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Forward
It is with great honor and elation that I may introduce myself to whomever happens upon my journal. My full title is Pavonious Vellichor III of… well, I can’t recall where of. I know very little about myself as of writing this, though I hope to discover more as I embark upon my jorney. I don’t know where the road ahead of me leads, but I hope it is not one of peril.
If you find this book without it’s owner— said owner being myself— I must request that you to do your best to return it. It is the only plausible relation I may have to my past, and therefore means a great deal to me. Future entries may include clues to where I am headed or people who might know such. You will know you have found me when you happen upon a lithe man with flamingo and seafoam hair, the colors split separated by the part. I figure that alone is easy enough to spot at a distance, so I will not bother you with the details of my appearance.
Entry One.
Early this morning, I awoke in a field of amber grain. The sun had not yet risen and the stars looked down upon me fondly, showering me in their silver light. I discovered this red leatherbound journal lying in a deep, narrow pit just to my right along with a long brown quill which never seems to exhaust its internal resivoir of ink. It had a rather sharp-looking tip, and upon tilting the surface, I recognized a familiar golden sheen running up and down the length of the shaft. It was upon noticing I did not know wherupon I recognized such a tint that I realized I did not know who I was, where I was, or anything that came before the prairie. While I found this more than a little distressing, it was not enough for me to act unmannerly, and i kept my head about me as to decide what to do next.
The sunrise was rather beautiful,though I may have taken more time to appreciate it’s serenity if I were not surrounded by endless grasslands, through which I tramped continuously until the sky had gone from copper and gold to an azure shade I can only describe as dreamlike. It was during this walk when I concocted my name. Pavonious, the name written upon the first page of this aforementioned journal; Vellichor, the pensive nostalgia I feel when imagining sitting down in a nook with a classic title such as The Great Gatsby or Frankenstein, and III, because I doubt I am the first or the second being like myself to exist in this whimsical new world.
It wasn’t until the sun had fallen just below the horizon when I happened upon a forest stand of spindly pines. I do not know where from I pulled my knowledge, but I quickly identified them as Sederealus muncacia by their silver, papery bark and fine perriwinkle needles. Not much obstructed my path, only the occasional stray boulder or patch of thick foliage, however I found myself becoming rather weary. I walked until I found a stone formation that formed a small amount of shelter, then lay down my belongings and rest my head upon the bed of thick orange moss beneath me.