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| (__)n the wary lanes of mist I travel, into the forests and |
| fields that few choose to tread. The paths I have wandered have |
| pitted me against all sorts of devilry and abominations of |
| nature. |
| |
| It is impossible to forget the putrid smell of burnt fur from the |
| beasts who walk as men by day but howl by the light of the moon. My |
| calloused hands can barely grasp a glass of whiskey for all the |
| stakes they have driven into the undead, the hunters of the night |
| that thirst for blood. |
| |
| I am tired and have more road behind me than ahead, but I may spin |
| a tale or two should you can find me and aid me in my work. My days |
| now are spent traveling between the various inns and taverns of the |
| lands of Faerun where I can attempt to drown the horrors of my past in |
| a mug or glass. |
| |
| Travel safe, and beware of the horrors of the night. |
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| Penned this day, |
| \ / |_| |
| \/an | |enriksen |
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