something, to "seem" like. And she offered Baragorn the green thing, offered him its power, just like she had offered the madman!

I just felt like screaming out, "no", but my voice caught in my throat... I knew in my bones it was bad, that glowing green thing. Such magic is irresponsible, dangerous... the Lord of Spells' teachings frown on such power, whether good or evil. Luckily, Baragorn had the sense to refuse, but Mister Sinister came up and tried to snatch the green thing! The lady withdrew, though, taking it with her. But Mister Sinister wanted the power. I'm so, so, so glad he didn't get it. If he was strange to start with, with that Green Thing... I shudder to think what might have become. It's not right, such magic, unnatural. Magic should be learned, and studied, and "grown" in one's mind... not just siezed, borrowed, using such dangerous tools.

Even though I believed that, and even though every inch of my head was telling me to scream out a warning... I couldn't. I just hid there, in my little patch of shrubbery, wanting to avoid attention. I'm such a coward, little diary.

I've seen Mister Sinister since, and have learnt his name is Samin. He says he's changed, he says he's found a more wholesome faith, has given up his lust for the Green Thing. He seems so nice about it, but Mister Baragorn doesn't trust him, and told me not to either. So, I won't.

Anyway, I'm going to go now little diary. Just remember, Green means Danger, and if I come across that thing, I'm running in the opposite direction, no matter how much power it offers.

[Vicissitudes]

*A number of dates are scribbled above this entry, and inserted in various points within the entry as well. It seems as if this is a collection of lots of small entries and addendums, written on the same page*

Scary Hin I've Met

Hello, little diary. I'm sorry for the mess I'll make on you, but hopefully you'll forgive me for being so disorganised. I thought though that I should make some notes on all the other hin I've met whilst in Sundren. There don't seem as many here as in Athkatla, but there are still a few... and they're not like most hin from the City of Coin, either. Some of them are downright scary.


*Crossed out:* Hano Fetton:
*Written in underneath as a correction:* Logan:

On of the first hin I met was at a campfire in the trading post, and he said his name was Hano Fetton. He was disgusting, smelly, foul, and he even scratched his man-parts in public! It was disgusting. I should have ran, but, before I could he came up and put his arm around me. Maybe he cast a spell or something, or more probably it was just me and my cowardice... (sorry, little diary, but I am a coward, you know), but I felt paralysed... until Baragorn came, and took me away. I was so grateful to him. Baragorn, he always seems to save me. I don't know why he does it, why he doesn't just leave me to die. He might as well, I often think.

Much later, I learnt that Hano Fetton's real name was Logan, and that he was a wanted criminal! I saw someone trying to arrest him, but, he just ducked away out of sight. And later, he tried to hug me again, except this time all washed and looking like someone different. And again, Baragorn saved me, recognising his voice. I should have too, but I'm so stupid it's not really a suprise I didn't. I don't know what Logan is wanted for and don't care... he's so disgusting, I don't want anything to do with him.


Syne

I met another hin too at about the same time. Hano was flirting with her, but she wouldn't have a bar of it. No wonder he was, she's far prettier than me. She always seems to wear a hood, and for a long time every time I saw her she seemed mean, insulting me, telling me to grow a backbone whenever I stammered... I deserved it, I know I did, and I know she is right. She seemed so mean though, I'm too terrified of her to talk. And when I met her in Port Avanthyr once, I think she even threatened to kill me! It was hard to tell what she was talking about, though, and maybe I misunderstood. But I'm quite sure she means me no good.

Later, about the same time Logan tried to hug me the second time, she gave me a gem, to make friends. I didn't know what to do. I took the gem of course... I couldn't help it, it was so shiny, and I feel so greedy and selfish for doing so, but what was I supposed to do, little journal? And I don't know why in the nine hells she'd want to make friends with me. Maybe she just wants someone to tease and laugh at. I'm good for that, I suppose. I don't trust her, not one bit, and she makes my skin itch. Baragorn seems to at least get along with her, though I don't know why. Maybe since he's a too-tall, he's not pathetic and scared of her like I am.

