I'd put this journal somewhere safe while I threw myself into the festivities of Summerfaire - a place so safe that I've only just found it again!

The brightness of Summerfaire has passed, fading into memory as the darkness gathers once more. Balthazar has been heard and seen in the lands as he searches for some unknown item. Some time back, a peculiar portal materialised at the Dundee Inn ... and of course, it was just too much of a temptation, so I dived into it, in the company of several others who had been at the Inn.
We found ourselves in the Hall of the Archmage Azeraphel, who told us a tale that might provide some explanation of the Dark Lord's recent activities.
There's been some strange behaviour of late amongst some of the demons. They seem to appear not in order to attack, but to search for something. Unfortunately, the words of the Archmage were not clear as to what is sought.
So I've been spending time wandering the lands, mostly visiting areas I've not been to for quite some time. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'm keeping an eye out for any changes that may be apparent, any odd behaviour by creatures I come across, any items that may have moved or changed in appearance. It's not much, I know, but for now it's all I can think of to do while my mind goes over and over the riddle of Balthazar's quest.

There's a very dark area that's always intrigued me. I've asked a few people what they knew of it, but information was sparse. A couple of evenings back I collected together all the equipment I could find that would give me any light, and asked Peppa for his assistance. He cast every blessing of light he had on me - and needed to shield his eyes by the time he was finished!
Unfortunately,all that light didn't reveal any great mystery, just a rather scruffy alley and the window of an inn.

All in all, any ideas I've hed recently haven't borne fruit - but along with others in the lands I keep fighting, keep trying. Somebody will soon find the information we need to defeat this latest plan of Balthazar, I'm sure.

My usual habit when I wake is to take a stroll around the lands, chatting with traders and taking a look at their wares. But these last few days that pleasant way of waking fully has been regularly disturbed. No sooner do I wake, it seems, than the crier is calling that demons have appeared somewhere or other. I'm beginning to think it's getting personal!
Calls to the eastern mountains are becoming more numerous. Recently I've fought there side-by-side with with many of the Knights and defenders of the lands. And the raids seem to be carried out by greater numbers of creatures. Powerful demons, dark raiders - and increasingly, more horrors are amongst those coming through the mountain passes toward Branishor.
I've been spending a fair amount of time in the area, trying to check the strength of the raids. I know one or two others also stay around there, so hopefully there will be adequate warning when raids occur. After all, there is a great prize in Branishor, should Balthazar's minions be able to take it ...

'Sometimes it's enough that someone stand by your side, even if they can't do anything else at that specific time.' The words were spoken at the Dundee Inn, while Broutac, Nael and myself took a short time to relax after some frantic fighting a few days back. I'd woken and immediately Broutac's messenger-bird came to me, asking my assistance outside Fartown. Demons had chased creatures from the grasslands into the town. The town itself was largely clear, but there were still demons roaming around. I dealt with a couple as I made my way to where Broutac had requested I meet him and Peppa, but none of us could touch the remaining raiders. Peppa was called away, so Broutac kept watch while I tracked down someone who was able to deal with those last stragglers.
The situation at Fartown was dealt with - and then the Crier was calling all who could help to the Building of Glass in Dundee. The tunnels of UnderValorn got me there in almost no time at all, and I ran south through Dundee frantically looking for any who might help in the fight.
I found the innkeeper cowering beneath the bar as two horrors loomed over him. I fell into a routine that's stood me in good stead in these circumstances. A stroke with a poison blade, then a few hits before retreating to heal ... again and again. By now there were others there, hitting out as much as they could, and eventually the tavern was cleared. The other room in the Building of Glass presented a worse sight ... two horrors, stronger and nastier than the others. I hit and ran, getting healing when I could escape their clutches, and as I ran to the healer and back I was looking for others to fight, or to bless or enchant those who fought. And then I saw Nael had woken, and he immediately made his way to Dundee with his blades and blessings.
At long last, the building was secured, though at great price. Broutac and Boy, others too, had ended up at the life monument ... for that matter so had I. It's strange, but I always find it more of an upset to see a comrade slain than to be suffer that fate myself.
While I used my usual hit-and-run tactics, Boy landed the killing stroke on one of those foul creatures, though the other immediately struck him down. Nael finished the other, and a strange silence fell over the Building of Glass, an eerie contrast to the sound of battle. By that time Broutac had recovered, and he, Nael and myself went to the tavern, and spoke of raids. We talked of what it's possible to do even if we can't fight, and that's when I used the words I mentioned previously. To know that a comrade is nearby is often enough to hearten us.
It's a wonder of the lands, the comradeship that develops. To find someone ready to stand by you in any circumstance is, I think, a blessing at least equal to any that a cleric can offer. And it's an offer that should be taken up gladly.

I mention all this not beacuse I think there are many who might be interested in what small part I can play in fighting against those dark forces that beset us, but because it's important, I think, to show just what can be achieved when a few people work together in a common cause. Some involved in that battle were weaker than I, yet they threw themselves into the fight without question. Some paid a heavy price for their bravery, and this account of events is my small tribute to them.

As for the demons and the horrors over by Bran, I'll watch for them when I can, and gather what information is available. Many others are doing the same, and hopefully we may be able to come up with a credible theory about just what is going on around there. It sometimes feels, as I said before, as if it's becoming personal ... but no demons - Balthazar's or my own - will keep me from doing all I can to protect the lands that have become my home.

