This journal is a simple hand bound book made of leather. There is nothing written on the cover. The first page simply states:

Aishling Halifax

Third of Tarsakh :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

I have been here for near a week and I’ll say that I have mixed feelings about the place. Of course it is better than being a slave, that is obvious, but I have definitely met some folk that are tainted of heart to say the least. Then however take today, I was out in the caves, slaying a few large beetles that I came across. One must have knocked me unconscious because I woke in the mausoleum with none of my gear. I ran out of the place and basically begged a passerby to give me a few coins to purchase a spear so I could head out and find my gear. This very kind gentleman named Will gave me a potion of invisibility. I could not have asked for more, I was able to recover my gear, and then slay the remainder of the creatures in the area. Men like this raise up a city, bring a place to new heights. I take heart in this event as it helps me to trust in my lord’s will. What I initially perceived as terrifying and difficult, being struck down and waking in a place unfamiliar to me is then brought to something that reinforces my faith. I owe this man a debt, one I hope to be able to repay.

I owe whoever picked up my unconscious form a debt as well… Though I have no idea who it was.

Tarsakh 4th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

I find my thoughts unable to move forward. I suppose that when one is given some respite, a warm place to sleep, food, even a decent blade to wield that one's mind starts to relax. Now that I have these things, my mind is no longer occupied with only survival, now I am given the luxury of idle thoughts. That is all that worrying about the past is. There is nothing gained from such activity. I was a slave to a group of merciless, evil, disgusting creatures. That is it. So it is. Pondering on it does not make anything better and yet I find myself doing so, without any logical reason. I find of late that my only respite from my own mind is through practice and exercise. The facilities in the Stand are crude but sufficient for my needs. Rarely does anyone go back into the training room and I am able to practice for hours on end. It is when I am at my happiest, practicing, perfecting, attempting to force some discipline into my life.

Tarsakh 10th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

I've made friends of late. A few here and there have shone as worthy of trust. I was dropped by a spell this dark and lay snoozing lightly while being attacked by creatures most foul. A friend was there however to fight off the creatures while I was slumbering so peacefully. I am thankfull for this. I look forward to repaying them.

My practice goes well. I spent some time working with the combat dummies in the greycloak temple. I'm sure they will not mind but I am able to have peace and quiet to focus on my training there. Other than a passing guard or two, none ever enter as far as I can tell. My practice goes well and my skill increases of late. I was able to participate in the assault on a group of Goblins earlier and did not fall nor was I overly challenged. I held the line. Hold the line, my father always drilled into me. Hold the line... I think of him of late. I realized, the reason that I favor a sword requiring two hands is that my early training as a small girl was with my fathers sword which I had to hold with two hands just to swing. Anything lighter and I feel as though I will become weaker just using it.

Tarsakh 14th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR Colonel Spitfire. Sergeant Blackbeard warned us that we might run into him. I was forming another group to make a run on the same group of goblins. Those things breed like rabbits and were even stronger than the last time we moved against them. The warning was issued and it was a valid one. We did run into him and it was an epic battle. I’ve not faced that number of foes before. Unfortunately our group was a bit underpowered and a few of my companions fell by the wayside. I believe I was the only one to not be injured seriously in some way. After fighting through the first wave of foes we encountered an Ettin that was apparently instructed by the Colonel to stop us. We succeeded in convincing him to walk a bit of distance from his lair before he turned on us. We brought him down without too much effort. Its heads were arguing the entire time. Interesting creature. After this, the Colonel fled down some hole through which we followed him. Many more goblins were slain and I will skip the details of the rest of the events but we finally found the Colonel and he was holding about ten citizens as captives that he attempted to ransom to us for 100 coins a head. The details are unimportant but we did try and pay their ransom to allow the innocent to flee but after a few shenanigans, the Colonel killed them anyway. This weighs on my conscience, I was unable to convince him not to kill them. I may even have been hasty in my reaction against him. Was it my fault they died? Was my battle rage so intense that I was unable to calm myself and reason through the situation? Even with all my work, all my practice, I still lack discipline. The smell of battle is intoxicating and perhaps I was drunk with it and the possible glory of bringing in the Colonels’ head…

I’m not sure that thoughts of this type are productive. It is in the past. Like other events that have come and gone. Leave the past where it is, behind us. I move on, I double my efforts, I seek council from those wiser than me.

