Journal of a Riftwalker.
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::Written in a script that seems almost draconic in its form but unintelligible to those who can read such::
It has been about 6 months since my Master sent me here to Narfell to collect as many secrets from the region as I can, and to experiment with my innate Rift channeling abilities. In that time I have managed to find many things I never expected.
A life without him looking over my shoulder at all times, adventure, friends and even family of a sort. Keerla, this cute little young elf, I say cute in the “familial” type of cute and not the “want to bed” kind. She is just a kid, I care about the little runt, like a daughter. Not sure she knows it or not though.
Then there’s Caling, Cal, another cute elf, this time the “other” kind of cute. A Paladin of Sune who has, since discovering my inner “darkness” has made it her mission to bring me back to the “light” or something. I am not sure how I can do that whilst simultaneously wanting to put a giant nail into the brain of Warziver, pious prick.
Warziver, I cannot believe I thought him a possible friend, given how quickly he turned on me after my second trip to the afterlife and his discovering of my “black soul”. I’ve done nothing even remotely evil since arriving in Narfell and yet he condemns me. Surely someone can see the irony in his stance? They have to.
Aoth, intrigues me. She seems to follow a path not unlike my own, yet draws her power from the air and not the rift. Oh, I discovered the rift is referred to the “weave” in these parts. I will have to continue researching to see if that is the case in other parts of the realms.
For now, I shall follow the Path of the Rift, continue as the Monks taught me as that is all I know. Perhaps Caling will succeed and purge the darkness from me, perhaps she won’t. All I know is, I must continue forward and not look back upon the pain, that is until I need to harness it for the rift…
::The pen trails off as if he was interrupted mid-sentence::
