I know some time has passed since I last wrote. When I get some time to myself I will be returning to the village to see you, but I find it hard to reconcile my life now with the safety of Home.
I parted from my companions for a while, with the coin from our incomplete task in my hand, and concern for my friend Sican in my heart. He had dissapeared from Iderath; nobody in the Moon quarter knew where he had gone to, so I have tried to restore his home to some semblance of order should he ever return. I have also bee staying there; I had no idea how fast funds could slip through your fingers. I begin to see that Indigo and Roxninger are not the mercenaries the Temple painted them as; rather, it is practicality that drives them.
While my friends were gone, attempting to set right our unfortunate early attempts, I quizzed the temples trying to find a path for myself, but found only despondancy. It seems all the Gods who embody nobility and courage in the face of battle also demand gruesome (and I could even call them grotesque) rites of initiation. While I have shed blood in battle, my own and someone elses, I balk at some of the acts I would be required to carry out. So I spent my last days alone walking the city and awaiting the return of my friends and companions.
I didn’t realise how lonely it could be when surrounded by thousands of people, so I was happy to see first Indigo, then Rocky, walk into a tavern near the Temple of Blood. In truth I had been waiting at that tavern for several days now, thinking they would return there once the job was done. They introduced me to Finnegan, a nobleman unlike Domini Bartholomew in manner, and, I am told, a proffesional ruin-explorer. With his aid they found the artifact we had missed (and a book. There seemed to be some atmosphere about this book, but I sensed it was none of my concern and tried to ignore it). They even, kindly, shared their profit with me, and we made plans to leave the city for a chance at making some small fortune in the unexplored wilderness.
Before our plans could be complete, however, the Domini returned, now no longer an Aspirant but a true Hammer, and asked our aid in tracking an old man. I gathered that some vision has struck him, and, although I am no longer his squire, I offered my help. At first I believed I would be the only one offering; clearly a lot happened on the other’s return journey to the tomb. But it was an excuse to leave the city, and the chance at adding to our coffers. So we accompanied him on a boat trip to see this old man, a drunkard who spouted prophecy like a cow spouts manure. Some of it went over my head, but we gathered enough to plan our next destination.
I will leave it here. We have returned, briefly, to Iderath, to prepare for the next leg of our journey.