2026-07-31.
Up early and to my books. News from the camp outside Westcrown, had of a carter at a fair price: four new names on the rolls there, being Aria Falk; Gallus Drusca, a Westcrown man come home; Haezal, a priest of spirits; and Hakken, a half-orc with a greataxe. They came in with Tullus Lazario, an inquisitor, and his companion Pentalagus. The inquisitor could have had the gates opened for himself by rank alone, and instead spent his day sorting other men’s baggage, at no charge.
The camp keeps an old man they call the Herald. I am assured the name is a name only, and I have written it so.
There was fighting at the camp’s edge before dark. My man says the four ended it close and ugly, more wrestling than fencing, the inquisitor foremost, and no loss to the camp.
New Year is nearly on us, and the god of man coming, they say, to make the age golden. Gold is dear already on the strength of it. And so to bed.