Mordanyconus,

I write you, my dearest High Priest, from some crumbling stone room in Baelgrim Fortress.

It is ghastly, I must confess. Truly ghastly.

There is a lull in this little foray while we wait to see if Ugrach will return the Mhaldorians to us or not. One of the Heralds, Dunn, has been luring groups of guards to feed them into the open maw of this many-headed abomination we've named 'Targleushan'. Useless in its lesserforms, as you well know, the construct has found a use when plopped down and properly told to eat. Apparently we're to wait until someone can return to this foul city to hire more guards, and so I am sat here next to this new shrine to the Lord with a moment to reflect and send word to you of how things go. I know you are well, no need to send a letter in return.

The stench of the isle itself is potent enough to make a goat faint. Add to it the laboured breath of this abomination and it's enough to make a whole herd of goats faint. Is this what is meant by 'Suffering'? I don't understand their obsession with the experience if so. The Spear had already blazed the way into this fortress before Targleushan could be constructed and we slew most of the Mhaldorians while Targleushan's Ashtani and Mhun handlers finished their preparation.

We destroyed the door to their Ruling Council Room and slew all of the guards we could find within reach. This Mhun began whatever work they were here to do but only briefly before Proficy summoned him away. This was a tactic that the Spear had anticipated. Apparently this is not the first time we've been led to a Guardian and past experience has shown that this is a favoured strategy of the dying city. He will continue to do so, moving him about like a puppy on a leash until we give up. Alas, if our true interest here aligned with the Mhun's then we would have reason for disappointment.

Anyway, things go well. When the Mhaldorians aren't choking on their own blood they're screaming for help, and the Tyrannus has been emptying their coffers to replace the guards we're slaughtering so that someone comes running when they call. Speaking of, we've hardly seen the Tyrannus this battle, which is both a shame and a blessing. We mostly glimpse him scuttling at a distance as he tries to hire any mercenary he can to defend this depressed city. The man should wear a good beard to hide his pointed chin, as it is it makes his head look like one of Enfrin's splitting wedges. Though, a man's beard on Proficy would likely only serve to better collect the foam from his mouth. A true dilemma.

Aha! My time is short. I can hear the shrill, small voice of our favorite, angry little miner screaming for help. Supposedly the plan is to see if Targleushan can handle a little bit more complex instruction: Moving and attacking.

Nothing will go wrong.


Your friend,

[X] Grandue Xeh'ria, Keeper of the Iron Crown

[A small octagon encircles a raised "II" here, inscribed in thick, amethyst ink]
Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Aeguary, in the year 908 AF.