Some people are born lucky, others are lucky to be born. I was neither. I lived in a small village with my parents. We were neither rich nor poor, but we were happy. My mother was a kind woman and my father taught me to be curious and open-minded. One day, a fire broke out in the village. Houses burned and blazed while everybody tried to flee in panic.

Unfortunately not everyone was able to get out in time. At that time I was still young, and couldn't remember their names or faces. After the victims of the fire were laid to rest, I was sent to live with my relatives on both sides of my family. Some were cold, some were kind, but most of them were the former. I was not their child, so how could I expect them to show the same kind of love my parents gave me? To them I was not a lovely child, a charming child, or a cheerful child. I was quiet and sullen, swam in ponds, caught beetles and bugs, and played with fallen branches.

I could see their disdain and distaste in their eyes and the way they spoke to me. To them I was a nuisance, just another mouth to feed. When a vase broke or a something spilled, I always happened to be nearby, and naturally they blamed me. I had a knack for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and eventually they associated my presence with misfortune. When finally grew tired of me, they would push me into the hands of another family who was just as unwilling to take me in.

In the spring of my tenth year, I moved for the fourth time to another set of distant relatives. They lived in the city, and by regulation all children above the age of five were required to attend the local school. The city was a relatively wealthy one, so they would teach the students how to use magic in addition to learning numbers and letters. When I transferred in, a quarter of the school year had already passed, and I was several steps behind in making new friends. By then the students already knew each other, leaving me the odd one out.

Although the isolation was difficult, the worst was yet to come. Months after I began attending, the teachers of the school organized a test for all the students to measure their magical aptitude. Most students did well in at least one or two areas, but I by some divine farce–failed every single one. I could not conjure a flame in my hand, I could not magically move objects, I could not even use magic to create a defensive shield. When the scores were posted I had the lowest score in the entire school, and everyone knew it.

This was when I started being bullied. First it was crumpled paper notes in class. Then it was dirt and worms on my desk. Eventually it came to throwing pebbles and sticks at me, until one of the better students in class got an idea. Instead of stones, he started throwing fireballs at me. I shielded my face with my arms and tried to run, but they kept hitting me. I could feel the flames scalding my arms and legs, and I clenched my teeth to keep myself from screaming. Finally the pain stopped when I heard the voice of a teacher yelling and coming closer to me.

He scolded the group of students who had thrown stones at me fiercely, and was especially angry at the one who burned my arms and legs. My mind was completely blank when the teacher came over and I couldn't speak when he asked me if I was alright. I was sent to the infirmary to recover, and all the students who were involved in bullying me were suspended. By some miracle, instead of my skin being scorched I only had a mild pinkish rash that stung all over where I had been hit. After I recovered from my injuries, I decided to leave.

When I look back I sometimes wonder if things would have been different if I had stayed, but would that have changed anything?
People would still avoid me, perhaps no longer bully me, though there were always more discreet methods. The children who were suspended wouldn't have a better opinion of me after what happened. In the end, I concluded that nothing would have changed. I would have continued living in the same situation as before, and I have no regrets on my decision.

When I ran away into the forest, I had no idea where I was going or what I planned to do. I had taken a small knife to carve things and for self-defense, but I only had the clothes on my back. I knew how to survive, to some extent on my own but I wouldn't have lasted long if I had not met the person who became a second mother to me. Her name was Unna, a female mountain troll who made her home in a cave in the side of a mountain. As I was climbing trees, one of the branches broke beneath me and I tumbled into a clearing where the troll-mother was gathering berries. We both startled each other, though I was more scared of her than she was of me. Seeing a human child all alone, she took pity on me and tried to calm me. She asked my name, where I lived, and if I had any family. I answered her questions, but on the last one I told her I had no parents and no family. She then asked me if my parents had any family members and I said yes, but they did not care for me. When I talked with Unna about our first encounter, she told me that she had planned to bring me back to my home and thought I had lost my way in the woods. But after hearing my answer, she decided to take me in as her own.

