The panic of this journey is ceaseless. My head only momentarily clarified from the sourceless concussion that threw me to this labyrinth.

So I will seize this window of clarity and write.

We keep falling into the same cursed traps, and forgetting the avoidable sufferings that brought us to this moment.

My memory is foggy, and I’m unable to remember everything within the journey to this point.

I should talk to my new company to get the details. Though, I’m not sure what the dwarf and orc will remember – beyond the sources of their scars, and when they last ate. The smoking elf may not have the memory either.

But I should be kind – I would have perished long ago without their brutishness, healing, and companionship in this hell.

A maze with rat, rat men, and death doesn’t keep them dead. They rise again and again, with our curiosity animating them, fueled by dark magics.

And that damned cannister – Gods alive. It will kill us all should we be drawn to it when danger is near.