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Message: <blockquote data-quote="MDSnowman" data-source="post: 2026088" data-attributes="member: 6255">March the 9th, in the 759th year of Barovian CalendarFor the first time, our chronic travel schedule has invited danger: after waking earlier this morning and collecting our equipment and necessary provisions, we procured a pair of horses (as Natheme and I had no other means of making overland travel, outside of the two feet upon which we stand) and left Glenhollow to begin our journey back to Port-a-lucine. We had only traveled a short distance when we were halted by a symphony of firearms being cocked and leveled in our direction by a band of highwayman lying in wait on the road outside of town. Their leader, a rather imposing gentleman gifted with a sharp tongue and an equally lethal blade, demanded that we surrender our valuables without incident, the better to escape the encounter with our lives (an offer that I grow increasingly tired of each time it is spoken to our party). To the surprise of our opponents (and my compatriots, if I am to be completely honest), I challenged their leader to a duel and, with a touch of persuasion and subtle misdirection, convinced him to make pistols the weapon of choice for our confrontation: to further strengthen their initial judgments of my lack of preparation, I asked that they provide a pistol for my use in the impending duel, a request that they readily granted. So armed with a pair of pistols (my own weapon secreted beneath the heavy cloak I wore to protect me from the elements), I counted the ten paces and turned to fire.    My opponent was incredibly fast, the sharp retort of his pistol touching my ears before I could even complete my turn to face to him. I ignored the ominous whistle of his bullet passing my ear, focusing instead on my target as, armed with my pair of pistols, I fired in one fluid motion: both rounds struck true, the look of utter surprise on his face as he fell to his knees a testament to both my accuracy and my duplicity. Unfortunately, the exchange of gunfire (and my own deception in using a weapon that, previously, the brigands had no inkling I even possessed) sparked a confrontation that nearly was the end of our tired expedition. Thankfully, through a unique combination of frenzied swordplay, deadly gunfire and sheer fortuitousness, we were able to rout the bandit party and force most of their surviving members into a retreat. One man, severely wounded and trapped at the end of Connor’s spear, proved coherent enough for an interrogation: following a gentle prodding from the muzzle of my firearm, he revealed that he and his brethren were members of, La société des rasoirs, or the Society of Swords, and had been hired to intercept us upon our return journey and relieve us of our belongings. After a momentary lapse of temper (which I can only attribute to fatigue and a mounting frustration), we left the man to drag himself to safety while we continued our journey towards Port-a-lucine.    I now question that decision, however: the Society of Swords are not known for waylaying travelers, to perform petty robberies or otherwise. On the contrary, they are an elite band of duelists employed by the nobles of Port-a-lucine, often as instructors or bodyguards to the wealthy or privileged. They have a lengthy history resplendent with tales of both honor and distinction, neither of which were evident from the demeanor of the men who accosted us upon leaving Glenhollow. It is their familiarity with the nobler circles of Port-a-lucine that trouble me: who could have fathomed that my party would even still be alive after these many months, much less have come into possession of this unusual tome of which I still have been unable to make any sense? And if said entity were able to make these assumptions in all confidence, what would motivate them to send mercenaries to confront us? The plan has always been for me to return with my findings and report them in their entirety to the faculty – why send these men when I am already willingly returning with what they must be seeking?    I have only found one comfort thus far amidst the chaos that has quickly enveloped my waking hours: my show of bravery in the face of adversity when facing the bandit leader led to what I can only interpret as a show of respect from my companions, Natheme in particular. In fact, I awoke this morning to find her curled up beside me, resting quietly and comfortably as if her proximity were of no consequence, as if it were the most natural occurrence given our situation. Although I was initially flustered, I realized that it was not from any perceived offense, but instead an awkward feeling which I cannot completely explain. If nothing else, it does prove that beneath her hostile exterior, there lies a warmer, more approachable Natheme...one that I could grow to admire. Or perhaps more.    So many questions, so many variables to be taken into account...I can only hope that our arrival in Port-a-lucine will, finally, offer some answers.    We need them. Desperately.    I understand that until now it has been a rare occurrence for me to make more than one entry concerning the events of my days, but I have only just now stumbled upon a quandary of some note, and I am at a loss as to how to even begin to explain it. In truth, I have only a moment to spare before we embark once more on the journey to Port-a-lucine: this is only my effort to collect a wayward thought for later examination, that I might be able to discover some kind of answer to this new mystery that has presented itself. Even stranger is the fact that, though I have (only recently) regained enough of my faculties to recall the discrepancy, both Connor and Natheme have yet to notice anything amiss, and I am hesitant to bring the matter to their attention before I can form a concrete theory as to how matters have unfolded in this manner.    It is simple enough in fact, but complex in its implications: though the others seem not even to remember, there were four of us that stepped through the mysterious portal deep in the Mournesworth crypt...but only three emerged.    Whatever has become of Gravoir?</blockquote>

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