I was about to go to rest a couple of nights past when I heard call after call eching across the lands. Demons in the forest, desert creatures attacking the gates of Milltown. Demons in the grasslands had chased the native species into Fartown. Demons in the wastelands assailing the wall, others storming the castle of the Iron Knights in Dundee.
At Hojo's request I headed out to the wastelands to check the situation, then went over to Fartown. I ran into a demon or two among the high grass, and by the time I entered the town itself the spiders and grass stalkers were being taken care of. I spied a demon at the life monument, and kept an eye on the thing while I sent a messenger-bird flying to locate someone who could fight against it. After a while somebody who could deal with the demon arrived, and the creature was swiftly killed.
By then, the crier was calling for assistance at the doorway, so I dived into the tunnels of UnderValorn and ran over to Dundee.
The wave of assaults on the land was slowly brought under control. I roamed the lands for a while, in case there were any further incidents, but there were no more calls.

As I so often do these days, I decided to stop somewhere in my wandering to rest. I climbed the Wall, and for a while I looked out over the now-quiet lands, before settling down there to rest.

It's odd how something which at first appears to be a simple idea can lead to a consideration of rather baffling concepts.

I returned to the smithy, to discover that Denion had been keeping himself busy drawing, and often discarding, various methods and devices to dig an extension of the rogue tunnels to Kili. We looked over the parchments he'd produced, discussing the practicality of each.
One he showed me involved a length of rope from which buckets were hung at intervals. Denion explained that his idea was to loop the rope around an upright wooden spar which would be driven into the ground and moved along as excavation proceeded, and the rope pulled by hand to move the buckets around. I asked why the rope seemed to disappear into, and reappeared from, what he'd drawn as a sort of fuzzy blob, and where the other end of the loop of rope was.
That's when he made a comment that set me thinking.
'The fuzzy blob is a portal - the rope goes through the portal, and someone tips the buckets to empty out the rock, earth and mud that's been put in them as digging goes on. The trouble is, I don't know how long the rope has to be.'
'Well,' I replied, it reaches from the point of excavation to the point where the buckets are emptied, and back again. I guess it depends on where the portal leads.'
'But does it?' he asked ... and his words made me realise there's a fundamental property of portals I don't understand.
I sat and sipped on an ale while I considered the matter. 'I'm beginning to see what you mean, friend. Let's see ... a 'chanter summons a portal in Dundee centre, which leads to Milltown. We know how far that is. But through a portal, is the distance the same?'

We talked about the subject for quite a while. There seem to be two answers to the puzzle. If a portal merely transports us from one point to another, then the distance is the same. But if the portal somehow makes the distance between the point of entry and exit disappear, then the distance reduces to a step into the portal, and a step out at the other end.
It depends on how the portals work, I reckon. A portal might make our steps longer so that we travel a long distance in a couple of steps. Or it may be that time is changed within a portal, so that what appears to be a normal pace of movement to one passing through is actually an instantaneous travel from one place to another. In both of these cases, the actual distance between two points is unchanged. But there's another possibility. The portal might not be a physical object, just a burst of energy we enter and leave. If that portal has no depth, it may be that the point of exit is somehow brought immediately adjacent to the point of entry, the distance between those two points having been made to disappear.
I started wondering, if the latter case were correct, where the distance between two points might go. But that's totally beyond me, until I have a chance to speak to a few 'chanters about the subject.
In the meantime, I'm left to ponder on a thought that's often baffled people - just how long is a piece of rope?

There was quite a discussion at the Dundee Inn a few nights ago regarding the rogue tunnels. A few of us were talking about trying to dig an extension across to Kili. Broutac was more than willing from the outset to lend his help to any such attempt, but the main problem we could foresee was just what to do with the rock and earth that would have to be removed. Several others joined the conversation with suggestions. Bebhinn offered portals to remove the rubble, though she would have to wait outside while the rogues willing to try the project brought out buckets and emptied them into the portals. The Dead Zone was suggested as a suitable place to dump the rock and earth, or perhaps it could be dropped down into the abyss in the floor of the Inn. Or it could all be dumped into the ocean north of Caern, to form a causeway leading to Kili. I thought at first that by the time the tunnel was finished, the causeway would be too.
On further reflection, I became less sure about that, so I decided to turn to the most practical person I know. I packed a few provisions, and unseen by any in the lands, slipped away to the smithy of my old friend Denion.
It's been quite a while since we spent any time together. Denion is fully healed from our misadventures of several moon-cycles ago, and was hard at work in his smithy when I arrived. I watched as he set metal to the forge and then to the anvil, marvelling at a level of craftsmanship which verges on artistry. I wondered if perhaps I might be able to learn from the smith, and discover some lost secrets for improving my weapons. But as I watched Denion at his work, I realised that he's spent his entire life learning his trade, and his secrets won't be picked up during a short visit. Maybe some time in the future, when I have nothing to do but watch Denion and perhaps help him at his work will give me a chance to grasp some of his methods.
Once Denion's work was done for the day, he produced some food and ale, and we sat outside chatting and watching as the Sunrifter dipped toward the horizon. There's a strange phenomenon that can often be seen at such a time. SUnrifter, as it drops in the skies, seems to grow in size, giving the impression that it is very close.
Denion took a swallow of ale, and nodded toward Sunrifter as it hovered, a large blood-red ball, at the rim of visibility. 'Looks as if you could just reach out and take it in your hand, doesn't it?'
I nodded in agreement, while my mind slipped back over time to a similar conversation with Ellyana. We'd spoken for a while about things that were, or were not, possible. Not about whether those things should or should not be done, just the fact as to whether or not they could be done. To me, those two aspects - possibility and advisability - are totally separate, entirely different from each other, though it's not a view shared by all.
We talked about this and that through half the night, catching up on each other's news. I didn't raise the subject of the tunnel extension I'd envisaged, deciding to leave that for the following day. I'd planned to visit for a few days, so there was no urgency, and eventually we sought our beds.

