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Dear little Warwick,
I have finally made my ascent into the Auroch mountains. It is a tranquil place, very beautiful. I am staying in a small village here in these mountains for a few days to recuperate. The people are friendly and appealingly unaware of our fast-paced urban customs. I was offered a place to stay the night by a man named Quixil. His cottage is ornamented with folk paintings made using the juice of local berries and trophies of the animals, and his family is kindly to a stranger. The community keeps plenty of wood available for the fireplaces, so it is toasty.
Alas, I know I must leave this serene land and descend into the Wydell Plains all too soon. I have heard reports that highway robbers now swarm the lawless area. I do not fear this risk, but my sword Equalizer does not hunger yet for battle. I will see enough of that in Kigglypick, where it is said the sky is ever black.
Your loving father,
Greyhack Whitehall