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Veryadan

Once they’d left their companions, Veryadan with Aidwain and Osric followed along the Great East Road until they’d passed the southern tip of the Midgewater Marshes. It was a two day journey, riding at a quick pace, but one comfortable enough to keep the horses unwearied.

Veryadan had only been to the Marshes once before, and that encounter had not left a pleasant memory. His scouting group had had to search for something along the banks as he recalled. Many’s the time his foot had slipped on the soft mud sending him knee deep into the watery muck. And the biting midges . . . everywhere . . . each and every one seeming to love the taste of his blood.

It was late evening of the second day when they turned northward along the marsh’s edge. Veryadan was already swearing into the collar of his cape as the swarms of little bugs bedeviled himself and his horse. He was thankful when Aidwain volunteered to ride ahead and find a place, away from the watery hole for them to camp that night. They had agreed they would then set out in the early morning to look for the place the sheepherder and his dog had been killed and the flock taken.