Wait, page 33 hasn't been released yet.
Today I saw a spider. I thought it was a miracle to see a living being here, again, after so long. How did it even get so deep below? I watched it calmly for longer than I should have. Then I killed it. I don’t know why; I just wanted to. Maybe I got tired of it.
I don’t know what to think of this. It was alive, sure, but it was also considered vermin. It shouldn't be too bad, but I’m paranoid of my own intentions and mental evolution since the first day I arrived. I don't want to grow careless or even evil.
It’s been so much time already. But even with every capacity inside me to do so, and the meaning that it would give this text if put on it, I don’t feel like making a guess. It also was so that watching the sunray above to count the days and nights stopped helping me long ago. Something, the force or presence of this place, simply doesn't want me to know and sense time, and so I stopped caring.
And so I stopped writing as well.
Nothing to note, apart from things I have found. Since my last journal note I have opened two more rooms: One ramified, connecting it to a few new places to see, and a few more undead to mourn, but nothing of interest. The other contained dust and no more. In the upper levels, moving things around, I found a broken sword too familiar for me. It was very worn out, but it only barely reminisced one of a paladin. Were my comrades in here? It would be like a dream to find one of them, trapped somewhere, but I wouldn't wish for any man or thing to go through the same circumstances as I have; I would rather stay alone forever than get someone to talk to, if that implies that the person would be to suffer as much as me.
God, how am I still mostly sane. The paintings have accompanied me for years now, and their scenes and faces stare at me, trying to make me remember. I now know for sure that this malediction is simply making fun of me, by not simply letting my intellect die off and leave my carcass behind to roam this place as an animal, like the rest; making fun of me by letting, or forcing me, to remain alive and conscious. //
It appears RNG hates you, it took you years to get a broken hero sword.
You peopleHow do you know you're still mostly sane? Maybe you're not even a paladin, that's how crazy you are.
Thanks for reminding meWait, page 33 hasn't been released yet.
I'm glad to hear that. I hope you get to work on your own projects soon! Good luck with those.This thing has somewhat renewed interest in my own story [...]
Thanks.I'm glad to hear that. I hope you get to work on your own projects soon! Good luck with those.
10,000 pages?? *Grabs popcorn* This is gonna be big!
To that, think this. So was the Old Man (Clothier) as we can find pictures of him.Wait, so we can find a painting of the dryad (pause for shudder out of disgust) In the Dungeon, so that means...that the dryad was around all those years ago ?
Perhaps we should take this bit of discussion elsewhere? Doesn't feel as though it belongs.And the mechanic and goblin, and the merchant too!