I write this from a crude shelter on the outskirts of Wallace. I’m wet, cold and filled with a deep disrespect for Hunters of Elohar. It turns my stomach when I think that I once held these people in high regard, when in truth they are cowardly murders. Bernardus is dead, his throat cut while he was sleeping.

The celebrations in Wallace indeed lived up to everything I had been told. Even after the clouds darkened and the rain set in, the townsfolk’s spirits were still high. I’ll add that the rain had me a little nervous, there was something unusual about it. The way it formed, its intensity especially at this time of year. I don’t know, it just didn’t seem right.

Like everyone else, Rainald, Myself, and two new friends, Brother Mendel and Gabriel, continued the festivities indoors. Brother Mendel’s heart is in the right place, and seems a good man of God. Gabriel, is a bit of a mystery but seems to be a man of some skill and training.

As fortune would have it, an odd man by the name of Dixon Morello approached me looking for some people that would be willing to escort him into the Great Desert on an expedition to investigate something. I’m still at a loss as to what he was going to do, but he was offering to pay four gold a day, and seemed good for it. We’ll meet him in the morning, let’s see what comes of it.

Brother Mendel made mention that he might be able to offer some assistance in Bernardus’ recover, so as the night drew to a close we started the trek to the cottage. The rain was heavy and still has not eased. Things were not right at home, the old lady always sleeps with a candle on, and Bernardus would normally be awake at this time, but both houses were dark.

Gabriel and I went cautiously to investigate, and that’s when we found Bernardus had been killed. Something reminded me of old father Ustus back in Tacitus, preaching that God has a plan for us all. I wouldn’t say I liked Bernardus a great deal, as he had always been difficult, but he deserved better than this. Was that God’s plan for him?