The Red Wizard

I used to think of magic as a useful tool. It can aid in healing like a doctor's forceps. It can aid in combat like a sword. Magic was as basic a part of my reality as gravity or the weather. In our quest to investigate the plight of Moldavia, we learned that Thayan red wizards were involved. Even given my proclivity for study, I was not aware how deadly an encounter with such a character could be.
 
It turns out I have been holding on to some falsehoods about magic users, and by extension, life in Faerun. I have felt a kinship with the mystically inclined because they also tend to give themselves to their studies. My ring-bound companion is the perfect example. It seems as though he elects to read whenever he has free time. The main thing that separates me from true students of the arcane is my motivation for gaining knowledge. I do it out of a desire to rise above the rabble of the Field Ward and help the common people. In the case of wizards, warlocks, sorcerers, and other wielders of the craft, (even if their intentions are pure) it seems as though they are motivated by power.
 
We encountered a red wizard of Thay in our attempt to seal the gates of the city. The power he wielded was unlike any I had ever seen. I watched companion after companion fall, tossed asunder by an uncanny elemental fury. He cast spells. He flew. He shrugged of mortal wounds as if they were nothing. When it seemed as though the day was lost, I considered fleeing for my life. Our luck is bound to run out, eventually. Before I did, I took a shot at the wizard. It seemed like a waste not to when I considered how much my companions had sacrificed in the fight. The shot struck true. The bolt lodged itself into the wizard's skull. The wizard fell at last.
 
As of this writing, we have taken refuge at a Harpers' sanctuary beneath an alchemist's shop. It seems safe here, but this place will only provide momentary respite from the hordes of the dead waiting outside. I dread to think on what we may face tomorrow. The items we pilfered from the dead wizard may help, but if we come across even more wizards of Thay, we will not survive.
 
Perhaps I should think on the good things in life. It wouldn't do for the morale of the group to see me so worried all the time.
 
 
[Below the main journal entry, there is a post script written in Elvish. The characters are sloppy. The grammar is basic.]
 
Things seem different. Did something change? It feels like the gods fucked with reality. I have a wealth of memories that seem false, now. Some of my companions seem like they changed suddenly. Was it the gutbuster? I should talk to someone about this. I will not, though. They would think I am insane.