Early Winter - Altan
It has been another year since my last journal entry. I write from my inn room in Altan, while in the streets I can hear another festival parade celebrating the recent birth of the Queen's son. This morning I received a visit from a peculiar bird. Its black feathers gleamed with the familiar oily sheen of a common raven, but its eyes were blue, not black, and tied to its leg was a message:
It has been a year since we parted, and today I write to you from my tower, as below in the swamp, the Goblins celebrate the birth of a girl child whose green skin shows not the slightest mark of Stain. It is a happy day...