The other day, we saw Syne in the forest, kissing another hin! I don't know who he was, but she seemed embarassed, and I didn't know what to say when they both joined up with us. I couldn't handle it... even after the gem, she makes me so scared... I ran off again, coward I am.


Anyway, those are the two most scary hin I've met so far, little diary. But there are good ones, too! Even one, very nice hin I will tell you about tomorrow. Kisses!

[Vicissitudes]

*Like the last entry, a number of dates are scribbled above this one, and inserted in various points within the entry as well. It seems as if this is a collection of lots of small entries and addendums, written on the same page... the page opposite the previous one.*

Kind Hin I've Met

Hello again, little diary. As I promised on the last page, here are two of the hin I've met who haven't been so mean.


Dmytri Quartz:

When I met Dmytri, he told me to call him Quartz. I think it was because my stutter annoyed him, and his last name is easier to say without stuttering. I should work on that, my stutter, but I don't think it'd do much good. Mother said I've been that way since I could first speak, and even if anyone can change such things, I doubt I could. Anyway, he offered to teach me the use of some spells I'm to ignorant to use properly, but when I stuttered, and fumbled my words, I think he thought I didn't want him to. Even though I did. When we talked later in the Trading Post, I learnt some things about him... he's a wizard. And not a useless little hedge mage like me, but a proper one, and he can make magic items, knows more spells... I wish I could be more like him, even though I know I never will.


*A little loveheart is drawn beside the next name*
Villis Maelstrom:

Baragorn and I met Villis when I was following my too-tall friend (Friend! Baragorn said he was my friend, by the way! I was so suprised, I don't deserve a friend as strong, as nice as him.), on a mission he had been sent on to the Sharahan Hills. I was just being my useless annoying self, tagging along. But Villis came with us, and... he was very nice. I don't know why he paid so much attention to me, I'm so frumpy and irritating, but he did. I think he liked me! Maybe I'm just imagining such things, it would serve me right too, I shouldn't get my hopes up.

He seemed to know a lot more about the Folk than me. About our gods, our history, our tales... he made me feel so ignorant. Having grown up in Athkatla, our family back home has been there for generations. None of us follow the old ways of our hin, now, and hearing Villis speak of them was like hearing of a home I've never been to. He offered to tell me more of Yondalla and her Children, of our folk and our tales... I hope in my heart he does. I would love dearly to know more about where our hin came from.

Later when we were exploring the forests, it rained, poured... I was so cold, miserable... but Villis seemed to enjoy it! I couldn't work out why. All I wanted was to go home, curl up by a fire and read, but he talked and talked, about nature, the rain... I like Villis so, but it made me so uncomfortable. Maybe it's just because I'm not used to the wild, but I would rather be in a safe warm town than a forest any day. And when he spoke of how joyous it might be to be like an animal, without knowledge or intelligence, I was appalled! What is it to be sentient, without knowledge and learning? I can never share these feelings that Villis seemed to have, and they make my skin itch to just think of it.

Despite it all, though, I like Villis very much, little diary. I hope we get to talk more. Goodbye for now... it's raining, I can feel it pitter-pattering on the roof of the inn, and I should probably go down to cook some dinner. I do wish they had hin-sized kitchen counters and pots and pans, though. I always end up serving myself far too much, and feeling guilty and fat whenever I've eaten.

[Vicissitudes]

*A date is written at the top of this entry, though it's a little smudged. The writing of this entry is messy and hurried, the sign of an excited hand*
10th Kythorn 1372 Dalereckoning


Campfire Tales

Hello little diary! I'm so excited to tell you all this. I was by the campfire at the trading post today, and it was very busy, I was about to leave. A crazy hin, a woman, was wandering about jumping on benches, and Syne was there too - she hadn't noticed me though, so I was quite relieved. A cat tried to eat Onion as well, but when I made his skin stone, it gave up to my relief. Then Villis came along... and offered to tell me a legend of our people. I was so excited, I had been hoping he would.

