Stonewood

ᐧ 12th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
 
I am called Peacebringer, but these words mean nothing. There is an emptiness where I should have memory, any sense of who I am or where I come from. I feel newborn, thrust into this world with no one to guide me, only h̶e̶r̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶s̶ her command.
 
In the few hours I’ve spent in this strange land, among these people, I have only collected more questions, when I seek answers. It seems I have also gathered companions –
 
The Devout, he seems kind, but may be just as lost as I find myself.
 
The Devilkin, curiously oblivious of his namesake, draws a sharp eye from the people of this town. That may bring unwanted attention.
 
The Mad Tinkerer, there seems to be a type of…genius…to him, if not a touch unbalanced.
 
The Shifting Season, she is formidable and a strong ally, but may be just as unpredictable as the small one.
 
We’ve taken to one another’s company for the time being, and quickly found ourselves amidst murder, cultits, and bandits. I don’t believe these are isolated occurrences, but how they’re connected is beyond me. The others know this land much better than I, but they don’t seem to have any definitive answers either. This town’s defenses are less than novice, an overwhelmed sheriff throwing farmhands and children into currents too fast for them to tread.
 
We are to depart North, our aim to thin out the bandits who attack caravans on the road. Sheriff Sask has empowered us to act on his authority, but I only care to safeguard the merchant Dorgo’s travels. While he may not recognize this coin, perhaps his contacts or fellow guild members may.
 
It seems as if we may become involved in some religious matters as well. As I readied myself for rest, zealots of a deity or power named Imix set themselves ablaze and attacked outside of Touris’ tavern. I should ask him why that seemed to be their target, that is rather curious.
 
Rest. After this day’s events, even now, I feel as if I have just awoken. As the others ate, I felt no appetite. The only need I have felt since arriving at this place was the call to cave that cultist’s skull. The Matron’s voice beckoning from the dark once more. Now, a gift? A single feather fallen from the night’s sky. Its mere presence makes me feel…more. It simply makes me feel.
 
Perhaps these writings will help my mind to focus, and reveal what eludes me still. For now, I suppose I should attempt sleep, even if for a short while.
 

 
ᐧ 13th of Flamerule, 1495 DR
 
Well, that was odd.