Mignon’s Journal – Entry One
Entry One: Spring – Year 847 of the 4th Age.
I’m not sure why I’m writing these words down. I guess some part of me wants to be a part of history. The thought of being remembered, changing the face of the world, even in the slightest is a though that intrigues me. This is an honor reserved for leaders, heroes and great villains. I am none of those things. Being remembered is not something a selfish little thief such as I deserves. Yet it is my hope that these words will teach someone something, let someone know I existed. If you are reading this and aren’t me, then I am dead, and you are probably a similar person to me. A new recruit to the guild, perhaps. Maybe you can learn some tricks of the trade, not make the same mistakes I did.
I’m not sure where I am going with this, but bear with me here. Something about the written word feels elegant. It makes me want to wax poetic, speak my mind, and after 18 or whatever years of keeping up my happy facade, gushing my thoughts out onto paper is exactly what I want to do. So I thank you, imaginary future guild recruit, for being a good listener. I’ll need to call you something. How about Tim? Yeah, you seem like a Tim. Oh gods I think I’ve gone crazy. Ah, what does it matter? You’re probably the closest thing I’ll have to a friend at the end of my days. Assuming I didn’t die an early and horrible death, which is something that may just happen if I keep signing myself up for things that are way over my head like finding evil swords or slaying dragons.
I’m sure you, Tim, are wondering who you’re new mentor is. I’m best known as Mignon Varrow, though I’ve also been known as Judith Clearwater and Seria Bles. More on those names later. You may have heard of me. If I continue managing to not die I should rise up in the ranks. On the other hand I might just unceremoniously die on some pointless quest, in which case you are probably not a thieves guild member reading this and just some random passer-by, or perhaps one of my companions at the time. Whatever. I’m dead. Makes no difference to me.
Now that seems good for tonight. Next time I think I’ll discuss my past. After all you should know where your mentor came from.
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