There is trouble in Falconberg, of that we are certain, but as yet we lack the tools to root out this rot for ourselves or expose it to the lord and his fellows. They seem almost willful in their ignorance, though the blunt manners of Lady Triana have not helped our case. Her purpose is true, but she is perhaps too eager in its execution. Much goodwill has been lost and any chance to surprise the creature that takes the shape of the old lords daughter seems long gone (if it ever existed).
With these troubles heavy on our shoulders it is almost a relief to return to the dungeon. More rooms have been mapped and more foes destroyed, although there are still many that are beyond our power. There are warnings however,against such foes, for those with the humility to heed them…
Devils Kiss feels good in my hand-the hilt and blade have begun to take on a warmth, and the strange red runes glow more brightly with each foe dispatched. Who was the mercenary that left me behind all those years ago at the keep? Left me behind with nothing but questions and the blade. I have memories of a battle-of flame and blood-of the blade dancing through body after body, cutting and hewing, incinerating all in a dance of death.
I continue my lessons with the Prince. He studies from the tattered book of spells he took from the slave masters horde-with a sly grin more often than not that sends a chill down my spine. Perhaps luckily he is a poor scholar, lacking the attention span required to grapple with the arcane arts. Indeed, it was quite a task to make him read the magic tome we found in the ruins. At the end of it he seemed more canny-the madness that gleamed behind his eyes was diminished some-or perhaps he has merely been made more adept at hiding it.
No matter. Many more foes await, and my blade has a thirst now that can only be quenched with blood and battle!