Moved from previous post
Our path now lies to fortress Demongate
*there is a crude, schematic world map with a big bold X in a proper place*
Take best possible route. Ensure early arrival. IT'S VERY IMPORTA...
I stare at the runes for a minute or two. They're hypnotizing. Written in bizarre style, in what appears a great haste, varying in size and declivity. Written by my own hand... I have no recognition of ever doing that.
I trace my fingers on paper - and runes smear, becoming a bit less readable. Such a vivid red color... Blood, obviously. It escapes my logic why would anyone write with it while having a full bottle of first-class ink at hands length. But it's the style of something that governs my pen in rare moments of black-out. Perhaps, it doesn't have time, hm? Doesn't really matter.
Sharpening my pen, I patiently wait until the last runes dry. So, where to start?
"It happened again. While I was doing some record research in the archives of Paddlewash citadel - permission denied twelve times previously, but finally given - the same sudden blackout. Now it suggests... No, more correctly - orders - to move to the fortress of Demongate. If think I heard that name somewhere. It certainly rings a bell... Yes. An attempt by Knights of Saint Zane to build a new fortification to protect borders of the kingdom. That brings me to an interesting, although illogical assumption that there might be something (or will be something in near future) to shed light on my previous life. While giving another stab to a theory that sudden outbursts of nearly incoherent blood-writing belong to my previous self. I could not have known where to go - especially if that settlement have not even existed a year or so ago..."
My thoughts trail, but I expertly return them on the proper track. Smooth, calligraphic letters of modern-days handwriting are bestowed onto paper by pen and a bit of fine, nearly weightless sand.
"So, why follow the intended course of action? Hm... Yes, refusal can lead to some...interesting things, just like when I got the second message..."
My thoughts trail once again, but before being able to continue, I'm interrupted by a husky, mirthless voice:
- Hey, lad, time t' go!
Obok T3rdugfer, leader of our small traveling group, is grim as usual. I'm not sure if someone other than goblin will ever see smile on these lips. Cruel, emotionless smile. That dwarf is like shell, devoid of content. I could only pity him. And respect. Greatly respect...