I am composing this journal not for the purpose of cataloguing my journey, but more for the hope that recounting events will help jog my memory. Also, I am concerned with the fact that the method used to "scrub clean" my identity was not a well tested one, and appears to have lingering side effects. Who's to say that I won't wake up tomorrow an forget what the hell I was doing once again?
I arrived in Aridell shortly after sunset. There wasn't much nightly activity, and there were only a couple of town guardsmen mulling about. When I approached one to ask for directions to the nearest inn, his response was a well rehearsed, "Pay your taxes, citizen!" Explaining to him that I was not a 'citizen' only seemed to irritate him, and after nearly shouting, "Don't cause any trouble!" he stormed off in what appeared to be a random direction. Apparently protecting the citizens doesn't require the need to be polite and accommodating.
A woman at the council house near the town entrance - one Eleanor Mistlepine - was far more helpful. She introduced herself as the Council Head of Aridell, whatever that means. I didn't bother asking for an explanation as I didn't want my amnesia to raise any sort of alarm with the townsfolk. I did however introduce myself as 'not from around here,' in case any of my questions seemed odd. She seemed more than happy to ramble on about some strange war with a race called Orakur over Thaermore's national treasure. It sounded like a load of crap to me, but I was careful not to speak my thoughts aloud.
After finding the right moment to politely interrupt her monologue about the horrors of the Orakur, I obtained directions to the inn and bade my leave. Eleanor seemed quite disheartened to see me go; obviously she receives few visitors. Disregarding the present war, I think I could fathom the underlying reason. If left to listen to her incessant, droning voice, I believe I would eventually fall asleep or go mad, neither being a desirable option.
The Owl's Roost was a small, yet cozy seeming establishment. Unfortunately for the owner, it was also rather empty. Empty, save for one drunken sailor, that is. One moment he would be staring blankly into his cup, and the next he would begin lamenting loudly about his father's lost sextant or some such nonsense. I found myself overwhelmed with the desire to go find the damn sextant, if only to shut him up!
"Hail, stranger, and welcome to the Owl's Roost Tavern! The name's Porter; have a seat, and let me know what I can get you!" When I first walked in, I could have sworn his eyes had widened, perhaps in fear or recognition. After that he seemed all business, so it may have just been my imagination, or the fact that outsiders were pretty scarce these days. I requested lodging and a hot meal, and made the suggestion that the sailor be cut off for the rest of the night.
I had a very strange dream last night, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was. After suddenly waking up in the middle of the night and drinking from the water pitcher on my nightstand, I fell back into a deep, restful sleep and woke with no recollection of what had startled me. For some reason I feel as though there was something important about the dream, but thinking about it did no good. Better to keep moving forward at this point.
After dressing and exiting my room, I noticed that the sailor was at it again early in the morning. It looked like he had never left his spot in that lonely corner of the common room. Porter, on the other hand, was cheerful and wouldn't stop moving. Once again, it seemed like he kept eyeing me when he thought I wasn't looking, but I'm sure it's just nerves... or the fact that he's out to empty my wallet.
I've decided to spend a few days in this town while I'm looking for this Maddock fellow. I should take some time to gather supplies since I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be do a lot of travelling in the near future. It probably wouldn't hurt to see if there's any odd jobs to be done for some easy money.
On the other hand, I could perhaps sell some of the items I keep coming across. Seems like every time I turn around I'm finding an abandoned weapon or some sort of alchemical potion. Just this morning when I left the tavern, I walked past what appeared to be a rain barrel when a glint of light caught my eye. Stopping to look in the barrel, what should I discover? A longsword of impeccable quality! I'm fairly certain it has some sort of enchantment on it too, for it was extremely light perhaps a little too well balanced. It's almost as if someone is placing these items for me to find...
That damned 'E'! I met with Maddock today... and left his home with far more questions than answers. This mystery fellow wants me to rifle around in some crypt for an amulet that I supposedly own, and then bring it to some woman (likely a crazy old crone) in the middle of a forest! I'd label it a complete waste of time, if it weren't for the fact that with no identity, I really have nothing better to do. Morbid curiosity is all that's really keeping me going at this point.
One good thing that came out of the visit was the hefty bag of gold that 'E' left for me. I doubt that it will last me long, but at least it should take care of room and board for the next few days. Maddock told me that I wouldn't find much work here in Aridell, but I figure it won't hurt to ask around anyway. I should imagine that one of the shop owner's here could use some assistance, if nothing else.
Maddock obviously doesn't leave his house much, because everywhere I go, someone has some for of quest for me to partake. It seems like each individual I talk to thinks he or she is the center of the world and has the most important task that needs to be completed. Not only that, but by asking an outsider to complete these tasks, they probably feel as though they can wash their hands of each affair if something goes awry. A few of the more interesting ones:
Abygale owns a shop called 'Grand Magicks Emporium' (a really fancy way to say 'potions and scrolls'). A nice enough woman, although she could use a little more sun and a little less exposure to her reagents. She's probably given me the most lenient of tasks: to retrieve a book called 'Secrets of Transference Circuits.' Problem is, there's no telling where a copy lies, if it still exists.
The local blacksmith, Farwick, is looking for a bar of mithril. Apparently its pretty rare, and he happens to know where one can be found. Turns out he used to live in the barren town I woke up in, Elderhollow. The bar is hidden somewhere in his wine cellar, which is supposedly filled with traps to foil thieves. I think that's an awful lot of work to protect a few bottles of wine, but who am I to judge?
Upon strolling into the local church, I was greeted by a pale, thin man with an unnerving smile. He introduced himself as Father Michael, head priest of the Bethel of the Green Moon. He has these small, beady eyes, and I noticed that they often strayed toward a couple of young priestesses that were worshipping. He was most interested in taking donations, and less so in paying me for a task. But a task he offered, in the from of a delivery. Apparently there's some fellow southwest of here that's living just past some bandit-and-wild-beast infested territory. He has some disease called fleshrot (which sounds a little bit less than pleasant), and needs a restorative potion. I find it interesting how the potion has become available after the area became too dangerous to traverse.
I should at least complete one or two of these jobs; even if there isn't any money involved, it should be good for the 'worldly experience,' and might help jog my memory. Plus, if I come across any of these bandits that are popping up everywhere, no one will object to me relieving them of their valuables. Heck, maybe I'll even look for that sailor's sextant while I'm out 'adventuring.' If nothing else I could sell it...
There appears to be a page that was torn out of the journal.
The doom and gloom atmosphere of this town is starting to get to me. Everyone spends their time sulking and trying to forget about their problems; I'm the only one who's actively trying to remember them! With the removal of horses by the military and the cessation of water-based trade, this town is slowly dwindling. I imagine it'll be a ghost town before much longer. Hell, the only cheery person in this place is Porter, and he's just happy to have a paying customer.
It's time for me to pack up and ship out. I've finished gathering as much supplies and information as I can, all that's left to do is head north. I've heard there's a bit of an establishment up there called Bordertown; that will likely be the next resting spot. But first, I have another job to do: grave robbing!
Deklar closed the journal and placed it onto the nightstand. He ran a slender hand through his golden locks and picked up a goblet of wine. An interesting fellow, this Lewis. Perhaps I shall have to keep an eye on him. After all, it's not every day you get to meet an amnesiac adventurer. He certainly has an... entertaining view of the world.
"I wonder what could have happened on that fifth day," he remarked. There was no on else in the room, however. He looked at his reflection in the silver goblet and continued, "Don't you?"
Crystal blue eyes sparkled back mischievously.
"Apparently, getting your ass kicked is now part of this complete breakfast." - Roy Greenhilt