Dorak - Frying pan, fire

Dear Grandpa,

Well, it’s been a long seven years inside the lamp… I will definitely be a odd sight to you, though, for I have taken on more of a beard and more of a belly in the time since I last wrote.

Well, I did write, but it was terribly inefficient to pile up the letters telling you I was drinking and studying and talking with folks in all sorts of interesting tongues.

Anyway, I disappear for a little bit, and no one but Iz is there to greet me when I return.

Heck, the most familiar face of those whom I met was Smriti, who I barely know.

There is a very stone faced new sword wielder, but I don’t quite understand his view on things.

There’s the smart guy who helped corral trouble in the little trap.

He at least I have hopes for…

There’s a dwarf, one of them red master sorts. It’s fine, I suppose… he’s not fond of Iz.

Given the years I had to spend ruminating on the reason my spine was shattered, I am not, either.

Oh, I do feel so much better… but it appears we went from the frying pan into the fire.

We were in a church where I was well liked.

There was a posse outside, and we escaped the back way… only to wander into a band of hooligans who were out to take all of our supplies.

Just after we fought them – nearly losing the dwarf cleric along the way, if not for my valor and wit – we find that there are no horses, every Aspis shitstain is a shitstain not worth the leaf to wipe and they must be burnt with fire and the land salted afterwards… and then we find Zomos in a cart on a cliffside.

Thankfully, a bit of legendary marksmanship and my quick wits got us out of that as well.

Now, to see what we are going to do about rat face…

- Dorak

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Dorak - Frying pan, fire

Crimson Skies Grusnik