Maeve Diary

Dear Diary,

Zen Nox wants to go to the tower because they’ve taken Hammer’s (Antioch "Hammer" Malletor) friend, Smith. The group is very loud; they don’t have sneaky elf feet like me. On our way, the prisoner pretended to be dead, but Zanny kicked him in his dumb face, and Cedric Tarian carried him the rest of the way.

As we neared the tower, lots of the prisoner’s friends started to attack us. I was a very sneaky little lady, hiding behind a tree and then climbing up into it. Zanny gave me our special sign to shoot this guy. We’d only practiced it before, so it was really cool to do it for real this time. Too bad it was a pretend guy; my arrow would have ripped his insides out, but instead, it hit the wall. Zanny was busy trying to play prince and rescue the princess for his “star girl.” (Astrea) I stayed smart and safe in the tree.

When I came down from the tree, I investigated around the tower while Cedric and Hammer looked inside. Trustin Honesty tried to steal a cart while invisible and still pretending to be the viper woman we killed earlier. I explained to Zanny that it was just Truston with his cool magic. Then Hammer, Zanny, and the “star girl” ended up in a best friend triangle.

Cedric and I have now become best friends, and we even have our own secret handshake.

**AS WE RISE FROM THE SHIFTING SANDS OF BETRAYAL!**

Anywayyyy, we saved a bunch of people. We are basically heroes now.

 On the way into town, we stopped to cut trees down. I’m not good at cuttings tree so I went and gathered some food and a managed to hunt a rabbit. We then made it all the way into the new town. I can’t wait to make my new house a new home. I do hope that Fairstead is more than just fair. 

I have followed Trustin Honesty advice and used the “SOAP” on my clothings, although this is going to make it much harder to hide in the woods. Now I smell like lavenders and not like my normal hunting self. There is a very nice tavern here called the The Rising Dawn. Run by Elera Swiftwind, a beautiful elf. The food here is very nice, little bit fancy for me, but the others seem to enjoy it. 

Love,

Maeve

Antioch was here, i sketched you a lil anvil hehe

Dear Diary

Antioch "Hammer" Malletor has been reading you and leaving cool pictures of tools in you, if you flip it quickly it moves. 

Today was quite the adventure. We needed to find Kara Brightshield, the camp overseer—a human with striking red hair. Our search began at the local pub, where I discovered my new love for wine. It was there that we met Mira Fleetfoot, an elf messenger. She told us that Kara wanted to see us urgently. Trustin Honesty makes the best wine, I think I shall drink this everyday.

On our way to the river, we ran into Malik, a trader who'd just been there. We saw a dead horse at the river today, it looked as if all the water had been drained from its body. 

A storm rolled in not long after, fierce and sudden. Along the way, we came across a farmer girl struggling with her terrified horse. I managed to calm the animal, and in a moment of clarity, I reached out to speak to it. The horse's words were chilling: "The ground is rumbling, the sky is on fire, there are eyes in the sky."

The next day, we returned to where we had seen the dead horse, but it had vanished. A troubling thought crossed my mind—could it have become a zombie horse?

I went and looked at cool pebbles with the Star Girl. She is much nicer than the stories I have been told.

There are mysteries in these lands, and I feel we're just beginning to uncover them.

I am starting to like my new travel companions

Love Maeve

Dear Diary

I don’t have long, but I need to write this down in case I don’t make it. The horses they spoke of seeing a huge horse, something that sounds unnatural, lurking in the woods.

We followed someone into the woods, and now I see what they meant. The horse… it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, and there’s a wrongness about it. The air feels heavy, like something terrible is about to happen.

I shot an arrow, blessed with light, into the sky. I hope the others see it. If they find this journal and I don’t return, please… send word to my parents. They may have never loved me, but I have always loved them. Maybe that’s enough.

—Maeve

Diary Entry

Date Unknown

It’s been a while since I wrote anything here. I’m not even sure why I stopped—maybe I didn’t want to confront my thoughts. Maybe I didn’t have the words. Either way, here I am.

I found this amazing fishing spot near the river. The water’s so clear you can see the fish darting through it, their scales catching the light like tiny treasures. I sat there for hours, just… existing. I needed it. Everything feels so loud lately.

That kelpie, though. It’s dead now, but I keep thinking about how close it came to dragging me under. It’s not the first time I’ve been in danger, but this felt different. Maybe it’s because I was alone—again. Zanny should’ve been there. He promised we’d stick together, that we’d have each other’s backs. But he wasn’t, was he? He’s never there when it really counts.

I’m angry with him. Furious, actually. He was supposed to be my best friend. The one person I could trust to care about me, to see me. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t care about my wellbeing, or how his absence cuts me deeper than I want to admit.

And then there’s the drow. I didn’t expect kindness from her, not at first. But she’s been more considerate than Zanny ever was. It’s confusing. It’s making me question everything—what friendship is supposed to feel like, what I deserve from the people I surround myself with.

Maybe it’s time to stop expecting Zanny to be the person I thought he was. Maybe it’s time to focus on the people who are actually here, who might want to get to know me for me.

The others in the group seem… different. Like there’s potential for something new. Friendship, real friendship, doesn’t have to be this one-sided struggle, right? Maybe I’ve been holding on to the wrong person for too long.

I want to try. I want to make new friends.

I just hope it’s not too late.

-Maeve

Maeve’s Journal

Date: No idea. Trees don’t keep time.

We’re in Nymberssa. It’s full of elves, but not my kind. These “sea elves” are the worst. One of them called me a “smelly land elf,” as if they don’t live on the same land. Their fish are pathetic, too—slow and tasteless.