I feared I'd lost this journal, but fortunately it was found - though looking slightly unkempt and very dusty! - as I tidied up in the rogue lair at my guild hall.

It's been a busy time. Ellyana and Lucy, Nael and I, along with others of the guildkin, kept ourselves occupied for quite a while cleaning up in the hall. We took the opportunity to take a close look at the rooms, and made a few small changes in the design or decor.

Since the work in my own hall was finished, I've spent a lot of time taking a look around in the halls of other guilds. The chance to see some rooms that I can't normally get into is just to good an opportunity to miss! It's obvious that the guilds have fine architects amongst their numbers, and builders capable of producing some wonderful rooms and areas within the halls.

I stood in a garden where Ellyana and I once used to spend much of our time, talking together as we rested after a period of farming or training. I remained there for quite a while, looking at what had changed and what was the same, as bittersweet memories washed over me.

In another garden I found a collection of small monuments - monuments, as it was explained to me, to ones who once fought in defence of these lands but now rest from toil and battle. For a moment, it was tempting - oh, so very tempting - to write my name on a piece of parchment and leave it there in the hope I would be remembered, and to hide myself away and just sleep ...

I thought frequently about that moment of doubt and weakness as I continued to roam about the lands and the halls. But then I realised that even though our lives in the lands may not in some respects be all we would wish them to be, there's a spark of something inside us that keeps us going, keeps us all striving and struggling. And that spark inside us can not be denied - for that urge to keep on with our lives is what keeps these lands free of the darkness.

I hadn't realised just how long it's been since I wrote anything in this journal. It's not that nothing has happened, it's just that ... well ... I guess that recently my heart hasn't been in things sufficiently to fire the inclination to jot anything down. Now though interest is rekindled as people approach me about sponsorship, and I have agreed to mentor and sponsor Varience. It gives me an opportunity to rethink my direction and purpose in the lands, as I strive to teach all that I have learned.

The memorial for the High King was well-attended. And fortunately, passed off without any major incident. I had been concerned that the event would be seen as a prime target for a raid or full-scale assault, though my worry turned out to be groundless. I'd filled my pack with delicacies which I'd hoped there would be an opportunity to share afterward. Plans didn't quite work out, though. I took those delicacies to the sea, yes ... and threw them into the waves for the fish and the sea-birds to eat. At least they weren't totally wasted.

There have been a few contests, and my words have received a certain amount of recognition. The challenges are interesting, stimulating - and sometimes a welcome diversion for my thoughts.

Yesterevening I attended to a few pieces of business, then roamed around for somewhere to rest. I found myself on Midnight Beach. As I looked at the round, black stones that cover the beach, I opened the bos-hide pouch that hangs from my belt, and took out the stone I keep in there. I've kept it safe for a couple of cycles of the Sunrifter since it was given to me ... and yesterday I had reason to recall that time, and reflect on what has transpired since. The sight of that gift reminded me of another, one I gave after many days of thought and planning and watching Denion as he produced what I'd had in my mind. A Sunrifter cycle after that was very different ... I sent a parchment which was never acknowledged. How things change ...

These thoughts were with me as I drifted off to sleep, and words from the past echoed through my dreams.

Never give up ...

Love you ...

Never give in ...

Never forget ...

Miss you ...

Smoke and mirrors promises and - at that point, the person I was speaking with silenced my words, saying that there are promises, and promises that as yet have not been fulfilled.

The beginning of the end ...

Never doubt ...

My sleep was not restful, and I woke feeling troubled. I read through this journal, and looked over a few items. Some things are still clear in my mind, some not so. At first I thought that the memories were fading ... but then I realised that's not the case. Worse than fading, those memories are being taken from me.

Riddles and games on the Worldbuilder Lawn, much enjoyed by all who participated. The event was a resounding success thanks to the hard work of Azure and Asrai.

It was, I think, Kenj who started a discussion at the Dundee Inn a couple of evenings later with Doyle about the relative merits, or otherwise, of daggers and swords. Well, I couldn't keep out of that, could I? - and nor could a few others who were there at the time. It was interesting to hear how fellow adventurers use their preferred weapon, to compare ideas about attack, counter-attack and manoeuvres and tricks to use against our foes.

Events in the lands took a more serious turn a day or so later. The High Queen Cordelia announced that a funeral and ceremony of remembrance is to be held for the High King. The day and time have been announced, but as yet not the location. This has been done, I'd presume, to avoid the possibility that the forces of evil that so beset us will have time to lay plans for disruption of the ceremony. I expect the event will be very well attended, and with the attendance of the High Queen herself there must be fears that it will be too tempting a target with too great a prize for our enemies not to attempt some sort af attack on the proceedings.
The people of the lands are, I'm sure, making whatever preparations they see fit for the ceremony. For myself those preparations have included seeing that my blades are in their best condition, and making sure I have plenty of picks about me, so I can get across the lands easily. Just in case ...
Yesterevening I made my way through the Verth forest, and paused at the cracked Life Monument that stands near to the bridge that crosses the dark river and leads north into the Dead Zone. All seemed quiet around me. I crossed the bridge and again looked around, taking in the surrounding devastation.
I returned over the bridge to the monument, and settled down to keep a watch there. The only movement I saw was from a giant wolf prowling around, and a giant vulture that was gliding overhead. I sat leaning against the monument, my blades close to hand. In that dark place I took out a sea-shell from my pack, and an engraved black stone from my pouch, and looked down at them from time to time as I watched for any movement in the Dead Zone.

