After many days and many nights, Lupa finally arrives in Yharnham...
I've made it. I arrived in Yharnham early this morning, the vessel pulling into the dockyard just as a beautiful rouge sun rose from behind the spire of a grand cathedral. I abandoned my hiding place as the trawler men began unloading their cargo, and sprinted from the boat and onto the dockland. I heard violent outbursts from behind me, but I dare not risk looking back. Once I was sure I would not be pursued, I slowed my pace, and began to take in my new surroundings. I found myself in a long, narrow street, a cobbled road stretching out before me. To either side were huge, elaborately decorated buildings, many of which buzzed with song and dance, or the familiar echo of conversation. Their doors featured intricate engravings of every sort, and the gargoyles perched menacingly upon their roofs, eyes permanently fixed on a point in the distance. Never before had I seen such elaborate dwellings! I wandered through the narrow streets at a sluggish pace, taking in every sight, every sound, every sensation of this vibrant land. I saw the spires of a great chapel, sitting high above Yharnham town, the white marble glistening like a mirror in the pale dawn sunlight. I came across a large body of water, and stared across its gentle flow at the ruins of a great castle, the bridge connecting it long since claimed by the water it so confidently traversed. The scent of the market drifted lazily into my nostrils, and guided me to a bustling, verdant festival, bursting with colour and life. I wandered the many stalls and exhibits, sampling the exotic fruits and tasting the exquisite liquids.
I will confess, my dearest Jessica, that despite the intoxication of such a jovial mood and burgeoning atmosphere, it could not cure me of my grief. To see such life and potential reminded me of how our home used to be, and I could sparsely keep my tears at bay. I was excited to start a new journey, to find you. But I was crushed to be reminded of what our home once was, and how quickly and violently it was taken away from us. I shall never see my home, nor my family again. And I cannot stifle the heartache such a revelation brings me.
I sought shelter for the night at an inn, but a moments' walk from the town centre. It is not the most luxurious of dwellings, but I shall not argue with a comfortable bed and a hearty meal. I find the innkeepers disposition to be most strange. He approached me in the market, and immediately told me he had a vacancy available. I was taken aback. How did he know I was seeking a room? When I inquired, he told me he knew the look of a traveller, and as he had not seen me before, he assumed I would be in need of lodgings. He asks for no rent, but did require I sign a 'Contract', stating my name, age, height, build, and even a brief description of my recent past. When I declined to share such information, he insisted, and I feared that his insistence may give way to a more hostile demeanour. He also gave me a golden letter, sealed with a blood red stamp, bewilderingly addressed to me. It bore no evidence as to who the sender may be. I informed that there must be a mistake, that I had never before visited this land and that I recognised neither the stamp nor the handwriting, but he simply replied "This was meant for you". I do not like him. His behaviour unnerves me, and he has strange insight into my past events, seemingly guessing my life with pinpoint accuracy. However, I have travelled for many nights, and I have very little of any currency. His nature, whilst eccentric, does not outweigh the generosity he has shown me. I must end this correspondence here, I believe someone knocks at my door.
I hope to see you very soon, my friend. I shall begin my search of you tomorrow.
All my love