While my companions managed the Caenids, I stayed in Harper's Ford to explore and acquaint myself with the city. As usual I find I am more comfortable in a fire-lit tavern than a cave full of ravenous and angry beasts. During one of my many ale-filled nights I found that tales of my adventures (those both real or imagined) were attracting new visitors to my side. In particular a familiar type of visitor: the blue face paint and traditional garb that could only be attributed to the Skairn. This man introduced himself as Ambrose, an exile from a Skairn tribe. He seemed fascinated in the stories I had woven of Mother and her prophecy (without revealing myself or my fellow travelers, only using bits of our tales that would entertain and delight the drinkers at the tavern) and wanted to hear more. Though hesitant to trust him at first, I soon found Ambrose to be a wise and kind companion, a fellow story teller, and lover of treasures both ancient and modern. I urged him to meet me in the tavern every night, in the hopes that my fellows would appreciate his wisdom and kindess as well as I had. I imagine they will be distrustful at first, but may hopefully come to see his knowledge of Skairn culture as a benefit to our search, rather than see him as a spy.
I await their return nervously. Though I have every faith in their strength and bravery, I would rather they were all here to share a pint with me and my new friend.