~From the private journal of Belgareth of Waterdeep~
(translated from the Infernal)
I seem to have fallen into an adventure. Allow me me to explain.
My name is Belgareth the mage. I recently completed my apprentice work in Waterdeep and have set out as a journeyman mage to learn more about the world, its environs, and its secrets. The festival at Daggerford, just south of Waterdeep, seemed like a most excellent place to begin. I was not entirely sure why I headed this way; perhaps I was driven by Fate, although consciously I was thinking that the market might have something of interest or there might be rumours of something to follow up on. However, such was not in the cards.
As soon as I arrived the weather turned positively dismal. Rain, rain, and even more rain for every day of the festival. I found myself huddled under a leaky makeshift pavilion outside the local inn dicing for coppers with a varied lot of strangers. I am terrible with names; I blame a certain preoccupation with arcane lore and the like; such mundane trivia does not interest me.
First off, there was a charming, loquacious chap of intense curiosity and obvious literacy. He seems determined to write an epic. By the Dark Father, I hope it's not in verse! He obviously has designs on becoming as famous as Volo or maybe even Jain Farstrider. Only time will tell. I must say, however, that his enthusiasm was a refreshing beam of light in that dark place.
Sitting across from me at the table was a stout, untalkative warrior. Apparently, he's a pit fighter from Waterdeep who goes by the charming sobriquet of "the Typhoon," apparently due to the fact that he is trained in chain fighting. I have not, naturally, heard of him because my final studies for my prentice work preventing indulging myself in attendance at the games. A pity. I would have liked to see this bruiser fight. Of course, I might yet, from a much closer vantage point. I'll have to keep him between myself and trouble.
Next to him was an elven wildling of some type. Perhaps she is what some dwarves call a "doo-ad;" I think the Common term is druid, but I'm not sure; my studies have only briefly touched on religion. She is more imperious of mien than the wildling elves of the forest glades, however, more like the so-called "high" elves in demeanor. As the evening progressed it came out that she claims to be a dragon stuck in mortal form! Fascinating, if true. She shall bear watching.
Finally, seated next to me was a human knight from Cormyr. At first I took him for an impoverished sell-sword, maybe a jumped-up hedge knight. But, apparently his family has fallen on hard times; there was some story about an idiot brother allowing a barge full of iron to sink to the bottom of the sea followed by a very expensive salvage operation. He's not a bad sort, really, although his old-fashioned gallantry is somewhat amusing. Definitely not material for a shield warrior for me. He'll probably want to run this potential adventuring company that appears to be coalescing; that is perfectly fine with me. The one out front gets to take the slings of fortune right on the nose.
On a side note, the knight has an old family retainer, a dwarf named Darius. I hope he doesn't get in the way. Incidentally, it's odd that I can remember the names of servants and rulers, but not my "peers." Huh.
Apparently, there was an orc attack on some sun elf noble's house here in the town recently, a Lord Floshin or some such. Supposedly a Red Wizard of Thay was the plotter and had disguised himself as a gardener in the lord's employ. He also might have had an accomplice as he was seen talking to a stranger prior to the attack. That I take with a grain of salt as the humans say; it was, more than likely, just a chance encounter. But with the red-robed ones of Thay, one can never be sure.
I spent a miserable night huddled with humans and their squalling brats in a tent erected for the town's overflow (as there was no room at the inn). Fortunately, they appear to have noticed my deific blood as they did not crowd me and afforded me more space than others; still insufficient, but it was the best to be hoped for.
The next morning, the red wizard was hanged. It was still depressingly wet, but it was the typical human spectacle. The sun elf was there at the scaffold as was a paladin, shining like a beacon in the darkness of the early morn. The town's duke arrived, Madwyn or something like, maybe Maelgwyn. Blasted humans and their mewling monkey tongue! As the appointed time approached, the tattoos on the Red Wizard began to glow. It was quite amusing to see the humans start to panic; even the paladin began to draw his greatsword. They always fear what they know not. But, it came to naught as the Thayan got the short drop.
The crowd dispersed and, as it did, I noticed the impoverished knight approach the nobles at the scaffold and followed by the dragon-turned-elf. I began to make my way in that direction when a rider appeared and reported to the nobles that a nearby keep was under attack by a black dragon! The knight, naturally, offered his assistance. I decided to throw my lot in as well; who knows what secrets I might unveil?
I am writing this in haste as we ride on the nonce.
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