First, a few notes on the setup of the campaign......Our DM said our homeland is a continent of his own imagining (loosely based on Westeros in George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire, with the landmass continuing westward into Rokugan), waved off as being on the other side of the world from Faerun.  But when we sailed into a major city, he realized that what he had described to us about it was just too much like Baldur's Gate to be wasted, so he shrugged and decided our boat hadn't returned to a different place in our home continent but had instead taken us to Faerun.  Maybe we sailed through a portal without realizing it.  None of us really care about the exact mechanics.  Note: Laerrigan has never heard of drow (they're extremely rare on the surface back home) and has no idea where his inhuman, patchy coloration comes from.  He's well aware of his tiefling status, however, and keeps it carefully hidden.
       OK, the whole campaign starts with our party three days out to sea in a ship captained by one of the PCs, Aiden Morgan (yes, Captain Morgan, and his player says he looks like the picture on the bottles), a smuggler.  We left our homeland in secret, slipping away from increasing hostilities and military rule surrounding a troubled royal succession.  Actually, the other three characters voluntarily slipped away; Laerrigan happened to be in the wrong place on the beach at the wrong time, and was forced to choose between joining the smugglers and being killed as a witness.  The human captain and the two unscrupulous halfling brothers, Ridor and Diego, know each other from previous association, so Laerrigan is the odd one out in more than a few ways.
       Laerrigan's journal begins with his random thoughts while sitting in the bow of the ship on the third day out from land, writing (mostly in his personal shorthand) as he watches what the others are doing.  Consecutive sentences don't necessarily have anything to do with one another.  Incidentally, Morgan's and Diego's players left the game along the way.
       I think of this campaign as "Three Rogues and a Wizard Walk Into a Bar.  It Burns Down."

CARTOONS FOR ILLUSTRATION can be viewed as you read the journal by clicking on the journal day-headings that are links.  More will be available as time passes and the muse speaks.  Below is an index of current cartoons in case you don't want to scroll through the whole journal to find them, especially since the day-numbering is reset periodically throughout the journal, making it hard to find a particular day by number.

Day 3 (on deck)     Day 6 (the box)     A new day by far (dungeon)     Day 11 (chairs)
Day 5 (leaving town)

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Day 3
Calm so far.  Beautiful weather.  Cumulus clouds near horizon--S?  Must get compass.  New one.  And keep in money belt.  Captain Morgan suddenly decided fare is due.  Have feeling he was trying to gouge, but helpful halfling thankfully guided me.  They know each other somehow.  Ended up paying 20g, no idea of going rates.  Capt. made oblique references to gangplank (whatever that is) and slavers, so I believe I got the better deal despite fact that I've now paid fare for my own kidnapping.  Halfling keeps getting sick; drunk last night and having hard time with seasickness today.  Coppers?  Drinking game apparently--I think they try to get coins into small glass.  Whether winner or loser takes drink is still unexplained--halfling was sick again before he could finish demonstration.  Ridor--that is his name.  Must check spelling.  He ate quite a bit last night, it seems.  Morgan has his men set fishing lines where someone vomits.  Does he really want to eat anything that would eat that?

Day 4
Ridor is fishing.  Most notable event so far in day.  Just caught a Greater Crested Boot.  Large specimen, leather, perhaps female, well-fed in these waters.  Old bones inside?--Grabbed a toebone.  Also a silver coin in entrails of actual fish he caught.  Unexpected--these fish will eat anything.  Crew just caught shark--found what appears to be humanoid radius in that one.  And larger fish--that one I refused to eat, see previous day's entry for why.  Only glad I checked entrails to know.

Day 5
Writing day's events at night this time, after lights-out; no opportunity before.  Dead calm this morning; impenetrable fog.  Diego (Ridor's older brother) made quite reasonable request that anchor be dropped to prevent drifting, and capt. threatened him with that plank he talks about.  One begins to think one's kidnapper/host may be more fond of the expression than serious.  He still bears watching.  Boat bumped into larger ship and moored to it, and crew boarded and reported unoccupied; we all boarded.  Downstairs, animate skeleton riffled through room off hall.  Others came down hall toward us, and another from room to other side.  Magic missile provided two terribly delightful explosions; no more wondering over prevalence of its use in records of others.  Capt. threw skull and disintegrated another skeleton; halflings had last engaged, so we explored nearby rooms while they played.  Had to outmanuever capt. to gain possession of contents of locked drawer after I opened it--he only provided last ounce of force needed after wood joints were loosened.  He does indeed like notion of planks.  I think I'm coming to some vague understanding of the phrase as a threat, though precise meaning continues to elude.  Capt. rather childishly reclaimed his crowbar and refused to allow its use in opening second locked drawer.  Used dagger with perfectly acceptable results in spite of him.  Took contents, cast darkness on his shirt, and left him to figure it out.  Blasted inconvenient immaturity of humans.  Noticed stairwell had caved in, out in hall, and remembered impressive crash which I'd been too preoccupied to register shortly before this.  Added halflings to list of exasperating immaturity--had to have been them somehow.  Explored storerooms down hall, but the aforementioned (and oft mentioned) halflings had already ransacked anything of interest and run off to cause destruction.  After they rejoined us, we rummaged through large room full of crates; nothing but nonedible supplies, whiskey, and bolts of cloth.  Capt. had crew take cloth and whiskey (he hasn't said anything about punitive unpleasantness in other room, probably doesn't even realize what happened--is this good or bad?).  Nearby door burst open to reveal 3 more skeletons, and their master behind them.  Capt. threw whiskey bottle and killed necromancer (he's worse with thrown things than the halflings, or perhaps "better" would be more accurate).  So not much fight for the rest of us--perhaps he can be forgiven for childishness, as I had no more magic missiles by then.  Necromancer had none of usual materials about him, but obviously wasn't advanced enough not to need them; perhaps power came from amulet of some sort.  Most likely stolen by halflings in first moments of searching while I disarmed my crossbow.  Must look into that; shudders rise at thought of such an object in their hands, should they learn to use it.  Plenteous money and a few fine weapons were found by others in that room; I managed to acquire some small share before capt. could claim the rest.  Found gold-filled tooth in necromancer, and tiny capped tube in pocket (contains only scrap of blank paper, unfortunately).  In retrospect, skeletons were obviously searching for something; had they found it by the time we destroyed them?  Does one of us now have it unknown?  Is it lying at the bottom of the sea, lost when the ship sank (halflings thoroughly enjoyed shooting it with Morgan's ballista once we reboarded our own vessel)?  I must get Ridor to open this locked metal box from the ship.  It's keeping me awake.  He even refused armbone and jawbone in payment.  Perhaps I'll have to share whatever the box contains--that was his asking price--just to get him to open it.

