Wir, the 18th of Sypheros
Once more, my adventures lead me underground and once more, undead lay ahead. I clutch Aeshamara’s locket at my chest and struggle not to tremble. The thought of undead still does this to me, even after defeating those zombies and skeletons on the various wrecks surrounding Smuggler’s Shiv. My usual bearing of bravado and style is failing me so I have regulated myself to rearguard. I leave the discovery of danger in Pol’s most capable hands while a small part of me cries out at not being at his side up front. I will have to make up for this, somehow. Aeshamara, only your face keeps me sane.
—From the log of Kreshton Rel’Astra