Back again in this blasted cathedral and this time we're going deeper into the catacombs underneath. Not too surprising that its got bloody tunnels running every which way considering it was a dwarven temple of worship, but come on, the closest dwarven settlement is hundreds of miles away -- I should know coming from there -- what could they possibly need these extensive tunnels for? Bloody fanatics.
Anyway, deep tunnels are really the least of me problems right now. We ran into some well infested with eyes and some other beasties that like to yank blokes by the ankles and try to drown them. Ya know, like blasted cowards, instead of fighting toe to toe like real dwarves.
One of them pulled me down deep and I spent the better part of a minute struggling with the fiend underwater. I could hear me comrades struggling in the surface with some other beasts of their own. Every time
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To: My glorious editor and dear friend
I can't keep doing this. I can't. I woke up last night screaming in a room in that damn pub. It was a dream, just a dream. Otho was standing at the end of my bed watching me. He looked right into me - but he had black eyes, lifeless, like a dolls eyes. And the screaming. The terrible high pitched screaming. And then I woke up in that cold, empty room. Like waking up in a tomb.
Its my fault he died. I tried to get him to follow. I was too far gone to carry him. The world was swimming and it was all I could do to stagger, covered in so much blood. Everywhere. I saw him go down. I was only alive because of him and now I couldn't get to him. I was too weak! Sarenrae forgive me!!
So many dead. Otho, Randy, Tank, Nobbla. I still see them in my dreams. Why did I live? Why not them!! I'm just a ... I just tell dirty stories for coin.
(Being yet another excerpt from Bertha Wildhearth's boring letters home.)
I hope you can forgive me for the long gap between missives; I trust when you read this letter you will understand why I have been able to write for a considerable length of time. If you recall, my newfound friends and I (and Pint Bloodhorns) had return to the town of Falcon’s Hollow... well, when I say ‘town’ you will understand that it is not a town in the Dwarven sense of the word – it is small, sparsely populated, barely defended, with no useful industry save the logging company (who at least are chopping down the trees, even if wood cannot compare to stone) and worst of all, open to the sky. If I wanted to stare at an expanse of blue all day, then I would sneak into our King’s magically protected vaults and gaze at the famous blue stone of Galveston (which rumour has it, is almost as blue as the notorious Infanta’s eyes – now there was a strong woman..
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That's the last bloody time I run into a bunch of undead shadow blighters without knowing what they actually are.
I guess that's what I get for trying to impress Bertha, but now after dealing with those wretches I feel all sorts of drained. No big deal though, I can still block most things thrown me way, I'll just do my job and stand in front of everybody, hopefully this time none of us will die because they were adamant about running off ahead of the group. That's been happening too frequently for me liking. If what happened to Tank happens to Bertha I'll never be able to forgive myself.
We really lucked out with the loot this time. Last time we fought this kobold bastard we could only find things that only Otho could use, but on the second go as an undead even Mira found a magical axe and Bertha found some kinna magical scroll. Maybe on the third go when we fight the
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(Being an excerpt from Bertha Wildhearth's letters home.)
Greetings, beloved family,
I bring news of my journeys far from our mountain stronghold. As you know, the outside world is bright and full of sunlight, neither of which particularly appeals to any Dwarf worth his beard. But up here in the north, near Falcon’s Hollow, at least there are plenty of dungeons and caverns where I can at least feel comfortable for a short while. And there’s gold too, if we can find it. As everyone knows, all gold in the world is Dwarven gold, it belongs to the Dwarven kingdoms no matter who currently has it out on loan, so I really have no problem taking it back – by force or stealth, I’m naturally good at both. Well, pretty good. Well, I’m pretty, even if I’m not so good.
Most of all, of course, the world outside our home in the mountains is full of weirdos. And Elves, who are the weirdest of them all, that goes with saying.
Mira panicked. She looked down as she first heard the rapid slithering of the vines and then felt them wrap themselves around her ankles. She thought that maybe she had mistakenly cast the entanglement spell and endangered her friends. She had learned just a few weeks ago that her connection to the forest gave her an innate ability to cast minor spells that could manipulate natural objects. Bay-Wynn had been teaching her to focus her mind for her spellcasting, but she had found that in a dangerous situation it was difficult to concentrate on both the spell and keeping herself and her friends safe. Several times while practicing she found that the spell was cast wider than she had intended because she had trouble ignoring the sounds of the forest and focusing on the elements of the spell.
She quickly glanced around to check for everyone and found that Bertha had taken off towards the entrance to the courtyard. In her field of view she also saw three cobolts. She was relieve
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