I see that the Halfling Thief – or “Rogue” as he likes to call himself has found my journal. Not a surprise, the little one has no regard for personal belongings. I see he has scribbled in my journal that his name is “Sevyn” not “Seven.”
No matter what, there is one thing I know. I will never enjoy being underground. It’s like what the humans do when they die – putting their bodies in the ground. It’s like being in a vast coffin. There’s no sense of fresh air. No sky. No stars. No sun. No moon.
After dispatching with the Orc Tribal Leader, or whatever the bastard was – we were herding the human slaves onto the ship, when one of them caught my eye. The only one was wasn’t human. There was – what I first thought was an Elf – but upon closer examination, he’s not. He bares a strong resemblance to Elves – but he … feels different. He emanates magic – but not like a Mage or Wizard or Sorcerer – it’s actually a part of his being. Tarius Starwatcher, the Keeper of the Stars of my village called them ‘Star Children.’