the Remnant

I am ill.

I have been bedridden for the last few weeks, my body wracked with disease.  It seems there is nothing the healers can do, besides identify the cause.

It is poison.

The Remnant Scouts grow bolder.

I spotted one just south of Thorins Halls yesterday.  Took most of my will to avoid killing him then and there.  That would tell Dieudonnae I didn't want her snooping around the snowy valley in which I have made my home.

  Still, I can feel a showdown coming.  I can see it on the horizon.   It haunts me.  

I say haunt, because I don't believe it would be a blessing.

I either die or kill a friend.

Blessing indeed.

After meeting with Gerwolf, I made my way to the Prancing Pony Inn, planning to spend one last night in comfort before returning to Thorins Halls.   I pulled open the tavern door, instantly struck by the smell of ale and burning pipe-weed, pushing my way through the crowds to the bar.  I was about to signal to the bartender so I could rent a room when I looked to my right and saw something that made my blood boil.

Milada stood there, draining the bottom of her tankard.

Milada, who had allied herself with Hughes.

     I am glad to have retrieved you, my confidante, from the ashen remains of my home. It is a great comfort to again be presented the opportunity to record the happenings of my own personal war against the traitorous mass that name themselves "The Exiled". Their latest attack occurred but five days ere, when they burned my Manor to the ground, resulting in the death of my long-time servant, Gamlan the Elderly.