Sitting down at the well-worn desk with a single, half-burned candle flickering in the evening light, he stares intently at the blank parchment before him. With a sharp intake of breath, he rolls the quill around in his hand a moment before starting,
I guess every story must begin somewhere, thankfully mine is very simple. I am Thormod Blacke: timid adventurer, novice craftsman, and barely competent merchant.
He chuckles a moment, realizing how positively boring this read will be. He then continues,
For now, I have tasked myself with writing in this journal my thoughts, memories, quips, and adventures so that in later years I can look back and remember. Of course, that assumes I’ll survive long enough to have an old-age. Well, even if not, maybe it will give others a smile, a laugh, or a head-shake as to how foolish I can be. Or maybe they will glean a little knowledge from my ramblings. Only Rhalgr knows! In any event, I shall write here again soon.
The candle in the inn room flickers and he begins to feel the effects of the wine he had for dinner set in. Placing the quill down, he closes his journal, blows out the candle stub, and heads to bed.
*Finds wayward journal, reads it, sketches a dodo in the margin, then places it back inconspicuously*