Things become more disorganised by the day; it is unsettling to observe the effects of minor actions cascade and magnify across time. The gentle aggregation of a series of meaningless events – a pretty woman next door, ambitious local politicians, a new herbalist in town – has suddenly, without warning, pulled me inexorably into their wake. Whilst trying to maintain the sanctity of my home, I suddenly find myself of a party with three others as I maintain the charade of the ineffectual country doctor.
The large one, Ulric, tells me the vultures around my home are a sign of the return of Fenris Kul. This claim I cannot and will not endorse; my eschewal of the supernatural remains even now. He seems convinced that the actions of the birds are somehow contingent upon the mage’s tower upon the ridge overlooking Dulcet, though I for one am far more interested in what appears to be the tontine buried in my yard.
The aasimar, Sefu, is an odd one. I feel his judgement when he gazes upon me, but yet he does nothing. He exhibits certain behavioural pathologies: his bloody-mindedness, his keenness for the hunt. I am intrigued by the partially petrified men in my cellar. It is unfortunate that their flesh would almost certainly blunt my knives. In any case, one thing is plainly obvious: I must find the chink in his armour. Although he will be a difficult nut to crack, I expect the rewards to be reaped are rich indeed.
Finally, Russell seems inherently problematic. Already it seems clear that he fancies himself some kind of bastion of feckless altruism. I am also suspect of what appears to be his close relationship with the mayor; certainly, far closer than one would expect between an elected official and an itinerant herbalist. I must keep my eye on him; although I would very much prefer not to kill him, one must leave one’s options open.
Next stop is the tower. I can barely hide my anticipation.