Cheroke has been a fast learner, a gifted apprentice, and now after our visit to the temple, she has her feet firmly set on the rogue's path.
A couple of old friends have woken recently, and it's been marvellous having an opportunity to speak with them for a while.
I've ended up on a couple of mystery trips in the last few days, ending up in places I'd not planned on visiting as yet. The experiences were interesting and enlightening, though it's fortunate indeed that my Ultimate Weapon has the ability to teleport me away from a tight situation.

Not that everything's been bright recently.

I've seen little of the kin lately, and that little seems to have been only in passing. But these things, like others, go through their own phases in their own time.
I had to change some plans that had been in my mind. The trainer's face was an unreadable mask as I approached. He glanced over my shoulder, making no comment about the fact that I had arrived alone, before teaching me what I needed to know.
I went to try my strength in a couple of areas of the lands, but my heart wasn't really in it. I crept into the guildhall and down into the lair like some wounded and bleeding feral creature, shutting myself away for a couple of days.
The night was cold, so I stoked up the fire and sat in front of it. I may have been asleep, or half-asleep, or awake, when I saw in the flames a man and a woman approaching a tower. The man held a blazing torch - strange to think I could see that in a picture of flame! - which he held aloft as he pointed to the tower, calling my name.
'Well, Pallas? What would you wish to do? You can burn this tower to the ground as promised, or find a reason to leave it standing.'
'Too late,' I murmured into the flames. 'What's done is done.'
'But if it was not, what would you choose?'
A good question indeed. The strain of that trip, the doubts as to whether it had done the good I'd hoped for, Ellyana's words on our return - words that inevitably weigh heavier on my mind as time goes on. For amidst the clamour of battle, the screams of the wounded and the groans of the dying it is the quiet sounds that bear more directly on us, that betray more truly what may be to come. A few softly-spoken words, the sound of a door or window closing - small sounds easy to miss at the time, whose significance may appear only later.
The figures in the flames waited and watched for a reply, but I could give none. Then a gout of fire exploded from the top of the tower, and fingers of flame reached, grasping at the rings on my hands, some items on the leather band at my throat, the bos-hide pouch at my belt. It was as though that tower was this time determined to make it clear that it would take everything from me. I started up from my seat before the fire, and saw a piece of parchment.
A short message from Ellyana, short but sufficient to ease my mind somewhat. I noticed, as I drifted into a more restful sleep, that there was no picture in the flames. And for the first time in many cycles of the moon, my sleep was accompanied by the sound of the unicorns at play.

There have been a few bright moments over these last days. I had an all-too-rare chance to speak with Lucy for a while. She was hopeful of being able to go and visit the trainer, and we decided that I would walk there with her, but she was called away from her training to attend to some other matter. Hopefully she will be ready soon at a time I'm awake. I'd intended to go along just so that she did not have to take the walk alone, but now I'm thinking that perhaps I'll speak with the trainer myself while we are there. I've been ready for some time, but thought I'd wait for a while, but now I see no reason to delay any longer.

One of the reasons I need to hone my skills is the rat problem at the Dundee Inn. The creatures break out into the town from time to time, and it's hard going to fight them. After one such outbreak the other day, Azure, Lowrenzo and myself, along with others, were standing in Dundee Square talking about the problem. We were amazed to see Tyral and Scooter emerge from the Dundee Inn and head south. It seems Tyral too is fed up with the infestation and has decided to take up residence at the Building of Glass.

A day or so previous to speaking with Lucy, Matt had woken for a short time. I can't remember the last time we had a chance to speak, and we were able to catch up on some of each other's news.

Earlier today Gypsy and I showed Kane around his new home at the guildhall, chatting as we did so with Nael and Bellaine. It was a pleasure to see so many of the guildkin at one time. I've seen others too over the last few days and that has, I must say, lifted my spirits.

Where are you?
I care, but I know not.
Lost in your darkness.

Where am I?
I know, but I care not.
Trapped in a world of darkness.

Where are we?
... darkness


Never doubt ...

Never forget ...

Never give up ...

Never give in ...

I woke early yesterday, having slept in the mountains where the mirandines grow. The soothing scent of the flowers had helped me sleep well, and I woke refreshed. Which, as it turned out, was just as well.
It was, as I said, early, and I saw no other adventurers as I strolled around chatting with traders. And then the crier called - horrors had taken over the chasm at Fartown.
I hurried through the tunnels and emerged at Fartown, checking my blades as I headed to the chasm. One level down was a zone horror. I decided the best tactic was a hit-and-run offensive and so commenced striking out once or twice with my UW and poison blade, then retreating to heal. There were a few times the horror was very loathe to let me run - or rather, make a tactical retreat! - and there were moments when I feared I would end up at the Life Monument. But I survived, healed, and returned. Eventually the foul creature fell, and I made my way further into the chasm, to be faced by a Bane Horror. So I resumed my previous tactics.
A few marcs had passed by the time it too eventually fell to my blades. I'd returned to Omaut the Holy once more for healing. All the time I'd fought he'd been waiting patiently with his salves and potions ready for the next time I went back to him.
Fortunately Azure had woken and seen sign of the struggle, and I caught up with her in the chasm, where we were faced by two more Bane Horrors. Twice the horrors, but twice the fighters, and our tactics finally saw off our opponents. By then Sorynn had also woken and she joined us as we prepared to enter the chamber where the forge is situated. We all made our way forward, and launched our attack on two Zone Horrors that were there. The fight was shorter this time, but no less brutal.
At last it was over. The chasm was clear, and the forge safe. We all took a moment to catch our breath before going our separate ways.

