On the morning of your fourth day back in Dunnold you gather your equipment and prepare to leave the Grey Minstrel Inn. Wulfrid charges you 60 gp for your rooms, evening meals, and many, many drinks.

You make your way to the city gate and look, once more, upon the barren wastes of the Blasted Lands. You know from your last journey that if you keep a steady pace and head straight to the ruins, you should arrive on the morning of your third day of travel. Unless you run into trouble or deviate from the direct path.

OOC: I'll assume all of the remaining group funds have been placed into the Dunnold Bank.

Fetcher stops a few paces beyond the gates, off to the side of the beaten path and squints into the distance. Unrelated to weather or the effort of toting all of his gear once again after a welcomed long rest, sweat beaded upon his brow and moistened his palms. A flurry of words tumbled through his mind; inspiring mercenary speeches, cautionary advice, wise parables heard over the years but none of them materialized at his lips. A momentous new chapter in his life, while at the same time just another link in the chain of times he has had to prove himself.

He didn't feel he could do the feelings justice with commentary, or that his newfound friends would likely understand. Hoisting his pack higher on his shoulder he fell back in with the group. The word "Adventurer" spilled quietly from his mouth betraying his private thoughts.