Lissilana's journal

I can't begin to write what emotions and thoughts are haunting me.
He's missing, and I can't find him.
Why did I let him convince me that I didn't bring bad luck to those I love.

Yes. Love. Why did I never tell him? Will I ever?

It has been..so long since last I wrote.
I do not wish to recall events which led me here, back to Bree. I am no longer with the Order of the Seven. I believe all of them are dead now. I saw with my own eyes that some certainly were killed. Eskleth died fo

I will not recall these things. No. I do not wish to record them. I will only record some of what came to pass.

Every bit of my sense of safety is now being sucked up into an endless cyclone. One of my companions, Gaeros, has been poisoned. Though admittedly it was his own foolish actions which led to it. I mean, who accepts wine from a strange man in the woods? Sarnai was with him and did not accept the wine.

So, here I sit in Esteldin...the furthest I have been from home. Nothing to do but cook, sit around, practice swordplay, sing to myself. I can talk to some of my companions, but overall I've not many people to talk to. Though, I did have the opportunity to speak to Sir Voice again! He was here in Esteldin! He sneaked up behind me and made a noise like a dying chicken as I stood making supper. He frightened me and I dropped my spoon in the flames, for which he immediately apologized.

(OOC Note: Some mundane diary entries have little importance, so the numbers might skip around in her diary a bit.)

I was surprised to find myself with the desire to write my own story, rather than my fictional stories, for a change. Even more surprised to see how long it has been since last I wrote. Though, my reason for not doing such, is a good one. Ugh!

What a terrible time to become ill! Sores across my hands and my feet and all along my mouth. Ashwyneth said it was typically a child's disease, quite contagious, and told me to remain apart from folk if I could. Imagine my surprise, when I am no longer ill, to visit my dear friend Owena and find her gone!

Such a waste of precious time, to write in a book of my own, dull life! How should I even begin? It is not as if this were one of my imagined stories, so I cannot even make a decent sounding beginning! Perhaps I could start with "My dear Journal", but everyone does that and it is not as though I were friends with my journal. I will settle for no beginning, for the time being.