Fryyd, Cragmire, and the Question

Ilyanas Tomb of Doom


I found Fryyd while running through Cragmire with a motely collection of fighters, healers, rogues. Fryyd was kneeling in the shadows of a ruined library,  a library ignored by the hoard I ran with. Fryyd shivered in fear.

“What is this fear,” I ask in my sweet voice, a voice I reserved only for a few, else it’s haughty tavern tart through and through. You can’t be a sweet tart all the time.

“The dead,” he said, nodding to the dark corners of the library, “they walk.”

“But the dead live in Cragmire, silly,” I whispered, “or didn’t you know?”

“We were looking for books to sell is all. Me, Toabs, and Emmy. We had what we wanted, and then Emmy screamed. I looked. She had an ax blade growing from her head.”

“Come,” I said, gently pulling Fryyd up from the dust and blood. He stood easily enough, so…

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