Richter's Diary

Thawmist 16th

The thing that descended on our camp was a fearsome wyrm, three times the size of a man. Its maw was littered with razor sharp fangs, its leathery wings were like the sails of the ships I once saw upon the Romilion Sea. In that moment I believed I was dead. The thing pounced on our companion, the silver haired man who craved gold, and ran its fiendish tail though his chest just as the children lance chestnuts over the open fire. The creature's blood hungry scream was demonic. Arder looked to me, his eyes glazed over, his face turned ashen. He looked ready to run. I showed him the tattoo of his face upon my flesh and announced “To the last my lad, pray we die together!” I leap towards the cretinous wyrm with the point of my bastard sword towards its gullet. Luckily my bravery steadied Arder’s resolve, for my friend rushed towards the creature with his spear.

It was not an easy battle, the scales of this creature were impenetrable. It was like dashing stones at a mountain, the weapons of our party mearly clattered off of the beasts scales. So we fled. Better to live, claim treasure, and spread wanton chaos than die in the stomach of some devil. A curse on that wyrm in the name of the Demiurge.

We ran and ran through the night, but the creatures swooping attacks were relentless. It almost caught us as we passed through a wooded gully, it's head tearing through the bush with malevolent hunger. Eventually the creature lost interest in us. As the dawn broke over those barren hills a figure approached us. It was our old friend Saga-bhoy with a retinue of women - this visage I thought could only be a delirious fantasy brought on by pain and panic. Our friend sent his women away and he led us through the upper hills where the topography turned to harsh jagged rock. This all played out as if it were some strange dream, at times feeling as though the hand of the Demiurge personally led me.

We decided not to rest, fearful to face the wrath of the dreaded wyrm again, so we walked and walked, night and day. My legs were screaming with fatigue. Poor Arder looked ready to break, and during those moments of relentless marching there were times when I wanted to crack open his skull for leading us to this doomed place. But we all persevered.

There were a few hours of silence one fateful morn, we walked that jagged topography not saying a single word to each other. In the distance we heard a clattering and crashing. Almost too tired to offer up any caution we carried on towards it. We cornered a ravine and saw three monstrous giants. They were smashing their clubs against the stone of the hill. They were fearsome in stature, but their slack jawed gazed offered up the innocence of a child. We later learned that these three are known as the brothers, and we were very lucky to pass them without being smashed into jelly.

And so, exhausted beyond reason, we passed from the hills down into the forest of the Ayesha flats. We narrowly avoided a camp of bandits, who were apparently planning some sort of attack on a figure known as the hunchback. This intrigued old Richter, consider this, a powerful warlord commands fear in this region, yet he is an ugly hunchback. Imagine, a hunchback, someone ugly as I commanding fear and ordering a domain. I quite like the cut of cloth laid out by this hunchback figure. I have plans that I might join in his ranks and learn a thing or two.

Finally we made way to the hold of Rantar where we will be resting and hopefully drinking for a few days. My comrades have made a deal with the Castilian of this keep to destroy the hunchback commander. I am not so sure if that is what this region truly needs. For now I shall enjoy the taste of beer and the easy coin of a good gambling session, and mull over this hunchback figure, whom I feel could be a great mentor.

Let Chaos guide this hand. Let the serpent bite his tail. Let Chaos reign.

• Richter the Ruddy