The priestess is dead.

About damned time.

She’d filled that place with enough darkness to choke a cave troll. Whatever she was trying to bring into the world, it wasn’t meant to be. We put a stop to it.

The fighting was fierce.

Stitch was everywhere and nowhere. I quit trying to follow him halfway through. Enemies kept falling down missing pieces and that was enough for me.

Monique nearly got herself killed. Jaxson nearly got himself killed. I told them both as much. Neither listened. Some folk need a hammer to understand a lesson.

I spent most of the battle where I belong. Between my companions and whatever wanted them dead.

Clangeddin saw fit to grant me a new weapon this day.

Not steel. Light.

I called down the Dawn and watched darkness burn away before it. The drow didn’t much care for it. Good. Neither did their priestess.

Muiral fell again. Maybe this time he’ll stay dead.

The ritual was broken. The enemy scattered. Those that didn’t run died where they stood.

And now the level is ours.

That is the part I keep returning to.

Everyone else sees another dungeon floor. I see walls. Store rooms. Barracks. A defensible position.

A holdfast.

The old dwarves built kingdoms beneath mountains. No reason we can’t do the same beneath this one.

There’ll be time enough to chase mysteries and mad wizards.

For now, I want a map. And a strong door.

— Korin Deepstone, Cleric of Clangeddin