. . .So, on my way to consummate what should have been a lucrative trade with the Osarians, I chanced upon the haunted Black Rock Keep-every bit dreary as the Barrow of Acara, where I swear the foul breath of the rotting Winshar dogged me every step. . . which was, of course, not the same exhilarating thrill provided by the visions atop the Cliff of Eternity, as I so thoroughly elaborated to Alistra Monshae
in her famous Dancing Dryad over precious dragonberry wine. Surely
you have heard of it?
No, I do not meander. If I did, I would not have sold the myriad reams and scrolls recounting my journeys, many of which no doubt still circulating in the Runespar University. . . Yes, that dwarven institute
for arcane education. Despite rumors to the contrary, the mage-mentors were merely jesting about turning me into a newt for mistakenly removing certain tomes from the library, because they understood how
confusingly alike the words ‘free’ and ‘prohibited’ are in the dwarven
Right, back to Black Rock. From the Keep is where I retrieved the long-lost DeGaullis. Or was it from the Whispering Sphere? Nevertheless, it was rather unfortunate when I was forced to relinquish the prized masterpiece in exchange for my life at Illandra’s Vigil. . . Well, regrettably I must attend to some urgent business now, but just between you and me, I have recently compiled my travel highlights in this prestigious handy journal here, available for a modest fee. Therefore, if