I'm not relating this incident to impress any who read about it with my fighting skills, or to make myself out as some sort of hero. There is a reason for the telling, a point to it - a moral, if that doesn't sound too pompous! Individually, I'm not sure if any of the three of us could have survived long enough to clear the threat. But together, with co-operation and the combination of our individual fighting skills, we were able to take down those horrors and maintain peace in the lands for a while.

And that is the point I'd like to make. So long as we stand side-by-side to face the enemies that assail us in these lands, then we will prevail.

The warrior spoke a few simple words ...'Then just be yourself.'

It had been a bad day, and somehow the conversation had turned to what we do in the lands, or rather what we can do for the lands and the people in it. And that day I couldn't see any useful contribution I'd been making recently.
The words gave me plenty to think about. Be myself ... that's the trick of it. Myself? I wondered who that might now be.
Long ago, a wanderer known as Pallas entered these lands, almost by accident. And this place became my home, and the reason for my roaming was almost, but not quite, forgotten as it became overtaken by events here. So, the part of myself that was seeking vengeance became submerged.
The one who fought and trained with no thought of making the acquaintance of others has long ago departed. Friendship - and more - has grown, leaving that loner far behind.
And what I thought was the most important aspect of the rogue Pallas - the one who swore his heart and his body, his blood and his soul, to help and protect another - is lost in shadow. He's not seen the light for many cycles now - even when he walks in that light.

Just one of the conversations I've had lately as this journal has gathered dust.

And another time I spoke with someone about duty. 'The Iron Mistress' I've heard it referred to. We do what we must for our friends and the lands, for guildkin, for those we love. Make no mistake, I don't resent doing what I see I should do. It's an honour to serve the people of the lands in whatever small way I can. And there's another side to it - as I said at the time, carrying out the duties we have can lead to some sense of achievement. And it can submerge the need to think, or to feel.

Yet another time, I was delighted to happen upon Bryg. We spoke for a few marcs of friends and memories, of plans for the future and thoughts of the past. Though the tone of that conversation was much lighter than my words may make it sound. It seems long since there's been so much laughter, enough to hold away the dark for a while.

And yesterevening, I spoke with one who always has the time to stop and talk, even though it took a while to prise out of me where I was sitting surrounded by discarded pieces of parchment. And maybe, just maybe, they may have pointed out a direction I might be able to follow for a while.

Another facet of myself may emerge, perhaps. One that I can feel has something to offer the adventurers who labour to protect the lands.

I've been sitting here in darkness too long now. It's time I returned to take my place amongst the ranks of those who strive to hold back the evil that besets us all.

I woke in Milltown, and decided to take a stroll around and speak with the traders. I took a look at Margot's wares, and felt a feeling of dismay wash over me. Rogue armour, foodstuffs, lockpicks, rogue's blades, even weapon primitives. The awful thought came to my mind that one of my fellow rogues, in anticipation of taking a long, long sleep had sold all their possessions.
I'd been speaking with a friend the previous day, and he'd seemed downhearted ... very much so. I was relieved to find he was still in the lands, and still had his equipment. I set off on a walk around the lands, hopeful that someone had merely decided to clear out items they'd been hoarding at the bank.

Later, I discovered my first thought had been correct. Another friend, another fellow rogue, has indeed sold everything and gone to a long sleep. Sad news indeed.

I was so relieved to find this journal when I rummaged through items in the bank - I'd feared it was lost. Seems there's a lot of catching-up to do, to record what's happened in the lands , and the thoughts that have come to my mind, for any that care to read this.

If there were no other reason, I've been keeping a note of the small victories there may have been as we took another trip around the Sunrifter, what achievements there have been - though what I may have gained in no way compares to what has been lost. Hopefully over the next few days, I'll be able to record such things from the last cycle or so before they slip from my memory.

Which reminds me of a conversation with a trusted friend a couple of day past - and there are so few who can be called such. We spoke of things that are , and things that were, and of the events whereby one becomes the other - and of how I said that I was gifted - or, depending on how you look at it, cursed - with the ability to recall what has been said to me or what has occurred. Of course, that ability brings with it the ability - for good or bad - to remember what has transpired, and to make connections separated by time - though those connections may not be there.

I waited for twilight, and reached out a hand to capture Sunrifter's last shining ray. And I reached out with the other hand, and took the first of the light of the night. Gossamer-light webs and the sparkling foam off the ocean waves I also took.
And I built a dream ... a wonder constructed of imagination and light.
Magnificent arches of joy, soaring buttresses of peace, fantastic towers constructed of love, that flashed and sparkled ... all built upon a solid foundation of fellowship from which walls built of friendship sprang up and up ...

I stepped back to examine the miracle before my eyes, and as I did so the voice that invades my thoughts and dreams from time to time spoke once more.

It's so wonderful. See how it soars, unlimited except by the boundaries of your tiny mind.
It's so magnificent. See how it reflects your hopes and dreams.
It's so fragile. See how easily it crumbles and falls into ruin ...

And then I awoke - alone save for the shadows and echoes of other times.

The first two things I saw when I woke yesterevening were a journal entry and a message, both written by the same person. I sent messages to those of the guildkin who were awake ... I searched the guild ... but all to no avail. It was too late ... Skyelark had left the lands.
We'd grown closer over recent times, sitting and chatting at the guildhall when we both had the time to do so. It's good to have someone to talk things over with, and I can only hope those chats lifted Skyelark's spirits as much as they did mine. Though maybe not,in view of the fact she's no longer here. Seems I failed to help someone as I hoped I could ... again.
Skyelark ... fellow rogue, guildkin, friend ... I hope your future path takes you to a place of peace and contentment. It's been a joy and an honour to have known you.


