Dear Diary,
They say keeping a journal like this can help one keep their sanity. I for one have never seen a reason for this. What point is it in keeping a journal to hold sanity, if anything all it does is encapsulate your insanity for others to read after you are long dead. Regardless that idea does amuse me. Have people read my stories for years to come, whether they laugh at my inevitable stupidity or nonexistent heroism. Nevertheless here I am, sitting in some carriage waiting to get to god knows where.
It all started a few days ago when I ended up resting at this old chapel in some abandoned village in Chult. I had, and still don’t have any idea what caused that village to be abandoned. The water seemed clean, so it wasn’t the plagues that ravaged the area, and the only corpses in the area were in the graveyard, long buried, so the dinosaurs that roam and decimate the land were also out. It seemed like a safe place to rest in between an old cave that I was sent to retrieve an old sword and the capital of Chult, the last place where the populace hasn’t been turned into paranoid freaks. Although who can blame a goblin of being paranoid of forty foot lizards roaming around trying to get a good meal.
The chapel was a nice little place. Unlit candles lined the walls, and the front was simply a slightly elevated piece of wood with a podium in the center. I just sat down at one of the benches, and decided to get some shut eye. Ten minutes later, or so, I’m woken up by some damn banshees screaming or something and I’m thinking I ought to take refuge.
I began looking around, but couldn’t find anything until I moved one of the candles that sat out of place on the stage, and it opened up a stairwell that lead into a basement. The place smelled of dust and poor aging as if no one had been down here in years. Considering the place, I wouldn’t doubt it. Each step creaked as I placed my grieves down upon it and led me deeper and deeper into what would eventually become a small room. The room had a diminutive altar on the east end with a few rat skeletons strewn about. It had the markings of Boccob, the deity of magic and learning, quite the strange deity to worship in Chult. Typically it’s the god of swamps and smelling like filth they worship around those parts. The markings on it had shown that they were trying to cast a spell, but were interrupted.
Keep in mind magic was never my strong suit, although I do dabble in minor prestidigitation. The blade has always been my close companion, and has lead me through more than any spell ever could. At least that’s my opinion, I’ve seen some of the arch mages in the northern countries, and I would recommend not angering them.
I placed my hand in the middle of the markings, and low and behold the spell really hadn’t been activated...until then. A bright light shined out of the circle, and there was also more markings lighting up throughout the room. I moved my hand, but the spell did not stop, and soon I was sucked into some vortex leading me to where I am now... kind of. The spell brought me to some brightly lit field in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t see anyone, or any creatures, and the place was eerily quiet. My light leather armor was still strapped tightly on me, and my trusty scimitar “Gaul” and the long sword that I had recovered were still on my person as well. It’s strange that the first thing that I had done after recovering from the journey is thinking about what to name that longsword. It seemed it would be a long time before I would return it, if ever, and perhaps naming it and using it could be fun. Some mage wanted it, and it looks like that mage is going to be rather upset.
I stood up and took the sword out of its fine leather sheath and swung it a few times through the air. It was shockingly light, and seemed to slice through the air itself with a loud “CRACK” noise. Such a beautiful sword too. With a hilt and blade made from mithril, and the mark of the Akari running along the blade up until the tip. If it wasn’t magic, it certainly was something special.
Then I heard a noise, a rustling in the leaves to the east. It sounded as if some creature was rummaging about in the bushes. I slowly approached to deal with the situation, but was rather caught off guard by what came through. It was a foal. Not just any foal though, it was colored blue and had a strange marking on its right flank. What a gorgeous creature it was though, that is until it decided to talk. Sure, I’ve seen some unicorns in my day that could speak broken common, but this was a young foal, one with no horn, speaking the language almost perfectly. It was amazing!
It walked up to me, and said in a high pitched, curious voice, “Who are you?”
I replied with a simple, “I am Arthur…” I paused a moment, “The hunter.”
The hunter truly is my title, a monster hunter for hire, I’m not a cheap one either. However what I lack in affordability I make up for in being really good at my job. That made me sound like a councilman’s prostitute didn’t it?
“Okay Arthur.” The foal continued, stuttering every few moments, clearly still new to speaking the language. “Where are you from?”
To be frank I was surprised the creature wasn’t afraid of me, I suppose they haven’t seen many humans so fearing them hasn’t exactly been programmed into their DNA.
“I’m from Chult.” I said with a soft smile, the breeze knocking my armor about once more and making a whistling noise through one of the holes.
“Is that in Equestria?”
“What the fuck is Equestria?”
Before that I had never heard of this land, Equestria. It wasn’t within Faerun, nor any of the neighboring continents. It wasn’t even part of any of the afterlives, perhaps a part of one of the other realms? Strange, to be frank I still don’t know where I am exactly.
She breathed in sharply, apparently offended by my open use of profanity. “Mommy says you shouldn’t speak like that.”
“I’m sorry.” I retorted, trying to make amends.
“It’s okay, why are you so far from home?”
“I touched some portal and now I’m here.”
“Oh.”
She said before a more mature voice came out from the bushes. It had a very southern tinge to it. The mare showed herself as an orange colored creature who had a mark of apples on her right flank. Pale blonde hair also cascaded from her head in the form of a mane.
“Oh!” She said as she laid her eyes upon me, her very..very large eyes. “Who are you!” She exclaimed, noticing my armor and swords, one of which was drawn.
“I am Arthur the Hunter.” I sheathed my blade.
“How did you get here?” The orange one asked.
“He came from this place called Chult.” The foal said with a bright smile.
“Is that somewhere outside of Equestria?” The orange one asked, walking up to me and examining me more closely.
“Again with this? No, it’s not, I honestly don’t know where the hell I am.”
“Well then, perhaps you can come back with me then.” She said with a warm smile, “You can ride in the back of the wagon.”
She led me back through the bushes, and onto a trail with a large wagon that was holding apples. The space that I was (and currently am sitting on) tight, and rather uncomfortable, but a ride is a ride and this place seems rather peaceful. It’s certainly a stepup from the hell hole that I came from.
Author's Note
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