Journal Entry of Rovod BasementBalanced the Stern Balance of Steel
-I've always been a specialized lass, a hunter in the dark and sure of my ability to blend
-Running around unseen, I specialized in stealth operation. Thats why when the murder started I was one of the first to be blamed. To face the hammerer or flee; those were my choices. I chose flight.
-Grabbing some leather armor made form those I undoubtedly hunted, In fled with nothing more than a crossbow, a quiver, and some food. If fled into the wild, and had to hunt off the land. My options were limited. I could join a bandit clan . . . but I've heard that mercenaries were being accepted at some museum place. I think Ill head there.
-Honing my skill on the animal of the wild, I wrestled a skunk for so long I felt like a professional wrestle. Even better, in fact, but all that training came to a head in the alchemical jungles, a savage land with a dark tower poised ominously like a watchful reminder to the night. I must find a way in.
-I've done it. By shooting, running, and distracting the zombies, I got enough of them out to sneak in unnoticed. Soemtimes I would jump over ponds, to get them to jump in and flail about. Sometimes I would curl up into a ball and roll away slowly Soemtimes I would lead them into wild animals. But however it was done, it was done over a small area, only just 3 urists by 3 urists. Any more than that and I risked them getting bored and wandering back to the tower.
-I read a book, revealing secrets I dont think I was ready for. Form this point on I live for two things: to achieve greatness and drop this crap off for study. Maybe Ill even found my own museum
-Countless days of nothing, countless nights of elven slaughter. . . It never ends, and I grow blase to the suffering. . .
-I keep losing and gaining zombies. They readily cross the oceans to reach me, and there is not stopping them when determined. Occasionally I order them to stay put; to deter trackers. Sometimes they listen, sometimes not. They have their own minds still , it seems.
-I am a prisoner to my own zombie horde. I am forced to carry a heavy burden, and while weight no longer bothers me I am too slow to escape from the constant cloud of zombies that covers me, crawling over me, probing me, violating me. It is truly terrifying that I am a prisoner to them, unable to talk to anybody, and unable to breathe clean air. I may not need to consume for sustainable any longer, but I must still feel the freedom open air. My journey is a constant hell, and I doubt my old friends will recognize me when I return to reclaim my homelands.
-A taste of freedom! The zombies have been left behind temporarily, even the heroes and the proficient zombie hippos. The zombie stingrays, carp, draltha, and dingos no longer hound me; the bodies of elves no longer trouble me; I have but a single milkfish to keep me company. As well, as I near my destination.
-I have arrived! Unfortunately, as I was dropping th corpses and plants inside, I accidentally dropped my book as well. I suppose I could try to find a slab or another book, but I do not need an apprentice when I have not hand chosen; instead I will bide my time and my power alone. I am off to another island!
Ill try my best to make a fort for the exploration of goodtimes.