Sent from the Lakeshire Trading Post

Dear Perry,

That’s it! I’m learning to ride a griffon as soon as possible! The burning steppes are not something I want to experience again. At least not from ground level. Dwarven bandit attacks, black dragon whelps and dust. Soooo much dust.

I am okay, as is the rest of the caravan. Some of the guards are a bit battered, but thankfully we haven’t lost anyone. Some of the cargo was taken during the night about midway through our trip, but in spite of what occurred, it was a small mercy. It’s the first time I have ever had to use magic offensively outside of a training environment. I took no pleasure in it; I’ll say that.

We had camped south of Blackrock, and all was well until just after midnight. That’s when things got rough. We were set upon by some Dwarven bandits, who made off with some food supplies but were easily repelled but then came the dragon whelps. Hulking great black creatures. The guards started shooting them to draw them away from the main caravan. Unfortunately, Nasslyn managed to be cut off from the rest of the guards, and I had to throw a mystical bolt at the dragon to cause it to break off the attack. These things are exhausting to cast, especially on very little sleep. It was enough though. The dragon went after me, and one of its burst of fire sent me flying headfirst into a dune before the guards brought it down and despite a few burns Nasslyn is safe, and I have been promised drink at the tavern in Lakeshire.

I won’t have much time to write anything when I get to Lakeshire so I will just finish this now on the back of the cart while they repair the wheel. Hopefully, we can get out of here before the wind kicks up more dust again. It gets in the robes and everywhere it shouldn’t, and I am sure I will be knocking it out of my shoes for weeks to come.

Anyway, I hope you’re well all of my love and some dust.

Khadgar.