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Entry I
Approximately One Week After Arrival At The Silan Refugee Camp.

I promised Chelnaa the Zoraïs (Praise His Memory) to start a Personal Journal as soon as I could Acquire a Suitable Book for the task, to keep my Writing Skills effluent and to help me Recall And Structure things that has happened to me during my travels. For Reasons That Shall Become Apparent, I have not had opportunity to fulfill My Promise until today, so this first entry will be a Recapitulation Of Recent Events.

It has been a Very Interesting week since I arrived here. I have made Many Friends and learned much. Soon I shall depart, once again, this time for Fairhaven, city of Most Promising Prospects. More about this Later.

My Entrance into the camp was Most Confusing, as I slipped in a pile of Rotting Bodoc Dung just as I was about to go through the gates and, having the choice of continuing my Mad Dash or falling face first into more of Aforementioned Rotting Bodoc Dung, ended up with my Poor Head considerably shaken by the Sturdy Wooden Fence that apparently surrounds the premises.

My Mind took a turn from the Collision and I lost much of my Memory, which Gradually returned during the following week.

As Such, it was with Some Reluctance that I approached the Zoraïs Greeter on the Hilltop. He seemed a Friendly Sort, nonetheless, and told me Many Things that, even in my Addled State, seemed Perfectly Obvious. I sincerely hope that I am not the only one who arrived shaken, or this Poor Fellow seriously should find himself a better job - perhaps shoveling Rotting Bodoc Dung. Still, he did have a [d]seda[/d] calming effect on me.

The Camp, in itself, mostly consists of Clusters Of Simple Tents that have long ago been abandoned by their Original Owners and appear to be arbitrarily Requisitioned by Arriving Refugees (some of which are more Possessive than others.) Each tent has developed its own Singular Scent over time, which is Very Practical when trying to find your way after a Particularly Successful Night.
Strewn among the tents are Ramshackle Vendor Shacks in which Overworked and Frighteningly Wooden volunteers struggle Day And Night to redistribute the Various Bric-A-Brac we refugees bring in, as well as offering training and guidance. (More about The Latter, later.)

This brings me to the Topic Of The Other Refugees. As I have mentioned, I have made Many Friends, though the circumstances of our acquaintance are not so much a Basic Commonality as the fact that most of the Other People here are Curiously Reclusive and many speak in Strange Monosyllabic Utterings. I can only assume that most who come here are so Deeply Distraught that they have lost all connection to the World Around Them. Nonetheless, it is Rotting Unnerving to walk among these people (especially during Aforementioned Successful Nights). Who knows how many of them are Rotting Goo-Suckers?

Naturally, arriving refugees are expected to Make Themselves Useful around the camp. There are even guides ensconced in Wooden Stalls doing their best to [d]kill[/d] keep us all occupied with [d]Rott[/d] Very Interesting And Straightforward Tasks such as finding dung and lobbing the head off the latest goo-sucker upstart. Their jobs seem to have made them Slightly Eccentric. The foraging guide seems to have an obsession for dead leaves and the Raving Fyros battle guide hates yubos With A Vengeance. Perhaps the Little Bastards relieved themselves in her Shiny Boots one too many times. I think they could all use taking part in a Successful Night. (Especially that Milles girl. She is Most Captivating!)

Some days after Arrival, I was on a forage with Wheri, one of the Trykers. We found To Our Astonishment that we are actually Cousins. His mother was my brother's sister! It's a Wonder to find something Close To Home even in such a Distant Land. My mood rose by Major Increments at this realisation. Wheri and I get along Like Strains Of The Same Weave and we're set on exploring Fairhaven (particularly its Taverns and Female Population) together.

Together, our Motley Band has braved Many Dangers, often led by the Plucky Perun or the Rigid Ract, and with exception of some of the [inkblot] Less Evenhanded people, we seem to Get Along Splendidly - to the point that we are planning to Meet Up on the Mainland and continue Working Toward A Common Goal.

Conversations with Wheri has brought back Memories Of My Past and eventually made me think of What Has Happened to me. During one of these Ruminations I suddenly, like struck by a Rotting Fence-Pole, remembered my Promise to Chelnaa. (Praise His Memory.) After a Most Hectic Hunt for something to serve as Parchment, and some Very Rotting Clever mixing of oils and saps by Wheri, I had the necessities. That was An Hour Ago. Finally I have finished the First Entry in this My New Journal. Chelnaa (P.H.M.) would be Proud!

Now, to see that Milles girl about a date. She can only turn me down So Many Times!