She brought me back to the cave she made as her abode and I was introduced to her two sons, Erra and Agur. Unna always called me  a 'wee little beastie', since I was so small. Even when I grew taller I was only half of her height. I learned to fish and forage from Erra and Agur, which berries to pick, when they were ripe, and how to stay safe in the forest. Eventually I met other magical creatures and I had made many friends. My first lessons in learning to use my wits was from an eccentric fae. He saw me as a foolish human child, but saw I had potential. He trained me using puzzles and mind games with difficult requirements and limitations, but through years of practice I was able to matching turn for turn. From him I learned the harsh realities of life and important life lessons. Not all magical beings were benign or friendly, and those willing to teach or aid humans without asking for anything of critical value in return were incredibly rare. Soon I knew all the hidden nooks and crannies of the forest, and bid my friends goodbye to learn more about the human world I had left behind. Using the skills I learned from my friends and adoptive family, I lived doing odd jobs in the city. Every now and then I would go back to visit the forest whenever I grew homesick, and life was peaceful. Unfortunately misfortune found its way to me again when rumors of enemy spies and traitors began to sweep through kingdom.

Fear and suspicion are contagious. Once enough people believe in a falsehood, panic ensues. Like a single spark from a match that falls into a pool of oil, it ignites and spreads like wildfire. I don't know if there truly were spies within the kingdom's borders, but when relations between a neighboring principality turned sour people were quick to see traitors in every shadow. Soon the political bent of the hysteria changed to a religious one, and those accused of treason were now called heretics. I suppose the word 'traitor' had less weight and impact than the latter, and made it easier for the council of the magi to make the masses believe it. 

The council of the magi in another person's eyes would have been seen as learned men who sought the best for the kingdom. However in mine they showed themselves to be petty, narrow-sighted, and cruel. Even the wisest elders are not immune to fear when they perceive themselves as being personally threatened. My status as a social pariah drew a red target on my back, and city guards started coming after me when I came into their sights. I've lost count how many times I've had to start running when someone informed the guards even when I had just walked through the city gates moments earlier. At first I thought they had mistaken me for a thief, and I attempted to reason with them. But once they tried to shackle me without a second thought I knew something was wrong.

Eventually they caught me, and I was taken before the council for questioning. It was more of an interrogation session than a trial, consisting of the council's tirades on why I was labelled a heretic. I denied the claims and instead they sent me to the gallows. I managed to escape when they weren't looking thanks to a blade hidden in my sleeve, but this pattern of capture and execution continued until they brought out the ultimatum. Up until now I had managed to dodge death thanks to the help of my friends and my own abilities, but this would be the last time. Realizing that they would never rest until they had a suitable scapegoat to blame, I instructed my friends and family to keep themselves hidden and not come to my aid. The council was under the impression that I had otherworldly powers and wanted to root out the source, though that was all just a grand delusion. I was captured again, but instead of the gallows or the guillotine I saw a freshly dug pit before me. Unable to resist, I was thrown into a wooden coffin which had the lid held down by soldiers as they put the nails in.

As I felt them carry the coffin over to the open grave, I finally understood the full extent of their intentions. By burying me alive, they would in turn bury their fears with me. 

I died once, or should have died. When the coffin I was trapped in hit the bottom of the open grave I thought it was over for me. Unlike most graves, they made sure to dig twice as deep. As the dirt started piling on the lid, my heart sank as my chances of escape became narrower with every toss of the shovel. My arms fell to my sides as any attempts to break open the wooden planks seemed futile. I vainly wished that someone, anything would save me. The faces of my friends and family flashed before my eyes. I dared not imagine how heartbroken they would be once they learned of my fate, and what terrible pain my death would cause.

'If only I could escape, if only I could be anywhere but here.' 

