Dear Diary, 

This town is blessed with a surplus of heroes, though a lot of them claim to be common folk. If not for them I would have surely died, and those I was meant to protect would all have been lost in the spider-filled caverns forever. 

Tails is unflappably brave. Even after nearly dying on the first expedition, he joined the rescue mission without hesitation. Even after getting turned to stone and nearly dying twice, he walked gladly on into the darkness. 

His method of fighting is so acrobatic and exuberant that it distracted me from my own battles. He fought next to Burg for a while and their styles were night and day. Burg never wasted a motion while Tails seems to think every motion should be done with a flourish. Even in the horror of a spider-filled cavern, his every movement was graceful and joyful. Every slash of his blade was a celebration of a life lived without doubt or regret. 

Mallow, a simple minstrel by her own report, moved with a purpose and confidence that I believed could only come from knowing that one had the power of a god supporting them. She waded in to the fray to rescue Burg alongside Tails, armed only with harsh language. Her words can be so cutting as to make a giant spider weak in all of its knees. I know magic is at work, but I feel like it was mostly just translating to spider. I don't think I could have faced her with any confidence if she'd spoken to me like that, magic or no.

However her true power lies in her eyes, her beautiful, terrible eyes. She turned them on me once and my heart skipped a beat. She looked at me like I was a hero, like I was a prophet, like I had been put in the world for a purpose. In that moment I believed that I could accomplish the impossible simply by the strength of her faith in me. 

Mr. Brokofski, claims to be a local blacksmith, but his skill with his crossbows shows that there is much more to him than that.  In the thick of battle he moved with such precision and certainty as to be mesmerizing. I first believed his crossbows to be enchanted when I saw him fight. He was able to fire, reload, and fire again with such speed and accuracy that it seemed impossible without the magic. 

As I watched him in his strange dance of arrows it became clear that it wasn't sorcery at all, but a thousand movements practiced to perfection. He must have drilled tirelessly for years. I'm not sure I could load one crossbow as quickly as he loads two, and yet somehow he makes it all look easy and natural. 

Strago is more a vintner than a wizard, and he is so frail that a strong wind could snap his limbs. However, something in his movements revealed a past as a warrior. He was quick to react and confident in his actions, but his body betrayed him. His frustration was clear. Old age and lack of practice had made him rusty. Even so, he fought as ferociously as any of the others. He fell repeatedly but unfailingly pulled himself back up and fought on.

Celandriel is the local barkeep and alchemist. I don't think she'd ever been in a real fight before. She seemed flustered and disorganized, rummaging in her bag full of mysterious tinctures. She had to hold each up to the light to check the contents before using them and seemed uncertain exactly what she had with her. She fed me one which healed my wounds and saved my life, for which I am very grateful. Though I am unsure if I should thank her or thank Almaz for her being able to distinguish a healing draught from her other potions in time to save me.

I suppose I should also mention Mauritius. I know I should be grateful that he came along, but it is hard because he was such an a difficult person to get along with. He's the town's master at arms, but was the least willing person in the village to join the rescue mission and constantly demanded that we turn around and leave. I would mark him a coward but for the fact that he insisted on being at the front of the line. 

I still cannot say if he is a very skilled or extremely incompetent swordsman. He barely seemed to be paying attention to the fights. He fought like a marionette in a puppet show that had been repeated too many times, as though every action had been scripted in advance and rehearsed to the point of boredom. He'd dodge an attack from behind that he couldn't have seen coming, and then not even bother to move when a spider in plain view was bearing down on him. He is something of an unpleasant enigma. I might be curious about him if I could stand being in his company for more than a few minutes.