Just A Simple Mage

[sugar high]

Day 10 of Month 3
Time has escaped me these past few weeks. My first tenday here was such a whirlwind. With that said, I suppose keeping a journal might be smart, lest the memory loss isn’t an isolated incident.

Approximately 1 month ago, I awoke from … I don’t quite know yet. I don’t know how long I had been out for, it’s hard to say what my life was even like before... I woke up in a ditch not far from town. I was covered in blood, whether it was mine or someone else's, I don’t know - so if that is an indication of anything, I’m not sure if it would be wise to uncover such information. I know my name, though I won’t dare say it aloud. My ability to put words together the way I do … the languages I speak … I don’t know if they’re real languages or not, but they make sense to me.

Thinking back to that day, I was far from the roads, my clothes worn from travel. A satchel slung over my shoulder, half of its contents still remain a mystery to me. This notebook was one - all previous entries ripped out, but the book itself smells like sulfur. Oddly enough, considering my state, my coin purse was full, as small as it was, the amount was barely enough to buy me passage on a boat, but I can safely say I wasn’t robbed.

A day of wandering a place called Waterdeep, and I managed to purchase lodging on a ship headed out of port with the intention of getting as far away from - whatever this is ... *her handwriting becomes rigid - as if the following words were written with such anger, it shook her* I hate not knowing.

Arriving in Arelith, this mark of outcast brought me to a place called the Underdark- again, a mark I have no recollection of acquiring or the reason behind it. But I made no argument. There were notices declaring surfacers ‘kill on sight’. It didn’t seem very friendly, but apparently I seemed to be no threat, as I was left to my own affairs. Until one person.

I don’t know what made him pay me any mind. Me, a skinny, half starved mouse. But one look and he had it in his head I’d make a good slave. The manner in which he spoke - I’m not sure if he was a crazed idiot, but he certainly seemed like a dangerous man - he ACCIDENTALLY killed his previous slave - as if that’s supposed to invoke much confidence of my life being safe in his hands. If that wasn’t enough to make me run in the opposite direction, not one, but two people warned me of him. I didn’t give him my real name … I know the magic of one’s true name - I don’t know why I gave it to the Drow, but looking back on that decision, I’m grateful. It gave me a chance.

And now I find myself here - the people are nice enough. Oddly kind. Trusting - I don’t know if that speaks to their competences or mine. It’s cold here though and outsiders ask too many questions, and then speak to me as if I’m an idiot … I am at a loss of what to do.