We are so weary. Our bones feel dry and brittle as the sand scrabbling amongst our boots. Poison courses through our veins, wounds dry black with the sting of daggers and the overhead sun. We drag ourselves from the arena once more, ultimately victorious, but too tired to even enjoy the gold which weights down our palms.
Merileth came slithering at us from the depths of a plane unknown. We were bombarded, each in turn, with a flurry of daggers and blades from her four hands and snakelike tail, while she cast spells with her remaining two hands. jewels fell from her scales as she darted between us, stabbing and snapping and gripping and poisoning, her movements too fast to block and her hide too tough to pierce. It was dazzling and terrifying at the same time. She wore us down to the very brink. As we were shambling back, all three of us away from her, covered in slashes, bruises, and greenish poison; we began to fight back with a renewed intensity. We refused to let it end here in this crumbled pit of an arena. Our swords, axes, daggers, and arrows hit home. Just as quickly as she would have finished us, we ended her right there and then.
And we may or may not have started to loot in a massive frenzy once her bedazzled rump hit the ground, but hey. Nothing says “I’m thankful to live another day on this beautiful earth” like fighting off your teammates for jewels in the sand.
At any rate, we hope to heal and rest one more night before setting off to find the wood elves. If I can sleep with Fermitti’s accursed eyes boring into my soul. (Not the one in the box. The figurative soul. Though if he ends up stealing said my soul-in-a-box it would be rightfully ironic.)
My eyes are weak. My body is exhausted. I cannot stay awake any longer. I shall retire to bed, and may the little squeaker do what he will with my soul.