My lovely sister has taught me how to read and write, so I thought it would be a good time to write down my memories. So many adventures I have had, that I know if I do not write them down, I shall forget them.

 I am from a small farm just north of Sicle Grove, near a vast swamp. I think I was born there, but I don't really remember that. I do remember my father. He always kept an eye on the road for travelers, ready to share their tales. The travelers that stopped were always glad to swap a few stories for the ale my father kept on hand.

 On my sixth naming day, we had a whole band stop by! I remember, because my father let me stay with him and hear the stories for the first time. I held tight to my father's leg as a mage told of his near death at the hands of a swamp troll. A young warrior laughed at the mage and said, "If we hadn't stopped by, it wouldn't have been near." I remember my father laughing and toasting the young warrior, and as he told my father how he and his friends had saved the mage, my mind opened with thoughts of adventure.

 My father started letting me listen to the stories after that... well, until he learned why all the dogs around the farmhouse were limping. I would take the biggest stick I could hold in my hands and pretend the dogs were the newest monster I had heard about. My father caught me just as I was about to slay the fearsome Gargoyle. "Niamara, love," my father said as he caught my arm, stopping the stick from thumping the poor dog again. I didn't sit down for a week.

 Even though my father never let me listen to the stories again, I ran all the ones I had heard through my head. I think my father knew. On my twelfth naming day, he and mother gave me a splendid rapier. "Nia, hun," they told me, "please do not use this on the dogs." I blushed a red so bright it would have made an apple envious.

 I practiced every day on the straw dummies my father made. I think he enjoyed figuring out how to make a Goblin out of straw, or a Gargoyle. I know he enjoyed watching me trying to figure out how to hold the rapier. Many a laugh we shared as I tumbled and fell about my enemies.

 Then came the winter of my fifteenth naming day. My mother got sick, very sick. Father sold everything we had to get a healer. Mother was saved, but my father even had to use the money he had set aside for taxes that year. Then the tax collector came, he appeared most evil. He made my mother and father cry. I never felt hatred before, but as I watched that man leave our farm, my hand tightened around the rapier. I was no longer clumsy, and even imagined myself fairly good with the blade. My mother caught me then, and I am glad it was her and not my father. "Nia, hun," she explained, "he is only doing his job. In fact, he is buying us time, love. He said that when he reported in he would say he forgot to stop by. By the time he gets back to the Crossing, files his report, and gets back, we should have this year's harvest in. Love, don't you see? He is putting his job on the line for us."

 I still don't like tax collectors, but my mom taught me a valuable lesson that day. Not everything is as it seems. I still felt angry and frustrated, but now I had no target. It was then I remembered one part of the stories that I usually ignored. Treasure! The adventurers always said they found treasure!

 I snuck away from the farmhouse that night and set off for the Crossing. I was going in search of my own adventure!

 I will tell you about my arrival in the Crossing tomorrow, dear diary, and I can only thank my wonderful blood sister Paean, for teaching me to read and write.