Zann Wicker: Master of Nothing

[Sacred Geometry]

Table of Contents

Entry 001: To Sundren
Entry 002: Arrival
Entry 003: A Pound of Flesh

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Entry 001
To Sundren
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If tonight I do not wake again, then to whoever is reading this, know that I lived an ambitious life in hopes of breaking the tedium of my mediocrity, to forge a glamorous future for myself and humankind, even if history may tell it otherwise. Know that I have no regrets for treasuring these goals, even if the means I choose to take should disagree with my future, wiser self, or yourself.

I am Zann Wicker, son of an undertaker, born in Rashemen, and raised far away in the land of Calimshan as my uncle's, a merchant's, labor-hand. Seven years ago, I took an entire year's worth of earnings and purchased myself a falchion, a blade in Calimshan that is as common as the greatsword here, and a set of shoddy chainmail. Seven years ago, the boring labor-hand of a merchant answered his heart's calling, becoming an adventurer who has explored the lands since, in search of a purpose.

To this day, I have not found this purpose; a position to satisfy my desire to cause great goodness in Faerun. However, in my travels, I have heard great tales and rumors of a newly discovered establishment to the far north, near Icewind Dale, called Sundren. It is a place filled with great chaos and conflict, so they said to me, and good, dedicated heroes are few and far in between in this world, let alone in the valley.

Sundren... something about this feels right. I spent the rest of my earnings for passage to Sundren on a cargo vessel transporting Exigo Syndicate freight, commandeered by an captain whose name eludes me, but whose infamous tales do not. I hope all goes well in one hand, and prepare for the worst with my other.

[Sacred Geometry]

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Entry 002
Arrival
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The ship ride to Sundren was far from smooth. Whoever invoked Umberlee's wrath upon us at sea must have certainly earned a particularly important place on her bad side... I pray it was not me. To be safe, I decided pay her homage when reaching land with what little I've earned from doing small tasks for the crew to cure my boredom. There are too many concerns amongst the mortals for me to be worried about a God's wrath chasing at my back.

The valley itself is lush and beautiful, which was unexpected for me as it is so close to The Spine, a place that is a barren desert of snow and ice. Yet being so close to The Spine, this place can be described as tropic, though it remains cool from the seasonal winds sweeping through from the north. I like this place.

The port, Port Avathur, was alive with rustle and bustle from loading cargo, unloading cargo, fisherman, sailors, drunks, and otherwise. With all of these people rushing about to finish their tasks, it was not hard for me to find work, in exchange for money and knowledge, of course. I spent the better half of two days completing tasks for its people, and I split my earnings; part for savings, part for equipment, and part for that donation to Umberlee I mentioned earlier.

Of the items in my equipment purchased, one was a detailed map of the valley, so now I plan my exploration of the valley. There are many dangers listed on the map, "Adventurer Deathtraps", as it was described to me... but I fear I may be drawn into them like many others. The money is good, after all, and it is the quickest way to become renown, which allows for me to play bigger roles in this valley.

[Sacred Geometry]

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Entry 003
A Pound of Flesh
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Money has been good lately, thanks only to be given to the rivers of goblin blood spilled, the bounty and gold extracted from hundreds upon thousands of goblins. However, the reward of slaying these creatures is greater than gold. Goblins are short, green, and nefarious creatures who desire anything that is not their own, and they procure it through underhanded tricks, ambushes, and heartless slaughter of men, women, and children -- anyone who would have anything to gain from their death, even if it be the simple linens around their loin.

In an odd, twisted way, I am not much different than them. I heartlessly slaughter them, give no quarter to the mindless beasts that are not deserving of honor, and take all of their earnings for my own cause. I, on the other hand, do not fight for my own riches. My cause is for the betterment of the humans across Faerun, at the cost of my own life.

In either case, one can only slaughter a single group for so long before they are thinned, and there is no more threat to be found. This was the case here. The well had dried up, so to speak, and I sought my fortunes and purpose elsewhere, to a forest, the Viridale. Bored druids aside, the forest is house to thousands of creatures who demand the blood of humans. It is why the Legionnaires, this valley's military force, occupies the borders to keep them inside.

I, in my arrogance and ignorance, thought I would be capable enough to venture inside alone and slaughter groups of them through guerrilla type warfare. I woke not but a day later, before a group of adventurers, covered in blood and wounds. The wounds... they were not normal, born of steel, arrow, or claws. It was explained to me that an orc had run me down, bested me, and began to eat my very flesh while I yet lived. My screams of pain and terror resounded through the forest, though my mind allowed me to block such horrors from its memory.

However, the honor lost from losing can not be forgotten as I lie here, writing this in my bed, with pounds of flesh missing from what was once a perfect, unmarred form -- my form. Is this the kind of evil that occupies Sundren? Did - do - I even present a legitimate challenge to it? I must recover. I must become better. I must root this evil from the valley, one soul and scream at a time.

For now, I rest.