I know keeping a journel is very unrogue like, I should have been a bard but for my lack of tuneful voice. Besides, I am yet to meet a bard that doesn't have just a few roguish leanings! Let me assure you though, you will not find any trade secrets or plans of battle herein, just my wandering mind as I prepare for the next days travels. This is mainly the tale of life quest - the ragebringer.

My camp is up high, on watch, above that of my friends. I watch their fire's embers grow cold as the night is giving up to the approaching daylight. The rest is well needed after the events of the last few months that had cumilated in the terrible fight in the depths of Kithcor Forrest. It had started a great many months before when I had been nosing around in the underworld of the Queynos Aquaducts. I had run into someone who gave me a pouch to deliver to a hermit in the karanas.
Well, I reconised this pouch as belonging to one Stanos, leader of a band of misfit - Carson's lot, holed up in the High Pass between the Kithcor

Stanos told me of some information that he was trying to gather - a document that would uncover a plot and get him out of some trouble he was in. It involed dark elves so that was where I made my start. I travelled to Neriak, pausing at the entrance to the dark forests of Nektulos to place my illusion mask over my face. For me this was the hardest part of the journey - the wearing of the mask. Putting on the mantle of a race so corrupt and so tainted as the Tier'Dal, does strange things to you. When I become a dark elf in appearance, my soul feels as it would split in two and Innoruuk himself is trying to push me down the path to Hate. Each time it becomes harder for me to remove the mask so you can understand my apprehension at wearing it again. It is not a pleasant thing to wear.