The trail has gone too cold. We find ourselves following yet another rumor. It will most likely be another wasted month. My once powerful house, now a ragtag caravan, sets out from Waterdeep to the north along Long Road.
On our fifth night, our hunting party is beset by a pack of wolves. Thought Chaser acquitted himself well by slaying two of the beasts outright and claiming the honor of the kill. The halfbreed bastard wizard (Tharkun) barely survived the assault, bedazzling the last beast with his colorful lights.
Two days later we arrive at the hamlet of Content Not Found: red-larch. Another unremarkable town that traders and merchants stop to drink and fuck until their hearts are content. Al’halan makes arrangements at the Singing Sword and orders dinner feast for our party.
Snow Sitter and I make our pilgrimage to the shrine, where we met Imdarr Relvaunder and Lymmura Auldarhk, and pray that some clue may be found to aid our cause.
I lament that their is but one good tailor in town, his best wares are barely serviceable, but his craftswoman has really skill.
In the morning we will begin running this rumor to ground. I pray Red Larch bears fruit.