The text is written shakily and spaced out oddly. It seems to sag down on the right side of the page, as if written in the dark.

The hinges gave it away. The door opened, a beam of light enters through the sliver, and I awake, gagging to the rotting stench of the defiled. It shuts the door behind it and I shudder. There is silence a moment, then comes the familiar scratching skittering as it moves heard but unseen across my floor. I dared not move, I was a child again. I shut my eyes, and pulled the blanket over my head, my chest rising and falling rapidly. The sound of pumping blood fills my ears it climbs over my body and sits on my chest. It screams at me (the text breaks off)

The remaining is at the bottom of the page, hastily written and barely legible

It has gorged itself and sits, a heavy weight upon my chest and leans over to whisper in my ear. It . It sings to me in a voice so terribly high, far too high and sweet, my blood sliding down its glistening body, pooling at my throat. The singing is drowned out by a roaring sound, a roaring light which is building behind where my left eye used to be (the text continues several lines and onto the back of the page but is completely illegible)

As I was walking down the street I met a man I didn't meet. I took him home and there he stays. He'll never leave me all my days.

(This page has been carefully removed from another source and inserted between the pages of this notebook. It is considerably older and slightly weathered. The handwriting is bold and joyous.)

Gods know where I'm at, but what a sight! Magnificent view- Rolling grassy hilltops, scattered wildflowers in front of majestic white capped mountains! And that sunset moving through the clouds! Decending into the town to learn the name of this place.

I remember the night Alain was born. He was the smallest too, and no one wanted him. He was so weak and couldn't take his mothers milk with the others. I cared for him like my own underneath the porch. He would take food from me and I helped him grow. When father found out

In no time he was strong and willful. He was quiet as I was too and we shared what we caught. The worst times were when there wasn't any game to be had and we'd have to return home. Then

I remember him pleading with me to make it better. His eyes staring into mine, hurting but knowing I would make it better. So utterly trusting. He was a long time. Afterwards I went into the house. It smelled of beer and shit. The axe handle held loosely in his hand as he slept dreamless dreams. My pregnant sisters gathered around and watched me as I

As I was leading my comrades down a cave I was knocked to the ground by several dire spiders. With little to no training with a blade I had no recompense but to fumble at my belt for an invisiblity potion. This quickly proved my undoing, and with giant fangs carving me to ribbons I mercifully blacked out. When I awoke I found my comrades standing over me. This Aetius I have met who reminds me strongly of Coronado DeVir, Ordinant Lemli, and my associate in training Kor'us. For all my pride in my paltry skills I could not detect nor prepare to defend myself properly against mere animals. As I struggled to rise to a knee, another beast rushed through my comrades and sliced into my chest, laying me open from throat to crotch. I lay on my back bleeding to death as the other three rushed the insect. I have not known worse pain. Greater than this, however, was my shame and feelings of helplessness. At deaths door, all I could think of was my father's face, leering down at me, cursing my weakness. He has found me once again after all the years. I vaguely recall Kor'us stooped over me, attempting to quench the flow of blood, and being brushed aside by Ordinant Lemli, who called upon Moradin to spare my life. I recovered quietly, attempting to preserve what dignity I had left, vowing to the Red Knight that I would not let this deficiency go unchecked. I have been a weak man all my days, on account of the fever I nearly died from soon after my birth. But my hands are nimble and I am quick, and though things may not have gone any differently had I been proficient in arms, surely, surely the thing that killed me would remember me.

A thin, lithe man walks out the gates of Sanctuary and takes a seat within sight of the walls, next to two unmarked graves. He removes his helm and sets it down next to him, all the while rubbing his left eye socket with long, delicate fingers. He gazes on the graves for some minutes. When he finishes he reaches into his pack and produces a plain, brown, hardbound journal and begins to write.

The pain is coming back. Second time this week. Need to find an herbalist. Still, sitting next to these graves is good. Makes me think of my own life, of the inevitability of death. A man should pause once in awhile and take stock of the work he has done, and has yet to do. For afterall, this existance is but a fleeting dream to prepare us for yet another existance. The only point, is to leave things better than when you arrived. [His quill lingers on that last period, swelling it with ink as he rubs his temples with his left hand]

I am not doing enough. If Shane is elected that will aid us slightly, if he is the man everyone seems to think he is. I have only had meaningful dialog with him on one occasion, seen him twice perhaps after that. His election will give us a voice and and ear, but for how long? Councilors die easy here. No matter, it would be a start. I entered into this knowing it would be an uphill battle.

I destroyed a band of slavers today. Before leaving, two paladins of Lathander stole away my priest. They gave kind, hollow words of encouragement, and left. I know they sensed the dark deeds my companions have done and wanted to spare their priest from possible danger. I am fine with that. What grates on my nerves is that they didn't have the slightest concern over the slaves we went to free. I suppose they had more urgent matters to attend. Such as flirting and gossiping with each other on the couches of the inn, or the House of Light. Why is it I only seem to accomplish my goals with evil men?

