Time has finally taken its toll on me I assume, I only hope that I found myself living a life of lavish luxury that my father couldn’t afford nor my mother would have the patience to stomach. While I know some men would rather kill for this basic necessity. I now find myself absent from friends, instead filled with reminders of what was and what could have been.

  My name is Gunther, former leader of the Lone Claw group, prospector of the southern coast, mercenary, warrior, a defamed knight. These are but some of the titles nobles threw at me in my youth. But while I know plenty of their hatred, I also know of their divisiveness. Which is what I write in this journal about now, pen dipped in stale ink as if it were dragged through old mud.

  It was many years ago, when I lacked the gray of age or the wisdom of caution, when both the Ranni and Vanir had begun to bicker. Throughout the central city of Cozengraud rumors had spun longer than spider webs of an issue that had spiraled out of control, one that had cost many a man their lives as repayment. It was said in the early dawn a woman had come to the city. Her feet were bloody from walking, old wounds covered in dirt and filled with pus, her head still bleeding with her hair showing patches that were pulled from its roots. I had seen the commotion first hand, and as they draped her in those linen blankets covered in fur from their war dogs I saw her eyes. They were bare, empty of life or thought, only a single tear escaped them but never a single word. Those eyes told me only one thing as they walked her further in, that she had lost enough to push her over an edge.

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  Every tavern I went to that day was abuzz after it all happened, “that farmer’s girl” some said, “the poor lass” others pitied, “I told you the north was dangerous” merchants cautioned. Yet throughout all the noise of the loud city there was only one place that sat quiet, or so we assumed. The high chambers, where the Vanir and the Ranni had argued for hours. Over what? I dared not ask, knowing I’d sooner be thrown into a barn than learn whatever they’d talk about.

  For the next few hours I checked taverns and squares for any kind of work that would pay, knowing most of the men under me at the time were either on their last copper or doing the same. But when dusk had come and with it a raging storm I went home to retire hoping the next day would be better.