Here is a story of the adventurous spirit of the Outlands.
The Kingdom of the Outlands is a unique place, where in a week’s time one can walk on vast plains in one place and stand among peaks covered in snow in another. In other places in that kingdom, one might stand upon the sands of a barren desert or see within the rocks the bones of terrible beasts and dragons. Knowing this about the lands of the kingdom, one cannot but be struck with a desire to see all of these things. Truly it is a place unlike any other!
So too among both Christian and Muslim, it is practice to travel on foot in pilgrimage across vast distances to places of spiritual significance. Among the Christians, all seek Jerusalem and the mount where Our Lord died upon the cross. Among the Saracen, the people make the Hajj to Mecca, a city holy to them. As you well know, great is the reward for those who follow the example of Our Lord and humble themselves to walk upon their own feet to places known well for their spiritual significance. Just as Saint Paul was cast down from his horse, those who undertake pilgrimage do not do so upon mighty chargers. Nor are they accompanied by stewards and carts filled with vain finery. One who does this thing discharges his burdens to no servant and leads no ass, but takes upon his very back all that his desires demand.
In the summer of that year, His Excellency Finn of Caer Galen and I traveled across the reaches of the Kingdom in search of such places. Hearing tales from the lands of Draca Mor and Fontaine dans Sable, we went to those places to see the truth of the matter. It was during these travels that we heard of a particular place within the Barony of Caerthe, called the Lost Creek. There it is said is a place of much beauty and flowing streams which are known well for their healing qualities. Though I place more stock in steel than miracle, I have with mine own eyes seen the effects that cool flowing waters might have on the soul.
On the feast of Saint Giles in the fifty-third year of the Society, being a year from the vigil I sat in contemplation of the Accolade, several of us set out to make a pilgrimage in the wilderness of the Lost Creek. Those there being His Excellency Finn and Her Excellency Cinara of Caer Galen, His Grace Hrothger Monomakh , called the Gold Duke, Sir Rowland de Grey of Lincolnshire, Sir Gareth Lightborne and his squire Ronan, and so too my lady, Martine de la Rochelle. We did make camp in the place called Twin Eagles, known for a particular bird of prey which is so large that it is said to feast upon whole cows. In the light of dawn the company set out on foot, leaving pride and vanity behind. For a long time, we passed without water a great stretch of that land, ascending near to the very clouds themselves. When at last, parched with thirst, we came upon a cool spring, all rejoiced and gave thanks. About that time, struck with malady, one of our company, Sir Rowland was forced to turn back, though his spirit desired to continue. Concerned for his good health, His Grace Hrothger agreed to accompany Sir Rowland back down the mountain. The remainder of us proceeded onward.
At long last we came upon the object of our quest and there made camp. We spent the night warmed by fire and companionship and in the morn agreed that our pilgrimage had thus been met. We there made games of sport and skill, with bow and spear, before departing back down the mountain. So all were made new in spirit and filled with camaraderie.