I wished with all my heart, and by providence or divine intervention–it was granted. I felt the coffin shift around me followed by a strong sensation of falling. As the coffin crashed against the ground, the splintering of the wood told me I was free. This is my story, and how I came to enter the land known as Canelux. Perhaps I'll elaborate on other events in my life back before I was transported into this world. Though if you want to hear another story, you'll have to pay with your eyes and ears. Giving your time and attention when listening to someone is a mandatory base fee.

Upon entering the den of thieves I later learned was called 'Vilpamolan', my senses were muddled and distorted. My sight, my hearing, my sense of smell, even my ability to sense the presences of others were dulled. Fortunately with time I regained my footing and my faculties, and have replaced the items I had lost before being sent to my execution. The experience of having one's senses dimmed was awful–as if I deaf, blind, and senseless. This must be what death feels like, and I hope to never feel that way ever again.

The sharpness of my sight and hearing were the first to return to me. Perhaps crossing into another world does something to the mind and body until one adapts to the new environment. The gap in sensitivity before I adjusted was large enough that when my eyes and ears corrected themselves they became inundated with sounds and images. I remembered why I tried to avoid large towns back home; compared to the mountains and forests they were so noisy. Imagine walking into a marketplace and having all the vendors in there hawking their wares at once, right next to your ears. Yes, that's what it feels like whenever I walk down a busy street and listen to the idle chatter of nosy housewives and garrulous aristocrats. Nobody wants to hear about your dirty laundry no matter how interesting you think it is. No I don't care about how much money you just made in your last business expenditure or what you saw your friend's wife wearing last week at a party. It's because of all this babbling nonsense that I learned to tune things out once I started working odd jobs around the towns and cities.

Once my senses were in working order, I discovered that a few skills that I previously had don't quite work like they used to. I am unable to reverse the flow of time on objects or cause them to degrade, but I can still open locks and disarm traps unprotected by enchantment. But for some reason, I can now magically create food out of thin air. I have no idea if this actually creates food or if it merely teleports already existing food from another location, but it did have taste and texture when I ate it. I've saved a small bit of bread to see if it'll mold if I leave it out long enough, to see if it's the real thing. Once I have a better understanding of the law of the land I'll get myself a map. If I'm going to be living in this world for a while, then it's high time I've familiarized myself with names and places. The rest of the details I can get from asking around, which won't take long. 

I never thought I'd see the day when I'd come to hate forests, but it seems today is that day. What I assumed to be a few days' trek through the nearby woodlands turned into a constant struggle to keep my head on my shoulders. Apparently the person who helped me leave Vilpamolan–which is far too long of a name for any city, didn't know any more about the area around the port than I did. If I'd known that the forest was a walking death-trap I would've tried to find another way around. Well I'm alive, and that's what matters. How many times have I almost died already? Two? No, three. There was that troll that nearly spotted me, almost forgot about that. Anyways, I was nearly trapped in that accursed forest for who knows how long until I accidentally sat down on some moss. If it weren't for that, I'd still be wandering in circles until my legs gave out or some monster passed by.

While I was in there a warg attacked me. Or maybe it was just a really large wolf, I'm not sure. When it pounced on me from behind I thought I was done for, but good thing I had that buckler on my back. I was sure I was going to die right then and there, but somehow I managed to kill the thing even when it had a preemptive strike on me. I came out a bloody mess, but I didn't have any bites or scratches on me. I guess I could call myself lucky, but then I'd have to count getting lost in the enchanted woods on luck too. Took a few things from the beast should I stumble upon anyone interested in buying them off me for some coin. With my dagger I skinned the hide whole, save for the head and paws. I washed the skin and baked it dry over a fire, but it still smells. Before setting off the next morning, I pulled out all of its teeth and claws for good measure. If I can't sell them, I'll just use them for something else. I didn't bother with the bones or meat. It probably has parasites or worms for all I know.

I'm still on my way to Adeluna City. Now that I'm out of the woods travelling should be easier, but with my luck who knows what'll happen. But one thing I know for sure, I never want to see another enchanted forest ever again…or at least for a while.

