Itrepidinu did not turn up for dinner, for the first time ever.
If he too is gone, my heart shall not take it.
And there's more, there always is. If I do not find Intrepidinu, and if the rest goes South,
there shall be no quandary about what comes next. None at all.
We have not had one day of victory, not a moment of peace, ever. That is why we are here now, and this is why we say what we do. Hope long forlorn, comfort long dismissed, love but forgotten, dreams to nightmares, dark nights, scorching sun, and this sterile desert of mankind. We took an oath to strive for the lesser, and we only have one last shield, sword, and banner. The most crucial. Faith.
May God not fail us, despite how terribly and often, we have failed Him.
Ironblood
Lazarite Knight, damned Lepper, Last Baron.
We have eaten less in 8 weeks than anyone should in seven days. We have upgraded our assault to the maximum human limit. But the sickness has returned, annihilating all in its course. Readily bled out, immensely fatigued, malnourished, the ice we thread runs ever thinner. If we do not break out in the coming weeks, and unless we receive reinforcements, we are finished. No other way to define our immediate and impending situation. We are being annihilated and soon there shall be nothing left. We are ready for everything, anything. And the last round is reserved, chambered and locked.
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