Oh, she’s heavy. Fuckin’ ...
Oh, she’s heavy. Fuckin’ harpies. Miraculously, I haven’t been hit yet, though one arrow pierces the leather covering my foot, and lodges deep in the earthen floor, so that I have to struggle to remain upright while keeping my grip on Meena, whose slack form is slick with the harpies’ vile shit. I look over and Boudica still lies in filth, utterly motionless. Mirilda and Leon are figuring out how to get her out of here, as Tor casts silence to at least shield us from the shrieking. There are fifteen of them to our six, and I can’t believe none of us are dead yet. Their skill with the bows is inspiring, and what I wouldn’t give to respond in kind, but Meena is more important than my vanity, and it’s all I can do to creep along with her impressive frame. I manage to break the arrow off, just above where it is lodged against the arch of my right foot, and continue unceremoniously dragging Meena toward the relative safety of the hall, with its lower ceiling. I feel a movement in the air above my left ear, and when I reach up, it is to work an arrow out of one of my thick braids. “Thanks, you hateful, winged oath,” I mutter. This goes in my quiver.

I haven’t even had time to come to terms with the fact that we killed an innocent. A paladin. I should have been more mindful. I should have known. I’ve grown accustomed now to killing, and because of that, a creature who dedicated his life to the pursuit of all that is good, is dead. What is this place doing to me?
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btw, thanks for draggin' me out of there. I owe you [more than] one!