I’ve been tracking this damn dead wizard for an age. Lord Cleaver, my magic and supposedly ‘intelligent’ sword thinks I should give up, but that shows just how much attention he pays to me - his bloody master!
A few days ago a travelling priest of Taff the Mender told me that he had seen a wagon, pulled by donkey, heading North. I’ve been trailing across country and have finally picked up a trail. I’m about a day cold by my reckoning, but gaining ground on Bluebell.
Still wondering why someone would want to steal a dead wizard and head into dangerous country. Which reminds me, I caught glimpse of a bunch of green-skins up on a bluff this morning. Don’t think they saw me, but no camp fire tonight. I’ll be freezing my plums off! Balls and ashes! Still, I’ll stick Lord Cleaver in the ground to keep watch. He’d rather be with me than an Orc. I think.