There's a tradition in my small village, for newly pregnant women to place a small collection of stones, and her favorite metals into a bag worn around their necks. The bag hung gently in front of their heart, collecting their motherly love, while the baby grows.  When the time comes, the contents of the bag are emptied into the woman's left hand, and squeezed to distract from the pains of the contractions. The birthing attendant begins the sacred chant, while the woman's grip tightens. 

  By the time the baby takes its first breath, the pendant is forged. Strands of the mother’s hair are woven into the cord that the piece is threaded onto. The length of the hair was said to determine the child’s fortune in life.  Because of this, the women of my village kept their hair healthy and full, the only claim our small clan held. My mother was one of the few to only have to offer one strand of her hair to twist the length of the over two foot cord.  This marked me as being a child of destiny. My mother being the superstitious type, incorporated more strands into it throughout my childhood. She always told me she chose the perfect selection of stones for me! 

The bold, deep, red of garnet to boost my creativity! The stone is said to bolster you in unknown times, and help you be courageous in embracing the future.  Even if the fogs of uncertainty are thick with doubt.  My mother hoped it would help me stay devoted to whatever path I may choose, which has proven to be not so effective, so far.  

My parents were always big believers in spirits.  My father being in, and out of tombs supposedly brought many to our home. The sunstone was added to the collection to provide me with spiritual protection. Longevity was another benefit of the peach colored stone, and with it, a clear mind in old age.

Finally, she filled as much of the rosy quartz as she could fit into her palm. To remind me I am forever, unconditionally loved. The piece is forever with me in spirit, and around my neck.  I have had a few close calls, but it always finds its way back to me.  I place my hand on it whenever my mind needs a rest, providing the comfort of a mothers hug.

I hope she is okay, back in my home town south of here. I have only been away for a few days, and already I find myself home sick.  Feeling rather small in a larger city than I am used to.  Pazmo, a city like no other, claims the lord of the town, some spoiled heir who may have a slightly warped view of the world.  This city pales in comparison to the stories my father would tell me until my eyes grew too heavy to stay awake.  

I miss him often…thinking of that miserable morning years ago. I could barely make out the last message he sent us through my mother's tears.  He was lost in an ancient ruin, swallowed up by an ingenious trap.  At least, that's what I could deduce from the smudged writing, and my mother's blubbering.  Needless to say, she was not thrilled when I told her I wanted to be an adventurer like him… Whatever, she got over it, or at least I hope she will.  I'll just have to make her, and my father proud!  I am a destined child, and must uphold my duty to my family’s name.

I have to!

That's why I've traded for this magical journal. To keep track of my heroic deeds.  Hopefully, I performed the incantation of the binding spell correctly. Supposedly, anyone who knows the phrase can incorporate it into a common spell and read of my adventures.  That way, even if my journal is lost in the belly of a giant jaqqi, my story won't go untold.

That is what drew me to Pazmo.  Not the giant monster, this town holds many myths. Most, eventually, end with talk of a thriving city, lost to the sands, where the patrons were escorted by dragon back. There are many ways told on how to find it, so I suppose I will have to try them all…maybe I will get lucky, and become the legendary discoverer of The Temple of Pazmoltae!