Tarsakh 16th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

I have left a letter resting on the base of the statue of Torm at the shrine in New Dunwarren. I am not sure how else to contact a priest as I have only met one in this city that follows the loyal fury and I have not seen him for many darks. Unfortunately nobody has responded to the letter and it still sits there. I will hold faith and give it a few more darks. If none respond, then perhaps I will try speaking with a Tyrran. My lord serves the even hand loyally, I’m sure they will be able to provide me with council.

Tarsakh 16th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

I have been gifted a fine blade by Sergeant Blackbeard. The blade of the golden lion. I great sword that was wielded by a Tormite knight that fought against the forces of darkness in the underdark. An epic tale is associated with the blade. I am extremely grateful for the blade as the balance on it is beyond perfect. I am able to deflect blows with more expertise and I noticed while fighting some Goblins the other dark that when facing foes of a truly tainted heart, the blade moves differently, enhancing the already well placed balance. A fine blade indeed.

Tarsakh 27th :: Year 153 :: 1375 DR

It's been quite some time since I have written in this book. I suppose i've settled into a groove but that was changed last dark. The chosen assaulted lower again but this time in force. We were unable to claim it back this time. Lower is lost, Lower is LOST! An entire half of this settlement has been lost to rat infected lycanthropes... There was one beacon of light in the battle, Sergeant Lauren fought with incredible strength and a complete lack of worry for her own personal safety. She stayed behind while we shepherded about 40 lower refugees out through the low way. I assume she has fallen, or worse... I shudder to think of her last moments but what a good way to die! On your feet, fighting for what you believe in, protecting the innocent. Now that is a death I dream of.

I usually start these entries with the date but to be honest, I am not entirely sure what the exact date is. I believe it is early Mirtul.

Where do I start? The city has fallen into open and violent civil war. The watch has split between what seems to be those that desire unrestrained power and those that actually want to serve the city of Sanctuary. All the watchmen that I know to be honorable and good, have become what are known as "rebels" and the ones that are left are roaming the streets apparently attacking folks and stealing at will from any "suspects" they encounter. The Spellguard are ruling over Upper with an iron fist. This current struggle has nothing to do with anything but the desire by a few individuals to rule over our city without the nuisance of having to gain a consensus from the people that actually make up the city.

What to do? What to do indeed...

About two weeks since my last entry. The rebels have taken back most of upper, the Spellguard are confined to their tower. These are good things though I am now very aware that we have no larger than life protector for our fair town. Etorix is a thrall, the Spellguard, as evil as they are, are now relegated to hiding in their tower or I hear, out at Thomas' shop. Tough times will be ahead but at least now we might be able to trust our government, fight alongside men and women that have a sense of honor. We'll see how things progress, i'll admit, I was disappointed with the rebels when I associated with them previously. Good men, but if i'm entirely honest they reminded me of the same type as the regime above. Keel slammed a door in my face when I was trying to seek them out. Only spoke to me once he realized that I had something to give him. We'll see how things move from here. Either we continue in the direction we seem to move, that of being lead by folks that care for their fellow citizens, or if we regress and repeat the failures of before. Bresley as the mayor is a good first step I think. We shall see...

I have joined the Sovereign Host lead by Kedrick Reynolds. They have the most impressive manifesto of any group I have spoken with. Really seem like honorable folks. Strong too, a number of very strong warriors, interestingly, most of them are women as well. Elina, Kairn, Myself. Kedrick is no slouch himself. Our task of dealing with the Chosen couldn't be undertaken by a stronger group of folks. Just last dark Kairn, myself, and a group of other decent folk slayed probably four or five hundred Chosen. A drop in the bucket for sure, but better than doing nothing.