Fall festival has come and gone. It's been an enjoyable time. Gatherings and taletellings to attend, contests and competitions to take part in. I'm gateful to those who organised the events ... and even more so to those who thought some of my efforts deserved recognition!

The season, though, was not all joyful for me. The PallasFish had no scurvy pirate captain to pit his wits against, and to continue the tale from last time. And there were others too who I did not see, others who slept through much of the festivities, or who had little or no time to exchange a few words. But all in all, it's been an enjoyable time. The costumes are now packed away 'til next festival, the banditos have gone back to ... well, wherever banditos go!

Though each festival passes in it's own time, we have to hope that the friendship and fellowship remain in the lands - for without that we are lost.

Well, the so-called rumour turned out to be nothing but a simple misunderstanding, as I'd expected. Just a case of getting the names of two different places mixed together. It was something that I'd have thought anyone speaking with the person concerned would have noticed. But it's cleared up, that's the main thing.


I've spent a lot of time these last few days sitting quietly and alone in a particular place. And I rested there too - which made a pleasant change from some of the places I've ended up sleeping! A few of us stood in that place - sometimes it seems so long ago, sometimes it seems just the blink of an eye. Seven of us there were altogether. I can picture them all perfectly, and recall what was said. But now? Now I spend time wondering where they all are.

I woke a few marcs ago, to hear Ellyana calling. We met at the guildhall, in the new section she's recently completed, and of which she is so proud. Our time together was, as ever, painfully short. But tonight at least, I will go to my rest accompanied by thoughts more pleasant than the usual day's memory of innumerable horrors assailing me at every turn.

The anniversary of that day has passed, but the memories have not, and will not, pass. I recall some words of Ellyana's, words I wrote here in this journal when I related an account of that day. Words that live in my heart and burn in my soul and mean as much to me now as ever.

One heart ... one soul ... one life ... one love

There's nothing worse than being given only a few facts about anything. Some rumour or other started working it's way around the lands apparently. At least that's what I was told when I woke yesterevening.
So, I tried to find out about something about it ... and all that led to was a slight disagreement with someone other than the one who'd spoken to me of the matter.
Rumours of a rumour ...I need somebody willing to speak of it. And then I'd imagine the matter might be explained, and all will know how one event got turned into news of another.
It was suggested I speak to the guildkin about the matter. So I went somewhere quiet and waited for a response to greetings I sent to those of the guild I saw ...

... and waited. It was as though I was speaking down into that hole in the floor of the Dundee Inn.

There is, sometimes, nothing more deafening than silence.

Well, it took some time, and I had to track down a fair few banditos, but at last I have the Fall Festival costume I was hoping to find. Once more the PallasFish is in the lands!

I see I've not had an opportunity to write here since the start of Fall festival. There's been the usual round of events, celebrations, and taletellings. I've attended as many as possible. One event in which I didn't participate was pumpkin-carving. Any talent I have doesn't lie in that direction, but many are gifted in such things and I notice that Ellyana and a few others are carrying around the lanterns they carved for the event.
A few days ago I heard tell of a bandito up in the Explorer's camp in the crags. Ellyana had not by then found a token, so we went to hunt the bandito down. It took quite a while, after Ellyana's famed sense of direction came into play! She has of course designed her own costume for Festival time, but wished to find at least one bandito. She killed him, and scooped up the token from the ground next to his body. I've been wondering what outfit the costumer offered in return for it.

The other evening, there was a taletelling at the Vanguard hall. I found the oddest place there. A shrouded crater at the bottom of which burns a strange fire. Mists blow and dance around the fire ... and at one point, I'm told, the mist came together, reached out - and just took Sage from where he stood by that fire.

Yesterevening, at a taletelling, I'd just taken a place before the assembly to recite a short story when an enchanters staff burst forth light and fire. Everyone was taken aback, to say the least. I'm still not sure whether it was an accident on the part of the enchanter, or if some unknown force had caused her staff to act of it's own accord.

So ... a couple of strange events on which to ponder ... and hopefully discover what actually happened. Yes, Fall Festival is in full swing, with it's usual mix of celebration and oddities!

I've spent a mostly solitary few days, spending a lot of time camped out over by Fartown or beneath the towering trees of Verth. Creatures have been seen moving around up in the canopy, and I've heard tell of a useful prize to be found far above the sprawling forest. So I wait and watch for a while, returning to Fartown after unsuccessful forays to sell what loot I've gathered on the way.

There's been time to reflect on a few things. A few evenings past at the Dundee Inn, the old subject of the half-full or half-empty ale mug came up in conversation. Someone there didn't seem to quite take my point that which phrase you use is a matter of how you look at things in general. They did however, offer the opinion that no matter how you describe that mug, it still contains the same amount of ale.

Those words, coming on top of a small event that had left me feeling low, struck a chord in my mind. The same can be said of anything, when you come right down to it. No matter how you describe something, it's still the same. And in the same way, your opinions on events will make not a jot of difference to those events. So, why waste time and effort trying to analyse a situation you can do nothing about? If your thoughts or feelings on a matter aren't considered relevant, all you achieve is to find yourself worn down like a rock trying to hold back the uncaring tides.

And yet ... we can't forget the past, nor ignore the present. Without a past and present, we have no future. Past experience, present thoughts and events - these are what give us something on which to base decisions concerning which way to go.


Past and present join as one, directing path taken under the sun.
They make us what we are, you see - shaping what may someday be.
The things that were, and those that are ... all become a guiding star
To show the path, to lead the way to that unknown, familiar, future day.

