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Dear Journal,
Arrived early. That was perhaps the only good thing that might be said about the trip by sea. I was sick, I was tired, my possessions were damaged, most beyond repair, and I still can’t get the smell of sailor’s miasma out of my hair. But, for all that, here I am, and here I shall stay until my studies cannot progress further.
I think I like it here. It is difficult to tell, as I have not been here long, but the people seem mostly nice. This has actually been the cause of some frustration, Journal. It seems I am widely becoming considered tactless! Uncouth, with a predisposition for “scathing words.” I, the very paragon of humility and gentility, accused of being “mean.” Hmmph. Even so, they seem to suffer my presence, so I must not be entirely odious. Either that or they intend to rob me.
Who are “they?” Well, first, there is Renn, a gnome. An illusionist. “Shaper of Truths” my ass. He is a nice guy, don’t get me wrong, Journal, but illusion… it’s just so.. deceitful. He insists constantly on perception being truth, and every time he does I feel like… well, doing something mean. Maybe they have a point? Anyway, he was one of the first I have met, and has been the only companion to stick around, even going out of his way to accompany me. I flatter myself to think he enjoys my company. He is a wizard, which I respect. I would just never want him to know that. He worships Baravar Cloakshadow (Gnome deities always have such quaint, interesting names).
There’s also Mister Locke, a gentleman of large stature and overwhelming politeness. Civility hangs so heavily around him I feel as though I might choke on it. He would probably politely excuse me for coughing if I did. He seems to follow Torm, unless he had an inexplicable propensity for wishing True upon people. He haunts a cart near the gates. I sometimes haunt this cart too.
Mister Aerick, who is the image of uncomfortable gentility. He is polite, almost to a fault, but seems uncomfortable in his skin. He is much akin to a puppy expecting the rod at any moment. I feel pity and disdain simultaneously. I try to restrain myself from poking fun at him, from using his awkwardness as the butt of jokes, and from purposely making things worse for him, I really do, but I am not always successful in restraining myself. Maybe I AM mean.
My relationship with local mages has been cordial, for the most part, but I seem to have mixed results with the nature-lovers of the region. On the one hand I met the Warbloods. They are a clan of orc who worship some nature spirit called the “Bear Totem.” They are surprisingly polite, loyal, effective, and reliable. They hate goblins, as do I (increasingly so). We got along very well. On the other hand, I went to the druid glade. I met a feral Halfling who threatened me with bears and a bilious, overbearing, arrogant elf. I made short work of alienating myself from them and left without fanfare. I fear I may have closed a door there. Let’s hope proverbial sayings come true.
I have been funding my extravagant lifestyle of soup, bread, and study by doing small jobs for the local “Exigo” mining camp. It is overrun with goblins (as mentioned earlier). My work seems to be helping. I can honestly say I am proud to be making an impact. Practicing my magic in a combat situation is nice too.
When not harassing people (apparently) or helping the Exigo, I spend my time studying. Current research: crystal densities. Renn is a jeweler, and has offered to help me cut and form a crystal, should I find the raw components. With a proper crystal ball I could begin my studies into divination and scrying in earnest. I will make Savras proud. You’ll see, Journal.
Off to find the Truth of it,
Celeste.
Things that want to kill me: (left) Feral Halflings; (center) Zombies; (right) Goblins.
Arrived early. That was perhaps the only good thing that might be said about the trip by sea. I was sick, I was tired, my possessions were damaged, most beyond repair, and I still can’t get the smell of sailor’s miasma out of my hair. But, for all that, here I am, and here I shall stay until my studies cannot progress further.
I think I like it here. It is difficult to tell, as I have not been here long, but the people seem mostly nice. This has actually been the cause of some frustration, Journal. It seems I am widely becoming considered tactless! Uncouth, with a predisposition for “scathing words.” I, the very paragon of humility and gentility, accused of being “mean.” Hmmph. Even so, they seem to suffer my presence, so I must not be entirely odious. Either that or they intend to rob me.
Who are “they?” Well, first, there is Renn, a gnome. An illusionist. “Shaper of Truths” my ass. He is a nice guy, don’t get me wrong, Journal, but illusion… it’s just so.. deceitful. He insists constantly on perception being truth, and every time he does I feel like… well, doing something mean. Maybe they have a point? Anyway, he was one of the first I have met, and has been the only companion to stick around, even going out of his way to accompany me. I flatter myself to think he enjoys my company. He is a wizard, which I respect. I would just never want him to know that. He worships Baravar Cloakshadow (Gnome deities always have such quaint, interesting names).
There’s also Mister Locke, a gentleman of large stature and overwhelming politeness. Civility hangs so heavily around him I feel as though I might choke on it. He would probably politely excuse me for coughing if I did. He seems to follow Torm, unless he had an inexplicable propensity for wishing True upon people. He haunts a cart near the gates. I sometimes haunt this cart too.
Mister Aerick, who is the image of uncomfortable gentility. He is polite, almost to a fault, but seems uncomfortable in his skin. He is much akin to a puppy expecting the rod at any moment. I feel pity and disdain simultaneously. I try to restrain myself from poking fun at him, from using his awkwardness as the butt of jokes, and from purposely making things worse for him, I really do, but I am not always successful in restraining myself. Maybe I AM mean.
My relationship with local mages has been cordial, for the most part, but I seem to have mixed results with the nature-lovers of the region. On the one hand I met the Warbloods. They are a clan of orc who worship some nature spirit called the “Bear Totem.” They are surprisingly polite, loyal, effective, and reliable. They hate goblins, as do I (increasingly so). We got along very well. On the other hand, I went to the druid glade. I met a feral Halfling who threatened me with bears and a bilious, overbearing, arrogant elf. I made short work of alienating myself from them and left without fanfare. I fear I may have closed a door there. Let’s hope proverbial sayings come true.
I have been funding my extravagant lifestyle of soup, bread, and study by doing small jobs for the local “Exigo” mining camp. It is overrun with goblins (as mentioned earlier). My work seems to be helping. I can honestly say I am proud to be making an impact. Practicing my magic in a combat situation is nice too.
When not harassing people (apparently) or helping the Exigo, I spend my time studying. Current research: crystal densities. Renn is a jeweler, and has offered to help me cut and form a crystal, should I find the raw components. With a proper crystal ball I could begin my studies into divination and scrying in earnest. I will make Savras proud. You’ll see, Journal.
Off to find the Truth of it,
Celeste.
Things that want to kill me: (left) Feral Halflings; (center) Zombies; (right) Goblins.
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