I feel so ignorant about the Folk and our gods, our tales... but my family has been in Athkatla for generations, and I guess we've just forgotten. I'd heard snippets of the tale, references to Littleman, before back in the City of Coin. and mother had told me of the Folk's gods, but only vaguely. I hope one day Villis will tell me more. Anyway. Shhhh, little diary, and listen! This is what mister Villis told me.

*The tale starts on the next page of the journal*

[Vicissitudes]

*As before, the page is dated. This entry seems to continue directly from the previous one, and the title of the entry is outlined with little flowers and other fanciful sketches*
10th Kythorn 1372 Dalereckoning

The Legend of Littleman

Mister Villis told me the following, the tale of the first halfling, Littleman. As he told me though, and as I realised, it wasn't just a tale of Littleman - it was a tale of the too-talls' gods, the bad gods, the good gods, and all the others who dwell up in the Seven Heavens beyond our plane of existence, all of whom look down on our little world and its people, and who look out and care for their followers... and more often, take pride and vanity from the numbers of their worshippers. Most of this is pretty much what Mister Villis told me, little diary, and a good part of it is his words.

Back in a foggy, distant time long before written history, the goddess Yondalla was not the protector of the Folk. Instead, she was thought of by all the too-talls' gods, the dwarven gods, the elven gods, the monster gods, and everybody else as unimportant, and no-one really paid her much attention.

Though that sounds a bit like me, Yondalla wasn't meek or weak like I am. She was brave and courageous, and always had the courage to speak her mind even when it got her in trouble, whenever all the gods met in one of their massive councils. Unlike the other gods though, she had no worshippers on our little world, and she was often overshadowed by all the other pompous, proud too-tall gods who boasted, as Villis said, "of their multitude of followers like peacocks showing off their pretty tailfeathers."

All the other gods were also proud of how big, how strong, how mighty and powerful they looked... but Yondalla was like us Folk, and her head barely reached the knee of many of the big powerful too-tall gods. Yondalla was strong, but more importantly, she was clever and cunning and quick on her feet, and since the big proud too-tall gods didn't respect these things so much, they overlooked her. What the other powers had that little Yondalla did not, though, were thousands and millions of worshippers in our little world, who gave the too-tall gods power and pride more than Yondalla, and who could cause multitudes of other mortals to listen and believe their words. And because Yondalla had none, all the too-tall gods ignored her.

A bit like me, Yondalla had worse and worse luck. She was so sick of all the too-tall gods boasting about how big, and wise, and strong they were that once time at one of their councils, Yondalla asked "Which of you is the greatest?". Immediately all the too-tall guards argued and fought amoungst themselves, all of them trying to prove how important and mighty they were... and by the time the argument was over, everyone was mad at each other. They decided to blame everything on poor little Yondalla for asking her question.

I suppose this is a lesson to me, to keep my mouth shut. I know I don't say much, because of this stupid stutter. Maybe it's a blessing from Yondalla so I'll shut up, I don't know. Anyway, Villis told me more:

Even though Yondalla got in trouble, and got kicked out of the gods' councils for causing all the arguments and not istening to them, she didn't see what happened to her as punishment. She was secretly tired of being ignored and being treated like a child like the bigger gods and goddesses - so she was glad to be out of the gods' councils, and free to roam on her own.

Yondalla, my mother told me, and Villis did too, is a kind, understanding goddess who likes kindness and generosity. Villis said that these are traits other dieties do not hold in abundance, and though it pains me to admit it, he might be right. Though I worship the Lord of Spells above all, I pay homage to Waukeen too, and maybe this encourages greed in me. Yondalla, though, is also a clever god, and she was smart enough to see how things worked, and to realise that to finally beat the too-talls' gods at their own game she would have to get follows of her own on our little world. So, she left the Seven Heavens, and came down to Toril in search of a perfect worshipper, to gather others around him or her.