Apparently, they get all huffy when you call them “dirty gilled elves.” Not that I care. They started it.

On a brighter note, we had the most interesting discussion today about perspective. Why do we think certain sizes are the default? Do halflings think their tiny furniture is normal? What about goliaths—do they think the rest of us live in dollhouses? It’s a concept I’ll have to explore more.

We’re heading toward Bramblesong, a halfling village with a population of 92. I learned about calendula from them and how to use it as a healing salve. Practical knowledge like that is worth more than gold.

We got ambushed in the woods. I’m still not sure who they were or what they wanted, but they’re not around to explain anymore. We took their horns to add to the cup collection. They’ll make good mugs and a fine warning to anyone else who thinks we’re easy prey.

The forest smells better than anywhere else, and the trees feel familiar, but something about this place is still… off. It’s like it’s too clean. Too perfect. I miss the wild chaos of home, but I’ll find my way back eventually. For now, there’s more road ahead.

Dear Diary

Sooo this week I was very committed to getting myself a big majestic elk mask. I know my head’s not technically big enough for a real elk skull, but I figured—hey—maybe we could just take the whole skull and fashion it into like… elk armor or something? Antler pauldrons? Antler helmet? The possibilities were endless.

Anywayyy, we followed those elk footprints we saw last time, and that took us to Tower Two, which—if you remember, Diary—is where we had that whole drama with the cultists. Very rude of them, by the way, to hang out somewhere that should obviously be elk-only territory. I didn’t even see an elk last time, and that’s just poor planning.

This time though, we went in, absolutely breezed past the traps (because we’re all geniuses, obviously), and then had to do one of those weird door maze puzzles that everyone hates but we always somehow figure out because we’re incredible like that.

And then—get this—we finally found the elk! Yay! Except… boo… because it was already dead. And cursed. And it had a million eyes. On its antlers. Which, okay, was honestly kind of cool, but apparently cursed antlers are bad luck and we’re not allowed to take them home because something-something “don’t anger the gods” and “we don’t need more curses” blah blah blah. I can’t have anything nice.

OH and THEN we accidentally let out what we thought was a monster (which would’ve been exciting), but it was just a super cursed villager who was very bitey and started eating people. But it’s fine! We stopped him. Very heroic.

After he finished being all chompy, we asked where he was going and he was like, “Tower Three,” so now we’re going to Tower Three. I bet it won’t even have any antlers. But still. I remain very into the deer mask idea. Maybe tower three has fashion. We’ll see.

Okay love you, bye!

–Maeve

Dear Diary,

Last night was truly something. We met the mayor (nice enough guy, very mayor-y), and Truston offered to write his speech for the people. Then—oh gods—he did a little jig. Like, a full-on jiggity-jig-jig. Naturally, I joined in because you can’t not jig when a friend jigs. It’s rude otherwise.

Cedric and I thought, “You know what would make this even better? Animals.” Like, bring in a deer or a goose or something—real pizzazz. But then Truston suggested something even more cursed wonderful: matching suits.

So we went to this adorable tailor who, frankly, worked terrifyingly fast and made us all perfectly tailored suits in record time. I’m talking snazzy. We looked like a band of traveling accountants with secrets.

Then Antioch—bless his forge-loving heart—started making us nine-inch-long ceremonial nails. For the people, obviously. Nothing says “celebration” like hand-forged metal claws.

We eventually made it to Tower One and found this long, eerie tunnel. At the end of it, we popped out into the wilds and saw these massive beast-wolf-things. Horrifying, majestic, and—most importantly—fashionable. Their skulls would make such good helmets. Honestly, I’m still thinking about skinning one and turning it into a new outfit. Sorry, jig suit—you had your moment.

Anyway. Fashion, ferocity, and friendship. A night to remember.

Love,

Maeve

Today… today was something magical.

Cedric and I officially bought a plot of land. OUR land. I don’t know how to write that in a way that doesn’t feel surreal. It’s tucked away in a quiet green nook near the river bend, where the trees grow thick and tall and the breeze smells like moss and freedom. We’ve already begun dreaming out loud, spinning plans as fast as we can speak them. And gods, do we have plans.

We’re calling it The Copper Pot — our café, our homestead, our everything. Cedric wants to brew Turkish coffee in hot sand, and I’ve promised to make rabbit stew so good it’ll make hardened mercenaries cry. We’re building it open-air, like a giant welcoming hearth under the trees, with a stone fire pit and big benches and handmade trinkets from bone and bark.

He’s going to help me build a treehouse too — high up, overlooking the land. Not just a house, but a sanctuary. A place to retreat when the world gets too loud, with thick branches and wide windows, and a rope ladder that Trustion will absolutely refuse to use.

We’re starting a farm—rabbits (for meat, not pets, no matter how cute), bees for honey and wax, herbs for teas and healing, flowers just because they’re pretty, and vegetables because Cedric insists you can’t live on jerky and jam. I may or may not have agreed to grow things I can use to dye fabric and make salves and inks. We’ll see.

I joked that we’ll be the most ethically sourced shop in all the land. Cedric didn’t laugh—he just looked at me like I’d said something sacred. Then he went on a twenty-minute tangent about sourcing clay cups from local potters and bartering with the forest druids for wild mint. I think I love him more every time he gets carried away like that.

It’s a wild dream, but it’s ours.

No nobles. No city walls. Just fresh air, our hands in the dirt, and the soft clink of cups at The Copper Pot.

Let the world come to us now—we’ll be ready.

—Maeve