The drow fled quicker than I expected. Fires still burned. Food still sat warm. Whatever they’re afraid of, it frightens them more than we do.

The minotaurs tried to break us. Good beasts. Strong. Honest. Better than the spiders we’ve been cutting through. They hit hard enough to matter.

Stitch keeps dancing through battles like Clangeddin himself is guiding his feet. I still don’t know how the cat stays standing. Monique burned half the cavern without setting my beard alight, so I’ll call that progress. Jaxson took another beating that would’ve buried a lesser soul. He’ll either grow tougher or I’ll start tying a rope around him.

The little lizard folk weren’t our enemy. They’d been chained same as any slave. No honor in killing folk who’ve already lost their freedom. Better to loose them against the drow than spill their blood for Halaster’s amusement.

Aye… the Mad Mage’s game gnaws at me. Fight or watch the light die. Every battle feeds his twisted sport. Doesn’t sit right, but until I find a way to break his chains, I’ll keep swinging.

Now there’s talk of another drow house marching to war. Let them kill one another. When armies bleed, fortresses empty.

If this floor can be held, it should be. Stone belongs in dwarven hands, not drow. Every chamber cleared is another hall worth claiming.

Something waits farther north. Even the troglodytes fear it. Lightning. Ropers. More things that think they own the dark.

We’ll see whose halls these become.