|Added by||Forgotten Seasons|
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It's been two days since we've heard from the mage.
He told us to wait here at camp, but everyone's tired of stripping spiders for loot. The mage promised us fortune and glory, but if the fool got himself killed, none of us get paid. That's a problem.
Still, I'm not sure we should leave just yet. Something about this place feels off.
Maybe it's the air. One minute it's dry enough to crack your throat. Other times, it's wet enough to drown you. In most ruins, it's easy to lose track of time. But here, I feel like I'm losing my mind.
Last night I decided to step outside and take a breath. Maybe just seeing the sun again would help me keep my wits. When I got back to camp, sweating from the heat, I told one of the other mercs she should do the same. She told me she already did, but it was too damn cold. I wasn't sure what she meant until I saw the snow on her boot.