In the year 112 AS (After the Separation), I, Lady Fiona of Tithispan begin this journal.

 

Orspa 5, 112 AS

I had the dream again tonight. It's the same as it always is. I gasp as I inhale the black smoke that clouds my vision. A small hand tugs at mine. I look down to see my younger sister, Jenia, tugging on me. Her eyes are wide and full of fear. I realize that our house is burning, and I stumble out of my bed. I grasp Jenia close, and I pull the both of us to the floor. I look for a possible escape. My eyes go to the window above my bed. I cringe as I see the bars that had been put in by my father when the red gnomes began raiding in our province. My eyes move to the left, past Jenia's bed, to the door. I begin to crawl in that direction, clinging to Jenia's hand. As we enter the hallway, a wave of heat sears my face. The fire is raging towards my right...towards my parents' and my little brother's rooms. We slither along on our bellys to the left. Jenia coughs and wheezes as she struggles to breathe through the thick veil that hangs in the air. Timbers fall around us. One lands on Jenia's nightgown. The gown catches fire, and I quickly pull her out of it. We round the corner of the hall, and flames are suddenly in front of us, and they are traveling quickly. I see the front door, just in front of the wall of flickering fire. I swiftly grab Jenia, stand up, and run towards the door. I feel the heat braising my skin as I run past its groping fingers. As soon as I exit the house, I breathed a lungful of cool night air. Then I look around me. Visions of red and orange are on every side. The entire village is aflame. Still holding Jenia, I glance around for my parents and my brother, Weston. I don't see them anywhere. I hear a loud groan, and I watch as the roof of my house collapses in on itself. I scream and the fear and anguish in my voice brings Jenia to tears. I run away from my house. I run away from the flaming death consuming my village. I run away from the pain that will inevitably follow. I run until my legs collapse and the fire is nothing more than a speck of smoke on the horizon. I put my sister down, I crawl up on the moss, and I cry myself to sleep.

The dreams have been coming more frequently of late. That is probably because it is nearing the ten year anniversary of that horrid event. My mother, my father, my friends...they all died in that fire. And Weston! He was just a baby...only 2 years old. I will never again see his bright greens eyes or his crooked grin. I know who is responsible for their untimely deaths. I found out, after years of inquiry, and I have been hunting him ever since. It was a long journey to get where I am now. After the fire, Jenia and I had no place to go...no family or friends to take us in, since they all perished in the fire. Only a handful of people survived, and they all scattered and went their separate ways. The village that I called home for most of my life existed only in memory.

Not one day passed in which I did not think about the fire. People in the area talked about it...and were frightened. The fire was not an accident. every single buidling burned to the ground. I went back to the ruins of the village the night after the fire, and found some curious items. Arrows. Fire Arrows. Some had fallen short of their destinations, and snuffed themselves in the ground. I collected a few of them and vowed to find out who they belonged to, and to punish them for their despicable deed.

I managed to find a job at a tavern in a nearby town. I detested it. I was required to wear a tiny blue and yellow frock with a matching apron. The men who frequented the place were dirty and smelly, and oftentimes overly touchy, but the money was decent, and the owner let my sister and I sleep in the attic. We stayed there for several years while I stored up my tip money. Through the many unsavory characters that I came into contact with at the tavern, I began to get a feel for the underground side of society. I learned that one could buy and sell information--and I began to do just that. I used my earnings to make inquiries about the fire, and who caused it. I met an arms dealer and paid him to find out the origin of the arrows. It was expensive, but worth it. He said they were gnomish, and almost certainly created by the nomadic red gnomes that meandered through our province.

The next step in my search for justice began when I came across a wondefully unscrupulous man named Iskir. I overheard him talking about gnome raids one evening, and I asked him what he knew about red gnomes and their destructive habits. He grinned at my curiousity, and said he would tell me everything knew as long as I could pay for it...in one way or another. At first I began paying in cash. He told me about the gnomes, how they were organized, who the main leaders were. After a while, he began to run out of things to say, and couldnn't afford to pay him to make special inquiries for me. So, instead, I began performing favors of a sort. He would leave information for me to pass along to other customers who passed through in exchange for him "keeping an ear open" about the gnome raids in the area, and their possible connection with my village's destruction. In those years, I learned a lot about the world and a lot about gnomes. I also made a lot of money. Iskir trusted me, and referred my services to other people, who were willing to pay handsomely for a trustworthy go-between whom no one would ever suspect of shady dealings.