Day 6
Writing at night again.  Ridor did more fishing.  Not even a boot this time; lost pole after nearly swamping that end of ship.  Side note, ship is sitting much lower in water than before our little foray among undead; capt. will be richer man upon selling his acquired cargo.  Perhaps he'll buy fishing poles to cover Ridor's enthusiastic depredations.  I attempted to open red metal box myself, by means of careful application of acid to keyhole; received stunning jolt of force from something inside lock or box, numbing hands, but no success in opening lock.  Decided to try Ridor's curiosity once more, or at the very least his skill pride.  He finally agreed to accept 1/3 of whatever box contains plus the jawbone, though I said I'd keep some of the teeth.  He didn't even make sure of how many teeth or which ones; I think he believes he got a good enough bargain that it won't matter anyway, and that makes me a bit uneasy.  Does he know something I don't about this box?  He was unsuccessful at picking the lock; since his lockpicks broke due to brotherly love on shipwreck, he's reduced to using a peacock-feather quill pen.  ---I think it's mine.  That bloody halfling stole my pen.  He tried a dagger in the keyhole, with same results.  Force that numbed my hands flung his smaller weight backward.  He staggered to his feet and called his brother to try the new game.  After mere moments of witnessing their odd antics, I managed to snatch the box back before it could be knocked overboard.  Something inside it must be extremely valuable, for its erstwhile owner to have gone to such lengths to secure it; very solid-feeling red scaly-looking metal, no seams or hinges whatsoever (approx. 8" x 12" x 4", somewhat under 10 lbs, just for record), and a trapped lock of some kind with this level of resistance.  A chest filled with gold and silver was left under protection of entirely mundane lock on shipwreck, a lock which Ridor easily opened even after his lockpicks broke.  Hands and ribs still ache a bit tonight (Diego had to have one last go at the lock after I'd regained the box in my arms), evidence of someone's desire to keep whatever-it-is out of other hands.  Considering the fact that this box was the best-secured (and surely oddest) container on entire wreck, could it be what necromancer was seeking?

Day 7
Writing at night is becoming a habit.  Convenient, when so much happens throughout day.  Darkvision has its benefits.  We approached land around midday; town became visible in midafternoon, small walled town on shore of large bay.  Capt. refuses to acknowledge debt to compass and map I gave him, after finding them on wreck.  I suspect we might still be out to sea without them.  He threatened me with plank and whiskey bottle when I made casual reference.  Must keep eyes open for chance to retrieve compass.  Upon entering bay and drawing in sight of dock, we were attacked by catapult on N shore some distance from town.  Halflings delightedly returned fire with ballista; one begins to understand what happened to bring about whole stairwell-caving-in episode on that wrecked ship (which happened to have its own ballista on deck for them to play with).  Catapult went way of stairwell, but we were already hit and taking water; managed to hit beach before sinking.  Capt. surprisingly clarified that I was free to leave or stay with him and crew as I chose--why in all the layers of the abyss did he kidnap me in the first place?  When one is minding one's own business on a secluded beach and next moment surrounded and forced aboard a ship that heads for open water, one can only assume there is some reason behind it all.  But the honorable Capt. Morgan has never given any cause for accusations of reason, so I suppose it's only fitting.  Capt. made vague offers to me of sharing loot from shipwreck if I stay on to help guard said loot, but nothing definite was agreed upon.  Perhaps he feels guilty for extortion and pettiness on top of kidnapping.  But by-gones are by-gones.  Townsfolk greeted us; we learned that town was under seige by orcs, blockaded.  Townsfolk offered to fix ship for a price; Diego tried to barter with offer of not shooting spokesman with ballista.  I asked after locksmith.  Locksmith in town received same forceful jolt from red box's lock; knocked him into daze.  Ridor stole his lockpicks.  One might begin to perceive a pattern in results of attempts to unlock this box by mundane means.  Research may be in order, if we ever reach a city.  And if my companions don't burn down the library.  Or the city.  We went to general store across street, where proprietor was said to have some ability with locks; I must admit to a certain obsession, impossible to turn my back on just one more try.  Unfortunately, that obsession proved to be the death of the proprietor when he and Ridor fell into a bit of a dispute.  Company of those halflings is proving as much hindrance as help.  Note to self--ask about that amulet!  Needless to say, we were told to get out of town.  We were in process of complying when angry mob formed and began to follow.  Capt. hadn't been seen with us; at Ridor's hasty suggestion, he shouted at us and punched Ridor (I believe he enjoyed doing so), in view of mob, as if there were no personal ties.  Thankfully Ridor did not include me as suggested target, because I have no doubts as to inclusiveness of capt.'s enthusiasm.  Capt. continued on his way to find somewhere to sell his goods as if unconcerned (which might have been more than an act, for all I know); halflings bolted in opposite directions, leaving me to face oncoming mob alone.  Delightful.  Managed to escape back to beached ship to await others' regrouping.  Learned later what happened to others before their return; capt. merely came back with barrow full of food, Diego injured an elderly woman while disguised as a child to leave town unrecognized, but Ridor had much more interesting time.  By his account, he climbed town's palisade, hid in tall grasses, and awaited dusk.  Then he set fire to field and ran for shore.  Fire was apparently intended as diversion while he slipped away, but he seems incapable of doing anything on a scale as small as himself.  Miles of arid grassland went up in flames, orcs burst from cover of grass to escape fire and attack town, townsfolk rallied to fight.  At least their attention was taken from us.  Ridor says battle was bound to happen anyhow, he merely hurried its occurrence.  And he only meant to knock the shopkeeper unconscious.  I shot an orc who was pursuing him as he tried to reach us on the ship.  No explosion this time from magic missile, but effective nonetheless.  I was not about to lose chance at getting whole story from him.  Crew had (barely) patched hole in hull, so we shoved off and left shore.  Miles of field and whole town burning behind us, and as we watched, last human and last orc met and killed each other.  One must admire pure poetry of destruction, but I personally would have preferred resupplying, sleeping on solid land, a proper bath, and little trace left behind of our passage.  But at least I now have an orc's head.  The whole orc would have been preferrable--haven't yet had opportunity to study one up close--but Ridor could hardly have carried that.  I wonder how he knew what I'd been wishing for.  Absurdly likable fellow despite--well--everything.  Unrelated thought--that tiny tube I found in necromancer's pocket held scrap of blank paper just large enough to bear a few words.  As if for homing pigeon or other small messenger.  What is in this red box??  Is it possibly what he was looking for, ready to signal his find to someone else?  Could he have been cause of that ship's wreckage and depopulation?  No, bread in storerooms was old, inedible.  If only I'd thought to check broken masts and other wood for signs of ageing since break.  Perhaps wreck had been there for some time and he simply learned of it and came to search.  Ye gods--could the town we just DESTROYED have been the destination of that ship, and someone sent orcs to wait and take what it carried?  Or perhaps the ship left town with its cargo just in time to escape the orcs who'd been sent to prevent its leaving?  I must stop thinking like this.  Must sleep.  Must check that trade route map I copied!  Why could I not have thought of any of this before both shipwreck and town were removed as potential sources of answers??  Blasted halflings!!

Day 8
Returned to shore to patch boat and search town for useful items.  Had chance to examine whole orc corpse.  Dropped head and took jawbone.  Writing this as I boil it aboard ship.  Capt. and crew are patching hull.  Discovered red box to be harder than iron.  If only any written material could have survived town's fire.  No answers here, it would seem.  Thinking of answers, I may have just thought of a way to get info about necromancer amulet from halflings.  Perhaps try it tomorrow.  Three different possible ways, actually.  Try most palatable first.

Day 9
Used detect magic, studied lock and box.  Strong abjuration aura on lock, but obviously not intended to be lethal or I wouldn't be writing this.  Really must be more cautious out here, traps likely to far exceed Tammanath's spite and so-called humor.  Same spell to study Diego, no results.  Dor (I suppose I should start calling him that, as it's his preference) had dim but powerful aura on dirk over shoulder (size of sword for him); couldn't recognize school, dark metal might even be Valyrian for all I know.

