To whosoever reads this after I have relinquished the quill; the pages ripped out prior to this one were of no importance. They were but minor notes regarding a ritual that’s been weighing in my mind of late. I felt it important today to begin a new tome and this azure bound doeskin is the best I currently own. The following is the correct first entry – do not mourn the pages I removed as the contents will appear again in other works.
Donnet, Summer (OOC: ? what season is it?)
The strands of fate I have been sought to pick up have today verged of their own volition. While engaged in melancholy self meditation, my journey took me near to the place in a previous life I called home. Some buried sense of nearly forgotten filial duty led me up the steps of my father’s lighthouse during a rising storm to light the way for those who would need it. In the beam of that light, I saw one set of fate’s strands form the Sigil of Orothras wrought with five threads.
My own thread has rewoven with a strand I had nearly forgotten. A childhood friend, Lianca of partial elven heritage, has resurfaced. We share a bond of familial and childhood memory. Three new strands join the weave; Crow – a woodsman and archer of some skill of my father’s homeland, the World Walker of whom other references in other works can easily be found in greater depth, and Hadjara Bahur, a royal of the desert realm.
No random event can force such varied backgrounds, blood, talents, and birthrights together – no, I sense the Mark of Orothras – the arcane rune of manipulated fate is firmly on us now. In the surrounding threads are mighty forces that can bring to bear dragons, leviathans (a black one at that), secret societies and their agents, magic of the darkest and highest order, and even the undead. I cannot yet make out the weave of the tapestry from the single knot before my eyes. May Ioun give me the clarity of thought to see the pattern sooner rather than later.