Riloth 19th the 24th

Dear Spellbook,

I did it! And it was boring! Mostly. I am a day's ride—minus a few distractions—down the road from Crossroads writing this by Ghost Light next to a campfire, eating a very strange picnic.

This morning I woke up, and did the increasingly tedious tasks of placing the bet, buying potions and setting up my minions. The one detour I took was tasking Simon with a special project.

Walking out past his counter in the morning, I flipped him a gold coin and told him, “I need you to pack me a lunch and a dinner. The lunch needs to be edible on horseback, and the dinner at a campfire. If you can do it in the next thirty-nine minutes before I return I will have another gold for you.”

Simon caught the coin out of the air and said with a genuine smile, “Of course, Master Theral, anything for our guests.”

I still don’t know why he dislikes me, but gold seems to fix that as well as it does any other problem. As I was heading out the door, I added, “Also, everything in the meals must start with the letter A!” Then walked out without looking back.

These past few days I’ve been trying to mix up my meals with the market, but I keep forgetting to leverage my resources. If I task Simon each day to make me a meal with some ridiculous condition, I will have variety, quality, and if I tip him enough hopefully minimal spit.

When I returned from finishing up with my minions astride Ian, Simon was waiting outside with two bags packed with food. His smile seemed less genuine now. I thanked him, tipped him and loaded the bags on Ian's back.

I elected to bring my father’s sword with me today. With only enough training to scabbard it without injuring myself and point it in the right direction, I should at least be able to avoid killing myself with it. Daulf had told me once that it was a good fit to my frame, so I might as well get used to it. He also said something about me needing to pack on some more muscle to wield it properly. Not everything he says is nice, but he probably meant that constructively. And he’s probably right. A lifetime of libraries was not erased by a few months of adventure. My endurance is great from all the walking—and running—but let's just say it's a bit hypocritical of me to call Cam “Twiggy”. It's all moot as it's unlikely strength training will do me much good in the near future, since the near future seems forever out of my grasp.

At first glance, my father’s sword was nothing special to look at. Just over three feet from pommel to tip, the rapier was brilliant white steel, free of knicks or dents. The crossguard was a simple bar, and the cage protecting the hand was plain bent steel wire. Daulf said it was an expertly crafted blade, but was free of all adornments save one. Set in the crossguard was a stone of dark onyx. When Daulf saw it he stopped speaking mid-sentence and ripped the blade from my hands for a closer look. He said a brief prayer, and his eyes seemed to grow lighter. Gently handing the sword back to me, he said, “Boy, I do not know where your father got this blade, but keep it hidden. Men would kill, or worse, for a blade like this. This is an ensouled blade. Unless you learn how to use it and unlock its potential, I would not show it to anyone who might decide they want it for themselves.”

Wait a minute... how did I remember that conversation verbatim? Daulf examined this sword on the road to Edgewater after our first meeting. I hadn’t found you yet. You were probably sitting on some dusty bookshelf; depressed, pining to see the world, and dreaming of the day some sorcerer would come and sweep you off your covers. Why can I remember that now? I recall the conversation perfectly, but I didn’t get my thought’s from the moment or the other enhanced sensorium you give. Are your capabilities expanding? How far back does this work for?

Well if you aren’t going to answer I will have to test it out.

When my father left for that last meeting before we left town, he spoke to my mother not realizing I was in the house, “Esriel, dear, I’ve done it! I’ve found the man who might prove to be the key to my troubles. Teshive’s representative has invited me to meet with him at Edgewater to discuss an expedition. He will fund it! I will be able to go back and save them!” They walked to another room and I did not hear what they discussed further.

When I was twelve, and we were on the road, a cart driver we had been traveling with for days would always sing the same song. The tune is always stuck in my head but I have never been able to remember the lyrics. It’s been driving me crazy for years. It went like this

My wife and her.... Dooo dop dee...over some clover... shoo boop...

Well, that didn’t work.

I can only remember events back a certain time? Maybe that's good. I don’t want to remember being born. That would not be pleasant, though I can't imagine the situation where I'd try to remember that.

Okay, back to today. I will need to explore this later when I'm not sitting in the forest. I set off south, at a brisker pace than before, occasionally slowing and walking next to Ian to give him a break. We passed the turn off for Gerald’s camp an hour ahead of schedule and continued on. Writing now, I could relay every boring detail of the trip, hoping to find any clue with your enhanced recall, but I doubt there is much I missed on this road.

Moving at a faster pace than previous treks down this road, I overtook three separate groups of refugees that were heading south to Lakeside. I flipped them each a gold coin to see them smile at the gesture, but didn’t stick around to chat. I promised you I would stay focused, and I’m trying.