I've gotten lost, again. I know I made a wrong turn somewhere and I know exactly why. It was that accursed goatherd whom I asked for directions. The dunderhead didn't tell me that if I made the turn too early I'd end up somewhere entirely different! Now thanks to his poorly worded directions, I've ended up in a swamp. And a graveyard of a swamp no less. That's the last time I'll ever ask directions from a goatherd ever again. I was just about to retrace my steps when I met someone in the midst of the graves. Fortunately for me, it wasn't the newly-risen dead and she seemed helpful enough. She said her name was 'Angela', and I could tell she knew her way around danger to keep her head on her shoulders. If that isn't serendipitous, then I don't know what is. After sorting out my current location, she offered to travel with me to Adeluna. It so happened she was going the same way. 

If things keep going on like this, I'd say there's a good chance I'll make it to the city in one piece. Then the real challenge begins…people. Animals are easy to understand. They have simple desires and simple needs. People, not so much. They don't always do things because they need to, and that is what makes them so troublesome to deal with. They are illogical, as a scholar would put it, and that only leads to headaches. I don't plan to stay in Adeluna long. Once I have a basic understanding of the city I'll start looking for work. There should be plenty of jobs where I'd meet their requirements, and preferably ones without pesky strings attached. If all else fails, I'll just advertise myself as a courier. 

This will be the fifth time I've tried putting pen to paper in the last few days. Every time I sat down with a quill in hand, either I could not bring myself to write or the words didn't come. I scrawl these words out through clenched teeth with cold sweat dripping from the back of my neck. When I was sent from my world into this one, it seems the change caused me to temporarily lose more than just my abilities. My carefree days of blissful ignorance are over, and what I unknowingly left behind has finally caught up with me. Have you ever had the feeling that there was something wrong with the world? That somehow, somewhere–something wasn't right? That things are not how they should be, and that an incomprehensible danger lies beneath the surface of the day-to-day civilities? On the outside everything is normal, but there are those lingering misgivings that whisper of things disquieting to the soul. Your attention is drawn to something innocuously commonplace, only for you to recall it in a different manner the next time around. Those feelings slowly gnaw at you, ever so subtly. You may assure yourself that it's nothing, but you feel as if a lead weight sits at the bottom of your stomach. No matter how you try, you can't fool yourself into believing because deep down, you know it isn't true.

They have returned. Those old, half-forgotten memories of sorrow and grief have come back to me. Memories which are not my own, and did not belong to me. As every fiber of my being screams in agony, I relive the suffering of a dozen lifetimes again and again. And slowly but surely, my mind and body remember. The bitter poison that burns within my veins is known by many names: regret, resentment, despair, outrage. However its true identity is far more simple–pain. These slings and arrows of misfortune I have taken upon myself are done out of my own true will, not by chance or coercion. A visit to Egjora, the duchy of the south sea was the trigger for its untimely return. Regardless of the why and therefore, this was bound to happen sooner or later. Now everything that I once had has come back to me, will I take up that mask again? The thought is tempting, but it's time to take a long, hard look in the mirror and reevaluate its true value. This'll be as far as I can go for today; it hurts too much to think straight. I have heard of a place where the troubled can find peace. Once I cross the ocean to the next continent, I will seek guidance there.

So many things have happened, one after the other. Time after time I am reminded of why I couldn't stay around humans for long, and how terrifying it is when the world lies in the palms of beings who see it as a plaything. First the freezing blizzard, then the accursed madness of blood. Day after day I tossed and turned unable to sleep as I heard the cries of desperation from people's hearts. When the cold snap of winter came in the heat of summer, I left to the frozen south to find the source. When I went in the vault, I thought it was just an ordinary crypt like the ones where ancient rulers laid their treasures and bones. But there was something insidious and infectious in the air that drove men out of their minds with greed. I could feel it too, but had always kept my reason for coming in my thoughts. In the end, gold and jewels only have value because someone assigned it to them. What use is silver when you are dead?

