Monday, 25th July, walls of Avon's Grove.
The situation in this town has come to a head. The women and children
were ordered into whatever cellars and vaults we could find at
midnight last night. Some have even flooded the crypts and mausoleums
in the towns southern quarter, and others still have taken refuge in
the town hall. Its fine white walls will only offer a temporary refuge
from the enemy host.
It appears our intelligence has been flawed from the first. There are
perhaps five thousand thrall marching against us, more than twice what
we had previously thought. Carrik has been silent all week, and Nine
Stone no longer has time for his stories or wisdom.
The battle will begin today, of this there can be no doubt in any of
our minds. As with all the great battles, this one has been prophecied
by the birds that fled west yesterday afternoon, by the blood red
sunrise I have just seen. Fifty of us will rise in arms against Phelot
this day, but I know that it will be hopeless.
