Colossus 37, 1275 DR
I arrived in Istan this morning. The journey across the sea bored me, but the salty ocean spray and the crispness of the open wind has refreshed my spirits; it is good to be away from the politics and bickering of the Canthan arenas, and from the guild. That place and those people feel like part of a long-past nightmare, something disturbing yet not worth worrying about.
I still have hope that no one pursued me, although I have no way of knowing if they did or not. For that reason I asked the crew to let me off outside of Kamadan, on a small island to the East: the Island of Shehkah. That way I can approach the city quietly and anonymously, without the fanfare of a ship arriving from across the ocean.
I took my time and explored the island, getting used to solid ground. I met a woman who found it amusing to kill me—I don’t think I understand this Istani humor. She cited a need to demonstrate how a resurrection shrine works. Before I know what had happened, I was laying on the cold stone, looking down at myself. It has been a while since I was last dead. I had nearly forgotten the bizarre, light feeling as you elevate slowly away from your corpse.
The beauty of this land touches me. The architecture is elegant yet solid, the color of the stonework like precious metal. The leaves of bushes look like something that titan servants might use to fan their giant king—perhaps the towering figures I see in the distance. Trees offer generous, wide shade. Distant ruins speak to my soul of time and permanence, foundations and heritage, strength and integrity. Already I feel the desire to explore, to be out in the open and just breathe.
Some Corsairs did give me some minor trouble, especially once I had entered a small village named Chahbek. The problems they caused me are hardly worth mentioning, although the locals probably felt differently. But I easily took care of them. I plan to spend the night here in Chahbek, and then in the morning enter Kamadan.
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