My notes and my journal had been damaged in my initial stumble into Osterra, unfortunately. Which is truly quite a shame, I had some excellent notes on my former magical teachings in there. Thankfully, I've been working bit by bit with Tris to recover what we can from our home world and our time before this Ever War reached our ears. Below are just the first of the entries I've been able to re-construct for my own sanity's sake. Gods, do I miss my little home... It wasn't much, but it was mine. Entry One: Remind me again why I agreed to work at this dingy hole of a tavern? Ah, right. Coin. I suppose it makes sense, to a degree. It’s easy-ish evening work aside from the brawls and occasional seedy sort of folk. Leaves my days open to work and study with Mintyn, the local war-mage and his apprentice. I can pick at their brains while they teach me what they can. I've been told I have a knack for war-magic, but something’s blocking my true potential. Ah well. Back to the grind, I suppose. My only hope is that Lady Enora can keep Lord Ivan’s stays on magic at bay for just a little bit longer. She truly is a voice for us common folk in these trying times. I fear what would happen without her. Entry Two: Had some interesting characters in my tavern tonight. An old man, ranting and raving about magical portals. Doors to other realms. He told stories of a never-ending war, of cults and orcs. Nonsense, all of it. Orcs and Goblins have been pushed far up into the mountains and deep underground. And that was centuries ago. He’s clearly senile, the poor creature. There was something about his eyes, though. The way they went wild and the glimmer of recognition almost made the innkeep believe him. He kept muttering something over and over. I don’t think I could fully make out what it was. Herb? Harp? Orb? Whatever that means, I’m not sure. I took a few notes on his stories. Maybe Mintyn can make some sense of it. Entry Three: So it’s been about a week since the old man has been seen;I’ve noticed a few vagrants and cats missing too. I told Min everything I could remember about the stories. You would have thought I told him the sky was on fire the way he started to move about his shop. Books flying left and right, his grey eyes gone wild. Says that there are old tales of this sort of wild magic. He gave me a few books to read in between my shifts at the tavern but… This really has me worried. Entry Four: Distressing news, I’m afraid. Lady Enora of nearby Caerta Keep has passed. A few servants of the Keep come to my tavern in mourning. They were her attendants, and more than one of them feared for their own safety. Rumor has it that it wasn’t diphtheria as the physician was quick to say, but rather something else. I shall hold my tongue for fear of my own life. Lord Ivan is left the sole guardian of his only son, Axel. The boy has a decent head on his shoulders, from what little I’ve seen of him. Definitely took after his mother more than he did his father. Perhaps not all is lost. Entry Five: The ladies fear that they know too much. I’ve agreed to hide them here as long as I can, until they can make arrangements to gain safe passage away from this wretched town. Mintyn and his apprentice were more distressed than I was about this news. I know they’re not long for this town, the way they were packing up and channeling spells into their war wands. I only hope to learn as much as possible in the coming weeks as they will allow. He’s...oh wow. He gifted me a fully charged war wand, just in case. Hopefully I never have to use it. Entry Six: It’s been nearly a month since Lady Enora’s passing. The townsfolk have been in poor spirits, and we cannot seem to shake this blasted rain away. On top of that, we’ve seen a few more people go missing. I’m hoping that they’re just gathering their lives and leaving of their own volition and not something...else. Several horsemen rode in today, bearing news and an announcement that a Lady Trisana, the new betrothed of our Lordship will be arriving in just two days time. Just enough time to fix this blasted tavern up with some sort of finery, I suppose. Ayla, the herbalist, said she’d help me spruce the place up with some flowers, gods bless her soul. She and her brother Aiken are a cheerful blessing in this bleak time. Entry Seven: Oh I like this new Lady. She’s young, close to my age but maybe a year or two older. She was deposited at the tavern while the local farrier saw to her horses for her final day-long ride to Caerta Keep. Her wit is sharp, and she’s intuitive. Well-read for her station too. And she listens to the people here. We may not be a large town, but we are a close-knit one. And she can see what Lord Ivan’s ignorance is doing to us. Our farmers are losing crops to poor rotation by his order, the militiamen are almost constantly either drunk or waist deep in some mess of trouble. And despite what it may do to me, I told her of the suspicions of the former attendants to Lady Enora. She appears to catch on quickly though, and made a fast friend of Ayla as well as the physician. With any luck, I'll be able to have more done very soon. I can only hope that I didn't permanently lose those notes from my training...

Until now I’d only believed the portals to be a myth; tales that the gossiping old women and drunkards would use to explain away events they wished to simply ignore. I can see now how right they truly were. Although perhaps it would serve me well to explain why I have heard of the idea before. I’d encountered some band of sellswords before appearing in Osterra. They’d been hired by the local magistrate to dispatch certain local terrors that are better left unsaid. Due to my apprenticeship paying….nothing… I had taken work as a barmaid. That work was honest enough pay, though my patrons were far from that. Lo and behold, one night as I was rounding out my shift three mercenaries found themselves properly acquainted with more than a few bottles at the far end of my bar. By all means, they were fair patrons, a little rowdy but nothing I couldn’t handle. One told me of the portals, how they’d gone from land to land seeking work and contracts. The other two dove into seemingly outlandish stories of lands that couldn’t possibly exist. I didn’t believe them. They had to have been drunk. Right? That was how I understood it at least. I thought nothing of it when they eventually left town, countless others had before them. Yet after their departure, the rumor mill began to turn again. You learn to ignore the whispers and the gossip when it is all that you hear day in and day out. A missing cat here, vanishing beggars there. It all blends together. Cats run away or vanish into the night of their own accord. Beggars move on to new towns. Nothing otherworldly there. Which would explain why I never changed my route home. My route through the back alleys and the tunnels, all familiar in sound and feel from the nightly walk home. In one moment, my hands trailed over the rain-slicked stones of the buildings. And in the next, I found myself in this strange land all on my own. I am confused, and I am lost. Yet this feels right. I should have listened to the stories closer, Paid more attention. Perhaps I would have been prepared for what I was so unceremoniously tossed into. Do I regret this? Not terribly so. As strange as it may seem, I believe I can re-establish my studies here. There seems to be so much knowledge shared between these people. I hope to get to know them and learn from them even more so in the coming days. Already, I have seen things far greater than any back home could imagine. And a surge of magic courses through me that feels unlike any I’ve felt before. If only my war wand hadn’t been damaged in the tumble. Those ever-important charges are lost to me now. What I am almost certain of in all of this chaos, however, is that I do believe I have found my purpose.