Day 10
Note to self--charm person can be more trouble than it's worth.  Have highly unwanted "friend" for two hours this morning.  Writing this while Dor keeps me company unasked.  He really can talk for that long nonstop.  He didn't even have anything from that necromancer to make it slightly worthwhile.  Writing tonight, now: Used spell later on Diego--with inward wince, but willing to make sacrifice for research--thankfully he only became cooperative, nothing more.  Learned he did have amulet from necromancer, but as I'd detected no aura from it on him yesterday, could only surmise power was in stone of some sort which was obviously missing from center of amulet.  He couldn't have popped it out and SOLD it in town, could he??  No time for that, was with me whole time (until unfortunate accident).  Diego let me hold amulet long enough to make quick sketch of it.  Capt. happened upon us while I was finishing sketch after Diego took amulet back--seemed suspicious of somewhat glazed look on enchanted halfling, but I managed to put him off and go elsewhere.  Capt. had me "keep an eye on" Dor while he fished, after I said that Dor would only lose our last pole.  Caught rotted old leather glove.  Capt. told him to give it to me, and Dor proceeded to find passing entertainment in batting me with it before finally handing it over.  Sometimes tower life is downright attractive.  Marked site of Dor's pyromaniacal mistake on my copied map, after consulting capt. for placement--he was remarkably helpful for that moment without use of charm person.  Perhaps he's growing up.  Town wasn't on marked trade routes after all, though I suppose that's not necessarily conclusive.  Oh yes, can't forget Dor's manful fight to the death with 6-ft. fish we landed together.  Now that was entertaining, a halfling wrestling and growling and stabbing wildly at an angry-looking fish of that size thrashing on deck.  Might be worthwhile to help him fish more often, in that light.  He seems to like fighting things--store keepers, fish, and now sailors.  Considering his track record with first two categories, might be good idea to keep alert when he's up on deck.  Arguments with him can be dangerous.  One of our crew is now recuperating from broken knee, arm, and skull after such an argument.  And the blasted halfling isn't even a violent sort, really--he just can't do anything halfway, as noted previously, even when he might mean to do it smaller.  Color spray next time he gets into it.  Daze at very least, if situation not too far advanced.  Dor is chained to mast tonight by capt.  I'm going to sleep wrapped around my red box--Dor wasn't happy about my suggestion of gagging him, and made distinctly unsettling implications.  Thinking of that, it might not be a bad idea to figure out how to get at least somewhat further toward his good side while stuck on this ship.  Capt. doesn't seem much of a threat in terms of stealth, and Diego seems ambivalent toward me and mine, but Dor could prove a problem.

Day 11
This library has rooms where researchers can stay overnight!  Currently in room after long day, finally taking time to write.  Awoke briefly last night (still at sea) to commotion above in capt.'s cabin and ballista firing; stayed in hammock to listen further and determine if there was real trouble or if halflings were simply getting Morgan back for chaining Dor (who surely had been unchained by Diego by that time).  Diego soon carried unconscious Dor down and tied him to hammock, then left again.  Figuring it none of my business, I returned to sleep only to be wakened in early morning by those two brawling for no apparent reason.  Offered to help Diego (to head off potential death or maiming) and was refused.  Crew members came down to watch highly-acrobatic spectacle with me.  We soon docked at very large walled city, and capt. kicked everyone off boat, including me though I'd done nothing.  Had to sit on bench in front of nearby inn for study.  Before I'd quite finished, Dor entered inn and nearly started brawl with huge, drunk barkeep.  I decided that distracting him was more important than memorizing last spell, and dragged him out on pretext of looking for locksmith.  Changed my mind in street and inquired after library instead, hoping to learn about box/lock rather than trying to open it in same way with same results again.  I do learn, eventually.  Asked rough-looking sort about library, and was informed that no one needs books but wizards, and no one wants them around.  Charming fellow.  Dor accompanied him back to taproom, talking excitedly about burning books.  I shuddered, but chose research over continued babysitting.  A city this size couldn't burn in a single day, could it --?  Entered walled portion of city and went to library, stopping only to ask citizen about city's position on my map; Baldur's Gate is central on marked trade route.  Upon describing box to certain knowledgable persons at library (without letting them know I had it), learned it to be constructed of old dragonhide (or covered with it at very least).  Description of lock only led me to several inches' thickness of pages about magic locks, nothing specific.  No real help there.

Day 14
No further discoveries at library.  About to head back to port authority and ask if anyone knows what ship(s) ran the course marked on my map.  Maybe find lead for continuing investigation.  And find out whether I've been stranded here by the ever-so-reliable capt.  ---  Night now.  Lodged at dockside inn.  Going back to my trip from library to dock earlier today...Got info about map from official-looking person at dock.  Illyrio is name on map, apparently a well-known man here and owner of shipping line, and he's lost some ships recently without explanation; he has a large manor at the NW edge of town.  Dor appeared at Morgan's boat as I was leaving it for an inn with a bath (my appearance is unsettling enough without spending so long on a ship at sea with wings folded and covered and itching, and I planned on going to Illyrio's manor in the morning), and he was drunk off his feet.  I went with him (holding him up) to find shipwright to patch the boat (earlier ameteur job was no longer holding), and he kept insisting, in his slurred, barely intelligible way, that his brother would die in the morning.  When we got shipwright back to Morgan, Dor promptly passed out; I slung him over a shoulder and went to inquire at jail about Diego, hoping Dor was merely delusional in his current state.  He wasn't, or at least not on this count.  I talked to guard, and ended up talking to Illyrio himself (of course this was after I'd taken a long shot and dropped his name as if I knew him).  Illyrio turns out to basically own the town, and that red box is an extremely precious possession of his which he seems quite intent on regaining.  My backpack felt very heavy in those moments.  I tried to get info about box without letting on that I had it, with only partial success (no info, but I managed to keep him from deciding I must have the thing after all).  Then Diego appeared in courtyard, running toward us with guards in pursuit.  Hoping to prevent his recapture or even death, I quickly asked Illyrio if he'd accept info about that box's whereabouts in exchange for that halfling.  He seemed at least open to the possibility, but then Diego dodged right past us at the gate and escaped all on his own.  At that point there was no more reason to continue with Illyrio; I picked Dor back up and turned to go, but outer gate closed before I could reach it.  Illyrio believed I knew too much about box to let me go without further questions.  I tried to convince him it had been taken by that annoying fellow who didn't like wizards or books; he knew who I meant by my description, but didn't believe me.  Fortunately, he isn't one to hold someone who hasn't broken any law, so he let me go after all.  I wonder if I'll be followed now.  Delightful.  At least Diego escaped, though he hasn't rejoined us.  Can't say I blame him, as long as we're in town.  And, while we're waiting for the boat to be patched, I think I'll try to see Illyrio again.  I just want to know what's in the blasted box!

