By the gods I swear that useless blade has a curse upon it. Before we reached terms with the highwaymen, there was a moment in the battle when I swung so wildly and so wide that the force sent me to the ground. The bandit king and his henchman stood over me, urging me to surrender. I should have feared for my life, yet some feral voice inside me surfaced with a cry of defiance. Perhaps my Kokoreese is rusty, because it didn't seem to strike with the fear and awe I expected... Regardless, I stood my ground the battle was soon over.
Moments like those remind me how ill-equipped I feel to even be part of this mission. This quest is no squire's errand. The fate of Ki'Ger and perhaps the war is woven into my bowstrings now. What's an old parchment scribbler like me doing out here with these odds and these stakes?
Do the others know my doubts? Can they sense my unworthiness?
It was years ago I traded my books and quills for a bow. There's hardly a magical beast in Pallidorn I haven't studied or slain. But that doesn't make me untouchable. My new companions have training and abilities I could only dream of. For every kill-shot I land there are two costly misses. For every trail I find, two more go cold.
Yet I've never felt more purpose and belonging. Every day I grow stronger, faster, smarter, deadlier. Yollari has blessed me with a spark of magic and a wild companion. Why does the Great Traveler grant me such favor?