I did have a brief exciting encounter which you will be pleased to know I did not initiate. After being on the road a few hours I dug through the lunch Simon had packed for me. If I knew Clean I would have given it a perfunctory cleansing in case Simon really did spit in the food, but even if he did, I’d eaten much worse over the past few days. The lunch bag consisted of some apples, which I fed to Ian, a wedge of some crumbly cheese which I assume had some “A” starting name I didn’t know, and some almonds. Aside from the apples, it was a fair attempt on Simon’s part, but I will need to figure out this cheese name to see if he cheated me.

As I was working on my wedge of cheese, my attention to my surroundings lapsed. The road had narrowed to a mere cart’s width here and the banks were raised a good eight feet above the road. The road was cut through a small butte that was too steep to ascend. Had I been paying more attention to my surroundings than to this cheese I would have been more cautious. My parents would be ashamed I so quickly forgot the dangers of the roads; this was a prime spot for an ambush.

Up above on the raised banks of the road stepped a group of four haggard-looking men. One was wearing the colors of the Parlor in what might have once been their security outfit if it had fewer dirt stains and holes. The remaining three were wearing the ragged red and gold remains of the House Barion’s guard uniform. All insignia of rank and affiliation had been removed.

With a crossbow pointed at my face, the Parlor deserter yelled, “Throw us your coin and that sword and we’ll let you on your merry way.”

Feeling a little confident after my mostly successful combat yesterday, I rose my hands into the air, holding the cheese aloft. I shouted, “What?! I can't hear you. This cheese is really crumbly, and I’m a loud chewer—or at least that's what my friends tell me. I think they are right!”

As soon as I finished speaking I cast Blink, bringing myself behind the crossbowman speaker for the party. Appearing behind him, I gave him and his companion each a quick shove. Arms flailing at their sides comically, the crossbow cast aside, they both lost their balance and tumbled over the edge. I didn’t have time to watch them land, but it sounded painful. Distracted by their falling compatriots, the two across the way were ill-prepared for the Gust that appeared at their backs, blowing them over the edge as well.

Looking over the ledge, I discovered that the fall had been more than painful for at least one of them. The leader who had spoken had fallen headfirst and not survived the drop. I pulled out another wedge of cheese from my pocket and started to eat it, affecting a nonchalance I was not feeling. To the remaining three I shouted down to them, “You have until I finish this piece of cheese to be out of my sight, or I actually start trying to kill you.” I called upon the Font of Fire in my non-cheese hand, wreathing it in fire, to add to the effect.

I had not intended to kill any of them, but I didn’t regret it. After goblins, highwaymen are a traveler’s worst fear. Highwaymen can sometimes be reasoned with, but the worst a goblin will do is kill you and eat your corpse.

I’ve killed thinking beings before, but this was only the first time I’d ever killed a human. I’d help fend off goblins dozens of times growing up, but they are a little more intelligent than a dog and far more vicious. At Edgewater I killed orcs, which are as much a person as a human or elf, and it shook me, but I knew at the time it was the right thing to do. They had been lost to Faust, corrupt, and fully embracing his desire to destroy. Was killing this man any different from killing a Fallen orc? A Fallen orc decided one day to dedicate themself to destruction and was locked in that choice for life. This man woke up every morning and decided anew to kill and maim people for profit. Who is worse? The orc who made a terrible decision once or the man who makes it daily? The orc is beyond redemption, but does the bandit even deserve it?

I don’t know, and I suppose—on some level—it's academic. In an hour that man will be alive once more and if I travel down this road in the future, I will likely kill him again. Could I try reasoning with him? Turning him away from crime? Maybe, but like Gerald, it would only be for a day.

Alright, enough wool-gathering.

At my threat, they fled. They didn’t even check on their dead companion. No affection amongst thieves it seemed. My ability to terrify children had grown into the ability to terrify hardened criminals. When my heart rate settled and the bandits were long gone, I looked around the top of the butte. A trail was beginning to form leading into the trees atop the hill from where I stood. Following it led me to their camp, which was disgusting.

Their tents were not properly hung, each sagging between two trees. Their campfire was a forest fire waiting to happen, with no stones around the edge and debris strewn about. The remains of meals lay dropped everywhere. There was a pile of rags that had once been clothing and were now... used. On that topic, the latrine was not far enough to prevent the smell from permeating the camp.

After the shock of the initial slovenliness, I started to notice signs of casual evil. Amongst the piles of loot, I saw items of no monetary—but much sentimental—value. A doll I had seen in the arms of a girl leaving on a caravan before the resets was torn in half, a pile of shattered glass that had once been vases or cups, the half-burned remains of a painting sticking out of the fire were. These men were terrible, stealing and destroying for fun. I could not find any evidence of murder, but I would not be surprised if I had.

