Fifteen Years, Seven Months, Nine Weeks Since the Sky Fell

I've but little time to write - the long and the short of it is this:

Tarack returned from his long time wandering, claiming to have gone to T'Narev in an attempt to second guess Scaven's sudden brash streak, and apparently to retrieve his monk robes from them.

It...went badly...my limited time to write is because while I do not betray the Queen, I am travelling to Freeport, in hopes that the Marhime will aid me.

The hills are alive, and the mouths of beasts hungry. For now, I move to keep myself and the cat safe, and to reach my end destination.


Quite a few hours later...

I will not be going to Freeport, at least, not to live anyway.

As I wandered through Nektulos, I felt a calling from the forest - images of Tarack's life here filled my mind, the words of his story narrating them as I ran.

I don't know what these places are, but I have made my camp above a pond covered by a giant skeletal ribcage. With a bit of luck, and a lot of sneaking around, I should be able to scout most of this place by the end of the week, if not all of it.

There is something almost refreshing in the air here now, something primal calling to my mind. When I lay down to fall asleep, I hope to let go enough to explore this new feeling, perhaps answers lay within this essence...