The Journal Of Holtarrion Oaksbane, Entry #1

Entry The First

Good day to you, new journal! Ah - The first words written in a brand new, leather bound book - a pleasant greeting. Yes, that feels right. Much better than those that marred the first page in my last one. "Hello World." I mean, yes, I was greeting what will surely be a rather captive future audience who no doubt wait with baited breath at my every penned word, and sure I was using the standard wording for a test message - you can't be too careful after all (must make sure these things aren't cursed when we begin writing in them, don't want our personality transferred into the paper. Or worse.)

After several days worth of travelling via a most fantastic steam-powered gondola down the river from Turtleback Ferry where I managed to...shall we say "acquaint" myself with some of their more unusual customs, in return for availing myself to them to aid with their ongoing restorative efforts - turns out a rather nasty something-or-other created quite the issue their dam, leaving a large portion of their town mostly destroyed. Still, a rather nifty place, that Turtleback Ferry, with a rather cool looking fort - met a nice, if somewhat unhinged, alchemist there - learnt a bit about restoratives and potions. Nice chap. Loud explosions. Still, eventually time pushed itself forward, and I had to move myself onwards.

Oh my - I was halfway through a sentence up there, wasn't I? I do that sometimes, but you'll grow to accept that this happens, and hopefully embrace it - you are recording my thoughts after all, and they don't exactly always go just where I want them to. Tricky things thoughts - like trying to pin down fireflies at times, what with all of the jumbled nonsense going on inside my head. Oh look - that man is trying to bully that lady, I could help her out - or I might be better suited to curing the sick for the church of the glorious order of Vink today - or mayhaps I should instead spend my time arranging flowers in a pretty shop instead. It is a cacophony of good intentions. Still, better than being boring now, isn't it.

So yes, after several days travelling lazily down the river, with not much to do but read through my old journals (having recently filled your direct predecessor) I arrived at the port in Magnimar - a lovely sprawling town Magnimar, with many...interesting areas. I, of course, opted to stay in an area where my expertise could be put to rather good use - the Marble District, I had heard rumours, was certainly somewhere were the gentry enjoyed the luxury of enough coin to pay someone else to perform even the most menial of tasks for them, and a man does have to eat. But before I settled into my cosy inn room for the night, I opted to excitedly explore my surroundings take a jaunty perambulation (as I am want to do...) finding myself in one of the more suspect areas of the city.

I was greeted, as I stepped over what almost appeared to be a physical threshold to Lowcleft, with something you will no doubt become quite used to me writing about - trouble. It is somewhat traditional, you see new journal, for my most incredible self to find myself in consistent spots of bother - sticky situations, if you will - I do so enjoy jam with my toast. But I digress (how unlike me - ahaha) and should instead by telling you of what occurred in Lowcleft. It turns out, you see, that I had stepped directly into the path of what initially felt to be an oncoming carriage. Upon collecting myself, however, I noticed that, running rather quickly away from myself was an unusually dressed man with what could loosely be described as "art" attached to his back. I say "loosely" because even someone with my limited capacity for the finer aspects of oil painting could likely have done better - still, there's no accounting for taste in some people, I suspect.

Following significantly less expediently after him, I quickly noted, was a watchman clearly from one of the more upper-class areas of town, where this kind of blatant thievery 'art liberation' was uncommon. He yelled something along the lines of stopping the villainous bloodsucker, and before I knew what was happening my legs had decided to assist. They do that sometimes. My body parts, that is. Always going off with minds of their own, doing whatever they feel is right at the time. Blasted moral compass must have slipped out of my head again, and into one of my shins. Still, my legs wanted to give chase, and who would I possibly be to argue with them?

I don't suspect, new journal, that you know what it's like to need to catch up with a professional thief, what with your being a book and all. I can't really explain what it's like for most people, to kind of careen swiftly through the streets at blazing speed, using their tremendous physical strength or alarmingly sharp dexterity to wind their way around their obstacles. What I can tell you, however, is that when I put my mind to something it tends to kick my other senses out of the way to let it do its thing. Suddenly every corner, each drainpipe, the most insignificant apple cart, and the largest snoozing vagrant appear to me as a series of trajectories - equations fill the air - I can see what I need to do in order to best launch myself off a building. Until a very short time ago I was entirely certain that this is how the rest of the world saw everything, but apparently it's just me and...well...the people like me.

Long story short, new journal, I managed to catch him by beaning him on the head using a clever trick I picked up in a small mountain village, involving some stones and a rather keen aim. Of course, in this situation I had to make do with lemons, but you know the saying, new journal (or rather you probably don't) "When life gives you lemons, use them to knock a criminal unconscious." So I returned the stolen painting to its owner, apparently it is some kind of modern art, and it's not supposed to look good (or, as I think it was put when the painting was created - it looks like absolute rubbish but if you tell someone that it's the latest thing, they'll have to have it.) Now I fear I must retire, as I have quite exhausted myself.

Until the next time, my dear new journal, when adventure abounds once more.