Once again the specter of sickness appears. I believe he is brought on by Tjorn the Hypercrybarian and his contact with the evil hordes of goblins. My sword hangs heavily in my hands as I try to fight this foe, but my judgment is clouded by his evil presence. I have drank of the Dew of the Mountain, but Caffeinus has failed me. I have abstained of Carbos' ill treats and aligned with the Sleep Wizard, but all to no avail. Tween the Outrageous and I seem to be the focus of his attack.
Even though the Frost Giant stands outside and bellows, the furnace burns hot in the Slave Pit, bringing a tired delirium to the workers. The Zombie Minions pour forth the work, like the water breaking a dam. These days move forward like a fat, drunk, lazy slug through cold mud. Oh to see the end!
I eagerly await the morrow's eve, where the Queen of Amazonia and I will travel to the great city that is the end and yet not the end, to hear the minstrels of the Ancient One sing great songs of war and triumph. We will gather with many warriors such as ourselves and celebrate with much cheer. May new friends be made!