Day 16
Didn't bother to write last night--too tired.  Currently sitting on a wagon while caravan is being loaded and secured for long journey, so this is as good a time as any to catch up.  Capt.'s ship was burned and sunk in harbor night before last; Morgan and two men were seen leaving in a hurry, haven't been seen since.  Illyrio surely knew which ship we came in on.  Others knew as well--we've recently learned that not only does Illyrio want to get to us, but apparently someone who controls about half the thieves' guild in town wants us as well.  Or at least they want what we're carrying.  What I'm carrying...If I didn't think it might harm whatever's inside, I'd start paying ogres to have a go at this box with a sledgehammer.  There must be something out there that will get through dragonhide.  Maybe someone in this caravan will have an idea on that.  They're gathered here from rather far to the north and the south, from what I've picked up; Waterdeep was mentioned and I inquired about it and was able to mark on my map, and Calimport as well.  And we're headed east to Highmoon, a journey of several months, according to the caravanmaster.  Dor and I are supposed to help guard in exchange for passage.  I wonder if caravanmaster will get out to middle of wilderness and extort money from hapless passengers.  Also wonder about suspicious providence of this whole situation.  Merchant elf in Baldur's Gate was far too helpful--too suddenly and too selflessly helpful--for my preferences.  Didn't even want payment for aid, but Dor pressed a jewel on him from what he found on Illyrio's ship.  That merchant (never did get his name) knew too much about unmentioned loot, gave me rather pointed gaze when saying that Illyrio wants what we have and he seriously doubts it's the jewels.  Says he doesn't like Illyrio and doesn't want him to have it.  Supposedly that's the long and short of his motivation in sticking his neck out for us without expecting payment.  But I haven't written anything about what led up to that meeting with merchant.  After waking at dockside inn yesterday morning to find ship burned and Capt. gone--found out later he was a bloody smuggler the whole time--we went up into city proper to locate someone selling water-breathing potion.  Had to explore that wreck.  Find out what happened.  And maybe get my compass back.  Found potion, but only in huge jug, "bulk rate."  Too much to spend at once on one item, unable to talk merchant elf into dividing it up.  Stepped away from booth to mutter at Dor about keeping those jewels from the shipwreck secret, but blasted elf overheard; he agreed that they shouldn't be waved about, and he didn't seem to mind knowing that they came from Illyrio's lost ship.  Since he already knew at least something about us and our hidden item(s) from overhearing that, we spoke somewhat more openly with him, but had no major revelations regarding intrigue in town or mystery of box's contents.  He was quite willing to part with information, but balked at talking about necromancer's amulet, saying that some information could get one killed before one had the chance to spend the money from it.  He voluntarily set up our travel out of town to keep that box away from Illyrio, but felt that talking about that amulet was too risky?  Dor also snagged list of names from amulet-seller who looked very frightened indeed when I showed him my diagram, and loudly declared he knew nothing about it; we retreated to alley to examine list, hoping to find some clue as to whose amulet it could have been, but random-seeming checks beside certain names were unrevealing.  Headed for library, hoping to find register of important citizenry (or at least something about amulet, box, or locks), and found we were being followed by someone in light green cloak with cowled hood obscuring face.  Dodged down alley and waited, but pursuer had disappeared in crowd.  Went back on way to library--stupid of me, but distracted from realities of fugitive status by thought of that library.  Dor wandered off and I went inside.  Seemed like perhaps half an hour, but realized afterward was more like a couple hours before whole elusive-pursuer-hiding-face and powerful-man-wanting-my-box situation dawned on me, and I quickly left to track Dor down and see about leaving town.  May be slow at times, but not stupid.  Usually.  After passing in street like ships in night, finally found him back at library, probably looking for me.  Managed to pull him away before man in official-looking robe could recover from shock and do something bad to Dor for ripping page out of large book.  Perhaps should have waited.  Or just left him.  But no--have no desire to glance back after leaving town and see billows of smoke from so huge a library.  Read reference to place called Candlekeep, and fact that its vast library is covered by spells preventing anything but matches and wicks from burning.  Wonder what would give out first if I left Dor there for a day--unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.  He'd probably wind up killed by guards, and then I'd feel bad.  He doesn't seem to be quite entirely right in the head.  And now he has a whole wagonload of other halflings for company, in this caravan, and apparently they don't see anything odd about him.  Should I stay far away for my own safety and sanity, or close by to be ready for dousing fires and heading off arguments that might turn deadly by accident?  How in the world do those people survive as a race?  At any rate, we left library, and I learned that there are probably small temples to Lathander and/or Kelemvor at south edge of walled city; hoped to get information about necromancer's amulet there before leaving town, and perhaps even find way to drop hints about Illyrio employing necromancers to locate his shipwrecks.  Always a pleasure to stir up these little bits of discord for a deserving individual.  But alas, it was not to be--we reached an inn in the southern quarter at sundown and stopped for night, but Dor saw our green-cloaked pursuer in crowded common room.  So he burned down the inn.  Diversion, he called it.  I suppose I should be happy with this one--last diversion he made took out entire village and miles of surrounding grassland.  While outside burning inn, we were attacked by two men with knives, presumably tied to this whole box thing because I can think of no other reason for the scuffle.  Dor took a nice gouging, but I got through it with no more than a tear in my wing.  Still need to do better job of stitching up slash in side of robe and vest, after cursory job to keep wing hidden; as things stand right now, don't want to waste a spell on mending when it could be used instead for something a little more dangerous.  We finally managed to get to sleep at an inn in the lower portion of town, around midnight (avoided familiar dockside one because certain individuals probably knew we had stayed there before and might again).  Woke this morning to find that merchant elf downstairs waiting for us.  And to find that he knew much more than I could wave aside as coming from town news of fires.  Beginning to wonder if he--and why not half the city as well?--already know about fiend lineage and I'm going through entirely unneccessary difficulty and discomfort in hiding it.  Maybe I should ask this all-knowing elf about patchwork coloring--he could probably tell me where it comes from and why, and whole great history to go along with some legendary, elusive race that's fairly common in this land but for some reason almost never shows up across the sea, and of course that would explain why he knows all about it and no one back home does, not even Tammanath with all his research on the matter.  It was at that breakfast table that he told us about wanting to help us and confound Illyrio, and how he'd arranged passage for us in this caravan leaving in midafternoon.  Dor didn't seem to think it suspicious.  Why did I bother asking him?  And now we're here.  Must admit to some (very well, more than some) reluctance to turn my back on whatever is going on in Baldur's Gate.  Why were Illyrio's ships disappearing, and who was responsible?  Was that necromancer working for him or for some other faction?  Where does this box fit in?  But there is no question as to whether curiosity or survival takes first priority.  There will surely be some way to open this box without involving vindictive bourgeoise on their home turf.  Perhaps I'll still have opportunity to set hounds on him after all.  Must compile highly rousing story for large temples of Kelemvor/Lathander we might encounter.  Armies of undead massing in tunnels under his mansion at his command.  Maybe Dor could help put it together.

        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1 out from Baldur's Gate
Resetting time measurement; don't want numbers growing too big, and this is fairly large milestone.  Set out from city yesterday, some time after last journal entry.  Today Dor went fishing.  Yes, fishing.  He obtained a wooden pole, string, and what appears to be a bit of wire twisted off of a coathanger to start a new life as a fishhook.  Then he sat atop last wagon in train and made casts out into tall savanna grass.  After wizard-on-staff gave him healing potion, he's entirely back in form after that scuffle with knives outside burning inn.  Hopefully he won't get us kicked out of caravan in the middle of nowhere.  Assuming we don't travel some days into wilderness only to find that these people are after the box as well.  I won't give details on Dor's mishap--supposedly accident--with improvised fishing equipment.  If that stupid bent wire had pierced anything on me, I might well have seen what effect magic missile has on halflings.  At least he recognized that danger, though after the fact.  It's about bloody time I'm not the only one between us to carry constant concern over what the other might do out of spite or revenge.

