The Travelogue of Etienne of Cassons
DR 1743
August 31st, 1743
It is late in the season to start my journey, but for the last two weeks, the ash storms have been blowing daily from the south. This morning finally dawned clear and hot, and although the air is dry and dusty, I cannot wait for a cleansing thunderstorm, and will set out today. It has been unseasonably warm and the rumors from the March are of wildfires that will not end, and choking dust.
September 5th, 1743
I have made good time these last six days, riding quickly south, and tomorrow I believe I shall reach the Masance. The hospitality of the Andonnen lords has not diminished, although it feels more costly than ever to buy bread and lodging. The weather remains dry, and clear and I shared a meal with some herdsmen on the ridge. Perhaps I should not have ridden up the slope, as it cost me a day to ride up and back down, but I heard many stories of the Alliance and reassured myself that the hotheads in the Inginue faction will not prevail.
September 6th, 1743
This evening I am camping in Rocky Ford. This season it is further south than usual, and as always one must watch one’s purse. But the ferry is running and the water is sluggish and low, so I do not believe the crossing will be challenging. Traffic has been heavy going north, I saw two caravans of Alliance metals heading for Cleenseau, and a group of halflings from Tokra.
September 7th, 1743
An unseasonably late thunderstorm has delayed my crossing. A late summer storm spilled its fury with hail and rain at noon, and the Masance flooded its banks. The ferry was swept downriver, and many lives feared lost. My habit of asking the old seer whether to cross in the morning or evening has paid off – many here say he is a conman, but his advice to cross on the last boat of the day has kept my from being one of the unlucky swept south.
September 8th, 1743
The water is still high. The day passes slowly and idly. All here are bored, and tempers are running high.
September 9th, 1743
I crossed the Masance today. The ferries are still not running but several wagons forded successfully and I decided to try my luck. The gods have smiled on me, and my luck has held, and I am safely across. I am late though, for the passes, and must hurry.
September 15th, 1743
I am at Laicon, where the ridge trail comes down and joins the road, and the Alliance caravans and metals from the old mines come through. In my grandfather’s day, this was the only hospitality between the Masance and the Aurbez plateau, but these days many of the farmsteads welcome travelers, for food or coin, of course. I only camped rough one night – with a group of young men and women heading for a homestead along the Masance.
September 17th, 1743
I am at the crossroads, where an inn has been built since I last came this way in 1735. The crossing of the Aursen was simple enough, although the ferrywoman charged high and spoke of Insingue quite often and fondly, as if she remembered it herself. Fah, these false patriots and seekers of lost glory disgust me. Those who say, rebuild here, forget the past have it right. The falls have lost none of their grandeur, although the water is of course low compared to spring.
September 20th, 1743
It has been slow going these last two days and I have climbed several thousand feet, and the road is in rougher repair than I remembered. The nights are getting cold, and I am glad of my good boots and woolen blanket. The Aurbeze have been hospitably, but my coin is running low and I have camped instead of availing myself of their hospitality. I have seen several patrols along the way - the road feels safer here than last time I was here. I saw a Stoneborn as well today, although I was too nervous to speak to them.
September 30th, 1743
The real climbing starts today. It has taken me longer than I hoped to get to the foot of the pass, as my horse went lame. I hope the weather holds.
October 3rd, 1743
The snow has been blowing for a day and a half now. I fear I will not make it to Tokra. My food is running low and my fingers are numb.