Letter from a dark elf enchanter to his sister back home

[torogdil]

Dear Thea,

I’ll keep this brief. Barmaid has noticed my empty mug and is attempting eye contact w/ increasing force.

I glimpsed the abyss today and glanced off its rim.

I was collecting Goblin Ears in Highkeep’s basement (dangerous) when I realised I was still bound to a spot a whole continent away in Odus. In a rush, with a group waiting on me, I ran upstairs and bound myself in a safe spot with lots of friendly guards. Friendly to wood elves. Illusions don’t persist across deaths.

I died to a goblin, and then died to a guard, and died to a guard, and so on. My attempts to flee in different directions left a radial pattern of my own corpses. Seventeen timelines smeared together and made visible.

Every time one dies one grows feebler. I saw myself there forever and always — incapable, dull witted, but somehow never numb to the feeling of those bronze swords.

In that moment of clarity, on the border between life and death, I was outside everything, watching on. But how? From where?

Anyway, turns out I was making a lot of noise throughout all this and an Iksar monk came and murdered the guards.

Not a single fellow adventurer was interested in hearing of my experience or pondering my questions about the nature of souls. I’m beginning to think I need to seek out a shaman, which I’ve only ever done before in order to run faster.

Your favourite brother,

Kaczynskii

P.S. Barmaid more like Barmatron