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First Page
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From chaos, order;
From abhorrence, beauty;
From servitude, power;
From duty, freedom.
Always remember that you are your own master. Not your blood, nor your comrades, nor your god, nor me. You are the only one who can determine your path, and you are the only one who can see yor duty done.
Torm is very proud of you, as am I. It has been an honor to watch you grow into the woman you have become
Father Lysander
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Second Page
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I suppose it is necessary here to record who I am, in the event that this journal is recovered from me and I am not in a state to give an account of myself.
My name is Tamara Roth. I am at the time of this writing twenty winters old, turning twenty-one this coming Hammer. I am, by the grace of Torm, a servant of His will and a warrior of purpose dedicated to protecting those who have need of it, and removing from the world the evil that taints it.
I am also a natural mage. A sorceress, if you will. It was not a matter of choice, but a matter of blood; the power began to manifest in me when I was nine, and has continued building since. It has already nearly undone me once. Only by Torm's grace was I given as second chance. My power is now devoted to the protection and empowerment of others, and myself.
I have been blessed beyond measure with what has already come to me. If you find this on my body, do not mourn; I have lived well.
Torm protect.
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Third Page
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And now, to the actual journal. Alyrian, if you're reading this, shame on you. Shame shame shame. And you'll now stop and put it down, feeling bad, because you're a very sweet creature.
Ah, what has happened since I arrived... what, a fortnight ago? Less? Something of the sort, I suspect. I have found what might be love, I have completed my advanced training in weapons and armor, and I have manifested spells that I had thought beyond my reach. Even now, I think that the third circle of magic is not far away.
To keep from rambling interminably, I think I'll split up some of what has happened...
Alyrian
Ah, what can I say? He had me when he smiled at me the first time -- or, should I say, when he kept smiling at me, and I knew that it wasn't a trick to try to get me to bed him. Note to self: Stab Ivar with something sharp someday, if it's justified. He is kind, caring and a gentleman in every sense of the word, except that he is an elf. He is also very good-looking, and cuddly.
Alyrian is one of the several (many?) incanters that I have found, or warlocks if you prefer. Worryingly, he does not know the source of his power, and he seems slightly naiive. I must do what I can to answer his questions and to provide support, for my own power has uncomfortably many parallels.
I'm not going to allow myself to think about sleeping with him in the wink-wink sense, although we have slept together several times in the literal sense. He smells good. But the last time that I was this drawn to a man, it clouded my judgment; I must be wary.
I think I love him. But I'm not entirely sure what that means for the future. We'll see.
Kurtz
Xandan and I -- he'll get his own entry when I have a moment.
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Fouth Page
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We were headed out of the tunnels under Aquor with one of our comrades who had just been revived, when a group of bandits beset us. Based on what I overheard, they are part of a cartel run by a man named Kurtz. Apparently, this Kurtz is an exile from Waterdeep. He's probably not going to be happy with the number of men that we killed.
I'm going to have to tell Alyrian about this. If we're going to have assassins visiting us in the middle of the night, he's going to have to know.
Assorted Nasties and Notes on Them
Spittlefist Goblins -- Now pose little threat to me in any number, as long as I have spells. They can't hit hard enough to bypass my best spells. The ones with shields are the hardest to kill; they are evasive little buggers. Strangely, the archers are actually better at combat, though their armor's not as good.
NOTE: Banite cultists seen with the goblins. All cultists must be killed! Torm will not suffer the servants of Bane to conspire with those wretched goblins.
Gnolls -- Big, fuzzy. Hit hard with huge clubs and sticks, hard enough to fracture ribs even thought my best spells. They're accompanied by orcs, who are just as good.
Other Goblins (Name?) -- They're better than the Spittlefists, and swarm. The archers aren't as good, but the swordsmen are very good.
Nasty Beetles, Umber Hulks -- Both found under Aquor, and they're nasty. They hit harder than gnolls, with great strength and accuracy, and their numerous mandibles can threaten me very effectively. I intend to have a closer look at them, but only when I can do so on my own without getting dissected in the middle of a dissection.
Ogres -- [the page is torn from the force of the pen pressing in] Nasty. Avoid.