I assumed my comrades were interested only in gold, and I didn't care. They were being paid to destroy slavers and return with any slaves they might find, under my guidance. They were tools, to be repected for the danger they could cause, and to be used and discarded when necessary. It seems more often than not men will fight for gold rather for what is right in Sanctuary.

No slaves were found.

A haggard, thin man, pays his rent at the inn, and staggers up the stairs into his room, shutting the door quietly behind himself. "I'll have to steal her room," he thinks to himself, "Safer, free and I bet she's got some neat things under her bed." He runs his hands through his pale blonde hair, kicks off his boots, tosses his pack onto the well made bed, and lays down next to it. He folds the lumpy pillow in half, and props it under his head. He slides a plain hardbound brown notebook from his pack, retrieves his quill and ink, and begins to write.

As I am largely unfamiliar with the goings on between illithiad and beholder in the Sandy Caverns, I agreed to scout for one of the more noble groups of the city for intelligence purposes. I had much running through my mind at the time and was weary, thus being not as prepared as I normally am. I screeped halfway down the stair on my stomach, being unaware of the observational powers of my foes. I must endeavor to educate myself before tempting fate on my next foray into the unknown, weary or otherwise. I observed signs of a great struggle. Torn and broken bodies lie on the ground, glowing red but slowly fading and blending in more with the sand. The scent of fire, with the accompanying offensive smoke hung heavy over the caverns. From time to time there was a great and unsettling shrieking noise, and a strange rumbling noise. I peered into the murky distance, and saw two illithiad to the left of my position. I crept back up the stair to report my findings. After a great deal of deliberation and caution, they finally entered. Inbetween that time, a beholder had showed up to the right, and we backed off, aware of the peril the Eye Tyrants represented, even in one memeber of their race. Hearing signs of battle we took the stair again, and swiftly walked to the floor while the two evil races fought. The beholder, badly wounded, had destroyed three illithiad, and turned a fourth to stone. We dispatched it quickly, but not before it dispelled the majority of our protections. We scouted left, having trouble with two illithiad, though there were six of us, and quickly discovered that the tentacled monsters were using large umberhulks as guardians as well. We fought them off, then seeing two beholder kin at the entrance of what I understand to be Chazbash, retreated to discuss our options. The war between the two races was indeed still at boiling point, with illithiad and their umberhulks at the doors of Chazbash. I crept along the route to Ysinode, and spotted two large umberhulks a far distance away, and they spotted me. I had a hunch these creatures were no ordinary members of their race, and this seemed to prove it, as their sensory abilities were greatly enhanced. They charged and we defeated them, though it was a difficult battle. These creatures either had the ability to cast their skin to stone, or that had been done for them by their masters. I entered again and observed a lone illithiad in the distance who began speaking to me. It told me that our races were nearly beneath its notice, and indeed in my fear I felt as a termite might feel attempting to speak to a man on equal levels. It told us they were winning that day. At the end of our little conversation he told us to leave, as we had reached the end of our "agreement." We decided to comply for the time being and began walking back, being stopped quickly on account of a beholder coming in our direction. We backed up and ran into the illithiad I spoke to and two of these guardian hulks. The battle commenced with us stuck in the middle. Several of my comrades nearly died, one was turned to stone, and we were forced to flee back up the stairs in order to recover and mount an effective counter attack. This proved unnecessary as the creatures had vanished. It took hours for us to procure a remedy for our companion, and then reunited once again, we made for shelter.

These individuals displayed a great amount of knowledge with these foes in particular, as one would imagine. I shall have to see if they will include me on the particulars.

A thin man in blue leather pushes back his chair and rises gracefully. He rubs his lower back and gazes balefully at the numerous papers littering his desk. He pivots crisply and walks over to his bookcase, his eyes passing over numerous tombs detailing such topics as strategy, manipulation, military victories and defeats, city history, poetry, and his own personal files before removing his journal.

I've decided to write a series of short speeches for the public advocating our values. It would serve several uses for us, not the least of which to deteremine interest in our goals among our citizens. He jumps in his seat, smearing ink all over the page. He looks behind him, certain someone was standing there, looking over his shoulder. When he is certain he is alone he reaches out and takes the figurine of his god from the floor where it has fallen from the bookcase. He replaces it carefully, looks around once more, and sits. He takes his journal in his hands and pens at the bottom.

Scaring myself. I've had sleepless nights of late. Same dreams, or near enough if that's what they are. Memories long thought buried rise up in my mind. I am seeing Alain as I sit here on my couch, he is on my bed. He is laying down on his back, his head turned looking back at me.