So once more Fall Festival approaches. Guilds are preparing competitions and diversions, and already people are scouring the lands for banditos!
There's an air of expectation, as always happens in the run-up to the festival, and much chatting in the Inn about what entertainments may be put on this time. But as ever, we keep our eyes and ears open and our blades close as we discuss the matter. Enjoyable as Fall Festival is, we still need to stay alert. The forces of darkness too know this is a time of merriment, a time when more may be together in one place ... a more tempting target.

I must admit to facing the upcoming season with mixed feelings. Anticipation yes, and some excitement ... but trepidation too, for there are so many memories of last Festival which will be playing on my mind even more than usual. Many of those with whom I spent the season last time around are now rarely seen;others now have no time to stop and speak. Signs of something occuring that I so blithely ignored at the time ...

I'm determined, though, to attend as many of the festivities as I can get to. Who knows, next time around it might be possible to host an event. I'd some half-formed ideas, but they were forced to remain as just that. Next year, maybe.

And this year? I'll be there, taking what enjoyment and relaxation there is with those that are here, and watching and wondering about those that once were.

I was amazed to see how long it's been since I last wrote here. I've walked the lands, speaking with guildkin when I see them. There have been times when I've been run off my feet, chasing around to assist at raids. And there have been quieter times, sitting in the Dundee Inn with a mug of Night Smoke, chatting with friends and acquaintances.

I've been teaching someone the way of the rogue. He's quick and keen, and soon will be ready to go to the temple.

A few days ago, as a result of a contest, I ended up on stage at the Dundee theatre, telling a few jokes. I can't claim to have brought the house down, but I also don't accept that anything I said was responsible for a wave of attacks - I don't think Balthazar would have been listening. The Crier was, however, distracted by some sort of fly buzzing around him, and simply didn't have a chance to announce raids until it was almost too late. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it!

I've had some good fortune, using words and wits to provide amusement for others in the lands. I'm finding great enjoyment, and a certain satisfaction, trying my hand at various contests. And coming up with something suitable keeps my mind occupied.

Busy, busy. But I've also found that no matter how busy you are, how much you have to do, there are sometimes voids that are too great to be filled.

It's been a quiet few days at Denion's smithy. There's been a chance to relax, sitting by the forge and talking while I watched my old friend at his work. I've always found it fascinating to watch as a lump of iron is shaped and heated and quenched then shaped more, until it finally changes, as if by magic, into the item it was destined to become. Almost as though the final shape was always within that shapeless mass of metal, waiting the opportunity to make it's appearance as the finished object, aware in some way of what must occur before it attains it's final destiny.
An idle thought passed through my mind as I watched Denion. In our lives we too often seem to go through similar processes. We might be battered by the hammers of events in life, we may go through the fires of misfortune and battle, we may be doused in the waters of despair and loneliness. But we too have some final destiny, according to some, and all we go through leads to that moment. Hopefully, the trials will be worthwhile. On the other hand, life may be a series of random events, of which we try to make some sense, randomness to which our minds insist on applying some sort of order or reason.
I ventured back to Dundee for an evening, as there was an event I wished to attend. And afterward, when I left to continue my visit with Denion, I realised just how much good the break had done for me when I noticed that I was missing the lands, and those there I know.
Luckily, my plans are always fairly flexible, so I've cut short my visit to the smithy, and returned to the lands.
As for the garden, and the shades of my parents ... Like others, they are always with me, in my heart and mind and soul. And I've realised the importance of making time for the living, for the dead will wait.

I made a leisurely journey to the smithy where Denion plies his trade, and found him in good health. Like me, he has recovered from the wounds picked up in the Hellhole and the later confrontation with the bandits.
We've been sitting by the forge, chatting while Denion works. Swapping tales of the past, exchanging talk of mutual acquaintances, sometimes speaking briefly of Redfern and his band of outlaws. It seems Denion is still attempting to keep tabs on where they are, ready for when we go after them once more. He's convinced that there will be a day when I decide that no matter how long it takes the time has come to finally track Redfern down. And increasingly it appears that he is right.
It's good to relax here in good company, to have an opportunity to rest easily without the need to keep one eye open for raids and one ear cocked for a call from the crier. So we talk, and drink his ale, and while he repairs my weapons and armour I keep myself occupied by drawing out diagrams of a couple of things I'd like him to make for me.
I'm finding the quietness here refreshing. And I know that as far as Denion is concerned I'm welcome to stay for as short or long a time as I wish to remain. So maybe I'll tarry here, as there's no reason for me to return to the lands for a while.

And of course, there's still and always the garden ...the place that remains unchanged in a life where everything else does so. It's another place of peace and tranquility - probably just what I could do with after all the endless marcs of mindless slaughter.

I've been rather tied up with a few things since I returned from the trip I made when I'd planned to go and visit Denion.

It was a pleasure yesterevening to have the opportunity to relax before the fire in the guild's lair and share a drink and a chat with Skyelark. It's all too infrequently I've seen her, or anyone else come to that, in the hall. It's quite strange actually - she seems to welcome the solitude there, while I find the difference between what is and what we hoped for when we built the place, is the reason I don't spend much time there lately. I still live in the hope that things will change once more, and the guild will become what I and the other founders foresaw when we established the home that should have been a place of peace and companionship for us and those who followed. Time will tell, I guess. And for now things are what they are. And I've found plenty of places to rest since realising there's no reason to make the walk back to the hall from wherever I may be when the need to sleep overtakes me.
We spoke of friends and hopes, and of the way you may find loneliness in the lands as well as adventure. After Skyelark left the hall, I decided that I should head over once more to see the smith. Although he's usually busy working at his forge, he'll make time to speak while he works and I can sit in peace with a mug of his ale. And after I've seen Denion, I plan to make my way to that garden that's so welcoming.