Villis told me that Yondalla searched for a long, long time. It was very hard, because almost all the people she found already worshipped one of the big, pompous too-tall gods, and she couldn't steal them from the other deities because that would have stirred up even more trouble. The folk who did not have gods, Yondalla watched them and found they were mean, and nasty, and brutal. So she left them and kept searching, for many years.

One quiet morning, she came across Littleman, and her search was over. He was tiny, one of the Folk like me, little diary, and he was just sitting by a riverbank fishing. Again, like me! I felt a bit proud when Villis told me that, as I spend so much time fishing myself, but then I realised when he told me more that unlike me, Littleman was brave and cunning, a mighty sort. Baragorn, even, is more like what Littleman sounds like than me, and Baragorn isn't even one of the Folk.

All of this was still back in what Villis called the "Bad Old Days", before farms and villages and shires of the Folk, when my kind were scattered all through the lands, and lived underneath the feet of the too-talls in little burrows and hideaways, hidden from the world. The Folk had a hard life, said Villis. They had to hide and scurry and scavenge, and had to be always on their toes to be careful of enemies.

Littleman was brave, though, and wasn't like the rest of the Folk at the time - he boasted there wasn't a monster in the whole forest who he could not best, not through being strong or mighty but by being cunning, outsmarting them by leading them into traps and snares and ambushes, making them chase him until they tired and gave up. Even though he was alone and even though the rest of the Folk were not brave and courageous as him, none of the monsters, and the Bad Folk wanted to prey on out Folk anymore, because if they did... the hin might turn out to be Littleman, and they might be walking into one of Littleman's traps.

Yondalla, in her wisdom, watched Littleman and found him, though a mortal, to be of like heart as her. He was clever, brave, kind, and full of cunning and mischief. And like her, he was little! If ever a creature on our little world was made in Yondalla's image, it was Littleman and the rest of the Folk. I suppose, even though I'm not brave, or clever, or kind, or cunning, even I must be made in Yondalla's image. That makes me feel reassured, somehow.

One day, Yondalla got up her courage and showed herself to him, appearing through magic, and offered him a deal. If Littleman would collect together under his leadership, all of our Folk in their scattered communities and villages, Yondalla would protect them all from their enemies as long as our Folk gave her worship and thanks in return. Littleman, he was so brave he wasn't even scared of a deity like Yondalla! So he stopped, and took time to think it over.

After giving it some thought, Littleman considered the deal was fair. And so he agreed, and since that day, so hidden in the fog of history, Yondalla, says Villis, has watched over our people ever since.

[Vicissitudes]

*The page is dated, and seems to be accompanied in the margins and around the titles by little flowery badly-drawn lovehearts and sketches of the holy symbols and icons of Yondalla's Children, though only one familiar with the halfling panthon would recognise the squiggles as such.*
15th Kythorn 1372 Dalereckoning

Faith and Fishing

Oh, little diary. I don't know what to tell you, how to describe what happened today, and if I must be truthful with you, I don't know what to think of it myself.

Myself, mister Villis and Baragorn, as well as a mean grumpy too-tall and the bald one with the funny hair on his lip, Bassman, all met together in the inn just outside the city gates. And there, mister Villis continued his story of Littleman. The last part didn't take long, but it was wonderful. After Littleman accepted Yondalla's deal, she looked after the Folk and our peoples, and after Littleman made sure the new village and his kinsmen and kinswomen were safe, he went off to adventure.

Villis makes Littleman sound so brave, so confident... I don't think I could ever be like that. But Littleman was, and so confident and smart and crafty was he, that he even visited other worlds, little diary, spreading Yondalla's faith there, to all the Tallfellows and Stouts who would listen, and soon Yondalla became safe and satisfied in her worshippers, and they became safe and satisfied under her protection.

