My friend Karen did this one of Ellis dancing and it is way too awesome not to share on the main page. So enjoy!

Plenty more of Karen’s stuff here: grumpygoat

It was pretty dark out. Which made it awkward to draw the gates of Cushton. So this is less what I saw and more what I thought I saw, if you take my meaning. And I was tired. So, so tired. Being a caravan guard is easy if you don’t care if you die or not. If you want to live, being a caravan guard is actually really hard.

There were sillier songs beside that one. I think this fellow does fairly well for himself. He and Ellis would have gotten along, I think. But I didn’t catch his name! Does anyone recognize him?

Although the roads there weren’t especially dangerous in those days, an extra sword arm was usually welcome.

Scar is a bright, hot lamp hung in a black sky, and she attracts to her celestial vicinity other little stars of all colors and temperatures, like newly baked bread baits the taste, like wine lures sleep.

Next update: TOMORROW.

Whether or not one thought the men deserved hanging, one wondered, can dissension in the ranks be far behind? I was not inclined to linger to find out. And what became of the Baronet, of Lady Nav, and the poor victim? I didn’t find out until many years later.

Cold bath was cheaper. But who wants a cold bath?  Don’t get me started!

ALSO! Scar makes an appearance in the Comic Creator’s Alliance anti-slavery fund raiser organised by Lora Innes! Donate and help stop slavery! And, you know, get your own copy of the wallpaper/desktop, too!

The boar was actually excellent. I had it on a slice of bread, with coarse mustard. But the foggy chill from the bog lingered in my bones, and I’d have liked to disperse it with a hot meal.

The men-at-arms were a rude bunch. I think they shape up when the baronet is around, or one of the four knights, but not for me. Well, and why should they. What cares a low ranking soldier for the regard of a scholar? I can tell you: nothing. I was glad the sergent was around to remind them to at least pretend to be hospitable.

Me, a man-at-arms! Ludicrous! Do I LOOK like a man who knows how to swing a sword and buckle armor and all that what what? Yes, I was wearing a sword, but that is just to lend the illusion that I am actually dangerous, as a deterrent. If a gron can see right through it, you’d think a baronet and his lady would be able to. But no. And so off to the barracks I went! I suppose I should have been happy to be thought to look dangerous, but at the time I was focused on the hot meal I’d be missing.

The forest was cut back just slightly farther than siege engine range, so any attackers would have to show themselves. That kind of planning indicates a very martial mind indeed. Looking as trailworn as we did, I hoped they wouldn’t shoot us before we made the gate and introduced ourselves properly. Travelers were generally made to stay at the fortified inn there, at the bottom of the ramp, but as a warden Stefan was entitled to receive hospitality from nobles, and so up the ramp we went.