Day 5
I sigh as I write day number.  Possibly losing track, without writing each day anymore.  Nothing terribly noteworthy in past few days, except that Dor left off of fishing and took up elephant hunting.  That was on my suggestion.  If he's ranging out around the caravan for half the day, there's less chance he'll do anything to cause our expulsion, mobbing, or incarceration.  He claims he encountered an elephant and attacked it, and it ran away from the beating.  He says it matched my description.  I can't for the life of me remember just what that description included.  There can't be elephants in this environment, can there?  Only read of them in much more southern latitudes, but this is, after all, new continent.  Of course, he also convinced one of the caravan guards that the cutlass I snagged from the shipwreck (it seems a lifetime ago already) held a powerful enchantment for fighting skeletons and other undead, and so he should not only buy it but pay a lot for it.  I already regret my honesty in writing it, but I must admit he actually had me going for a time; for all I knew, he'd used the thing to fight other skeletons on that wreck while I was dealing with Morgan's childish antics.  The guard didn't have much money, or I'm sure I'd be less one sword and a small amount richer right now.  Then the caravan's resident wizard used an interesting little monacle to view the sword, and declared it to be absolutely mundane.  Disappointing (though monacle is quite intriguing).  Unless he was just trying to drive the price down, hoping we'd offer to sell it to him.  I hadn't thought of that.  Must check for aura soon.  Honestly hadn't thought of that, either, until now.  Dor's company is distracting.  Wizard also said Dor's dagger (which is indeed Valyrian after all, according to dwarf in caravan, see marginal notes) has magical properties.  Dor asked if he could have monacle.  Wizard said no (he's getting quite a lot of practice in saying that, since meeting Dor--welcome to my world).  So he asked if he could buy it.  Apparently the thing's worth 4,000g.  Dor offered to trade his dagger for it, and wizard actually agreed.  Dor promptly returned dagger to sheath, now knowing that weapon to be worth at least 4,000.  He can be startlingly resourceful at times.  One might wonder just what does go on in that bean-shaped head.  He saw me looking at dagger and beatifically stated--in ways only we two would understand--that my box would be in serious danger if anything happened to that dagger.  The little beast actually said outright that he was threatening me, all with that stupid smile on his face.  I was only wondering if he was planning on selling it when we reach a town.  And how to convince him that a portion of the proceeds should be mine.  He seems to be better in the convincing department than I, but one can always find some way to take advantage of lesser mind.  That really does sound terribly cold, now that I look at it.  As written previously, can't help but sort of like him.  Just can't figure out how to deal with him on day-to-day basis.  Never quite know what to expect, and that puts me very much on edge.  Especially with breakable and/or flammable things within his reach.  No matter how likable, there still remains to me some kind of responsibility for welfare of people nearby, in addition to concern for Dor's own state if someone takes steps against him.  Biggest trouble is trying to figure out which to side with in event of direct conflict.  I tried to sell cutlass to a few other guards, but none of them have enough money for even a mundane weapon of the sort.  Couldn't even sell gold-filled tooth or orc jawbone--not even human one--to guard.  He said I was starting to scare him.  I told him I wasn't the one that killed the previous owner of the human jaw.  Come to think of it, can't remember where in the world I picked it up.  Had forgotten it was in my pack.  He wanted to know what he'd want with any of those items.  What was I supposed to say?  What use in gold?  Too soft for weapons and can't be eaten, yet everyone wants it.  Some people have no appreciation of worth.  Somehow must get money together for materials to call familiar; travel with Dor is too nerve-wracking, can't be alert enough all the time, need other set of senses.  And it would be helpful to have excuse of irritable viper somewhere in pockets to deter any casual contact, among so many people traveling together for so long; constant background worry over revelation of wings or horns.  After lifetime of comfortable seclusion, struggling with odd attraction of such large company.  Attraction and repulsion, realizing I don't know any of them and have no idea of how to make anything resembling friend and would probably end up regretting it somehow if I did.  Exchange with guard in trying to sell various items proved that at least some of them have very odd priorities and unfathomable minds.  Probably most if not all of them, in fact, since they all seem to have their familiar groups to gather into for travel and around campfire at night, and they all get along just fine.  Suppose I could try talking to caravan's wizard.  Disquieting thought, however, after lifelong experience with Tammanath.  Would prefer to hold onto any items of magical or mundane value I'm carrying, and rather not have to sit through constant one-upping by someone very obviously advanced.  Too bad Dor doesn't seem capable of meaningful conversation.  Settling in for sleep now.  Saw prints of boots and large paws in crossing trail earlier today; Dor is one of first watchmen tonight, hopefully will actually watch instead of trying to find new ways to burn miles of dry grassland.

Day 6
He actually served well as watchman.  Alerted us in time to fend off orcs, some of which rode wargs.  He can't seem to leave caravan wizard alone, though.  Good thing that one is apparently so hard to ruffle.  I'm currently riding atop his wagon--the only solid one in this procession of canvas-tops--for writing as we travel.  Good vantage point.  Must learn name of staff wizard; cumbersome to continually refer to "caravan wizard" in journal.  Probably says something about me, that I still don't know it.  Will use CW in meantime.  Surely everyone here knows my name; Dor continually calls and shouts it out, often while waving arms about over his head and running full-tilt here and there.  I still have him going on the matter of elephant-hunting.  Told him orcs, goblins, and the like are different types of elephants.  So he ranges around caravan on the lookout for more elephants.  Useful occupation, at the least.  He's a terrible liar, however; makes mistake of trying to revise reality for someone who was present to witness it.  Should study under Tammanath for a while, learn better tactics.  What am I saying?  Bad enough as it is.  And he wants me to teach him magic.  So he can "blow things up" instead of just burning them down.  [insert deity of choice] spare us all.  He's getting harder to put off, might just follow through eventually on veiled threat of setting fire to things for fun if not given magic study for distraction.  Just realized--haven't actually thought about box in some time, perhaps more than full day.  Must keep it in mind, not dig through backpack without thought in front of someone in caravan.  Or worse, leave pack to be molested by unscrupulous fellow traveler in my brief absence.  Been keeping it on my person for most part, automatically.

Day 8
Fought off another orc/goblin attack in early evening, this time with two bugbears involved as well (note--stop compulsive after-battle dissection when goblinoids involved, they stink).  As in last encounter, an enemy escaped to bring report back to comerades and gather reinforcements for next time.  Ran too fast, quickly out of range for even magic missile, currently my farthest-range spell.  Summoned fiendish wolf worked very well, however, chasing down fleeing party and doing significant damage (judging by sounds) until killed before dissipation.  First time using that spell.  Minor image of similar but nastier creature also highly effective, serving to distract bugbears from battle until they could be dealt with.  Rather proud of that one, quite realistic.  CW certainly bides his time in fight, would probably say he's waiting for opportune moment and maximum effect.  Moment almost eluded him entirely, this time.  I hit several enemies with a bloody crossbow, when admittedly limited array of spells was of questionable value.  I suppose I'm just too inexperienced to know when to let others do ALL of fighting while I stand and watch.  And he had inhuman gall to deride that absurd halfling for fumbling his last shot with sling and injuring himself worse than what any enemy had done to him; refused to give healing potion despite wound taken in defense of caravan.  At least Dor was doing something, keeping orcs off of CW's throat.  Hope CW didn't sprain wrist in his one use of magic missile.  Could ask his name (he's even more reclusive than I), but "CW" seems so much more appropriate for mercantile time-server.  Maybe I'll even help Dor in his proposed plans for loosening wheels on CW's wagon.  Ungrateful bastard.

Day 9
Have started teaching Dor.  He can actually sit in one place and pay attention.  For a little while.  Remember all too well my own wandering attention in early years.  Hopefully we'll be able to work something between us to deal with CW before parting ways with him.  Highmoon's still a long way off.

Day 12
Tracks of goblinoids crossing our route have steadily increased as we've neared town.  Dor did mention, back on Day 9, that he'd heard faint noises coming from S during his watch on previous night after battle, a little too much like distant screams to wave aside as mere wind.  Now approaching Zerapher, town with palisade perhaps 15 ft. high, situated right on caravan route.  Perhaps I'll be able to sell an item or three and gather enough money for familiar at last.  ---Writing at night now, before hangover can set in.  That bloody halfling wouldn't simply demonstrate the game mechanics of coppers, insisted on participation.  If he withholds that little hangover-removal potion of his from Baldur's Gate in morning, I swear I will search the world over to acquire a means to turn him into a frog.  With five legs and a bad case of hives.  Permanently.  We'll be meeting CW in morning to venture into countryside and find something to do about local orc problem.  Blacksmith who told us of problem (and who promised Dor unbeatable trade offer in exchange for help) confirmed palisade to be at least fire-resistant.  Otherwise, I might have refused on Dor's behalf, for sake of everyone living in or near town.  As things stand, not especially looking forward to tomorrow for multiple reasons, not least of which is number and size of goblinoid tracks seen near town.  I'm not the one who made deal with blacksmith--why am I in this?  Must pay more attention when accompanying that halfling anywhere to talk to anyone.  Must wake up later tonight and go to this inn's baths, hopefully find no one else there so late.  Which raises interesting point that I've been shoving aside and more or less deliberately avoiding for lack of answers: What am I going to do in case of injury greater than mere tear in wing?  Most would be instantly treatable by CW's healing potions (assuming he doesn't say I did it to myself and don't deserve potion), but what of arrows/quarrels that need extra hands for removal?  Shudder at thought, but can't just keep avoiding issue in mind.  Tammanath may have provided very definition of "bastard" at times, but at least he knew me almost from beginning and wasn't concerned about lineage or very visible signs thereof.  Why am I going through with this wild orc chase?  Bloody hell, can't think right now...

