Reflections

The Journal of Vannel – First Entry

I sit in the dark recess of a stairwell as I write this. Perhaps not the best time to start keeping a journal, but I get the feeling that I’ll want a record of the things we see from here on out. My crystal is my navigator, lending me its sense of where the paper lies. The consciousness it holds is waxing with each new power I learn. I should really start thinking of a name for it.

It’s been almost a week since I joined with these adventurers. It’s been almost like dead water getting to know one another. Everyone keeps their own course, for the most part, except for when we have to fight. I don’t even know how they met or for what purpose they have taken to a life of combat and questing. That isn’t a complaint, mind you, since there are things I’m not looking forward to sharing about myself, if it comes to that. At least they all aren’t landlubbers. The two Aventi and the aquatic half-elf remind me of days on deck, except that they don’t need a ship to travel the ocean. Maybe one day I’ll get to see that world of theirs…

Speaking of the half-elf, she’s an interesting lass. She talks of the ocean with the same longing as I do. Sure, the water-folk love the sea, but they hardly know anything else. We also tend to wind up fighting together; she with her bow and lightning bolts, and me with my crossbow and energy rays. She’s a fine sight, too, especially when the wind catches those silver-white locks.

Still, for red hair…

It was her wits that got us past the statue. Winds favor us, I’m glad she remembered our stones. I’m ashamed to say that I was more concerned with what little manifesting I had left in me. We decided to rest here, though, since we’d already had two battles. The last one was with a reduced force, at that. Someone needs to to speak with those two Aventi about drinks that look like water but aren’t.

Still, we made it through. I think Dinky might have teared up a little at the condition the box was in. Saved us a lot of hurtin’, though. Mac has me worried. He seemed out of sorts afterward. I suppose he could have been self-conscious after the tussle Dinky and he had before the fight, but he doesn’t seem the type to worry over such things. What got into those two, anyway? I suspect it had something to do with that liquid. The less we’re around it, the better.

This whole place makes me wonder. We’re supposed to be looking for a woman and her brother’s boat, but all we’ve found is strange ruins in a cave and a pool of dark, foul liquid.

Mark me, I’m going to have some questions when we get out of here.

Reflections

The Life Aquatic, or Not wmccain