I don't know if anything I did helped put it to an end. I was just happy it was over. Finally things could be normal again, and I'd no longer hear the voices of people's hearts. Coming back I felt empty somehow, like something had been taken from me. The voices were quieter, but inside I felt numb. There's a portion of my memory of the time I spent there that's missing. Was it important? I can't remember. The vault's sorcery must have been worse than I thought. My jobs started to come in again as people needed somebody to help bring supplies to the hardest hit areas from the early frost. Things were back on the road to recovery, or that's what I thought. As I was spending more time abroad and less time in Adeluna, it took a while until I caught wind of some new shop in the city. People were already talking about it in the Winking Mermaid, saying there was this new 'wonder elixir' being sold there. I didn't pay much attention aside from that. I thought it was one of those snake oil salesmen again, selling some mix of laudanum and alcohol with essential oils dripped in. Fads like those petered out in a month or two.

That didn't happen. Whatever was in it was strongly addictive, and people who had tried it were coming back for more. I remember passing the street where the new apothecary shop had opened, and saw crowds of people trying to get in for their next vial. I wondered why nobody was trying to shut the place down after seeing this. Wasn't selling substances like this illegal? It all came to a head within a week when reports of people being attacked were circulating the news. Attacks were happening in broad daylight, at random no less. It wasn't safe to walk the streets anymore. But I didn't realize how bad it was until I saw it happen right in front of me. One of the addicts lunged at a man like he was possessed, filled with hate. Not even the undead were so brutal, and even berserkers had more restraint. I alerted the guards over immediately, and tried to give the victim a swig from a healing potion. That was the final straw that pushed me to take action.

Eventually the goddess of death decided to remove the effects of the vials in the end. But I can't help but feel angry at those who drank them in the first place. I heard the first tries gave the users extreme euphoria, but everyone knows you don't get something for nothing. There's no magic cure that grants happiness. As much as it would be nice if it really did exist…

Have I forgotten the lessons Marhaven and the kingdom have taught me? If so, then I must have forgotten those the fair folk gave me too. I had made the mistake which I so carefully sought to avoid for years, and have paid a heavy price for it. I shouldn't have trusted humans, even though I am human too. The one who lied to me was not human, but I should have known better since he was once a mortal man himself. With the twisting of my requests he mocked me, and heaped upon my head humiliation. My principles were laughable, my standards a joke. He promised to help me, all the while knowing his so-called help was nothing like what I had wanted. I was a fool.

'You should have known better.' Those are the words which repeat themselves to me again and again. Yes, I should have but I ignored the truth when it was in plain sight. I can still hear the shrieks and screams of terror and anguish of that hateful night. The bitter gall of a cruel betrayal of trust is still in my mouth. The pain, is beyond me. I feel the sting when I am alone, when I close my eyes. Accusations assail me as the fragments I swallowed question the choice I made that night. They are right, I am wrong. And for the first time, they speak in unison. What I should have done, was to meld in with the shadows while returning from my job. Then I wouldn't have been kidnapped and bound, and wouldn't have crossed paths with that man. Even now his voice makes my heart burn with anger. Knowingly, intentionally–he made a mockery of me to suit his own ends. That is a slight which I will not forget, not as long as I draw breath on this earth.

Logan Blackwood, servant of Death–mark my words. From this day forward I will avenge any transgressions made against me with my own hands, and not through the hands of another! Misfortune and fate be cursed; if one wants something done right–they must do it themselves. I will bring about retribution in my own way, with my own methods. My vision of vengeance will not be the same as yours.

If the world laughs at me and sees me as a fool, then let them laugh. Then I'll be the fool who dared to dream of another way outside of what world wants me to believe. The slings and arrows which it has hurled against me I will use as my own to destroy all machinations that stand in my way. Though that leech hath made me stumble, I will stand up and rise again.