The Heroes of Red Larch: Entry 55

These events take place before Rise of the Obsidian Legion.

Lynch’s Journal
Entry #55

The truth of King Frost and Icewall really set the mood for the rest of day until our route veers off to a path less taken. It looks rarely used, small underbrush makes it rough on the wheels of the wagon. The leafless trees do little to block the wind which seems funneled in our direction. That proves true as they give way to sheer rock walls that navigate our route, a perfect area for an ambush.

Lucky for us that is not the case.

As soon as we break for camp the main priority is a fire. Lithia lets her magnificent leadership skills show, cheering us on from within the covered wagon as the three males grab up the wood. The wind proves difficult to create a spark which is where she comes in handy, a flame from her hands sets the wood ablaze.

During the evening meal Balasar takes a seat beside me with a look of concern on his face. What comes next is somewhat unexpected. After Novak was pulled into nothingness by the tentacles, the copperborn had a horrible dream that night. He never told any of us he has had them ever since. Wishing this was known to me sooner, I would have carried this burden with my friend. It is not his nor any of the others fault Novak was bringing terror to Red Larch, it was mine for I should have murdered him during all those years forced to serve him.

The paladin continues on, informing me that someone has been speaking to him in his dreams, asking for his aid, promising power. I ask if it is Novak, for I constantly fear his return, but he is unsure. Balasar goes on about how he fights back against this voice and can feel it’s resent. It reminds him of the strange sounds we heard from within the nothingness during our battle at Krypt Garden Forest.

I look him in the eyes and remind him that he has friends here that are willing to risk everything to stop the invasion of his dreams. Most of all, I promise Balasar that if Novak and whatever this voice is do return that we will finish them for good. The copperborn firmly puts his hand on my shoulder, offering me a reassuring nod that he believes my words.

I offer a returning nod while tightly gripping the black blade of Novak, Balasar’s gift to me the night after the first dream, that is sheathed behind my back to reassure myself of my own words.

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