Day 13
A fitting day number for marching to my doom.  But I suppose it's my own fault.  Could probably have stayed behind, on pretext or just with a straight There's-nothing-in-this-for-me-and-I-don't-want-to-die.  It's occurred to me, however, that this pint-sized pyromaniac is the only person in the world with whom I have any sort of connection anymore, and I'd prefer he stay alive, even if it requires some effort on my part now and then.  Better the devil you know, as they say, though I'm personally quite glad never to have met my grandfather...Poor attempt at humor, that.  Anyway, spent this day walking, doubling back W on caravan route then S on previously-noticed major trail covered in goblinoid footprints.  S is where Dor heard screams originating.  Lovely.  Camping tonight (CW at least brought 3 caravan guards along), more walking tomorrow, until such time as we find cause of screams.

Day 16
Note on the run--Currently in small underground stronghold of orcs, bugbears, and who knows what else to come.  Dor found working amulet like necromancer's.  Actually, I found it, and the little bugger snatched it.  I agreed to let him have half of whatever that unlocked chest contained if he'd disarm any potential traps and open it while I took shelter behind doorway, but there were no traps.  Contained only one amulet (with indents on cushion for two more); he took it, "offered" to cut it in half with that Valyrian dagger if I really wanted to split it.  Did nothing but lift chest's lid, and expects to get even half of what I found...Unfortunately, don't want to press too much, because he probably would cut the thing in half.  Must make shorthand symbol for "blasted halfling," used so much here.

Day 17
Heading back toward Zerapher, mission accomplished.  For now.  No telling when menace will reform--someone teleported out of that stronghold--but I recall no specification that the threat be abolished to the end of time.  Could hardly make such a guarantee in any case.  Dor will now be able to keep his magic trinkets and get his jewel back from that blacksmith.  And I...well, I'm alive.  Didn't expect much more out of this venture.  Not even that, really, so I suppose I'm ahead of the game after all.  And I now have money for acquiring familiar, as well as a few minorly valuable items of my own to sell off.  And another colored, scaly box.  This one is slightly smaller than the red, and the ostensible dragonhide is a medium-light blue-green, of all colors.  And a spellbook sized for someone larger than I, looking distinctly necromantic.  Dor licked the first page and smeared the writing.  Amazing he didn't torch it just offhand.  He found two books, each of which copies anything written in the other; gave one to me so he can bug me at a distance.  Kept the amulet, though.  The working one.  Gave me the one whose stone shattered upon its wearer's demise (goblin in stronghold).  If the three places for amulets on the cushion in that chest indicate only three of that kind made, all three of them are now accounted for, and only one still in working order (that one now hangs around Dor's neck, can't wait to see what that foolish move on his part might do).  If that chest contained only one batch of several, we may yet have interesting times ahead, because we seem to keep running into them.  Could they have been manufactured for some individuals or organization whose interests run counter to Illyrio's?  That might account for sudden reticence on part of both elf merchant and amulet-seller in Baldur's Gate, when shown my sketch.  Must make mark on paper-scrap in vial from shipwreck, see if same appears in one or both of communication books.  Or if any pages/partial pages missing.  Itching to test lock on blue-green box, but may well be more dangerous magic associated than with red one.

Day 20
Have familiar at last.  Never knew weasel could be...cute.  Absurd little thing.  Abundant energy--reminds me of another small individual.  But should do well to balance out my own caution.  Podge, of course.  Tammanath rolling in grave, disgust or hysterical laughter uncertain.

Day 21
Sold off those three gold-worked wooden boxes.  Only 20g for all together--seems paltry, but shopkeeper appeared certain of value.  Less weight to carry, at least.  Dor has been happily drinking most of time since return to town.  Doesn't even have room at inn--barkeep says he just curls up by common room fireplace, wakes up now and then wanting another drink, and passes back out again when accommodated.  I laugh at memory of barkeep telling me confidentially that he figures his undersized patron is harmless because he's only so big.  But he seems certain of inn's fire-resistance.  His loss, not mine.  I finally dragged unconscious halfling up to proper room tonight.  Snagged communication book from his pack and retreated to my own room for experiment.  Made mark on scrap, but no similar mark appeared on any page in either book.  And no pages obviously missing, or pieces of them.  Returned book so as not to be assaulted in sleep by vindictive beanhead with hangover.  Must admit, would greatly prefer not to start silent war of stealing things from unguarded backpacks, even if direct assault not forthcoming.  Caravan to leave in morning; we're going as well, since I checked with caravanmaster on exact terms of proxy agreement that set us up with this group, and was told that we're signed on all the way to Highmoon.  Continued travel with caravan seems default choice for now; would greatly love to find out more about amulets and colored boxes, but where to look other than in Baldur's Gate?  Not quite curious enough to risk Illyrio's scrutiny again without sufficient chance for passing unnoticed or escaping if caught.  Must remind myself of that every night in order to find sleep.

Day 22
Highly unsettling development, more disturbing than I can possibly say, but entire previous journal to date should give some idea of extent:  that amulet apparently gives Dor some degree of control over his favorite element in the world.  Excitedly demonstrated for me by staring at small campfire and causing it to grow and shrink at his mental command.  I passed it off as only minor concern, filed away for continued thought and observation.  CW thinks Dor is acting strangely, and that it seems to have something to do with that amulet--I told him nothing is strange for Dor, he'll come to shrug off anything if he spends long enough around him.  Privately, will certainly be on alert, however--last thing I'd call CW is alarmist, and he has had an undiluted taste of Dor since leaving Baldur's Gate.  Dor has agreed to actually sit still for entire hour tomorrow for identify spell, since he refuses to remove amulet so I can examine it while he bounces about elsewhere.  Just that curious about it, I suppose.  CW simply gave materials for spell, no charge.  Suspicion twitched, but very little soil for root at this point, and soon died.  Dor told me to keep money he'd provided for materials.  Even stranger, but not about to protest.  Just hope to find out enough to make hour-long spell worthwhile.

