Late Summer, 1083
So much time has passed since my last writing. I do not possess time to write unless I find myself resting in a proper room. So many nights, I have spent under the stars resting in a tent after a late afternoon hunting that I find no time for anything but the animals. As this is still an early entry then allow me to employ anyone who finds these words to take them to my family, Anna and her daughter Tabitha of Glendale.
As for the inn, I am back in the Kingdom of the Sword. I spent a short amount of time in the Free Kingdoms a few weeks back. Loggers were seeking fresh glades or forests to saw not plagued with elves of the king’s agents. We found some smaller glades just across the border, and we found trouble with it. Bandits or border guards, you would think they worked together how tight their “territories” border. It seems they watch for merchants, and our party’s wagons attracted both groups’ eyes. There was more fighting then I am want to find for a few trees. Felt like the Eld all over again. There was coin to be had in the end, but the Freemen made sure we knew that loggers would not be welcome so close to the border again. I don’t think their words would stop the lumberjacks who hired me. I declined more work with them for that reason. They reminded me of Hothgar, as if they had taken an oath to cut down every tree within a hundred leagues of a paying mill.
Hothgar wouldn’t back down from any oath. Even after my father died, he kept an oath to see my family safe and my father’s death avenged. I left when we got the murderer, and, I admit, it was due to fear of t he jackalites. Hothgar was fearless. He never called me a coward, but I sensed those thoughts in his words. I swear the Ain are bred stubborn and raised to be immovable.
Speaking of immovable, I am implored by some priest to assist in the removal of some long standing blemish on the countryside. Priests make it very difficult to say no to the needs of the All-Father, or any other request they make His name. So, I find myself in a country inn to meet some others willing to march into these dark barrows. I am leaving this journal with the wagon in case anything happens to me.