Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: The Diary of Percival the Mage (part the first)
Message-ID: <Bw56AH.LFG@rice.edu>
From: tomscud@ruf.rice.edu (Thomas Reid Scudder)
Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1992 02:44:41 GMT

Diary of Percival the Mage, part the first:

Monday the fourth of August:

Today was the sad day upon which I finally broke up my acquaintance
with my friend Will, who I have grown somewhat close to these past
months.  He is headed south, to Generica, where he hopes to see his
cousin Dougl, and perhaps old General Karl, and from thence who
knows where.  Meanwhile, my heart leads me in a different direction.
I will travel, for now, in the lands to the east, home of a precious
few tribes, tough steppe survivors, who know the meaning of tough 
times and perhaps may be able to give me some perspective on the 
war which I have just lost.  For now, I am glad that I did not have 
to witness the execution of our mates.  Poor Eric, now he'll never
see his sweet Laura again.  And Nathaniel, bless his soul, will now 
no longer keep half of the taverns in the Barony in business.  But I
do not care to think too much of them, as, truth be told, they were
not particularly cultured or educated people for the most part, and
I never truly fit in with them.  Even Will, the good soul that he 
is, never truely understood the wonders of thaumaturgy and the
search for the inner secrets of the world.  Even he merely seemed to
humor me in my feeble attempts to pursue my studies in the worst of 
circumstances.

So why, now that I am free from the strictures which first neccessity
and then idealism placed upon me, do I not go somewhere to pursue my 
studies more fervently?  Why do I not go to Generica with Will, there 
to study in the great Library there?  Or go further south, and see 
what the Rameshander scholars have to teach me?

In truth, I am not sure.  But I think that there is a part of me, 
brought out in this half-year of living free, if in uncomfortable 
quarters, which loves the open road, and quails at the thought of 
staying indoors and poring over ancient, dusty tomes.  Perhaps I have 
lost the persistence, the drive for knowledge above all else, which 
characterizes all of the great mages, but I have some enjoyment of 
life, despite the tragedies which have so recently befallen me and mine.

Ahh, enough of this maudlin philosophizing, and on to the events of the 
day.  There is really not all that much to tell.  The road seems to be 
getting worse as I go on, and Proudfoot is sending me more and more 
dirty looks as we go on, but there has still been plentiful grass for 
him, and though the hunting has been bad for me (I never was the best 
hunter in the group), my supplies are far from exhausted.  The terrain 
has been pretty boring since leaving Green-Town, mostly empty plains, 
the occasional bush or clump of bushes, and the hills to the east, which 
I wish I could skirt.  It is said that they are most inhospitable, and 
are fraught with dangers which the prudent traveller should just as soon 
avoid.  On the other hand, it is there that the halls of the Dwarrow-King 
(known to most as the Dwarf King) are located, where there is said to be 
splendor to be found nowhere else, and knowledge that many sages would 
give their souls for.  I believe I shall stop there, and consult with them
before going on to the hills, and the Misty Mountains which lie beyond
them.


Percival the Mage, Vascondian exile and wanderer.