Littleman came back, though, from his journeys. He'd seen many worlds, many amazing things, but even after it all he still wanted to come home to his little house, and sit by his fire, with his feet bare, a book on his lap and a pipe in his mouth. Nobody knows, Villis says, where Littleman's home is. But Villis said that Littleman, even after all these centuries, still roams the country, and comes back to his home, watching after Yondalla's people. And that somewhere, in some nondescript little hut, he can be found... after all, he was Yondalla's favoured, and such joy he had given her and such service, that surely she'd grant him as long and as happy a life as he wanted.

I bowed my head, and cried a little when Villis told me that... he saw, I think, but Baragorn didn't. I'm glad of that, he must think me so insipid and weak anyway. But I cried, little diary. It just.... warms me, brings comfort to my heart to think that someday, somewhere, I could be sitting down on a riverbank, fishing... and Littleman, off on one of his adventures, were to sit down by me, and give me some tips. Even if it were just on how to bait my hook, you know? The idea that he's out there still, and that I might meet him oneday - even if I did not know it - makes me feel more wanted than I've ever felt.

I don't know what to do now, little diary. Ever since I started my apprenticeship back home in Athkatla, I've done my best to follow the Lord of Spells... to follow Azuth's teachings, and though I suppose I've never been especially devout, I've always paid my respects, and said my prayers to him. To the Merchant's Friend Waukeen, too, the god of my city and, I suppose, my people... hin and too-tall alike. But it's always seemed distant, cold, the worship, and I never really felt their presence.

Sure, mother always said her prayers to Mother Hearth, Cyrrollalee as Villis called her. And she spoke vaguely of Yondalla's Children, but to be honest, I never paid it much heed. Yet when Villis spoke of Yondalla, and Littleman, I actually felt something, you know? Like a little part of my soul I never knew was missing, had been offered back to me... a heritage of my people I never knew existed, had never given thought to.

Anyway. The night after Villis had told me of the Folk's other gods, I couldn't sleep. I felt this tug in my head, sort of like when a spell "wants" to come out, you know, little diary? Except this was different... withoutgiving much thought, I got out of bed, donned my robes, cast my spell to make me unseen, and... wandered. Away from Sundren, into the woods nearby until I found a little stream. It must have been hours, it's all a vague blurr to me now, the next morning. And I sat by the stream, cast my handline into the water with a little worm on the hook, and... fished.

It was strange. In that little act, I felt closer. To Yondalla, to Littleman, to my Folk... to myself. Just sitting by the riverbank in the middle of the night, fishing, just like Littleman was when Yondalla first found him. It's so strange out here, so alien to the shadowy alleys and dirt and coin and business of Athkatla. I'm not sure I like it. But the fishing... that, I think, I enjoy.

I'll talk to you again about this, little diary, when I figure out what it all means. I think though that a third Power sits in my breast now, alongside Waukeen and Azuth - this third Power is smaller, warmer, closer... more like me.

[Vicissitudes]

*The page is dated, and above the date has a badly scribbled sketch of a rabbit looking vaguely like Violet's familiar, Onion.*
17th Kythorn 1372 Dalereckoning

Rabbit Obesity

Little diary, I'm quite worried about Onion. I've been watching him lately, and seeing how other people feed him with carrots, parsnips, in overabundance. He used to be alright when we travelled together, as he was always on the move and getting exercise - but ever since that time in the forest when he got stomped on by a goblin, he's been reluctant to travel with me. He spends most of his time now, in his burrow underground in Exigo's trading post, and other than following me to Aquor once, he hasn't really been anywhere. He's been getting rather chubby, and I'm rather afraid for his health. Ever since I found him in that haystack by the circus in Waukeen's Promenade back home, he's been so active and energetic... maybe he's just getting old. It'd make sense, as I never knew exactly how old he was. I promise, little diary, I'll try to bring him along with me more, and force him to get some exercise. Gods know, he needs it - some days, he can only barely fit his chubby little posterior down his burrow, and I don't want him getting stuck.




