Didn’t expect to find anything living down here—but Orcs, or something like Orcs, attacked us on sight. We pulled back to regroup. The mercenaries went ahead to clear a path.
* * *
Cinosarion is obsessed with these pale Orcs. I just want to sleep, but I can hear him muttering over one of their corpses. Disgusting.
Seems they are Orcs, after all, but they’ve been broken and changed. The Elf has a theory. He said the scarring suggests they were carved open and closed up, again and again. Some are missing limbs, or other parts. I don’t want to know.
* * *
I can’t sleep.
* * *
Glurbasha and Dorand are arguing again. He wants to push on. She wants to leave. Can’t say I really blame her. There’s something off about this place.
Dwarven ruins are always foreboding, but this one is different. The parts that open to the sky feel somehow oppressive. Threatening.
* * *
I keep catching a voice in the back of my head telling me I’m trapped here. That I’ll never leave.
I need a drink.
* * *
Found a journal written by whoever cut up those pale Orcs. I can hardly comprehend what he has written. I’d show it to Cinosarion, but then I’d have to talk to Cinosarion.
* * *
I lost the journal. The constructs had ignored me, but ever since I picked up the journal I noticed they were watching me, following me. I tossed it down and hid in a cave—they stopped their pursuit.
I need to find my companions. I need to get out of here.
* * *
We should not have come to Rkindaleft.
