Godsday, 4th of Ready’reat

I have gained clout with the patrons of the Welcome Wench. All the locals recognize my face whenever I enter, and more every day know me even by my name alone! Same other adventurer brandished a crowbar as a means to get through the entrance of a barrow, which was greeted (to my delight) with raucous laughter and smiles and stares in my direction from other adventurers in the tavern. They know of my talents, you see! Even among the dwarves of mine own mountain, I remain something of a prodigy. I lent to them my services, oh! but to my chagrin, this very nearly cost me my life! For in the Barrows...HE returned to take my mind from me.

I know very little of him, this spirit trapped in my owl, other than his name, Bran the Wolf. He's old, and he wants something very badly. What that is, I do not know, but I can feel the burning regret of a purpose left incomplete.

And the dream! Incoherent visions of fire, blood and fury. The comely face of a barbarian, an emperor, a hatred immensely powerful.

I can only imagine what all of this means, but I must find out. This Bran the Wolf won't likely give me peace until I do.

Ulaa, give me strength, if only to sleep free of these nightmares of another life.

Or give me ale. That should work just as well