*Another entry, below the former, is scribbled in a haphazard fashion and undated. It appears to be observantions and notes collected over a week or so.*

More Too-Talls I've Met

Little diary, over the last few weeks I've met many more too-talls. I'm sure none of them pay much attention to me, but since I've been tagging along behind Baragorn wherever he goes, I've managed to see quite a few. They're not like most too-talls either, they're... "adventurers", I suppose, and some of them are very strange. I wonder if I'll become strange too, if I go on adventures? I hope not... I know I'm boring, but I'd rather be boring than crazy, or mean, or rushing off into danger. Anyway, here are a couple of the too-talls I've met, little diary:


Vigo

I met Vigo when I was with Baragorn, I think. He looked very big and powerful, moreso than normal humans - after all, they all look that way to little me... he has a big bushy beard, greyed hair, and wears an expensive robe that bathes everything around him in purple. I felt a little strange when I met him, because he looks to me a lot like what I picture the Lord of Spells to look like... all wise, and tall, and with a long shining robe... and he seemed nice, too, helping me with all sorts of spells and things, and making sure Syne didn't hurt me or follow me.

When I got to know him though, he seemed a lot different to the Lord of Spells. In my mind, anyway. I don't really know if I misunderstood him or not, but he seemed to talk, as we wandered around and as he helped me find a gem, about all sorts of rumours, about him magicking ladies' clothes off! I didn't know what to say, it was so awkward. I felt like the awkward silence was going to eat me up. Tightened my belt, though. I quite like my clothes as they are, thank you very much, and to have them magicked off... oh, little diary, I think I'd die of shame, with everyone staring at me. I still think Vigo is a mostly nice man, but... he seems a bit scary, now, a little eccentric.


Ariel

When I was tagging along behind Baragorn, we met Ariel. I think Baragorn and her a friends... I wonder if they're special friends? She is very pretty, and Baragorn is so nice. But anyway, little diary, she was all dressed in red chain, one of those Red Blades everyone talks of... and she and Baragorn fought ogres, whilst I stayed back, feeling a bit useless. She seemed brave, but... almost tossed herself into groups of ogres, and nearly died! I was so scared, it's hard enough making friends without them going and getting themselves chomped by smelly ogres.

[Vicissitudes]

*Her scribblings even more illegible than usual, the ink smudged with little droplets... likely tears, it appears Violet was very, very upset when she wrote this. Somuch so, she even neglected to date it... or even to write a title heading.*

Little diary... oh, little diary. I'm a mess... useless, pathetic... I can't stop crying since he left. I tried to be strong, little diary, to stop crying. And I managed it, for so long.

When Baragorn came to me, and told me he'd been called back to Cormyr... he was so nice about it. So polite... and him being him, when I looked at him, I knew he was telling the truth. Everything seemed so clear, but when he went it away it all fell to pieces. I know, now. It's my fault. That I'm annoying, that I'm needy, that I drove him away. I just don't know what to say, little diary. I feel so alone now - I have no-one to hide behind, no-one to tell me who I should and shouldn't trust, no-one to protect me. I know it, just know, that all the too-talls... little diary, they treat me like a child, because I'm hin - they're probably right, too.

I managed to hold it in for days. I'm amazed I could, little diary - even Onion, chubby as he's gotten, picked up on it and moped around, not even hopping much as he shuffled behind me. I found Moriah in Viridale, and I ended up in the bunker, curled up into a ball and letting it all out. She must have thought me so pathetic... she's so big, strong, covered in her armour all the time. It's as hard as her, I think sometimes. She left me there, with a pillow... oh, little diary. I feel like such a child, but Baragorn... what am I to do without him?

I feel so lost, little diary.

[Vicissitudes]

*The page is dated. Violet's writing seems to still be shakey and messy, moreso than usual, a sign of her continued distress from the last entry on the opposite page. Some of the teardrop smudges seem to have transferred to this page to, probably when the diary was closed and the two sheets of paper pressed together.*
20th Kythorn 1372 Dalereckoning

Reflections

Oh, little diary, I don't know what to do with myself now Baragorn's gone. I'm so used to tagging along behind him that now I'm on my own, I have no idea what to do with myself, and I feel like just huddling up by a fireplace in a library, and just staying there for eternity - and maybe I should. I'd feel though, like I were letting him down, and I just knew if he were looking at me doing nothing with my life, he'd wish he had never known me. Yondalla and the Lord of Spells, too, would frown down on me. I know I'm worth nothing, especially to Them, but I feel like I should at least try.

