Sairona

It started quite a while back now. Ever since I decided to go to Towerglan after I got shot.
Silver was kind enough back then to offer me a safe place to rest, heal and regain strength. She helped me with my wound and kept me warm and well fed. I owe her much due to this kindness.
Untrusting as she may be.....

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible. This entry is written with a noticeable amount of introspection and jumbled thoughts piled one over the other, as if the author's feelings were very much in disarray.

As I sit here beneath this tree, staring out at this desolate place above the Trestlepan, I can only wonder on the nature of fate itself once more.

What a turbulent few days, these past moments have been.

After Nethdir left to sneak a glance at this woman's pack, I was able to observe the woman who called herself "Silver." She didn't seem like the kind to harm others, but her optimistic attitude made me recoil. No one should be that pleased. It doesn't help that she keeps calling us "Dear." Yuck.

Nothing in life is free. You ask for a tale and I will tell it... for a price. The price, of course, depends upon which tale you wish to hear.

How did I become a Treasure Hunter?

Well, that is an expensive story indeed. No, no coins. I've no interest in taking your money from you; I've something altogether more amusing in mind. Do you still want to know? Are you sure that you're willing to pay what I ask?

Very well.

Ah, the smell of a new book. I promised myself that I would not get caught up in this again. Yet, here I am. Pen and ink to hand, there is little else to do at this hour.

Well, another day. Another deal done. I did not anticipate my stay would last this long, The Captain in Trestlebridge was more than willing to strike up a business deal.

The local whores were hard to miss, there was a time I would not have shunned a night of comfort.

Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all.

Seems I've spent too often, in recent months, shedding tears and willingly letting my mind shatter, for what was never anything else other than a dead end. Oh, how could I be so foolish. I was better than this. I am better than this. So why am I crying right now? Where is there still tears lining my bruised cheeks.