Well, as I had left off in the previous part, Alyra had burdened myself and Henry, and started driving us down the road.
Perhaps, for all this time, I have omitted to mention my own name. It's hard to think that I could go eleven parts without a name, but such is how things have been. I shall now tell you the name I go by.
However, before I do so, I want to make sure that you don't laugh. I'm very particular about my name. It was given to me in the strongest loving care from my parents, and is not to be insulted. As such, if I so much as hear tale of one peep of mocking toward my name, I will do something about it. Somehow. Anyway, this is my warning, and I expect everyone who reads this record to take it seriously.
That said, my name is Marty McMuffleby. And if I hear so much as one giggle...
Anyway, back to the tale. Along the road, as we traveled, it became important that I tell my name to my traveling companions. What a group we made... Alyra, the battle axe of a woman. Henry, the wild mountain man with a million names. Marty, the narrator who was dragged into a journey that he hadn't planned on. Thus was the party of adventurers, but it was nowhere near being done yet.
After a long hike, the mountain had been conquered. We had climbed the face of one side, and come down the opposite, now finding ourselves on the only solid patch of dirt road that wound it's weary way through the wretched wetland bogs of the wild swamps of west wanderingden, with a wild and wildering way... And there I go again, only with a "W" sound... Anyway, we were in a swamp, and the horizon held mountains behind, and a dark, black forest in the front. Our path was clear, and to the left was the swamp that faded to ocean. To the right was endless marshlands, hidden in a fog that obscured everything. And in the middle, Henry's groans of being overburdened, my cries of pain, for the straps still dug into my shoulders, and Alyra's complaining about our complaining, which was rather circular reasoning in and of itself.
And, at this moment, I must put down my pen, for I have grown hungry, and shall endeavor to feed myself before continuing this manuscript.
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