Since our caravan has split into two, every day raises desperation. How I wish Queen Jezmina had stayed — her grace and beauty would be a much-needed balm. Just yesterday, I heard Lazlo sobbing in his tent. He misses home... As do I.

We saw signs of survivors at a Flame Sanctum. It was a whole day's diversion — and for nothing. Despite the Shroud encroaching on them, these fools do not feel the need to join our ranks. They believe this to be a divine Ancient punishment, a curse that may yet be lifted if they atone enough.

Let's see how long their prayers may feed them. We must stay on track... Pikemead's Reach is still miles away.

— Commander Cyrus, 507 D.A.

Our objective is in sight, but it may be for naught — Pikemead's Reach is nothing but a burnt-out pyre, still choking the horizon in blue smoke.

If it's foolish to assume we'll find refugees there, then damn it all — a fool I'll be! If just one poor sod still hides out in the sewers, afraid to emerge... if one woman, one child continues to cower inside a locked tower... if any peasants have gathered to rebuild, reshape the heart of their land, their kingdom... we find them and gather them.

We will forge onward and see what awaits us at the Pike.

— Commander Cyrus, 508 D.A.