3rd day of Yunfruh, year of the Gods
By this point in my tenure as a man of wealth and leisure I have seen and experienced my share of the bizarre and the fantastic though I must confess I could not have prepared myself for the arrival of strange naked man at my doorstep. What fortunes led him to the frontier and, indeed, to my camp I will probably never know. His speech and manner are incomprehensible and I am yet to make heads or tails of his story. From what I can cobble together between his mad rants is that the poor fellow found himself naked and awake inside one of the crates sent to the frontier on the very same vessel that bore me. Some how he, for lack of more appropriate term, could sense my mystical connection to powerful magicks and had become aware of me, though quite unconscious, during the trip. Most fantastic of all was the sudden appearance of robes the very second he walked through my door. One moment he was stark as the day he was born and the next he was dressed in the most hideous outfit I have ever had misfortune to look upon, the colors of which are so bright as to hurt to gaze upon for long.
When pressed about matters before his arrival he can say very little that a rational human could interpret. If, and gods be damned ‘IF’, I have it correct Baztron the Insensate, as he is calling himself, was making a peanut-butter, jelly and ham sandwich when his memory fades into obscurity. Though I cannot be certain, I believe the fellow was attempting to transmutate a copper pot into said sandwich when a bright flash over took him and he awoke inside the crate.
My knowledge of geography is extensive, as I have travelled much of the known world, however Baztron is unable to place together sensible markers that would assist me in determining his location prior to his kidnapping. I use the term kidnapping lightly as I refuse to believe that a man making a sandwich would somehow teleport himself into a crate without effort or knowledge of the teleportation. With some discrepancy I can only assume that Baztron was in the northern end of Greyana or perhaps on an astral plane populated entirely by fish-monsters. The sorcerer’s memories have certainly been jostled and it is unclear if he is placing himself in any given location or if his recollections so overlap as to be inseparable. Either way there do not appear to be appropriate motivators upon Baztron as to necessitate a kidnapping. For that matter I cannot begin to fathom why someone kidnapped would then be shipped here rather than held for ransom or simply murdered while unconscious.
Gods only know why I accepted his offer to shelter the miserable soul accept out of a spirit of generosity and benevolence previously unknown to me. Life in this backwater will be difficult enough without a raving lunatic nearby but I can only say that the sight of the retched urchin on my doorstep speaking without clear orientation of space or time tugged deeply on my sympathies. I am certain I will live to regret this decision. Perhaps he will simply make another sandwich and be on his merry way. Possibly he will kill me in my sleep assuming I am one of these damnedable fish-monsters he prattles on about. For the time he seems cogent enough to tell me apart from the furniture so I will continue to hope for the best.
Using some surplus materials I have commissioned the expansion of the yurt by virtue of a smaller, secondary yurt to be attached along side the main circumference with its own external entrance. Baztron will have use of and access to the kitchen and washroom but will have adjoined accommodations for his sleeping quarters. The very notion of spending another sleep deprived night with his endless snoring is quite enough to drive me as mad as he. Apparently Baztron has already assembled a stove and cauldron which are currently set behind the yurt but which seem to bubble and steam constantly. I pray he will not burn down my rather expensive structure though I remain confident that the wards and incantations should resist any mishaps Baztron may throw its way.
On a more productive note the ground work seems well laid to begin to establish myself within proximity to the lucrative trade through the region. I am quite useless when it comes to the collection or production of residuum, nor would I know the first thing to do with it once I had it, however I seem to be building excellent connections with those that do. Already I have several buyers lined up in, shall I say for safety sake, less conventional avenues of trade, who are willing to pay three times as much as the Company for similar levels of residuum. A handful of workers have begun to vest their interest in my proposals and I am confident that with a few initial samples I can convince the buyers to up their prices. This should make for wondrous amounts of profit for my contacts within the camp. The real trouble will be in overcoming their own stupidity such that they remain under the nose of the Company rather than smack in the face of it. I have spent a considerable amount of time in schooling these fellows on ways to nick residuum without being obvious. Now I can only hope for the best.
Secondly I feel a certain connection to a fellow merchant in town, a marvelous young entrepreneur, who has quite caught my interests. I sense she is hesitant to engage in any trade relations with me just yet which shows she is well qualified to perform her tasks. There is no doubt that with her savvy and my connections we could have some extremely profitable encounters. Though I blush to admit it, I would gladly surrender more than my usual ten percent commissions on such financial joinings. The trick here will be engendering enough trust to open the passages between us and begin the real efforts of trade. This shall be my most rewarding challenge to date and I will lean into this with full fervor.
4th day of Yunfruh, year of the Gods
Great fortune! By virtue of the level of my sharpened social skills from years as an International Man of Leisure, I have been given the honor of acting as Deputy Mayor. His Honor, Mark Sinclair, Mayor of our quaint frontier town, has bestowed upon me the task of liaison among the populace to act as a sort of voice of the Mayor. I went to visit the Honorable Mr. Sinclair when I noticed the poor man was dreadfully busy removing himself from a pile of paperwork taller than I by at least a head. What was I to do but offer my unparalleled social graces into his disposal? At once he caught the offer and set me out to attend to all of the Mayoral duties one simply cannot accomplish while tethered to a desk.
For the better part of the afternoon I sallied hence and forth attending to my duties. I met with foremen, managers, blacksmiths, cobblers, coopers and all manner of other dreadfully banal professions all eager to hear the word according to the Mayor or to ask of his blessings. I would be a bold faced liar if I said there wasn’t at least a small part of me that was moved by the responsibility and authority. I did manage to settle several disputes and quite a bit of confusion all through my own incomparable wit and charm. Huzzah! I am positively thrilled to be given such responsibility! Oh the places I will go and the heights I will reach to ensure our happy home runs smoothly.
Mr. the Insensate has been merrily relocated to his new adjoining quarters, and none too soon. The work crew finished the addition just before the end of dusk and Baztron flew into a tizzy to behold the space. Though I am unsure how, it seems he has managed to move the stove and cauldron, as well as a wooden bench he has procured, into his yurt. For much of the evening, since I left his company any way, all manner of thumps, bangs, wallops and hoots have been issuing from Baztron’s lair. I have issued him the solemn warning that if his efforts hinder my rest at all I shall simply revoke his privilege and send him packing! Though I yelled this to him from my yurt to his, I could tell from his response that he had, in fact, been quite cowed by my admonition. I look forward to a restful night’s sleep.