I left their camp, wishing I had done more to scare the survivors. Ian had found a fascinating clump of grass growing at his head height he was working on. Using the eight-foot drop as an opportunity to experiment, I leaped from it and reached for the Font of Air. Casting Gust in its near-original form, I attempted to modify it slightly. Normally the spell takes a significant amount of Will and covers a large area, large enough to save three people and no donkeys. My experiment was to see if I could reduce the area the wind covers and use less Will at the same time. Focusing my Will to not draw as much from the Font, I forced a focused jet of air to cushion my descent. My fall was slowed, but not enough. I could feel that the wind was only covering part of my body, and I landed hard, but without serious injury. A partial success. Next time I will need to expand the area slightly, but I can already tell that it used almost half as much Will as the original version.

I can probably focus it into a smaller region to push a single enemy as well.

Ian did not appreciate my experiment. The sudden loud Gust of wind terrified the docile horse, and he took off. Growing up on the road taught me it was never wise to chase a scared horse. We ride horses for a reason, they are faster, and being chased only makes them run longer. I walked after him at a leisurely pace and after about a mile I found him, once more engrossed in a tuft of grass.

The whole ordeal ended around three, and I had another three hours of light left to explore. Nothing of note occurred even now. I saw a few turn-offs to the forest farms Daulf had mentioned on our approach to Crossroads. If I'm still here in a year, I'm sure I'll get around to exploring those.

With the sun almost setting, I noticed a possible lead. The trees in this forest were ancient behemoths, many with trunks as wide as I am tall and towered hundreds of feet into the air. Close to dark, when I was already on the lookout for a campsite, I noticed that on either side of the road, the tree line had changed. To my left and right, there was a thirty-foot patch of wood where no tree was taller than one hundred feet and all had narrower trunks than those around them. I suspected that once there had been a road here.

Both directions seemed the same, so I chose left. When traveling and at an impasse, my father would always go left. He never gave a good reason for it, but it tended to work out for him. Ian was hesitant to leave the road but eventually complied. Casting Ghost Light gave him a start, but made navigating the wooded area easier.

Traveling after Edgewater, our horses eventually became accustomed to my use of magic. Ian is going to have a traumatic eternity here with me, never expecting my magical use each day. Poor guy.

At this revelation, I gave him the last apple from the satchel.

Traveling through the stunted forest strip for an hour brought little progress and revealed nothing of note. Ian eventually stopped and refused to move forward, so it is there we made camp.

Digging into the second bag Simon had packed, I discovered an apple pie, some weird lumpy green fruit with a giant pit and bright green flesh, and some weird spiky green bulb of leaves. I don’t think that last one was even food. The pitted fruit tasted fatty but was pretty good otherwise. It might have been a vegetable. I gave Ian the spiky bulb, which he enjoyed, and I risked the pie. It turns out apple pie is just delicious, no matter how wronged you feel by apples.

I cast a barrage of Ghost Lights all over the camp to exhaust my Will, and then drank a potion and did it again. I didn’t want to risk a forest fire here and Ian has gone through enough, no need to give him a heart attack from Lightning Bolt, so no practicing my aim today.

-Goodnight 24-

Reports appear

No change. That reminds me.

Bandit Report

There are four armed men ambushing caravans a four hours ride outside town atop the butte the road is carved through. Their camp is on the west side of the road about three hundred feet. They have one crossbow and each is armed with swords. Three are Barion deserters and the fourth, the apparent leader is an ex-security officer of the Parlor.

When I write -Goodmorning ##- create a copy of the Bandit Report along with the other report sheets.

I can have Simon deliver this to someone, and hopefully, they will take care of it.

Updates

Leads:

Giant north of the town Outlaws out in forest ruins. Investigate runes Giant goat Dwarven caravan Possible old road - south of town

If I get here sooner I can explore the road better. If only I could fly this would all be much easier. Maybe the harpy... no that's a terrible idea.

Assets

Julian - Refugee Monitors game floor Literate Twiggy and Company- Bully kids Monitor market Semiliterate Rail - Urchin girl Counts people entering the Parlor Illiterate Hard worker Gill - Urchin boy Counts people entering the Dragon’s Den Sam - Refugee Counts people entering the command tent Simon - Concierge Traitor Brings coffee

Resources

Library Lavar the Alchemist Dwarven Armory

To Do:

Find a way out of these resets Find others aware of the resets Find a way to wake up early Learn the capabilities of this book Learn the language of the spellforms Learn how to read spellforms Learn spellform writing Find Liall Sleeping Owlbear Inn Find a sword tutor

I could probably ask Daulf to train me, but I just don't think I could handle that. I'd be better off finding some stranger I can not speak to. Having the same conversation endlessly is very unsettling, especially with a friend.