Day 1
I figure a new journey should begin with a new day. It is fortuitous that I had arrived at Spiretown as the sun rose. The carriage driver was kind enough to take me, and I had enjoyed sharing stories with the old woman, but I had to walk some ways before I made it into the town itself. The people are kind; it is much larger and much more crowded than what I am used to, and the smell of sea and fish is not as prevalent. I've purchased boarding at a place called the Catnap Inn, then began further exploration throughout town. As I did, the strangest thing did happen-- a crow had dropped a letter on my head. I have since learnt better than to invoke the words, but I hadn't thought much of it at the time. It was holding that letter where I heard the strangest melody. Now, there were stories where some Mistans could hear the Siren Serene's melody if they were particularly spiritual, but I do not count myself amongst their ranks. Regardless, I had elected to follow the haunting music, walking past a shrine and into a red bridge. 

A scream suddenly shattered the silence. In its stead, I met a noble child. Her name is Willow, and she dived into the water as it bubbled and toiled for a reason unknown to us. Upon investigating, the solemn song grew overwhelming, and I was overcome by my past grief. My father's disappearance, the lack of my quest-name-- it had been embarrassing to have broken down so totally in front of an absolute stranger. I am thankful she sought not to bring attention to it. 

We then heard another splash further down the river, going into the sea. Willow said she had seen something, but I cannot confirm. It had been quite dark, after all. The trail ended in the estuary where the river feeds into the ocean, with indistinct footsteps left in the sand. To be frank, I was well and truly spooked at this point. I had come to learn that someone else had been dragged into the river just hours before, and believed this to be the work of an unsettled spirit.

Regardless, the bubbling resumed, though when we pulled up the source, it appeared only as a rock. How strange-- the waters I am familiar with never bubble as such when near the shore, but my senses had been playing tricks on me that whole day. I'm not sure what to believe.

We agreed to write to each other when we find out more about this phenomenon, but something about it disturbs me deeply. It is not often I fear the water as such, for it has been a constant in my life since I first drew breath-- but something about the omens that follow this speak of an ill portent. I don't know; I need to. 

There had been an abandoned house nearby, as well, with only the ashen, skeletal remains left intact. I am unsure if it is related to the letters; I suppose I should ask around. I happen to find a good lead while perusing the notice board-- a pair that goes by the name of Nergui and Kai. If this is truly the work of a cursesmithy, then time is of the essence. We must find out as much as we can about it. 

(An addendum, hastily written on a scrap of paper.)

People say it was the Nergui residence?? Will need to check hospital.

Other notes:
Case De Marchesi - from the spire, go to the library. Go down the straight path until the house appears.

Day 3

The past few days have been relatively uneventful. I have not encountered the crow again after regaling my tale to the Greatling woman, Miss Nergui. She had kindly allowed me to copy the letters she had available so that I may look into them further. Unfortunately, I have found no talent in magic or any sort of esoteric ritual, so the best I could offer was my mind and penchant for stories. I doubt I will contribute much. 

I’m far too in over my head, here. I could just say I’ve not found a thing, wipe my hands clean of it and leave. But what if this is it? My quested name? There’s blood on the ground, and I, an ever dutiful hound, must chase it, even if the hunt ends with teeth in my neck. 

As far as I can tell, the cricket and the musician seem to be referring to the same person. In literature, a cricket is often described as a musical insect, so I think this holds as a fair assumption. Two other names are also given in the second and third letters.
Based on the contents of the third letter, I believe this to be the poet to which the muse was referring to in the first letter. This is due to the mention of “leaving Casiariva” between the two excerpts. The letter had also mentioned “prepar[ing] so many poems for [the muse]”, further confirming the identity of Roultano as the poet. 
That leaves the second letter, and the arduous paradox of identifying who Peyritho is. They clearly have a relationship with the musician. However, I hesitate to conclude that they are the muse in the previous letters. The first one mentions that the muse’s leg limits them from traveling too often (if it weren’t for this leg, I’d have been over there with you), which stands in contradiction to the desired locations listed by Peyritho. It is likely the letter I had found had been the reply to this one, but the exact wording escapes me… Regardless, I hesitate to ascribe the muse as Peyritho, but until more letters are delivered, that is my best guess. 
What a vexing mystery. Though, I suppose I can’t blame the magic on this account…

Day 5

It has been a while since I last wrote, and many things have happened in the interim. I suppose I should not have mentioned the lack of activity in my previous entry, as the Fables seem to have heard me. I've taken to attending some lectures at the SIA, which had mostly revolved around Ichor magic and the mundane knowledge meant to support its use. Why is this magic so shunned back home? It clearly has so many uses in healing and eradicating diseases, which would be very useful on long voyages. Surely it can't be just because it uses a little blood in casting? Isn't any sacrifice worth supporting the whole?

I do digress, but I will be attending more lectures, if not to learn more about rudimentary medicine, but to know more about a branch of knowledge left stifled in the Pearl Coast. 

As I spend more of my time in Spire Town, it becomes increasingly difficult not to sense a pace of urgency about. There are many more soldiers and knights than I am used to. Upon inquiring with the tavern and other available locals, it seems to be because of various skirmishes on the borders of the Southern Reach. I suppose when the Adra Sidhe of this area suddenly disappeared, several groups would have liked to take the land for themselves. 

