I have.. Time to write. All this time has passed since I had died, and only few remain. The hin vrolok, Izabela, and an old friend. She and I knew eachother's uses, but she is never around to make anything of it. I have met a drow whom I had the pleasure of torturing with the pain in my heart. The fear in her words, the way she cowered before my advancing presence.. I have never been the feared one. Only misunderstood.. I like it. This power of fear and the respect it demands, it's worth the effort to obtain power... This man fights like the horned blue haired wench I once traveled with, more magic than skill. The poor bastard does not know I follow him nor do- my spell wore off when one of them looked towards me. Luckily he didn't shout. Their skills are commendable, but I have the knowledge in this venture. And a new arm to test the grafting.. The time will be soon, they reach the portal of false hope.