Journal Of A Hound

We have not spoken in quite some time, you and I. Your skin coarse to the touch and your clothes a binding. As my quill touches your pages I grow concerned.. what will I write today for you? An ode or tale? An oddessy or something like an oddity...I am curious, my Journal. How do you fare? The winds of fall bring the leaves around our home down in great bundles and the God's know I am not yet tired of the scent of the trees. Yet, I am struck ever still, the blood of comrades left upon the sand of Farahdeen burdens my core ever so dear journal. I have had to kill an enemy that only wished to defend it's home. Not that I am really bothered by it, it is simply war and battle, the Emperor and the Generals and the Lord Commander called for battle and I answered but here I stay. Sitting in a tent waiting for the tall ship home and I can't help but wonder. What could I have done better in that battle? Who could I have saved had something been done differently? Why did I fail. Perhaps oversight, situational failures... They all fought to the end and all got the deaths they deserved but still...what could I have done to aid my men and those men who fought with me better?

I consulted with the Staagir early as to my fate and future and felt at odds with his fortune. In due time I will confer to you what I was told but until then dear journal you will have to wait and listen.

When I return to that City on a Hill I would like to have a great many words with a few people. I wonder who still lives there? Are the old legends still breathing? Do they still wander their Halls? I shall only be able to wait and see. I shall report my days in the coming weeks to you dear Journal. Nothing fancy just simple updates lest something important occurs. Till next your pages meet my quill.

Ivar Valdemar