Three floors, possible basement level. Brick wall surrounding the compound with two small guard posts at the front. I count thirteen total occupants, four guarding the compound in rotations. People constantly coming and going. Presumably to run a job or more likely stop off at the local tavern. Spotted the leader only twice. Veral kept …
The afternoon breeze does little to cool off my annoyance. Sloan is the type of man that benefits off the misfortune of others. Grief is his gold, and unfortunately he deals in it by the dozens. He has this presence about him that oozes ill intention that mirrors his pale complexion and lanky form. He …
I remember what it used to mean. The intensity of the hunt. How my senses could be so sharp, I would taste the blood in the air. The strength I would get from hunting with the best compatriots anyone could ask for. Over time that strength is slowly replaced with exhaustion and loneliness. Those I …
The Dungeoneer's Journal 