The lordly sun Helios continues his relentless campaign of scorching our lands. He has unleashed his dogs, and their days rule over us. The Slave Pit burns like the fires of Vulcan as we melt before them like candles in the deep of night. Sometimes our only respite is the Iced Milk of Carbos, Lord of the Fat Ones. We pant for the return of the Frost Giant and his cold winds.
The Sleep Wizard has cast his enchantment upon my spirit and I walk his gray dusky labyrinths looking for the way out. I no longer partake of the Dew of the Mountain, so weakness is my companion. No matter where we walk, we suffer under the rule of tyrants.