First Page
--
From chaos, order;
From abhorrence, beauty;
From servitude, power;
From duty, freedom.
Always remember that you are your own master. Not your blood, nor your comrades, nor your god, nor me. You are the only one who can determine your path, and you are the only one who can see yor duty done.
Torm is very proud of you, as am I. It has been an honor to watch you grow into the woman you have become
Father Lysander
--
Second Page
--
I suppose it is necessary here to record who I am, in the event that this journal is recovered from me and I am not in a state to give an account of myself.
My name is Tamara Roth. I am at the time of this writing twenty winters old, turning twenty-one this coming Hammer. I am, by the grace of Torm, a servant of His will and a warrior of purpose dedicated to protecting those who have need of it, and removing from the world the evil that taints it.
I am also a natural mage. A sorceress, if you will. It was not a matter of choice, but a matter of blood; the power began to manifest in me when I was nine, and has continued building since. It has already nearly undone me once. Only by Torm's grace was I given as second chance. My power is now devoted to the protection and empowerment of others, and myself.
I have been blessed beyond measure with what has already come to me. If you find this on my body, do not mourn; I have lived well.
Torm protect.
--
Third Page
--
And now, to the actual journal. Alyrian, if you're reading this, shame on you. Shame shame shame. And you'll now stop and put it down, feeling bad, because you're a very sweet creature.
Ah, what has happened since I arrived... what, a fortnight ago? Less? Something of the sort, I suspect. I have found what might be love, I have completed my advanced training in weapons and armor, and I have manifested spells that I had thought beyond my reach. Even now, I think that the third circle of magic is not far away.
To keep from rambling interminably, I think I'll split up some of what has happened...
Alyrian
Ah, what can I say? He had me when he smiled at me the first time -- or, should I say, when he kept smiling at me, and I knew that it wasn't a trick to try to get me to bed him. Note to self: Stab Ivar with something sharp someday, if it's justified. He is kind, caring and a gentleman in every sense of the word, except that he is an elf. He is also very good-looking, and cuddly.
Alyrian is one of the several (many?) incanters that I have found, or warlocks if you prefer. Worryingly, he does not know the source of his power, and he seems slightly naiive. I must do what I can to answer his questions and to provide support, for my own power has uncomfortably many parallels.
I'm not going to allow myself to think about sleeping with him in the wink-wink sense, although we have slept together several times in the literal sense. He smells good. But the last time that I was this drawn to a man, it clouded my judgment; I must be wary.
I think I love him. But I'm not entirely sure what that means for the future. We'll see.
Kurtz
Xandan and I -- he'll get his own entry when I have a moment.
--
Fouth Page
--
We were headed out of the tunnels under Aquor with one of our comrades who had just been revived, when a group of bandits beset us. Based on what I overheard, they are part of a cartel run by a man named Kurtz. Apparently, this Kurtz is an exile from Waterdeep. He's probably not going to be happy with the number of men that we killed.
I'm going to have to tell Alyrian about this. If we're going to have assassins visiting us in the middle of the night, he's going to have to know.
Assorted Nasties and Notes on Them
Spittlefist Goblins -- Now pose little threat to me in any number, as long as I have spells. They can't hit hard enough to bypass my best spells. The ones with shields are the hardest to kill; they are evasive little buggers. Strangely, the archers are actually better at combat, though their armor's not as good.
NOTE: Banite cultists seen with the goblins. All cultists must be killed! Torm will not suffer the servants of Bane to conspire with those wretched goblins.
Gnolls -- Big, fuzzy. Hit hard with huge clubs and sticks, hard enough to fracture ribs even thought my best spells. They're accompanied by orcs, who are just as good.
Other Goblins (Name?) -- They're better than the Spittlefists, and swarm. The archers aren't as good, but the swordsmen are very good.
Nasty Beetles, Umber Hulks -- Both found under Aquor, and they're nasty. They hit harder than gnolls, with great strength and accuracy, and their numerous mandibles can threaten me very effectively. I intend to have a closer look at them, but only when I can do so on my own without getting dissected in the middle of a dissection.
Ogres -- [the page is torn from the force of the pen pressing in] Nasty. Avoid.