Day 23
No such luck.  Amulet--or stone, more precisely--much too old and possibly too powerful to reveal anything.  Gold of amulet quite ordinary.  Dor didn't explode during hour of enforced stillness.  Thought he might explode afterward upon learning futility of whole exercise, but seems too enamored of amulet to pay much attention to such trifles.  Says it's warm.  And that taking it off would be "stupid." And that he's not hungry.  And that he's invincible when he wears the thing.  Stabbed himself in arm with small pointed stick to prove it.  Predictable results, but he looked shocked.  Did it again a few moments later, after another cheerful assertion of invincibility.  Startled exclamation from him followed, to effect that he's not invincible after all, and needs to remember that.  I merely agreed.  As I write, I'm walking behind covered wagon where we sat on tailgate for spell.  Dor is still sitting there, rubbing amulet against cheek with look on face like cat rolling on patch of sun-warmed rug.  Accustomed enough to his usual oddities that current behavior does actually strike me as a bit unusual.  Must gird up and go make some attempt at pooling observations and inferences with CW.  ---Night time, now.  Managed to get amulet away from Dor, but only by risking life and possessions; color spray failed, so daze and then quick loops of fishing line to immobilize.  "Quick" because pause for thought would have rubbed face in utterly antisurvivalistic nature of such action, and probably prevented follow-through.  CW grabbed amulet (note he used mage hand, apparently not even wanting to touch the thing), leaving me to figure out how in the nine hells I was going to convince Dor I wasn't to blame for his binding and robbing.  Disorientation of dazing proved useful--spontaneously fabricated story of orcs attacking out of nowhere, knocking him on head, and leaving without trace.  No bump on head because of healing potion before he completely regained cognizance.  "Localized" type of potion, for head only, because he grew suspicious about stick-stab marks still on arm.  Close call on that explanation, but I think he bought it.  Still sleep lightly for next few nights.  CW closeted in wagon for some time with amulet, came out when we stopped for night.  Told us it works with innate psionic ability in wearer; this is much more disturbing than theory of amulet giving fire-related power.  At least amulet could be taken away.  Now blasted halfling may still be capable of fire-tricks--and who knows what else--without it.  Even more delightful was news that amulet acts as tracking device and continuous transceiver to/from others of its kind; this entire time, Illyrio (who else?) has known our location, and anything said (by Dor only or by anyone near him?) has been heard by other amulet-wearers.  CW popped it into Nirvana; I suppose if anyone goes there to find it, he won't likely come back to use it.  Apparently amulets were/are made by one particular maker--of course, the one who loudly denied knowing anything about the one in my sketch--and CW could make use of channels and connections to turn that list of names (Dor still had it, amazingly) into evidence.  Took a nice bit of work--including Dor stealing his miniature bag of holding as "payment"--to get that list into CW's hands.  Now, just hope CW is actually on the side he appears to be on in this whole mess.

Day 24
It might occur to one to find another destination besides the one known by one's enemy.  But how to remain involved enough to see potential disaster visited on said enemy?  And to search for key on his person or possessions.  Boxes are his; he must have some way of opening them.  Preferrably not some word or action rather than object.

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Day 1 from Elturel
Restarting days again, after abrupt departure from town we'd just arrived in.  Reached Elturel this afternoon.  Trailed Dor and a few others to inn.  Dor promptly started harrassing very large, mail-clad half-orc.  I sat at bar to watch, hoping no one would link me to him (especially since the unwitting victim had several drinking buddies of like type sitting at table).  And that we'd have time to vacate building before inevitable fire became dangerous.  Once resigned to usual course of events, show can really be quite entertaining along the way.  As fight progressed--Dor only wanted to play cards, the half-orc was being just a bit unreasonable about the matter, probably due to halfling looking up four feet to look him in eye while calling him "sissy"--I casually asked CW how far he planned to go with caravan before returning to Baldur's Gate to set things in motion.  Dor offered to stop stabbing half-orc if he'd just agree to play cards, and was met by more clumsy, bellowing attacks.  CW said he was going all the way to Highmoon, partly to visit family and business contacts; asked if Dor was always like this, to which I had to shrug and say yes, you get used to it, as I'd told him before.  Acrobatics ensued, involving chair flung across room and following reprisal.  Fortunately half-orc drinking buddies were pretending not to notice commotion.  Dedicated drinkers.  I told CW that the inn would most likely burn before morning, and that it would provide excellent cover for a change of direction to throw off someone who knew where we were heading and even knew our exact location until a few days ago.  He carefully agreed to assertion about usefulness of said cover, though without actual committment to anything.  Half-orc's friends finally got involved enough to haul their sadly beaten companion to his feet and attempt to leave with him; Dor couldn't resist another comment or two with basic import of his victory and big bad half-orc's loss.  Half-orc tried to kick him with his one good leg, fell over again, and was hauled toward door by friends (after one of them added his own disgusted kick to the downed one).  Dor jumped on his armored back and probably managed to snag some minor valuable from a pocket before skittering away.  Half-orc was still weakly bellowing and wanting to fight as he was dragged outside.  Barkeep handed Dor on-the-house drink, which he gulped down and quickly passed out.  Without pause, barkeep motioned serving girl to haul him up to his room.  They know how to handle fractious patrons, here.  Thought that perhaps inn would survive night after all.  But we're staying tonight in CW's wagon, after leaving inn very suddenly, surprisingly not in flames.  Wagon is much bigger inside than outside.  Also handy in that he can carry it with him as pocket-sized command word object.  Dimensions within dimensions.  Intriguing, but not worth admitting ignorance.  I pulled boards out of wall between my room and Dor's earlier tonight, back at inn, intending to go grab him up and find some way out of inn unobserved.  Inkeep was kind enough to tell me--AFTER fight--that the half-orc Dor beat up was one of the "playmates" of the local head man's son, and there would surely be reprisal.  I feigned assurance that we could clear things up in morning, supposedly glad halfling would be out cold until then from whatever was in that drink.  Then I set about trying to figure an escape.  More complex than it sounds, I've discovered.  Couldn't squeeze through gap I made in wall after much effort (only glad no one came to check on noise, got a little carried away there).  Thankfully Dor woke up at that point due to noise, though still groggy from drink--managed to find his anti-hangover potion to help that aspect, but still under drug fog for a while.  We went out into hall to collect CW, thinking he should at least have sure warning of impending "distraction," whether he wanted to leave with us or not, and realized my own cursed oversight: had no idea which room was his.  Luckily he came down stairs to find out what was making all the racket.  He actually talked Dor out of burning down inn, or maybe just talked and acted fast enough to prevent it, providing better escape through some sort of dimensional window outside scope of my arcane knowledge.  He said innkeeper needed his inn.  Well, we needed our skin, so I'm glad he at least gave alternate way out of situation instead of merely creating difficulties by bringing up extraneous considerations.  Innkeep can fend for himself, as I see it, just as he expected us to do in the morning.  We emerged through portal in wooded region in sight of town walls, and circled around until we came back in sight of road we had traveled, heading westward.  Toward Baldur's Gate.  CW said something might have followed us through portal, because it hesitated before closing when he told it to.  None of us saw anything, but that hardly means nothing was there.  Lovely.  What in the world would try to follow us at this point?  I suppose the question would be more appropriate as What in any world...Why not some extraplanar monster?  It probably wants my boxes.  Bloody thieving interlopers.  Maybe my venerated grandfather wants a family reunion.  Bloody hell.  Tammanath was a bastard, but at least he knew considerably more of interplanar matters than I.  Much of it from poking and prodding and drugging his own apprentice, but can one truly complain when so much understanding was gained?  Would likely have done the same myself.  Can only hope CW is well-versed enough in handling the planes.  Never realized how painfully unqualified I was for dealing with dangers of travel, before leaving tower.  Books are so much more predictable.  Except when someone in the home thinks it's funny to make random sepia snake traps.  Left me there one time for a week before getting tired of fixing his own meals...

Day 4
Nothing but onerous walking through woods, keeping more or less in sight of road.  Wagon is certainly nice to have available at night.  All the amenities, quite comfortable.  Even provides food.  Either CW would have no interest in acquiring something so trifling as my boxes, in light of all he already has, or would simply take them upon learning of them, encountering no resistance he can't easily handle.  Disturbing dichotomy of potential.

