The only thing stopping me is the rain. I have seen the darkness. I have felt the tug of my soul leaving my body and the strength of my allies bringing me back. My hatred for the undead grows with every attack made against me and my companions. This city makes me sick. The smell isn’t right. The fact that it’s inhabitants let the undead “unknowingly” live amongst them is disgusting. They are soulless beings, a lesser race. They may be strong, but there is nothing inside of them but the stolen blood of their victims. Blood that isn’t theirs, blood that can only fill their stomachs and not their veins.
I’m worried my recklessness is going to get my allies hurt. Coupled with Emilia’s, it’s only a matter of time. Kendra, Benjen, and Talathel have been taken from their homes on our whim. We continue to trudge on, losing sight of what we were originally here for. The more we travel, the more knowledge we gain, and the more enemies we must kill. We are these people’s saviors, we are their protectors, yet our stories will probably never be sung in taverns. We can only take so much more before our souls give up, and then who can tell our story?