Ashwyneth

There’d been word of the Order organization again. A similar name -- of the night this time, rather than of seven stars -- but similar enough to the previous cult to make Enniliel nervous. Saeradan was concerned too, but insisted on investigating himself this time.

It was impossible. A dream. Or perhaps a nightmare, with how it tortured her. Still, his return could not be a nightmare with such gentle words...could it?

Orcs. It had been strange, seeing their tracks on the forest floor. Smelling their blood in the air. Ashwyneth had often searched for plants and hunted for animals among these woods, and very rarely had she even heard of orcs here.

​​​It was late morning and though the autumn nights had been quite cold, it was now pleasantly warm in Aldburg. At that moment, beneath a small cluster of trees, two young figures were lying side by side. Ash and Deor would do this often enough and would often be heard speaking to each other in gentle tones, meant only for the ears of each other. But this moment, they had simply been lying in a comfortable silence, merely basking in the closeness of the other. 

A small parcel wrapped in twine, within would be a letter sealed with wax. Ten silver coins and three gold pieces, alongside a small ornate flask filled with isenwine.

I found this journal in the stash room. That…that just sounds stupid, right? The stash room. The room I used to stash my weapons and all the shite I’ve stolen in. Like someone isn’t just going to break into my house and steal from a thief. I’m cleaning it out and turning it into a guest bedroom. Because it’s a really good idea for a thief to entertain guests, right?