[Inscribed in Dwarvish Runes, but with the Nogese word structure, in the cramped, anal script of a shopkeep or draftsman.]

YR 1362, Late Summer. The Bitter Blade, New Phlan : Day after last

We’re rich. Praise the Necromancer King Manos, we’re bloody well rich!

The day started innocently enough, with the group whining about this that and the other thing. Embry was feeling ill, and kept to the room. This was fine by me for I felt my possessions were more secured with an ex-bonded party dwarf than alone. ((Work in Progress))