Day Five-Twenty-Three: Morale check

We're pretty certain that we ran over some hermit's shack yesterday. I really hope not, but the thump we heard… that thump was accompanied by a lot of crackling. If so, uh… we're… very sorry, Mr. Hermit Man.

Maybe this will convince him to live closer to people. Isolation is bad for you, y'know.

… might explain why this Iko guy I'm after is such a dick. Plato tells me he's a hermit.

Anyway. Enough about him. He's kinda in the same category as the bandit, these days. Not big on talking about him.

After marvelling over the shininess of the Dauphine yesterday, I decided to wander around its woody innards and talk to people. Everyone who came on this trip committed to it by signing up, but that doesn't mean they are automatically cool with everything they're doing. I wanna make sure, before we roll too far away from Pubton, that this lot is comfortable with travelling across the world.

And you know what? All of them are. That stupid 'trust' thing is at work again. Hell, it sounds like most of 'em just wanted to go on an adventure. (Or maybe they wanted out of Pubton. Getting attacked twice will do that to a person.)

The ex-royals are pretty enthused about the trip. Celine is her usual, gleefully deadpan self, but Daena is downright excited. She loves being mobile. Getting stuck in the walls of Pubton must've been a bit of a downer for her. And Jeffrey, well, like I said, he's just happy to be out of chains, though he still looks rather mopey whenever I see him. Got a lot on his mind, that one.

Edmund is downright ecstatic to be on the road. Bards are nomadic creatures, and whenever I had to send somebody out of Pubton on errands he was always the first to volunteer. He likes to meet new people and learn new things, and he's bound to learn a hell of a lot on a trip through the Imperium. I've no doubt he'll be endlessly handy, as his home is SOMEWHERE within its borders. He knows the western lands better 'n anybody.

Grylock… Grylock's a bit motion sick. I think it comes from riding the boar around while the Dauphin's rolling across the countryside. Also the excessive drinking. I need to talk to the little bastard, as I'm tired of slipping in his puke trails.

Bora. Haven't talked to Bora. Maybe in the future. Shrug. She looks fine.

Aaaaand everyone else is cool. You know, all the background folks. They like me. I like them. We're square. (Though that bannerman really needs to stopping glaring at Jeffrey all the time. I felt so bad for ol' Jeff that I threw out that pair of socks I owned with him getting punched in the face. A shame, too - they were nicely embroidered.)

That leaves the last, most mysterious member of the crew: Plato.

I've worked alongside Plato for weeks. I know his stubby, blank, oft-distressed features by heart, and I've more or less embraced his odd way of talking. Nevertheless, I still don't know anything about him. All I know from Ed is that Plato appeared when Kierkegaard disappeared, back in their travelling days. And then Plato vanished along with that Traveller guy.

I've tried to ask Plato about his past, but he's cryptic. He always seems to have an excuse to escape a conversation, and that excuse is usually that he's hurt himself somehow and needs to tend to his wounds. He must've whammed himself on the head with boards or caught his fat fingers with a hammer or tripped over sheet metal a thousand and one times when we were building the Dauphine. I might've suspected that he was injuring himself on purpose, to get out of deep, probing chats…

… but he carried on getting hurt well after I'd given up. What a weirdo.

I'll figure him out somehow. At the moment he's our compass. He knows the lay of the land, and he knows where Iko lives. I'm content with his navigational skills for now.

But only for now.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Wanderer