My head feels like there’s an army of Dwarf battleragers running in full armor inside of it. I will never drink that much ale as long as I live.

At least not until the next town.

Started off the morning with the last of my rations for a simple breakfast. I entered Silverymoon around mid-morning and headed straight for the market. It spans a large area of the palace district, and is probably the most diverse in the north, save for Waterdeep of course. I purchased what items and provisions I needed, including a few I didn’t. I found this amazing fruit they called a tomato, I believe, from the far continent of Maztica. They actually had it magically imported! Unfortunately, it would not travel well but I did manage to purchase some, dried, to spice up cooking on the road. One cannot live by lembas alone.

My pack full after a few hours of shopping and exploring, I made my way to Mielikki’s Glade. An open meadow, it is the center of worship for the goddess Mielikki, patron of forests and rangers, in Silverymoon. I’m not sure how long I spent there in quiet reflection, but that sense of foreboding that crept over me as I looked out over the Trollmoors returned. When I roused myself from my thoughts, it was late afternoon.

From there, it was to Treants Hall for some of Silverymoon’s finest ale. The five interconnected buildings form the shape of a pentagon. The central area is an open yard filled with several varieties of trees. It is a very popular tavern, especially with other rangers and druids. I found a few there, and was able to catch up on news of the area. Mainly the movements and activities of orcs, gnolls, goblins, and other humanoid monsters in the region. It helps to know where to avoid, or where my blade may be needed. Some disturbing rumours have been heard of large tribes of orcs coming out of their holes in the Spine of the World. We have seen as much on the northern borders of our Moonwood, though we had not known that such tales were coming from as far east as Citadel Felbarr.

I know not how many more inns and taverns I visited before night’s end. I remember the Bright Blade Brandished, and Helmers wall. The former a favorite of adventurers and kept by folk who are friendly to everyone, no matter how uncouth, unwashed, strange, dangerous-looking, or badly wounded they are. The latter was once a gatehouse in the old city wall I believe. It was a bustling center of excited talk, constant toasts, pranks, romance, and drunken folk getting up on tables to make speeches pompous enough, songs bawdy enough, and poetry bad enough, to deserve all the small items thrown their way. My kind of place, except for the odd stranger here and there grabbing your flagon to make an impromptu toast.

Everything gets rather hazy after that point.

I staggered my way back to the inn where I had rented a room to sleep off the nights revelry.

Getting a later start on my day than I had originally intended, my head full of noisy Dwarves and I, are once again on the road. I follow it south, towards Everlund, unless my wandering feet lead me elsewhere.

AWAY from Silverymoon’s finest ale.

Silverymoon.

The Gem of the North lies before me, sprawled across both banks of the Rauvin. This is not my first time to Lady Alustriel’s wonderous city, yet it never fails to take my breath away each time. No single architectural style dominates the place. It is a city of artists and expression and magic. A simple brick and mortar tavern could sit next to a gleaming wizard’s tower.

It has been nearly a decade since my last journey to Silverymoon. I shall camp here, on this small hill overlooking the city, tonight. I must admit, I find myself in no rush to enter this beautiful city below. The road holds a stronger pull for me. But, supplies are needed.

And maybe a pint, or two, of some of Silverymoon’s finest.

I walked out of the Moonwood today, no trepidation in my heart about the uncertainty of what is to come. Let it come. The River Rauvin crawls its way eastward before me, towards where it joins the River Surbrin, and continues on its inexorable flow to the sea. Across it’s banks I see the foul grey mists and bogs of the Evermoors. The Trollmoors. A few years ago,my kin and I fought hard to preserve the sanctity of the Moonwood as the trolls were driven out of the moors. A black dragon drove them. And giants.

I hate giants.

A deep foreboding falls like a dark shadow over me as I stare into the black heart of the Trollmoors. I sense it stirring again. I shrug it off as paranoia. Perhaps, in my unconscious, I have more reservations about my departure than I had led myself to believe. I turn my gaze southwest, and my steps follow.

Silverymoon beckons.

Evermoors

Mae govannen and well met!

I am Romenion Erudir. The humans of the region that know of me call me Romenion Giantsbane, humble ranger of Solonar Thelandira. I am not what most consider a “normal” elf. I prefer the dust of the road and the noise of a crowded tavern over the ageless quiet of an elven community. I’d rather hear a bawdy drinking song over an elvish lament. Give me a pint of strong ale over a glass of moonwine any day.

I am still young by my peoples standards, yet I have already helped defend the borders of our realm for decades. Yet now, an insatiable wanderlust has settled over me. I write this journal as I pack what few belongings I own and prepare to leave the Moonwood, my home.

With Aranaur and Silmariel slung across my back, I head south, towards the city of Silverymoon. Towards whatever fate the gods have in store for me. And maybe, towards a few songs about me sung by the bards.