I attended one of these battles. Again, far too in over my head. My father would have called it recklessness instead of bravery. But the other, more experienced fighters had been kind to me. Caleb, the commander, is a sort of blind jester-knight-mage. I felt at that moment that I could trust him with my life. Cadayle is a fierce warrior who similarly faces trouble with her sight. Quite a strange but serendipitous coincidence.

(Note to self: still need to return the equipment.)

I must confess I do not remember much of the battle, other than the thundering of my heartbeat, the rachet-fire of bolts and arrows, and what felt like the rise of a second sun. I think I killed someone. I find myself disturbed that I do not feel much more than that. I had shot down someone's sibling, child, parent. They'll never live to see the stars in the sky, to feel the sea breeze on their face, to laugh and chat with the people they hold most dear. And yet, and yet, I feel nothing but relief that it was them, and not me. It was them, and not anyone in our contingent. 

The battle suffered minimal casualties. We all headed back to Spire Town. I lay this tale to rest.

I fear I may be making a mistake.

I had been granted the prestigious honor of being Ser Caleb's squire after a terse bout at the Pit. I know- he was taking it easy on me, with his imposed restrictions, but I had passed. The strangest thing did occur after- though I must confess, I was hardly conscious to bear witness to most of it, and what I did, I do not understand.

But I digress. After Ser Caleb had returned from the siege, something in him... changed. Like the man had been suppressed, leaving only a weapon in its wake. He had felled both Sir Azuran and Sir Angelo back to back, with nary a break, speaking of- of being cursed, that his fate is out of his control. That he is nothing if not a weapon to be commanded, if only to save his family from his own misfortune.

I must confess. 
I do not understand this sentiment. 
Is this not the time when your connections are the most important? Is this not the time when they would share in your misery, to bolster you, to fortify your shores as you suffer the slings and arrows of grave misfortune? 
It is unthinkable.

My hands tremble. I am making a mistake. I didn't speak up during the spar. I didn't say a thing when he left. What can I do? What can I do, in the face of a roaring pyre, ready to burn for all he deems true? I am hardly a squire, hardly a person. Would what I do matter, in the end?

I will not let the fear rule me. I will grab it by the horns.
I will not let the fear rule me. I will grab it by the horns.
I will not let the fear rule me. I will grab it by the horns.

I must make amends for my cowardice.

Tomorrow, I go for the SIA. Professor Liatris, as I've heard, has some expertise in alchemy. After that... I pursue the rumors of a soot-stained poltergeist, haunting the surrounding forest. I know it is him. It must be.

Now, the question remains.

How do you convince a dangerous man of his worth? How do you form a connection with something so adamant to burn it all down?

Perhaps that talk with the fable had more insight than I thought. 

I wouldn't say it went well, but it hadn't... gone bad, either. 

Perhaps I should start from the beginning. 

After Professor Liatris had so kindly lent me her knowledge and equipment in the practice of alchemical infusions, I had returned to Casa De Marchesi to make my preparations. It was there I met a fellow student of Ser Caleb, who went by the name of Denali. She was very kind, if a little dry in tone, though I suppose that simply added to her charm. It troubled me to have cut our conversation short once my potions had been completed, but I was unsure how much longer the spectre would remain in the woods. Bearing her goodbyes, I left to pursue those rumors. 

The darkest guts of the Southern Forest had crowded on all sides as I began my search for Ser Caleb. I followed nothing but the scent of smoke and the smoldering holes left behind, trailed by the sonorous screeching of the cindered-crows. The rumors of the poltergeist were true, just not in the way most people thought. 

A camping site, with signs of a fire once-raged. He was there, in the flesh, bloodied and bruised, and the conviction in my heart had wavered. No, not in the face of his weakness, but the fact that he could still have so easily killed me, even in that state. However, I knew there was likely no other way to hold his attention for long enough to answer my questions, so I had. Challenged him to a duel. 

(The handwriting trembles, far from the neat script it once was.)

I would like to have said that my plan was rock-solid. I would like to have said that, at the moment, I had no fear, for I knew Ser Caleb would not kill me. If I say these things, I would be struck down, for the shame of lying laid heavily on my chest. It was no small combination of sheer luck, underhanded tactics, and several alchemical brews that I managed to reach… a sort of understanding with him. 

I had asked why he deemed it necessary to leave. He had said it was part of knighthood itself. To protect people, one had to distance themselves from them, lest they are damned alongside. That knights, despite the light they carry, hold the darkness as well, as they march forever onwards. 

I had hoped this talk would give me clarity. I had hoped… it would illuminate some questions I had, with my own experiences with knights. I suppose, in a way, it had. 

(A few pages seem to be missing. It continues.)

On the bright side, I am intimately aware of my over-toxicity symptoms. I shall have to include charcoal on the regular in my first aid kit, just in case…

I further pursued rumors of fake sheep with Sodalite and a newcomer to the Spire, which I’ve come to realize I hadn’t asked for their name. A bad habit I must work on, I realize… regardless, the lure had been exactly as described- a trap, for a mutant hunter. We three fought valiantly until the hunter retreated back into the woods, and we decided not to pursue, on account of our injuries. We hurried back to the hospital (I was unaware that Professor Liatris was also employed as a doctor there, though I suppose it makes sense. I did also see she runs a bakery… how does she have the time for all this, I wonder…?) to report what had happened and have our wounds tended to. I suppose my next course of action would be to thank Sodalite for saving our behinds and look for the unnamed warrior to learn of their name.

By and large, a rather productive week. I suppose I shan’t ask for more.