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Year 120: Flamerule 1

A new chapter of our lives has begun, although it seems we must deal with an old problem. I'd figured we should have someone at the vilage in case of another attack, and besides I have chores to do there. But Marigold insisted that we all go. So here I am, a mile south of Scardale Keep, with the whole crew.

Again, we seek survival for the village, this time, we're looking for a solution to our neighbourhood problem. 'Tries has discovered that the drow have set up wards on their side of the wall, but that the ward is a temporary measure, and in a month it'll expire. He expects a large force to come from the mine at that time, and we don't have the resources to deal with that. Dorian has given us a new map of the local area, and we are on a quest to find allies to help protect the surface world from this threat.

Year 120: Flamerule 5

A new day, and what a weird one that was.

It all started when we moved from the scrublands further south. Fraught with danger we were offered two routes, either travel through the forest where visibility was low, and creatures stalk the trees, or venture out along the barren wastes where magic runs wild and horrid mutated abberations walk the land. Naturally we chose to travel 'twixt both paths, the wastes offering shelter from the creatures of the forest, the forest offering refuge from the creatures of the wastes. We followed the road between the two south with a wary eye for danger.

Mealtimes and camping times, we had elected to move into the forest, to provide some cover from the eyes of hungry predators, and it was on this day where we discovered the lake. Beautiful blue, and crystal clear, the water looked refreshing and calm, until from a pool of ripples there rose a lady clad in a simple shift, serene and beautiful. In her hands she held a beautiful sword, runes in a strange language decorated its surface. She held it out in offering, wordless.

Well, what would you do? I reached out, and tentatively took it from her hands. She smiled gratefully, and suddenly her form turned to water and dropped into the lake. I was so shocked, I stumbled backwards and fell. The sword slipped onto the water behind me, freezing it as it touched the surface. No time to think though, because as I scrambled to my feet, there came a gutteral shout "Ey! There she is! The chosen one! Get her lads!"

Wait, what? Chosen one? Half a dozen orcs poured from the trees towards us, and the battle was joined once again. Chosen one?!? I can't take any more of this! first nightmares, then insistance that I'm a hero, now the chosen one? I threw my hands out to make fire, as I always do when I panic. The nearest orcs were bathed in a holy light. I tried again, and light poured from my hands, searing the nearest orc, and terrifying the rest. It must have been the magic in the area intefering, normally it'd be fire, I'm not some holy chosen one! And then the others piled in and the orcs were defeated. Apart from the one prostrate on the ground, watching me in terror, apologising for having attacked the chosen one. Ayeena adopted the poor thing, who claims to be called Rogash, and we are teaching him to mend his ways and repent of his sins. When we travel he eyes me warily and occasionally makes strange gestures in the air, as if praying.

During the fight we had learnt that the orcs had taken an elf captive, so we set off to rescue him, and ask their shaman more about this prophecy of theirs. "Please let it not be another prophecy that I'm the harbinger of the end of the world" I thought. Please. Rogash took us to the camp, where we engaged the rest of the orcs in combat, they started the fight, really! - and... Argent killed the Shaman before I could find out more about this new destiny I'd seemed to acquire. Now I have a giant magical sword that's too big for me to wield, and an unknown prophecy looming over me, and the horrible feeling that it's all going to come back later to haunt me.

On the plus side, we did manage to rescue the captive elf, by the name of Saryth, he was tall and beautiful, and... not an elf after all.

He was grateful for his rescue, not bawling tears of relief that six heroes had come to save him, just... refined and thankful. He's one of the nomads we've been looking for all along. Their caravan is a beautiful sight, a symbiotic relationship between two creatures. The "people" in the camp are known as "dopplegangers" and their herd is a herd of mimics. Mimics! I'd read about them, but I'd never thought I'd ever see one. Saryth taught us a little of their customs, and yb the time the sun was setting we'd met up with the caravan.