Journal 0.1.1

I am alive and as well as can be expected. Only three days ago, I was as good as dead. When counting down hours instead of days until the Blood Moon, you are only truly safe if you are unseen, unheard, and have a solid locked door between you and any movable terrain. When the dead rise they are countless in number and terrifying to behold. Thankfully, as I kept a frantic pace through a mountain valley, I saw a red and white building, perched into the cliff face some hundreds of feet up. Following the steep road, I asked for entrance and the monks there took me in. They are as nice as I have been told they are, and equally disciplined. Even with the light of the blood moon casting it's murk on the courtyard, business continued as usual, some initiates even meditating throughout the night. For some reason that I cannot pinpoint, this location also seems right. The feeling I've had ever since the voice spoke to me is stronger than ever in this area. The mountains and valleys call out in old chants and for some reason, my ears are open to them. I still haven't told the monks it's my birthday. I don't think I ever will.