Day 6
Circled wide of Zerapher yesterday.  Came upon familiar area today, crossing trail that bears many footprints.  Orc stronghold is a few days south of here.  Encountered several orcs in expensive armor, in woods off of trails.  Dor snuck up and pinged one with rock.  Claimed later that it was a test to see if they were enemies; if they turned and attacked, they were fair game.  Looked like a very undesirable fight was about to descend upon us.  I know I cast darkness on the dagger I threw toward them for confusion, but when I squinted I could see through it, though apparently the orcs couldn't.  Interesting development, will have to test again.  I shot one with the trusty old crossbow, but didn't get a good hit through that armor.  CW's fireball did delightful amount of destruction along its path--there truly is something hypnotic about very large flames, I'm surprised Dor didn't wet himself for joy--but actually missed targets.  I summoned lemure; that's freakish enough to scare most anyone who hasn't dealt with them before.  Sure enough, orcs moved out of darkness radius only to be confronted by a gibbering mound of agonized goo, and they backed off and finally broke and ran.  Quite satisfying.  Except for lemure, of course.  But I don't think eating them would have made it any happier.

Day 7
More walking.  Dor can't walk without distraction any more than he can do anything else without distraction.  Amused himself by sneaking furtively from bush to bush, most often out of sight and sound of us (whether through distance or deliberate stealth).  Found further amusement in sneaking up behind me during interminable but nervous trek and then loudly and suddenly declaring coast to be clear.  I'm not sure what I threw at him in startled instant--not any spell of which even CW knows--but wouldn't have been fun for him if it had hit, to judge by hole in bushes near him where it struck.  Whatever that blast was, is it yet something more for me to hide, perhaps something associated with tieflings?  CW didn't seem terribly perturbed, but I have impression that, if he were, we'd be unaware of it until too late; far too calm and easy on surface.

Day 8
Small party of well-armored half-orcs came riding up from behind us.  We were already off road, so made some attempt at hiding to let them pass by.  Dor succeeded, but we larger folk had more difficult time of it.  With noninteraction out of the question, I stepped out to answer direct hail of obvious leader.  He proved to be the one so sorely trounced by halfling wanting to play cards; asked me where that individual was, and took my word that I didn't know (after all, I didn't know exactly where he was hiding at that moment), but didn't believe when I said I thought he might have gone east before we headed west.  Party rode on westward ahead of us.  Most likely will be waiting for us when they don't find word of Dor's passing further ahead.  Lovely.  Once they'd gone, Podge managed to jump from concealment in tree where Dor was hiding onto his back and "mark" him, apparently in response to Dor's ongoing game of pelting me with pinecones as we walk (I can't seem to hit the little bastard, myself).  Just glad he waited until riders had left, in case Dor should move or make sound.  Dor seemed not to mind reek of weasel musk.  Sat deliberately close to me at supper before going to bathe/launder.

Day 11
Nothing notable.  More walking, occasionally moving farther from road and/or seeking hiding spots when other travelers approach.  And more pinecones.  One would think I'd have developed better aim by now.  Perhaps I have, and Dor has simply developed better dodging skills to keep up.

Day Something and a Half
I've lost track.  Nothing worth recording in quite a long time.  CW says we'll reach Baldur's Gate tomorrow.  I'm glad he recognizes where we are.  It looks like the same blasted grassland we've been trudging through for eons.  That grassland was a much-needed break from the forest, but it's long since grown old in turn.  And with no one else for distraction on the way, Dor has focused very close to all of his energies on me.

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Day 1 back in Baldur's Gate
With the city on the horizon, CW reconstituted that wagon of his again, this time making it look like a canvas-covered wagon, and summoned up a couple horses to pull it as well.  Suggested that Dor and I "go below" to enter city unseen; trapdoor in floor of covered wagon led down into familiar solid-wood wagon.  Seemed blatantly supsicious to me; he says he has contacts in town, he's expected here, and he'll take us to inn where we can stay out of sight while he goes off alone to talk to these contacts who are expecting him.  But not much in way of options available, short of turning and bolting, and that would likely have proven dangerous if he really does mean harm.  Must continue to wait and watch.  I took advantage of time in wagon to search everywhere for anything that might possibly link him to Illyrio, amulets, and/or boxes.  Found nothing of the sort.  Dor emulated search, only to start experimenting with various vials and self-leveling scrying bowl in counter.  I warned him of likely consequences to him should anything be broken, misplaced, or otherwise messed up, but he persisted.  Aware of likely consequences to me should I make serious effort at halting him, I simply moved as far away as I could and sat down to write this.  CW is now telling us we've arrived.  Thankfully everything Dor moved soon reappeared in proper places.  ---Later now, in suite at inn.  Classy place.  Wish I'd used disguise self for passage from wagon into inn.  I'm just a bit on the easily-described-and-recognized side.  Only have it once for day, though (that's planning for you), and prefer to keep it for potential situations ahead, should CW prove doublecrosser.  Of course, from sampling thus far, any enemies associated with amulets/boxes are sure to be advanced enough to have various means of seeing through disguise, but one must work with what means are available and hope for best.  While expecting worst.  The two do seem to balance out, given time, so long as annoying little things like death don't pop up to upset the scales.

Day 2
Morning.  CW (whose name turns out to be Charles Williamson, much to my ironic disgust) has left to meet contacts and find out what may be done about Illyrio, using that list of names.  Supposedly.  There's no way out of this suite without using front door, short of tying bedsheets together and climbing out of window.  That would involve breaking metal parts on casement windows to provide large enough opening, and then we'd only end up in the courtyard, which is very picturesque but nicely walled-in.  Dor has already gone up stairs to flat roof and experimentally thrown gravel over low wall up there, to hit wealthy guests lounging in courtyard below.  And this morning before CW left, Dor went up and relieved his post-drinking sickness from that vantage point.  I closed window and pulled drapes just in time.  CW's appetite was instantly gone, but I shrugged and told him once again that you get used to it, traveling with that one.  I thought I was used to it, at any rate; Dor came back and deliberately nauseated me with fruit salad on breakfast tray.  I wasted a spell and made it taste like horse manure.  Unaware, he said it tasted funny, but continued shoveling it down.  I returned to my bedroom, determined not to think about it.  With CW gone now, Dor is currently burning something in sitting room (hopefully in fireplace)--I'm in my bedroom with door open--but only answers "Nothing!" to inquiries.  Not worth getting up to check.  If it becomes dangerous, he'll say so.  Smells like hair, probably wool blanket.  Now room service is knocking at front door, asking for trays/dishes.  Dor says we're not finished.  Now, to judge by sounds, he's finding more uses for third-storey window over courtyard.  One dish gone.  Another knock, and asking for trays.  Dor says he's naked.  Footsteps rush up in hall, and angrier-sounding man says he doesn't care if Dor's naked, he wants his dishes back before he drops any more out the window.  Dor agrees at last.  Ouch--that was definitely sound of rolling cart tipping over and dishes crashing.  Angry man in hall--presumably innkeep--says we'll have large bill to pay.  Brief argument ensues over whether breakage was Dor's fault for shoving cart toward him across room, or innkeep's fault for stepping back in surprise and letting wheels hit doorjamb and tip the works.  Mildly entertaining, from next room.  Now it's suspiciously quiet out there after door closed.  ---Short while later, and I've helped Dor haul heavy wheeled cart up two flights of stairs to roof.  He says innkeep finally agreed to remove broken things from bill if he'll get the cart up there for him.  I've now had several minutes of thought between last sentence and this one.  And I begin to wonder.  No, it doesn't make a great amount of sense, does it?  He said he thinks the innkeep assigned him the task because it was nearly impossible for someone his size, but he must not have expected Dor to get help with it.  Dor stayed up on the roof when I went down.  I'm going back up.  He couldn't lift that thing over that four-foot wall around the edge of the roof, could he?


Deeper, darker things await in Part II...

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