We have been traveling underground for three days now. Even I find the darkness oppressive. I don’t know how the others can stand it. I can almost feel the weight of the mountains bearing down upon us. I long for open skies.
It had been a fairly straight path until today. We came to a series of rooms, and some choices to make. One path led back towards the north, the direction we had come from. Two bridges led south across a chasm. The western bridge led to two rooms containing the foulest air that I can recall. This place is more ancient than I can tell, and it gave me pause to wonder what could possibly carry such a stench after uncounted centuries.
As we were checking for secret ways, the possible source of the stench made itself known to us. Three vile creatures floated down from the ceiling, catching Aramir and me unawares despite Galan’s shout of alarm. About a yard across, they resembled nothing more than veils made of dead flesh—complete with bits of hair and other less savory reminders of their origins. The creatures fastened to Aramir’s arm and shoulder, and to my head and neck. They immediately began to feed upon our flesh…and it felt as if they also feasted upon our force of will. It took some doing to remove the repulsive creatures, tearing at our own skin, doing as much harm to ourselves in the process. Once again I give thanks to my draconic forebears for gifting me with a tough hide—without that protection, the creatures would have done far worse.
Carrying the ugly wounds from our latest encounter, we abandoned the western passage as a dead end… (to be continued)
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