Monday, September 19, the Barrier.
Alric seems to have gone truely mad, searching this blasted land for the Armor of Connacht, said to be so powerful that the wearer is tireless in battle.
If we do find the armor, it will be at the cost of much of our legion as the heat beats down on us like a hammer upon an anvil, a few men even dying of it. He continues to drive us on, pushing us in to exhaustion to search for it, muttering something about a being he refers to as "the Head" having sent him on this futile venture.
As I write these lines, the horizen is suddenly darkened with thousands upon thousands of Undead, and we must make haste to defend ourselves, or flee, which in our condition will almost undoubtedly lead to our destruction.
Note
This is just the result of boredom, although comments and questions are more then welcome.
Suggestions for changes are encouraged.
Seraph