Adventure Journals

Or at least, that is what I tell myself as I sit by my campfire, too broke to afford lodging in an inn and hungry because I found no game to hunt. My name is Irillian Trulacon, and herein I shall put the tales of the adventures, and occasionally lack thereof, which I may embark upon during my career. It is my fervent hope to some day look back at these first pages and use them to remind myself how it wasn’t always the easy life, how I’ve had to struggle to attain the wealth, power, prestige, and luxury which I have. Failing that, at least I will have something to help me remember the trials I have gone through to get to wherever I am when I get there.

Another day of traveling, and here I sit once more, huddled around a fire. This time, at least, I managed to snare a couple of rabbits for my supper. Reading back, I see that I have already divulged the beginnings of my new life.

Though it would take several months for the significance of this event to filter into the story, I shall try to condense the bulk of it down into a more quickly understood version. I may perhaps realize later I have left out some salient point… if so, I will endeavor to touch upon it when the realization strikes. At the least, it will be mentioned to explain anything I may write later on.

I took a deer today while hunting, and I have the meat hung up to dry. With any luck I can keep a fair bit of it to last me through the next couple of weeks. The background I have set forth in the past couple of days has brought to the forefront some memories of my time in Ortoran I have decided should be recorded, both for myself and for the nonexistent reader.

If there had been more required of you than to turn the page, I suppose the ending of my last entry might have been a bit of a cliffhanger. Lucky for you this journal arrived intact, and in fact all you had to do was turn the page.

When a man has your own knife to your throat, and you suddenly find yourself unable to see… immediately after you’ve been thrown from your home and into a tumultuous life leading someplace you know not, your immediate reaction is likely not to be a good one. I assure you, urine comes out of pants just fine. Even the smell. And yes, shame will come out of your soul eventually too, for something that small.

Many people may try to glamorize the training of an adventurer. I have been told by many that they think it’s oh so romantic and wonderful.

It’s not. It’s complete drudgery for about nine tenths of the entire process. I spend countless months staring at a candle, and then a fire, concentrating and trying very hard not to become bored with the entire process. When I was not doing that, I would be training for hours on end with the sword, or throwing knives and daggers at countless targets day in and day out. And while yes, you do get very, very good at the task which you are practicing constantly, you begin to abhor the very act itself.

And today is no exception. I may have been a bit harsh in my treatment of my training regime last night, it wasn’t all drudgery and boredom. Occasionally I’d get in trouble out and about around town.

It is such a simple thing sometimes. Often it’s brought about by something as basic as a dry place to sleep. Something I would dearly love to have at the moment. It’s pouring down rain, and while I have constructed a crude shelter which allows me to keep my journal mostly dry, it is not able to keep the small rivulets from running through my makeshift bed. I would consider moving camp, except there is nowhere that is not already soaked through, and the effort involved in the cold rain is simply not worth it.

I arrived in Nallius yesterday amidst a distinct lack of applause and ceremony… which is just how I like it. I went about the business of getting the mud off my boots and into some fresh clothing before presenting myself to the Coalition of Trade Partners in regards to their various employment opportunities. I was directed to an anteroom in the back of the complex.

At that point, my optimism as regards the special projects potential dimmed considerably. The crowd assembled looked as though it had been rounded up from the streets and back alleys and consisted mainly of beggars and vagrants. When a large and powerful conglomerate of merchants gets together that sort of crowd, the job description often conveniently leaves out the pain and torture until death part. 

We should arrive there early in the morning. I find my guide watching me constantly, especially when I try to sit and write in this journal, and so I have not done so for the past couple of days. He is off now gathering firewood, and I would not doubt if he is also reporting back on my actions since we started out.

Not that there is much to report, we’ve made pretty decent time and I have not displayed any of my more unusual abilities. That would probably tip them off to my hand in the slaughter of their guards and recruiter, and I would prefer it if that did not occur as of yet.

We attained the cliffs early this morning as I predicted and met with no resistance early in our exploration. The first several rooms from the entrance were completely devoid of any signs of habitation, and I began to ponder whether or not there was in fact anything to be found within.