Finally, Iskir managed to find the information I desired. He had come into contact with a gnome scholar who matched the gnomish symbols on the arrows I had found to a particular faction of gnomes led by Usukundi. That was the good news. The bad news was that Usukundi was a red gnome of the nastiest sort. He enjoyed death and destruction to an incredible degree. He had a large army of followers, who were convinced they could overtake the province and bring about a gnome revolution. They intended to eliminate all humans and convert the province into one that was exclusively occupied and ruled by red gnomes. It was madness, and I was mad if I didn't stay away from him.

I was extremely frightened by this information, but in my mind, I could not let go. I couldn't let this gnomish revolution escalate. I couldn't stand by and watch as others underwent the same kind of suffering I had been subject to. I collected my money, my sister, my belongings, and moved to Nesfear to study the art of war.

I moved to Nesfear in the summer of my 18th year. Jenia was ten. We were both ready for a change from life at the Tavern. However, the change that Nesfear provided was not quite what we expected. Nesfear was a dreaful place. It was mostly populated by thieves and spies...those shady characters whom would later become my closest friends. We had a difficult adjustment to make. We had it easy at the tavern. We had warm beds and warm food provided for us, Jenia was close friends with the local blacksmith's children, and I had a good steady income. Nesfear challenged us. We arrived in the town by wagon. Iskir had found a friend to give us a ride...for a small fee, of course. The first night, we slept in a cheap inn. The rooms were cold, the food was stale, and the basins were dirty. However, it was preferable to camping outside alone in the woods, and I was trying to manage my funds carefully since I as yet had no job, and in this town, information always had a price. Iskir had given me a list of people whom I should contact for an apprenticeship as a weapon's expert. The first name on the list was Beliston. He took one look at me, laughed, and shut his door. The next man was slightly more cordial. He at least invited me in and allowed me to voice my reason for wanting the apprenticeship. However, he did not grant it to me. He already had his hands full with two other apprentices. At this point, I was only slightly discouraged. I still had hope that someone would take me on. The third name on the list, Craspit, was an ugly, dirty, scroungy old man who smelled of ale and unwashed bodies. He had a small business in the weapon's industry, and said he could use some extra help. He said he would "think about it" and that I should come back in a week to ask for his decision.

 

I’m not usually a patient person, but I somehow managed to wait the designated week.  I took the week to familiarize myself with Nesfear.  I found out where the important places were, the cheap inns, the nice inns, the markets, the common areas where one can pick up gossip.  I spent an evening sitting behind a tree near a pond and managed to overhear some interesting tidbits.  Apparently, the local baker’s wife, Millie, told her husband that she was going to learn to sew from her sister, and so would be spending her evenings in the nearby town of Listin, where her sister lived.  However, in actuality, she had begun a career as a dancer at a tavern in Yerkton, and she didn’t want him to know.  I stored away that piece of information, along with many others, some of which would prove extremely useful in the future.  During my week of limbo, I also began making a map of the streets of Nesfear.  It was arduous work.  The town wasn’t very large, but it was riddled with tiny alleys that connected everything.  When the week was over, I rushed back to Craspit and asked for his decision.  He said that his last apprentice had decided to run off and get married to some wench in Jorhash, so he now had an open spot if I wanted it.  I quickly agreed, and spent many months doing nothing but scrubbing floors, washing tools, and completing various unimportant errands.  It was demeaning and infuriating.  But tomorrow—tomorrow is the day that I’m supposed to start my training.  Tomorrow is the day when I begin the steps that will give me the ability to stop the revolution.  Tomorrow is the start of it all, and as I look at Jenia sleeping on the pallet next to me…I am terrified of what the future holds.