Being that these may be the last words I ever write, I feel it prudent to start at the beginning. My name is Soetheby. I have been writing for as long as I can remember, despite my father’s wishes. He wanted me to join the military and become a proper man. It’s not that he has an issue with writers, so to speak, it’s more of an issue with his son being a writer. He always felt that his heir should be strong and bold. I guess he got his wish anyway. I’m by no means a strong man, but I do fancy myself bold. The years that I trained to hone my fighting skills taught me to stand up to even the toughest obstacles.
It was during these years, trying to be the man my father wanted, that I met a man who was very proficient with all manner of ranged weapons. He called himself a freelancer, though I suspect that was code for assassin. I watched him practice for hours one day, oblivious to the world. Eventually I asked him how long it had taken him to master his chosen weapons. He just chuckled and handed me his bow. He explained that with the right teacher one could master any weapon in a matter of weeks.
And so I traveled with him, learning how to shoot a bow properly and how to throw a knife with deadly precision. I followed him for nearly a year as he searched for work he deemed “respectable”. When he finally found work, he demanded that we part ways. I went home after that and began writing again, using my experiences as inspiration for my novels. But I have to say, I owe that man my life. While he never directly saved me from anything, his teachings kept from dying more times than I can count.
Recently I have hit a patch of writer’s block and begun adventuring in an effort to gain some more inspiration. While I have lost many of my throwing knives over the months since I started, they have all hit their mark. All manner of creatures and men have attacked me for one reason or another, but my knives have usually been enough to at least scare them away. They are also very fun to hunt with.
But all of that is in the past, and I’m finding it difficult to focus on the past as of late. A few weeks ago I began having strange dreams of a woman cloaked in the feathers of a crow, telling me to go to the circle… and wait for an opportunity to present itself. As odd as that sounds, it fit nicely into my plans to reasearch Kinloch Hold. So I made my way there in hopes of finding that which I sought; ancient manuscripts detailing the building of the tower. It was there, as I was trying to convince a rather gruff Knight-Commander to allow me access to the basement, that I ran into the group I am currently traveling with.
It was a strange group to be sure, but they seemed harmless enough at first, so I remained civil as I tried to think of an alternate plan into the basement. And it was then that the true adventure began. An adventure that is becoming more dangerous as the hours pass. But I have promised to see it through to the end, so I have begun chronicling my travels in an effort to keep sane throughout the duration… We’ll see how that goes.