Why is it that everybody assumes that I want to be underground just because I'm a bloody dwarf? It's dark, it's cold, it's damp, and we're so bloody far from the light of Pelor that it doesn't even make undead beasties disintegrate like they're supposed to.
And the ladders. By Pelor's beard, who the hell decided dwarves ought to feel at home some place where I have to spend all my bloody time trying to get my wee bloody legs up a damn ladder?
Pelor give me strength, I hope I survive long enough to not be here.
At least Pelor hasn't taken my power to heal. The gods know these paladin bastards need it more than a whole bloody village of leprous peasants.
Still, they're a courageous enough lot. Kept fighting even when all our limbs felt like they were on fire. And Grungar seems to have gotten his "holding a battle line" issues dealt with.
Though the bard seems a wee bit less enthusiastic in her singing, lately. Maybe I'll have to see if Pelor can give her some inspiration. Though she's a gnome, so it might not do any good.
Enough writing. Back to being cold and miserable.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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