Faber's Journal

[David]

Day 3 (or so I shall call it. 3 days have passed by my reckoning since the destruction of Thunderspire.)

Though some curious peruser of these pages may one day dismiss their contents as the ravings of a mad man, I begin to fill them now in the hopes that they may help to keep me sane. I write to remind myself of this truth: the life I had before was a reality, and not some fevre dream.

My father gave me the name Virgil, and had I stayed on in the town of my birth I may have taken on his name as well and been known as Virgil Detson. This was not to be, however, as my father had more hands than he needed around the farm and more mouths than that farm could feed around the table.

I was apprenticed, therefore, to a tinker by the name of Iapyx. I then became Virgil Fabrilis: "the Maker's Virgil," though I suppose that now I am a maker myself.

My master was a kind enough man, though his other apprentices.... Whatever. I have no inclination to trot out a litany of past wrongs. Suffice it to say we have long since reconciled.

Everything I know of mundane artifice, I learned from Iapyx. It is not for lack of skill that his name is not known in legend. I have learned somewhat of the artificers of old, and I know they had a bit of a card up their sleeve. Something of this cheat has wakened or been placed in me, I think. I find this quite useful at times, though that latter thought frightens me more than I care to say.

Useful... not useful enough. Not enough to save Perdix, or Rounce, or Kevaki. To find Max in the tunnels. To give Talos back his eyes. Or even to figure out where I am...

That's enough of that for today. I don't need that. I need sleep.

[David]

Day 4

Haven.

A town this large, I'm sure I'd have heard of it. From other merchants, from travelers, from the maps I 'borrowed' from the Baron's library... (I wonder if he ever even missed them. It's not like the man was much of a reader.) It's only fair, I suppose. No one here has heard of my hometown, either.

I woke four days ago a half day's walk from this place, and I'm still not even sure I'm on the same continent I was last week.

At least they speak the trade tongue here, though the accent's a bit off, a bit archaic. They seem to have a fondness for Old Common sayings. The dwarves I passed in the marketplace sounded the same as dwarves back home, but that's no surprise. That's just the way dwarves do things: tradition, language, inflection; It's all passed down meticulously and changes as slowly as stone. I doubt their language has altered so much as a diphthong in recorded history.

[David]

Day 5

I took an interesting offer today. Apparently the city fathers here are concerned about the incursion of giants into the lands settled by the smaller-and-usually-more-civilized races. They sent some soldiers into a pub looking to round up some 'heroes.' I'm still not sure why I spoke up. Maybe I was tired of trying to convince the barkeep that my foreign coin might be worth the gold it was stamped from.

No. There was something more. Something so familiar about the situation that I had to follow up. It was like something I'd read in a book, or had read to me, or had told to me on a walk through silent trees under a still sun, a half-remembered dream that followed closely on the explosion of all I had known. A word had floated to my mind, a word I did not know, a name that filled me with fear and determination. "Piranoth"

I'm no hero. I proved that when I left Rounce and Kevaki and the others behind to face Lenin without me. But maybe this is my fight after all.

[earthwizard]

Nice David!

I like the journal stuff. It does a lot to build a character in other players' eyes. Keep it coming. Faber can take 400 xp.

Kyle Devon

[David]

Day 5 (cont.)

"He will gather others about him," she said. Are these the ones?

A scarred man with wisps of grey hair and fire behind his eyes - He calls himself Darkfire, and while I would find such a name pretentious on others, it seems to fit him well. There is a sense of restrained power to his every gesture; I've given him a wide berth.

The tall, robed half-elf -Aelther- is more than he appears. There is a strange sense to his robes and the wrapping on his staff. There is a faint tugging to them, as if they'd rather be elsewhere.

A dwarf-some sort of cleric. I didn't catch his name. It seemed we'd barely introduced ourselves before he and Darkfire were embroiled in an argument about gods. I wasn't particularly familiar with the ones involved. I'm staying out of it.

...

We're a grim lot, for the most part. I include myself in this, clothed as I am in dirt, rags and regret. The only exception is the bard, Thom, who plays for us now to drown out Darkfire and the dwarf. Levity! for a little while, at least.

...

Aelther confirmed my suspicions about his robes. They fade away and he cuts a much more imposing figure in full armor, bearing an odd sort of double sword. I wonder about the balance on such a weapon. Perhaps it is wielded more like a staff? I will have to ask for a closer look at it, and its wrappings, later.

...

So here we are, five strangers meant to save the city -or the world? I'm not sure. Nor, come to think of it, am I really convinced. That's tomorrow, though. Tonight there is a warm fire, good food, and, later, the first bath I've had in months.