I packed the provisions needed for a few days' travel, and headed off in the direction of Denion's smithy. But plans don't always go as foreseen, and I ended up being delayed, though in a highly enjoyable manner.
As I passed between soaring trees, I saw a small camp-fire. I approached warily, my hands hovering near my blades, and hailed the two men I noticed sitting beneath the branches. As we introduced ourselves, I took a careful look around, but could see no sign of any others lying in wait. It seemed that the two were, as they stated, wandering taletellers. I accepted their offer of sharing their fire, and added my provisions to what they had with them.
We talked for a while, and they recited small pieces of their tales before we all rested. When we all awoke the next morning they both began scribbling furiously on parchment. I asked if I might take a look at their work.
It's amazing what some people are able to convey in a few words. One of the taletellers was writing a story of a journey, and the conversations, jokes and stories shared by the people on that journey. Such a thing could be uninteresting, but his inspired words made the whole thing fascinating And the other wrote of the tragedy that can befall people as they pass through life. Gloomy, yes ... but hopeful too. The words I read made me think of life in the lands, and of how we perceive it as we fight and struggle against the darkness that besets us. And I also thought on how these two presented their tales, learning some of their craft as I studied their parchments.
We spoke and ate, swapped tales and ideas, slept and jotted down stories or scraps of tales. And before I realised, a few days had passed and I was no nearer carrying out my intended plans than on the day I set out. But the time was, I feel, in no way wasted.
I learned from those two taletellers how they look on life, how they can make the mundane interesting, or the tragic seem lighter. And also I tried to pick up a few tips on how to turn events into a tale worth telling, a story that might be well received.
I'll need a fairly large stack of parchment, and a fair amount of time, to practice what I learned from those two. And of course I now need more supplies to carry on with my original plans. So I'll return to the lands to replenish my provisions, and then decide what to do next. To stay and spend time practising the arts of storytelling, or to head straight off on my original journey.
Either way, I'm planning to take some time for myself - I've been told in no uncertain terms by some in the lands that I should do so.

I've roamed around - usually alone - for several cycles of the moon, watching over the lands, keeping an eye out for guildkin. I think it's important that members of a guild know that at least one of the officers will be around at some time, should they need to speak with anyone.
But I'm tired, and much as I've hated to admit even to myself, I've been feeling rather disheartened lately. Most of the guild still sleep. A few wake only occasionally, and there are only a couple I have a chance to speak with fairly often.

I've been looking over the words put down here in recent times ... and it seems to me that this journal has been written by someone else during the last few moon's cycles. I'm not sure what happened to the person who could always see the bright side of almost any situation. The rogue who usually saw the best in everything and everyone seems to have disappeared. The adventurer who, against all evidence, kept making plans and trying to think of special things for another, appears to have found a rock to crawl under and hide away.

Time for a break, I think. I'll go and visit Denion, to see how he's getting on. And then a short journey is due to that garden I had built. I'll sit there for a time - trying to not notice the other, empty seat - and talk with the shades of my parents. Who knows, after a time of peace I may find some peace of mind, and hopefully I'll be able to once more find the person I was. I liked him much more than the person I seem to have become.

There's one certainty. One way or another, the person I have become will no longer walk the lands.

I recall the last few visits to the trainer. The difficulty of getting four of us together all at one time ... the expression on the trainer's face as we approached in a group, chatting and laughing together ... the joy and mutual congratulations as four close friends shared the experience.

Today, I once more visited the trainer. Alone. It's good to increase our skills, to learn and grow. But it wasn't the happy experience of old, despite the welcome messenger-birds that flew to me from all over the lands.

I traded in the armour I've worn for such a long, long time, for some that will give me greater protection against the creatures I'll face next.

After seeing the trainer and the traders, I went through my pack and my bank vault. I seem to have lost something I thought was in safe-keeping. Many moons ago, Ellyana was given a sea-shell which had an enchantment laid on it so that I could leave words there for her to listen to when we were parted. I've thought many times of that shell, wondering if she still has it, if she still listens to my voice and the words I left for her.
I found another way to send my words to her, but by the time it was done, the opportunity was gone. I tucked it away until it might be needed, but over time it's been moved around, and now it seems to be lost. I'll have to find the time to look again, and if necessary to redo what I'd done.

Despite the disappointments I've been feeling happier today than for quite some time. I think I can even face walking to the guildhall alone to go for some rest.

I gathered together the most mismatched items I could think of to wear to Azure and Taladorn's party at the athletic grounds, and no-one can have been more surprised than I to hear my name announced as the winner of the contest for the silliest costume!

Later, at the Shieldwall hall, Kellen told us how he came to be given the Godfist Warhammer.

I was asked to open the trapdoor at Caern, and while I was there I decided to go hunting for a short time. Bad decision ...

As so often happens, my thoughts soon became as dark as N'Rolav itself. I was exchanging messages with someone, and unlike in the past, I found I had no words in me to hearten anyone - myself included. And I was also speaking with someone else, and that conversation seemed no brighter.

I should stay away from the darkness of N'Rolav, I know. But at least there I thin out the numbers of horrors somewhat, and can feel some small satisfaction, some sense of achievement. But those feelings of course only come to me once I get out of that place.

Been thinking about a few things ... been thinking too much about them, I fear, and thoughts just go round and round in my brain. Only thing I seem to have settled on is that if there's nothing to be done, then there's nothing you can do.