The Hard March

Dear Grandpa,

We marched out at a steady pace. Stronger than some of my companions may have wished.

Calen first lent his steed to the lady Iz’Alma, but her spookiness unnerved it, and that loan was rescinded. The next few days, the diminutive Falko was astride.

Perhaps to prevent him from failing at watch, perhaps to speed the journey. It matters little.

It was mostly uneventful, which is to be expected for the King’s road.

We arrived and were able to find last minute lodging. Iz showed off fortune telling, and the youth of the house showed off the impetuousness of youth.

Calen performed some oratory the next day, and Falko showed some skill along the way, as well, leaving me feeling like I was ill suited to aide the group.

Speaking of, there’s an odd man with some interest in Falko… nothing evil, though perhaps not the sort of jousting the wee bard would like to engage in. ’Tis one of the oddities along the road.

However, just when I felt unable to do much, the act of guarding and glowering, as needed at the young ones put me in a position to overhear some vile plans.

Suffice it to say, we intend to stop those plans, though how to do so is much more nebulous than the Grand Expedition.

There’s a little time before we put plan to action, so I am jotting down the events of today in case things do go awry, but the lesser parish priest here sold souls to save them. Hypocrite!

Going to go,

Dorak

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The Hard March

Crimson Skies Grusnik