The Journal of Cantara Samira Fallon

The life of a girl growing up in the Forgotten Realms

Written by Mark Moore (

Sunday, September 1, 2002, 9:00 PM (technically 9:01 PM for the title and 9:02 PM for Cantara's first words) - 10:34 PM;
Monday, September 2, 2002, 9:30 AM - 12:17 PM

The character of Cantara Samira Fallon was created by Mark Moore and may not be used without his handwritten permission.

This work of fiction, minus the wording copied from the Forgotten Realms campaign setting, is copyrighted 2002 by Mark Moore.

Author's note: Welcome to the first in a series of stories about a character that I have created and placed in the Forgotten
Realms campaign setting.

I had created this character in May of 2002, possibly on May 1. Unfortunately, all of the stats and backstory that I had come
up with for her were lost in a hard drive crash on Friday, July 26, 2002. Fortunately, I remembered mostly everything and
have recreated the character.

Before I start roleplaying her, I'm going to develop her over the course of 4 years (game time) prior to the beginning of her
adventures. This will be done in a series of journal entries. This is the first time that I'm writing a story in first-person
perspective, so it's a writing exercise for me.

In these journal entries, you will get to know Cantara Samira Fallon, and, I hope, like her.

Midsummer, 1372 Dalereckoning

Hello. My name is Cantara Samira Fallon. I suppose that those are as good words to start with as any. I live in the village
of Evenwood in the southeastern area of the Kingdom of Tethyr. Tonight is Midsummer night. It's a time of feasting, music,
and love. Today is also my birthday. I turn fifteen years old on this night, so it's cause for even greater celebration by me
and my family. My family is poor; we can afford very few indulgements. My family has put their money together and bought for
me a wonderful present. My father called it a diary, but I prefer to call it a journal. My family has touched me with this
gift, for books are rare and expensive - even empty books. I knew exactly what I want to do with this journal. I want to
create a record of my life. Please don't think that this is due to any amount of egotism. It's simply because most people are
born, live, and die, and they're lost to history. I don't want that to happen to me. The worst thing that can happen to any
person is to be forgotten. I want to leave a detailed account of myself, so that future generations may know that I existed.
I'm not an adventurer, nor am I a great religious figure. I'm only a regular girl. However, I hope that you will find me of
some interest and care to read about me.

I have so much that I want to tell about myself, but I mustn't be neglectful to historians. I am not writing for my own
generation, which I can expect to understand things that I write with minimal or no description. I am writing for future
generations, which may be completely unfamiliar with the customs, geography, culture, and events of my time. It doesn't
matter if the person being written about is an average person or a prophet. I once read a testimony on Palaghard I that was
completely devoid of historical context. The author was writing for his contemporaries and clearly didn't have any intention
of his work being read by me. I was confronted with a historical vacuum. The effect would be akin to reading a biography of
Midnight which makes no mention of the Tablets of Fate, the Time of Troubles, the Gods, or Midnight's ascension to godhood as
the new Mystra. No responsible chronicler would write about me without making some reference to the King, say, or the recent
civil war. I do not exist in a historical limbo.

So, I have decided how I'm going to write my biography. In each entry, I will first tell you anything of importance or
interest that has happened to me on that day. Then I will tell you something of myself and my past. Third, I will tell you
something of my world or the kingdom in which I live to give this journal some measure of context.

Today, I was released from my household duties. I did my usual exercises, and then I went to the village square to hear some
musicians that had just arrived for the festival. They were mediocre. I also watched some wizards perform magic. The festival
is great. It started at dusk. As I write this, it is now evening. My birthday celebration began at sunset, and that's when I
received this journal. I was so excited! The festival is taking place in the village square. There are musicians playing,
people dancing, magic, good food, and good drink. I'm sitting off by myself, under a tree, writing by the light of a torch.

I stand six feet and two inches tall. That is unusual for a human. I have brown hair and green eyes. I'm strong and healthy.

The continent that Tethyr is located on is called Faerun. The world is called Toril. I write this for two reasons. The names
may have changed by your time. Also, legend has it that a lot of humans - and members of other races - arrived on Toril from
other planes and worlds over centuries of migration. True or not, I thought I'd mention it in case this journal somehow ends
up on another world.

Faerun is filled with magic. That cannot be denied. The world is literally a magical place, and I testify to that. I'll tell
you more about magic some other time. There are more facts that I want to quickly make known to you.

The language that I speak and write is called Chondathan. That is Tethyr's official language, but it's also very widespread,
so I'm hoping that it has survived, in some form, to your time, so that there are people that are able to read my words. I
also speak Common, as does everyone else in Faerun. It grew from Chondathan and is most closely related to that language, but
it is far simpler and less expressive. Common is little more than a trade language, so I won't use it here. To provide some
assurance that you're reading my original journal and not a copy, I'm telling you that the pages of this journal are
parchments made from the skin of sheep. True paper made from wood pulp is rare.

Days are twenty-four hours long, divided into day and night by the rising and setting sun. Here in Tethyr, we get about equal
amounts of light and dark. Ten days comprise a week, also known as a tenday or, less commonly, a ride. There are three weeks
in a month and twelve months in a year. There are five special holidays that fall between the months. These annual holidays
mark the seasons or the changing of the seasons. I'll tell you more about each when each arrives. This is the third holiday
of the year, coming directly after the seventh month, Flamerule or, commonly, Summertide. Acquaintances turn into dalliances,
courtships turn into betrothals, and the deities themselves take a part by ensuring good weather for feasting and frolicking
in the woods. Bad weather on this special night is taken as an omen of extremely ill fortune to come. Fortunately, tonight
couldn't be more perfect. So, there are three-hundred-sixty-five days in a year. Once every four years, Shieldmeet is added,
immediately following Midsummer night. That day is tomorrow, so I'll write about it tomorrow. I hope that you now know or can
figure out when I lived.

As I said, books are expensive, so I don't want to fill up this journal needlessly with redundancies. On most days, I do the
same thing, so, to save space, I shall mention them once and no more. Henceforth, unless I state otherwise, you can assume
that an entry with no summary of my activities or a day with no entry at all was routine and unremarkable.

I apologize for writing little more about myself than my physical description tonight, but I want to rejoin the celebration.
Since I am now officially an adult, father has promised me that I can try ale and wine tonight. I can't wait!