A song of Ice and Dice

So, we have killed all the Buchberger guards in the cavern beneath their summer house. They should have been upstairs, so they could've run away. We patch all that needs patching, and proceed further into the old mine. It looks old, but there are fresh torches in the holders, so it is in use. Or the Buchbergers like spending time on money on utterly useless things, like torches in an abandoned mine. We'll see. It turns out that the torches were there for a reason, there is a lab at the end. With lots of containers with ominous stuff in them. Eldur says the stuff is infused with the wind of the dead. Not the wind that comes from bloated corpses, but the magic wind. Which is worse is unknown, but I suspect the latter is worst. I once saw a bloated whale carcass explode, so the first is not to be trifled with either. No paper anywhere either, Eldur speculates that whoever works here knows their stuff and works from memory. We search, and I find a barely hidden door, leading into w

Dreams and remorse As we wait for someone to arrive from the celestial college, my mind wanders. I sense Eldur’s barely constrained fury and unrest, as I do much of the time now, asleep or awake. To the others, I conceal my inner turmoil, and well I believe. I do not tell them most nights are spent tossing and turning at best, or screaming in nightmares at worst. It’s always the same. Eldur, being dragged down into the murky waters by tentacles. At first, I thought my mind was replaying the gruesome scene with the Kharibdyss almost killing him. But then, I see that the waters are not of the sea, but of swamp. Murky and fetid, not fresh and cold. The tentacles are not of the great but ultimately mundane beast, but of dark shadow and the swamp itself. And Eldur – he does not drown, but lets the tentacles into his core, cackling with madness, as I can feel his power swell and his soul vanish. In the background, someone is laughing, relishing my helplessness. I can never move, I can