#knightproblems

The druids ate mine horse.

I narry hath words for what the last week has brought before me. I am still recovering, such great was my exertion. The beast twas a mass of elemental power greater than anything I hath seen before. I doubt very much I could kill it, though I must. A limb tookith me a week to damage, and three townships were lost before it became unusable. Even now I chase after it, resting only for meals. When it slows to destroy a town, I strike, doing what I can before it leavith, and mine chase resumes. It bares towards the capital, and beith only a few short weeks away. I doubt if I can halt it before it smashes through his most godly of king's walls and lay bare his mortality. Fool was i to think of romance when such a more pressing issue doth confront me. I must away again er I loose the beast.

It hath begun to snow. Mine armor weighith me down and the downpour from the heavens make mine steps slow and weak. Tis all I can do to put one foot before the other. Plate twas not made for marches of such distance, but I have nary an option save abandoning mine honor

Another letter from mine werewolf friend. The contents are strange, she hath included a lock of hair, along with a passage describing mine sleeping face. I feelith mine blood rushing to mine head as I readith her words. I wishith I could respond to her, or perhaps findith a way to seeith her in person again. I t'would like to speak to her again, perhaps askith about the way of her people. Twas lovely to hearith her speak on them before. She hath also included her name, which i shalt withhold, it feelith special to learn, though tis not unusual to learn another's name tis it?

Tis lonely on long nights without mine squire. I hath failed to realize how much his company meant to me until after his life was takith by a goblin crossbow cleaning removing his eye and splattering hisith brain upon the wall of the cave in which we were fighting. My search for a new squire must double in speed, unless I spend another night alone with naught but my thoughts and the distant sound of the wind howling

We hath hardly taken a light jaunt from the castle whense I collapsed in pain. My wound hath grown black and foul, tis not doubt poison of the fae. I twas rushed back to the castle but it appearithed beyond the help of any within. Tis few within a day's ride whomst might helpith me, for magik weavers are rare, and those whomst know potions rarer still, but the witch whomst was reported mayhaps be of assistance. Mara hath taken Damper to drag her here to savith me. I cannot dieith until my liege seeith her home safely once more.