[Mora's Entries]

Writing this with my last bit of ink. I didn't get the chance to write before now. Just got myself free... How long ago was it? Three days ago? Four? Damn the Drow! For all I know it could have been weeks. Anyway, no food (yeah, I'm really wasting away), been running from something. Drow? Cave-crawlers? I dunno. Could be. Could be my head messing with me. I need to find that place... What was it?... 'Sanctuary'. I heard the old man mumbling about it. Said he'd been there but was captured again after trying to find someone who'd wandered. I don't really believe him. If I was him and found it I would never leave again. Better to be safe and miserable than dead.

What was that?

Just a rothe. Too bad I don't have the means or energy to take 'im down.

[the last line is faint]

Yup, here goes the ink...

Well now, Reading my last entry, don't I look like a bloody fool? New ink, fresh clothes, even some armor, and, best yet, a belly full of food and wine. I even got myself a new sword. Nothing too flashy, but it's something to heft and has a sharp edge-- even my armor is a bit flimsy. But it does the job-- keeps me intact and makes me feel better emotionally.

So yeah, I got my sorry self to Sanctuary. It's a safe little place. I dunno how it got here or anything, just that ol' slaves and lost folks like me end up here and here's a safe spot. Eh, as safe as you get in the Underdark.

I ran some errands for some folks-- just to sort of get used to the surroundings and collect a bit of shine. But besides the cook and a goblin I didn't have much by way of contact with people. Oh well, I'm not a people person anyway. Anyway, I'm not gonna use all my newly gotten ink just to babble. Should get some rest. The Firey Hells just froze over! A real bed is waiting for me!

[Written the next day]

I feel like those I come in contact with here think that I’m dull or slow-witted. Though I guess this is how it’s always been for me. I ain’t no charmer like any bard I’ve met, and I’m certainly not the sharpest blade. But people judge the fact that I think and talk a little slower and don’t understand things right off-- not without trying it out first anyway. They see a fat woman with a gruff tone and slow speech wielding a sword. They see an idiot.

Sure, I talk with the slang and even slurs and my grammar’s… well, it’s grosser than chewing on the rear end of a goblin. Blah. To the Nine Hell with them. Or maybe it’s all in me head. I might just be being paranoid. I gotta get out more.

In other news I met a newcomer today. She thinks I’m dumb too, but she’s real nice and we killed a bunch of rats. Man, were there rats! Sad thing is they damn near killed us. I think my mistake in firing the catapult (at least the first time) did us some good and took out the big guy. I never did see the thing, but it got us with some spells. Don’t ask me what-- I ain’t no mage. But then again, I did fire the damned thing just because I didn’t know exactly how it would work. Got myself yelled at for that. And of course she picked a bit of fun at me too-- telling me not to get ‘trigger-happy’ while I stayed behind when she went to scout ahead. Blah.

Ah damnit-- The candle’s burning low. That’ll teach me to burn candles just to write. I should make sure to get an oil burning lamp in here or something.