[under construction]
Journal wasn't enough, my alchemical formulae wasn't enough, now you want to read my letters? Fuckin' shame on you. Goddamn. Whatever. Fuck around and find out if this page is cursed, I guess. Or poisoned.
[A collection of letters written to, or from, Gaspar DeSaul over the course of his recent travels.]
Right, well, there’s been some fucking developments. I know you don’t want to just hear me rant at you, so don’t worry, that won’t be all this letter is, and I’ve sent you something, too, for the shop, well, to hold onto, don’t sell it, but it’ll look nice. It’s a dracolisk scale. I didn’t have a rat’s ass to do with it, but Wyr’asa– the one with antlers, not that you’ve met him– collected them while I was with you, and he thought I could use some of them for, you know, brewing.
Anyway. I’m– going to lose it, Quince, swear to fuck. I don’t know. Ever since the demon. The devil? Whatever the fuck it was. You know I’m not good with that sort of thing. Gabriel’s–I’m worried about him. He has a fucking death wish, and he’s–we’re going after a fucking lich, and he took all of two seconds to volunteer to get cursed by the damn thing, possessed, for some wizard who–I don’t even fucking know why.
Theoretically, this guy can remove the curse. If we get back in time. But it’s not, he’s a fucking idiot, and I’m not enough to tell him it’s a bad idea. I mean, I can tell him, he’s not gonna listen.
They’ve met someone here, from the Arcane Society. A good person, I think, but not gonna say the name. We’ve, uh, I’ve– probably implicated him. In something. Not a great introduction, but still, he’s along for the ride with us, it seems. And he’s sure capable, far as I can tell. Had my doubts when they first told me they were traveling with someone new, but I don’t think he’ll get them into trouble, and I think he can handle if they–well, we–get him into. Well. We already have, technically.
Anyway, again, I just don’t know what to do. You’re not gonna get this till it’s all fuckin settled, anyway, because I’m down here in this fucking cult swarming ghost infested crypt. Got a fuckin guy on my shoulder for fucks sake, turned to stone, right? Don’t know who he is. Fucking exhausting. And I’m just scared, Quince. I trust Gabriel, he’s capable, but not if he’s lookin for ways to fuck himself up, if that’s what this is, or if he just thinks he’s fucking invincible.
Still can’t get my head to clear. That worries me like hell. Had this fog come over me since we stepped foot in this damn crypt, these couple’a ghosts took a few swings and it’s like I can’t just get my fucking bearings the way I usually can. What if I fuck something up? I couldn’t even take care of a goddamn trap in this wizard’s office–wasn’t like we were being attacked or under any kinda fucked up shit–got away, maybe, but–I dunno. I’m not on my game.
I’d say I wish you were here, but I’m glad you’re not. No offense. Just scared enough about the people who are here, me included. I want to make it through this and see you–maybe not right away, but soon. When we’ve put this lich back in the ground. More in the ground. Whatever.
The positives. Uh. We did put one ghost to rest. I mean, in a good way. Poor fuckin’ sod. I hope we can for the others–you know, without killing them all. I don’t want to hurt them any more, right? I’ll send this when I can. Uh. Care about you.