Ogdan's Journal

Never thought I’d miss the rain from Mourningdale. Brimstone Sands, a demon’s blessing on it. An alchemist heaven, they said. Sulfur by the armful, they said, just go you to the Pools of Orcus and pluck it off the ground! Well I went and saw- I don’t know what. Twenty feet tall, shaped like a man, but hunched over with knives for fingers. Slimy green branches for hair, and clumps of eyeballs bunched together like grapes! And it talks, with a beak too small for its head. “Meat,” it said. Well that was it for me. I roared and swung at it with my pickaxe, bashed its eyeball stalk into a bloody paste. It screamed, and I ran. As I’ll run all the way back to the blessed rains of Mourningdale.