After Moriah left my useless self curled up in that lump in Viridale, I didn't know what to do with myself. I just hid in one of the unused bunks - nobody seemed to notice me - I suppose, huddled under the blankets with my magic light, it just looked like a pillow under the sheets. And a small, insignificant one at that. So, little diary, here I am, writing in you. I hope you don't mind. But I thought I'd try to explain to you, at least, why I am like I sam. Or why I think so. Nobody else would care about it, I know, but I want to tell someone so that they'll understand. Even if it's just you, little diary.

I suppose the reason I'm so useless on my own, is that I've been under someone else's wing, all my life. I've been too much of a 'fraidy-cat to be anything else - the City of Coin, where I grew up in, is a scary place - corrupt, lined with thieves and murderers... I was scared out of my shoes just walking to the markets and back for mother, to buy our food. Afraid that because of my stutter, my small stature... both of which I've had from birth, robbers would hone in on me, and just kill me as an easy target, taking all our family's food and grocery money. I'm not just being paranoid, little diary... please, you must believe I am not. I was robbed, on many occaisions, by scary looking tootalls in black leathers. Some of them must've been Shadow Thieves, I'm sure... they didn't hurt me though. I probably didn't look worth the effort - I was so scared I often just dropped all my things and crumpled to the floor. I was so useless, back then, so frightened - not much has changed, though, I suppose.

Until I was sixteen, I lived with my mother. I wish you had known her, little diary, she was such a lovely person. I'll tell you about her sometime. Until my sixteenth birthday, though, I lived under her wing... taking care of the house, the cooking, just helping to keep our family in food and home, while mother worked weaving. When I was sixteen though, I was... handed off, I suppose. I think sometimes that it must've been because mother simply didn't want me anymore, but I know in my heart that wasn't the case. She had saved up money... lots of money, little diary, and I don't know to this day how she did it. But she had paid someone in the city, to take me as an apprentice. I was always smart, she said, always buried in my books... I suppose she was right that I read a lot, but I don't feel very intelligent.

It was only when I got to his tower that I realised what sort of person mother had bought be an apprenticeship with. He was a mage! A magic user! Oh, little diary, I was terrified. Fearful of my life. Not from him, he seemed like such a nice old man, Shayyid did, for a too-tall - and I wanted to learn, I did - I had read so much about mages and magic, I had never thought I'd ever be able to be one.

You see, little Diary, in Athkatla, users of arcane magic are feared, shunned... the practice of magic is even banned, save for the Cowled Wizards and those rich enough to bribe the government for permits. Shayyid did the latter, and so, in his tower, I was free to practice and learn... he was childless, and I think he saw in me a daughter he never had. I felt so inadequate though, always screwing up spells, breaking beakers... he never used to shout at me. I wish he had, maybe then I wouldn't have felt so guilty. But I was more afraid of being found out to be a wizard, when I was outside of his tower, and being beaten or stoned for it, or even carted off to Spellhold, the mage prison - so for the most part, I stayed in his tower most days. And yet again, like with mother, I was weak and alone, always trapped under someone else's wing. Hiding behind someone like a coward.

I don't want to get into why I left, and came here to Sundren, little diary. It's another story, and I'm running out of room on this page. I'll tell you later though, I promise. But when I came here... even on the boat before I arrived, I found another wing to be under, another too-tall to hide behind. Baragorn. I went everywhere with him, and he protected me... even most of my friends, I wouldn't have met if it weren't for him. And so, little diary, that's why I feel so lost now... why I'm so used to having someone else to hide behind. I hope you understand... I don't know if I could bring myself to tell anyone else, and even if I did, I'm sure they wouldn't care.

