- "I am the dawn that chases away the night, that heralds the new day, that rekindles hope when all else is lost."
Three days, now, I've wandered this foreign land since these... "mists" dragged me in. I do not like it, here, but I have
no illusions of being able to return back home, to fair Cormyr. The "Vistani", as they say, suggested I speak to some sort of elder, a
"soothsayer" who wished to discern my fate. Whether she did so to truly aid me, or simply because she had naught else to do
and wished to test the "Outlander" of his patience and will, I do not know. The knowledge she imparted upon me is...
"disturbing", to say the least. I do not believe in destiny, but her words struck closer to my heart than I would have preferred.
"Outlander": that is the word they use to describe those like myself - people dragged in by those accursed mists. There are more
than a few, here, and the presence of Lathander's will is no small comfort. The natives refer to him merely as the Morninglord, seemingly
unaware of his true name. My prayers will be spoken towards such, from now on, if only to ease this inherent suspicion I seem to
earn.
At the very least, it seems as if I have purpose, here. Perhaps these mists did not drag me here by accident, but due to Lathander's
will. This place - this cursed place - is haunted by monsters; fiends who would prey upon the innocent, such as lycanthropes, specters,
and even the most hated of creatures: the vampire, or "Vrolock" in the tongue of men here. It seems that no matter where I am, I will
always have enough "work" to remain busy. The blood of several lycanthropes stain my blades already, and I took grim satisfaction as the
silver burned through their hides; listening to their screams of pain, knowing that they could easily have been the desperate cries of anguish
from an innocent man, woman, or even child. Sadly, the mists seem to have left me drained, and tired - my blades do not move as quickly,
and my eyes are not as sharp. Hopefully these traits of mine are not lost forever, but will return with time and effort.
The Vistani have provided temporary employment as a hunter of these... rodents. Their fur is prized, and while it is of small discomfort that I
slaughter these animals, who have done me no wrong, I do it for the greater good. I require coin, or "fangs" as they are called here, to
truly hunt the prey I desire. I will sharpen my blades in the crypts below, and the sewers under the city, biding my time until I regain my strength.
Perhaps I will venture deeper into the catacombs, but silver does not cut through some of those undead fiends, and I will need to first seek
alternative means.
