Burlnard,
I arrived in Trestlebridge in a timely fashion. In truth, I am almost regretting the rush. The town is in ruins. I had hoped for a tavern or an inn from which to buy a hot meal and perhaps a bed for the night. Such establishments are wonderful for gleaning information of the land ahead and fables of treasures long lost. Alas, it was not to be so. The orcs who had purportedly attacked this place have even removed that scant comfort from the locals. The people here are quite wretched, and understandably so. Still, they were also rather forthcoming about what I could expect to find ahead.
I know that the idea of a desolate land over-run by evil spirits, mad men and rabid dogs is supposed to be frightful, but in truth I find that the shiver to run down my spine at the notion is not born of fear. It is thrill! If there be any truth to the tales, then what lies there must be buried deep and worth the dig. Perhaps I should purchase another pickaxe? Although I fear that the townsfolk will not willingly part with such a necessary tool given their current circumstances. If that be so, I shall just have to make do and hope that the one to serve me for so long and so well will remain up to the task.
I shall depart at first light, I think. By all accounts, it is only a league or so to the north, so a good night's rest and a swift stroll should see me there long before sundown. I may have to forego scouting until the following day, however. Supplies run low and there is so little to spare for trade in this town. I have some snares, so with luck I may at least catch a few rabbits overnight.
I will write again when opportunity, or news, presents itself.
Goldie.