I'm running out of room, little diary, and ink. I need to buy some more, but it's so dangerous to carry too much in the same backpack as my scrolls in case it breaks. I'll talk to you again soon, little diary, and please don't think any worse of me.

[Vicissitudes]

*The page is not dated, and written in an especially spidery hand.*

Murderer

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. Oh sweet Yondalla, Merchant's Friend, Lord of Spells... I'm a murderer! I killed someone! Oh... little diary. Don't hate me, please don't hate me, it was all my fault I know, but I didn't mean to! That poor gnome... he seemed so nice, too! Weird, but all gnomes are weird. And I killed him! I've had to... to defend myself before, I know... bandits on the roads, things like that, but... this was... oh, little diary. I killed him... what am I going to do? They'll catch me, I'll go to prison, I'll never meet Littleman... I just know it! I'll tell you, little diary, because you need to understand.

It was at the Exigo trading post. A gnome was standing there, with three massive golems, all with scary blades on their arms. They weren't attacking, and everyone... Vigo, and everyone else, were just talking to him and trying to buy them from him. Everyone seemed so busy, so preoccupied... I should have stayed away. I don't know what came over me, little diary. I saw a rock on the ground, and picked it up... it was like someone else was controlling me. I don't know why I did it, I must be evil, bad, a horrid person... I always knew I was. I just wanted to see what would happen, that was all, so I threw it, and it hit one of them!

It was chaos, chaos little diary... the gnome yelled, and the golems attacked... him! They cut him to shreds, little diary, with those big metal blade arms. And turned on each other, on everyone else. But they killed him. And it was my fault... my fault, little diary. I'm a murderer!

[Vicissitudes]

*Written in a relatively neater hand than the last entry*

Wolf, Ghost and Dead

Little diary, something spooky's been happening to me lately. It started a while go, up north of Aquor. I saw a ghost, little diary. This ghost was hunting mages... he said so. I don't know why, it was so scary, and I was glad I had people to hide behind - Quartz and his friends showed up, you see. I'm sure there's other ghosts in the hills, mountains, too, I felt them watching me, even as I left.

It was only later when I started to discover what it all means. I was in Aquor, little diary, just minding my own business, when I saw a hin fishing, dressed in hides by the dock of the lake. I'd seen him before - that strange one who seems wild, who says little. He came up to me, and talked... and then a feeling of wonder washed over me. The fishing rod, how apart he was from the world... Littleman! I asked him if he was, but he got angry, and advanced upon me with a magical axe and shield. He must have thought me stupid, or insulted for some reason.

Oh, little diary, I was so scared - I thought I was dead for sure. Is he littleman, little diary? Or is it just me being stupid again? If he is, why does he hate me so, have I failed Yondalla? And why does he seem so... like an animal. I had imagined Littleman to be kinder, gentler, more easy with words. When he calmed, and I told him of the Ghost I had seen in the mountains, and told him of the wrongness of the magic, how the Lord of Spells would be angry if I did nothing... he started speaking in a strange way I'm not used to. Talking of predator, prey... said I was the latter, he is probably right.

He said something strange too, also. Not just what was said, but the way it was said, like it was mystical, elusive... I figure, it must be important.

There are three figures in the Spine of whom I should take note, he said. Wolf, Ghost, and Dead. He was the wolf, I'm sure of it. He said so, and he seems... so like that, so like those frosty wolves that roam the snowy mountains. But who is Ghost, and who is Dead? I need to find out, little diary, I need to figure out who is using this bad magic so irresponsibly. Maybe the Ghost I saw, is Wolf-hin's Ghost? But who is Dead? Erishkagal knows, I'm sure of it, little diary.

Wolf, Ghost, Dead, the three spirits of the spine. I can't make heads or tails of it, but I figure it must be important. Are they enemies? Friends? Allies? Gods? I don't think Wolf is Littleman, diary, the more I think of it. Littleman wouldn't hate me, wouldn't threaten me... even after the awful thing I did to that poor gnome. Surely he wouldn't?