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he gray robed figure sat down at his writing desk and cleared away various artefacts and paraphernalia in order to make a little space for his favourite tome, an exquisitely bound journal made from the finest leather hides that can be found at the Lizard Isle. The room was cluttered with many books covered in thick layers of dust and relics that were locked safely away behind glass cabinet doors, each item with its own tale to tell. As the dim flickering light from a single candle cast eerie dancing shadows about the walls the druid took his quill in hand and drawing deeply on the pipe, began to write…

…How I came to be up the tree is unknown to me,
I have no recollection of events leading up to this moment. The first thing I remember is the pain I felt when I landed with an almighty thud on the ground below. I was somewhere near a small port called Lerilin,
the rest I had to figure out for myself…

 

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