Tarsahk 18, 1480 DR
I can scarcely believe the change that has taken place in my life over these last few tendays. The largest city of Daggerdale seems nothing but a farming hovel when compared to the towering stone of Neverwinter. When I set forth from the Dale for Neverwinter I only sought to see the world and put my blade to use for the goodly folk of this realm. I prayed to Ilmater on the road nightly entreating him to lead me to where I might do the most good.
I could only assume my prayers had been answered when my request to join Adventurer's Anonymous was granted a few days after entering the city. Well, not fully granted. I have been assigned to a party of fellow hopefuls for a test of our resolve and skill. I welcome this challenge to prove that a commoner of Daggerdale can stand shoulder to shoulder with the finest Neverwinter has to offer.
We set off this very day to begin our quest, sailing south along the Sword Coast making for the Shining River and from there on to Daggerford. Adventurer's Anonymous has been receiving reports that a mysterious blight is afflicting the town and they see this as an opportunity both for us to prove our worth as well boost our reputation over that of the Waterdhavian guilds. While I cannot deny the anxious ache in my belly it is outpaced by the excitement I feel in my bones.
I have been less than a month out of Goldshire and it feels that Tymora's wind has been at my back every step. This will be my first time on the sea, but if recent experience is any indication our skies will be clear and our journey swift.
My companions for this journey are a stranger lot than most that passed through Goldshire. The smallest and most talkative of them is Thunderfist Greenbottle, a bard of some fame if his word is to be believed. He carries a strange stringed instrument not dissimilar to a lute he calls a yarting.
In the fellow Genos Desther I find a brother-in-arms. Though his means of fighting are strange to me I cannot deny the man carries himself like a warrior. He says that he comes from an order of monks who follow the god Helm. I know Helm to be a goodly god in the Dales and I welcome his strength on this quest.
The final two members of our fellowship are the most puzzling to me. Both of them are wielders of the Art. The human, Elias Rosecot, is younger than my son and possessed of a wild and uncontrolled type of power. I do not find this a wise combination. The other, Barendd Rumnahein, is a dwarf. He too worships Helm but is blessed in the arcane arts. He seems much more confident and in control of his abilities than the young Elias and I hope he can guide him in matters arcane.
I cannot help but feel the weight of my years in the presence of these young souls. Even Barendd, though likely similar in age to myself has centuries of life ahead of him if what I know of the dwarves is true. I have 43 winters behind me and less than that ahead in all probability. This old fighter still knows a thing or two about staying alive and keeping your wits when blood starts to spill, so ever onward to adventure. These old bones still have a job to do.