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Written as part of the unfolding plot of Northern Charter

PLEASE NOTE: An image created by AI is appended to this story which some may find suggestive of violence. It does not show 'intense violence or gore' or a bloody scene or the likes, and is therefore, in my view, entirely PG-13 and in keeping with the site rules. However, it is only right and proper to forewarn accordingly.

To the Company of the East Road,

By the time you read this, I will be long gone—and not a single one of you should bother looking.

I leave behind no legacy, no fond farewells, and no apologies. Everything that bore my name within your halls—every record, every trace of my presence—has been reduced to ash. Whatever I was to you, it no longer matters. I’ve cut the ties, and you are nothing to me now.

Nathion,

I hope fortune keeps favouring you these days, as it did in the past.

I recently acquired a shipment of interesting trinkets, which I believe would fetch a good price in the southern markets.

Sail to the ruins of Lond Daer, and I shall meet you there.

Regards,

Crow

Thistlemead rose from his sleeping place in the middle of the field. He could still hear the cries of Greyleaf, whom had been tied to a pole in the exact middle of the camp. ‘He will get us all killed,’ he muttered as he came upon the group that had gathered around one of three campfires, ‘a merchant will be strolling down the road; he’ll hear screaming and call for the militia.’

I watched the small curved form plummet from the sky, drawing ever closer. It levelled its descent just above the treetops, and skimmed the canopy until, arriving above the clearing, it circled in a downward spiral, to alight with a flurry of wings upon my upraised fist.