Public Diplomacy by Spear

To memory:
 
As I suspected, following the noble tracks was not difficult. Also as I suspected, the nobles leaving the tracks were not suited for the wilderness. One of them got themselves butchered by a wolf. One would be inclined to believe a life in luxury and without any difficulty makes you lax and incapable of doing basic precautions.
 
The tracks took us to what is now called Cragyard. During this tracking however, I had another strong memory. I have written down what I still can feel in my skin, my bones, my chest on the following pages, to jog your memory as well. However what is clear is that Cragyard is what remains of the Crag. Our previous life met its end on that field, dear reader, trying to aid local people against a tyrant during the Age of Dragons. A blessed memory. I honor the ones that was lost, and thank the gods that age is behind us.
 
We also happened upon a gallow, under which a stone bound souls to that place. An evil mechanism, and the souls whispered of a knightly order being misled by Moorbrand, putting innocents to death. Only Moorbrand could set them free, and so we could do nothing but give them a fleeting moment of catharsis and listen to their concerns. This practice is abhorrent. No soul should be tethered in this way. No soul should be kept from the final judging. It is something I know all too well, something we all know too well. Something I surmise you know too well by this point.
 
In now-called Cragyard, we met upon some trouble. Zalia decided to imitate one of the nobles, in hopes that she would imitate the one we found dead in the forest, mangled beyond any recognition. A good plan - it would aid us in gathering information. However, she chose poorly. Some brawling, some excessive force by the frankonians and some very good theatre by yours truly later, we now find ourselves in a dungeon. Ample time for journaling, at least.
 
To note:
 
There is no end to what an expatriated frankonian believes themselves to be at the liberty to do. This is a good aphorism.
 
Humorously enough, it seems the frankonians did their showing of weapons against an unarmed drunk crowd for my safety. Charming. Wholly unneeded. Drunks I can handle.
 
We've gathered the smith's son and the non-mangled noble seem to be down in the mines. I surmise that the child isn't in safe hands with the noble.
 
To do:
 
Get out of jail. Return the child.