Pages from Ulisha's Journal

Excepts from Ulisha’s Journal (Mausoleum)

The only thing worse than working for a Galtan nobleman is working for two Galtan noblemen—in my case, Lords Tullivor and Sarvio, both of whom are happy only when the other is not. I made a tidy sum recovering their heirlooms, but when Laban Tullivor tasked me to steal a platinum chalice belonging to the Sarvios, I took my leave (and the cup), and they’ve been hounding me since. Now Laban’s deceased, and it’s rumored his mausoleum in Gralton’s cemetery harbors a treasure. I hope you’ll not balk at tomb-robbing. Remember, these are aristocrats. I say, a plague on both their houses.

Excepts from Ulisha’s Journal (Mists)

When seeking to conceal something, one’s first instinct is to choose a spot no one would think to look. Better yet, choose a locale no one would dare to go. Such was my logic after liberating a magic lantern from an anemic necromancer in Ustalav. Lest the wizard track me through its magic, I hid the lantern underneath some rocks in a stream near Cannibal’s Grove, whose own magic would disguise the lantern’s own. Now that time has passed, I’d gladly cut you in for a nice percentage of its value. All you need do is travel to the Forest of Veils in southern Varno. From there, any superstitious peasant should know the route to Cannibal’s Grove. How bad can it be?

Excepts from Ulisha’s Journal (Colony)

Different cultures’ treatment of the gods is a point of endless fascination for me. Consider the Rahadoumi and their Laws of Man, rejecting the gods despite the plagues and deserts that eat away at their lands. Others such as the Nidalese have sworn themselves entirely to one god who grants his followers power at a punishing price. The small nation of Razmiran is much like Nidal, in that the people pay homage to a most curious deity: a “Living God” who lives among his people. Don’t be fooled by his talk of prosperity for all. The Razmiri are an underhanded lot, and I recently heard that the village of Allenstead—once staunchly against the god Razmir—had all converted to Razmir’s worship. Apparently, a priest bearing a jeweled rod recently paid Allenstead a visit and won everyone over within a day. It’s obvious that some dastardly magic is at work here, and that the priest’s golden scepter is at the crux of it all. I wonder what it’s worth?

Excerpts from Ulisha ’ s Journal (Crash)

I may have just made a monumental discovery. While searching for an Osirian urn in an Absalom museum, I came upon a collection of charcoal rubbings in an old scroll tube. According to the notes that accompanied them, they were taken by a Pathfinder from a cave wall somewhere between the border of Numeria and the River Kingdoms. The rubbings depict what Numerians now refer to as the Rain of Stars. While this cave alone is an incredible find, I believe there’s something even more remarkable. In the rubbings, one of the smaller objects has a line that connects it to the horizon. While the Pathfinder dismissed this line as a stone fracture, I have another thought. I believe whomever witnessed this Rain of Stars must have seen where one of the smaller objects impacted and etched the line as a point of reference! Now all I need to do is calculate where the ridge lies in relation to this cave and I’ll have my name in the history books.

Accompanying her notebook entry, Ulisha filled the next several pages with crude maps, complex equations, and further notes. She apparently returned to the Pathfinder’s cave mentioned in her previous entry. By observing the angle of the ridgeline and her current position, she was able to calculate the crash site’s probable location. The last page on the matter includes a detailed map into Numeria with various landmarks and a destination. An addendum written in recent ink warns, “Tread lightly. Numeria remains a mystery to the rest of the world. Those who stay too long draw unwanted attention.”

Excerpts from Ulisha’s Journal (Webs)

That the Riverfolk of Daggermark haven’t wiped themselves off the map with their wanton assassinations and poisonings is a fact that will never cease to amaze me. Still, where such dealings occur, coin is always involved, and one knowledgeable in the ways of commerce can always earn a good wage. Daggermark’s economy runs on poisoned blades, but those blades would be dry were in not for a constant influx of alchemical goods. Such goods wax and wane, though, and if one watches diligently, these market shifts can be predicted. The next ingredient the markets will want is an adhesive produced by spiders and left in their webs. Of course more potent chemicals would be found in the glands of the dreadful beasts, but I am a scholar, not some vagabond sellsword slaying vermin for ale money. I have mapped a route to a newer nest that should be sparsely defended. My buyer, one Johannes Vox (an Iobarian of curious temperament) has not been as forthright in our latest dealing as I’d like. Perhaps it is time I sold elsewhere.

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