A new stranger...

[Cade]

Walking slowly down the road, a figure appears small in the distance. Passing right through the middle of whatever crowd happens to be there, he doesn't speak. Dressed in black and brown leathers warn from travel, the man continues on his way. He doesn't drag his feet, but neither does he hold his head up. His path is true, and faithfully he trods onward to the tavern.

Two belts cross his shoulders as well as a third around his waist. Several simple daggers, crude sticks that could barely be called darts be-speckle the belts. Several small vials full of some red liquid hang from his right side. His cloak is torn raged but looks as though it still keeps him warm. His boots are muddy, but his hat is clean. Dark red hair hangs down, wind swept from beneath his hat.

One very distinguishable feature, which he does not try to hide, is the very large warmace strapped to his back. Nothing spectacualr stands out about the weapon, accept for a small pink ribbon tied right up near the head. It is made of the most common material, and looks well warn.

As he walks, two pieces of parchment fall from his backpack. Cheep parchment, most likely reused provision lists have heavy thick writing on both sides. He does not notice this, and keeps his pace steady.

[Cade]

for those that read the parchment:

Cade Goodbarrel -

Amendment to Diary entry 1 (REMEMBER TO CHANGE THIS!)

I can't figure out why everyone asks me where I'm from. Perhaps its just polite. I don't mind really... When someone asks me where I'm from, who I was, I always tell the same story. I wish I could add some excitement to the story, because it is rather boring by its self, however this is how things are.

I remember the clouds. I remember men shouting, and thats about all. The earliest memory I have is one of a small village. The people there told me I was the son of a wealthy merchant, and adventurer. Obviously I didn't inherit anything, because I grew up in a small village. It only had about 200 people living in it. Of course every month people would come in for "Market Day" as it was called. They could be making stories up about my father being rich and all. Who knows... I sure don't!

There was a woman who tool care of me for a long time. Amerella as she called herself took to be my mother, tho she reminded me often that she was not. I guess I was about 12 or 13 when I started going out further past the tree line. She didn't care either. I was just glad she was there to patch me up when I got in a fight with those damnable kobolds. Those adventures deep in the abandoned mines and dense jungles tought me a lot. I assume they are the reason the village is so small. There seem to have been several mines and mills around but the Kobolds took over most of the mines. I HATE Kobolds, probably as much as they hate me. Thats just fine too, though I'm still not sure what I did to make them mad at me. I have tried to learn all the skills I need to get buy since I didn't have a proper teacher. I didn't even own anything to begin with. Everything I own I either stole or traded for... mostly stole. I love a good adventure, must be in my blood. Most of the people in my hometown tell me I'm crazy, and shouldn't be like my father; thats what got him killed, they say. I don't know about all that. I do know that I feel a strong connection to some greater power out there. Can't tell ya what it is though. But I know someday I'll meet whatever that power is, and ill be better for it. I'm not sure I believe all that talk about the gods either. Still, I visit the temple every now and then just to make sure... nothin' wrong with a little luck.


Entry 255 Current year (whatever that is)

So now I find myself in this land of Sundren, or whatever they call it. I hope the people here are nicer than the last bunch I had to deal with at the tavern. I hope no one asks about that. I just keep traveling. Stopping from time to time where ever the road takes me. I learn from my fellow travelers all I can.