A neatly kept ship's log

[Diamondedge]

How fickle the world can be sometimes, I guess. Fickle indeed.

How'd I end up land-locked with all the wobbly-kneed land-lovers here in Hlint... That's a question I'd like to ask myself sometime. I was at the peak of my life, it'd seem, and now I'm here, stranded in a sense beyond possible comprehension.

The sea battle was intense. Our fame must have overshot us after we took out that small fleet earlier, because there were easily a dozen pirate ships on the horizon when 'The Blue Lady' and the 'Grand Glancer' last left Port Hampshire.

It is difficult to recall, but their numbers increased all throughout the battle, as if the pirates were organized, and, well, a galleon and a sloop just aren't what it takes to take on so many ships by themselves.

I cannot begin to recall how many pirates I ran through, all I know is, both my beloved ships sank and now rest at the bottom of the sea, not so far out of the harbor of Port Hampshire.

Drift wood... It must have been driftwood that took me to shore, and then that halfling caravan swept me to Hlint, I guess, without me ever being awake fully. I haven't seen a single member of my crew yet; for all I know, they're all dead, sleeping down below in Davy Jones' locker.

And I'm trapped in this tiny backwater town of Hlint. I guess it's no use complaining, might as well get on with life, but I'll never forget the adventures I had on the high seas.

[Diamondedge]

Well, today certainly was a strange day; a man in a dress calling himself 'Farros' led me all about the meager continent of Mistone; pointed all these inland sights out to me.

What an odd man he is; singing at his enemies like that, and the funny part is, it actually hurts them. I can see nothing in the future but brighter times should I continue to spend time with this man as company.

He did mention a drow pirate somewhere in the town, or it's vicinity. Now, I share no love of the tricky elves and their seedy, pirate-like ways, nor do I share love for the pirates that for so long I've hunted. No, no, a /drow/ pirate. In my opinion, as bad and untrustworthy an elf well may be, a drow elf is an entirely other manner.

The drow are dark denizens of Hades, nothing but murderous scoundrels the lot of them. The fact that one would take this inbred talent to an actual utilizing profession frightens me... And makes me burn with anger and renewed purpose. This dark elf privateer will be hunted down... I won't stop my new zest at any time until Rakish Fiewallen is brought to an end at the tip of my cutlass.

[Diamondedge]

Life has become a droning thing; I've lost all of my money gambling it away at a stupid card game; No, I am selling all my cards and swearing off the sinful game for the rest of my days.

In order to fund my habit, I've sunk to grave robbing; the problem with this is that the denizens of the crypt I'm robbing from aren't dead. Or rather... they ought to be. Some powerful evil seems to bring them to life repeatedly, as if a curse on Hlint. I suppose I'll have to enter the crypt time and time again, repeatedly, just to keep those undead things from spilling out into the town itself.

I've managed to meet several people now that I'll likely travel with for quite some time. Notably among them are people whom shall be remembered by me right to the grave. Gulnyr, a kindly old dwarf that keeps mostly to his own ways and is extremely fortuitous to have on your side of a fight is certainly one of them. Not so great against the dead beasties, but I'm sure if we ever manage to get the curse of Hlint under control, he'll be exceptional to creatures that have vital spots!

Elindria Farnsdown and her grandson Wesley are also a pair of people I won't forget any time soon. Wizardly folks, potion makers the both of them. Elindria seems to be approaching retirement lately, and the young one Wesley seems to be more than eager to take up her position as a potionmaker of repute. The fact that the young man's pet dragonling turned the whole of the town of Hlint against me at one point and likely caused mass panic in the streets doesn't dissuade me from calling him friend.

And then there's Aleister. Grumpy ole bag of dusty bones barking his orders left and right as if all the world is his play thing. Then again, the power that seems to resonate directly from his person makes me wonder if all the world /isn't/ his plaything. He has employed me for menial tasks of late, and I'll continue working those tasks for him as long as he keeps giving me pay for it. I sense potential for long term friendship in his crusty old shell of a personality. Who knows.

Cole Norseman is another man I've met in my travels, but he easily stands out above the rest as one whom I will grow quite close to. It is difficult to describe the connection we seemed to have made right from the start; I guess it began with me poking fun at his armor, since really it was hard on the eyes; somehow I don't believe that the crafter that sells to the armor vendor in town really puts any care into his projects. So naturally, he allowed me to redesign his armor. And that I've done, as well as his sword. Unfortunately, I was unable to deliver his sword to him in time, and carried around on my person for a week or so until I saw him next. He has such a noble spirit, and is very intuitive for so powerful a man that swings his sword with such power and skill. I definitely see a blossoming friendship in him.

Others of reputable note are Dane, Rulag, Willy, that stupid gnome girl, and very likely so many others, as well. We'll see where these friendships and acquaintances take me in the future, hopefully I'll be able to drop my gambling addiction more fully by then.