Well, it still seems as if sanity holds strongest when you write things down. First, I'd like to acknowledge my encroaching fear that we'll be here forever. You know when you're at an amusement park for the first day and you say, "Man, I could spend forever here and be in heaven." Infallibly, by day seven or so, you realize you were absolutely wrong. Even paradise becomes mundane given enough time.
Well, let me say that Ashfar is no damn paradise. This place sucks. In a sense, it has a feeling of grandeur and mystique which really serves to invigorate the party. Then I realize that, at any second, I or my friends could die, then I suddenly admit that I would opt out of this if I had the option. The journey to Saragost, and the subsequent journey inside Saragost, has become more reactionary and survivalist than epic and/or heroic. I just get sick of this place.
Today, after talking to some dwarf in the tavern, .... yeah, I just siad that. "Some dwarf in the tavern" has become as common as "that one thing with that one guy." At any rate, some dwarf in the tavern asked us to check out his rat problem. Yeah, yeah, I know….we're not idiots. We all looked at each other and understood something bigger was going on, especially once he offered more than 200gp a piece. We knew, but, on the other hand, we needed the money to gain prestige in a primitive society such as this. So, begrudgingly, we accepted and walked into a horrible situation.
It didn't start bad, to be sure, but then rats were pouring out everywhere like some kind of bad Indiana Jones movie. The only difference was the fact that a good handful of these rats were freaking huge! They were the size of a big dog. So, as I swing around and realize the battle has become an amorphous, unintelligible line of nonsense, I started trying to make some semblance of order out of it. It only makes sense that we keep these damned rodents away from anyone who couldn't defend themselves from swarms of them.
So, as we unceremoniously skewered and destroyed these over-sized rodents, we became a little more cognizant of where we were, not just individually, but as a cohesive group. What I'm trying to say is that we started fighting a bit more like a team. I'll bet that'll be an indispensible factor in the future. Our little hay-day isn't over yet, though. Oh no. We trek through a roughly-hewn tunnel only to find two kids crying and clutching to each other. Instantly, my mind flashed back to my own child crying at home, desperate for any help whatsoever, so I stretched out my hand, offering aid. Just as I did, Tim (I guess it's Karsh now) yelled at me, "No, dude! They're not real kids!"
It turns out that big green bastard was right. Those little freaks tried to bite me as I reached out to them. That's alright, though, because they got the spear….......multiple times. They said, "Excuse me, Sinfort, but I don't want the spear." To which I replied, "Yes, I know, but you'll receive it anyhow." They had no argument to appeal with since their faces were then distributed equally along the wooden floor of the abandoned storehouse.
Well, not to get emo, but I'm about sick of writing down tragedies into a parchment while it's this late at night, so I'm going to call this good. If you can read this, then let my family know back home that I love them, and to not worry, I'll find a way home.
No matter what.