Pain is the mother of all growth. It does not discriminate. It will tramp with equal brutality upon the virtuous and the corrupt, as it has only one goal: to force you to adapt.
Trask and Andraste continue to impose themselves on our enemies, while Sulion and I hang back. We’ve dispatched with swarms of rats as well as several more cultists. We’ve even harried the dragon until his eventual departure. One would think such initial success would breed confidence, but I cannot summon any as we set out to look for the camp.
Securing the keep, we were challenged by one of the cult’s lieutenants. The creature looked to be some hybrid of dragon and man, though mostly humanoid. He bellowed nonchalantly that he was feeling generous and would release a few prisoners if one of us would accept his challenge in single combat. Trask was not about to let such a challenge go unanswered.
He stepped forth, swinging his weapon without much effect. Instead of a parry or counter attack, the creature flicked his head slightly backward before releasing a torrent of lightning. This instantly disabled the barbarian. Trask lay defeated on the ground, with a willing spirit but devastated flesh. I wondered if his life would then be taken from him, but the creature merely smiled smugly and sauntered off, exuding self-assurance. Naturally, the mood around the keep did not lift.
Again I can feel myself growing in knowledge. The skill of our opponent, however, is formidable. I should feel grateful that Trask is alive, even if I only recently have met him. Yet I find no solace. This creature no doubt answers to even more powerful foes, and his ability to dispatch one of us was utterly disheartening.
Thus, grim fears abound. We are drawn to this dragon cult like moths to a flame.