Zen's Journal

[ZenGhost]

Zen’s Journal

I have been living in Baldur’s Gate for some time now and have decided to begin keeping a journal as a means of killing time as much as a means of self-discovery. They say that all great men should keep a journal of their thoughts that history might look more kindly upon them. Perhaps one of these men will read this one some day and get a healthy chuckle.

I have taken lodging in a small apartment near the docks. One might call it a hovel if one wished to be kind. If one did not wish to be kind, there is a wide assortment of other terms that might less charitably be applied to its description. I shall merely say that I believe the rats have organized a housing collective and are currently negotiating with the landowner for a laundry list of property improvements.

After leaving Bryn Shander one short step ahead of a court-martial, I suppose anything is an improvement. At least the rats here are honest, in their animal way, not to mention more hygienic. And I have freedom, of a sorts--granted, the freedom to self-determination tends to go hand-in-hand with the freedom to starve to death or catch an unpronounceable disease, but I have that freedom nonetheless.

I’ll take it in any case. Have to look for a job soldiering; hunting wolf pelts and zombie bits for the bounties is starting to get old.

[ZenGhost]

I read stories of great heroes who famously faced great torment and ignoble death in defense of king and country and mother’s apple pie. I wonder how many of them actually did so to pay their rent and history was rewritten around the unimpressive truth.

I met some of the Baldur’s Gate locals today--mercenaries, it seems, more or less like myself. I ran into someone called Khul at the graveyard. He is a hulking sort of person--half-orc, maybe? A turbaned head on top of the biggest set of shoulders I’ve seen outside a stockyard makes him look rather like a brick wall with a grapefruit on top of it, but he seems honest and friendly enough, if a bit brusque. Keeping up with him on the road is tiresome; I have to take two steps for every one of his, and he still outdistances me.

Khul and I also encountered an elven archer, calling himself Devlan, or Dev, and a person named Kurg. I wasn’t with Devlan long enough to form much of an opinion…he seems affable enough and is good with his bow. Kurg is a different story. He reminds me altogether too much of Cale, whose flattened nose is the reason I had to leave Bryn Shander. He takes what he wants and makes no secret of the fact. His taunting might have been more insulting if it had been more clever. Truly clever men, however, often disguise their cleverness. I think I will not travel with Kurg again, and I shall keep him to my front should I meet him again.

[ZenGhost]

I continue to earn a modest living on bounties and plunder taken from bandits, both human and gnoll, and my explorations steadily grow farther away from Baldur’s Gate proper. I have followed the Tradeway a bit to the south along the coast; bandit activity grows steadily worse as you go. I have explored some local ruins, as well…kobolds make their home there, though there are typically so many other explorers there the kobolds would be better served operating some sort of tour service and food stalls. At least then they’d profit from the passers-by rather than being skewered by them like kabobs.

My body is kept busy, but my mind grows bored, I find. I found a book on exotic weaponry and its use in battle against various specialized foes (on a bandit, who probably intended it for use as a lavatory accessory), and have been reading it hungrily. Books were a rare luxury in Bryn Shander, and practically unknown in the Lonelywood where I earned my living as a logger before joining the militia. I shall look for a library in the city; I am told that such things are available here even to commoners.

I continue my search for some sort of permanent position, as well. A mercenary company called the Flaming Fist serves as the city’s standing army, though they do not sound quite like a good fit for myself. Or rather, I am not a good fit for the Fists. There is a certain honor to being a mercenary, but I wish for something more than typical dull soldier’s work. I have heard of a fortress called Candlekeep, however, which also retains soldiers, whose purpose is to protect the great library they keep there--this sounds much more interesting. Perhaps I shall inquire there, though I suspect they want troops to stand sullenly in front of the books, rather than peruse them.

[ZenGhost]

I continue to meet people on my wanderings, and have had the opportunity to speak to more of the locals. The kobold ruins on the hill are the site of many of these, reinforcing my belief that the local kobolds would do much better in the tourism industry than banditry. I have met yet another enormous half-orc, this one named Krog (a pattern is beginning to emerge among the half-orc community’s naming practices). To say Krog has the brains of an ox is to insult many fine oxen. But he seemed amiable enough. I wouldn’t want to arm-wrestle him, but more intellectual pursuits with finer motor-control requirements, such as cow-tipping, would be a safer field of challenge. He left with an archer named Wulfer, though this man was hooded and I could not see his face.

I later encountered a bard named Hano who was escorting a sorcerer named Jason. At least, I presume he was a bard, as most adventurers do not strum a lute during their wanderings in the ruins. They were quite friendly, and we discussed an exploration of the deeper levels of the ruins, but they decided to go their own way and keep to the upper level. It was probably for the best.

I also met two elves…one merely in passing in the Cloakwood, named Iaecn, who warned me to steer clear of the lizard folk, and one named Unebril on the Tradeway who saved me from bandits--not gnolls this time, but humans, reminding me that while one naturally tends to think of the goblinoid races when thoughts of savage, unempathetic tyranny arise, good ol’ humans are capable of deeds just as dark. My current rule of thumb is not to trust anyone wearing armor with a spike ratio per square foot of more than four. Skull helms are a dead giveaway as well.

I also fought my first hill giant. I have heard of a game played in the far east where a player uses an enormous club to knock a thrown ball as far as he can; the battle was more or less like that. When I landed, however, I was able to fell him, eventually, using the skills I learned in my career as a lumberjack.

Also, I wonder if I did not see a dark elf several nights ago. I was heavily medicated at the time on herbs a local healer gave me to stem a nasty cough I had for a time and drifted dreamily by him on the Tradeway, and only later thought about what it was I had seen. I know half-orcs seem much more common here than in Bryn Shander and its surrounding areas, so perhaps these lands welcome such folk, but I have to say the day even Ten Towns welcomed a drow into its fold would be the day our pigs sprouted wings and took flight.