*Worn hood drawn up the once proud stocky dwarven figure would be sitting surrounded by empty bottles in one of the couple of corners near the Outskirts Inn largely ignored by the daily bustle. The cloth hanging form his frame worn and soaked, a stench of unwashed sweat, grime and alcohol extending far from him. Just another broken figure in a land all too accustomed to such sights. Calloused hands testing the covers of a empty tome as he gripped the quill in a way that suggested he had not done so for a long time. With a grunt he would begin to write, even as he was unsure why he would do so in the first place, something to take his mind of things, the days of darkness had been long after all with scarce little but his own taunting thoughts to grumble over when the alcohol wore off enough to allow for such.*
The below are some of the smudged dwarven runes that survived a spilled bottle of something having poured over the pages at some point.
Bloody Darkness, never ending, all encompassing… fecking ironic it took the loss of my sight for me to see some things. Now bloody look at me, sititng on my arse scribbling thing I’ll never be able to read like some finger waggler, for whom I don’t even bloody know. This is stupid.
*The text ends abruptly there, the dwarven runes messy and tilted, the spacing uneven, guided by a blind hand. A new paragraph starts much lower down as if picked up and started some time later*
I’d kill them all, would make them suffer too…I can still swing my axe. It would be a glorious end. Would these damned mists release me in death to return to clan and ancestors? I don’t know. And yet I made an oath to defend kin in these lands and beyond at whatever cost. An oath before kin and ancestors. Ha, I still remember the trials, wonder what has become of Branka and Jirka the stubborn goats, swallowed by the mist like so many no doubt. If I bring war to Vallaki it is kin that will pay the price, what they have built torn down in fire and blood. The title of Defender might be worn by all without trials and approval of kin these days but I will remember mine. They took my sight, and I let them, fool that I am… the grudge will be settled, but it must not lead back to kin.
*Another break in the text before it continues presumably at a later point in time, the bitterness of loss radiating between the lines*
Can’t stand their chatter… Voices in the darkness, laughing, boasting of their ventures, their skills in battle from slaying some wolf pups or dusty skeletons. Fledgling smiths barely able to gild a blade with silver calling themselves masters. Pah! I can hear their snorts, looking down to me. Just like them cocky groups in the mist camp, all in their little cliques. Not that I could find my way back there anymore...
*On another page*
Ancestors must be turning in their graves. Tried to practice swinging my axe and finding my way to an anvil, must have been a sorry sight. Where the hell is my kin, did the messengers not find any of them? Probably just ran off with the coin. No Tediel either. I should just end it and take my riches with me, perhaps they nay deserve them after all and nay be the friends and family I thought them to be… Tired of waiting. Damn Ironic too, so much time spent building all this coin and what bloody good is it now... just cold metal whose shine and i cannot even see... useless.
