To those who will read of my future glory when I am long gone, I write these words.

I have discovered my bondsmen, with whom I shall travel for many coming months. Having beaten the approach of a coming storm, the likes of which few have seen and lived to tell the tale, I used my keen skills to locate an unlikely shelter, a cave which I detected somehow contained my brethren. The presence of their horses confirmed my amazing deduction, and I began searching for them in earnest.

It was a miracle of Com Durak’s making that I ingeniously unravelled the mystery of the cave as quickly as I did, discovering within the cave a tunnel that led to an underground temple of some sort. My timing, of course, was perfect. They were just about to enter battle, and I quickly joined in support of my brave companions, who fearlessly stood on the front lines of battle in mighty striving against the horrors we faced in that dark and deadly temple.

We faced all manner of despicable creatures, the most frightening of which were eldritch suits of accursed armor, worn by formless evil incarnate. We quickly discovered their weaknesses, and though the battle was close, the honor and bravery of our bondgroup won the day, and we quickly took trophys of our victory. We mostly each took mysterious amulets that remained behind when the dark force that moved the armored horrors was destroyed. I wear mine proudly, a trophy for all time of my first great battle alongside my brethren.

There were also some foul creations, a mix of Brahmen and biped armed with axes the size of a donkey. (Well, a small donkey, but still quite large.) These were stupid though, and through a clever and ingenious ploy on my part, we easily confused them and, with me standing on overwatch with my deadly-accurate sling of slaying, we crushed them too.

Throughout these fights we were not without injury, a couple of my brethren being severely injured, but by the use of their blessed shamanism, they were quickly healed.

Still, I regret not being able to show my brethren what blessings I have received from Com Durak in the skill of my hands to mend devices both simple and complex. Some day they shall see that Mykal is more than just an amazingly good slinger.

Enough for one day. Glory! Glory to our bonding!

This is the Journal of Mykal - slave, warrior, restorer of the wonders of our ancestors.  Pretty much in that order. Some day this journal will be worth ten pounds of salt as the world seeks to know what led to my future greatness, but for now it is my little secret.  I say that I am destined for greatness, because my god, Com Durak, has always gifted me with understandings that have spared my life time and again.  Surely such visions are from the master of all that mortals create?

Granted, my serf-mother, Kree’Stan, worshipped Keifieh, but she was always prattling on about such idiot notions as “freedom” and “liberty”.  What is freedom to one who’s mind is in bondage to ignorance?  Or, what is liberty to one who is free only to die alone and thirsting?  I am but a slave, certainly, yet I have earned liberty from my honorable masters.

And who am I to curse my masters?  The Elders of the tribe of Sarkil’Kai spared my life, though my own birth tribe was wiped out by their mighty warriors.  I do not curse the Sarkil’Kai anymore - there is little water and many who want it, and the strong and quick-witted survive. In fact, I no longer even remember the name of my birth Tribe.  I pray in thanks that Com Durak graced me with Inspiration that I might survive and even thrive among my captors.  Moreover, my serf-mother was a sorceress, and as you may have guessed, she taught me to petition certain Djinn for the power to do a few things others cannot - things that help slaves survive their slavery more or less in comfort, of course, and easily hidden.

But I digress.  I am starting this journal on Day 1 of my journey, of my Bonding.  I have been tattood with my Bond, and set out into the world to find my fellow Bondmates.  Some will one day ask why I was not at the Gathering and did not leave in the company of my Bondmates, and that answer is simple:  I am a sorcerer.  Not a good one, however.  I was mastering the art of speaking with animals, which I think will come useful in the year to come, but failed to pronounce the Word of Power correctly.  The word-rune is difficult until mastered, and I think I spoke the word-rune for ‘idiot’!  That’s humor, for the reader who is slow on the uptake.

Anyway, I was unconscious for hours. When I came to, fortune had not smiled on me.  Some of those accursed young men of the tribe of Chiv’Ran, may their pumps be forever empty, found me unconscious and thinking me drunk, dropped me into an old well.  By the time some passing merchants found me, my Bondmates had been gone for a couple days.  I am not certain the Elders quite believed my story, but discovering that I had been selected for the Bonding was equally unbelievable.  Of course, Com Durak surely guided whatever lottery contraption the Elders use to pick those selected for the Bonding Year, so I should not have been surprised.  But to imagine me, a mere slave, now tribeless and free in body as well as spirit!  Amazing.

I think I saw them ahead at dusk, on the horizon, so I imagine I will catch up to the rest of the Bonding by late morning tomorrow.  I can’t wait to meet those who will be my brethren for the coming year.  I wonder if any of them will recall that I am a slave?  That is acceptable.  Just so long as they don’t find out I’m a sorcerer…